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blastburned · 1 month

Text

monsoon season.

art by @ cuteskitty

vs @earth-master

The rainy season this year combined with a weather system that caused Hoenn to drown.

At some point in recent history, there was a group that wanted to do the same, but the weather wasn’t the will of some primeval pokémon this time.

It rained in his second year in Hoenn and flooded almost every route between towns that existed. Leaf and him had agreed to stick near Fortree City for the time being out of curiosity and necessity. Red’s twenty, and he’s pretty sure love is when your best friend (and sometimes fling) leaves you instructions on how not to kill her plant while she’s canopy racing through the trees without you to catch something. He doesn’t remember what it is. She isn’t going to be back for a month or so.

The plant was the only plant they had in their rickety spot in Fortree. He’d gotten the Secret Base Guild to lend them a place to stay during the flood for some work done. And he hated to think about it, but he thinks she killed it before she left. He’s about to take the blame for it.

Unless he gets another plant for her before she comes back.

That’s what pushed him into the downpour on the stupid quest for Leaf’s plant, and make no mistake, it’s completely stupid. It’s stupid because Hoenn shows no mercy when it comes to her weather. Why should she?

To call it pouring was a massive understatement. Fortree’s bridges hung five feet in the air above rivers of water that were steaming with heat. Fish were swimming in the former streets. The Pokemon Center on the ground was completely flooded.

Red traded food and water with a fishing family for a raft and an oar. He pulled a rain poncho and a wide conical hat on his head, and shoved his shoes in his bag to keep them dry. The only other thing besides his bag he brings is a ceramic pot and shovel for Leaf’s dear plant. Pikachu sat happily on the hat while thunder rumbled overhead. The air’s so thick with humidity that breathing it wasn’t any relief from the heat.

Route 120 was transformed into a maze of rapids and waterfalls, all hazy with mist and the constant rain.

On a whim, he took a picture at the border of it with his old PokeGear. He sent it to Green, who is probably sleeping to rest for some class in the morning. There’s no caption. ‘Wish you were here’ is… too much.

He put the gear away and shoved off though, the oar cutting through once-road now riverbed.

—

The treetop city that frolics with nature.

That was how Fortree presented itself, and now actually having visited the city, there was no question about the veracity of the claim. The city was built into the forest canopy, with living trees, only a handful of buildings were on ground level (and thus, only a few buildings were flooded).

Many talked of centennial floods come earlier than expected, some recall the meddling of some team or another, but all that could really be gleaned was what was happening. Route 120 had flooded.

It’s a good opportunity for research, drawing out the usually rare Mudkips from their slumber in the river beds, or allowing Giovanni to see just how extreme weather effects altered how pokemon battled, and more importantly- keeping most people out of his business.

It’s the one good thing about the extreme weather. He’s not fond of people sticking noses where they don’t belong, and in recent years, he’s gotten used to (and frankly) preferred solitude as a default, only reaching out to others on his own terms.

No one seemed to recognize him here. It’s been a small blessing and a reprieve from having to run. A little disappointing, however, was discovering the one associate he’d looked forward to running into had established himself in Galar of all places, but that could be an adventure for another day.

He also supposed that no one recognizes him here because without his signature suit and Rocket insignia that had been circulating in papers for years... he didn’t look much different from most others.

Dress for the weather.

And the weather was humid and miserable.

An athletic undershirt sat under an unbuttoned Alolan fern printed shirt, with sweatbands on his wrists, shorts with several pockets, wool socks, and hiking shoes was his ensemble today, kneeling down in the mud to observe the habits of the Mudkip swimming up to the surface.

He flipped over a laminated page in a multi-ringed notebook, holding marker to the surface:

‘Their most sensitive extrasensory organ is on the top of their head. It is not yet at the stage it develops its secondary typing.’

Though the groundwork (hah) was there. It would develop its secondary typing through evolution. Mudkip to Marshtomp- something in its evolutionary past necessitated that this line develop the skills needed to live amphibiously... that must be the reason why two seemingly contradictory typings co-inhabited the creatures-

A flash distracted him from his thoughts and then-

BOOM.

A peal of thunder close by, too close by, shook him from his research.

Damn.

Heavy rains pulled in from out of nowhere, drenching Giovanni and his work almost immediately. He’s glad he had the foresight to bring something laminated for his field research, but irritated by the suddenness of the rain. If he had a little bit more forewarning, he would have left beforehand.

The Mudkip disappeared from the surface of the water, burrowing back into the banks to seek their own shelter.

I should do the same.

The options are few... he’d rather not go higher up to get electrocuted, but staying as low as he was on a floodplain would be foolish. He’s strong, sure, and knows how to swim, but flash floods and rapids were nothing to mess around with. You would be lucky to be dashed on a rock. It’s quicker than drowning.

Sighing with the lack of options, he quickly retreated uphill, in spite of the hair on his arms standing up... was it fear, or atmospheric static? He couldn’t tell.

He walked a fair distance through the forest, seeing the trunks of trees and the tops of street signs peeking above the water. Then, there’s someone in a raft, paddling downstream with a Pikachu on their head.

He doesn’t like asking for help but he puts his hands to his face, and cups them around his lips.

“...Hey! Have room for another, stranger?”

The electricity in the air has Pikachu bouncing in excitement. Red counted the beats between the strikes, and the ozone pops and pressure differences are telling him that Pikachu’s been struck dozens of times since the swell began.

It’s a good thing too, because otherwise he’d be flat on his back with blisters and a prayer not to get struck by lightning again. Pikachu is so staticky that he’s sticking to the hat, cheering every time a bolt of lightning smacked into him and got absorbed.

The water below them was racing with a vengeance that his oar’s not entirely keeping up with. Their saving grace is the overgrown grass on 210 gave him an anchor to push off from. This rain’s going to end up killing someone at this rate if it hadn’t already.

They had gotten a good way down the route, signs with flood markers half buried under the rapids, when someone called out to him over the booming thunder. Red drove the oar into the grass and Pikachu and him turned to look at the same time. It’s a guy standing on a hill that’s not going to last. He’s not from around here at all by the look of it. That’s the person that’s gonna end up getting killed if he’s not careful.

Red dug his teeth into his bottom lip and whistled to Pikachu, and the mouse swung his tail in an arc, sending absurdly powerful bolts into the rushing water. It swelled, and pushed his next paddle stroke with a Surf back upstream, against the current. Red digs the corner of the raft into the embankment, and anchored the oar, reaching out towards the stranger and offering a hand. The rain slammed into the hat and forced him to look down.

Come on.

There’s always room for another person.

It’s tough holding it though, his arms were straining against the force of the rain.

No way…

It didn’t stop him from offering his hand, but the look he gave this man isn’t cursory. It’s slow and… tired.

And his trip got suddenly more complicated than getting Leaf a new plant, but he collects his passenger anyways, and shoves off with a quick whistle to Pikachu to steer the current in a way that wouldn’t shred his raft. The rapids were getting more intense.

Red settles into a rhythm of rowing among the din of rain.

“Pika, pika?”

Where are you headed?

Regardless of where, he was coming down the road first.

Art by @cuteskitty

Giovanni didn’t hesitate to grab on to the young man and hop in.

“Thanks-” Giovanni replied, balancing enough to sit down.

The pouring rain, peals of thunder and intense rapids, made him grab onto the side of the raft with a sense of urgency for stability. He knew he was entirely out of his element.

He was thankful for circumstances being good for a change. If not for this passerby, he’d have been forced to continue to higher ground and bring out Rhyperior for his own Lightning Rod ability, and they’d both be miserable out in this weather.

No telling how long this storm would last either, but he could tell already he’d been out in the rain long enough to start getting ill from it.

Great.

Taking off his sunglasses, he folded them up and placed them in his front facing pocket. He had no use for them right now, and they’re worse than useless with fog from heat and moisture clouding the already tinted vision. Giovanni’s forced to look down to keep water from getting in his eyes, and continued to do so while the ferryman and his Pikachu navigated the waters-

Surf... This Pikachu knows Surf? But…

Giovanni blinked with surprise, glancing up. It’s hard to tell in the rain, but that was definitely the same Pikachu he remembered from ages ago, and its trainer, the same dark, messy hair poking out, same downward turned lips…

No... Really?!

Possibilities erupted in Giovanni’s mind, searching for the odds of this meeting, searching for any chance of being able to skirt recognition…

But looking at Red- and he was certain this was Red- it seemed like he knew already.

No sense in pretending or hiding then.

“Thanks,” he repeated, “Heh... I didn’t expect to see you here. Truce?”

He signed the word for emphasis, painfully aware of the situation they’re in.

It’s like the old adage about the Skorupi and the Froakie…

On second thought, he’d rather not think about that. That story had seventeen different versions of endings depending on whatever moral someone was trying to impose on someone else, and right now, he was preferring the ending where both pokemon made it to the other side of the river.

Take no chances, don’t present yourself as a threat.

Truce.

Red nodded, slowly.

It had taken a long time to let go of the anger caused by this man, and it’s good that when he did recognize him, it didn’t come swelling back. It could have, but it didn’t. There’s some pride in that, and... sadness too. By ferrying this man he was doing a disservice to Marowak’s memory and throwing salt in those wounds. Giovanni wasn’t going to care about a single pokémon killed like that, though. He’d keep it to himself. That slippery slope of thinking about retaliation was the thing he stepped back from five years ago.

If he had been anybody else, things might not have panned out the way they did.

As it was, things were like this, Giovanni wasn’t dead, and Red was still Red, perpetually quiet, and not talking to him.

Red ferried them down the flooded route, the rain growing in ferocity and him just clicking his tongue twice to Pikachu to curb their path. The waters were moving with them. All he really had to do was turn them away. Rapids carried them for the most part down a choppy path, and he kept excellent balance, standing over Giovanni and looking pointedly ahead.

There were schools of fish breaching to eat at bugs that got pinned in the downpour, and Red brushed one off the raft back into the water with a kick of his heel.

It’d been... Five years. Five really long years.

He’d heard he was missing, but supposedly dead, when he was dragged back to the ground two years ago. Giovanni didn’t look more shocked than usual, though.

Probably didn’t think it was true that I lived.

Red dragged the oar into a tree, turning them on a dime and had Pikachu carve a path down south for them. Pikachu, much like Red, kept his thoughts to himself in the heat of a moment that needed focus.

Red sank the side of the raft into the next clay bank he found, leaping off of it with a splash and tying its docking rope around the thick trunk of a tree. Pikachu hopped off the hat and onto the raft, bouncing it with the vicious current. It dragged the raft line taut and was trying to put his feet out from under him. Red set the oar down in Giovanni’s hands.

He held up, ‘1′, and collected the box and shovel he’d come with to forage a nearly identical plant out from the roots of this tree.

Red sank the spade into absolutely drenched earth, and took less than a minute to collect the tiny berry plant in its box.

He didn’t give warning either when he loosened the rope from the tree and ran beside it, leaping onto the raft with his prize and kicking up a splash.

He laughed about it while Pikachu cackled and scurried back onto his hat. Red snatched the oar back, and shoved off the bank, turning them on a curb.

Red agreed to the truce, nodding silently, using his hands to steer instead of sign, and Giovanni had to admit he’s starting to get more curious than cautious.

Giovanni heard that Red had disappeared, and was rumored to go to Mt. Silver for training, and had possibly died in the process.

He found it hard to believe, personally. Not that it mattered to him what Red was doing. He’d still upheld his promise to Red that he’d end Rocket, stop smuggling pokemon, and dedicate his life to study.

In a way.

Giovanni was still a criminal. Circumstances in Johto two years ago made it impossible for a civil return and he was still bitter about it.

So he wouldn’t be surprised if Red didn’t believe that he had kept his promise. He wouldn’t be surprised if Red didn’t believe he was truly done with Rocket, or that he had no interest in the smuggling business. Or that he had been studying, even if some of his research material had been ‘repatriated’ from other villainous teams and corporations. He wouldn’t be surprised if the boy didn’t trust him on that end.

And thus... no point to bring it up.

Red hands him the oar, and Giovanni takes it without question, at least initially.

Why...?

He furrowed his brow and tilted his head, watching Red scurry on shore, signing ‘1′. One minute.

Red dug up a berry bush, put it in a box, untied the rope, and then leapt back on to the raft to push it off the shore, grabbing the oar back from Giovanni.

The leap startled him, mostly because he’s not expecting... or quite understanding what Red was even doing out here. Transplanting something?

Giovanni’s still curious. Red had proven to be quite capable, and interesting. He couldn’t help but wonder what he was up to.

He settled down, clearing his throat.

“... What have you been doing? Trying your hand at gardening?”

Red had signed less than one hundred words to Giovanni in their entire conflict. Conversation was absolutely minimal from his end to the point, he found out later, that Giovanni thought he was deaf. It wasn’t the case. He just despised him.

Time doesn’t exactly heal every wound. Not really. He still doesn't feel comfortable.

He’s just one of a handful of disappointing adults in the world, and disappointments came a lot easier with time. Gold kicked Rocket out and once again, adults left the kids to clean up the failures of their forefathers. He didn’t think Giovanni was involved in any breath of that operation other than the inspiration behind it all.

Red gave a look at the little berry plant under his poncho and shook his head ‘no’. He could say a lot about actual gardening, but this is just Leaf’s ditto replacement while she rode Tropius in the trees. He’s pretty sure Rocket ruined her life. He’s pretty sure this man ruined her life inadvertently.

Still, if the mountain taught him anything, it’s that there weren’t any invaluable lives. So, this one could stay on the boat despite the absolutely looming consequences of his actions that were still being felt. He’d done his part in whatever was to come. He’ll probably do more before his candle’s snuffed out.

Red blew wet bangs off his cheek and pulled them down the river, Pikachu chirruping with excitement. He’s having a great time, despite anything else.

He lifted the oar at a calm spot to point at the drowned Lillycove sign in question, then strained back into the water, whistling with more volume to Pikachu to pick up their current.

Pikachu flicked his tail with a grin, and Red turned his foot under the notch on the raft to keep balance while their speed picked up and he tried to compensate for the extra passenger.

‘Carvanha all over the place,’ he signed, impersonal and formal, ‘Leave it faster than I came. Eat through rafts.’

The coldness of the formal signing does not escape Giovanni. It seems that nothing has changed between them then, even with the time passing.

In a way, it is comforting.

It takes out all of the guesswork in interacting with Red.

He simply nodded, and tried to center himself on the raft, to keep from slowing down the raft even more. If he had an oar, he would help... but he also feels like if he had anything vaguely resembling a weapon in his hands, he’d be thrown off, and he’s not eager for testing strengths against a Red that was much bigger and stronger now- and floating over rapids.

He just had to sit here.

Frustrating.

Giovanni sighs, and follows Red’s gesture to a sign just barely above water.

Lillycove.

“...Yes, I’m going to Lillycove.”

Pikachu just about danced with glee at the rain and static in the air. Surf propelled them forward. He’s in his element. It’d be cute in different circumstances.

“I’m... hm,” he debated sharing his goals here, but decided that there’d be no harm in it.

“I’m studying the weather. Weather effects on different types. It’s been extreme enough here that the effects are more observable.”

It’s also terrifying, the sheer unpredictability of the changes in weather and the sheer force of it. It’s been a while since the attack on Hoenn from people that wanted to drown or burn the world, but the effects were still there.

“It’s... hah, it’s been an interesting adventure. That’s for certain.”

He takes out his laminate flip book in this small reprieve to take a few more notes on the patterns.

Red was going to Lillycove too. They’re going the same way. There’s an End of the World party in Lillycove thrown by an absolute madman and his coterie of contest entrants turned afterhours cove fighters. He’s wanted in the cove for a few matches he’s not missing for anything. Half the fun is diving. The other half was boxing and mailing the plant to himself via Wingull.

Giovanni says he’s here for the weather and Red nods.

‘Old Gods,’ he signed, coasting with expertise over water that could kill. He doesn’t know how anyone else felt, but he could feel them in the treacherous waters and the blistering heat. He felt them in the very air of this place, and absolutely pouring over Mt. Pyre, dripping in ghosts and ancient memories.

He felt the same in Mt. Silver.

‘Old Gods sleeping. Woke them a few years ago. So they say, anyway. Can’t feel it?’

He dipped the oar into the rapid again, Pikachu’s tail flicking to help him turn into the long strait towards Lillycove. Half the city’s smartly on the bluff, and the other half is waterproof for this very reason. The cove stretches for miles into shallows, other boats in use and the city itself looking fine despite the rain. Her buildings have lights on, her centers are seeing traffic. He’s not the only ferryman combing their way through the flooded causeways.

‘God party tonight,’ he signed, skidding them to a stop at the bottom of a stair leading up to the main avenues into Lillycove proper. People are running to get out of the rain, and other people are lounging in it.

‘You should come. Rain teams.’

He’s been invited. And he’s taking the plant until the next dawn, and the rock they’re toting as top prize.

It looks like a Megastone. Or like it could be.

‘Caldera.’

He pointed beyond the visual of the edge of the city, and the hot fog steaming from the water.

‘If you want to fight.’

So we are both going the same way, Giovanni thinks.

Red talks about the Old Gods awakened, primal spirits of earth and sea. Giovanni nodded along with the information. He was aware of the machinations of the two teams: Aqua and Magma. Giovanni was more than aware of what they tried to do- their misguided ambitions. Personal glory and reshaping the world…

He didn’t laugh at it, because he never treated the Old Gods as fairy tales.

They were pokemon, plain and simple. Powerful, magical beasts that were ruled over by instinct.

‘Old Gods sleeping. Woke them a few years ago. So they say, anyway. Can’t feel it?’

“...It may come as a surprise to you, but I actually can. I have no trouble sensing them.”

I wish I could stop sensing them so much.

Truly, Giovanni could. He’d always been blessed (or cursed) with a keen sense for the supernatural, even if he dulled his surface reactions to them, he could still feel their presences. In some places the prickling sensation was more overt than others, but the Old Gods’ presence in Hoenn was palpable.

It’s likely one of the reasons Giovanni can hardly stand being out right now. It’s overwhelming.

To feel the presence of something like Kyogre in every rain drop when there were thousands upon thousands of drops in a torrential downpour was actually enough to start to make him feel nauseous from the sensory overload.

They docked at a stairway, and Red invited him to a party in a Caldera with rain teams.

Giovanni tilted his head in interest, and considered the offer.

“Hah. Maybe. I’d assemble a team just in case, but I’d be content to just watch as well.”

He rose to disembark, but before he could, he fished in his bag and pulled out a cluster of broad leaves around a short root: A Revival Herb. He turned to hand it to Red, “... Here. As thanks for the passage. I found this while I was out and was intending to keep it. But I think you should have it.”

It does and does not surprise Red. Giovanni always struck him as in tune with the ground he was standing on, and his team, much the same, but what did surprise him was his willingness to do what he did, and tear the earth from other people. Maybe that’s why he didn’t believe it, because Giovanni’s only act that proved he could feel it was yielding to him. Everything else was ghosts and corpses.

He did yield the Earth to you.

And yet Rocket existed. And yet Mt. Silver was still full of bones.

You have a lot of work left to do.

Red scooped the herb up and nodded in thanks. Funny. That’s funny. He set it neatly beside the baby berry plant.

‘Thank you. Don’t be late.’

He whistled for Pikachu to start them off after their passenger hopped off safely past the first few steps, and the mouse whipped his tail with a sharp crack of electricity. Red balanced the raft evenly under his feet.

They’re off, racing defiant through the floodwaters, him turning them out of sight and Pikachu victoriously slapping a streetlight with his tail in passing, flickering it with a mischievous squeal.

He met up with people later while he’s needlessly wringing his hair out in a bathroom with six other people asking him what the berry plant and herb were for. He wrote for them not to touch it and they named it “Bent Benny”. He was invited to this thing because someone he battled last week was a said insane Pokémon contest entrée. It’s traditional, they say, to get painted up, so he let somebody else do his arms for him, and ran both hands over his face.

Waterproof, reflective, glowing paint in the rain. He put two sets of extra eyes on Pikachu for fun, poking both of his cheeks until he devolved into cackling.

His companions were nothing to sneeze at, either; one of them was a man ready with a wetsuit and a devil may care attitude, Brendan, the former? current? Hoenn champion. He’d painted and slicked his hair back in streaks. Looked like an otherworldly thing in the dark. His buddy Tristan, a water type fanatic with an absolutely precious Magikarp, painted himself up with an array too that looks like scales.

People come and go and, honestly, he had no idea how many people were going with him, but he hops on Lapras when it’s decided they’ve done ALL they could do to prepare to drown tonight.

The city sinks. The street light he’d passed earlier was not even a meter from the water level.

“Hey! Race you!”

Oh you’re on.

After the sun had set, the participants of the “Rain Dance” at Lilycove all individually rode the surf to the singular entrance of the ancient caldera basin, half filled with water.

Sponsored by the Contest Board, there was no shortage of expenses. Floating and suspension locked platform panels linked one edge to the other of the absolutely enormous volcano base. There were guard barriers for battles in smaller stadiums, and a huge larger stadium. It was well over three sizes what a tournament standard stadium was, and you could run the length of it.

Hey come dance~! Someone says. There’s thumping music too, and drinks (unadvisable). Pikachu made two fists at the huge stadium, and he had to agree, he had to nod at it.

It absolutely pours.

His paint ran down his face, and he grinned.

Giovanni stood at the top of the stairs, hands in pockets, watching Red and his Pikachu speed off to do whatever it was they were going to do.

A party tonight... I suppose I ought to get ready and do my research.

He hummed to himself in the rain. He could afford to go, he thinks. Remy wasn't due for another week, and this was his personal time to snoop around and enjoy himself before it was time to work again. It'd be good for picking up rumors and flexing his social sensibilities, certainly.

He entered into the hotel he's been staying in, squeezing in with others who also try to seek shelter from the rain. He gave a wave, a smile, and a nod to the secretary at the front desk, Carmen, but didn't do much else to distract her from work. But she does return each gesture- and explains to the inquisitive patrons she was dealing with that he was a "foreign researcher" that she'd made acquaintance with.

It paid to be kind to those in service work.

If anyone comes looking for you, those that you aid are more likely to come to yours. Reciprocity is how the world works for most.

To his credit, he was sympathetic to her struggles. Sitting at a hotel front desk was far from Carmen's idea of a career, but she still went out of her way to help him secure a fully furnished room with its own transporter for his "research."

He owed her a Mudkip. With a bit of money on the side.

Riding the elevator to the fifth floor, he took a plastic bag with his room key and Poryphone out of his chest pocket... the bag was steamy and drenched, but the contents were dry.

He removed the "Do Not Disturb" sign from the door handle, and swiped the card through the slot, waiting for the flash of green before he opened the door.

Persian was laid out on the hotel bed, glossy fur illuminated by the dim light of the lamp, flashing signs of the transporter, and a personal computer set up on the far wall where a window should be.

"Held down the fort while I was gone, did you?"

Her ear twitched, and she arched her back, reaching out paws and claws with strained tremors at the sound of Giovanni's voice, blinking lazily at him, and propping herself upwards.

"Oh, what a stretch! You don't have to get up on my behalf- I'm still soaked."

He took time to head into the shower. Now that the adrenaline's worn off, he could feel the steam of the shower soothe an ache in his chest he was unaware that he had. He took deep, strained breaths as he cleaned himself up. Headache setting in, and lightheadedness…

He could feel that he's getting ill. He'll be sick soon, he knew that much, having spent that long out in the rain. It always happens.

Giovanni dried off, donned a robe and slippers, and took a few preventative pills to stay off the symptoms as long as he could. He headed back to pet Persian to the sounds of overly excited children running down the hall.

He shook his head and huffed. Kids…

"You'll never believe who I ran into today."

Persian looked up at him, perplexed.

"Red," he responded, "He's grown quite a bit."

She folded her ears back and "mrowl-ed" in concern. Giovanni simply patted her head to give assurance. He would have been worse off without.

Settling at the PC with Persian hopping into his lap, he clicked over to browse local events, and top of the list was a party sponsored by the Contest Board. He browsed through pictures of cosplayers, glowsticks, blacklights, and waterborne battle arenas.

...Did I get invited to a rave?

He burst out laughing so suddenly, he choked into a coughing fit and startled Persian.

It's been some time, but he knew the dress code.

He plugged in his Poryphone into the transporter, allowing Porygon to stealthily connect him to his boxes of old Gear and queued the transporter to return him his old kit from when he'd done his international championship run about fifteen years earlier.

It's a long, black coat made of synthetic leathers designed to mimic a Rhydon's hide. Fire resistant panels and insulated lining to remove hazards from electricity. Spikes made of his Cloyster's shed tip spikes dotted the shoulders, and several belts with Gear loops and holsters swaddled the outer layers, and a removable zippered hood.

Back then, he didn't typically fight with the hood up. It limited his vision, and his hair used to be almost as long as the coat. He didn't like getting it caught.

The hood goes on now, though.

And then there was his pants... same Rhydon-pleather, but this time with Kakuna shed reinforcing the padding on his knees.

Finally, the boots. Black and sleek knee-highs with adjustable buckles along his calf and chunky platforms that absorbed shock and carried a mechanically activated cleat system. A stomp of the heel, and the cleats would latch on to the terrain.

It's all certainly a "retro" style of punk, but it's fitting to repurpose into an homage to an old, primal god.

He quickly ordered materials for the alterations, and got to work assembling the patterns of Groudon in neon white and red cording to pop under blacklight, and printed out a mask to filter his cough that also looked like rows of teeth.

Giovanni put on a red athletic shirt, and started assembling pieces of his outfit and Gear together. He's taller now, but his build hadn't changed much besides the shoulders that he already let out.

Persian flicked her tail, hanging her head as he dressed. Her ears drooped.

It must still smell like the others.

Giovanni paused in his work, and reached over to pet her.

"I know. But you'll be coming with me tonight. Look out for me, eh?"

She perked up and nodded resolutely. Giovanni wasn't going to battle her. He already had his team for the rain. But Persian was always his partner.

"Good," he replied, allowing her to climb up his arms and nestle on top of the spikes.

"Now let's grab an umbrella and go."

He's looking forward to this, now. It wasn't often he had an opportunity to train outside his beloved Ground-types. It was time to remind everyone there what it really meant to be a "master."

Five wins, one loss, five dances. Red loses track of time that passed and re-paints Pikachu up like a little imp. The caldera was an impressive lightshow, the sweltering rain illuminated every six seconds by another explosion of lightning across the rim. There had to be at least a thousand people here, and from that thousand, only about fifty or so battlers in a bracket. Saint and Sorcha, two of his drifters, pulled him into signing up immediately.

He made a heart at Sorcha with both hands, ‘I’ll impress you’, putting both hands out to the sides in a ‘Come what may’ gesture. It made them laugh like a loon while Tristan firmly explained that his Magikarp is splashing away with some kind of prize tonight. He believed him, and Sorcha smacked his cheek with their runny black lipstick for, ‘a little luck he doesn’t need’.

He always took it, though.

The minute he is thrown in a ring, music’s ripping the bones from his body and he’s glad for the white, absolutely shining gloves. Blacklights cut through sheets of rain, and the Banette disc jockey providing the entertainment, provided a backbeat cackling straight out of hell. It’s absolutely wonderful. He loved it.

And his Pokémon rain team blew through competitors with so much ferocity that Cory, one of the more bubbly friends he’d come with, said he needed to enter the finals bracket with a handicap.

And that’s when he lost a fight. It’s utterly spectacular. A trainer named May, and he heard she’s a champion too, meets him three on three and wins. The last hit was a brutal pummeling to his Milotic's side by her painted up Metagross in the rain. It’s a battle that pulled everyone’s attention. His heart’s in his throat with excitement by the end of it.

In the end, he ran the enormous length of the stadium to meet her in a high five and a laughing hug. What a fucking fight.

He’s not upset at all that he loses that one.

It rained like the world is ending, and while the final’s brackets were being drawn, he realized he had a pecha berry drink, and had no idea where it came from, and no clue how much he actually drank, but it tasted good.

Coral took it from him, ‘Are you crazy?!’.

Pikachu, a glowstick in his mouth, had just been waving it to the droning song of some house beat and singing along. Banette cackled again and everyone cheered. Red doesn’t know this song, but everyone else certainly does. Including Pikachu, somehow.

How the heck do you know this and I don’t?

He waited by a holo projection screen under an awning, for his seeding and final opponent. He’s the leader for the stone despite the one loss. The finals were in the enormous central arena. He couldn’t stop pacing.

This was the first gathering Giovanni’s been to in a while where he hadn’t been a host. But this was also a gathering where he was well above the median age of most participants. There were still others here in their forties like him, but they weren’t competitors for the most part. They were part of the crowd.

It’s a spectacle of a crowd in this weather, with over a thousand people in the collection of caldera floating stadiums. People cheered and whooped with the light show, forming waves of their own volition in the crowds, playing with one another and creating a show of their own for those on the field.

Registration opened for the competitors, and Giovanni waited patiently to register his pokemon and himself. He registered Omastar, Kabutops, and Cloyster as his rain team, then gave the false name “Terran” for himself.

Then it’s waiting for his turns, mingling, listening for rumors, and avoiding the drinks that would be interacting with his medication- which, sadly, was most of them.

But the trainers competing were spectacular! The company was wonderful, and the rumors were interesting (someone got fired from Mossdeep Space Center?). From both of these things, Giovanni met a man named Saint, who made his interest in Giovanni’s outfit (and things beneath it) known.

If he wasn’t already feeling under the weather, he would have taken him up on that- but he settled for the conversation and a phone number written underneath the cuff of his sleeve. It’s a boost of ego for sure.

Not that he needed another boost to his ego.

Persian was also attracting a lot of attention that she ate up like the spoiled queen she was, and Giovanni found himself spending time instructing the curious youngsters on approach.

“Yes, you can pet her, but let her smell you first, and only pet her by the whiskers. She doesn’t like anyone but me touching her anywhere else.”

But as if to prove her fickleness specifically to spite him, there was a young trainer that Persian bodily pressed her head into the palm of her hands and purred like the motor of a boat under that girl’s touch.

Betrayed once again.

He laughed in good humor at it, even though there’s a wet rasping sound to it.

‘You sound like you may be catching pneumonia,’ Saint advises, ‘you may want to see a doc about that.’

He simply nodded it off. Seeing a doctor... wasn’t really an option right now.

Six brackets.

The Banette jockeyed the music, and the stadium swelled with the crescendos. Giovanni could feel the energy in the air and- under the mask of anonymity- could actually take the time to appreciate it without any expectations or reputation to uphold.

His team cut through the competition, and this is the first time in a while that a match had actually felt like a competition, which was impressive enough on its own. The kids really were on something else these days.

But the kids also had no clue what two out of his three pokemon even were, and thus, were woefully under-equipped to deal with them. Kabutops’ swift Giga Drains and Aerial Aces eliminate a fair amount of the contestants in and of itself. He always switched out his lead to equally give his pokemon much needed exercise.

One victory, two, three... with each victory the battles get harder and harder, and his breathing becomes shallower and shallower... He felt like his lungs were filling with water, struggling to keep his head up even with both of his feet on land. But he was not giving up. He didn’t back down from a challenge once given.

Terran vs Red.

He’s not surprised to see Red facing him in the final round. It’s all routine by now.

Persian stood at his side, flicking her tail and eyeing Red across the field. She tapped at Giovanni’s foot with a paw to signal:

Be careful.

And he would be.

The announcer went through accolades, introducing each of them with highlights of their matches thus far, amping up the crowd, and rumbling the water enough that circular disturbances give a visual to the actual volume in the stadiums. There’s no way for either of them to hear each other on their sides, over the music, or the din of the crowd- so Giovanni signed to Red.

‘I showed up. Now show me what you can do.’

Challenge thrown.

“THREE...! TWO...! ONE...! MATCH BEGIN!”

Terran. Nice cover. Nice outfit.

I can’t believe you showed up.

Red thought it when the final straws were pulled, between pacing, overheating despite the onslaught of rain, and Pikachu having to tap his head to let him know it’s time to get your ass on the field.

It all came rushing back the minute ‘Terran’ stood across from him, a similar looking monster to the one his fifteen year old self fought against for his life. The smile he’d been wearing faded, and it’s like the volume in the earth shaking speakers throughout the water stadium was turned down. Time froze, for him, just for a moment. Pikachu was yelling at him and sparking like the Power Plant’s cables back home. The sky above was responding to him too, beginning to twist, and turn.

‘I showed up. Now show me what you can do.’

THREE.

Pikachu leapt off his shoulder in front of him, already building up momentum to sprint to the other side. The light’s slow for some reason.

Red raised a palm toward him, and made a solid fist, shattering it into five individual fingers. The paint on his body was smearing, and dripping. There were spirals all over his clothes smeared in the blacklight. Some old god. He doesn’t know what old god.

TWO.

Pikachu was leading, and lightning was breaching the rods set up to catch it all around the rim of the caldera. It’s hitting him because he’s calling it. People howled and cheered as much in shock as they did in excitement. They started a chorus with the countdown.

ONE.

It’s been five years. He’s only gotten stronger, and stronger. The rain fell and Pikachu looked like some kind of sprinting dragon on the reflective water, a trail of lightning behind him.

Oh shit what was in that drink…

MATCH BEGIN!

He signs a punch and Pikachu, in perfect synchrony, throws it. Thunderpunch. He’s going to beat him down no matter what. Without fail. Without restriction. Without quarter. Every single time until he’s dead. He has to win this fight.

Pikachu was struck by lightning, the music swelled, Red focused so hard he lost himself.

And so here they are, standing once again on opposing sides of a battlefield.

Everyone in this audience must have heard about the almost mythic struggle between Red and Giovanni. The infamy of that event lived on and repeated itself in echoes around the world ever since.

Giovanni almost pitied the audience. They’re about to witness something far more brutal than they’re equipped to deal with.

Almost.

He grinned beneath his mask as time all but stopped for them. The crowd disappeared from his vision. All that exists right now is him and his team. And Red and his team.

Can’t feel it?

It may come as a surprise to you, but I can.

There’s a presence here and now that sent shivers down his spine in a primal way- the ancient instinct of something greater than himself watching. It’s something greater than the presence of the audience, or the collective willpower of everyone here. He felt something behind Red’s eyes. It’s not a presence he’s ever felt before now, and something tells him it’s not even from here.

It may not be from Hoenn at all.

Well, he at least hopes whatever has his eyes on him is entertained.

Pikachu, struck by lightning, powering itself up, and Giovanni summoned Cloyster to the field.

This ancient bivalve was one of the few remaining original members of his championship team. Like the other two pokemon, it was also a “fossil,” but not in the strictest sense. Cloyster simply was old, and from another era of Giovanni’s life that was newly resurrected for this night.

“Poison Jab!”

He called it out, despite the hoarseness of his throat and the strain of use.

Cloyster dutifully obeyed his command, clamping itself shut and rolling forward to slam into Pikachu with the spikes that adorned its shell. Toxic venom oozed forth from the points, but it would be up to chance for the toxins to effect Pikachu.

That Pikachu had been honed into a perfect counter for many things Giovanni could throw at it, and it had been trained thoroughly in Saffron City... but what else could it do now?

Red shifted and paced quickly to the side, anticipating backlash. There has been no battle of theirs that hadn’t resulted in massive damages to people and property. He has to move to anticipate anything else that comes next. He’d just as likely get struck by lightning (which his Gear could handle) as he was likely to get sucked underwater and drown (which his Gear could not handle).

Red had to be prepared, he had to survive this, if not win this. He’d fight for every inch of this victory he could get.

This strange slice of the world that Hoenn was, seemed to be the only place on the planet he thinks was ready for the absolute ferocity of that Poison Jab. Cloyster built up a speed it shouldn’t have been able to and drove spikes into Pikachu at that top speed. The hit’s monstrous and Pikachu’s ready for it. He twists his supercharged body off the spines with a burst of electricity and blood. Usually hits were dulled enough by limiters to draw minimal amounts.

He didn’t anticipate those limiters working. It didn’t work on May. It’s not going to work now, on them. Pikachu lets out a shrieking ‘KYAAA!’, and Red runs beside him, moving with him into the motion of a second Thunderpunch into Cloyster’s tougher than steel shell. The noise it makes is absolutely deafening. Pikachu’s more focused. He punches again into the divot of the shell, trying to find softer insides to make into mincemeat.

The drink was spiked. It was absolutely spiked, because Red can’t stay still and he can’t find the focus to do much else but fight. And dance. He bounces on his heels to Banette’s haunting, booming bass drops. He can feel Pikachu’s movements through him, and he can feel something else too.

Something old was weighing on him so hard that he felt like he had to move.

Thunderpunch wasn’t going to cut it by itself. He makes a cutting motion with his hand and Pikachu moves the same way into a vertical chop with the force of all that muscle behind it. Brick Break.

Another lightning strike hits him. Banette howls. So does the crowd, growing and growing. They chant their names and the names of their Pokemon. Red watches one of the stadium tiles crack under Pikachu’s feet. It shouldn’t do that.

And... something is leaning on his shoulder. It hurts enough to make him flinch mid hop, but not pull him out of it.

There you are.

That’s the Red he knows. Not content to sit still or wait behind the guidelines in the ground marked for safety. No, he moved with his pokemon, and today was no different.

What was different, however, was the twitch in the face and glassiness of Red’s eyes…

Oh. I see.

Giovanni laughs to himself quietly. No use agitating his lungs further, but he can’t help himself. The kid must have gotten hold of a party drink that was spiked.

There’s no telling whether or not that’d give him a disadvantage or not. Best to assume not, since he’s done much the same without batting an eye.

Pikachu demonstrates great martial skill, Punching once with thunderous fists, and punching again with with enough force to smash cinder blocks.

Brick Break is skilled enough to shatter one of Cloyster’s spikes, in spite of the limiters- and out of the corner of his eye, Giovanni can see the machines in the wings pulsing light and flashing warnings as they fail to keep up with the demands of all the power in the stadium.

There’s a dip in power, ever so slight... Who knows how long it’s going to hold?

Don’t rely on it.

Giovanni rushes up to his Cloyster, that rolls backwards to disengage from Pikachu. Giovanni stomps his heel into the ground, and activates the cleats to stick into the terrain. He signs over to Red as a courtesy:

‘Dodge.’

“Cloyster, Avalanche!”

Cloyster screeches and hops in the air, spinning around itself. It draws water up from around the floating field and turns the rain into snow. The water wall rising around Cloyster becomes a wave of ice that cracks and falls around Cloyster. Cloyster turns the ice into snow and hurls it at Pikachu with an intense force.

Cracking and whirling snowfall competes with the music and the thunder for volume, drowning out all other sounds in the vicinity.

Giovanni ducks, and allows the snow to fall around him, safely planted in the ground. The same can’t truly be said for Pikachu.

Pikachu did a lot of damage to Cloyster. Cloyster’s fought well, but this may be the last big thing it can do before that Pikachu finishes him off…

Another thought crosses his mind- what would he do if he won? He hadn’t considered the publicity aspect of winning. Giovanni was battling for battling’s sake. He didn’t want to lose- but winning had a lot more consequences than rewards if he wasn’t careful.

He’s not giving up. Red will have to snatch this victory like he’d done for so many that came before.

Show me what you can do. How will you win this time?

Dodge.

Red doesn’t know how he catches or reads the warning from the league away. The power limiter pulse machines are sparking and he has just enough time to break right and run out of the path of a maelstrom of high speed ice. The power flickers with threatening vengeance, and Pikachu stands direct center in it. He’s absolutely blasted with the force of the ice, Cloyster’s spinning amplifying the speed of the attack.

The water on the ground was being sucked into the ever-increasing blast that Cloyster was spewing.

Pikachu lets out a vicious shriek in the middle of it, drowning out Banette's hooting and howling.

Red’s focused despite the fact he can’t stop moving. And Pikachu wants to hit as hard as possible through the blast. The ice keeps spewing out of Cloyster’s spin, and Red draws himself in a readied crouch, springing forward like a runner and running as Pikachu bursts from the jetstream, his entire body flying like a bullet forward.

Beat him down.

Volt tackle.

The minute Pikachu erupts from the stream, the entire stadium’s power flickers, and swells, and every single machine around the caldera’s edge bursts into a thousand pieces when the power returns with the music. There was a commentator screaming over the din for each move executed.

“What is going on?! That level can’t be right…!”

There were screens and sensors to try and determine the capacity of a pokémon, showing the status of the battle and estimations of their capacity to keep fighting. Limiters set everyone to an equal standard of level 50. The display glitched, trembled, and Pikachu was at 100. A failsafe measure wraps the stadium in a quickly generated barrier despite the massive length of the field.

And the ref should call it immediately for safety reasons. They would have if not for the failsafes in place. They don’t.

This place has been wrecked before.

Red’s not sure he’d listen if it was called either.

Pikachu hits with everything he’s got, and it breaks through the Avalanche and through Cloyster’s solid defenses. Spines break, the field shatters with the impact, pieces of the stadium suddenly floating among the water. The destruction is contained to this massive space, but he has to run and leap across a crack in the floor threatening to send him a few feet down to touch the caldera’s muddy bed.

“PIKA! PIKA!”

Pikachu, defiant until the end, raises up both arms and shrieks, still standing, bloodied and continually struck by lightning.

THAT ALL YOU GOT?! THAT ALL YOU GOT?!

Red sprints across a separating platform, keeping his balance, his heart pounding. He whistles over the screaming, sharp and shrill.

People are starting to realize he’s the real Red. The fever pitch it’s whipping everyone into is absolute madness. He has to bounce from platform plate to platform plate. The artificial gravity balances are somewhat still in effect, but it’s like walking on moving water. It would feel great if it didn’t mean the ground was splitting open.

Volt Switch, now!

What do you do when confronted by a force of nature?

What can you do when confronted by a force of nature?

For the mere viewers in the audience, it meant that the security hired by the event organizers were quickly trying to evacuate the first five rows of the arena, dubbed “the Splash Zone”. It was apparent with the limiters going out of order, those rows were going to be “the Flood Zone” or “the Electrocution Hazard Zone” or a myriad of other dangers that Giovanni and Red could command.

Persian yowls at the force of Cloyster crashing down- his tough shell clamping closed to protect the soft innards inside. Spikes clattered off of the exterior, venomous ooze murks up the water and ice nearby.

“He’s survived,” Giovanni assures Persian.

Cloyster had a tough shell. The exterior was an unknown, and so far, unreplicatable material that could withstand a missile strike.

Giovanni should know, he’s witnessed that first hand.

But a man-made ballistic and explosive device was incomparable to the sheer power of a fully trained monster like Pikachu.

The power levels flash, despite the limiters being broken.

One Hundred.

“That level can’t be right...!”

Oh, but it is. Giovanni had no doubt in his mind that that was the power level that Red had raised his Pikachu to. His own Ground Team was close, and Cloyster, resting at ninety-two was close- but this was after a decade and a half of steady practice and skills learned.

Red had done this in five.

The impact of Cloyster’s fall left tremors that Giovanni recognized as the ground splitting. Pikachu had made its own little Earthquake using Cloyster’s bulk and near-indestructibility against him, and now the terrain was splitting off, floating freely in the water.

Giovanni winces at Cloyster’s fall. In spite of everything, he was still in tune with his monsters’ pain. He’d hardened his heart, but not removed it completely. Red is still the only opponent he’d faced in a long time that made him feel this way.

And, despite everything, he likes it. He loves the chaos that they sew whenever they clash. They weren’t people that fled from the forces of nature. They embraced it- one side or another.

“Cloyster, return! Persian climb on to me!”

He holds out his hand with Cloyster’s pokeball, and stomps his heel once more to disengage the claw gripping the earth beneath. Persian climbs up onto his shoulders, balancing on top of him, already running even with the recall incomplete.

Some things you want to ground yourself for, others, you need to move.

And he’d have to surf over the split chunks of earth and feel out his next moves. Pikachu was done for- recalled through use of Volt Tackle. Giovanni can’t wait and see for the next enemy.

They have to finish this. Bubbling in his lungs and burning in his chest be damned.

“Kabutops!”

He leaps over a piece of terrain to get closer to Red’s position on the miniature sea, and tosses Kabutops, one of his fossil pokemon, up in the air, not on the terrain.

She materializes, chittering with an insect-like cry, searching for her landing.

Another pokemon begins to materialize on Red’s side of the field.

No hesitation.

“Aerial Ace!”

She pulls her bladed arms to her chest and lowers her head, turning the aerial awakening into a dive, heading straight for Red’s newly summoned monster. At the last moment, she unfurls her bladed arms and spins, pirouetting like a ballet dancer, to bring them down on her opponent.

We are the forces of nature here.

When the light floods in, it’s with a CLANK of metal on solid scaled flesh. The incredible dive was met with such a loud and rapturous cheer. It was incredible. Kabutops made a shadow against the strobes and flashing lights. The water spray creature dotted its shell like stars in the blacklight. It looks like someone dunked it in glowing paint. And it looks like it’s dancing when it hits.

The bladed arm sinks into Blastoise’s solid forearm as he guards against it, a huge, manic grin on his face.

‘HEH.’

Blastoise slams a foot down and his Blackglasses slip off his face down his beak. He clicks his tongue like Red, and winks at the assailant trying their best to stab down and succeeding. A huge flickering screen splays the new contender’s statistics.

Level 100. It shouldn’t be right. Banette howls in vicious excitement into the mic and starts a new setlist. It loves them. It says so, echoing through the entire caldera.

No, it shouldn’t. But it is. So it is.

Commentators and audience noise blends together. The Banette keeps beat for Red and Red keeps focused.

Red mimics the movement. He grins too, pulling a fist back and throwing it forward as Blastoise plants a kick into Kabutops’s center to shove them off. Kabutops is going to outspeed him in every way. Blastoise yanks the shades off his face with a huff and tosses them to the side, to Red.

Red catches them and pops the oversized shades over his eyes, breaking into a full sprint over the broken terrain and signing:

‘Dark Pulse.’

The central lightning in the stadium, series of square, high power battle lighters, dim and black out on beat. It’s like watching a heart swell and beat. Blastoise rears back and throws his head forward, a ring of pitch black energy spilling from his mouth and slamming into Kabutops, shredding scaling off its shell. Kabutops’s shell pulses fluorescent colors. People start singing along to the song something popular about breaking bones, music, dancing until you die.

His gloves glow bright white under this light, leaving ghost trails behind them.

Or maybe that’s the drink playing tricks on him.

Blastoise takes the initiative, cannons racking back and fully drawing into its shell. Red braces both arms to himself. It seems his team came today to sprint, not pull endurance matches. So be it. He wanted a beatdown, not a dance.

Blood shines under blacklight. Blastoise draws into his shell completely and it starts sliding on the sinking terrain. And then it spins, and bursts. There’s a spray that runs into the water and beats bright blue. Blastoise flexes in it, glowing and streaked with smeared viscera and pieces of bone. His front is a gaping wound that heals almost immediately under the rain.

Shell smash.

He’s fast without it, metal canons articulating like a second pair of arms. His scales litter the field. He stomps forward with intent and aims.

Dodge this.

And fires. Ice beam. Frost spews from both canons, freezing the water under him and around him and securing passage between the broken pieces of the field.

Red loves fighting like this, because it’s at his best. He feels like a monster taking swipes with its claws and collapsing buildings. He feels like the thing under the mountain reminding the world why people were afraid of gods.

Giovanni skids over the ice to a stop- midpoint in the terrain. The ice slides him further to keep up with the shots.

Blastoise enters the field, and is immediately in his element. Not only in the water of the arena, but in the adoration of the crowds, the cheers amp up with all the destruction and the spectacle of power.

How could one not be in awe?

Kabutops gets cheers of her own, the unusual fossil absolutely radiant under the glow of the blacklight.

Interesting.

It’s something to note for research later- he’d suspected the relation with other bug-types…

She spins with grace, slicing into the Blastoise, who with a flash of shades, grins and bears her claws.

The power level flashes across the top of the screen: One Hundred for Blastoise, and Eighty-Eight for Kabutops.

There’s a steep difference in power- but it’s far beyond what most are able to achieve. Most people can achieve up to the sixties after years of dedication and study, and most people fall off training before the maximum theorized level could be achieved.

The lights dim with Dark Pulse, and the fluorescent markings on the shell of Kabutops makes her stand out like an ancient spirit of the deep. Neon green and purple swirls undulate under a cyan hull.

She doesn’t flinch, this creature of the deep brought to the surface, brought to life... but the energy still buffets her, sapping life force from her body and bursting blood vessels.

Blastoise smashes his shell, fragments clattering over terrain and spilling into water, and in a jolt of speed begins to expel ice over the field and at Kabutops.

She’s resilient- she’s not weak to ice at all, but it still hurts with the difference in levels between them.

Giovanni rushes forward, in tandem with this monster of his creation, who was waiting on him to direct her motions. He huffs in exertion. The ice in the air feeling like it was making crystals in his bubbling lungs, and turning his breath into fog. Giovanni raises his arms and clamps his cleats into the ice to steady himself.

If there was any chance of surviving this for her- she’d have to strike at his weaknesses, but she had to raise herself to match him…

“Ancient Power!” He cries, huffing as bubbles from the fluid in his lungs crackle at the back of his throat.

Kabutops warbles, splaying her bladed arms to the side, then raising them above her head as the terrain splits even further, and from the deep, several ancient stones are summoned to the surface. Pieces of calcite and other minerals glow brightly in the stones, and her body glows brightly as well, her eyes change from white to pink.

Prehistoric fragments powered up this prehistoric creature.

With an ungodly roar, Kabutops hurls the stones into Blastoise’s damaged shell, and the energy ripples between her and her enemy. She’d grown stronger and advanced in just that short frame of time.

Now is the opportunity to strike.

“Ach-ch!” he coughs, “Kabutops, now! Use Giga Drain!”

Kabutops nods her flat and broad head, spinning on a clawed toe on top of the ice. Green energy swirls under her exoskeleton- and in the blacklight, everyone can see her inner workings channeling this energy.

“KREEEE-YA!“

Kabutops screeches at the top of her lungs, an orb of bright light spilling out from her mouth, and bursting forth at Blastoise, hitting him square in the chest.

The energy ripples like electricity throughout the entire giant turtle, and wringlets of energy swim back to Kabutops, repairing her injuries and bringing her back up to a healthy level. She screeches in relief.

“Good girl!” Giovanni praises. Persian yowls in the same manner.

This was going to be close.

The Giga Drain hurts. It hurts to the point of Blastoise taking a knee. She splits his ice and his blood gravitates towards her with unquenchable ferocity. Blastoise keeps grinning. He’s grinning more and more the more she keeps wailing into him. Red’s at a type disadvantage. He knows that. He also knows Blastoise is a methodical type of fellow. Thoroughly cunning.

Blastoise straightens up and smashes a primal stone with his heel, rocks sliding off his bloodied hide. He’s having more than a good time taking the hits from a pretty lady. The rain’s healing him too fast for her. The level difference is ten, but it might as well be an entire league.

Red has to hand it to Giovanni. He knows damn well how to raise and train Pokémon. Kabutops is incredible.

She’s gorgeous.

Nobody in this region could even identify her properly. She looked like some ethereal creature meant to cut the water in front of her and cut Blastoise until he stained the caldera permanently.

Which seemed fine for him. Blastoise, new deep gashes in him from her violent energy, stomps towards her with more speed, grabbing around her whirling blades and all and picking her up. She’s a lot lighter than him. Red wants to cross the boundary into Giovanni’s border. He’s losing territory. His tiles are sinking. There’s no penalty for going under, but there’s a lot of danger in it.

Alright. Submission!

Blastoise brings Kabutops down into the ice with a CRACK. His clenched fist glows, a pinprick of concentrated energy in the palm. He clicks at her.

He winks again.

Red snorts and whistles at him. Stop flirting. Keep your focus.

Hard for him to say when he’s losing focus himself.

Blastoise pushes an Aura Sphere into her while she’s down, flinging her back into jagged ice shards. He bellows and croons under the whoops and chants of the crowd. He loves the attention being thrown on him. He’s fucking hurt.

Damn!

In a massive display of force, Blastoise grabs Kabutops out of the air and slams her into the ice, cracking scales off of her hide and helmet. She shudders and chitters and completely freezes in place in the Submission.

Blastoise winks at her, and Giovanni sighs in exasperation.

He hates sometimes that his pokemon are so much like him, and that they all enjoy being powerful- but also enjoy that power being shown to them as well.

Blastoise is flirting with her, and she's receptive to it.

Giovanni prepares to issue a command to escape it, but the air he takes in chokes him, dizzies him, greys out his peripheral vision, and forces him to adjust his stance. By the time he rights himself, Blastoise already has an orb of energy crackling in his fist, ready to send Kabutops through the ice below her.

Aura Sphere.

This is bad-! he panics. Without the limiters, Aura Sphere can hit him and Persian where they are.

Neither of them can afford to go under. With the energy in the air, the shifting terrain, and the undertow developing wouldn't release them if they get caught.

He clamps down, turning his body to the side to minimize exposure, and raises his arms in an 'X'.

Giovanni doesn't care if any referees call foul or not, this is life or death-

-and this is where he excels.

"Persian, Protect!"

Persian digs her claws into the armor, and yelps. From her gem, a wave of barely-visible energy blooms in front of the both of them just in time for the rippling crashes of Aura Sphere to slam into the hastily conjured shield.

They aren't blown off of their small refuge on the floating terrain, but the entire piece is propelled backwards, and the waves surrounding them chop up against the outcrop. The force tips the terrain backwards.

Time to move.

Giovanni leans forward and grabs onto the far edge of the busted terrain as it keels up. They're hanging on, verticle above water and sinking quickly.

Persian yowls in distress. He knows what she means:

'We need to go!'

"Let's go!"

He hoists himself and her up, poising on the ledge to quickly assess where their next haven would be. No choice where to go except closer.

He and Persian leap off together and land on a nearby piece of the field with a little less grace than preferred, slipping on the rime that formed and wobbling down onto a knee. He coughs at the pain, tastes iron in his sputum. He wheezes, and takes a moment to regain his balance. Persian leaps off of his back and crawls under his arm to give him support, clamping her own claws down to keep from sliding.

That hurt- but he and Persian were still above water, which was all that mattered.

Now back to the task at hand, Kabutops.

She's badly hurt, but still kicking. Blastoise and Red figured out one of her weaknesses: Fighting-type moves.

She and the icy blood glow a bright cyan under the blacklight, and with each passing moment, the cold rain heals the shell-less Blastoise, and she observes in awe.

"Kabutops!" he yells with audible exasperation, "We didn't come here to make eggs! Get out of there, and use Giga Drain!"

Courtship over.

"Kre-yah..."she croons. Nothing personal.

She kicks a clawed foot over Blastoise's jaw to flip herself backwards and away, skirting on the ice and digging her bladed arms down to bring herself to a comfortable pause.

She summons the energy from her core to ream Blastoise and ricochet back to her, healing her wounds and sparking changes in the neon patterns on her carapace. She's capable of taking hits, so this is now about endurance.

And under his mask, where no one could see- Giovanni's grinning.

Let the chaos unfold.

Blastoise is being a flaunting cock of a turtle. Jackass. He’s showboating and flexing, and the second Giga Drain doesn’t hit him as hard as the first one but he acts like it does for the sheer hell of it. Blood runs down his chest and back in patterns that follow his older scars and tough as hell scales. He’s thrown down into a karst of ice that was split with the force of his body, and he makes a show of slowly getting back up and smearing the blood she’s sucking right out of him over his face in huge, clotty streaks. He’s healing and bleeding rapidly in the rain.

Impish nature, and extremely cunning. He looks like exactly what he is, a cuthroat monster. Blastoise opens his ridged beak and calls once, a bellowing.

Nothing personal. He’s going down for it, absolutely, but he’s going to take her out with him. The ref doesn’t call the foul in the same way that they didn’t call the stop to the battle. And…

Neither of them care. They don’t. The platforms are done for and are so blown apart by the battle that despite having perfect balance on one, he hops down into the knee-deep water to resume command of the situation without sliding around like a dizzy Spinda. His vision is blurry and blotted with color. His gloves look incredible. Blastoise looks like a fucking nightmare and it makes Red grin like a Hex Maniac.

That drink is... really hitting me.

And so is the battle. His heart’s pounding in his ears when he draws back his fist with Blastoise, calling on all the ancient things watching them both stepping into the skins of mythological stories. There’s always a fight at the end of the world that has to be won, fought by people who usually didn’t want it to be this way.

That last part? That’s incorrect.

Red’s so in his element that he wouldn’t wish for anything differently. Blastoise gathers energy to him, silver light building behind him. Red pushes his fist forward as Blastoise does, a collapsed orb of pure force flying from his palm and hitting Kabutops, the other side of the field, the water, the barrier behind them which fizzles with the force and threatens to collapse.

Red’s head’s a mess. The water’s glowing so brightly under all the lights and pokémon displays. It looks like a huge, multicolored eye, opening under their feet, watching them. He trudges through the water and the rain, taking out Blastoise’s ball and recalling him. He’s done, and he’s not continuing a kaiju’s courting dance.

Red shoves the shades back into his pocket, and pops the last pokémon from his belt. He tosses it skyward, and the light that spills out of it melts into glowing, flashing scales and brilliant shimmers. The long, serpentine body of Milotic spills into being under the rain, landing behind him with a heavy splash.

He raises both arms to the rain, both palms to the sky. The glowing paint streaked down his arms in lines. The water’s filled with Blastoise’s blood. He thinks they probably can’t call it off, because they can’t reach them through the barrier. He can hear the commentary, fast and electric, but muted through the barrier. The audience chants something.

He claps both hands together and pushes them forward, palms out.

Milotic’s shimmering, shifting tail collapses, and expands, water rising and spiraling around his shimmering scales.

Aqua Ring. Aqua Ring.

He makes the water dance around them in levitating spirals, and Milotic springs forward, diving into the flooded stadium and corkscrewing under it.

CRACK.

Kabutops is finished. The Aura Sphere does her in, pulsating energy that she cannot avoid, and that Giovanni and Persian are poised thankfully away from. Giovanni rises back up to a fighting stance, with Persian balancing at his side. The piece of terrain bobs up and down, whim to the ripples that ebb and flow from the force of Blastoise’s attack.

Red recalls the beast, but the water is already stained with with the mingled blood of Kabutops and Blastoise, small specks of green glow and float among the red whorls spiraling down.

It’s two down for each of them now, it’s all down to their last pokemon.

“Kabutops, return!”

Giovanni pulls out her ball to recall her, letting her rest safely inside.

She did well, and put up a fight that many others wouldn’t be able to withstand, in spite of the level difference. Kabutops isn’t a part of his main team, she still has a long way to go. He’s proud of her performance, regardless. She was truly exceptional.

He’s still grinning at this display of primal violence. The rain downpours, the sharp smell of iron and copper linger in the air, along with ozone from electricity- the terrain of the field is destroyed, bobbing up and down with glaciers that have formed among everything.

They’ve all come so far. He’s just as impressed by Red now as he was five years ago, and he can’t help but to nod his respect across the way, as Red slinks into the water to swim with the Milotic that slithers forth with grace.

Milotic is a true testament to Red’s skill as a trainer, and he understands why he saves the serpent for his last. He’s a testament to Red’s care as a trainer.

The Milotic is a truly beautiful specimen, and the blacklight reveals another layer to the beauty of the luminescence of deep sea creatures. The writhing patterns are almost hypnotic, a fresh breath of air, a reprieve, from the intensity of the battle. Even if it is only for a moment.

It’s too bad that Giovanni appreciates a show of skill even more than visual aesthetic, and in this apocalyptic domain, he was itching to bring this fight to a certain victory, whether it be his or Red’s.

He pulls out his last pokeball, and throws it out to the center of the pool. A flash of light disrupts the violet darkness, and a bulking nautiloid shell with spikes slithers out into the deep, tentacles feeling out around herself, and her four pronged beak flashing with a gurgling squawk.

“Omastar! Muddy Water!”

Omastar dives below the surface, and sinks into the silt and disturbed terrain, shaking itself and unearthing the softer sand and debris. Dirt clouds the water, and is suspended in it as Omastar also secretes a mucousy material around itself.

Milotic swims closer, carrying a ring of energy around itself, patterns of light flashing on his hide.

Omastar waits for the crucial moment- and strikes, using her beak to siphon the muddied water back up, and spew the mixture at Milotic.

Success.

Even though this isn’t a type-effective move, Omastar strikes against the eyes of her opponent, effectively compromising the creature’s vision... It’s a move that would buy a little more time, and luck was on his side for this one.

It’s a close match already, and he’s already considering his Omastar’s moves: Muddy Water, Stone Edge, Dive, and Whirlpool-

Whirlpool.

It would counter the Aqua Ring’s healing, but…

He looks over to Red in the water. Even though the young man is his opponent (enemy?) he’s still reluctant to have him seriously hurt. Perhaps it’s a shred of decency, or perhaps it’s selfish, because he truly does enjoy their battles, as close a call as they were for his life.

It’d be a shame to not be able to do this again.

Giovanni leans lower, vision graying out at his peripherals again. He’s almost beyond words with the struggle just to breathe, so he signs to Red.

‘You may want to get out of the water.’

He doesn’t see it immediately. There’s a thick haze over his head that layers on that It’s Over. It’s Over. This is over. There’s something about the ripple of the water when Milotic dives, taking that hit to the eyes and crooning ear-bursting whalesong in response.

Red doesn’t see it, and he signs without looking up, ‘OVER’. It’s done. He wades behind Milotic, slashing at the water in front of him in repeated sign.

DANCE.

His clothes cling to him, and he’s numb. He doesn’t notice he’s gasping to breathe because his heart’s beating too hard, and he doesn’t notice how hard he’s cinching his jaw. Milotic shimmers, and spectral lights erupt out of her scales despite the muck and grime, dancing over Milotic’s body in dreamlike wyrm shapes. Dragon Dance.

And this is it. He can feel Milotic’s muscles constricting together and moving under the skin, and he turns as he turns, lunging forward as he does.

Draco Meteor.

Milotic slams his tail into the waves and they suspend around him, glowing with blood under blacklight, and his pulsing scales. There is no finer ode to the great old gods than taking a creature that remembers the blood it came from, and through it, burning a hole in the air above them.

He wished Lance was watching him.

He wished the Blackthorn clan was watching.

He wished…

Milotic opens its jaw, rearing back and the entire stadium leans towards it with the drawing gravity. A burning, glowing sphere starts building in Milotic’s throat with that deep, horrific, abyssal call it makes, before it throws the energy and its entire body forward, crest splayed out, tail fan spread, scales all raised.

In that beam of energy, there’s starlight. In that beam, there was primal, eldritch dust that confirmed that this world, this monstrous, horrific, incredible world beat in tune with the bones of dragons.

The meteor hurls itself towards Omastar, cutting the sound out with a sonic boom. It peters back in, in degrees, Red shaking with the effort of his body disobeying him.

It needs to be over. I’m sick.

Milotic lets out a wail that carries into the sky.

'OVER.'

Red completely ignores Giovanni's warning, refusing to look up at or acknowledge him.

Fury and fear boil up to the surface and almost seizes his lungs into choking. He wants to shout at him: Are you stupid? You're in danger!

Even though nothing's happened-

Yet.

That 'yet' beats in the recesses of his thoughts as Milotic bellows in whalesong, echoing off the far recesses of the caldera.

You lost…

Everything falls quiet for Giovanni. He can't tell if the audience is stunned speechless, or if he's consumed by focus, and an uncanny awareness overtakes both his rational and emotional thought.

...now live through this.

Giovanni just 'is' in this moment, and he's already moving in preparation. He is only action.

The first second.

Brilliant starlight shines in hues of gold and mageroyal, Earth beckons beneath them. Dragon song calls to space and something listens. Giovanni stands up, and Persian begins to climb up his arm intuitively-

Two seconds.

- All he can hear now is a heartbeat and persistent ringing. Giovanni doesn't know whose beat it is, but he steps into rhythm. He takes Persian, and begins to run towards where Red is in the water, leaping and skidding across the icy terrain-

Three.

-The three pinpricks of light loom closer and breach the stratosphere with a splash of glorious firelight. Streams of color burst and spin around each other, creating pure white light with an iridescent trail. Omastar cannot avoid this attack, it's too zeroed in. Giovanni knows the difference in power. Even with the distortion in accuracy, Milotic will land this attack critically. The limiters are not in place. If this hits her, she'll die. He leaps over the remnants of his field, crossing into Red's territory. He reaches for her pokeball at his side…

Four.

Giovanni takes the pokeball in hand, steadying himself to take aim. The light of the meteor is bright and close. He can feel the heat on his arms, and see ice melting, turning into steam with the approach -

Five.

"Persian, Protect! Omastar, return!"

Protect is not going to be as effective, Persian had already used it before, but anything he could do to limit the damage…

Persian focuses on the energy around her as Giovanni presses down on the activator. Omastar obeys and allows herself to get pulled back out of harm's way. Giovanni flashes the sign for 'yield' up to the commentators.

Match over. Danger, on the other hand…

The barrier shimmers around them all, and Giovanni sprints the final yards toward Red-

Six.

Red's in the water. At this range, it's easier to see blown out eyes and the shivers of sparse attention. He has no focus- drug induced. Giovanni leans down to grab onto Red's shoulder, arm, anything he can get ahold of-

Persian yowls in urgency.

We're out of time!

Draco Meteor arrives, the heat from its descent turns ice clear, and decreases the glacier's size by half, and creates a perfect concave bowl of evaporated water around itself before the energy evens out and the water boils.

The meteor doesn't stop. It punches a hole through the exposed crust of earth, and sends a massive wall of water up to the sky. The force of it pushes them all back, and shatters Persian's protective barrier.

But they're still heads above water.

The resulting waves toss and chop, and it takes all of Giovanni's focus to hold on and clamp down. The sting of Persian's claws keeps him firmly present.

They start drifting back after the waves start settling, but Giovanni freezes when he hears a rasping, gurgling noise similar to how his lungs popped through fluid trying to take in air.

The earth that was cracked was taking on water, forming a tiny drain spout.

Whirlpool.

The scariest thing about water is that it doesn't look scary. The water can hold you down, drown you, crush you- if you get caught up in it, it doesn't matter how well you swim, your only hope is to pray.

Giovanni wonders briefly. Was his earlier thought of Whirlpool him just examining his moves? Or a forewarning from…

"Red- ach," he sputters, "Get out-"

"THE WINNER, RED.”

Rapture and applause drowns everything out. He barely registers that he’s being pulled quite violently and suddenly as he recalls Milotic mid-dance. The barrier is still up, now the staff rushes in on emergency vehicles, but both of them are far too far away for anybody to reach them immediately.

Giovanni rushes towards him, and he can’t quite catch what he’s saying from far away. The man croaks from under the hood and starts hacking in a way that makes Red’s face pull a frown.

And then he’s pulled sharply back and it becomes clear how much danger he’s in, very fast. Red scrambles in the water, nearly tripping to grab onto the edge or the man trying to snare at his shoulders and pull him up. He’s fighting against the sudden, and terrifying rush of a tide pulling him back.

Despite the cloud in his head, he clamps his hands up Giovanni’s arm, straining and slipping to the point of hanging onto him by his hand. Red grabs it with both and hangs on for dear life, gritting his teeth with the effort of fighting against being sucked under.

Red almost goes under, something that no one notices because the nature of water was to be destruction unseen.

It’s both of them at the peak of their adrenaline that rip him out of the water, rolling onto the platform and bracing on his palms while he wheezes for air. It’s a moment of terror that passes, and he stands with shaky legs to an unaware audience, grabbing Giovanni to stand with him too.

Red listens to the water in his lungs. Giovanni’s hacking his air out.

‘Sick.’

He signs it, nodding, quaking on his feet and absolutely soaked. It’s unclear who it’s for, him or Giovanni. Emergency personnel flood in and the barrier fizzles out, damage done. Red grabs his forearm and nods, shaking it once in conclusion of the absolute chaos they just caused, and pulling on Giovanni’s sleeve to draw his attention, hardly managing focus to form words.

‘Come on. Sick. Come on. Take care of- heal.’

People cross the field to meet them. He starts hobbling over the remaining platform pieces, dizzy and grimacing. People tap his back in congratulations, the water level behind them levels out, people congratulate Giovanni.

He signs, ‘Follow me. Take care of you.’

Red grabs on to his arms and slips, grasping for something, and catches Giovanni by the hand. The force of the undertow is dragging on both of them, enough to make the clamps in Giovanni's boots scrape out of place-

-but he's not letting go.

He crosses his free arm over to grab at both of Red's hands, keeping him steady, and pulling him back up on the platform, Persian assisting with her teeth on the coat and claws dug firmly into the ground.

With slow, consistent exertion, Red is finally freed, launching onto the platform. They both cough and wheeze with the exertion. Giovanni is the only one that keeps coughing as Red shakily stands and pulls Giovanni up with him.

'Sick.'

Who? Me?

He doesn't even have air or energy to be sarcastic- which is really the most concerning thing to him.

He's hardly conscious or comprehending when emergency personnel come to assist them. The cheers for Red, for him, only registers as a dull, soothing thump.

His vision grays out again, this time threatening to overtake his entire focus.

Down... Down is very tempting…

His leg throbs and wobbles, adrenaline fading, and allowing pain back up to the surface.

Down... You're safe now.

He quakes and stumbles into Red as his pace suddenly drops.

A whoop and a firm congratulatory smack on his back from a complete stranger jolts Giovanni out of his stupor-

No! You're not safe until you're out of here!

Giovanni rears up with a spike of adrenaline as his mood drops dangerously, and violently low at the intrusion. It takes all of his self-control and discipline not to swing out at the touch, muscles locking up to immobilize the response.

Rage still burns at his throat, even though he knows this is a disproportionate reaction. Maybe it would have been different if he didn't feel exposed and vulnerable.

"Please-" he chokes out, "N-no touching. Sore."

It's good enough.

Red signs to him to follow him, pulling Giovanni away. It's probably for the best. The pants and huffing from exertion and pneumonia are starting to sound like growls.

They may as well be.

Reluctantly, he lets go of his focus on those around him, and solely follows Red. For better or worse.

Stick with the enemy you know.

Giovanni’s worse than him. It’s abundantly clear when they’re rushed out of the stadium and tended to by what feels like a horde of people running through basic injury medical in a tented space. They give a few bandages, some revitalizing pills (if they wanted), and they’re shunted to a separate space in the back. There are people that talk to them, congratulate them (and Red stands between them and Giovanni, politely interrupting any moves to touch him).

Red gets the prize, an incredibly rare set of mega stones- blanks, in a beautiful silk lined box. He gets the contact information of someone who runs a ring called “Ossuary” in Kalos.

Even the DJ comes to see them.

It’s by the grace of Red’s ability to disappear entirely into any crowd, that he pulls Giovanni and himself away, desperately texting (a nearly impossible task in his state), Sorcha to help. He’s bringing Torren with him. He’s really sick.

Sorcha is a blessing. She does manage to find the lousy state of them lingering behind a propped screen with an awning while the party continues into the night. Tristan, Saint, and Sorcha gawk at them, and then immediately start orchestrating serious assistance.

Red can hardly walk at that point in a straight line and “Torren’s” lungs sound like they’re failing. Sorcha tosses her Lapras out for them to crawl onto (it’s faster than walking the sandbars), and collapse.

It rains while Lapras bobs over the sea, back to Lillycove’s beaches and raised lines of warm, dry houses. Red is spitting out blood and pieces of his teeth into the ocean, and somebody puts a charm in his mouth so he stops chewing out his fillings. There’s a lot of ‘are you okays’ and sweet sentiments. There’s softer congratulations. He mimes everyone off of touching Giovanni.

Red has no idea who put an umbrella over them, and when that happened. Eventually, they’re also pulled off the Pokémon by someone (he doesn’t know which person), and someone else fumbles with keys and lets them in. There are a few from the rescue party staying with them, but most are leaving to return to the madness in the monsoon.

Sorcha gives them dry clothes and an invitation to stay, shower, get close to their little slugma heater and collection of odds and ends furniture, and dry off.

This is a winner-take-all competition.

So Red takes all the grand prizes, all the questions, all the attention.

Which is fine by him anyway. It takes off the pressure of being on guard when Red interposes himself as a living shield. It allows him to calm the wounded animal instinct, and keep him from biting at the hands of the people attending him.

Revitalizing pills help keep the cough at bay, and offer a surge of reparative energy. Giovanni gets bandages for scrapes and cuts he didn't notice, and for some that he did. He gets a compress wrap for his knee and sprained ankle.

There's nothing they can give him for soreness other than a warm blanket for the duration of his stay, which is only as long as it takes Red to answer questions, receive accolades, and meet the curious Banette, DJ Nightshade.

He refuses to give up his pokemon to be healed, to the shock of others, explaining away the concern with, "I prefer to do it myself."

And he does. He administers herbs and potions to his team to distract himself and prepare for any trouble that may arise later.

Then, it's time to go.

It's still raining, much to his and Persian's dismay.

It sets his lungs to seize in spite of the medicine, and he and Persian cling on to Sorcha's Lapras, riding through the water until they can reach the bungalow.

There's a lot of concern for his health by those that live there. It's so immediate that its almost comical to him.

Look that bad, do I? he muses.

However bad he looks, though, he knows he sounds worse.

Red keeps people from approaching him. Giovanni just mutely, and numbly follows his lead, head pounding hard enough that he doesn't care to think for himself.

Warm showers later, warm clothes later, he feels more human and capable of doing things. His pupils are still blown, which is easy to see, and sensory input is sluggish but far too much to be reasonable. He directs Giovanni to do the same, pulling some finer food for Persian from storage. Sorcha makes him drink freshwater by the bottle, and keep a tab on his nausea, and he at some point regains the dexterity to brew tea for the other man they pulled out of the rain.

They hang their clothes on a rack over a heating vent. He offers to hang Giovanni’s too.

Red mixes honey, bitter powder, and lemon into the pu-erh tea, and pours three aromatic cubs of it. He manages to catch Sorcha’s forehead in a kiss in passing, Thanks. He’s still chewing down on the charm too hard and sweating too much, but at least the chest palpitations have calmed enough that he’s not choking and edging on vomiting.

‘I don’t know what this is,’ he signs at her. She thinks it’s some kind of bad reaction. It probably is.

‘Let me take care of him. I know him.’

She does after setting them up with enough safety precautions that they don’t end up calling an ambulance for either of them... probably, anyways.

Red hands her a cup of tea. The television’s on, showing reruns of Pompe’s Last Contests. The torrential rain muted on the roof is lulling. Red knocks on the door of the guest room they had set up, tea tray in his hand complete with a full array of honey-colored pill bottles (antibiotic packs for pokémon he’d never used). They also work on people who can’t use civil services.

Red waits, and enters, setting the tray down, teapot and cups. He takes a square box off the tray with a chansey label, offering it out and tapping the lid.

Disposable acupuncture needles. Centera Brand. He chews on the charm instead of grinding his teeth.

‘Drink the tea. It has bitter powder in it. Energy powder. Tastes bad. I think you have pneumonia.’

There’s also his prize box sitting on it.

‘Can help. Want me to?’

I’m sick of water. I’m literally sick from the water, Giovanni thinks to himself in the shower.

He’d handed his Gear off to Red when he asked for them after securing and oversized print t-shirt and pajama pants from the people that lived here. He wasn’t expecting to go somewhere other than the hotel, so he had nothing of his on him, save for Gear, Poryphone, pokeballs, and the room key.

Somewhere along the way, one of the crests he attached to the hood came off, along with one of the neon cords around his tail coat. That didn’t matter to him- all the accessories were meant to come off after this competition was over. He’s surprised that most of the more costume-y additions held on for so long.

The steam dislodges some of the sputum in his throat, and he ends up spitting it out down the drain, preferring not to swallow the bloody mess back down.

An errant memory returns, of one of his scientists, Cale, making a joke about how people were pokemon, and Giovanni was definitely a ground-type.

He may have had a point.

Drying off, he dons the borrowed clothes and crawls into the guest bed. It’s not long before he’s dozing off underneath the weight of the blankets, and Persian curling up next to him, satisfied with surviving the flood, the fight, and the new food.

He’s not sure how long he’s dozed off for when a gentle knocking startles him into a sharp inhale, and sitting up.

“... What is it?”

The only reply is the door opening. Red stands with a tray of supplies, and enters, setting them down on the side table. It’s tea and acupuncture needles, and Red’s prize box.

Red instructs him to take the tea, and warns him it’ll taste bad. But most medicine does.

He nods once at the guess of pneumonia, he’d heard the same from Saint earlier. Giovanni nods again when help is offered. He’s too tired to pretend to be proud, and wise enough to know he can’t risk being at the doctor’s.

The healthcare may have been free, but he couldn’t afford jeopardizing his own freedom.

He sits up further and takes the tea in hand. The aroma is already energizing- and he can tell it’s going to be bitter beyond acceptable measure. But he drinks it with only the slightest grimace. Truth be told, he’s had worse.

“Thanks...” he murmurs with a small cough, “...what are the needles for?”

Treatment.

He taps the mattress side and makes the motion of placing a needle, the charm still in his mouth and being ground to little chewed bits. Whoever spiked his drink knew exactly how strong it was, surely. It’s been a few hours with no signs of letting his body go. Red sets the box of needles down, popping the lid off.

He taps the pill bottle and leaving it on his nightstand. He twists a dial on the bedside lamp’s base and dim yellow light starts spilling out from the Skarmory-print lampshade. It clarifies the situation they find themselves in as people. Red’s eyes are tired, but he doesn’t particularly need them. He usually does this on his pokémon. He’s done it on people he’s met plenty of times. It helps.

So he offers it.

He taps the points, non invasive ones and then a more invasive one. Ear, wrists, two in each. Two in the joint of the thumb. Head (for stress and heart imbalances). Ankles, forehead. Between the first and second toe. Giovanni could keep as much modesty as he wanted with as much treatment as Red could reasonably give. It helps everything else work, and that was its purpose.

‘They don’t hurt. It helps the powder work.’

Red pulls up a chair to sit and wait for a yes or a no, opening his prize box and taking one of the two stones from it.

He offers it out to him, to take. It’s an blank megastone.

‘For the herb. You’re drinking it now.’

Red explains the acupuncture in simple gestures, laying out on his own body and pointing to where each one would go. Giovanni’s ambivalent about the acupuncture needles. He knows that they don’t hurt. It’s not like the kind of blood draws that he was subjected to as a kid…

He nods his acquiescence, and rests his hand on Persian. He’s too tired and ill to protest anything, and he realizes how lucky he is to be in this situation to begin with. They didn’t have to take him with them.

He didn’t have to save Red, either.

Or did I? he wonders, thinking back to the fortunate encounter with Red earlier with the flash flood.

No, he gave him the herb already, that should have cleared out where they stood-

He sighs, and rubs his eyes at the adjustment of the light. It’s not wise to think too much about who owed whom what, and where the balance of power was at this moment.

Just accept it.

When he refocuses and opens his eyes, Red’s holding out a stone in his hand. The shifting teal and cerulean hues of a megastone.

It’s unsynched. One of Red’s prizes from tonight.

He must have visibly worn confusion on his face, because Red clarifies:

‘For the herb. You’re drinking it now.’

The herb... the Revival Herb he found and harvested along the trail. The corners of his lips twitch upward with amusement.

It all comes full circle in the end, doesn’t it?

He had a feeling he should part with the herb to Red, earlier. This just... validated something- he’s not sure what.

“...Heh. Alright.”

He clears his throat and holds out his hand for the stone.

“Though, I don’t know why you’d give this to me at all, considering...”

Everything.

“Hm. I’m not going to question it.”

He thinks it’ll mean something later down the road. Why give two stones to one person, while the other person was there?

‘A good fight,’ is all he says, tapping the pillow and starting to take the little capsules for needles between his fingers. Red waits a moment, and holds Giovanni’s pulse point with two fingers, dragging his above it to feel the state of him. It’s like searching for a heartbeat of a different stroke, and a hum of energy under his fingers. Giovanni’s ill, and so that beat is erratic.

Red exhales past the charm, and taps his wrist once, putting one of the disposable capsules onto the point and pressing it just under the skin. There’s no real pinch or pain, just a needle releasing pressure to it. He traces the point back to his thumb, and places another needle. It’s very quick, and he’s quiet and as hands off as he can be. A needle in the top of his head, and a needle between his brows. Stress needles.

Giovanni’s still coughing. He puts two needles, one in the arch of each foot, and one between each first toe.

There’s a warning for that one. It’s a small pinch he taps him for.

It’s not a lot of needles in the end. He sets a few more for him, and doesn’t explain, nor hold an extended conversation. He pulls the blanket back over Giovanni, to face the ceiling for a while.

Red leaves the copper kettle with him.

‘Back to take them out in an hour. Can sleep. Tell Persian to get me if you’re in trouble.’

He shuts the light off before he leaves him to rest to the sound of rain hitting the roof.

The only thing he really feels is a light dab of pressure on his skin and tired.

He’s exhausted beyond all belief. He got caught up in major events twice in one day, participated in ill-advised activity, and battled to near-death…

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thrilled by it all. But the consequence is the ache that sets in, and the acute awareness of pain from injuries that, frankly, should be worse.

Red sets about his work, and Giovanni lets him work, until it gets to a point where he can finally feel the effects of the Revival Herb kick in, and barrel through the metaphoric floodgates in his body.

Giovanni can now take an almost full breath.

He takes advantage of that discovery, and leans his head back to rest and open up his airway more. He feels as if he’s in between states- the hyper aware, and the drifting fatigue. They aren’t quite at war with one another, but rather work together in a strange, contradictory tandem.

Regardless, it does help. A lot.

Red leans him back, and helps adjust the heavy comforters over him, signing he’ll be back in an hour.

‘Tell Persian to get me if you’re in trouble.’

That gives him pause. It’s been... a long time since anyone’s said something like that. Anything like that.

“I will,” he murmurs, resting a hand on the top of her head. He drags his thumb across her jewel.

Her eyes gleam in the dim amber glow of the lamp. She acknowledges looking out for him. She had been for just about forty years now.

Red shuts off the light as he leaves. Persian inches closer to rest her head on Giovanni’s chest, rumbling soft purrs in an attempt to help speed up his recovery. Even in the darkness, there’s enough light ambience for him to see Persian staring at him with concern.

That was a close call, she seems to say.

“... We’ve been in closer calls,” he reassures, “but none quite like that, for sure.”

She nods and buries her head down, resuming her ritual, lulling Giovanni into rest with the tapping of rain and the low hum of purrs.

They’ve been through worse. They’ve always made it out even when others didn’t have that fortune. It makes him feel... He can’t even identify what it is, exactly, just that beneath the thought there’s something there, driving it.

I’ll figure out what it is, he assures himself, likely when it is no longer important.

He finally succumbs to rest.

#earth-master #long post #im not kidding it is long #saved rps

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