incineraze

[incineraze]

@nobcrii (continued from here):

' Ah, but should I have any reason not to be? ' The reply sounded smug, lips almost tugging into a coy smile before pursing back into its usual expression. Of course he was relentless, it’s simply how he became more and more as he grew up. His status as a Subway Master - while not as grand as a Gym Leader shaped him into being this way. He was dedicated to his work, seeing as it was nothing but pure passion for him. ‘ Battling can be fun, but with my occupation we make sure to push trainers to see just how much talent they have with their Pokemon to see if they can achieve victory among us. I’m sure you can agree no? ‘

Kabu’s silence was something of an agreement. Pushing trainers was what they did. This man was a subway boss. He's Galar's fire-type gym leader.

But Kabu did not test talent. Not really. Most never beat him in the challenge, the aftermath leaving their noses red-stuffy and their eyes stinging wet. They'd shake hands, promise to try harder for next year. He never saw them next year.

"I like to see resolve," Kabu said. He'd crossed his arms, perhaps because he always did. Perhaps because it was cold. "It's easy to keep moving if you always win. To burn again after one's fire has been put out --- a trainer’s strength lies in their ability to rekindle their flame."

[incineraze]

"’Who’?" he repeats at last, partly off-guard, partly wary. His brows pinch in. "...I don’t know what you mean."

He's focused elsewhere. Finally shuts the door to his locker. If Kabu Hidaka knew anything about what the tabloids are saying --- Galar's fiery gym leader may have finally and at last had his heart stolen, found suspiciously cozying up with someone in a grainy but unmistakable photo --- it does not look it. He never expected being asked. The So, who is it?

Centiskorch lowers its head, curling back into a nap.

It isn't fooling anyone, and Kabu can tell that it's listening.

open

[incineraze]

indie kabu of pokémon sword and shield (insp) rules | about | verses

[incineraze]

yellwave​:

     he doesn’t answer.  the answer is already etched into unfocused irises:  he’ll  never  be ready.  this is just her first step into the grown-ups’ world, and he’s not sure how to handle it.  not sure if he will ever handle it.  maybe he’ll write some lyrics about it.  maybe he’ll take it out on his guitar.  but he’s not one for facing the deeper cutting problems head-on.  he shoves them into his closet like  clean laundry  he has no energy to put away, throwing them on the floor to dig out at a later time when he’s forgotten about it all.  if this is how he’s taking her gym challenge, what will become of him when she packs her bags and leaves home for good  ?  

     he wonders if his parents ever felt this way about him, in one of their rare moments of sobriety.  it’d never be for more than twenty-four hours at a time, but a lot can happen in just a single day.  one day, marnie wasn’t born.  she was just a name and an absent presence that already took up half his room.  the next, she was born, and sweet arceus, did she come into this world  kicking and screaming.  one day, his parents were shooting up in the bathroom.  the next, they vanished, leaving nothing but an envelope of money that surely wasn’t theirs behind on the kitchen counter.  

     there were times he thought they might have  loved  him.  dad wished him happy birthday every other year, and mum would hug him every so often, even when she was too shitfaced to remember his name.  she always  reeked  of booze and would never brush her teeth and it never failed to make his stomach churn, but he wanted so desperately to be a twinkle in her eye that he’d return the embrace regardless.

     now that he’s older, maybe more wise and experienced to the untrained eye, he knows it wasn’t really love.  there may have been a point where they tried, but if there was, he doesn’t remember it.  what he and his parents had was a  mutual agreement  to survive until they didn’t.  and when marnie entered the fray, she unwillingly signed that same contract.  love was never forcing your son to hide powdery substances in the ceiling tiles of his bedroom until child services deemed the bruises on his face an  innocent accident.  love was always not having the money to buy her the sparkly dresses she’d see on the advertisements, but still dancing with her and twirling her around like the  pretty little princess  she’d always be in his eyes.

     ❝  they don’t, but those li’l bastards get  bright  when ya set ‘em off.  ❞  said with a twinge of annoyance coming from experience.  a shake of his head.  morpeko may work well for marnie, but piers thinks he’d go insane if he had to bend to her gluttonous whims on a constant basis.  he’s already got his hands full with his own team, thank you very much.

     he has the itch to pull out another cigarette.  it’s an itch he knows he shouldn’t scratch, but it’s there and it’s very much bugging him.  would it be disrespectful to chain smoke when they’re discussing such a  prestigious  figure in the league  ?  it’s not like he didn’t burn that bridge already when he first fought her, but he’s gained at least some respect for his elders over the years.  knows he likely shouldn’t keep blowing smoke in kabu’s face, either.  sorry, old man.  the  cancer  should be piers’ and piers’ alone to let fester, not yours.  you’re too kind to die young.

     you’re also too kind for him to keep shoving your reassurances aside, but hey, what’s life without a little  rebellion�� ?

     ❝  i dunno yet.  ❞  it’s a decision he’s contemplating, if nothing else.  he does regret showing up, that much alone could be read from the way he purses his lips, but it’s not like he can easily just reverse that decision.  he wasn’t even inside long enough to say his obligatory greetings to the other gym leaders, but he knows that if he were to try and sneak out, someone would likely begin to  wonder,  and wonder leads to rumors which lead to bad press which leads to –  ❝  i forget how, uh… shit,  events like this are.  ‘s nothin’ against you lot, but…  y’know me.  i don’t do people.  ❞

It's ridiculous to imagine. A morpeko hardly twelve inches off the ground and Piers, an unsuspecting victim. Countless nights spent walking on eggshells. Scratches up the arms.

"The small ones tend to," he agrees. Memories of countless burns and an angry, tiny bug. He still has the scars. “Centiskorch wasn’t always ten feet.”

A clarification just in case Piers wondered who --- or what --- he was referring to. Ridiculous.

What follows next is an inexorable silence. Rain rolls down the awning and spills down the gutters. There are storefronts and bulletin boards to his left, and Kabu can make out a handful of them, some hazy because of the rain but partly, Kabu knows despite his incessant wishes, because of age. They're all-night liquor stores. Promotional ads about the championships.

The quiet isn't uncomfortable; an oddity, perhaps, in that they don't know each other. There wasn't any tight-lipped smile. No how are yous with the expectation of Good, and yourself? because any other answer would have been entirely unwanted. No one actually cares.

And it comes to Kabu, then, the way vertigo comes after standing too fast, that his personal knowledge on Piers borders on nothing. The man likes loud music. Tucks his little sister in for bed. Smears fingerprints on a camera and bars his pointed teeth at anything but the blue-collar. Now: that he's shaky and full of worry, too. And what does Piers think about him? Perhaps an immigrant with a very mild, socially acceptable form of pyromania. Entirely non-violent.

The man twists his lips at the thought of the dinner, rumbling out a you know me. Kabu doesn't.

“Hardly, Piers." He admits it, so honest and frank, his arms uncrossing. His face goes easy. “But I'd like to.”

With unshaking certainty and no reservations, that meant that there should be a next time.

As though Piers would find the idea at all agreeable.

"You lasted this long with me. You'll be alright," he finishes. As if this was now the measure of being okay at dinner parties. Piers might roll his eyes, slightly damp in rain, and Kabu pays him no mind as he finally reaches for the door. "I think they're more afraid of Opal than you."

But that is.

He pulls, and laughter spills out low and steady, the light strewn lazily over the balcony as Kabu waits.

He's certain Piers would come, anyway, just for his little sister.

[incineraze]

❛  guess  i’m  not  much  of  a  hero ,  huh ?  ❜ {obstrucct.}

𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬'𝑺 𝑨𝑳𝑾𝑨𝒀𝑺 𝑨 𝑫𝑶𝑾𝑵𝑺𝑰𝑫𝑬 (accepting)

They'd laughed about her hair and her voice. The look of her face. What girl doesn't know how to smile --- a murmur, both hush and loud in the corner. She’s scary. Kabu had stepped from his seat to go to her when he saw a lanky blur out from the corner of his eye, a pale-skinned omen. Kabu had known, then, that this was for Piers and Piers alone.

A few minutes passed after that, words he didn’t rightly hear. A commotion.

"I’d say otherwise.”

He imagines Piers cracking a wry grin at that, one that says Bullshit, because there’s a chance that this man might blame himself, unconsciously citing far-flung reasons like It should have never happened or Just because as if that’s the way the world works; as if anyone jeering at Marnie was, somehow, a failing on his part. 

Kabu remembers the look on her face seeing her brother step in. The glint in her eye.

He looks over, entirely without doubt. "She certainly thinks you are."

[incineraze]

bellecosebabe​:

Verin was bold. Standing in dissipating smoke and and magic powder, and the only demand that came to mind was ‘dinner’. There were so many worthwhile things that she could have requested as her prize and yet she went with the first thing that came to mind. At least Kabu’s entertained.

“Yes.” Consider her stubborn as well, not willing to backtrack or display any uncertainty, save for the glance over at her hatterene. It wasn’t the worst prize she’s ever received.

“What do I like?” Pulled out of her hemming and hawing over the bed she had made and lied in, she had no clue what she wanted. She should have asked for money that would have been much simpler and… boring. She only visited Motostoke when they decided to battle, she didn’t know what restaurants were here and, on top of that, neither were really dressed to go anywhere ‘nice’. 

“I suppose I quite like almost anything; so why don’t you take me somewhere you like?”

If Kabu knew better, and he usually does, he'd consider the consequences. He considers them now: the possibility that the media will swoop in. A misconstrued photo plastered on the internet a day later. Rumors strewn about the gossip board, speculations that will lead nowhere. He considers that she's just asked him on a date, only Kabu knows with a certain clarity that only comes with age that she hasn't. They only battle. She's twenty-five years younger. A good acquaintance.

Verin is unwavering in her conviction. So blunt, like a bat to the head.

"I like Hoenn myself," he says, even if it's terribly predictable of him. Kabu pockets his keys away, the sound jangling. "How does hot pot sound?"

Huo Guo. Maybe she knows the place. It isn't formal fine dining, perhaps every bit his intention, but it's well-loved and a comfort. People like to shimmy in, bellies empty, after watching him battle. It's family-owned.

Kabu pauses, gets generous, and says, "You're free to change your mind." He’s offered her a way out, and it may or may not challenge her stubborn pride. 

[incineraze]

" you've already lost this battle. "

𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬'𝑺 𝑨𝑳𝑾𝑨𝒀𝑺 𝑨 𝑫𝑶𝑾𝑵𝑺𝑰𝑫𝑬 (accepting)

Piers is good.

He's down to his last. Plumes of smoke choke the air, ashy black and stuffing full both his lungs, skin dripping. This isn't Motostoke. He can't dynamax. The smog clears, and finally, he sees Piers' too-pale face peeking through the black, the sharp certainty in his eyes.

His heart lurches and pounds. Shakes then sweats. "Don't turn your back on a fire," Kabu heaves, exhilarated, pointing hard at the sky. "So long as there’s a spark, we will never burn out. Blaze forward, Centiskorch!"

A ripping roar. One thousand degrees and skin-melting searing red, as Kabu's shoes slap the ground in a dead sprint, the pokémon lunges out with fire lash, raging in flames.

Behind a fence, a little girl with a morpeko watches with wide eyes. Her fingers curl into the chainlink.

[incineraze]

❛  can  i  ask  …   what  happened ?  ❜

𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬'𝑺 𝑨𝑳𝑾𝑨𝒀𝑺 𝑨 𝑫𝑶𝑾𝑵𝑺𝑰𝑫𝑬 (accepting)

He didn’t know she was there.

Kabu looks over and recognizes her, vaguely at first, then all at once. That recognition, sharp in its absolute certainty. He turns back. 

“I think you already have,” he says with a sheepish look, pride wounded. He glances down to a pokémon in front of him. “I forget how temperamental they can be.”

On the ground, a tiny red bug. The sizzlipede narrows its eyes at her --- a new challenger, as far as its concerned --- and props onto its hind legs, stabbing her with tiny, angry glares and a not-at-all horrific cry. Kabu would find it funny, really. It’s a sizzlipede. Hardly a ruler long. The bug drops back down and observes them back and forth, ready to claim a new victim. It dares a mighty inch forward.

He wonders the likelihood of her laughing: Galar’s fire-type gym leader bested by a matchstick of a bug. He rubs the ointment between his fingers, lemony aloe vera.

[incineraze]

by wa_yaa_000

[incineraze]

❛ you remember me. that’s good. ❜

𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬'𝑺 𝑨𝑳𝑾𝑨𝒀𝑺 𝑨 𝑫𝑶𝑾𝑵𝑺𝑰𝑫𝑬 (accepting)

Nothing has changed in four years. The stadium still stands. He is still its leader. 

Hop has.

‘It’s Leon’ comes to mind. It’s in the face. The same tug of his smile. But the hair is shorter and darker, and Kabu suddenly remembers a boy all of 5’2” bouncing on his heels, a dream caught in his eye. That boy towers over him, now.

“Of course! You made quick work of that torkoal." Kabu’s grin is small, his shoes scuffing as he steps down the stairs. Snow begins to fall. "We would have burned down without you."

In true Christmas style, a low, static rendition of “Silent Night” warbles down the streets of Motostoke. His phone vibrates twice --- Nessa, improbably, wondering if he’s at last on his way over, and don’t forget the wine. He hasn’t. The bottle jostles in his bag, bowed and ribboned. "It isn’t 'young Hop' anymore, is it?"

[incineraze]

❛  you  owe  me  a  dinner .   a  very  nice  dinner .  ❜

𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬'𝑺 𝑨𝑳𝑾𝑨𝒀𝑺 𝑨 𝑫𝑶𝑾𝑵𝑺𝑰𝑫𝑬 (accepting)

She’s-- bold.

The aftermath of their battle is still here. Soot smears the floor. Everything scorched. His trainers have long since scurried to force open the doors and kickstart the ventilation system, but he still hears their hackwheezing and the unmistakable chug of the air conditioning, the ‘Can this get any lower?’

Kabu almost smiles. It’s just his luck. “That’s what you decided?”

‘A nice dinner’ to Verin is an absolute mystery to him. Something Michelin, perhaps, or an excuse to settle into a 24/7 chain and have a reheated something to poke at him, absolutely unintended. He doubts it’s the former. 

It was a fair match. They made things interesting. Winner gets something. Winner chooses. 

Her hatterene waits for the chance to judge his answer. Kabu finally turns the key to the gym door, locked. “What do you like?”  

[incineraze]

barrika-dark​:

Piers knows that he’s right. It’s why they don’t say anything, taking a long sip of their drink instead. A lot of what they feel is irrational at this point in their life. They no longer have to do things alone, they have people who care about them to help… That’s part of why they’re admitting any of this to Kabu. Adjusting to it is just difficult.

“I feel… Exhausted,” they eventually sigh. “I dunno how else t’describe it. But I’ve felt like that f’a long time, it’s not somethin’ just restin’ could fix. Maybe it’ll never go away.”

They go quiet again. They have so much going on, so many struggles, but at the same time they felt like they weren’t struggling enough.

“Y- you’ve already let me talk ‘bout so much’uv what’s been happenin’ t’me,” they say, clearly growing nervous at the idea of explaining further. “I’m startin’ t’feel a lil’ bad, I- I don’t mean t’be a downer.”

Kabu says nothing, and a thought he has is you look like her. The same streak of white. Same eyes. The ring around their neck.

Piers has a way of blurring at the edges. That blur, as though they’re the only thing faded in a too-sharp world. 

"You give, but you don't take.” Harlow died young. They raised Marnie at eleven years old then became a gym leader, took care of a city. No time to be a kid, worn down and papery thin. Kabu sees the mug. It fogs the table, hazy and damp. "Find yourself. Learn what you want,” he says. “You have time."

The hour winds down. A hoothoot kneads the sunken-in plush of a cushion, and Kabu sees the reflection of the phone finally wink to black --- the video call is over. Piers winds up. Kabu is steady. “I wouldn’t ask if I thought that,” he reassures. 

[incineraze]

fracturedhues​:

  Some make it go easily, some others take a bit of help and, especially when the lighting panels and flashes surrounding them for seconds tend to take them out of their comfort zone. Or even when merely a camera lens is in front of their faces they tend to freeze indeed— as if something more than eyes are observing them.

Well, perhaps with this particular case it’s less deep what’s happening in their mind…

But shots are needed to be done in time, everyone has had their turn already and could go smoothly as expected. No more words that “3, 2, 1. Okay, thank you” or “Head to the left. Perfect.” were said and little interaction with the Gym Leaders was done. Well, having such a job is more than a desirable experience and performing pristine is required; but also it’s interesting getting to know how many different facades each one is able to show, and, well, what’s behind the merch and advertising that’s all across the region.

❝You are doing quite right…!❞

She says and clicks the camera trigger once, capturing out of a sudden a gentle expression that can show a hint of embarrassment as well and the flash seems to have startled him for a second. Eyeing the result, there’s something that looks off— not in a bad way, of course, but it’s clear that she may need to try a few more times, or as long as the Fire Leader is willing to go so it doesn’t look like a poorly produced photo-shoot.  

Totally coming out of the formalities, the woman moves her camera aside for a moment and walks towards him

❝Would you forgive me if I offer a you bit more of help, sir?❞ Mel adds softly in the language both know how to speak already -or so she thinks after doing a bit of research. A gentle smile is shown as soon as their eyes meet, too. ❝Mister Kabu. What is bothering you in this moment? Perhaps another set up, no flash, a— uhm… Would you rather take a break instead? As long as you are comfortable we could find a better pose as well… I-is that alright?❞

Some things in life take getting used to. The incessant cold of Galarian winters. Bowties. A camera flashing in his face. Kabu belongs on the pitch; instead, he's tucked inside a three-piece suit and engulfed in a sea of plastic white bouquets, the couch sighing beneath him.

He's crossed his legs. Pressed a hand to his temple. Slung an arm over the back of the sofa. Each shot, she tells him he's doing it right, but Kabu thinks she’s being kind, and when she makes her way over, her shoes clacking against the marble in so-very-tiny clicks, he waits patiently for the inevitable but...

She speaks another language.

The gym leader blinks for the briefer part of one second. The fluorescent white bulbs shine too brightly. She smiles, fumbling through her suggestions and softening the blow. He thinks of the word shy. Agrees to a break. 

"No need to go easy. I’ve seen my photos before.” The slanted grin and admission tells her he doesn’t mind the criticism --- he’s done this for thirty years, really; knows very clearly that cameras will never be his forte. But he finds that he’s missed this. Speaking Hoennese. And not the watered-down, elementary level you’d speak to a tourist. She sounds like a native.  

Kabu sets the bouquet beside him. The temperature is higher, now. The beaming lights, on for countless merciless hours, buzz. His curiosity gets the better of him.

"Are you from Hoenn?"

[incineraze]

HEY, POKÉMON RPC! REBLOG THIS POST IF YOUR CHARACTER IS FROM A CORE POKÉMON GAME!  ; in the tags, include your character’s name / whether they’re canon or an oc / and if your blog is single or multi-muse!

[incineraze]

yellwave​:

     ❝  she’s a li’l older.  i held ‘er back ‘till i knew she was  ready.  ❞  even then, he’s not sure he’s ready.  this is her dream, and he loves her so much he  aches,  he’s so proud of her it’s like a  stab to the gut,  wants her to feel so free she  forgets  about everything holding her back, but he’s scared.  he won’t be there if she gets hurt, if she’s scared and alone, if she feels like giving up, if she’s lost her way…  he knows deep down that she’ll be just fine – she’s marnie, after all, but she’s still a little baby in his eyes.  a little baby who’s grown up so quickly he’s come to miss the sleepless nights and incessant crying.  not the  diapers,  though.  never the diapers.

     though the grudge still lingers, he thinks of his parents leaving as a good thing.  he never had anyone to hold his hand while he crossed the street, or anyone to kiss his knees when he’d fall and scrape them.  taking care of marnie was no small feat, mind you, but he did everything he could to make sure she knew she  wasn’t alone.  he kept her well-fed and clean and made sure the roof over their heads stayed theirs, even if that meant he’d have to  go without.  skinny and tired as he may be now, it was all worth it in his eyes.  his exhausted, arid eyes.

     he shouldn’t feel so  old  in his twenties.  sure, his thirties may be approaching faster than he could never imagine, but the fact of the matter is that he’s still young and he knows it.  if so, why does he feel like he’s lived about ten lifetimes in one  ?  it’s almost like with everything that’s happened to him, the piers that was before ceases to be, and a new one is  hatched  from the shell left behind.  only, with each rebirthing of himself, he’s dragged further and further into the dirt until he’s reached the appropriate  six feet under.  a bit dramatic, makes for a good lyric or two, but his bones ache and his mind never settles.  should a man as young as he really feel this way  ?

     he stops himself before taking one of the few hits left from his cigarette, shoulders shaking just slightly with a soft chuckle.  it’s corny, truly something awful, but it amuses him more than anything else has this entire night.  ❝  don’t worry – ‘er morpeko doubles as a  night light.  ❞

     anxious as he may be, it comforts him greatly to know that she plans to keep  morpeko  by her side.  memories tend to grow fuzzier and fuzzier with each passing year, but he still remembers the day he caught her partner with perfection.  almost.  it was a present for her fifth birthday, and even though he knew she’d be startled, he also knew she needed a real friend.  it warms his heart to see the two still get along like best friends, even after so many years.  it’s like himself and his  obstagoon,  only, marnie doesn’t risk having her bones broken by a large, overly-excited pokémon tackling her to the ground every time she lets morpeko out of her ball.

     he glances to kabu again, abusing the last dab of his cigarette as he inhales as much of the  toxins  as he can, lets it swirl in his lungs before releasing it and throws it into the grass.  maybe he’d remember to pick it up later.  maybe he wouldn’t.  he knows it’s just a compliment, knows he should just take it and run with it, but the grip of doubt is crushing.  did he really teach her everything she needs to know  ?  if she faces defeat, how will she take it  ?  he would hate to have her come home to him  crying  – he’s not sure how well he can comfort her anymore.  he lets out a noise, nothing above a tepid little hum to acknowledge his words.  acknowledge, but not accept.

     he shifts, letting his back lean against the railing.  he doesn’t quite mind how the rain catches his hair in certain spots.  ❝  aye, that i was.  ❞  he gives an almost prideful smirk as he nods, crooked, tobacco-stained  overbite  peeking out just a touch.  ❝  she gave me that smartass quiz durin’ my match.  asked me how old she was.  i said she looked like she’d be  dead a’ old age  by noon.  she was pissed.  ❞  a soft snicker accompanies his punctuation, arms crossing.  he looks almost  nostalgic.

I held her back until I knew she was ready. Knew she was. A car hydroplanes down below and jerks back into its lane. "But you aren't?"

Fill in the blanks. Connect the dots. In the interminable depths of Piers' mind, this, at least, is a certainty. Marnie is ready, and late-night stress smoking and trembling hands are the sole domain of her brother.

Kabu remembers thirty-five years ago, drowning in too much jacket. He stood squarely at an airport terminal as she lingered stuffy-nosed and eyes watery, squeezing him and scolding despite her squeaky knees --- a side effect of sleeping upright, inevitable when waiting for the boarding announcement. Call home, she told him. Stay safe. She was wearing tennis shoes that day. Smelled of firewood. Piers reminds him of this, a worried-sick mother, but doesn't say. He doesn't judge.

The rain comes down slightly heavier than before, splattering by their shoes. Piers' shoulders shake at his joke, and not because it was good.

"So you say," Kabu starts. He rubs at his eye like an old man, and his mouth tugs. "I don't think morpekos glow."

He knows they don't. Not that it matters. The man has finally finished the last of his cigarette, flicking it to the grass and leaning backwards against the railing. Even now, Piers is doing it: keeping his worries close to his chest as though any confession would be his ultimate downfall. Instead, he hums. Neither admission nor denial. But it tells Kabu something else: he doesn't believe him.

The man smirks. He has a wide tooth gap and tobacco stains, and Kabu shakes his head, traitorously amused.

"Best not to get on Opal's bad side. She asked the same question when I was your age," he admits, now turning his back to the railing, too. Kabu looks through the glass double doors in front of them. He thinks of Opal, thirty years younger, his age, now, and the animalistic rage in her eyes any time someone pointed out her graying hairs, of which there had been many. The threatening stare she turned his way when she asked him. An air unit rumbles to life. A mist of steam gushes out. "So long as she learns from you, she'll be fine."

Marnie, he means. He can’t imagine little Marnie telling Opal she'd be dead before sundown, and his mouth goes soft at the edges, a restrained laugh, then gone. He hears the rest inside.

"Will you be joining us?"

[incineraze]

virulent-spark​:

For a loud and proud punk who lived in a town full of cracked streets, Elle seemed ever so soft in this moment. Pink flushed over her pale face, not quite as vibrant as her hair, though, and she grinned sheepishly, which was one way to strengthen her smile. Something like triumph, relief, and surprise all into one.

“You got a place in mind, then?” she said, after giving a breathless laugh. Kabu seemed as dutiful as ever, which made it a lot more difficult to see what was on his mind. But it made her much more curious. There was a burst of singing in the stands. The crowd had begun singing the chorus of Virulent Spark’s hit song, “Flygon Era” again. Elle couldn’t help but twist her gentle smile into an amused smirk. Music really did bring people and pokemon together. 

“I suppose I’ll see soon enough,” she said with a chuckle, taking a step backwards, towards the exit. 

Kabu nodded, said he’d wait for her out front.

Her laugh was small and the crowd began to sing. He expected neither.

'CONGRATULATIONS, UNDEFEATED CHAMPION!' the blimp flashed, Leon's pose stretched on the screen in violent yellow, stuck on repeat. How many times has he seen this, really? A decade of it, he thought. A little bit more. Kabu grinned, impossibly embarrassed, and the fan finally wobbled down the stairs in oblivious ohmyGods and red-cheeked Iloveyous, squeezing the autograph to her chest. 

His watch told him it was half-past eleven---way past bedtime. A boy in a charizard hat ran laps as his father chased.

He saw her walk out the door and finally stepped away from the railing. 

"Spikes," he greeted.

And Kabu was-- different. No uniform. Hair marginally damp, the aftermath of a shower, soapy minty. He picked his gym bag off a bench and slipped it over his shoulder. His smile was inconsequential. "That was quite the battle," he said, glinting and impressed. "They really know how to put on a show."

Raihan and Leon, he meant, because he knew what it was like to sprint over the pitch, heart sweaty-fast and the taste of victory on the very tip of his tongue. Raihan lost.

Overhead, fireworks popped. They washed her face in watered-down purples, and a car roared to life. "How about a walk?"

[incineraze]

barrika-dark​:

“My Toxtricity… He’s trained t’break out’uv his Pokéball if I need help,” Piers explained. “They can make a lot’uv noise even if they can’t speak, y’know. I dunno exactly what happened but, uh… It could’ve been much worse than it was. I could’ve been out f’a lot longer, an’ I didn’t really get hurt, luckily.”

They rub the back of their neck, once again avoiding Kabu’s gaze. Waking up in hospital had been pretty disorientating. It hadn’t been the first time they had been to the hospital, of course, but they had little memory of what happened before they woke up. They had been pretty out of it, and at the time they just brushed it off as being tired.

“…I- I know she cares, I just don’t want her t’worry ‘bout me. It was my fault, really… I just had a lot goin’ on.”

It was their instinct to down play the incident, and blame themself for it. There was always something that they should’ve noticed, or could’ve done better. Their mouth dry, they take a sip of their drink.

The music has fallen to a preternatural drone. A ceiling fan in the dead of night. “You have a strong bond," Kabu finally observes. "Your toxtricity knows when you need him." He tastes tea in the back of his mouth. He’s set his elbows onto the table at some point, though it's unclear when. “How are you feeling?” 

Better now, he hopes they’ll say. It won't happen again with any luck.

Piers rubs the back of their neck and looks anywhere else. Maybe to a fading signpost outside, open 24/7, or to someone’s phone reflecting hazy on the café window, a video call in progress. Their tea sits largely untouched by their hand and the air between them has become imperceptibly humid. Piers says it's their fault. 

"Don't blame yourself." It’s succinct and to the point. Kabu doesn't flinch, and he crosses his hands over the table. “Stay vigilant. Don't take on everything alone," he says. Then, "She's your sister. She'll always worry about you."

Better to worry than to be sorry. She would never forgive herself if anything else happened.

The song has faded, now a light scratching of the record. Piers said they have a lot going on. Kabu doesn’t bother going for his cup anymore. His tea is empty. "That was just the physical stuff?" he quotes.