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randomwriteronline · 16 days ago

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He was taller than them.

Infinitely so.

They knew he wasn't that big - not compared to everything else around them, from the walls closing off his fortress to the island it sat on, to the silvery sea around it or the body it was still housed within. He wasn't even that big compared to them, and they knew that too: he was only about a bio taller than them, maybe a little more, maybe only half. A sizable, immediately noticeable difference, but it wasn't that much. It wasn't enough to make him appear so gargantuan and frightening. They had stood beside similarly large beings, and while a slight awe had made them queasy it had not been so oppressive.

But there was something about him that made him larger than life. Something that crawled out of him like white marble maggots from a white marble corpse, a strange perfect imperfection that made them feel minuscule.

Perhaps their incomplete number worsened it.

He watched them, impassive.

From how close they were to him (they could have walked up to him; they could have turned that small distance to zero and stood directly in front of him; but they didn't. They couldn't. Something inside them couldn't. Something inside them wouldn't.) they could notice that one of his eyes was not facing them: it was stuck halfway upwards, forever gazing into the sky, while the other continued to stare down at them without so much as a glint of emotion. Despite having all the appearance of a mistake on someone's part, that strange physical quirk had not been fixed. Evidently, it was not an anomaly.

"Good." Artakha said.

His voice held no warmth, no anger, no grief, no bitterness. It was clear and smooth, like polished crystal, and wholly pleasant in its completeness. Something about it almost had them recoil and flatten as if they had been just welcomed into a lethal trap of a lair by the famished growl of a gigantic drooling beast.

They had not expected he would have come to greet them himself. He never had before, delegating his disembodied words and the mechanisms of his fortress to do such a thing for him. Yet this time he had taken it upon himself to walk away from his chambers, from the pristine faintly hued greys that snaked behind him into the deeper parts of his small realm, to stand before them as he did now; in their arrogance, in their hope, they had thought upon coming back to their senses after the surprise of truly seeing him that it must have meant something.

But his tone was calm and empty, a white room with carefully set pastel toys, an environment so quiet and sterile that it smelled potently of the dust it looked to have been blanketed in.

In a strange way, it appalled them.

"You have come back to me." Artakha continued.

His mask glowed softly, golden and splendid. The runes deeply hetched upon it made it seem beyond ancient.

Against the barely visible backdrop of his reclusive kingdom, the glimmer distorted the kanohi into the garbled image of a small, sickly moon, incapable of offering all that sat around it the full strength of the light it could barely reflect.

He did not extend his arms towards them.

"Come now." Artakha ordered passionlessly. "Your work is done."

Something about that shook them from the hazy torpor threatening to devour their brains in too small bites.

"We're here to help evacuate the inhabitants of the last remaining islands," Tahu explained, mortified that his voice was even leaving him and yet unable to place why he felt that way, "The robot's insides are not safe - besides, there's so much to be done outside, and we-"

"There is no place for us in that world." Artakha cut him off.

He had not moved an inch.

They knew instinctively, uncomfortably, that his 'us' included them too.

"Our only purpose is here." Artakha stated. "We are not needed outside the bounds of this body."

"But there is life out there," Gali argued, though the mere act of speaking made her bones want to crumble in anguish to shut her up: "There are people who need us, who could use our help! There is so much to be rebuilt, and all of us-"

"You were made for this world, as was I." Artakha interrupted her.

Their lungs shriveled.

Their bodies hurt.

He remained unblemished in the face of their visible agony, perfect and still; his skewed eye ignored them as it continued to watch the now forever dimmed heavens, hanging lower and lower each day as the metal holding them aloft bent under the weight of age and abandonment.

"There is no such thing as a 'life' awaiting you in that world of real things." Artakha told them. "We are tools to be preserved: if your service will ever be needed again by Mata Nui, I will allow your deployment once more."

"And then?" Tahu coughed. He could swear his arms were melting off of him.

"Then you will return to me." Artakha answered. "As you have done now, because that is your purpose, and that is your only existence."

"And yours?" Gali hissed. Her head felt about to split into a thousand pieces.

"My purpose is to remain here and create, and see that you are used well." Artakha answered. "It is my only use; there is nothing other than this."

He spoke with the certainty of a man off to the gallows, the kind who knows well no dashing stranger or loyal friend will come to save him, and who thus accepts the coming execution with the mellow tiredness that brings the cattle into the slaughterhouse; but unlike the convict marked for death he held no sadness, no despair in his words, no roaring blasphemies nor tear-soaked regrets, not even that drowsy desire for it all to be done. He felt himself not a victim, and not like a victim he spoke, for that was not what he was.

He spoke like a machine that knew why it had been made, and that its function was now unnecessary. There was no poetry about it, and there was no injustice either. The world had begun with duty, and with this new lack of duty it would simply stop to one day begin again: he had known it would have happened since the start.

He had been made to wait until the lack of purpose passed, to one day be put to work again.

But they could not accept it.

They could not, because they were not him.

They were not machines. Not fully. Not anymore.

"We can't leave it all behind," Onua said softly, because his throat was coarse and dry as though burning inside his neck, "We have our Matoran to take care of - our Turaga, too - our friends, our-"

"You have nothing but your duty and yourselves." Artakha corrected him.

They flinched.

"As I have nothing but my duty and my creations." Artakha continued.

Few were aware that he had no brother anymore.

They did not inquire how he had come in possession of such information: beyond their inquiry being a waste of time, certainly it had not reached him in the same way it had them. Like for his reason of existence he simply seemed to have already known, somehow, that his only kin's death upon return would have been inevitable.

After all, one does not keep a broken instrument.

"We're not complete," Lewa fought back feebly, struggling through the tightness that threatened to crush his middle into a jagged heap, "Kopaka and Pohatu - they are-"

"They will come to me eventually, as you have done." Artakha sentenced. "And in the most dire of cases, I will simply make them once more."

The weak glow of his mask sent chills down their spines and almost sent them to their knees.

He had said it so carelessly. Without any inflection, any intonation, any difference in his speech. His voice had remained polished and clean, sanitized, pale colors melting into a greyish nothingness as though the images he conjured through them had not been nightmares woven into song.

He watched them as they contorted and writhed in place as composedly as they could, still slaves to the stilling awe he commanded. He did not blink.

"How many times have you made us?" Onua wheezed. Dark spots stole the sight from his eyes.

"For now, once." Artakha responded.

They wanted to cry.

They wanted to scream.

They wanted it to be over.

"We can't stay." Lewa breathed. He felt only an impossibly wide, horrible, biting cold.

The waves rocked behind them softly, gently, anchoring them to their bodies and selves as they struggled to do so on their own.

He remained unperturbed.

"Come now." Artakha only repeated. "You are to be preserved in sleep: that is my duty as well. You overshot your time active - two weeks had been calculated as the maximum amount it would have taken for you to deal with any issue; after all that has happened whilst you were awake, I assume this will be a... Pleasant... Change of pace."

(He said 'pleasant' strangely. As though he was using that word only out of politeness, without intention, without understanding it. As though the very concept behind it existing was alien to him.)

Then he turned, and walked through the open gate once more.

He did not look back when it became clear no other footsteps would have followed his own; he did not stop when the heavy entrance to his realm closed definitively behind him and he found his fortress once more lacking his most useful tools.

He walked to his chamber, passing the Matoran he had been given across the millennia: they worked in thoughtless silence, as Matoran were always meant to do, some repairing the signs of age upon the floors and walls, some taking materials to their rightful places, some finishing up the count of this or that's inventory, more still tinkering away much like he'd long been used to - perfect clanging cogs of a well-oiled clockwork. Soon enough they would complete their endless work, for nothing else would be there to be done; only then they would stop, and sit, and wait, in a blank torpor that fools might have called sleep, in order to be ready to return to their duties when their toiling would once again be required.

He arrived to the room (not the forge, not for now) and stood before his useless throne; there he stopped, and sat, and waited, staring forth with one eye as the other gazed upon the ceiling in a vaguely aware torpor, patiently existing in a stasis borne of lack of duty.

He was ready to remain for ages.

He had been made to, after all.

But movement distracted him.

A crooked thing walked into the chamber, smiling.

He recognized not the vessel, but the neutral miasma which slithered from its mangled form: it wriggled through the space around him like larvae burrowing in prey, used to permeating every mind it touched, and only regarded him curiously when it found him impervious to the complex, confusing charm of its ever winding workings.

"You." Artakha said dispassionately.

The crooked thing stood before him, smiling.

"There is nothing in this world for you." Artakha stated simply.

"The toys belong to the box, the box belongs to the child, and the child belongs to the parent."

"Leave my realm at once." Artakha insisted without animosity. "There is nothing for you here."

"In the smith's forge the furnace is indeed king amongst the tools, but a tool itself nonetheless."

"I am aware of myself and my duty, my eternity." Artakha spoke. "You cannot impede my function."

"Of course I can!"

He stiffened suddenly; his neck bent under the weight of his head and his body sagged where he sat. His chest convulsed briefly, just enough to push a murky liquid through his crevices, coating his body in blackened rivulets doomed to dry out.

His mask laid cracked and half made dust where it had fallen from his face.

He did not move.

The crooked thing turned, and walked through the door once more, smiling as it crept out of the fortress amongst heaps of stilled machines, crumpled into a pantomime of its mangled shape and silent even of their inner mechanical song, that until moments earlier had been so hard at work on maintaining the broken life-sized diorama of a bustling holy island.

#bionicle #artakha #tahu #gali #onua #lewa #velika #random writing #me trying to explain artakhas voice: you know those AWFUL monochrome childrens bedrooms. he sounds like they look #also u know when ur having a convo w someone and they give a vibe that makes u physically ill. thats what the Mata are havin #death tw #see my previous posts tags for my thoughts on artakha and why he's like this in here. also say hello velika as he kills hundreds #also uve been tricked into reading part of my organicd au as evidenced by the lack of kopaka n pohatu (theyre havin a bad time too)#ANYWAYS. Artakha said 'pleasant' weird bc its like an afterthought. hes not here to be pleased hes got a job and so do his kids #but theyve been getting more people-like and theyre pretty upset so using people-like language will help them get in work mindset right?#(the answer is no) (he makes an attempt anyways)#i explained kinda his deal w remaining in the robot in an ask post abt the bahrag post canon if youre curious btw #artakha shittiest dad of the MU!!! congrats!!! collect your prize -> matau sawing his knees off w his buzzsaw #it is. late af in the night. the rapture of creation got me. enjoy

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randomwriteronline · 1 month ago

Text

(Catching Up)

If the XTransceiver had not buzzed on his wrist, Ingo might have sat there for the rest of the day, gently running his hand on the side of Excadrill’s neck.

He was glad he’d seen the kid again.

He was, really.

It was good to know they were doing fine despite it all, and they’d seemed equally happy to see him acclimate to his own life once again - though he was awfully sorry about forgetting the difference in time zones and keeping them awake so long into the night (no matter how much they reassured him he wasn’t ruining their sleep schedule with one single call).

It had just…

He kept thinking of their tone in that single moment.

Just turning the sound of it in his mind, round and round, over and over.

(It had struck him too late, after the call was already over and he’d been mulling for a minute or two, that he hadn’t apologized.)

(For what?)

(The sky.)

(The sky had cracked open upon them with its sickly vermillion color interlaced with green, and he had been outside the dojo, and he had watched them be banished from Jubilife Village without saying or doing anything. He had just stood there, like the dumbfounded cretin he had actually been.)

(What could he have done, anyways? It wasn’t as though they’d known each other too well - he’d been glad to aid them along their way up the Highlands, and they’d been kind enough to take on his requests and try to help him with his memories and entertain themselves with his challenges, and that had been it. Why would they have expected him to do anything? Why would he have thought of doing anything? What good would it have been either way if he had, indeed, tried to make a case for their innocence? Jubilife Village was not the Pearl Clan: what little power his status as warden might have given him was easily rendered null and void outside of the walls of the huts built to stave off the Icelands’ powerful winds; and besides, he was an outsider like them. He had barely had the right to argue for his own departure. He could have easily been detained or ostracized just like them.)

(Still.)

(He was a conductor.)

(Passenger safety was his responsibility.)

(He should have done something, anything, for them.)

(But he hadn’t.)

The distraction on his wrist dragged him back to the real world in the matter of a moment, his eyes blinking quickly and his hand halting in the middle of a caress to Excadrill’s back.

In the time it took him to angle himself so he could look at the display while still allowing the enormous Ground mole to stay comfortably seated on his lap, the buzzing repeated again: the screen showed him an unknown contact had sent him two messages. He fumbled a moment with the small device until he managed to open them up, squinting at the small letters.

Very gently, Klinklang lifted his wrist closer to his face so he could read better.

9:07. Hiiiiiiiii this is Briosa Crociera Substitute Subway Boss/Master

9:07. Its my free day and Elesa apparently is busy so Emmet gave me your number n asked if i could check in on you

A rectangular smile came to his mind. With Haxorus’ help he immediately saved the number, just in case.

9:08. Good morning Briosa! I am doing quite fine, thank you. How are you? I hope Elesa has not run into any trouble.

9:09. Im fine thank you! and dont worry abt her shes just working

9:09. Can i ask you a couple questions real quick

9:09. Of course! I shall answer to the best of my abilities.

9:10. First of all you got plans today

9:10. No, I can’t say I do.

9:10. Second of all how are you with water

That was a weird continuation.

9:10. I do drink it, yes. It’s important to remain well hydrated.

9:11. Wish that were me

9:11. My brain is convinced im a maractus and my thirst reflex is non existent

9:11. But i meant more generally like being in water or swimming

9:12. That does not seem quite healthy. Perhaps you should visit a doctor about it. I’m also afraid I’m not familiar with what a Maractus might look like, so I fear your comparison is a little lost on me.

As he was typing his response to her other text, an image appeared suddenly on the screen: it depicted a sprawling desert landscape, dunes falling upon each other in cascades of fool’s gold, with a vibrant green beastie in the middle of it all.

The footless Pokémon stood out like a sore thumb in the dull yellow of the sand. Its body seemed full much like a balloon sagging with water, but the brilliant golden eyes and the mischievous smile were filled with a restless excited energy, as though it were about to break the stillness of the picture to bounce around happily, causing both its spikes and the lovely flowers sticking from atop what might have been its large antennae to sway to the beat.

Was this Maractus, then? Briosa’s next messages confirmed as much.

9:13. This guy

9:13. Lives in the desert n does not need water for ages bc it stores it all in the lil pigtail things over there

9:14. What a delightful Pokémon! It seems very friendly. Thank you for offering clarifications - I understand now. Regarding your question, I am indeed capable of swimming and floating, but I’m still a little lost on what “being in the water” would mean.

9:14. Fair, hold on

9:14. Please, take all the time you need.

9:16. Do you suffer from a debilitating fear of any of the following: - water - the sea - the ocean - boats - being on a boats - fish - seafood - jellyfish - water pokemon - drowning - storms at sea - other things related to water/sea/fish/algae/boats/etc

Oh! A very thorough list! Then again, if the subject was severe phobias, it was good to be precise and include as many options as possible.

Ingo read it carefully.

9:17. Thank you for asking me. Here are my answers in order: - No - No - No - No - No - No - No - No - No, though I do not have any - I am reasonably afraid of drowning - I am similarly reasonably afraid of storms at sea - I cannot think of anything else relating to the subject at hand

9:18. Baller

(He snorted despite himself. Who the hell says ‘baller’?)

(It sounded old even to him.)

(And if anybody was supposed to know old, that was definitely him.)

9:18. You wanna go feed some frillish?

9:18. Water ghost

He thanked her quick wits for specifying before he had to ask.

So she was talking about Pokémon once again. Maybe it was a friendly species, or in this case a colony designated to a precise area. The name did intrigue him, bringing images of something graceful and wispy to his mind… It sounded like an interesting change of pace from his past sedentary days. And he would have gotten to see more of the region – so, why not?

9:19. I would indeed like to see more Unovan Pokémon!

9:19. Nice! wait uhhhhh ten minutes

Since she did not add anything onto that, he supposed he would have just waited.

Seven minutes later, he jolted six feet into the air while searching for a snack as someone tried blowing a hole through his door with their fists.

“HI!” came a sugar sweet voice at terrible volumes from beyond it: “IT’S BRIOSA!”

Maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised at seeing, once he’d opened the door, that it indeed was her: wearing a different hat, much boxier in shape, and different clothes, with no sleeves nor a coat to speak of and pants much too baggy for her little frame and heart-laced shoes with enormous soles that made her seem slightly taller, and Mawile on her arm instead of on the ground or biting down on her limbs, but with the same rotten green eyes and short stature and saccharine tone.

She smiled her square grin at him: “Hey.”

“Hello!” he greeted back, nodding in acknowledgement at both her and her Fairy, who nodded back politely. He stood there in front of them for a moment, like some kind of decorative alabaster column; then, a little awkwardly, he saw it fit to inquire: “May I ask how you found this address, seeing as I did not mention it at all?”

“I’ve cooked here,” she answered curtly.

He was about to apologize for the silly question – obviously a friend of Emmet’s would be aware of where his residence was – but her instant reply blocked him for a moment or so to better process what that meant.

Not that Briosa would allow him, because she immediately continued without giving him any chance of voicing his thoughts: “Wanna go?”

He stalled, turning back towards the corridor and then to her once more: “Should I take my own team along?” he asked. “I lack any Water Types, but if we are going into uncharted waters it would be perhaps safer to bring them either way.”

She shrugged: “That’s fair.”

He jumped again a few seconds later, as he was collecting his team – all of whom seemed very excited at the prospect of going out – when she shouted at him from the door, so loud that her voice squeaked: “REMEMBER THE FACEMASK!”

Ingo briefly wondered if that was how he sounded like to others.

He understood now why people tended to jolt or wince.

He also wondered, as they speeded through the streets, if Briosa was a relative of theirs that his brother had neglected to include in the family tree - seeing as she sporadically had both his egregious volume and Emmet’s bulldozing gait when walking, which was the main reason as to why they were currently making their way further and further west of Nimbasa with nary an opposition from other passersby, who perhaps took notice of her a little later due to her stature but were quick to throw themselves to the side and let her pass instead of getting their knees completely pulverized by such an unstoppable bullet of a person.

Now that he thought about it, her unmovable resolve could compete with Marshal’s, and Iris did have a similar brand of assertiveness and a tendency to drag people around like empty bags…

As lost in thought as he was, he very nearly found himself completely alone in the buzzing crowd, almost losing sight of his chaperone - though luckily he was able to locate and rush after her thanks to the long trail of empty space and terrified pedestrians left in the wake of her passage.

If she was indeed part of their family, she had not gotten their height.

“I didn’t know Nimbasa had an outlet onto the sea,” he noted loudly, half worrying his voice would get lost in the air currents created by her mad sprint.

Mawile, sitting on her aidee’s arm, translated him without problem: “Oh, it doesn’t,” Briosa replied without even turning, “It has one to the desert, we’re going to Driftveil.”

“To the desert?” he repeated.

“No, to Driftveil.”

“But you said something about a desert?”

“Yep.”

“There’s a desert?”

“Yep, the Desert Resort, or the Quiet Desert. I like Quiet Desert more than Resort, it makes it sound less like a tourist spot, which it isn’t really, because, you know! Desert! Just sand! Nothing else! And the castle, barely. But mostly sand!”

“And the what?”

“Castle, barely.”

“There’s a what?”

“Technically yes, practically no.”

Unsure how he was supposed to get clarification on that, he briefly changed the subject: “Why is it called quiet?”

“Because it’s quiet.”

“I imagined as much, but is there a more specific reason?”

“There used to be people and now there aren’t.”

“There used to be – sorry – people lived in the desert?”

“It probably wasn’t a desert back then but yes, I told you, there’s the castle and everything - barely, but technically there is one and I think you can get lost in there. Never been there! Just heard about it.”

Ingo looked around at the urban reality around him with completely different eyes compared to when Elesa had first dragged him through it – at the large fountains that sometimes dotted the streets, the shimmering of the amusement park’s gate preceding the clear moat around it, the plants, the small forest they were quickly approaching: all of this, right outside of a desert?

Such bountiful nature so close to a near complete lack of life?

Perhaps there was a fresh-water basin underground, and the city had been built on top of it; or perhaps it had been an oasis, and human intervention had then turned it into a properly lush continental landscape.

And to think of an inhabited desert… The thought of wandering people making a life through it didn’t sound as alien as he might have thought, but a castle within the dunes!

Who knows what kind of kingdom that could have been, now drowned in a dry sea…

Unova was such an interesting place.

“You can see it from the station, I think,” Briosa interrupted his musings.

He snapped back into focus: “What?”

“The desert, I think you can see it from the station,” she repeated: “There’s a balcony at the top, and if you stand there you can definitely see Castellia, so you should probably also– AH CAZZO L'HANNO TIRATO GIÙ ADESSO SANTI DRAGHI DI ‘STA MINCHIA,” she interrupted herself suddenly; her free hand clutched Ingo’s, and she all but dragged him through the asphalted path so quickly that he was fairly sure he was about to start majestically flailing in the wind: “Dai dai dai prima che non ci veda e lo tiri su di nuovo!”

A woman in a small booth replied to her greeting gesture with a reassuring thumbs up; in a moment, the two were standing on a marvel of metal and pulled rope, as red and white as truth itself, while above them circled flying winged shapes, dark against the morning sun.

Briosa let go of him and stomped to a stop a few steps away, leaning down onto her knees as she inhaled really noisily to regain her breath.

Ingo noticed only then, in-between heaving enormous quantities of air back into his burning lungs, that Mawile was still hanging onto her aidee’s arm, eyes enormous and claws sinking into it holding for dear life - by extension realizing there were also a discrete amount of small paler stripes of skin on the same limb, roughly as large as the cuts the hearing aid Pokémon had just opened.

The fact that this sort of phenomenon (bursting into a sprint out of nowhere) was, apparently, common enough for the Substitute to not even flinch as the Fairy simply dangled from her limb greatly befuddled him.

Then again, being in a semi-constant state of great puzzlement seemed like the standard reaction to Briosa in general.

“Porca di quella puttana troia d’una Emboar tua madre, c’è mancato un pelo,” she continued once she finally no longer exhaled like the rickety exhaust pipe of the world’s worst put together car.

It sounded like an incredibly blasphemous thing, so he held himself back from asking for a translation.

She stretched back to her entire three-Rawsts-and-an-Oran worth of height and waved at him with an easygoing attitude while her poor aide struggled to sit back up on her arm: “Questi se non ti vedono che sali rischi che ti tirano su il ponte sotto i piedi quando sei a metà. È successo a un amico di mio papà, s’è quasi polverizzato l’osso sacro scivolando giù fino a terra - che è una caduta mica da ridere, non te la raccomando. Noi siamo a posto comunque, non ti preoccupare, non c’è nave che tenga, finché non ci vedono arrivare dall’altra parte questo pezzo di merda non si muove d’un millimetro. Dai ora, che il ponte non è lungo ma se ci beccano gli Swanna non la finiamo più. Ecco, attento agli Swanna appunto. E ai Ducklett. Che son bastardi pure loro. Piccini e tutto, ma bastardi.”

Ingo did not respond to that.

His eyes covertly turned to Mawile, hoping they could convey what his lack of expressivity couldn’t, that being: was it a little late to ask for a translation?

Because while he would have very much liked to comprehend what all of that had been about, it had sounded like a whole lot of information, and he wasn’t even sure if Mawile had understood it either.

The Fairy sighed deeply, tiredly setting her paws up to relay his question.

She was interrupted by a loud graceful shriek approaching ever quicker, as if diving right for them: a large shadow was closing in on them from the sky, slowly unveiling a sharp beak and white plumage as it approached with the speed and murderous intent of a heat-seeking missile.

Oh, shit.

When bird pokémon got like that, one’s best hope was to duck in time and sprint as far into the opposite direction as possible. And Ingo was all out of sprinting for the day.

He couldn’t even manage to be mad when Mawile jumped off of her aidee out of what he rightfully assumed to be a burst of preservation instincts, only patting her shoulder to give her a speedy farewell before leaving her to her no doubt agonizing end - since the beast approaching was fairly large and by the looks of it could have easily swept her off her feet and carried her away much like a Hunchcrow nabbing a very unfortunate Buneary. That was a fair response from the little Steel type, he reasoned, since she was even smaller than her human ward.

He, on the other hand, who was significantly larger than all parties involved, should have done something about this.

Before he could move, the Flying Type had reached his prey.

Said prey proceeded to instantly grasp the Pokémon’s long white neck in an iron grip, slap the beaked face hard enough to make it squawk, and hurl it over the red edge of the bridge as it flapped its wings in frantic terror, with no additional fanfare outside from a squeaky: “E vaffanculo!”

Ah.

Well…

Yes, actually, he should have expected this.

Honestly he wasn’t sure why he’d even entertained the thought that the poor creature had any chance of survival.

Briosa turned to him again: “Vedi?” she asked, and gestured at the Flying beast clumsily fluttering as far away from her as possible in a hurry: “Gli Swanna son stronzi così. Per quello dobbiamo sbrigarci, altrimenti ne arrivano altri dieci e a quel punto siam fottuti. Dai, metti in moto quelle pertiche che hai al posto delle gambe e andiamo.”

Then she turned around, and Ingo nearly tripped on his feet to keep up with her.

The bridge was marvelously built, he could still notice in spite of how little time he got to spend on it. The open sea greeted him from one side, and the enormous river from the other: despite the brine and limestone the metal structure remained a splendid red, its powerful metal cables holding strong against the winds and constant stress of lowering and raising the heavy platform. The sudden familiarity he’d felt when looking at modern Canalave City on the Sinnohan map was thus explained - he’d seen those kinds of drawbridges before! Right here!

An inexplicable joy lifted his heart a little. Hurrying to the other side didn’t feel as winding anymore.

The massive structure groaned as though to bid them goodbye while it was pulled up to let a ship pass, carrying whatever precious cargo it had upstream, when they finally touched down in Driftveil City.

If he had to describe the place in one word, he might have said it was very… Brown.

That did not mean it was monotonous, or ugly: just that the color and its variations seemed to dominate the city’s palette. Past the small green park meant to welcome visitors from Nimbasa the brick-built houses went back and forth between all sorts of earthy hues, from burnt orange to tan to something even closer to a fiery red, and the thin clay dust sometimes swirling on the gray asphalt gave the streets an appearance similar to some exotic kind of sandstone, or perhaps some yet unknown kind of semi-precious gem. Buildings with yet lighter colored walls appeared by contrast to be struggling against the city’s weather, finding themselves a little dull, almost gaunt or sickly, covered in graying patches nowhere to be seen on older constructions.

Briosa walked confidently between the slightly less bustling avenues, letting Ingo observe from the wake of her bulldozing passage. They passed a large market, silver tiles a little dusty, and took a wider road south from which vans periodically emerged to get swallowed up by the city life.

“Do you like fish?” she asked for no apparent reason.

“I do!”

“Then I’ll call you on Thursday for a list! That’s when the fish market comes around!”

“A list of what?”

“Motorbike parts. What do you think they sell at a fish market?”

“Oh! Please, there is no need to bother yourself with my own groceries. I will be glad to return on the correct day and get some myself.”

She laughed her rubbery giggle and drastically reduced her walking speed, appearing beside him in the blink of an eye: “No way, they’re able to swindle your underwear from under your nose if you can’t keep up with their bullshit arguments,” she winked: “Let the king of the market handle it. I’ll get you some great quality Feebas at a price so low you’ll shit your pants twice.”

Ingo processed the words like a steel ingot to the head: “I hope it will not come to that, but thank you.”

They turned sharply as they approached a long cement bridge connecting some kind of small island to the rest of the peninsula, apparently inhabited only by stern gray warehouses with roofs of a beautiful blue surrounded by large ships, mysterious green parallelepipeds, and gargantuan rust-red cranes; his short guide led him instead to a port for smaller vessels of varying sizes and capacities, most white and with some kind of sail.

Briosa navigated through the grove of masts and ropes as naturally as she would have in a subway tunnel.

Her search came to an end as she jumped into a small motor powered boat - perhaps the smallest in the entire sea: it was large enough to hold maybe two people, with a layer of vaguely blueish paint that wasn’t waterproof chipping away to reveal dull metal. Between the two seats lay a plank of wood similar to a cutting board, while near the front sat a large airtight sealed bag brimming with something and a toolbox was secured to the back right under the engine.

Mawile settled in the rickety thing with fond familiarity, finding a comfortable spot right at the front. As she stretched, Ingo couldn’t help imagining her as a miniature ship’s figurehead, impassively braving high tides and stormy weather.

With a brilliant square smile, Briosa opened her arms.

“Boat!” she announced proudly.

The man before her nodded and clapped by reflex before remembering she was deaf.

She bowed deeply nonetheless with a noticeable sense of theatricality.

“Now get in - CAREFULLY, with your freakishly long legs,” she ordered at last, pointing him to the seat in front of her. “We’ve got Frillish to feed.”

Ingo complied, taking all necessary precautions - Palina had shown him how to avoid accidentally capsizing vessels even smaller than this one, and he repeated her instructions under her breath as he added his weight to the boat.

Mawile lent him a paw to help him stabilize himself: he took it gratefully despite the very obvious fact that the difference between the various values of their bodies would have been enough to send the Steel Fairy flying directly into the horizon if he so much as briefly slipped, repaying the favor by helping her down from where she stood and offering his lap as a much more cushioned seat for her with a very polite ‘allow me, madam’, in the spit image of an old-fashioned gentleman. The tiny pokémon snickered a bit at his courtesy, but made herself comfortable on his leg nonetheless with a kind little signed thanks.

The motor suddenly stuttering to live scared the wits out of him briefly: he turned just in time to see Briosa smack her hand on the engine appreciatively with some kind of strange coo (“e anche oggi, ti si butta domani”) and face him with a wide toothy grin that cast a dangerous shadow all over her face.

The little boat then lurched ahead with impressive vigor; Ingo felt his back fold quicker than lightning as the dingy little thing speeded forward out of the harbor, almost squashing Mawile under him and slamming his nose directly into his own knees. He managed to catch himself just in time for neither of those things to happen and looked up with the wide eyes of a Pichu caught stealing a berry.

Briosa only grinned wider, rotten olive eyes squinted hard, square mouth opening just a moment to let out her squeaky saccharine laugh.

He would learn later that evening that she had that terrifying expression not because she was planning to spook him (or worse, grievously injure him) in the coming days, but because that was just how she looked when her teeth showed.

In the current moment, he thoughtfully considered whether he should fear for his life.

Water sprayed his back as they took off.

Ingo took his face mask off and turned to soak in the salmaster scent, eyes closed.

The engine coughed and croaked against the waves’ smoother hisses as they zipped around the hull; the wind seemed to cut into his nose, scraping his cheeks, howling in his ears until he had to pull down his hat to cover them.

Oh, this was so much better than flying. A million times better. The unstable gait of the boat still made him feel as though he was sitting on something solid, the buildings slowly growing smaller didn’t turn miniscule as soon as he blinked, and the vast expanse of the sea beneath him was far less terrifying than however many kilometers of completely empty air could have been between him and the ground.

He leaned against the side, almost laying down completely overwhelmed by some kind of inexplicable bliss.

“Having fun?” Briosa asked from behind his eyelids.

Sunlight pressed onto them, turning their darkness pink.

He nodded solemnly and gave her a thumbs up.

He could hear Mawile laugh goodnaturedly about it in his lap.

The rumbling engine sputtered to a halt after what felt like hours, but had very likely just been minutes; Ingo opened his eyes to be greeted by a sky with very few clouds, blue waves in every direction, and a good dozen beady red eyes creeping closer from beneath the water’s surface.

Not the most relaxing detail to notice.

A vaguely onion shaped mass began breaking through, rising towards him with a haunting empty look like that of a wandering Duskull fixed upon a pale azure skin. He stared back at it while it gripped the side of the boat with a wet flap similar to some kind of fabric to heft itself out of the water better and lean towards him, closer and closer, reaching out for him…

Mawile’s enormous jaws snapped around it, and the creature yelped comically loud.

Ingo felt himself yanked back to reality: “Oh!” he exclaimed while Briosa almost deafened him with a fit of maddened laughter, “Thank you!”

The little Fairy nodded back at him with a pleasant smile as she let go of her blubbering victim and smacked her aidee’s offered hand in a high five - or high three, considering the number of fingers on her paw.

“Are these the Frillish?” he asked.

The other human nodded after receiving his translation while she slammed one of her ridiculously tall-soled shoes onto the head of another one of the strange beasts (a rather pink one, who also gave a strangled wail when the hit drove its spectral jaw onto the metal and back into the water) to drive it off: “Their food’s right behind you,” she said as she pointed behind Ingo.

The man turned quickly, noticing the airtight bag secured at the front and bringing it to the middle of the boat: “Ah, pardon me - of course they were trying to climb in, I was blocking off their source of sustenance.”

“Oh no, they were trying to climb in to eat you,” Briosa corrected him. She opened the bag wide and pulled out some kind of shovel to mix around the kibble. “They would’ve dragged you into the water, drowned you and made you their lunch. It’s happened! They found the victims’ bones and everything!”

“... I see. Why do you feed them, then?”

A rain of kibble landed into the water and was promptly devoured by the hungry Ghosts: “Fun, I guess.”

She handed him the shovel.

With no other clear option, he shrugged mentally and launched another handful of edible little cubes into the sea.

They spent an almost infinite amount of minutes just taking turns at the bag, tossing food at the swarm and watching the blues and pinks mingle just underneath the surface as they hurried to get a bite before they were all gobbled up.

It was strangely satisfying.

Relaxing, even.

Kind of like watching Gravelers roll up and down a ravine.

He could see why Briosa enjoyed this.

They were rather curious Pokémon, he mused. He could feel a certain strange charm oozing out of them, the same that wafted from Chandelure, a certain eerie quality to their movements and their calls that he could compare to the Ghosts haunting Mount Coronet; yet something was especially heavy about them, as if they were bound by a sort of gravity that dragged them downwards instead of letting them waver lightly in the breeze.

Could it be the weight of the water they made their home within? The dampness of the infinite depths which hid away shipwrecks and sunken treasures, challenging any foolish divers that dared search for pearls within the rotting and rusting relics…

Perhaps this was what had brought the Substitute Subway Boss to care for them.

“Do you do this often?” he asked.

“On my days off.”

“This swarm must know you well, then.”

“Probably.”

“Do you like this type of Pokémon?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Have you ever considered catching any of them?”

“No.”

“I see.”

Like his brother, she could be well-versed in the art of conciseness.

As someone who’d never really been able to wield it successfully, he couldn’t help but feel in equal measure frustrated and envious by this pattern of conversation.

The Frillish heads bobbed upon the waves like buoys when the feeding suddenly stopped, watching them expectantly.

“I think they want more,” Ingo noted helpfully.

“They know food time is done,” Briosa replied while laying sideways across the boat. She was short enough that she fit perfectly within it, leaving only her feet poking out as though she were on a hammock.

The man looked back at the Pokémon staring at them with their terrifying beady eyes: “I do not believe they’re as aware of that fact as you might think.”

“Give Mawile a moment.”

The Steel Fairy smirked at the confused look he shot her.

Her maw, which had now long been dipped in the water, quivered lightly. Out of nowhere it began thrashing violently, slamming into the side of the vessel as if trying to rip itself from her head; both humans hurried to grab her tiny body before she was dragged overboard while she very calmly persevered in her mysterious unseen struggle much to the slowly increasing terror of the Frillish witnessing the scene.

Finally, the black mass escaped the ocean with a pinkish bounty roughly twice its size caught between its metal teeth. It slammed onto the board with a horrendous wet noise: the Ghosts paled at the spectacle and scattered as quickly as they could, sinking back into the abyss from whence they’d come.

Briosa whooped, grabbed her hearing aide’s catch, and gnawed a chunk of fin off with her teeth so quickly she almost choked right on it.

Ingo stared.

She stared back. A sudden embarrassment overtook her after a couple of minutes: she coughed, risked strangling herself again, swallowed her bite, and offered it to him.

“No, thank you,” he courteously replied.

“They’re safe to eat raw,” she insisted. “Honestly fresh and raw is the only way you can eat Alomomola fins, because if you freeze ‘em they get all mushy and gross when thawed and if you cook ‘em they get hard as wood and you may as well just use them as paddles. Ah, no, wait, maybe not this side, I chewed all over it - hold on a sec.”

As Mawile took her own bite off of the poor thing now turned into a near-midday snack’s appendages, Briosa rummaged with the toolbox beneath the engine. She pulled out a few knives before settling on one of them: laying the dead Pokémon on the cutting board Ingo had noted the presence of between the seats earlier with no shortage of curiosity, she expertly chopped off both vaguely hand-shaped fins and cut them into fairly long uniform strips that looked like chunky, yet to be dried beef jerky, a couple of which she raised to Ingo in a second, slightly more refined offering.

He accepted only one with a slight sigh, not eating it - not that he was scandalized by the method it had been obtained with (he’d had to hunt, too) or her table manners (he’d seen plenty worse): the smell of fresh fish simply was not a favorite of his.

Briosa was now busying herself with the rest of the corpse, cutting it up with clear and well honed motions.

It reminded him of Palina, of the few times he’d seen her work on a catch.

“You’re rather skilled with a knife,” Ingo noted. “I would not have expected this kind of proficiency nowadays.”

She slipped a fin strip in her mouth, chewing it a bit like a pipe: “Yeah, this isn’t really something you need when you don’t have to survive in the wilderness,” she nodded. “What with supermarkets and everything else.”

“May I ask how you learned?”

“First job was on a fishing boat for a brand of frozen fish sticks. They stuck me below deck to clean catches and prepare everything for the cooking since I was deaf and couldn’t really be of much help upstairs if somebody fell overboard. I did almost stab a guy when he tried to spook me, but also I’m the only one who didn’t end up in jail for Pokémon abuse and illegal fishing techniques, so.”

“Pardon, what?”

“Oh, you know,” Briosa shrugged.

“I do not think I do.”

“No, wait, you can’t know. Amnesia. Ok, so!” and she shoved another strip in her mouth, chewing as she picked up the momentum of her story like a train rolling down the side of a mountain: “By Driftveil, there’s Chargestone Cave, right? Chock full of Joltiks, I know you know those because Emmet has a thousand of ‘em. So what they used to do to minimize costs and maximize catches was, they’d set a few traps up in the cave, catch as many buggers as they could, and then dump them all in the sea so the poor things would panic as they drowned and shocked the fuck out of everything, and then they’d pick up all the dead fish in nets and pull ‘em over below deck for us shitheads to debone and cook and pack and all.”

Ingo absentmindedly bit into the fin, eyes wide as he listened: "That is tremendously inhumane." he noted.

"Hm, absolutely. And super illegal. Which is why when the researchers worried about the sudden decrease in the Joltik population and the several hundreds of little yellow corpses washing ashore discovered the traps and who was setting them up, they shut the whole thing down and almost everybody went to jail."

"Except for you."

"Except for me! Because I was deaf and working below deck and nobody told me anything ever. So they couldn't find anything on me and I just went home to look for another job."

"Is this when you moved onto railroads?"

"Oh no, I was in highschool back then, I paid uni with that job. They made so much cash from the illegal lures and I worked so fast that they kept giving me bonuses. I could even afford uni books. You know how much uni books cost? I could buy out the whole fish market for the same price as like, twelve of them probably."

Ah. “It seems to have worked out for you.”

Briosa threw yet another fin strip in her mouth (he had eaten a few by now as well, and so had Mawile) and nodded sagely.

She had fully cleaned and deboned the Alomomola while talking, now busying herself with cutting it into large enough fillets and wrapping it in papers so the blood and other fluids wouldn’t stain wherever she would settle her haul in. Ingo observed her carefully.

“This isn’t for me, by the way,” she told him while stuffing the fillets into a cold bag. “There’s a Galarian guy who makes fish and chips by the docks.”

“You sell your catches to him?”

“No, I just give ‘em what Mawile gets and he gives me a free meal for her or me or whoever. Equivalent exchange and all. Unless you want this? You can have it. Alomomola are great in a pan with a bit of salt and finely chopped chives on top. Plus they’re fat as hell so you don’t need butter or oil. And their sauce is good for your veins, too.”

“No, thank you,” he replied. “We have enough fish at home.”

She shrugged: “Suit yourself.”

Ingo watched her stretch, thin arms up in the air as she leaned back and to the left. Her strange shirt seemed to cling on her frame for dear life in the way it might have on a too small clothing hanger, ribs threatening to cut through her skin if she bent a little too much; similarly, he noted now, her legs seemed to take very little space inside her pants compared to the mass the fabric would have suggested.

His first thought was: no way she’s not going to survive the winter like that.

His second thought was that heating existed, and she did not rely on hunting, gathering and sparse agricultural practices to get sustenance, so she would have probably handled the coming cold just fine.

His third thought was that she should have still made some substantial (and abundant) changes to her diet.

A powerful ringing tore him out of his own head. He looked to his wrist to find the XTransceiver all abuzz with light and sound, insistently displaying INCOMING CALL FROM: EMMET in bright glowing letters; he tapped it hurriedly.

“I am Emmet,” his twin greeted him.

“Hello! I can see that!” Ingo very loudly waved back at him. “How are you?”

“I am fine! Tired. Usual day stress, though. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I am glad to hear it. Remember to take breaks!”

“I will. Lunch is soon anyway. Got two sandwiches today.”

“Bravo!”

“How are you?”

“I am doing quite fine! Briosa kindly offered to keep me company today, so we have taken a small trip to Driftveil.”

“Nice! Fun place. Lots of fish.”

“Indeed. I’ve even had the chance to feed some Frillish with her.”

The near instant way his brother’s smile dropped to make way for a wide-eyed pale-cheeked look of pure terror made Ingo consider the possibility that, perhaps, simply mentioning he had been surrounded by man-eating ghost jellyfish without much further elaboration could have sounded a little bit concerning.

“It was done after taking good safety precautions,” he kind of half lied.

Emmet did not effectively hear him, as he instead asked in a very urgent tone: “Are you on the boat?”

“The what?”

“The boat. Briosa’s boat. Are you on the boat?”

Briosa returned her attention to her guest roughly right at that moment, eyes falling on the device at his wrist: “Who’s calling you?” she asked, pointing at the Xtransceiver with her chin.

“I - it’s Emmet,” he replied while struggling to keep his attention divided between the two of them.

“Hm,” she hummed: “Don’t tell him we’re on my boat.”

“You’re on the boat?” Emmet wheezed in a very, very shrill voice.

“I - Emmet, hold on–”

“You’re on the BOAT??”

“I’m- please calm down-”

“ON THE BOAT??”

“Alright, you seem very distressed about the boat.”

“I told you not to tell him about the boat!” Briosa reprimanded him as she read his lips.

Ingo briefly covered the device to at least muffle his twin’s newest shriek: “He can hear you,” he explained as sanity threatened to leave him completely; “He heard you saying I should not have mentioned we were on your boat.”

“YOU’RE ON THE FUCKING BOAT??”

Briosa clicked her tongue loudly after Mawile was done translating.

“Shit,” she just noted.

“GET OFF THE BOAT,” Emmet demanded from under his brother’s hand.

“Emmet, we are currently at sea,” Ingo informed him. “If I were to leave the boat now, I would likely have to swim the way back, which I very plainly refuse to do.”

“I AM EMMET. I DO NOT CARE. GET OFF THE BOAT.”

“You are being a little unreasonable.”

“YOU WILL DROWN.”

“Is he saying we will drown,” the Substitute butted in.

“YOU WILL,” Emmet insisted.

Ingo nodded.

“We’re not gonna drown,” Briosa reassured him.

“YOU WILL.”

“We’re not gonna drown.”

“INGO. TURN ME AROUND. I NEED TO YELL AT HER.”

His twin pursed his lips at him: “I do not think she will hear you.”

“INGO.”

Ingo dutifully unlatched the XTransceiver and handed it over to Briosa for her to more easily see.

He imagined his brother signing furiously as he heard him hiss through gritted teeth: “Briosa. Take him back to land. Right now. Immediately.”

“Emmet, we’re not going to drown.”

“You cannot know that. You will drown. Take him back. Right now.”

“He’s literally fine. I asked him if this sort of place freaked him out beforehand and he said he’s ok.”

“You can’t know that!”

“I can and I do know that because he’s directly in front of me and he’s been nothing but relaxed the whole time he’s been here. We haven’t had any accidents or anything of the sort. Everything is literally just fine. We’re chilling, even.”

“You cannot be chilling on a boat. Boats are death traps. Get him back on land. Now.”

“Emmet, porca puttana,” Briosa said gently, “Adesso ti corco di botte.”

“Do not speak tongues at me.”

“It takes thirty minutes to get back to shore,” she continued in a much sterner tone: “Then it takes ten more to walk back to Nimbasa. Your brother will be safe and sound at the station in forty minutes at best and forty-five at worst. So you will calm your anemic Sudowoodo ass down this instant or when I get back to work tomorrow the first thing I do will be waterboarding you in the bathroom sink.”

Please do not do that, Ingo thought but sagely did not say out loud.

A beat of tense silence passed between them; then he heard his twin sigh loudly.

“Verrry sorry,” he mumbled. “I am Emmet. I am tired. I panicked.”

“Fair. Go eat and you’ll feel better.”

“Soon. Please get off the boat.”

“We will! Tell your brother bye and then we’ll be on our way.”

She handed the XTransceiver back to Ingo, leaning down again as soon as it was not in her hands anymore.

He looked down at his brother with no shortage of concern: “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked softly.

Emmet nodded, though he looked a little exhausted - as though all that shouting had drained a lot of his energy: “I am Emmet. I am fine. Really. I just don’t like the boat. But don’t worry!” he reassured him quickly, “Briosa knows her way with them. You are safe. I’d like it if you came back, though. I’d feel much safer.”

“We will set sail for Driftveil right this moment, don’t worry,” Ingo replied. “I will be back to the station according to schedule! Please take care until then!”

“I will! Have a good trip back. Love you.”

“Love you too!”

The video feed cut off naturally, and the screen returned a vague reflection of Ingo’s characteristic frown. He turned to Briosa.

She continued to lay down, eyes closed, enjoying the warm sun.

He coughed gently in Mawile’s direction; the Fairy, also relaxing against the hull, turned to him with an inquisitive chirp.

“Are we not supposed to depart immediately?” he asked.

She stood back up and scampered to the side of her aidee’s chest, smacking her paw against her cheek. Once she had her attention, she quickly relayed the question.

“No.” Briosa replied without moving an inch.

“But you said it takes thirty minutes to return to shore,” Ingo argued. “We must leave this station quickly, or we will accumulate quite a delay.”

“The port is fifteen minutes away,” she replied.

Ingo blinked: “But you said thirty.”

“I lied.”

“Why so?”

“Gives us ten more minutes to stay here.”

“Don’t you mean fifteen?”

“Five minute headstarts never hurt anybody.”

“You have an interesting way of handling time.”

“Thanks.”

And so, they waited.

The man who waited for them on the pier seemed to be at least middle aged, although his brown hair without a single streak of silver could have suggested otherwise; he had glanced at the coming boat as he walked past the port, slowed down, done a double take, tilted his large white hat upwards in a surprised motion, and sauntered over to the incoming vessel with a smile that pulled at the laugh lines around his mouth – the sight of which reminded Ingo to pull up his facemask.

Briosa instantly bristled like an irritated Luxio.

“Well, howdy there,” the stranger greeted them once within talking distance.

“FUCK OFF YOU OLD CUNT,” she replied, “THAT’S MY SPOT.”

He raised his hands in a show of innocence, clearly taken aback by the volume: “Now there, ma’am–”

“SIR.” she stated firmly. Her small olive eyes were wide and still, laser focused on the man’s face with an intensity that would have crushed his bones and the kind of wrathful expression of an extraordinarily small Glalie.

He bowed his head slightly: “My mistake.”

(Ingo found this small exchange completely incomprehensible.)

“I didn’t mean to get y’all up in a fuss,” the other continued – he spoke with a very strange accent, as though he had picked up a second one and mixed it with a first one for so long that he couldn’t separate them anymore – and smiled gently at a very surprised Ingo: “I reckoned I saw a familiar face and thought of sayin’ hello is all.”

Was this a journalist? He didn’t look like one, but it would explain why the Substitute had gotten so riled up. As far as the public was concerned, the missing Subway Master was still possibly in Sinnoh; if it turned out he’d suddenly appeared in Unova, it would certainly stir up one hell of a media storm, and the tentative peaceful existence he’d been living up until now would have no doubt been annihilated.

Unsure what to do, the amnesiac turned his eyes to Briosa.

She was squinting hard.

“I did not get a single bit of that,” she concluded. “I can’t read shit if you speak like you’re trying to hide that you’re still chewing lunch.”

Not being a hearing impaired person, it took the man a hot moment to understand what she meant.

That gave her ample time to reiterate, even louder: “FUCK OFF.”

“NOW there,” the stranger finally continued (opening his mouth a lot more to accommodate her, which certainly had An Effect on his accent) as he grabbed a hold of his headwear and tilted it downwards, perhaps in an attempt at covering his ears, “I don’t mean to cause trouble. I am a friend of that young man’s uncle.”

“CAN YOU PROVE THAT, HAT BOY?”

A green glint caught Ingo’s attention as the man sighed. That hue… The facets, the shape - but it couldn’t have been, no, there was no way. None at all. Simply–

(The warden reached out with a sort of misplaced hope.)

“Lian?”

The man looked at him, puzzled.

Ingo blessed the facemask for muffling his words.

He pointed at the gemstone perched upon the cream fabric: “That,” he explained, trying not to sound strangled, “Looks like a hisuian jasper. The stone.”

A hundred wrinkles creased the stranger’s face as it brightened with a smile.

“You remember this dusty piece of rock but not lil’ ol’ me?” he cawed out in the beginning of a laugh, more than elated by his words. He pulled off his hat for a moment with a wistful, almost nostalgic air, while Mawile hurriedly explained the situation to her aidee before she screamed at him to speak clearly again: “Ah, but you two were quite taken with it when you first saw me in person, I reckon that!”

He looked exactly like Lian. His hair was darker and his build stouter and his eyes harder and his skin paler and his nose bigger and his clothes completely different and his hat only vaguely similar, but he looked exactly like Lian.

His hand was warm in Ingo’s own, firm and steady as he shook once with practiced confidence, and he realized he’d automatically gone to meet it when he’d offered it.

“Name’s Clay,” he said. “This here city’s gym leader.”

Like Elesa! Somewhat less worried, the former conductor shook back: “It’s a pleasure to meet you again,” he said, relieved: “I’d introduce myself, but I have a feeling that would be redundant.”

“Unless there’s something new about yourself y’think I should know, I’m inclined to agree,” Clay replied easily, with a grin and the beginning of a laugh.

(No, Ingo decided very quickly, there was nothing he wanted to share.)

(Not now. Not ever, probably.)

(The warden still clung to the memory of Lian. What were the odds? That they would find someone of the Pearl clan, of the young man’s own family here? Perhaps it was a sign of sorts, trying to communicate something.)

(Perhaps it was some cruel trick of fate.)

(His palm was slowly dampening the kindly grip so very happy to see him.)

Ingo slipped out of the handshake with as natural a movement as he could while he carefully moved to stand on the pier: “I would love to get to know you better once more, but I am afraid today I am on a tight schedule,” he apologized: “My brother requires my presence shortly, and I would hate to upset him.”

“By the Dragons, don’t let me keep you then!” the gym leader reassured him, patting the side of his arm with almost as much strength as Briosa. “And don’t go lookin’ sheepish about that, I’ve got my own day all filled up… Mighty glad to have seen you again! And give Emmet my regards, would’ya?”

He watched the older man leave with a wide wave and a similarly wide smile, still huffing one or two raucous chuckles every now and then. His stout legs moved quickly down the port, past the boats and ships docking or leaving; then he crossed the bridge, and disappeared.

Briosa watched him pointedly, like a Braviary surveilling an intruder in its territory.

“So who was that?” she asked, sounding on edge.

Ingo blinked: “He is the gym leader,” he reassured her.

“Of what?”

He blinked again: “Driftveil City?”

“Huh. Really?”

“I… Did you… Not know?”

“No? Should I?”

The man stared at her for a brief moment.

“I was under the impression that you lived here?”

“I do. And?”

Now, he may not remember much in regards to modern times.

But he was pretty sure that a Gym Leader was someone that most people in the town in which the person in question operated were likely to know the existence of whether they actually wanted to or not.

A bagful of filleted fish unceremoniously dropped into his not exactly waiting arms, taking his mind off of the curious conundrum: “Go get yourself fish and chips,” Briosa ordered simply. “It’s almost midday and you should have lunch. Emmet too, probably, but you can get at least one free with this.”

“Oh - er, thank you,” the man replied: “Wouldn’t you want to have it for yourself?”

She shrugged: “I’m not hungry.”

Considering the voracious way she had eaten the majority of the Alomomola’s fins a little more than ten minutes ago, Ingo had his doubts on that, but kept them to himself: “Where can I find the fish and chips man?”

“Red food stand with FISH ‘N’ CHIPS written on it as big as a house.”

“Concise and evocative! Much like you tend to be in your speech.”

Briosa gave him a wide, square smile and signed back a very proud little thank you.

She shooed him off with a half wave goodbye, to which he replied with a gentlemanly dip on his hat; then, as he walked off and Mawile did a few stretching exercises after having sat crumpled like a boiled Clauncher or a roasted Tatsugiri for roughly the past hour, she got to work securing her boat to the pier so that it wouldn’t float away on its lonesome while she wasn’t looking.

Engrossed in the familiar motions as she was (and being very, very deaf), she only noticed the former Subway Master had traced his steps all the way back to her only when she turned around and subsequently almost kicked him across the face with a magnificent vertical split for the spook of seeing him so close out of nowhere.

Luckily, they both survived the mutually inflicted heart attack unscathed.

Emmet would have probably killed her otherwise.

Before she could wheeze an apology, Ingo dug a hand in a plastic bag that had suddenly appeared in his hand and thrust forward a small white container, its two half taped shut by a perhaps excessively long line of papery tape.

She looked at it with wide eyes, not making a single move to take it; so, the taller man pulled his facemask down and told her as clearly as he could: “Fish and chips!”

“Oh!” Briosa squeaked. Either he’d been really fast at ordering, or she was dang slow at mooring her boat – though both possibilities being contemporaneously true wasn’t unlikely, either. She still made no motion towards what she assumed was Ingo’s lunch, which he appeared to be excitedly showing to her awaiting approval like a kid who managed to order an ice cream all on their own for the first time without bursting into tears or hiding behind a chair when the pressure became too much to handle. “Good job. It’s really tasty, hope you enjoy it.”

The other remained perfectly still for a moment, much like her, before extending his arm a little closer to her: “For you,” he specified.

“What?”

“This one is for you.”

Her head shot forward, big broken nose almost bumping into the container while she regarded it with brand new bafflement.

Her gaze returned to Ingo: “For me?” she repeated, voice very high pitched.

He nodded.

“You didn’t have to! I told you to use that Alomomola to get yourself something!”

“I have mine and Emmet’s servings here,” and he shook the bag lightly, careful not to accidentally make an oily mess in there. “I wanted to repay you for inviting me on your boat! I had a very good time.”

Briosa seemed a little stunned. She grabbed the container in a careful, almost suspicious manner, her limbs moving a little stunted until her fingers were finally clasped around the white plastic: she regarded the flavorful package for a couple seconds once it was safely in her grip, still perplexed.

“I’ll share it with the lads,” she concluded at last.

Ingo nodded again: “Food shared with friends can be more enjoyable!”

Mawile translated him, since Briosa was still looking downwards and had completely missed the chance to read his lips; from her small face, she not only seemed to agree wholeheartedly with the sentiment, but also appeared a little exasperated.

Evidently he wasn’t the only one concerned with how much her aidee ate.

The Substitute twisted her mouth briefly, squinting hard and curling up her nose as though reflecting on the words very intently.

At last she faced Ingo again, flat lips curled into a square grin and voice so saccharine and honest that he could feel his teeth rotting as the phonemes left her tongue: “Thank you!”

The man tipped his hat at her again, hoping she could recognize his own smile.

Emmet walked into the control room stiffer than a block of cement.

His brother perked up from the chair he had been seated on while waiting for his twin and waved enthusiastically at him.

Softening immediately, Emmet waved back just as cheerfully.

They spent one entire minute waving in perfect silence.

Then Ingo, who must have grown restless from the quiet, raised his other arm and bellowed: “Emmet! I got you food!”

“I am Emmet! I appreciate the thought. I already have food, though. I told you.”

“It’s fish and chips!”

Oh FUCK yeah. “I am Emmet! I will accept the food regardless!”

“NOT inside of the control room!” Eloise shouted, pointing at him with a face that was torn between the wrath of the Dragons and a not particularly silent plea for mercy.

Vip twisted her nose, also grimacing in a terrible way: “Please, boss,” she added. “Last time Briosa brought some we had to call those high-end professional cleaners to get the odor out after three days.”

“Hm.” Emmet noted: “You are right. Better eat elsewhere.”

“LEAVE THE BREAKROOM UNBREACHED,” arose, from afar and shrill with terror, the voice of Depot Agent Hank, whose sense of smell was beyond keen and had been mauled into a delirium during the last incursion of the delicious stench typically emanated from fried tubers and ichthyic matter.

Hm. Also a fair request.

After briefly cycling through the few options remaining in terms for lunch spots, the Subway Master smiled a little wider: “Let’s go to the roof.”

“The roof?” his brother repeated.

“The roof,” he nodded back: “Open air. Smell won’t get caught anywhere.”

A loud array of relieved sighs blessed his choice.

Roof it was.

Ingo followed him diligently as they both made their way back to the elevator, seeming in truth a little curious.

“I had no idea we could go to the roof.”

“I didn’t mention it the first time. Didn’t think of it.”

“I take it it’s not a very popular spot amongst employees?”

“It is!”

“Oh!”

“We come up here sometimes. Good way to destress. Breathe in fresh air. Then back down! Just for a moment of rest.”

“I see. It would be easy to forget about mentioning it, then.”

“Yup. But now you get to see it. As a surprise. Are you excited?”

“I am!”

His brother grinned.

The clouds above them were sparse, but marvelously plump. An astigmatic who’d forgotten their glasses that day could have been led to believe that the biggest Cottonees in the history of Unova were currently leisurely making their way onto a new pasture via a stroll through the stratosphere.

Both twins watched them for a few seconds, the brims of their hats shielding them from the otherwise blinding sun.

Emmet searched in his uniform’s immense pockets, pulling out a couple sandwiches.

“Split?”

“Oh, gladly!”

They sat down near the railing as they got to work unpacking their lunch and handing each half of the food in their possession before finally chowing down, not speaking for a while – their hunger surprised them a little, but considering the morning the other brother must have had they concluded they couldn’t blame one another for being so focused on ravaging what they had.

They got done with the sandwiches first, eating them in a handful of massive bites. The fish and chips stunned them briefly when they opened the plastic containers and the fried aroma they had subjugated until now slammed directly into their noses, long enough for them to digest their appetizers: wisely, they decided that their impromptu picnic’s main course should have probably been enjoyed a little slower. And without the aid of gloves.

“How was it?” the Subway Boss asked as he carefully stripped his hands of the white cotton seconds away before he could soak it in grease. “The boat.”

Ingo blew on a fry before putting it in his mouth: “It was a pleasant experience,” he replied while he munched, palm raised to his mouth so he wouldn’t spit potato at his brother while talking: “I saw quite a few Frillish up close,, fed them kibbles, enjoyed the sun, and had some raw Alomomola fins as a snack.”

“Yum.”

“Yes, they were rather tasty! And with an interesting texture to boot.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

The tone was genuine enough, but Ingo couldn’t help but furrow his brow: “You did seem rather worried about it. Did you have an unpleasant trip on a boat yourself, or–”

His brother slurped up three fries at once, almost choking: “Oh – no no no. I am Emmet. I am just verrry afraid of the sea,” he explained a little embarrassedly. “I didn’t know. Briosa didn’t know either. She took me on her boat once. That’s how I discovered I don’t like the sea. I panicked. Started crying. Breathing hard. She took me right back. Haven’t been on a boat since.”

His twin’s eyes widened: “I had no idea!”

“It’s ok! I didn’t either. It’s a recent development.”

“Still, Briosa didn’t mention any of this to me! Though she did inquire if I would have been comfortable on a vast body of water before offering to take me on this excursion… Did she not do the same for you?”

“Nope! She’s lived in Driftveil her whole life. Lots of boats, and the sea at her door. Nobody’s afraid of the water there. Comes with the job. She didn’t even imagine it could have frightened me. I am verrry glad she asked you about it first! It makes me feel a bit more relieved.”

The breaded fish – Alomomola, likely, as Basculin was much tougher under the teeth – crunched pleasantly as they bit down on it. A nice breeze had picked up, and after meticulously licking their fingers clean they removed their hats before they could fly off of their heads and down into the streets of Nimbasa, inevitably getting crushed under a hundred busy feet or ending up held aloft by trembling hands like a relic before being auctioned for who knows how much on some online site where no one questioned where the sellers would get their wares.

“She’s an awfully strange woman,” Ingo mused.

“Man.” Emmet corrected.

“What?”

“Briosa is a man.”

(The small, extremely strange exchange between the Substitute and Clay suddenly made a lot more sense.)

“Oh! Thank goodness I never said anything to his face.”

“Her.”

“What?”

“She’s a man.”

“Oh, but the…?”

“Yup.”

“I see!” he gladly accepted a gulp from the water bottle offered to him, washing the oily flavor from his mouth before he could dig back in. “I had no idea…”

“It’s alright! A common mistake.”

“Thank you for telling me either way. I would’ve been mortified to make such a faux pas in her presence.”

His brother gestured reassuringly as he drank a little himself.

Ingo had another fry.

“She remains a strange man.”

“Yup, yup! Verrry weird. Nice, but verrry weird.”

“Did you know she had no idea there was a Driftveil City gym leader?”

Emmet sputtered pieces of fish everywhere with a bewildered expression.

“What,” he wheezed.

“When we arrived at the dock, we met Clay – he gives you his love, by the way–”

“Hm! How was he?”

“He was doing fine, it seemed! We spoke a little, it was lovely to be introduced to him again – but Briosa did not recognize him at all! She had no clue who he was! I assume she thought him a reporter, because the first thing she did upon seeing him was shouting obscenities at him to make him leave.”

“Oof. Poor Clay. Briosa goes hard on the insults.”

“Yes, I’ve had the chance to discover that.”

They snickered to themselves.

The sun was warm on their shoulders; the city mumbled and grumbled somewhere further away, all around them yet also completely severed from them.

Their appetites sated as the fried mixture of fish and tubers began settling at the bottom of the stomach with the weight of a concrete column, the twins stretched their arms and backs to fight against the grogginess that followed a satisfying lunch. Ingo pulled himself to his feet and paced leisurely around the roof, always careful to remain in Emmet’s sight. Hands cleaned and hat placed back on his head, he turned to the world beyond the petrol green tiles.

He could see the desert from here.

At least, a chunk of it. Tall rocky walls stretched forth, shielding the city from the onslaught of debris that seemed to never cease.

The route which crossed it was a stretch of dulled bronze, hazy from the sand lifted and thrown about by restless winds, interrupted in its middle by an elevated road and seemingly emerging from a long structure of crystalline glass and light turquoise metal that, on its other end, led into Nimbasa itself – connecting their antithetical worlds, so completely opposite from one another in every way and yet so geographically close. If he squinted he could begin to make out a large shadow beyond the granular storm, something squarish and dark: perhaps another city? Another haven from the heat and dunes, forcing the winds to billow and howl within the modern walls of a (mostly) man-made canyon?

He could not see the rest of it, nor the ruined castle Briosa had mentioned.

“Have we ever been to the desert?” he asked without looking away.

His brother hummed as he stood back up and walked to be at his side: “Nope. Uncle Alder comes from there, though. But we’ve never been there.”

“Alder?”

“I didn’t mention him?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Our uncle’s friend. Former Champion. Was born in the desert. Now he travels.”

“Former Champion!” Ingo mused. “We know a lot of powerful trainers, it seems.”

Emmet grinned: “Yup, yup! Happens when you’re verrry good at battling.”

The former Subway Boss smiled back, inclined to agree.

His eyes wandered back to the dark silhouette beyond the sandstorm.

“That’s Castellia City,” his brother informed him without even needing to be asked. “Verrry big. Verrry noisy.”

“Noisier than Nimbasa?”

“Worse! Too many people. Like rush hour at the Station, everywhere, all the time. Though Burgh is there too. Artist. Bug-type gym leader. Verrry nice. He livestreamed your rescue for us. But! He comes over, too. I can call him. We can have a fun time out. Us, Elesa and Burgh. Maybe battle! He’d be happy to see you.”

That would have been a welcome alternative to going to such an overwhelming place, Ingo reasoned.

Still, he couldn’t shake from his bones a certain antsy eagerness, a restless desire to explore. The wondrous nocturnal sights that had rushed past him on his so far only venture on a subway train still flashed against his eyelids sometimes, begging him to wander back into their once familiar unknown and reacquaint himself with it, make it his own again.

He wondered how much he’d once seen of the region.

His hand gently gripped the railing.

“I would like that,” he replied truthfully. “And I would love to explore Unova as well.”

Emmet tried not to flinch and failed.

His brother’s hand moved to hold his, gently squeezing his palm to calm him down: “We can go together,” he offered. “It could be a journey of our own – you could be my chaperone! You might even use this occasion to pull the brakes and enjoy a short vacation. It’s been brought to my attention that you… You haven’t taken much time for yourself, in these past years.”

The other stiffened. He held his hand back nonetheless.

“Can’t,” he wheezed at last. “I… Too short notice. I need to plan… New shifts, and schedules, and… I don’t – I don’t, want. To. To…”

“Leave the station so suddenly?”

That wasn’t what he meant; Ingo knew that. Emmet swallowed: “Yes.”

The older twin massaged his knuckles comfortingly: “I wouldn’t want to derail your routine so drastically, then. But I do wish to explore Unova. I was planning on taking short treks through it, just to enjoy the scenery. Certainly the subway touches picturesque locations on its many winding rails?”

He was planning to visit him in the Station after each trip, to reassure him he had not vanished again as soon as he had taken his eyes off of him.

It was a sweet sentiment, dripping with earnest intentions; but there would have still been long, impossibly long stretches of time between their parting in the morning and those reunions, and he would have had to wait through those terrible moments just like he’d had to wait for someone, anyone, to call him again and tell him something – even something as terrible as ‘I’m sorry’.

“Remember safety checks,” he recited quietly, as their uncle would recite to Alder: “Bring water and snacks. And bandaids. Cover your head. Keep your XTransceiver charged. Call often. Set the number for emergencies to be dialed in case of damage.”

“I can do that?”

“Yup.”

“Do you have the time to show me how to? It would be better to get it done right now, no matter what my plans might be.”

Emmet sniffed and nodded. A weight lifted itself from his chest.

They sat down, tinkering on the device together.

#pokémon #pokemon legends arceus #submas ingo #briosa pokemon #submas emmet #pokemon clay #random writing #heyyyyyyyy hello hi. this thing again #bad news is this will be the last chapter bc ive lost steam for this completely and i cant get the whole thing done in a feasible time #good news is ill compile the ideas i had for the rest of the story and publish them all together on ao3 eventually #thank yall for enjoying this. goodnight. tell me what you thought of this chapter

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