Hisuian Zoroark are spirits that lingered after death due to overwhelming resentment. Being torn from home, left somewhere strange and new, and unceremoniously killed certainly results in a lot of resentment.
How can you live with all of that pain? How can you keep it from ruling you, when all of your old anchors are gone?
A self-insert into the Hoenn region. Focuses primarily on original characters, both human and Pokémon.
I awaken slowly, to the sounds of trees gently swaying in a soft wind. It's a soothing sound, which helps some, because I don't remember falling asleep. I especially don't remember falling asleep anywhere near trees. Waking up somewhere unfamiliar with no idea of how you might have gotten there is stressful, as it turns out. Before I even open my eyes, I take a few deep breaths—
—and immediately regret it. A vile scent fills my nose, one I've not smelled before. If I had to put words to it, I'd say it smells like something died.
I open my eyes. Gazing back at me is another pair of eyes. These eyes are clouded and lifeless, set behind blood-spattered glasses knocked askew. Immediately, I screw my eyes shut. I've woken up next to a corpse.
Ignoring the stench as best I can, I take a few more deep breaths. I can't just stay here, I need to get up. I need to find out where this is, and if I'm in danger from whatever killed that person.
It takes a few tries, but I manage to open my eyes again. This time, I examine the corpse more closely. It's tall, but not too broad. Its straight hair is a dark blonde, matted with blood. Something about it is familiar.
My disgust and fear subside as I push myself up to my knees. I need a better look. Who is this person? Why do I feel like I should know who this is? I reach out a hand to shift the corpse.
I stop dead when a pale, dark-clawed limb extends into view. Sickly red spots like bloodless wounds dot the white fur wisping off of it. That's…that's not my arm. No, it is my arm, I admit distantly as I flex the claws.
Pieces begin to connect in my head. I don't like the picture that's forming, but avoiding it won't help. My emotions begin to wither, and as a bitter haze fills my mind, I turn the body to face the light. Paradoxically, the haze clears my mind, rather than clouding it, and with that clarity, I can admit the truth.
The face I woke up to was mine. That's my corpse.
I died.
But…I'm not dead.
The haze continues to congeal. I'm not dead, but I am a ghost, I realize. My mind had edited it out before, but now I see the white-and-red strands of the mane that drifts over one side of my face. To be more precise, I'm a Ghost-type. Even with my newfound clarity, though, I can't quite make sense of how this revival is possible. Even if I take the existence of Pokémon as a given, and I have to since I quite clearly am one now, Hisuian Zoroark originally became Ghosts after death due to their overwhelming spite and malice. I never saw myself as harboring much of either. But then, I consider, I never quite managed to find myself completely, did I?
The haze grows thicker, and something roils within it. I look back down at the face of a human who had only just begun to discover who she truly was. I think of how that journey was cut short by some act of violence or freak accident or perhaps a true-blue act of some cruel fucking god. I remember the friends who had been with her as she took her first steps into a life that was finally, truly her own, and I imagine how devastated they will be when she doesn't respond. I imagine the panic when she's reported missing, and the holes in their hearts that will never fill up even long after she's given up for dead.
Ah, I think dispassionately as pitch-black fog begins to bleed into the air around me. There it is.
But my Bitter Malice has no targets here. Whatever killed me didn't stick around. I've always hated lashing out at anything that doesn't deserve it, and I use that hate to leash my power until it's returned to nothing but a misty haze floating between my thoughts.
The hate fades, too. My emotional range slowly begins to restore itself, now that I've gotten that out of my system. I slump down next to my corpse, completely drained. More so than ever, I'm not sure what to do with myself now. Everything I'd been working towards, the person I was becoming…that's gone. I can't imagine a way to get it back. I'm no stranger to this sort of hopelessness, but in the past, it's always been temporary.
Nothing quite so…final has ever happened to me before.
Taking the greatest of care, I remove my corpse's glasses and close her eyes.
As I wipe the blood off of the lenses and place them back on her face, tears begin to sting at my eyes. My first instinct is to fight it. I've never been fully comfortable wearing my emotions like that. But then I think, why should I bother to hide how I feel? The person I used to be is dead. I'm just her ghost.
I should mourn my old self. If anyone is here to see, let them see. They can't judge me in any way that matters.
With that thought, I can feel a shackle that binds me shatter. I hunch over my lifeless shell and cry openly, freely. I cry for the child who never got all the things she deserved. I cry for the woman who was only just discovering what it meant for her to live. I cry for the people who will miss her dearly now that she's gone, and I cry because I likely will never be able to comfort them ever again.
I cry for myself, torn away from the person I had hoped and wished and striven to be.
When my tears stop, I don't feel any lighter. The weight of everything is still there. But I feel more able to bear it.
"Who was she?" comes a voice from behind me.
I twist to see a Leafeon approaching from the brush. "She must have been important to you," the Leafeon continues. "If it would help to talk about her, I'll listen."
A detached part of me marvels at how I'm able to glean precise meaning from the repetitive noises that make up Pokémon speech. I ignore that part of me and exhale, gaze drifting back to my corpse. Before I can let myself doubt my decision, I hoarsely give her the truth. "She was me. I died, and now I'm a Ghost."
"Oh. You poor thing," she breathes.
The tears begin to fall again, but before I can get swept away, Leafeon continues to talk. "You must have nowhere to go. Come stay with my family, at least for a little while. It won't do you any good to stay here."
"Why-" I choke on the words, but manage to force them out in the end as I turn back to face Leafeon. "Why? Why offer that? You don't know anything about me. I could be a vengeful Ghost."
"Maybe one day," she concedes. Even through the tears, though, I can see that there is nothing on her face but an earnest kindness. "But you're wrong. I do know one thing about you. I know that you're a Pokémon who lost everything. And no one deserves to be alone after losing everything."
To that, I can say only one thing, and it takes everything I have before I once again collapse sobbing: "Thank you."
- - - -
Once the tears have dried from my fur, Leafeon begins to lead the way. I linger for a moment, taking one more look at the corpse of the person I once was. But it isn't long before I turn my back on her and leave to walk alongside Leafeon.
Along the way Leafeon properly introduces herself. Pokémon names, some new instinct tells me, are subtle inflections upon the species name that convey specific concepts. Where a human would only hear "Leafeon", I understand that she calls herself shade of the old oak. I've scarcely known her for a handful of minutes, but it's apt for a Pokémon who would offer her home to a stranger.
She falls silent after her introduction, but it's a pensive silence rather than a comfortable one. She wants to say something, I can tell, but she seems nervous about it.
The old me would have let the silence be, but I don't want to continue her mistakes. So instead of delaying, I choose to be direct. "What is it, shade of the old oak?" I say, tasting the inflection as it passes my lips. It tastes like a new beginning, and that makes it all the easier to tell her, "If you have something you're worried about asking me, just say it. I won't be mad."
She sighs. "I'm not worried about that, it's just…I've never met a Pokémon who used to be a human. So I don't know…I don't know what to call you. I don't know if I should use your old name, or…" She trails off with another sigh, unable or unwilling to finish the thought.
The topic of my old name makes me stumble for a step, and Leafeon's quick to add, "It's fine, though, please don't feel pressured to make a decision like that!" There's a hint of panic in her voice. Is she worried about pushing so hard she drives me off?
I shake my head. "No," I tell her, "it's okay. It's probably better for me to think about this now, while it's all still fresh." The haze curls between my thoughts once more, bringing with it a harsh melancholy that bleeds into my tone. "I shouldn't let this heal only to have to reopen the wound later."
I consider the question for a time. What should I call myself? Using my old name seems like the obvious choice, but…no. She's dead, and I can never be her again. I won't do that to myself. I'll take the name of Zoroark, then. But what does that mean, when I talk about myself? Who am I now? I don't know. Discovering myself isn't an easy or short process; I know that firsthand.
But I still need a name. So, rather than agonize, I choose the first inflection that feels right.
"I think, for now, you can call me Zoroark," I say. What remains when all is subtracted.
It's not a kind thing to name myself, or a hopeful one, and Leafeon's brow creases. "Are you sure?" she asks. "Should that worry me? I've never met a Zoroark like you, so I don't know."
"I don't want to carry that name forever," I explain. "But it's too soon for anything else. I only know who I wanted to be as a human, and that person is dead." The red tips of my mane curl gently in the air as I walk. My claws slice shallow furrows into the soil with every step. "I can't be her anymore. I don't know who to be as a Zoroark. So, for now, I'll be what remains when all is subtracted."
Leafeon considers that for a while. "Well," she begins tentatively, "I suppose that makes sense. And…you are a Ghost. It's certainly a Ghostly name."
"I already knew a little about the kind of Zoroark I am now," I offer. "It feels fitting."
The last of her apprehension vanishes, replaced with curiosity. "Oh? Do tell."
"We're spirits of spite, born out of a lingering resentment towards an unjust death. Unfortunately, most anything beyond that I'll have to find out for myself."
"Well, at least that's something to go off of!" Leafeon points out, and I nod in agreement. It's certainly better than nothing.
She hums, then continues speaking. "Your name makes a little more sense, knowing that. I'll probably still worry a little bit, but that's just who I am," she says with a hint of a laugh. "It does raise another question, though, and if it's too much, please don't feel like you have to answer. The kind of resentment needed for a spirit to linger as a Pokémon has to be really strong. What made it that strong for you?"
I barely have to think about it. The haze leaps to the forefront of my mind, but I need it to stay thin. "I truly did want to be the person I was becoming. I was so close, too. I had a lot of friends who were helping me be the best version of myself. I'm never going to get to be her, now, and thinking about how much my death is going to hurt my friends makes me furious. I don't know what killed me. But if I ever find out…" I stop there, forcing the Bitter Malice that had been gathering around my claws to dissipate.
I look back at Leafeon, expecting to see a hint of fear at the hateful power I'd almost lost control of. Instead, she's got a faint smile on her face.
My confusion must show, because she immediately tells me, "I don't think you have anything to worry about."
"Come again?"
"You're worried about losing control, aren't you? You're worried that you won't be able to keep hold of the resentment that caused you to become a Zoroark"—and that's not just a general species name, it's also what remains when all is subtracted—"and you'll wind up a grief-mad Ghost lashing out at everyone around you."
I falter. "Is it really that obvious?"
Leafeon laughs, clear and soft. "You made it pretty obvious when I offered you a place to stay," she points out.
I open my mouth to refute that, but I really did make it obvious, didn't I? I huff a laugh of my own at the realization.
"Something terrible happened to you," she continues as though I hadn't interrupted her, "and though you're bitter about how it hurt you, you feel even more strongly about how it'll hurt those you love. This must all be so new to you, but you've already managed to get enough control over your power that I don't feel like I have anything to fear from you. You'll never be one of those mean old Ghosts. You're too kind of a Pokémon for that."
The reassurance lifts a weight from my shoulders. "I'd also heard that Zoroark like me often let their pain rule them," I admit, "and hate everything around them. I don't want that to be me. I've never wanted that, even before."
Leafeon stops and turns to me. "Sit down, you dang tall fox." Tilting my head in confusion, I do as she says nonetheless.
My head now more or less level with hers, she approaches me and presses her forehead against mine. A clean, faintly floral scent fills my nose, and I can't help but let it soothe me.
"Like I said," she gently tells me, "you're too kind for that. Even though we just met, I can still tell that much. You're the kind of Pokémon I'd be happy to call a friend."
My mane curls gently around Leafeon, as if to embrace her. I close my eyes and lean into her, relaxing in her presence as I would in her namesake. "I think I'd like that too, shade of the old oak."
It scares me to think that my death may never stop hurting, not when the Pokémon I've become draws power from that pain. Even so, that doesn't have to be all I am in this new life. I can still find someone I want to be, and I can still meet new people, whether they be human or Pokémon.
I've already found someone who I want to call a friend. Someone who, even before I've truly gotten to know them, has made it easier to bear the pain. As new beginnings go, I can't ask for much more than that.
Based on the sentence and discussion immediately following this, I assume the given name here was supposed to be Zero, and not just the species name reiterated. I find it slightly odd that you/the SI would start as a Zoroark rather than a Zorua, being a newly born ghost, but interesting enough start otherwise.
Based on the sentence and discussion immediately following this, I assume the given name here was supposed to be Zero, and not just the species name reiterated. I find it slightly odd that you/the SI would start as a Zoroark rather than a Zorua, being a newly born ghost, but interesting enough start otherwise.
I think the point is that the names pokemon have are more context and information heavy. Kind of like how translating the exact meaning of the kanji is a Japanese name can become something of an entire sentence.
Her name isn't so much Zero, or the lack of of things, but more along the lines of the things that remained after the rest was taken.
A more literal English translation would probably be more along the lines of Remains, Remnant, Revenant, or Wraith.
I think the point is that the names pokemon have are more context and information heavy. Kind of like how translating the exact meaning of the kanji is a Japanese name can become something of an entire sentence.
Her name isn't so much Zero, or the lack of of things, but more along the lines of the things that remained after the rest was taken.
A more literal English translation would probably be more along the lines of Remains, Remnant, Revenant, or Wraith.
Ah, fair point. With the way it was formatted, I took the italicized bits as a description of the preceding name rather than the name and meaning thereof itself, but I probably should've taken my cues from the Leafeon's own name. Ignore my previous comment. ^^;
Ah, fair point. With the way it was formatted, I took the italicized bits as a description of the preceding name rather than the name and meaning thereof itself, but I probably should've taken my cues from the Leafeon's own name. Ignore my previous comment. ^^;
I think the point is that the names pokemon have are more context and information heavy. Kind of like how translating the exact meaning of the kanji is a Japanese name can become something of an entire sentence.
Her name isn't so much Zero, or the lack of of things, but more along the lines of the things that remained after the rest was taken.
A more literal English translation would probably be more along the lines of Remains, Remnant, Revenant, or Wraith.
I think you're able to get the idea across well enough that I probably don't have to speak up, but I do want to talk a little about the thought process behind Pokémon names being the way they are in this story, just because I don't think there's a reasonable way to do so in the story itself.
The idea came from a fanfic I read a while back (can't remember which one) where a Pokémon was talking about how they didn't know humans couldn't differentiate between, say, Pikachu and Pikachu verbally when they're clearly different individuals. Or something to that effect; the exact quote isn't really that important. Regardless, that's the core idea I started with: "each Pikachu's name is Pikachu, but they have a way to tell the difference between individuals when speaking." From there I realized I could riff off of Pokéspeak being just different combinations of the syllables in the species name. Despite Pikachu only having access to three syllables verbally as far as we know, it's not unreasonable based off of the context of most Pokémon media to assume that Pikachu can communicate complex ideas to other Pokémon by talking. I concluded that if there would then reasonably be enough different meanings for each possible combination and permutation of those limited syllables to have complex conversations, it wouldn't be too far-fetched for each individual's name to be their species name spoken in such a way that carries a specific meaning that serves as an identifier.
Our main character's name to (most) human ears would be Zoroark, but the way "Zoroark" is said conveys the concept "what remains when all is subtracted" to those who can actually understand Pokémon. It was tricky to figure out how I wanted to convey that in text, honestly. I think I did an okay job of it.
As for why Zoroark rather than Zorua...really, it's just that to my mind, Zorua is a baby/child stage. And I don't have any interest in writing a self-insert that has to go through early stages of life all over again.
Ooooh, I like this alot! And Zoroark get cool illusion powers I've always wanted to see explored and I always want more pokemon SI's AS pokemon rather than just IN Pokemon.
Personally, it made me think of gant, one of the supernatural colors from the Fallen London games.
Anyway, definitely enjoyed the first chapter of this. The main character's situation is a novel but very sharp variation on the isekai theme, and coming back as a Zoroark is... resonant, let's say, with the wisps of implication I'm scenting from your fictionalized self's cut-short backstory. Looking forward to seeing where things go from here.
This chapter depicts in first-person a depressive spiral, culminating in a suicide attempt.
If you want to skip over that portion of the chapter, it begins at 'I have to get away.' and ends at 'DON'T TOUCH HER!' Much of the rest of the chapter deals with the aftermath of those events.
Leafeon leads us on a detour to scavenge some berries before we meet her family, because her mate is, in her own words, "a little prickly."
"How so?" I ask.
"He always says I'm too trusting," she tells me with fondness, "and I always say he's too eager to see the worst in others. It comes from a place of love, though. There's not a lot Umbreon wouldn't do to protect those he cares for."
The inflection she gives for Umbreon is mercy of tooth and claw. I think I could see that name as ominous, if I so choose. I don't know how I feel about it.
"I'm hoping that if we come back with you carrying food, he'll be a little less inclined to assume the worst."
I almost ask why I'm the one carrying the food, but then I remember that I'm talking to someone who walks on all fours. That…is probably going to take some getting used to. At least it isn't as much getting used to as if I had come back as a Hisuian Zorua instead of a Zoroark. There's a bright side to everything if you look hard enough, I suppose.
The berries aren't hard to track down. The blue Orans are the most plentiful, and I nibble on one out of curiosity. It's a rather unique flavor, sort of like a blend of five different fruits I've never tasted. It's not as appealing as I had hoped. Still, I wouldn't say no to it. It might just be an acquired taste.
We range over a decent area and get a nice little collection of berries—a few Oran, with one or two each of Rawst, Leppa, Aspear, and Pecha. I worry out loud about dropping berries as I walk, and Leafeon assures me that we won't be going much farther. I wind up devoting my focus to balancing the berries, which turns out to be a good distraction. When I hear a pair of tiny voices calling out, "Mama's back!" I'm startled enough that I almost drop everything.
Two little Eevee rush out to tackle Leafeon, who immediately collapses under the adorable onslaught. "Oh no! I've been defeated!" she wails.
I can't quite resist joining in after Leafeon starts hamming it up. "Don't worry, I'll avenge you," I say solemnly, before dumping my armload of berries on the giggling pile of Pokémon. Human sensibilities might call this a waste of food, but we did pick most of these up off of the forest floor in the first place. I figure the worst that'll happen is that maybe they get a little squashed.
The giggling increases in intensity before the little ones get off of Leafeon. Careful to avoid crushing the berries, they run right up to me.
"Who are you?" asks one.
"Why did you come back with Mama?" asks the other.
Before I can answer, Leafeon stands and speaks up for me. "This is Zoroark," she says, using the species name rather than the inflection I'd chosen as my name. I shoot her a glance, but she continues speaking, starting to walk over to the three of us. "I found her lost in the woods while I was out, and she said she doesn't have anywhere to go right now. I told her she could stay with us for a little while. Zoroark, this is sunbeam," one Eevee perks up, "and flicker." More quietly, she explains to me, "The pups are a little young to get more complex names down properly."
That makes sense, I suppose.
"Are you sure about this, love?" comes another voice, and I turn to see an Umbreon following after the Eevee. His eyes flick over me in a way that makes me feel exposed.
"I'm certain," Leafeon replies, leaving no room for argument. "Now, we brought back some berries to share with everyone, so let's get everyone something to eat."
At that cue, I move over to the berries I'd dropped earlier, looking to Leafeon for direction. The two of us pass out berries to suit everyone's tastes—just Oran and Pecha for the Eevee, Rawst and Aspear going to Umbreon, Leppa and another Rawst for Leafeon, and a few left over. I pick through the leftovers and opt to take another Oran, the final Aspear, and a Pecha.
I decide to eat the Oran first, and while its interesting flavor hasn't gotten any more appealing to me, the surprise factor is gone, which does leave me with a more positive impression overall. The Aspear, on the other hand, is pleasantly tart. It's got a slight bite to it, just enough to add some pop without overwhelming any of the flavors. I like it quite a bit better than the Oran. Finally, when I bite into the Pecha, my mouth is overwhelmed with sweetness. I guess Eevee pups have something in common with human children, if they like sweet things like this. Personally, it's a little too sweet for me.
I look back around the clearing we'd met the others in to find that Leafeon's family had clustered a little bit away from me, with the two evolved Pokémon sitting a short distance from the Eevee.
After a moment of observation, I realize that Leafeon and Umbreon are whispering to each other. It might be a little rude, but I'm curious, so I finish the Pecha in a few quick bites and try to listen to their conversation without being too obvious about it.
"…smells of blood and death," says Umbreon as I focus in. "How am I supposed to believe that it's safe for our pups to be around this Zoroark?"
The haze in my mind abruptly thickens, and I lose all interest in the conversation. I glance over at the pair of small Eevee still happily munching on their berries. Is it safe for them to be around me? All it would take is one slip-up, one mistake when my emotions are running high. Sure, Leafeon said she didn't feel like she had anything to fear, but she's a grown Pokémon. They're still so little.
My thoughts begin to constrict, pressed in on all sides by the haze. It would be better if I just left, wouldn't it. Umbreon clearly doesn't care for me, and I can't risk becoming a danger to the pups. I can leave, and run, and get far enough away that no one can find me. Then, no one's at risk.
Before I can even consciously make a decision, I bolt.
The haze begins to encroach on my vision until all I can see is a pinprick in front of me. I don't know where I'm going, but I move as quickly and erratically as I can. I have to get away.
I run mindlessly, thoughtlessly, until something within me tells me I can stop. I gasp for breath, choking on both my exertion and the haze. Slumping against a tree trunk, I glance back, worried about pursuit but unsure of what I'll do if I am being followed. I'll…figure something out if it happens. I can't think straight enough to plan ahead. Shaking my head with a final sigh, I push away from the tree, only to finally notice a scent I couldn't mistake for anything else.
I know it's a terrible idea. I shouldn't do this. I follow the scent to its source anyways, as though pulled on a leash. I know what's at the end of this trail, and nothing good can come of it.
I find myself hunched over a body, staring through the strands of my mane at a familiar, lifeless face once more.
Why am I here again?
What compelled me to come back?
Is this what I have to look forward to? Constant reminders of everything I've lost?
Is that what it means to be a ghost? I didn't want any of this.
Why couldn't I have just gone on with the life I was living?
What had been so wrong about me finding a place to belong?
What had been so wrong about me having people I love?
Tears threaten to fall again. But before they can, I hear a sharp voice, laden with disgust.
"You are a killer after all, aren't you? This must have been your last victim."
All of my grief suffocates amidst the hopeless, venomous numbness that suddenly permeates the haze.
Umbreon had followed me. Mercy of tooth and claw.
Perhaps it would be a mercy. I don't know if I'll be allowed any other.
I may as well take advantage of that mercy now.
I rise once more, eyes bone-dry. There's a hateful flavor on my tongue, bitter and biting.
I give the face I used to wear one last look. She almost looks like she could be sleeping, if it weren't for the blood. Then I turn to welcome mercy of tooth and claw.
I'll join the rest of me soon. A lingering spirit, laid to rest.
I say nothing to Umbreon. Words won't matter. He's already made up his mind about me. Instead, I send a lance of Bitter Malice screaming towards him.
He can't quite dodge my attack, and a flat pulse of satisfaction surfaces when I notice that it doesn't seem to pain him much. It seems like I've remembered my type matchups properly: Dark resists Ghost, while Ghost is weak to Dark. This fight will be very easy to lose. All I have to do is make it believable enough that Umbreon won't hesitate to finish me off.
I attempt to leap out of the way of a Dark Pulse he fires back at me, deliberately moving more slowly than I know I'm capable of. I welcome the pain that lances up my arm, interweaving itself through the haze of numbness. Another Dark Pulse follows hot on its heels, but this time, instead of dodging, I simply power through it to reach Umbreon. Avoiding harm isn't my goal anyways.
Cold energy gathers over my claws, and I strike with my Shadow Claw at the same time Umbreon Bites at my shoulder. He barely grazes the flesh, mostly just getting a mouthful of my mane. I use the opportunity to shove him towards a tree with a shuddering wave of Bitter Malice.
A distant part of me notes that I've only taken a handful of attacks, and already I'm starting to flag. But the haze numbs me to my weakness. Whatever injuries I sustain won't change anything. My body will run itself into the ground before it slows or falters.
Shards of bark splinter away from the point where Umbreon impacts. Almost before he can begin falling, I slip through my shadow to slam him deeper into the wood. Instead of a scream, a Snarl tears from his throat. I fall away, the wall of sound slicing at me as it saps my strength. Good. I'd rather not risk taking Umbreon with me.
He darts towards me after just a moment of recovery, sounding a wordless yell as he Lashes Out. I let the first few blows hit me before I send him careening away from me in his fury, blindly striking at—
Incandescent rage burns away the numbing haze as Umbreon's attack sends my corpse flying.
"DON'T TOUCH HER!" An unearthly howl forces itself out of my mouth, and I can feel my vocal cords shredding under the force of my pain and anger and grief. Immediately, I sprint for my old body, to…protect her? See how badly she's harmed? I'm not sure exactly what compels me. But I do know I can't allow my corpse to be violated again.
I don't quite make it. Without the haze hiding the extent of my injuries from me, the pain hits me in full, and my legs suddenly refuse to bear my weight mid-stride. I try desperately to control the resulting tumble, but my limbs won't obey me. I skid to a stop with a mouthful of dirt and grass. When I spit it out, it comes out stained red and tasting of iron.
It takes far more effort than I expect to lift my head enough to look for my corpse. I can't even catch a glimpse.
What I can see, however, are my old self's glasses, lying in the grass just out of my reach. The lenses are slightly cracked, but otherwise intact. Part of me is grateful the damage isn't worse, but I can't suppress my hate towards even the slightest desecration of the person I used to be. Nor do I want to, if I'm honest with myself. It's what drove the haze away, and after that's faded into the background…I don't want to die again. Not anymore. I'm terrified of what I might do if it comes back.
I slowly, gradually, find the strength to lift myself enough off the ground to get a better look around. Where did Umbreon go? I can't decide whether I want to attack him again, without holding back this time, or try to avoid him. Either way, losing track of him could prove dangerous, given what I just tried to pull.
I've managed to find myself near a tree trunk, so when I don't see Umbreon immediately I ignore the resulting apprehension as best I can to laboriously drag myself upright against it. I may not feel like I can sit up under my own power right now, but I can make the tree do the hard part for me, at least. Once that's done I feel marginally better. I've got my back to something solid, so I don't have to worry about that direction. Just everywhere else.
Umbreon finally enters my vision. I can't read him. He approaches, moving with deliberate slowness as my eyes stay fixed upon him.
When his paw lands near the glasses, he looks down curiously at them. I can't help but speak up.
"Don't touch that," I rasp, then wince. I definitely did something unholy to my throat. "It wasn't yours to break," I continue through the pain. Anger continues to simmer. I don't know what I could do, with the state I'm in, but if he forces me to I will find out.
Umbreon looks back up at me. "Is that so? Who are you to say that?" he asks. There's no rancor in his voice. Just curiosity. I don't know if I buy it.
My gaze meets his unflinchingly. I tell him, "It was my body. Not yours."
I can feel a trickle escape the corner of my mouth, but I refuse to break eye contact. When his eyes widen minutely in surprise, then further in horror, I'm taken aback.
"You…you're a ghost? A fresh ghost?" he blurts. He isn't talking about the type.
I try to answer, but something blocks my airways, and I start coughing uncontrollably. It's agony. I'm entirely unsurprised by the spray of blood that emerges from my mouth.
A faint "Oh skies," escapes from Umbreon. If he wasn't covered in fur, I'm sure he'd have gone pale. "I…I'll go get something for that. Don't move!"
As he sprints away, I can't help but laugh silently to myself. "Sure thing," I whisper. "Not going anywhere."
- - - -
Umbreon isn't gone long. But he is gone for long enough that a patch of reddish mud has formed next to me. I've been spitting out as much blood as I can before I start choking on it again. I'm sure I must be a sight.
Carried in his mouth is a plump yellow berry I don't quite recognize. He offers it to me, and I take it in my claws. Rather than speak, I give him a quizzical glance.
"This should help heal the worst of the damage," he explains. This must be a Sitrus berry, then.
That's really all I need to hear. My rage has mostly faded now. What happened to my old body was both our faults. There's no point in holding a grudge over it. With that, and with how he reacted earlier, I don't think I have a reason to disbelieve him.
I bite down on the fruit. A cool, soothing flavor mixes with the iron tang of blood. As I swallow, I can feel the pain fading, at least somewhat. It's definitely not fixed, but I suspect I won't be in danger of choking to death anymore.
The effects afterwards aren't quite as pronounced as the first bite, but I finish the berry nonetheless. I'd still rather not stand just yet—I'm still quite drained—but I feel like I could if I had to.
I sigh in relief. "Thank you."
Umbreon barks a bitter laugh. "Don't thank me. I was the one who hurt you in the first place. I was the one who decided you had to go."
"And I pushed you further," I tell him bluntly. "When you followed me here…" I trail off, gathering my courage. He tries to get a word in edgewise, but that just motivates me to bulldoze over him with a forceful glare. "After you followed me here I tried to make you kill me. I wanted that fight. I wanted to lose, and die again, and be done with all of this. You were right, I am a fresh ghost. I may have just come back as a Pokémon today, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid enough to think I can win a fight against a Dark-type with only Ghost attacks." I take a deep breath. I can feel myself beginning to shake from the stress, but it feels strangely good to say it all outright rather than dancing around it. "Besides, the blood wasn't your doing. I don't know how I screamed like that, but I don't want to do it again."
Umbreon stays silent, and the pause stretches on uncomfortably. That gives time for a realization. Since he doesn't seem interested in saying anything more, and I really don't want to just leave us sitting on that, I decide to voice it.
"You…your attitude towards me changed very fast." There's a question in there, somewhere, but I'm not sure how to phrase it. So I leave that part unspoken.
Still, Umbreon chooses to answer it. "More often than not, I'm wrong about Pokémon I meet. I've gotten a lot of practice disregarding the first thoughts I have about Pokémon if I see something that doesn't match. When you suddenly dropped everything to protect that body—your body, you said—that didn't match. So I stopped." He's shifting uncomfortably on his paws, and his dark tone of voice leads me to another realization, one that I immediately wish I didn't have to face.
If I'd successfully goaded him into killing me, he would have had to live with that for the rest of his life.
I avert my eyes. They seem to fall on the patch of bloody mud of their own volition. The whole damn reason I started spiraling like that is because I was afraid of hurting anyone, and I went and did it anyway. Hell, what I did was worse than if I'd just lost control of my Bitter Malice.
"How could I have done that to someone?" I mutter to myself, sorely disgusted—and my head snaps back up to Umbreon when I realize we'd spoken in unison.
We stare at each other for a moment. Eventually, I shake my head, just a little bit amused at our synchronicity. "Maybe it'd be a good idea to agree that we're both at fault and try to start over?" I suggest. "I don't know about you, but I get the feeling that if we try to assign blame, we'll wind up going in circles trying to hog the guilt."
Umbreon sighs at that. "You're probably right. I just wish…well. I suppose I'm just glad nothing happened that can't heal."
I inhale deeply, and exhale as much negativity as I can. "So am I," I agree. I'm not really a stranger to suicidal thoughts. Not once in my old life had I actually tried to die, though. I'd always held out hope that things could get better. I think I must still have that hope, somewhere in there. Maybe once I've properly grieved for myself and for everything I lost, I might be able to find it again.
"So," I tell Umbreon, pulling myself out of my thoughts. "Let's try to let it heal, yeah?" I'm not just talking about the physical hurt, of course. I can see a flash of comprehension in Umbreon's eyes as he nods. Guess he agrees on both sides.
I haul myself back to my feet with no small amount of effort. I nearly fall over once or twice, but the tree trunk keeps me steady until I've found my balance again.
"Start over, huh? I don't know," Umbreon muses. "If you mean we should just ignore everything that just happened, I don't think I like that idea very much."
"Me neither," I admit, taking a few unsteady steps. "I suppose what I want to say is something more like, we shouldn't let what just happened weigh us down." I've managed to make my way to my old self's glasses, still lying in the grass. I take them in my claws. On a whim, I peer through the lenses. They make everything look staggeringly blurry, and even a little warped. "Was my eyesight really that bad?" I wonder to myself.
"What do you mean?" Umbreon asks, head tilted.
Lowering the glasses to look back at him, I hum while I think of how to phrase things. "It's like, you can acknowledge that something happened without getting mired in—"
"No," the dark-type interrupts with a flick of his ear, "I think I get what you meant by that. I was asking what you meant about your eyesight. Was that something you worried about in your human life?"
"Ah." I nod in understanding. "Yes, I was very nearsighted as a human. I could barely make out details unless something was right in front of my face. So I wore glasses to fix that." I tap the frames with a claw. "It's kind of nice to be able to see clearly without them, actually. I can't remember a time when I didn't need glasses."
"Humans can fix their vision problems with these?" Umbreon peers more closely at the glasses, and I hold them out so he can look through the lenses himself. "Why does everything look so strange through this?"
"Do you want a short answer or a long answer? I don't know all the little details, but I think I can explain it well enough," I say, flicking the arms shut.
"Let's keep it short," he decides.
"Fair enough. Do you mind if we move while I talk? I want to put these back where they belong." I try to keep my voice steady, nonchalant. I don't do a very good job. Honestly, I'm not quite sure why I bother outside of pure force of habit.
At Umbreon's nod, I sniff at the air. I was a little too discombobulated to realize before, but when I tried to look for my corpse after tripping I defaulted to human habits, trying to find it with my vision. I had a much better tool for that job. I've already used it once without realizing. I'm paying full attention now, though, and it's incredible how clearly I can distinguish between all the different scents my nose picks up. The leafy ambience of the plant life, a lingering hint of smooth sweetness from the berry I ate, a dense blend of night-and-cold-and-loam that puts me on edge—must be Umbreon—and…there. Amidst the medley of smells, a hint of death. Something about it soothes my nerves. Perhaps my instincts as a Hisuian Zoroark equate recent death with safety.
I open my eyes. My focus dims, and most of the scents fade into the background, automatically filtered out as unimportant. The hint of death remains in the forefront. It leads me towards a thick patch of brush. With a nod of my head and a flick of an ear, I gesture for Umbreon to follow. As I move, still mindful of my injuries, I start to speak.
"The thing about humans is that they're curious. Instead of being satisfied with the fact that something works, they try to figure out why it works. At some point, they found out that eyes have a transparent structure in them, a lens that's shaped to bend light in specific ways, and when that lens is the wrong shape, it causes vision problems. Are you following so far?"
"I…think so?"
"So, after humans figured out what these lenses are, they also figured out that they can shape glass to bend light in the same way as naturally occurring lenses. Glasses like these," I continue, indicating the object in my claws, "are frames that hold artificial glass lenses in front of humans' eyes, and the artificial lenses are made specifically tailored to an individual's vision problems. They change the way light comes into the faulty natural lenses, so that when both lenses are combined the effect is the same as a healthy natural lens. This also means that when someone with healthy vision looks through a pair of glasses designed to correct vision—"
"—everything looks wrong," Umbreon finishes, comprehension dawning in his voice.
"Exactly," I confirm. During the brief pause in the conversation, I gently move through the brush. I think I can see my corpse through the greenery.
"That explanation actually makes some things about humans make more sense," Umbreon says after a moment. "I do have an unrelated question, though, if you don't mind answering." At my nod, he continues, "The way you talk about humans seems a little strange. You talk like you aren't one of them. Why is that?"
"I'm not a human," I point out, not bothering to hide my confusion. "I'm a Zoroark." I don't want to say it aloud, but I'm wondering why that's even a question.
"You are now," he agrees, "but you said yourself that you weren't a Pokémon until today. Before today, you were human. When I evolved into an Umbreon, it took me almost a week before I really stopped thinking of myself as an Eevee. I'm curious about why you started considering yourself a Zoroark so quickly."
He's right, I realize as we reach my old body, sprawled out haphazardly on the forest floor. That is a remarkably fast adjustment, when he puts it that way. It doesn't feel wrong, though. I wasn't trying to force anything, it just came naturally. I immediately move to straighten out my corpse again so that she's lying face-up. As I gently set everything to rights, I consider the question. By the time everything's sorted out and the glasses I was holding have been returned to their rightful place, I think I've figured it out.
"I believe there are two main reasons," I say quietly, eyes still locked on my old face. "The first is that I never quite felt like a human. There were a few things that had always felt off about me, so there was always this distance between me and other humans. Because of that, my idea of who I was never really had anything to do with what I was. Being human just wasn't a part of my identity."
"That sounds lonely," Umbreon remarks. There's something in his voice I don't quite feel like deciphering.
I dip my head, unwilling to look back over to him. "It was, for a while. Eventually, I figured out how to reach across that gap to others. I made some very good friends. I already miss them."
I nearly start crying at the thought of everyone I'll likely never see again. The only thing that keeps the tears back is that I'm simply too drained.
I don't realize time has passed until Umbreon speaks up again. "What about the second reason?"
This time, I do turn my head towards him. I can't read any strong emotion in his expression, but I think I can spot a hint of concern. I meet his eyes for a moment. Once I've captured his gaze, I direct it with a sharp movement of my head back towards my old body. "The second reason is that I died."
Neither of us is willing to say anything else after that, so it's in silence that Leafeon finally finds us.
Of course, her immediate question is, "What happened to you two?" and it takes some time to fully answer her. Umbreon seems to find it as difficult as I do to talk about what happened between us, but when one of us falters the other is able to take up the thread. It's not an explanation that flows well. Occasionally one of us has to repeat or clarify something for Leafeon, but eventually we cover everything.
Once both Umbreon and I have both fallen silent, Leafeon inhales with a shudder. I can hear that she's doing her best to hold back tears when she exhales again. Padding over to Umbreon, she leans into him, nestling her head in the crook of his neck. "Love," she says, not so quietly that I can't hear, "mercy of tooth and claw, this is exactly what I was trying to talk you out of."
"I know," comes the low reply. "I'm sorry I didn't take the time to listen to you."
Leafeon presses herself into Umbreon more firmly before pulling away. She turns to me, but instead of speaking, she abruptly pounces. Caught off guard, I'm knocked to the ground. I land awkwardly, on the arm that got hit by a Dark Pulse earlier. A faint whimper of pain escapes before I can suppress it.
Once I refocus on Leafeon, I realize that she's sobbing into the ruff of fur at my collar. It only then hits me that Umbreon isn't the only one who would have been hurt by my death. Hesitantly, I bring an arm up to embrace her. There's a part of me that feels like I'm betraying my old friends by acknowledging what that means, but I know that more than anything else, they'd want me to be happy.
They'd want me to find new friends to hold dear.
It's that realization that cracks the dam. I hold Leafeon close and cry along with her until I'm too exhausted to stay conscious.
Hugs for everyone, man that's bittersweet in the most twisting way.
Woe be to the one who dares try something right now, because her malice is only going to grow from here.
Out of curiosity, are you going to do something similar on the premise of Chucky the Banette from "The Most Evil Trainer"? That is to say, that a ghosts grudges/malice/distortion can have more effect on their spooky abilities?
Hugs for everyone, man that's bittersweet in the most twisting way.
Woe be to the one who dares try something right now, because her malice is only going to grow from here.
Out of curiosity, are you going to do something similar on the premise of Chucky the Banette from "The Most Evil Trainer"? That is to say, that a ghosts grudges/malice/distortion can have more effect on their spooky abilities?
A good SI over on SB, tries being both realistic and also explore the more mystical side of things.
In essence, the Banette uses the move Spite with more power than otherwise, because she literally shoved the bad grudge she has into the move, making it notably more effective. Later on in the story she gets hit with Taunt, and that is proven to be a horrible idea for the other people involved since Banette are known for being incredibly unhappy of pokemon as a species, and intentionally pissing off something like that is not a good idea.
The way you described her emotions when she was throwing attacks around and how things went as she did them made me see some similarities.
A good SI over on SB, tries being both realistic and also explore the more mystical side of things.
In essence, the Banette uses the move Spite with more power than otherwise, because she literally shoved the bad grudge she has into the move, making it notably more effective. Later on in the story she gets hit with Taunt, and that is proven to be a horrible idea for the other people involved since Banette are known for being incredibly unhappy of pokemon as a species, and intentionally pissing off something like that is not a good idea.
The way you described her emotions when she was throwing attacks around and how things went as she did them made me see some similarities.
Oh, that's neat. It's not quite what I'm going for here, though I might keep that kind of idea in mind for the future. What I'm trying to do is portray Bitter Malice as less of a discrete move and more of an ever-present part of Zoroark that can be harnessed as a move (the haze that keeps getting mentioned in narration). It's kind of my justification for why no other Pokémon outside of Hisuian Zorua and Zoroark are able to learn Bitter Malice.
This seems like an interesting story. I'm gonna follow it. Things felt like they moved quickly in this most recent chapter, but it's still very good. I'm excited for more.
Something pushes at me. I can hear words, but can't quite make them out. It's all fuzzy and dark. Slowly, things become more clear, and I'm able to force my eyes open. They burn, in that specific infuriating way that tells me I probably shouldn't be awake.
I let out a muzzy groan, rubbing at the corner of an eye with the curve of a claw. Wait, a claw?
My muddled brain takes a moment to put two and two together. The neurons finally fire after a few false starts, and I jolt back to full awareness when I remember.
To my relief, this time I haven't awakened face-to-face with my own corpse. Leafeon is looking down at me, concern written heavily on her face. When I meet her eyes, a little bit of that worry drops away, but only a little bit.
"Are you okay? What happened?" she frets.
My first reflex is to reassure her regardless of the truth of that answer, but. Well. Some things about the person I used to be ought to stay dead, and that's probably one of them. I force that reflex down, only for the spiteful part of me to insist I tell her that of course I'm not okay, I died. That's also not helpful, and I'm a little annoyed at myself for even thinking of it. Leafeon's just worried about me. I don't want to lash out at her for that.
I wind up settling for my third answer. "I'm completely worn out," I sigh. "I kind of just want to sleep for a week."
The rest of the tension slowly drains from Leafeon's face. "That's fair," she admits. "You gave us a bit of a scare, falling asleep like that. I was afraid something might be wrong."
"Nothing beyond the obvious," I point out, tone dry. Then, processing what I just said, I look away with a huff. "Sorry. That came out a little harsh."
"What remains when all is subtracted, after the day you've had, neither of us would take it personally," she assures me.
"I think you're entitled to a little complaining," Umbreon agrees.
"Probably," I acknowledge. I sigh again, and begin to haul myself back upright. It's not as easy as it should be—I meant it when I said I'm worn out. "I think I should find a better place to pass out than this." I remark once I've managed to get to my feet. Something about the idea of sleeping next to my own corpse feels strange. Somewhat worryingly, it's not really a bad kind of strange. I don't really want to unpack that right now, but I should probably consider it later. Perhaps it's just something about being a Ghost-type Pokémon, or maybe it's more specific to ghost Pokémon that form after death.
I shake my head to dismiss that line of thinking before it can drag me along. I really hate that my mind goes off on tangents like that when I'm tired.
"It's not too far off of sunset," notes Leafeon, "and we probably should be going back now anyways. But it might be a good idea to stop for water first."
That's…a very good idea, I decide, abruptly realizing I'm parched. I haven't had anything to drink, and the juice of the berries I ate earlier isn't much of a substitute. "Lead on, then," I tell her.
We take a slow pace, and none of us bother to make more conversation. I can't speak for Leafeon or Umbreon, but in my case, I'm tired enough that it's taking most of my energy to just put one foot in front of the other. Trying to talk would genuinely just not work right now.
By the time I can see a small lake glittering through the trees, an orange cast has begun to encroach on the blue sky. I emerge from the treeline to see that we're not the only Pokémon at the lake. Not too far from us, a small group of Poochyena are roughhousing. One of them breaks off for a moment to lap at the water, only to pounce back on one of its companions the moment it's finished drinking. The Mightyena watching over them looks back at me with apparent disinterest. I meet its gaze for just a moment, then immediately turn my head back towards the lake. On the far shore, I catch a flash of cream-and-brown fur flowing back into the greenery.
As I approach the water, a hint of fear rises in me. The water is calm, and it reflects the sky clearly. I think I'm about to really see myself for the first time since I died and became a Zoroark. I don't know what, precisely, scares me about this. Maybe it's the idea of seeing a stranger in the mirror, or the thought that seeing my new self will make the separation from my old self feel more real.
Either way, I tell myself, it can't be any worse than seeing my own lifeless face. I take the last step forward to the edge of the lake.
…Really, it turns out to not be a big deal. I already know what a Hisuian Zoroark looks like, more or less, so nothing I see in my reflection is a surprise. It is something I've never seen in a mirror, of course, but there's no disconnect, no dysmorphia. It's just…me, if significantly more pale and fluffy than I'm used to. I'm visibly kind of roughed up, and I lick at my claws before I attempt to rub the blood out of the fang-like markings at the corners of my mouth. Now that I think about it, I probably should have realized I'd have this kind of lack of response. I've adjusted remarkably fast to thinking of myself as a Zoroark. Why would this be any different?
If it were someone else in my place, I muse as I stoop to drink, then they might have made a big deal of it. Suddenly not being human is something a lot of people would likely have problems with. It might be difficult for another person to adjust to a new method of doing something as basic as drinking water, centered around tongue movements that would simply not be possible for the old self, but I don't really see the point in focusing on it. I'm just doing what feels correct, and it works.
A thought strikes me when I finally sate my thirst, and I can't help but smile to myself as I draw back and lick stray drops of water from my lips. I guess I was just unusually prepared for this kind of scenario. After all, just like with anything else, reconfiguring your identity isn't as special the second time around.
Umbreon and Leafeon are already waiting for me, I find as I turn away from the shore.
"Feeling any better?" Leafeon asks.
"It helped," I say. "Still really looking forward to passing out, though."
"I'll be glad to be done with this day," agrees Umbreon.
I've never agreed with a statement more. I motion for the two to lead the way, and we continue in silence once again. As we walk, my eyelids get heavier until it's all I can do to haul myself back to full awareness every few steps.
I nearly run straight into Umbreon. When I overcorrect and start teetering the other way, I find that Leafeon is there to keep me from falling over.
"Thanks," I mumble. I shake my head sharply, then peer out from under my mane to find that we've stopped in front of a colossus of a tree. Deepening shadows threaten to conceal a hollow in its trunk, just large enough for me to fit, I think.
Right as I pick it out amidst the shadows, Umbreon slips into the opening. Steadying myself, I give Leafeon a glance.
"Our den's in there," she tells me. "Go ahead."
She doesn't need to tell me twice. Slowly, focusing on maintaining my balance, I squeeze myself through the opening. Or, more precisely, I squeeze my mane through the opening. I fit just fine, but my mane simply refuses to stop billowing.
The hollow in the tree seems like it will be more than roomy enough for all of us, but mostly in a horizontal fashion. It's not quite tall enough for me to stand upright. Thankfully, as it turns out, positioning myself on all fours as a Zoroark doesn't feel as awkward as it did as a human.
I look around, my vision keen enough to see clearly in what little light reaches us. On the far side of the den, Umbreon is fussing over his pups. Leafeon nudges me gently from behind, and I abruptly remember I'm blocking the entrance. With a murmured apology, I slink over to the side.
Any space in here will be as good as another to fall asleep, I decide. I move a little further to one side, away from the entrance, and curl myself up on the floor.
My eyes have just fallen shut when something small jumps on top of me. I raise my head a little and blink blearily, but it's too much effort to look around, so I just settle back down and let the Eevee crawl over me. Almost immediately, they start to burrow their way into my voluminous mane.
"Flicker," hisses Leafeon, "leave her alone! She's very tired!"
I weakly wave an arm. "It's okay," I whisper back. "It's kinda nice, actually."
Having a small Pokémon nestled in my mane feels right, like it's something that's meant to happen. I'm sure I read something about that, at some point, somewhere. Too tired to remember, though.
The sound of flicker's breathing evening out as she immediately starts to fall asleep soothes the last of my frayed nerves. I slip into slumber, relaxed and calm for the first time all day.
- - - -
I wake up when a tiny paw steps on my snout, just short of one eye. Almost without conscious input, I grab the offender by the scruff of the neck and pull them off of my face, gently pinning them to the ground. Then, I open the eye that wasn't nearly trod on to see a bewildered Eevee beneath my claws.
"Sorry!" she squeaks.
I don't respond, save to open my other eye, and she starts trying to wiggle free of my grip. I let her go. Through the faint moonlight filtering into the hollow, I watch her scramble over to Umbreon, Leafeon, and the other Eevee, all still sleeping together. She squirms in between her mother and her brother, and as I look on she falls back into sleep.
It's a peaceful sight. It makes my heart twist as it draws forth memories of nights spent with my dearest friend.
Bitter haze swirls in my mind, an almost hypnotic sensation. Time seems to pass me by as I look on, letting the memories of what I've lost pierce me over and over until nothing seems to exist but that pain.
I don't know how long it takes me to tear my eyes away. When I do, the haze recedes, leaving a dull ache in my chest and a creeping certainty that this wound will never truly close.
I start moving to leave the den, to get away from that painful reminder of a past I'll never get back, and I'm so lost in my own mind that I almost miss the sound of someone calling my name.
"Where are you going, what remains when all is subtracted? Is something wrong?"
Leafeon's quiet voice gives me a line out of my dark thoughts. I turn back to see concern in her eyes. I want to tell her, tell anyone about how much it hurts to know I've lost everything. About how it feels like anything could remind me of what I've lost, about how there's a part of me that wants to lose myself in that pain and how much that scares me.
The words won't come. So I just nod, a simple dip of the head. Even that feels like a titanic effort.
"Well, maybe it'd help to get back to sleep? I think you said you wanted to sleep for a week, and it hasn't been quite that long."
I appreciate the attempt to lighten the mood, I really do. But it doesn't quite work.
The hint of a smile that had appeared on Leafeon's face fades away, and she rises, careful not to wake anyone else. With deliberate slowness, as though she's trying not to spook me, she pads over to me.
I want to run. I've spent so much time feeling alone and miserable that it's become familiar. I have to fight myself to stay. It's a battle I've won many times before. It always feels like I'm rolling a boulder uphill.
I manage to stay put long enough for Leafeon to reach me. She looks me intently in the eyes, seeming to search for something. I'm not sure what she's trying to find, but when she finally blinks, something's changed in her gaze.
She takes a few more steps and brushes against my arm. The warmth of her touch chases away a lonely chill I hadn't known was there. As though compelled, I lean into that touch as she turns.
"Come here," she tells me, and begins to walk back to the rest of her family.
I hesitate for a moment, but I force myself to move regardless. After that initial hurdle, it's barely any trouble to continue.
"Go back to sleep with us?" Leafeon continues, settling back against her mate and pups.
This time, I'm the one looking for something in her eyes. It's easy for me to see the certainty there, her belief that she's doing the right thing.
I know I can't fully trust myself right now. I choose to trust Leafeon instead.
I set myself back down on the floor of the tree hollow. Leafeon places a paw over my shoulder, and I let her draw me into the side of the pile.
Almost immediately, a yawn pries my mouth open. I didn't realize it until just now, but I'm still so tired. I guess this was a good idea.
Warmth begins to spread through my body from the contact, and it isn't long before that warmth lulls me back to sleep.
- - - -
This time, when I wake, it's a gradual thing. I remain for a time, content and comfortable and half-asleep as my senses slowly come back to me. Eventually, I'm aware enough to register the presence of another body curled up next to mine, and my eyes slide open. The cast of the light coming into the hollow suggests that I've slept through the morning, and the stiffness in my limbs all but confirms it.
I shift slightly to work some of that stiffness out, and a small "Oh!" comes from beside me.
"Did you sleep well?" Leafeon asks. "You definitely slept a lot."
I glance around the hollow, noticing that the two of us are alone, and Leafeon supplies, "Mercy of tooth and claw is minding the pups today. I didn't want to leave you to wake up alone, and we both agreed that I'd be the best company."
"I…" The words get stuck in my throat. There's a lot I could say. There's a lot I want to say. But I'll start with this. "Thank you."
She smiles back, kind and soft. "I told you yesterday. You deserve to have someone to help you."
"It didn't have to be you," I say without thinking. Ugh, that's not how I meant that to come across.
"I know. But I don't want to be the kind of Pokémon who walks away from someone at their lowest when I could do something."
I shake my head minutely. "It didn't have to be you, shade of the old oak," I say again, "but I think I'm glad it was."
"I think I'm glad it was me, too."
Then, nodding to herself, Leafeon stands up to stretch herself out. I'm still just a little stiff, so I do much the same.
"Can we talk about yesterday?" I ask as Leafeon begins to move away. "I…I think I need to talk about what happened. I can't keep it to myself or it'll just eat at me." An idea pops into my head as I think through the events of yesterday. Before she can reply, I continue, "Besides, I said I'd like to call you a friend, and we still barely know each other."
"That does pose a bit of a problem," Leafeon agrees good-naturedly. "I suppose there is only one solution. But, ah, should we get some food and water first, then have that talk? I still haven't eaten anything today…"
Well, that sounds a little familiar. "That does sound like a good idea. Lead the way," I tell her. "I didn't keep track of where everything was yesterday."
"I don't blame you."
"Honestly, I don't blame me, either. Yesterday was…a lot."
We keep up a friendly back-and-forth as we exit the tree hollow and on the way to the lake. It doesn't take long for me to get Leafeon to admit that she forgets to eat when she's focused on something, not when I let her know that I've often forgotten to eat myself. ("That's what mercy of tooth and claw is for," she tells me. I say that I wish I'd had a reminder.) That shared annoyance immediately gets us wondering what else we have in common.
The answer turns out to be 'not all that much', but mostly because the two of us have effectively existed in completely different cultures for our entire lives. Leafeon's question of "What did you do for fun?" leaves me wondering how to explain the concept of video games to someone technologically illiterate.
After thinking it through, I settle on just saying, "I enjoyed reading and art." Which is certainly true, if a bit vague, so I elaborate a little. "I wasn't often happy with my life, so I spent a lot of time with fiction. Whether it's books and movies telling stories about made-up worlds, or paintings of places that don't exist, I've always liked seeing what people can imagine."
This all leads into a bit of a discussion on the purpose and meaning of art in general, somehow. Leafeon tells me over our meal that she used to know a Geodude that spent a lot of time making rock sculptures, but she doesn't really get why he bothered when they didn't look like much of anything. Which is fair, abstract art isn't for everyone. That Geodude probably was just creating for himself anyways, and that's more than enough to make it worthwhile.
After putting forth a token defense of abstract art, mostly just out of pride rather than any desire to convince Leafeon of anything, I admit that one of the biggest reasons that art drew me in is because I didn't know what else to do with myself. All my life I've felt like I needed something to chase after, and nothing I saw around me satisfied that itch, so I had to delve into the unreal.
Leafeon hums, deep in thought after I finish explaining. "I don't really know much about how humans usually live," she begins, "but I think a lot of them go on journeys when they're young, don't they? Why didn't you go on your own journey?"
That question halts me in my tracks for a moment. I want to tell her the truth, but…well, would she even believe me? In the world I know, Pokémon aren't real. The only conclusion I managed to come to, both from having become a Pokémon and from having found myself in a forest full of Pokémon, is that this has to be another world entirely. I also think that trans-dimensional travel is an established possibility in the Pokémon fiction I knew; something about Ultra Wormholes? But I really don't think that would be anything remotely resembling common knowledge. And then there's the wrinkle that not only do I not know how I got here, I don't even know how I died. The last thing I remember before waking up as a Zoroark was completely mundane; I was just coming home late after a hangout with some friends. I made it back to my apartment, put away my things, and then nothing.
"What remains when all is subtracted?"
I blink, pulled from my train of thought as my attention catches on my new name. "Hm? Sorry. I just got a bit caught off guard by that question."
I take a few rapid steps to catch back up to the waiting Leafeon, and we resume our walk back to her den.
"Is it a sensitive topic? You don't have to answer," she offers.
I shake my head, more for my own benefit than anything else. "It's…it's complicated. I'm trying to figure out what I want to say."
We walk for a little longer in silence while I turn the problem over in my head. As I spot our destination, I begin to realize that what's holding me back is the same fear of trust that's always been with me. To trust another with your secrets is to make yourself vulnerable to them. It means exposing parts of yourself you keep safe, and gives them a way to hurt you more deeply than anyone else, if they so choose. Yet, without that trust, any connections you make are weak, fragile things. Easily broken, and easily disregarded.
I said I'd like to be Leafeon's friend. I know that I should trust her. I want to trust her with this; I know it's the right decision to make. But the thought of telling her what I've not been saying makes me start to tremble uncontrollably.
I should just get it over with. No matter what happens, it won't be worse than the stress of the anticipation. I take a breath. Then I take another. I try to force the words out once, twice. On the third try, I manage to speak. "I didn't go on a journey because—-because there weren't journeys where I'm from."
Damn it. I still couldn't stop myself from holding back.
"Oh," she says. "Was I wrong about the journeys, then?"
"I don't think so." I shake my head again, more sharply this time. I take one more jagged breath and get to the point I was trying to reach. "Where I'm from, Pokémon are just stories. As far as everyone knew, they weren't real. So…things are different there."
I focus back on Leafeon just in time to keep myself from tripping over her. She's stopped dead in her tracks, staring blankly ahead.
"That…that doesn't make any sense," she finally says, turning to face me. "Aren't Pokémon everywhere in the world? Where could you even be from?"
I look away. I can't bring myself to meet her eyes. My throat seems to tighten, but I squeeze out the last thing I need to say. "I think I'm from a different world."
Silence.
I lock my eyes to the pattern of a nearby tree's bark, focusing on taking in every detail. I'm trying to keep myself from dwelling on the worst possible outcome. It's not really working.
"How does that even happen?" I hear Leafeon ask.
I tell the tree, "I don't know. There's a gap in my memory. I remember being at home, then there's nothing until I woke up yesterday."
After a moment, there's a sigh. "Well," Leafeon begins, "considering all of that, I feel like you're keeping it together pretty well."
I stop and turn to stare at Leafeon. 'Keeping it together' is about the opposite of how I would describe the way yesterday went.
"I'm serious," she insists. "You've been letting me help you. If you really just wanted to"—she stumbles over her words for a moment, but continues gamely—"to end it all after being taken from your home, then I don't think you would be here with me right now." She swallows heavily, taking a deep breath to compose herself. "I think you want to figure out how to make the best of an awful situation. And I think you don't know how to do that by yourself."
My gaze falls. She's right, I realize dimly. I don't know how to make a new life for myself here. But that doesn't mean I can't make a start of it anyway. I begin to speak quietly. "One of the best pieces of advice I've ever gotten is that when a problem seems too big to handle, it's best to focus on just one step at a time." I very carefully don't say who gave me that advice, but not out of a desire to keep a secret. I just don't want to think about how much I'm going to miss my parents right now.
"I think…" I pause for a moment, then decide to rephrase. "I know what my first step should be." I look back up at Leafeon. "I want to bury my old body. Would you help me do that?"
"Of course I'll help," she says confidently.
A thought occurs to me a little late, and before I can let myself dismiss it, I hesitantly voice it. "Is…is that a strange thing for Pokémon to do?"
"For some Pokémon, maybe," Leafeon concedes. "I don't think it's strange at all. Besides, you're the ghost. If there's anyone here who should know what to do with a dead body, it's you." She tilts her head slightly, as though a thought had just occurred to her. "Do you mind me asking why you want to bury your body?"
I shake my head. "Where I'm from, it's the usual custom when someone dies. The family and friends of the deceased all get together when the body is buried for one final goodbye."
Leafeon makes an 'ah' sound, but otherwise waits to see if I'm done talking.
After a moment, I decide that I do have more to say, and the words begin to rush out of my mouth, as though of their own volition. "I've always believed that every ending leads to a new beginning. I didn't want my old life to end, at least not anymore. But it did. So I'd rather not drag that ending out. I want to do it right." A few ideas that have been connecting in my head properly click together as I talk, and I finish, "I think I need to say goodbye to the person I used to be before I can start to move on."
She gives me a melancholy smile. "I think that sounds like a good idea. Is there anything special you wanted help doing for that?"
"No. I just don't want to have to do it alone." It's too fresh, too raw. I think I'd freeze up if I had to try to bury my old self alone, and I'd wind up putting it off for a long time. She…I don't deserve to be left to rot. I don't want to do that to myself.
Abruptly, my legs seem to almost buckle under my own weight. At the last second, I manage to stumble and keep myself upright. I'd been so tense, I realize, but I'm only really noticing that tension now that it's gone. I exhale a breath at the forest floor, one that's almost a laugh. I did it. Even through the fear, I did it.
I hear Leafeon move to my side. Before she can say anything, I forestall her concern. "I'm okay. I'm just…really relieved. It's always been hard for me to trust someone else," I say, and this part comes much more easily. "I spent so long pretending to be someone I wasn't. But it's hard to make friends when you keep yourself hidden like that."
"I'm glad you decided to trust me, then," comes the gentle reply.
