Borne of Caution - Act 2: Chapter 11

Act 2: Chapter 11

It’s a rare sort of day today, two days after Ninetales’ release from the Pokemon Center. For the first time in several weeks, Lee and Ninetales have been left to their own devices.

Brendan asked to borrow Grovyle and Octillery for a training exercise out near the base of Mount Chimney, and both pokemon agreed. After making some plans, promising to return before dark, and double promising not to work Grovyle and Octillery too hard since both are still on light duty, Brendan took his temporarily expanded team and set out.

Shinx, who is thankfully not fussing too much during the process of being weaned off of her bottle, is off in a deep slumber. She ate a little too much for lunch and quickly fell asleep to digest her meal. Lee returned her to her ball and placed the capsule in a pocket of his backpack, letting Shinx sleep somewhere dark, cozy, and quiet. She’ll be out for a few hours, at least.

Zinnia and Courtney are out together for some ‘girl time’. Lee is 99% sure the outing is Zinnia trying to get the Magma admin to slip up and talk about something she shouldn’t, and maybe 1% trying to get free drinks at a bar somewhere. The Dragon Tamer apparently has plans to begin their investigation into Magma’s recent activity tonight. She’s going to go out and eavesdrop in the usual dives that gangsters frequent, while Lee… is going to study up on how far his powers as an auxiliary peace officer go. First, finding out if he can request warrants, just in case Zinnia gets stonewalled on a lead.

None too thrilling, all things considered.

Since today is their weekly rest day in the cycle Lee has formulated for his pokemon, Lee and Ninetales have been left with some time to relax together, as their only obligation today is to meet with Moore at the Gym and allow the still unnamed move for Flannery to be copied. That in mind, Lee and Ninetales decided to go out and enjoy themselves for a bit.

Out on the streets of Lavaridge, man and fox cut through the crowds on the street with ease, as most part around them with excited whispers and awed smiles. Ninetales was the subject of stares before, but she’s a veritable celebrity now after defeating Ty.

The great vixen keeps her head held high and her prowling gait regal, but she can’t quite hide the smile that pulls at the edges of her lips. Her steps are still a bit ginger and if one looks hard enough, they can see where her coat is a little thinner in places, but the fading aftermath of her bout with Ty does nothing to diminish Ninetales’ mood.

Lee smiles. ‘Enjoying yourself?’

‘Perhaps a little,’ she admits with a sniff. ‘It was somewhat unwelcome before our match with Leader Moore, but now the attention feels appropriate.’

‘Lavaridge has a lot of immigrants from Kanto and Johto, and both regions have a long history with the Vulpix line. It makes sense that people would stare.’ Lee eyeballs a few shops as they walk, his eyes lingering on a tobacco shop advertising everything from traditionally Asian-looking pipes to fine cigars.

Ninetales follows his eyes and draws her lips back into a thin line. ‘No.’

A frown finds its way to Lee’s face. ‘I wasn’t going to get anything bad. Just a box or two of cigars for special occasions.’

‘Lee, my Beloved,’ she begins, eyeing him with a pained look, ‘you only have so long on this earth, and I want to savor every moment of it. I don’t want you to ruin your health, and I don’t think my heart could bear it if you perished before your time.’ Ninetales narrows her eyes, staring up at him seriously. ‘You already quit smoking months ago, so why go back?’

Quitting had been more involuntary than anything, considering how hectic the first few weeks of trainer life had been, but guilt still pokes a hole in his heart and Lee falters. ‘Ah… I forgot about that part… My bad, Love.’

The conversation falls into a lull and, although she tries to hide it, Lee can feel Ninetales’ own guilt gnawing at her. ‘You may have one box of your choice,’ she begins, her tone leaving no room for argument. ‘They’re to be saved only for special occasions like you said, understood?’

‘Nine, if it upsets you so much, then I’m fine doing without.’ Lee reaches a hand out and strokes her behind her heart-marked ear as they walk. ‘No skin off my nose.’

Ninetales leans into the touch with a content sigh. ‘Perhaps, but I shouldn’t have manipulated you like that. I knew what I said would make you feel guilty.’

Mulling over her words, Lee takes a moment to reply. ‘Maybe you did, but that doesn’t make your point or good intentions less valid.’

The fox huffs. ‘You’re infuriatingly kind sometimes.’

‘If I can’t have pity parties, then you can’t either.’ Lee meets her eyes with a smile as they walk past the tobacco shop. ‘I’ll pass this time. Maybe another time.’

Ninetales leans into Lee’s side, her warmth seeping into him just as much as her telepathic adoration does.

The pair separate and continue forward, pulled along by whims more than anything else. They browse the various merchants as they go, such as a flower shop teeming with Cutiefly, all busy pollinating the flowers within. The shop’s largest display is a colorful array of bamboo, grown by crossbreeding the plants with Berry trees. A liquor store they stop by proudly presents its locally made sake, a traditional form of rice wine. Ninetales is considerably more okay with alcohol over tobacco, so Lee buys himself some “Burning Spirit Sake,” the bottle of which features Ty the Typhlosion’s scowling, stylized face on the label. The third shop is what really captures Lee’s attention, though.

“Look at that…” Lee breathes as he and Ninetales step in through the propped-open door of Parlor Kaede.

All around them are racks of clothes and garments. Some are obviously common wholesale fare, but quite a bit looks to be handmade, especially since the bulk of the inventory is traditional wear like robes, kimonos, haoris, and other things Lee can’t rightly name. They’re artistic and eye-catching, but that’s not what has Lee’s attention. No, what draws his eyes is deeper inside.

Near the back of the store and behind the employee counter are a hard-working group of Spinarak, diligently overseen by an Ariados.

The Spinarak are spider pokemon sporting a size fit to send an arachnophobe into conniptions. The spiders are green with yellow legs that easily span a foot, and both the body and legs are banded with blue-black stripes. On the spider’s head are two large eyes, a pearly white horn, and fangs colored a threatening red. Despite being commonly called spiders, the pokemon only have six legs.

The rear wall of the shop is covered in a silken spiderweb of mammoth proportions. From the wall protrude a number of shelves off to the side, also covered in web. If a Spinarak isn’t hanging on the back wall, then they’re on the shelves, or sometimes under the shelves, parallel to the ground.

Some of the spiders are busy working the spinnerets on their abdomens, producing a steady stream of silk that they twist and roll up into wooden spools held in their rearmost legs.

Others are transporting full spools of pure white silk over to one of the shelves in the corner of the wall. They set the spools on upward-facing pegs before pulling the threads through a low-set bowl on the bottom of their workstation. With slow, careful tugs, they drag the white threads through the bowl, and the silk, now a brilliant color, is wound around another waiting spool.

‘They must have little pools of dye up there,’ Lee thinks to himself.

On an unused portion of the employee counter, a team of Spinarak are using their fangs like sewing needles, weaving spools of colored silk together to form a thick bolt of fabric. They’re even weaving a pattern into it! The current bolt they’re working on is a rich sky blue with purple flower petals.

In the middle of all the commotion sits the Ariados, one that must eat well with its three-and-a-half-foot leg span. Like the Spinarak, it is a spider of terror-inducing proportions. Its body is red striped with black, with yellow legs striped violet, and the same violet coloring its two eyes. On its forehead is a white horn, and its similarly pale fangs are easily as long as a man’s fingers.

The Ariados keeps a watchful eye over the efforts around it, shifting its attention around rapidly. Its legs pluck at the web every now and then, and with each pluck, some of the Spinarak heed unspoken orders and move to new phases in their work. The spiders all work together like a well-oiled machine, and Lee can’t help but stare despite the unease he feels from Ninetales.

“Quite something, hmm?”

Lee jumps and barely suppresses a curse when an unexpected voice speaks up next to him. He turns his head, taking in the owner of the voice.

Next to Lee, a short, elderly woman watches the spider pokemon work with a small smile on her face. Her visage is like that of an old crone, one so on-the-nose Lee has to wonder if that was her intent. With gray hair pulled back into a high bun, a drooping, hooked nose, half-lidded eyes paired with a self-satisfied smirk, and a lit cigarette in a long, stem-like holder in her hand, she must be aiming for the appearance.

The old woman turns her smirk up to Lee. “Captivated by my darlings, are you?” she asks, a pronounced accent most evident in how she says “dahlings”. “I don’t blame you. They’re masterful in their art, so much so that I’ve little left to teach them.” She chuckles and lifts her cigarette holder up, taking a long drag. Exhaling the smoke, she continues, “Ninth generation in a growing dynasty of silk-weavers, they are — and sweethearts to boot. They barely let their old master work anymore. It makes me feel useless.”

The Ariados on the wall seems to take offense at the statement, lifting its head and clicking its fangs in obvious agitation. It stares at the old woman with a hard, challenging gaze.

The elderly woman meets the stare with a raised brow. After just a few seconds, the Ariados concedes and looks away.

“Hmph!” The old woman nods, then returns her eyes to Lee. “Well then, boy. Don’t be rude. Introduce yourself and your companion to me if you’re going to be in my shop taking up space.”

Ninetales gives the old shopkeep a glowing red glare for the brusque tone, but it goes unnoticed.

Caught flat-footed, Lee blinks. “Lee Henson, ma’am. With me is Ninetales, my first pokemon and best friend.”

“Hmm…” The crone of a woman regards Lee for a moment, then Ninetales, deep in thought. Then her eyes widen just a bit, and she cackles a hair-raising cackle. “Ah! You’re the ones who toppled Mura! I remember.” She calms herself. “I am Madam Kaede, and you will refer to me as such in this store, understood?” Without waiting for a reply, Kaede sends a look of disgust at Lee… or rather, at his jacket. “What brings you into my store? Obviously not your sense of taste…” She reaches a gnarled hand out and pinches the worn elbow of Lee’s jacket. “Hoenn Civil Army camouflage? What are you hiding from? If I were in such an ugly, ineffective pattern, I’d be hiding from the mirror!”

Lee drops a hand onto Ninetales’ head and gently pets her, silently coaxing the narrow-eyed vixen to keep a grip on her thinning patience. “We were just browsing around Lavaridge, Madam Kaede,” Lee begins diplomatically. “I saw your pokemon at work through the window and my feet led me in. They really are quite a marvel.”

Kaede sniffs imperiously. “Indeed, indeed,” she agrees, looking the trainer up and down. Her disdainful face remains, but at the very least, the elder sounds less hostile. “I can tell that my shop has nothing for you.”

“You might be right…” Lee glances at the different racks of clothes on display, noting a number of garments clearly intended for non-human body plans. “Ninetales and I have been thinking about entering a pokemon contest just to see how we like it, and my first thought on that was to go for a more traditional look for the performance…” Lee turns to Ninetales, who blinks her red eyes at him. “Would you like a kimono, or maybe something else, Nine?”

‘I was under the impression that the trainer is the one that needs to dress up in a pokemon contest, not the pokemon.’ Ninetales punctuates the telepathy with a rolling growl in her throat and a snort, mostly so Lee doesn’t look insane getting answers from a mute fox.

“Yes, but the point is to show off the pokemon, not the trainer.” Lee crosses his arms. “Plenty of coordinators use accessories for their pokemon.”

Ninetales scans the racks of clothing, her mind slowly working. As she thinks, Lee can practically see what’s going through her head.

One part of the fox is skeptical. Her natural beauty is enough, she thinks. Besides, clothes are for humans, not pokemon. She’d only wear an outfit once in a blue moon anyway, and they would take up space the rest of the time.

Another part, one close to where their minds join, looks at the assorted robes and dresses with a measure of appreciation, imagining some of them wrapped around her. She’s also pleased by the idea of receiving a gift from Lee. The two sides clash in indecision briefly, then a winner is decided.

‘…I suppose one won’t hurt,’ Ninetales says with a nod of her head.

Lee smiles in reply. “I guess we’ll have a look around, then,” he says, looking back down at Kaede.

“Look around?” The elderly woman scoffs and tilts her head, peering at Lee like someone might a Slowpoke. She waves a hand around the store, occasionally stopping to point at the racks. “At this?” She shakes her head with an aggravated sigh and pinches her cigarette out between two fingers. “Darling, these are rags for tourists, barely even fit to be used as bibs for children.”

Lee raises an eyebrow and looks at the different clothes. They look great to him, with some of the more opulent robes boasting price tags of thousands of credits a pop. “Could have fooled me.”

Kaede hands her cigarette holder and the snubbed cigarette to a Spinarak who descends from the ceiling. The spider takes the wooden holder in his front legs and rises back into the rafters, vanishing from sight. “No,” Kaede declares. “I will not be besmirched by letting a Ninetales wear anything but true Madam Kaede. Come! Come!” she urges, stepping around Lee and walking towards a closed door in the rear of the shop.

Lee and Ninetales share a look, then follow.

Kaede leads them to the door, a sliding one made of wood, and throws it open. “Lloyd!”

Inside the room, a teenage boy with a Joltik on his shoulder jumps and nearly drops the bolt of fabric he’s carrying. “Y-Yes, Madam?” He turns, regarding the old shopkeeper nervously. The boy is young, bright-eyed, and looks like he wishes he was anywhere else but here.

“Make yourself useful and man the front. I have a client to see to.” Kaede waves the boy off.

“Yes, Madam!” Lloyd gulps and hastily jogs to the corner of the room, placing the bolt in his arms down next to several others, then slips by Lee and Ninetales in a hurry. As he goes, the Joltik on his shoulder blinks its four shiny, curiously intelligent eyes at them, as the teen slides the door closed behind him.

“Hmpf. Stupid boy,” Kaede mutters to herself. “He’ll be in debt forever at this rate…”

‘Quite a pleasant person, isn’t she?’ Ninetales’ words are like a concentrated stream of sarcasm right into Lee’s brain, thick and gel-like. ‘How a merchant can keep operating with such an attitude is beyond me.’

‘Perhaps her work is just that good?’ Lee spitballs. ‘In my experience, good artists are either humble as can be or so far up their own ass that they look like a human donut.’

The vixen smirks at the imagery.

“Now, where to begin…” Kaede mutters to herself, peering around the room.

The back room of Parlor Kaede is a tailor’s dream, with high shelves fitted with cubbies, all of which sport great rolls of fabric. One wall is dominated entirely by a pegboard filled with spools of silk arranged by color, and the opposite wall is stacked high with wooden boxes, each color-coded with a small sticker. What the colors mean is anyone’s guess. By an ancient-looking iron sewing machine are a number of mannequins, each made for a different body type. Several quadrupeds, a few human-sized ones, and even a more esoteric one that looks like it can have extra limbs slotted into its torso.

Looking up, Lee is only amazed further.

In the rafters are several more Spinarak, and with them are even more shelves of fabric and equipment. Seeing what the spiders are standing vigil around in the gloom of the unlit ceiling is a challenge, but the stark white web at the very top of the ceiling is plain to see.

“Hmm…” Kaede looks up as well and snaps her fingers. “A blank 15QM4M6 if you would, my darlings.”

A Spinarak from the rafters skitters to someplace out of view, then returns and descends on a thread of spider silk. A plain white robe, a white sash, a filled pin-cushion, and a rolled-up tape measure are all held in his legs.

“Thank you, darling.” Kaede smiles and takes the garments, tape, measure, and pincushion from the spider, who chitters and rises back into the ceiling. Then she turns her attention to Ninetales. “Come here, darling. Let’s begin.”

‘I’m beginning to rethink my choice…’ Ninetales grumbles, but she does as the old woman asks and steps into the middle of the room.

Kaede drapes the blank kimono over Ninetales’ back, holding the sleeves up so Ninetales can easily step into them. Then, reaching under the fox, Kaede pulls the kimono closed, wraps the sash around Ninetales’ middle, and tightens it in seemingly one movement. The whole dress seems to have been made from the ground up with a quadruped in mind.

“Yes, 15QM4M6 should be about right…” the old seamstress murmurs, securing her pin cushion onto her wrist with a strap. Moving like lightning, she takes various measurements across Ninetales’ body, sometimes marking the blank kimono with pins.

Lee leans back against the wall, content to watch.

Kaede moves with a deftness unfit for a woman her age, quickly marking the blank kimono and adjusting it, sometimes stepping away and asking Ninetales to turn. The blank kimono is then removed and placed on the quadrupedal mannequin before the seamstress requests another from her Spinarak, this time a ’14QM4M7′. The process repeats itself several times. Throughout his waiting, Lee notices that, for all her surly confidence, Kaede avoids so much as brushing one of Nine’s namesake tails.

With three blank kimonos marked, a Spinarak descends, providing Kaede with a color chart, one of different colored silks stretched over a wooden backing. The chart in hand, the elderly woman holds it to Ninetales’ fur coat. “Something warm and simple…” she mutters. “Yes, a red base will do…”

“We don’t get to pick the color or anything?” Lee asks, eyebrow raised.

Kaede openly cackles a mocking note.

After much debate with herself, Kaede nods and smiles. “Ah, this will be a good one indeed,” she says, undoing the sash around Ninetales’ middle and helping the fox step out of the latest white kimono.

“You’re certainly thorough, Madam,” Lee comments, stepping off of the wall and stretching. He pulls his phone from his pocket and checks the time. ‘Geez. Half an hour flew by in a flash.’

Kaede ignores him, instead shuffling over to the well-aged sewing machine, where an old notepad lies. Producing a pen from her pocket, she begins writing down numbers: a long, almost nonsensical string of them, and none of them seem to correspond with the measurements she’s just taken. After half the page is filled, she rips the page free, steps over to the wall, and knocks upon it sharply.

“I don’t mean to be a bother,” Lee begins, keeping his annoyance at being ignored in check. “But can we have an ETA for when the kimono will be ready? And possibly a quote before we actually commit?”

“Hush, boy.” Kaede clicks her tongue. “Your Ninetales will have her finery today. Don’t worry about money, either. I won’t gouge you like some might.”

The door to the tailoring room opens, and in walks the Ariados from earlier, scuttling up the wall and into the rafters, but not before he takes the paper in Kaede’s outstretched hand.

“Now…” Kaede’s eyes sparkle. “Stand back and behold!”

Ninetales retakes her place at Lee’s side, joining him in watching.

Ariados stands upside down above them in the middle of the web. He sticks the paper in his little pedipalps to the web and, not taking his eyes off of it, begins to pluck at the web strands with his legs.

All around the rafters, the Spinaraks suddenly move as one, skittering past one another in a frantic race to grab supplies.

Some rappel down to take bolts of fabric in two-spider teams.

Others take spools of individual thread.

Another team drags one of the quadruped mannequins to the center of the room, with one spider remaining behind under the mannequin. Reaching into the dummy’s belly, the spider twists some kind of mechanism that has escaped Lee’s notice, and sections of the mannequin resize themselves with the clicks of a ratchet.

The spiders all halt as Ariados stops plucking at the web. Then, like a conductor moving to the next movement in a symphony, the great red spider above begins his furious coordination anew. The whole time, Lee looks for the threads he knows must be connected from the web above to the working spiders, but they must be so thin that they escape the human eye.

As the team of Spinarak descends on the mannequin, Lee can’t help but let his jaw drop.

Fangs slice cloth like scissors and stitch like needles as a new kimono materializes from raw fabric and thread under the writhing mass of spiders. The Spinaraks seem totally erratic from the outside, but under them, a garment quickly begins to take shape on the mannequin, arrayed in reds, oranges, and white.

The well-organized discord of yellow legs and red fangs dominates the room for a solid fifteen minutes, and the entire time, Lee is transfixed at the scene before him. Even after months in this world, he’s still stumbling upon new surprises. ‘And I doubt it’ll be the last,’ he ruminates.

Beside him, Ninetales’ spider-induced disgust is stamped down and used as a stepping-stool for her own amazement, her mouth formed into a little ‘o’ at the end of her muzzle.

Kaede just glows with pride as her pokemon work.

Finally, the Ariados’ frantic footwork abates, and the Spinaraks all skitter away, leaving the product of all their hard work behind.

Before Lee can really get a good look, Kaede sweeps forward and urges Ninetales along with her. “Come, Darling! Come try it on!”

Despite her misgivings over Kaede’s attitude, Ninetales pads along behind the old woman readily. Trailing the fox, Lee can see her tails flick to and fro with excitement.

The elderly shopkeeper stands in Lee’s way of seeing Ninetales as she helps the pokemon into the freshly made garment. As she does so, more Spinaraks descend from the ceiling, crawling over to one of the cluttered corners and dragging a sectioned, rattan divider with them. The spiders pull the divider open behind Ninetales, showing off the sunset and blooming plains painted into it.

Another spider slowly drops from the ceiling, dropping a parcel of waxed paper into Kaede’s waiting hand. The parcel is swiftly opened, and although Lee doesn’t see what’s in it, he does hear the chime of a small bell.

Kaede murmurs to herself as she places something around Ninetales’ neck, then something else behind her ears. “There, perfect,” Kaede smiles and steps away.

Lee can’t help the awed smile that slowly grows on his face.

Ninetales as a species were obviously inspired by the kitsune of Japanese legend, and Ninetales’ new attire drives the point home perfectly.

Wrapped around her is a rich, red kimono the same shade as her eyes, edged in white. The rear is slitted in the back, allowing her tails freedom to fan out behind her, and on the lower section of the kimono are broad fall leaves, all expertly woven into the bold red with more subdued shades of orange and yellow. It’s all held closed with a sash of red, also edged in white, tied into a ribbon upon her back.

The front of the kimono is open to such a degree that it would be scandalous on a woman, but here it allows Ninetales’ voluminous tuft of breast fur to be presented, where it hangs a little over the edge of the neckline. On that tuft and around her neck is a necklace of thick red cord, and dangling from the necklace is an ornate, somewhat shield-shaped charm inscribed with kanji Lee can’t hope to translate. The charm is flanked by a pair of small, round bells, and hanging from the bottom of the charm itself is a pair of tassels, one white and the other red.

Finally, in the tuft of fur trailing down Ninetales’ head, a pair of hair sticks tipped with red gems are crossed inside. Bridged between them is a golden, fan-like ornament.

‘…Well?’ Ninetales asks. After a moment of slightly embarrassed indecision, she sits, fluffs her tails up into a neat fan, and turns her head in a pose. ‘How do I look?’

“Holy hell…” Lee breathes. “Okay, now we have to try a contest. You’ll knock the judges dead just walking onto the stage.”

Silently, Lee offers his vision to Ninetales, who reaches across the short telepathic band to see for herself.

The vixen smiles brightly, enjoying her new look much more than she expected, and positively loving how much Lee admires her. Her happiness only makes Lee’s own smile wider.

Before that smile fades or Ninetales gets a chance to protest, Lee quickly withdraws his phone and snaps a picture of the scene. ‘Wait ’till the nutcases on Fox Friday see this one,’ he sends to her, taking another vertical photo and setting it as his background.

Ninetales’ ears burn red at the thought of someone other than Lee seeing her like this. ‘Must you?’

The longer he looks at the beautiful fox, the more Lee really appreciates just how much his life is looking up… then his smile dies a horrible death when another thought hits him. ‘Oh shit. How much is this going to cost?’

Lee turns to Kaede, gulping. “So, uh, Madam Kaede? About the cost here…”

The old woman smirks. “For a specialty such as this? I don’t even listen unless a client has a deposit of ten-thousand ready.”

Lee feels his soul leave his body. Through Ninetales’ eyes, he watches his own face go white as a sheet.

“But…” Kaede continues, eyeballing the now-furious Ninetales. “Stop with the scowl, darling. Let an old woman have some fun,” she huffs. “I will only charge you for the materials today. It’s not every day I can design for a client who actually wears my work well, and unlike some others, I will tell you to your face that this is a marketing ploy. Tell others you were here, and I will consider the time repaid.”

A sigh of relief blows past Lee’s lips. Reaching up, he rubs his forehead. “Okay, so how much?”

“Three thousand credits.” Kaede looks like she’s barely keeping herself from cackling.

Suppressing the urge to hiss at the still steep price, Lee just nods. “I can do that,” he mutters, turning back to the door leading to the front of the store.

“Where are you going?” Kaede demands, a scowl taking over her wrinkled face. “Come here, boy! Before you go, you’re learning how to take the ensemble off of your pokemon, how to put it on, how to fold it, and how to keep it clean. If it does get dirty…” Her face grows stormy. “Dry! Clean! Only!”

Under Kaede’s watchful eye, Lee, who is kneeling at Ninetales’ side, begins removing the kimono from her for what feels like the tenth time.

‘We should probably head to the Gym once done here.’ Lee idly thinks, undoing the knot in Ninetales’ sash and folding it up. ‘Once the move is in Flannery’s hands, our obligations will be done there.’

‘We should.’ Ninetales agrees. ‘I’m sorry that this ended up being so expensive,’ she then apologizes, remorse soaked into each word.

‘It’s for you, so it’s worth it.’ Lee sends back without a moment’s delay.

Ninetales turns her neck and licks her trainer across his scarred cheek.

‘I swear this is taking much longer than before,’ Ninetales complains, crossing her red eyes to glare at an errant wire hanging in front of her nose.

In the sitting room of the Lavaridge Gym and once more in the company of Mura Moore and Flannery, Lee and Ninetales wait as the old, briefcase-bound TM copier belonging to the Moores copies Flannery’s custom fire move from Ninetales. Just like before, the old headband fitted with pitted electrodes and disintegrating wires is just barely hanging onto Ninetales’ head, and she’s none too pleased with how it’s mussing up her head tuft.

She was much happier outside showing off the unnamed Fire move to a starstruck Flannery.

‘It’s copying a more complex move, Love, and this thing looks like it’s on its last legs…’ Lee eyeballs the TM copier, swearing to himself he sees thin wisps of blue smoke rising from it. From the sitting room table, Lee raises the teacup Moore poured for him as everyone was seated. Taking a sip more out of politeness than enjoyment, he sets it back down. ‘I’ll fix up your fur afterward.’

Ninetales just silently fumes in response. The new, three-thousand-credit outfit neatly folded in Lee’s backpack keeps her mood from getting too foul, however.

‘I’ll need to get something for Grovyle and Octillery. I’d get something for Shinx, but I don’t think she’s at the age to appreciate much beyond toys and attention,’ Lee thinks. ‘I love you, Ninetales, but it’s not super fair to them if I give you an expensive present and don’t give them the option too.’

‘Well, I’m not about to be jealous,’ she scoffs. Even while focusing on the unnamed Fire move, Ninetales’ telepathy is smooth enough for her to hold a seamless conversation. ‘Grovyle would want something practical, like a TM or a new host for his Miracle Seed, since his neckerchief was burned to a crisp. Octillery…’ Ninetales stops. ‘Well, I can’t rightly say. I don’t know him well enough yet.’

“-Damndest thing, don’t you agree?” Moore finishes with a rueful shake of his head.

Lee nods along, hiding how he spaced out mid-conversation with the older trainer. “Certainly…” he agrees. “Ah, I never asked. How is Ty doing, Leader Moore?”

Moore smiles. “He’s been recovering well. It’s taking him some time, considering his age, but he came home early this morning and is plenty happy. I did get an official advisory from the Pokemon Center that Ty should be retired from battle, lest he suffers an injury that he cannot heal from,” Moore sighs, content, while Lee has to hold back a grimace. “In return for his send-off, I feel as if I owe you a tip for your next Gym. You said you intend to challenge Norman next?”

Lee nods. “Yes. We’re taking a detour up north, then circling around to Mount Chimney’s western flank, so it likely won’t be for… two or more months, I think.”

Moore hums and strokes his chin with a forefinger and thumb. “Hmm. That time to prepare is a double-edged sword, you know. Norman is regarded as one of the best, most balanced trainers in all of Hoenn, and youngsters always complain that he’s their biggest roadblock. Norman suffered a particularly humiliating defeat at the hands of a young trainer named Tyson recently, and that embarrassment will only compel him to prepare even more for you and young Brendan.”

‘Tyson? The same one we battled in Mauville?’ Lee wonders to himself. A thrill of apprehension runs down Lee’s spine. “Really? Surely it couldn’t have been that bad?”

“This Tyson guy beat Norman’s Slaking with a Metagross…” Flannery answers in her grandfather’s stead.

Ninetales raises her head sharply, and another shiver, one much colder, runs down Lee’s spine. “A Metagross?” Lee asks weakly.

Flannery shifts uncomfortably on her cushion, perhaps thinking of facing off with Tyson herself. “And it wasn’t an even fight, either…”

“Even Steven was surprised to hear this young Tyson fellow has a Metagross,” Moore clicks his tongue. “Nasty things, Metagross. To earn the loyalty of one is an ordeal in of itself, for to a Metagross, all but the brightest humans are retarded children-“

“Grandpa…”

“-Slow children, I mean,” Moore clears his throat. “No pokemon such as that would willingly partner itself to anyone but a trainer with true talent. The only other Metagross trainers I can think of are Steven and that girl who runs the Battle Tower, Anabel.” The old Gym Leader raises his cup of tea for a sip. “Be wary, boyo. The Conference this year is going to have stiff competition.”

Lee sighs. “Wonderful…”

Metagross is right up there with Ninetales on the “rare and dangerous” pokemon chart, as Lee discovered during his research frenzy prior to Ninetales’ evolution. Being both physical and psychic powerhouses with an IQ that can’t be accurately measured with human methods, they’re nightmarish pokemon fit only for extraordinary trainers. Their gestalt physiology only makes it worse, as Metagross are born from the union of four individual Beldum or two Metang. The fusion of different minds makes predicting the gestalt thoughts of a Metagross nigh-impossible. Not many people can cope with the weight and mind games of a pokemon who is for sure more intelligent than they are.

“Anyway,” Moore sets his teacup down with a clack. “Be ready for Norman, my boy. Family life might have slowed his growth, but it’s done nothing to weaken his pokemon. Norman and his team at their fullest will be your first real taste of an Elite. There is no surefire counter for him, and he’ll be getting his team ready for you. If he can rouse Slaking for your battle…” Moore slips his glasses off and cleans the lenses against his shirt. “Well, it’ll be a fight for the books.”

With a tired hum and the whine of an old electrical capacitor, the TM printer finally slows to a stop and spits out a TM disk from its side port. Once the printer chugs to a stop, Ninetales wastes no time shaking her head and dislodging the wired headband, which gracelessly falls to the floor.

“Ah!” Moore smiles and takes the disk, placing his glasses back on as he does so. Turning to his now-grinning granddaughter, he hands the disk to her. “There you are, my dear. One custom pokemon technique.” Moore turns back to Lee and Ninetales, bowing his head. “Lee, Madam Ninetales, I believe that concludes our deal. Thank you for taking the time to develop this technique and provide my oldest partner some closure on his career when I so rudely forced it upon you.”

Pushing thoughts of Gym battles and year’s-end tournaments away, Lee smiles back and inclines his own head. “No no, thank you, Leader Moore, for the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity with your Fire Stone. I’m aware of the danger associated with mining such a pure stone out of Mount Chimney, so Ninetales and I will remember this.”

Moore waves them off. “It’s no issue, my boy.”

Flannery bows her head as well after she tears her eyes away from the disk in her hands. “T-Thank you, Lee.”

“Not a problem at all,” Lee returns. “Ah, a quirk of that move to be aware of; don’t modulate the power too much. It’s made very deliberately, and overloading just causes a backfire.”

“Of course, will do!” Flannery nods her head rapidly. She’s bouncing in her seat like a little girl, clearly eager to use the TM she’s holding like a treasure on one of her pokemon.

With one final incline of his head, Lee rises with Ninetales following along. “Thanks again, and we’ll be sure to visit next time we’re in Lavaridge.”

Moore guffaws. “Glad to hear it, my boy! Glad to hear it! You’re a friend of clan Moore, so stop by any time!”

After a final farewell, Moore and Flannery walk Lee and Ninetales to the front of the gym, leading them past the repair crews doing final checks on the building following the damage caused by Ninetales and Ty. Once outside, Lee and Ninetales start back towards the town proper.

‘So a Metagross, huh?’ Lee frowns and kicks a rock on the dirt road as they walk. ‘You know, I only just realized I haven’t really done any research on anyone in the circuit. Not even the Gym leaders.’ Now that he realizes it, it seems like a really foolish mistake. Andre nearly had them, Tyson and his Donphan didn’t even break a sweat against Grovyle, and the win against Wattson’s unexpected combo in Mauville was narrow. ‘Fuck me, I feel stupid. Brendan does it all the time and I barely even pay it any mind. Does he think I’m some kind of arrogant ass for walking into battles unprepared?’

‘Don’t put yourself down over it, Beloved,’ Ninetales says sharply. She stares up at him with hard, ruby eyes. ‘This is a failure upon me as well. I should have thought of trying to predict our foes beforehand, too.’

‘Love, I’m the trainer, and you’re pokemon; it’s not on you at all.’

‘A typical pokemon-trainer relationship does not apply between you and I, remember?’ The kitsune raises an eyebrow. ‘As a pokemon who practically lives within the mind of a human, as your partner, it’s my duty to do all I can for you. I’ve been just as foolish here to overlook such a simple thing as well. Besides, you have your own interests and studies to pursue, so I refuse to fault you. I know Grovyle doesn’t either.’ She blinks. ‘I already feel your argument brewing, so shush.’

‘Well…’ Lee flounders after being shut down. He eyes a Pachirisu enjoying an Oran in a distant tree. ‘Okay, fine. What do we do then?’

‘We simply do better. Together.’

Lee runs his hand down the side of Ninetales’ neck. As usual, the silky fur soothes his nerves. ‘We’ll do better from now on. Together.’ he agrees.

With Lavaridge proper still being a number of minutes away on foot, Lee withdraws his phone from his pocket, sorts through his emails, then dives into BattleNet. At his side, he can feel Ninetales perk up as she, too, takes in what he reads.

BattleNet is a true behemoth of a website, being a bastardized hybrid of a forum, wiki, chatroom index, and social media site, but even then, Lee only needs to search for his name and scroll to the earliest result to find the “Newcomers to look out for” thread in the Hoenn board. There, he finds Tyson, Andre, himself, Brendan, Ash, and a few names he doesn’t recognize. The only profiles he’s looked at in depth are his own, Brendan’s, and Ash’s.

…Or rather, he looked at what little was available on Ash. The young trainer’s profile, particularly his activity tracker, is sparse to the point of being useless. A number of his larger, hyped-up moments are captured for all to see, like his performance in Gyms and tournaments, but everything in-between is blank. The fact that the edit history of his profile is dominated solely by site admins is also suspect, enough to trip Lee’s finely-tuned ‘internet bullshit’ detector.

‘Considering his Legendary encounters, that’s to be expected, is it not?’ Ninetales questions despite already knowing the answer.

‘Yes, I’m just a little exasperated that shadowy government shenanigans are a thing here, too. I should have guessed, considering the almost feudal-style laws and wobbly power structure between government and trainer.’ Rolling his eyes, Lee skims the profiles of the most notable trainers running the Hoenn Gym circuit this year, reminding himself to dive deeper later. ‘At least government suits are less inclined to fuck with people this way.’

‘With good reason,’ Ninetales giggles, blowing a little tongue of flame.

As they pass into Lavaridge, Lee puts his phone away as a pang of hunger gnaws at his… No, wait, that’s Ninetales’ hunger he’s feeling. His own is there, but not quite as intense. ‘How about an early dinner?’ Lee eyes a few restaurants they pass. ‘I saw a traditional-looking asian grill place down the road. Also, are you getting enough to eat in a day, Love? We can up your calorie count if it’s too low.’

‘I’m fine with my current amount,’ Ninetales insists. ‘I feel like a Grumpig already with how much you feed me.’

‘Yet, you eat it all each time.’

‘I’m not going to waste your time and effort by not,’ the fox grumbles. ‘Being a bit hungry isn’t enough to warrant a diet change.’

‘Okay, okay,’ Lee gives in. ‘So, do you want to stop for an early dinner? I think we deserve a treat.’

‘My telekinesis still needs work before I can use silverware…’ Ninetales’ unspoken ‘I don’t want to look undignified by eating right off the plate’ is plain. Just as plain is the slightly bitter frustration at her lack of control.

‘Well…’ Lee scratches his chin, fingernails rasping against his stubble. He needs to shave tonight. ‘I’ll feed you, then.’

There is a flash of surprise from the fox, then a smirk crosses her muzzle. ‘Beloved, you worry over people getting the wrong idea about us, yet you take me out for a private excursion, buy me expensive clothes, then offer to take me out to dinner, and offer to hand-feed me at that. Why, you treat me better than you have any of your past girlfriends!’

Lee doesn’t blush at the tease, merely rolling his eyes. ‘Har har. Let’s skip that and just get married, then. It already feels like we’re there. Hell, I’m already at the stage where I can fall back asleep in hardly a minute when you get up to pee at two in the morning.’ He smirks back at her. ‘Oh and, Love? You don’t need to crawl over me to get out of bed.’

The comment earns him a sharp nip on his pinky finger, along with a telepathic mix of exasperation and fondness. ‘Then stop taking the side closer to the bathroom.’

Theatrically waving his ‘wounded’ hand in faux indignation, Lee chuckles and pulls Ninetales into a one-armed hug. She smiles in turn and nuzzles her head into his stomach.

“Hey, Lee! Is that you?”

With a blink, Lee releases his fox as both turn around, facing the young-sounding voice calling from behind.

There in the street are Ash, Pikachu, May, Max, and Brock, all of whom are smiling at him. Ash, Brock, and Pikachu’s smiles are swiftly traded for surprise when they see Ninetales.

‘And here I thought today would be peaceful,’ Lee silently laughs at himself for ever having a hope like that. Outwardly, he clears his throat and smiles. “Hey, everyone. Long time no see. Did you just blow into town today?”

Ash recovers the fastest, putting a bright grin on his face. “Sure did. We just came in from the Valley of Steel, and boy, what a hassle that was.” On his shoulder, Pikachu nods along with Ash’s words. Ash turns his attention to Ninetales. “Wow, Vulpix evolved!” he exclaims, eyes wide and cheerful. “When did that happen?”

“Two, almost three weeks ago,” Lee says, stroking Ninetales’ head with his hand. Looking at Ash’s friends, Lee notes Brock’s hands on May and Max’s shoulders, keeping the sibling pair from getting much closer.

“I’ve never seen a Ninetales in real life before,” May gushes, seemingly not noticing Brock’s hand. She pulls out her pokedex and points it at Ninetales, who watches with a quirked brow.

“Ninetales, the Fox Pokemon,” begins the droning voice of May’s pokedex. “Intelligent and vindictive, these long-lived pokemon never forget a grudge. Legend has it that these pokemon will lay a 1000-year curse on anyone who grabs one of their tails.”

May’s smile becomes fragile. “Huh. Interesting stuff…” she laughs nervously and puts her pokedex away.

‘Whose idea was it to put the stupid little intro on ‘dex scans?’ Lee shakes his head and continues stroking Ninetales. “Don’t let the pokedex blurb scare you too much, there is a lot of misinformation out there on Ninetales as a species.”

Ash nods along. “Of course. There’s no such thing as a bad pokemon.”

‘Not the phrase I would have used, but I have to compliment the attitude.’ Lee perishes the thought and continues. “I’d say half of what you hear isn’t right. Here’s an example…” Lee takes the hand that was stroking Ninetales along her head and snatches one of her tails, letting the tip wiggle in faux distress.

Brock inhales sharply, and both May and Max freeze in fright. Ash and Pikachu only seem a bit surprised as their eyes widen in-sync. More than one person on the street stops to watch with bated breath.

After a moment, Lee lets the tail go, and Ninetales returns the errant tail to its fan formation with its sisters. “See?” Lee gestures at himself. “No curse. Just don’t repeat the stunt because while the curse isn’t real, the teeth and fire very much are.”

At that moment, Ninetales’ hunger makes itself aware again with a phantom pang, so Lee moves the conversation along. “Ninetales and I were actually about to find a place to eat. If you kids want to join us, you’re welcome to come along. My treat.”

Lee can already feel Ninetales mentally grumbling; having guests means no more dating jokes.

As with many groups of children, the possibility of danger is forgotten at the mention of free food. As one, all of them perk up.

“I did it…” Kirlia breathes, gasping and panting for air as he looks down at himself. “I did it!”

Corvisquire is treated to the nauseatingly sweet sight of Wally and Ralts – now Kirlia – embracing and spinning in a circle, laughing and practically leaping for joy. In his perch in a tree just above the green-headed brat and the newly evolved Kirlia, Corvisquire sighs to himself and allows the two of them to enjoy themselves for a moment.

For several weeks the pair have been growing like weeds in terms of skill and power. Corvisquire would suffer no weaklings under his wing, and to his grudging approval, Wally and Kirlia learned quickly Corvisquire would throw problems their way — usually in the form of attacks — they adapt, then rinse and repeat. A brutal, but effective way to train.

The boy proved himself to have something of a brain, studying the art of pokemon training in his spare time. He and Kirlia sync up well with his pokemon’s telepathic talent, now to the point that Wally only needs verbal cues for the most complex of instructions.

Kirlia, meanwhile, has been trodding down the route of the patient opportunist. He would duck, dip, dive, block, and sometimes Teleport to keep out of harm’s way, then strike when the iron was hot. His attacks, while impressive looking, do little to Corvisquire’s steely feathers. Other pokemon are not so fortunate.

In their time training, Corvisquire did set out to possibly find another foe, one mighty enough to trigger his evolution, but alas, no such adversary was found. His evolution is so close, too! That black armor, the sheer strength! It could be his if Verdanturf wasn’t filled with such weak pissants!

What’s worse is that the Pokemon Rangers are becoming a nuisance. Evading their patrols is pathetically easy, as no League dog has the brains required to match him truly, but their persistence is irritating. He needed only to eavesdrop by an outdoor area of the local ranger office to overhear why they’re so doggedly insistent.

A new bulletin went out for him, one stating that he is now a high-priority capture. At first, Corvisquire was confused. He heard the news a full day before his Dawn Stone heist. Then he was furious at the news, at the realization that the scarface’s kind facade had finally fallen and that he was pulling rank in the Pokemon League to take Corvisquire back.

Corvisquire was mad that the illusion of choice was just that: an illusion.

He was rancorous for over a day when another thought struck him.

Could it be that he’s a high priority for some other reason? Maybe…

Then it hit like a blow to the stomach.

The death of the scarface’s whole world. He, Corvisquire, is privy to that poisoned knowledge. He knows it happened, and he knows nuclear energy can somehow be harnessed and turned into bombs. To kill a whole world, one would need to be on equal footing with Arceus.

The illusion of scarface’s kindness returned, but another shadow was cast over Corvisquire. If he is captured by the Rangers, he will never see the light of day again, not unless he lets a Psychic root around his brain and erase whatever they please.

The pilfered Dawn Stone hidden in his nest and the fury of the warehouse security seems like the least of his worries now.

The raven pokemon sneered at the memory. The blindspots the warehouse left in their camera array were atrocious, and seriously, wafer locks to keep the precious stone containers secured? He got in and out with no issue and the crudest of tools.

“Mister Corvisquire? Are you okay?”

Corvisquire is pulled from his spiraling mood by Kirlia, who looks up at him with worried eyes.

The little fool’s hair is shorter than normal, and his ‘skirt’ is more like a waistcloth, marking him as a male of his kind, but by Almighty Arceus, the big Rockruff eyes make him an eyesore.

“Worry about yourself,” Corvisquire gruffly replies. “Go and rest. Return tomorrow, and we will begin further refinement of your powers. You’re still piss-poor at defending from overhead attacks, and that’s unacceptable.” When the pair don’t move, Corvisquire raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been dismissed, idiots. Go home. That wasn’t a suggestion.”

The brat and the psychic meet eyes for a moment, then Kirlia gulps and looks back up. “B-But something is bothering you, and we want to help.”

An amused snort is Corvisquire’s answer. “How cute.” He shakes his head. “Begone. You are no use exhausted, and I wish to be alone. I have things of my own to be doing and you’re cutting into that time.”

Kirlia actually has the audacity to shake his head, wincing as he does so. “No. I can feel it. Something is bothering you.”

Corvisquire’s amusement drains away in an instant, replaced with a prickling irritation. “You were ordered to leave, fool,” Corvisquire clacks his beak. “The hatchling that bites the beak that feeds is a hatchling that will learn a harsh lesson. Remember that.” The raven raises his beak and stares down menacingly. “Is that a lesson you’re ready for?”

Kirlia shivers on his feet, and Wally begins to look pale, but Kirlia’s sad, simpering look seems to redouble itself and he opens his damn mouth again. “Do you miss your trainer? It wasn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself for someone else getting sick!” Kirlia slaps his hands over his mouth, aghast at his own words and seemingly surprised that they came out at all.

Corvisquire’s mind goes blank. In his ears, he hears a sharp keen, and at the edge of his vision, a red haze begins to form. How does he know? How does he know? How does he know?

“Nothing can be done.”

“Nothing can be done.”

“Nothing can be done.”

“You can’t do anything.”

“I do not know how you came to find that knowledge,” the raven begins, his words halting and so hate-filled that each one quivers. He turns his red eyes down, staring at Wally and Kirlia like Giratina himself. “I do know one thing for certain, however.”

Both the child and pokemon openly quake. In their eyes is fear, and Corvisquire drinks it in.

Wally palms the inhaler in his pocket, pulling it free and taking a puff. The action almost snaps the raven out of his murderous haze.

Almost.

“I know that thirty seconds is all I will give you,” Corvisquire growls. There is a tiny pop and a flash of pain, and Corvisquire knows he chipped his beak from clenching it so hard. “Thirty seconds to run and meditate on your mistake before I teach you both about the chick who bit the beak that feeds. Go now. Time. Is. Wasting.”

Both younglings turn tail and flee through the brush of the clearing, and in his head, Corvisquire begins to count down. Just as he reaches zero, an unexpected voice rings out.

“I don’t understand what he saw in you.”

Corvisquire gasps and immediately shoots his wings open, taking off in a flash to hover in the air.

There, standing in a casual crouch inches away from where he was perched, is a Medicham.

Corvisquire inspects the interloper up and down, gauging him carefully. The Medicham has certainly seen a fight or two, as his scarred physique tells a story of harsh encounters, but the stranger doesn’t trip Corivisquire’s well-honed survival instincts. ‘An unlucky fool, then.’

The Medicham looks back up at Corvisquire with a bored, bug-eyed gaze, one totally apathetic to the seething fury on Corvisquire’s visage. The Fighting-type doesn’t even raise an eyebrow at him.

“And just who in the hell are you?” Corvisquire hisses. “You have some ner-” the raven stops himself short when he notices what’s in Medicham’s hand.

A Dawn Stone.

“You’re not as slick as you might think,” Medicham hums, slowly standing on the branch and turning the shining stone over in his hand. The drooped, bored eyes never leave Corvisquire’s. “He would be held responsible for your theft, you know.”

“Wha-” Corvisquire shakes his head, confusion making his boiling fury even worse. “Enough with the pronoun game, moron! Who is he?”

“Lee.”

The name makes Corvisquire falter. Why does his private business seem to be public knowledge all of a sudden?!

“I don’t understand what he saw in you,” Medicham repeats, finally breaking eye contact to look at the stone in his hand. “I’ve read his reports and listened to his audio logs. He was always fond of you, even if you caused him issues. The hurt in his voice when you abandoned him was real. Now you’re out here, menacing children and stealing baubles.” Medicham takes a deep breath. “Why run?”

Reports? Audio logs? Just who is this Medicham? Corvisquire defaults back to the one thing that’s never failed him.

Anger.

“Listen here, bastard!” Corvisquire shouts, the red haze returning to his vision. “What sort of mind games are you trying to pull? You don-“

Pain explodes in his stomach so fast that he can do nothing. In fact, all Corvisquire can do is gasp as stars dance in his vision. There is a thud, and he realizes he’s tumbled out of the air and hit the ground like a falling brick. There, prostrate in the dirt, he wheezes as his brutalized lungs beg for air.

A pair of feet touch down in the grass next to him without a sound.

“That wasn’t an appropriate answer to my question.” Corvisquire doesn’t need to look up to know it’s that damned Medicham, as the skinny bastard’s voice is still as disinterested as it was before. “Why run?”

The raven hacks and stumbles to his feet. “That’s none of your business, nosy shi-“

One second, Medicham is there. The next, he’s gone, and Corvisquire shrieks when a knee is driven into his back, sending him back down with a crash that’s sure to bruise. The attack is so fast, that even his Extreme Speed accustomed eyes miss any movement.

“Civility will take you far,” Medicham murmurs above Corvisquire. Oh, how he’s beginning to hate this bastard. “I have given you the courtesy of explaining yourself. Please, use it,” Medicham’s knee rises, and Corvisquire’s pride demands that he rise, too.

Standing up tenderly, Corvisquire takes as deep a breath as he can and levels the thin Fighting-type with a glare. “If it is polite conduct you desire,” he hisses, “then so be it. May I have the pleasure of knowing with whom I speak?” He spits the word ‘pleasure’ like it burns his beak.

Medicham doesn’t seem amused. “I am Medicham, Ace of Nigel Birch, the Hoenn Regional Professor and direct superior of Lab Trainer Lee Henson.”

Ah. Suddenly things make more sense. Corvisquire huffs. “Very well then, Medicham, Ace of Nigel Birch, the Hoenn Regional Professor and direct superior of Lab Trainer Lee Henson…” He says it all in one breath that reeks of spite. “What, if I may ask, are you doing here?”

“Asking you questions,” Medicham answers, voice flat.

Corvisquire waits, and when no further elaboration comes, he scowls.

“Why run?” Medicham repeats, and despite how Corvisquire wishes to look away, he can’t seem to escape Medicham’s eyes.

Corvisquire doesn’t answer, and after a moment, Medicham begins guessing.

“Team dispute? Dissatisfaction with training?” Medicham’s blank bug eyes turn toward the path Wally and Kirlia escaped to. “Past hurts?”

Corvisquire bites back a curse.

“Your silence says a lot,” Medicham muses aloud.

“Aren’t your kind supposed to be a reflective lot that speaks in riddles and preaches zen or something?” Corvisquire growls. “So far, you’ve been as blunt as a Snorlax’s backside.”

Medicham shrugs. “There is a time and place for reflection and riddles,” he says, freezing Corvisquire in place with his blank stare once more. “Why run?”

Temper and nerves both frayed, Corvisquire raises his voice once more. “Let me answer your question with a question of my own! Tell me, O aloof one! What would you do if your entire world came crashing down!?”

Medicham hums to himself and looks down at the stone in his hand. “I cannot say. I do know what I would not do, though.”

“Enlighten me!” the raven snarls, his feathers ruffling. “What sort of sage advice do you have for me? What would you not do?!”

“Run.”

The tailwind is taken out from behind Corvisquire’s seething anger in an instant.

Medicham ponders the Dawn Stone in his hand for a moment, taking in its gentle glow, then he drops it at Corvisquire’s talons. Turning on his heel, the Fighting-type begins walking away.

“Wha… Where are you going!?” Corvisquire caws incredulously, looking between Medicham’s back and the stone that Medicham knows is stolen.

Medicham doesn’t break his stride or look back. “Back to Nigel.”

“After stalking me, attacking me, and interrogating me, a pokemon you know has committed crimes and is a runaway, you’re just going to leave?” The raven’s head is spinning. From his fall or this maddening pokemon’s insanity, he has no idea.

Medicham pauses for a moment but doesn’t look back. “I won’t take more from you,” he says, though a niggling feeling tells Corvisquire that the Ace pokemon isn’t talking about the discarded Dawn Stone. “Your trainer is in Lavaridge right now. He will be leaving for Fallarbor town soon. All of your choices impact more than you, far beyond the obvious consequences. Remember that.” Medicham continues walking, vanishing in the brush.

As the sun begins its descent into the evening, Corvisquire sits there in the clearing. Confused, frustrated, and with a throbbing pain in his chest that isn’t physical, he lifts his head and screams.