#sage gorm

[spotted-owl-sketches]

Ch2: [first][prev][next]

[every-natural-harmonia-gropius]

[oncillaphoenix]

shout out to sage ryoku of team plasma. the least developed member of the least memorable group of evil team admins.

[raising-harmony]

As it may appear you've dug your own grave by mentioning your one time stand with that man, pity, truly. Nevertheless may we inquire the health and lives of the other sages? What are they doing these days, hm?

It wasn't me who brought it up to begin with, it was that delirious teenager. But yes, let the subject be changed at last.

The other Sages are doing well. The children are quite fond of Rood and Gorm, which is good. N was initially scared of Gorm, given how he "introduces" himself by sneaking up and shouting "boo" at people.. But N later came to realize he meant no harm. He is an odd man, but a valued member of Team Plasma.

I hardly see Giallo and Ryoku as of late due to their field work. They stop by to report their latest finding and leave again almost immediately after.

Bronius is taking care of much of our recruiting at the moment, and for that, I am grateful. He's certainly a well-spoken man who knows how to rally the people.

As for Zinzolin, he is how he always is and ever will be. There seems to be no stopping Colress from beating him with a shoe whenever they interact- which I would normally be against, but for Zinzolin, I make an exception. That man constantly undermines me and the rest of the Sages anytime he can.

[lovenpeace-pkmn]

Once, Sage Gorm showed up for one of N's tutoring sessions at 3 am...I think he was planning to startle him awake as some sort of object lesson. Unfortunately for his plans, Ghetsis had been out for two weeks, so we had all given up on going to bed at normal human hours and were awake when he arrived.

[vaugarde]

i barely did postgame when i was a kid so the seven sages besides ghetsis are like nobodies to me tbh. i kinda remember gorm and zinzolin bc they were in bw2 but thats it. boys who do nothing

[icykyurem2224]

One thing I genuinely liked out of Pokémon Adventure’s BW and B2W2 arcs is the Plasma grunts that appear all have different appearances and personalities.

Some of them genuinely believed what they were doing was right for Pokémon everywhere, others were ruthless in their goals and others had more scumbag qualities, I also find it easy to do a personality analysis on them as a result.

Colored lines represent what sage they served under

Red: Rood

Purple: Zinzolin

Blue: Gorm

Brown: Bronius

Yellow: Giallo

Green: Ryoku

Black lines or no/ambiguous relationship with sage or reveal the grunt is in Neo Team Plasma/Black Team Plasma

Source:

[unovasrose]

Opinions on Plasma Sages, Anthea, and Concordia*

Ghetsis really goes without saying. The man terrifies her and still occasionally haunts her dreams. He is absolutely unhinged and will stop at nothing to realize his plans, with little regard for who he hurts along the way, and that’s why she considers him so dangerous.

Rood is the most important and relevant to Rosa’s storyline and she respects and admires him immensely. He was both her teacher and a stand-in father figure while she was growing up, and also constantly supported Rosa and her mother, both during their time in Plasma and in the wake of Plasma’s fall. He was always kind and respectful, invested in the growth and development of his people, and that truly resonated with Rosa. To this day, she still sees him as family and finds his support invaluable.

Her opinion of Gorm is a bit conflicted. While Rosa appreciates that he was the only sage outside of Rood who sided with N’s ideals, to her it seemed like he was all talk and very little action. He could have done more to help combat Neo Plasma; he should’ve done more, especially for a man that talked so heatedly about fixing one’s mistakes, but instead he left Rood to handle the brunt of it. For this, Rosa doesn’t think very highly of him.

As far as Zinzolin goes, she loathes him. He so readily jumped ship to Neo Plasma and made sure to antagonize Rosa throughout most of her journey, even threatening to kill her for standing in his way. Even though he eventually expressed remorse for his actions after Neo Plasma’s fall, it was still too little too late for Rosa and she will never trust him.

Bronius, Giallo, and Ryoku she is mostly neutral toward. She rarely had any interaction with any of them during her time with Plasma and they made themselves mercifully scarce during the Neo Plasma fiasco.  

Meanwhile, Rosa’s impression of Anthea and Concordia has always been very positive. Anthea in particular spent a good amount of time helping out in the Nursery and was the one who taught Rosa everything she knows about tending to wounded pokémon and mixing together natural medicine. She always spends some time chatting with the both of them during her visits to Driftveil and keeps the two informed of any N sightings.

[harmoniasdissonance]

Ghetsis’ Memoir: Donna and Cletus (Grunts 125 and 132)

“These two when I met them were fanatical and were ready to be devoted to Team Plasma’s cause when they were 16 and 18…

When Team Plasma’s liberation plan started five years ago, they liberated the very first Pokémon, a Purrloin designated ‘Albert Wesker’, They were commended for the start of Team Plasma’s plans and I even commended them.

Wesker was obnoxious and he was such a pest, I wish they never took that fucking Purrloin and I wish I never knew Wesker.

But their bragging and high praises of themselves over it started to get extremely annoying, It was just a fucking Purrloin, a common, everyday Purrloin, Giallo, Their sage was more disappointed that they didn’t get the Trapinch.

I noticed Abby (Grunt 627), one of the medical grunts got way more physically violent with them, I speculated it was something to do with Wesker, She knew his trainer.

June of next year, They stole a grunt, Mark (Grunt 196)’s twin Eeveelutions, a Flareon that evolved from a Fire Stone he got as a birthday gift and a Glaceon, they took them and signed the documents necessary to have them released, it was against the rules in Team Plasma to do that to your fellow grunts for pragmatic reasons.

Mark almost died from takotsubo cardiomyopathy when he had a panic attack, a doctor had to come here, When I and Giallo asked why they did that, their response was with cheerful smiling:

“Because now they can liberate Pokémon all over Unova without those rare Pokémon that they shouldn’t have!”

I remember grabbing my hair to try and calm myself down, then again when I was told Mark could have died.

I felt sick to my stomach knowing they had put a grunt in danger and they act like they were in the right for it, I couldn’t sleep right when I was told that Mark could have died from a heart attack,

I fucking hate these two yet they’re still here because they have a warrant out for their arrest for Wesker’s theft but also because of what they did to Mark, his mother, Lady Choi Eun-min reported them to the authorities.

No matter how many liberations they did, nothing would change my mind about them, Rood and Gorm were devastated and angry, Me, Bronius, Giallo, Ryoku and especially Zinzolin couldn’t even look at Mark or his mother out of shame and Donna and Cletus out of fury.

They were just lowlife grunts from that point forward from the start of plans to my first plans being stopped by those fucking brats.

In Neo Plasma, they just stuck to me because Old Plasma told them to ‘fuck off’ (In the most polite terms, Rood and Gorm told me they’re no longer welcome at the safehouse and they’ll be turned away from the door because Hugh is there sometimes and because of what happened to Mark) and the fact Interpol is after them

I later found out about Wesker’s trainer, Hanako, I didn’t care if she got Wesker back or not, I fucking hated it when both of those grunts bragged about it just as much as I hated Hugh not shutting up about it.”

[the-suns-a-miasma]

Alright.

Zinzolin: Most loyal to you--to Ghetsis. ...? Giallo, Ryoku: Loyal mainly to Team Plasma as a whole and to the new world you are theoretically building. Rood, Bronius: Loyal to N. Gorm: Unknown.

~🕊

Okay. That means all of them should be backing Team Plasma's goals, and...

That's what I meant to...

Some things are hard to say.

I should probably talk to them to make sure that... that the Seven Sages are united in our goals?

Okay. That worked.

I don't know what I'll be able to say to them, though...

[abbyandhanako]

“This was the letter Old Plasma gave to Neo Team Plasma’s leadership.

They asked if Rebecca can give the card to either Lord Ghetsis, Sage Zinzolin or Doctor Colress.

It was agreed unanimously by them and the two sages, Rood and Gorm that Donna and Cletus are to be turned away at the door if they showed up.

So yeah, NOT even the other faction of Team Plasma wants them and make it abundantly clear, Rood and Gorm are not as forgiving towards former OG or current Neo Plasma grunts that committed heinous crimes or violated serious rules during OG Plasma.

That’s basically why those two bastards are still here, Old Plasma doesn’t want them and Interpol is on their ass because of the theft of Wesker and the harm they did to Mark…” - Abby

[spotted-owl-sketches]

Ch2: [first][prev][next]

[mythleague]

Museum Heist Victory

(Image Description: Lenore, her husband, and the player catch Plasma grunts stealing a dragon skull from the museum)

Now that we have the Basic Badge we can head off to- OH NO! What? Team Plasma is making a ruckus again?! Geeze these guys don't know when to quit!

They succeed in stealing a dragon skull, presumably for their next campaign meet-up. Mad props for accuracy, but stealing from museums is NOT okay, so with the help of Bug Gym Leader Burgh, we're gonna hunt these goons down in the Pinwheel Forest!

(Image Description: Lenore, Burgh, and the Player face sage Gorm and a Plasma grunt in Pinwheel Forest)

The grunts aren't any trouble, which is no surprise, and once they find themselves outnumbered they are quick to give the skull back.

Well... that was easy. Guess it's time for Liberty Garden!

That's right, it's time for us to get Victini! A ship is ready for us in the ports of Castelia City. We get there and-

(Image Description: Player faces Plasma Grunt in Liberty Garden. Text reads "We will release Victini from its confinement")

The LARPers again?! It's like an infestation! Even Galaxy wasn't this pervasive! Guess we gotta clear 'em out... again.

The grunts are pretty easy, but Victini itself is hard. Mostly because we're trying to catch and not defeat. Eventually though we catch our newest little member. We name it Pollyanna after an early 1900's book of the same name.

(Image Description: A summary screen for a level 15 Victini named Pollyanna. It is in a Luxury Ball)

Pollyanna is only level 15 at the moment to Joringel's 23, so we'll want to take a minute to level up, but when we come back it'll be time to face Burgh in the Castelia gym!

(Image Description: Player enters Victini's Nursery. A Plasma grunt and Victini are inside.)

First - Previous - Next

[gaia-is-here-now]

why is gorm of the seven sages quoting sun tzu at me

[oops-prow-did-it-again]

Pokémon Black: The Novel - Chapter 9 (Thread the Needle)

Prologue and more info

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Pokémon Black: The Novel on FFN

Pokémon Black: The Novel on AO3

Pokémon Retold the series on AO3

----------------------------

Hil spent the next week training along Route Three.

He stopped at Striaton City’s Pokémon Center often and stayed there overnight. Even if he often heard whispers and received awkward stares, he had no intentions of going to Nacrene City just yet. He knew Cheren and Bianca would likely spot him, and he just didn’t want to talk to them. As angry and hurt as he had been at Cheren in Wellspring Cave, he had understood Cheren’s concerns. In fact, he had even agreed with him. He just had no solution for the problem at the time.

His mind had settled on a simple plan: train, train, and train. Do it alone. He hoped that he would be able to manage on his own, and if he got into a tough spot, desperation would force him to keep from locking up. At first, he and his pokémon had been forced back to the Pokémon Center almost hourly, but after a while, he found a groove and was able to remain for longer stretches of time. His pokémon seemed to appreciate the one-on-one interactions they received, at least. He had even managed to catch a Blitzle after repeated, failed attempts at acquiring one.

The Blitzle, a male one, had an arrogant air about him. He had been lazy and disinterested in battle and that had been what allowed Hil to catch him. Hil had offered him the chance to leave following his capture since he seemed angry at having been caught, but at the last second, the Blitzle had seemed to change its mind and bumped its muzzle against Hil’s right palm. Hil had smiled uneasily and thanked him for agreeing to stay. Due to his haughty nature, Hil had jokingly called him ‘Prada,’ and the name stuck.

It was day eight when Hil awoke in his hostel room to his Xtransceiver ringing wildly. He ignored it at first, as he always did, with the hopes the other person would get the hint and leave him alone. Yet, after ten minutes or more of successive rings, Hil’s anxiety kicked in and he sat up, dazedly reaching for the device. He found it was a mixed effort of Cheren and Bianca both calling him. He flopped back down in the bed before sliding his finger across the ‘Answer’ button.

His face appeared on the bottom left screen. His unkempt, oily hair, whipped into every which way, indicated way more obviously than he’d have liked that he hadn’t showered in the last two days. “Sup,” Hil mumbled groggily.

“Hil!” Bianca exclaimed. “You finally answered! I’ve been so worried!”

Her voice echoed. He could tell she was with Cheren in the same spot and they had both just been making a concentrated effort to annoy him into answering. He supposed it had worked.

“Yeah? I’ve just been training on Route Three some,” Hil yawned.

Again, it was Bianca who spoke. Cheren didn’t seem to even be looking at his Xtransceiver. “Well, you scared us! We thought you might have been hurt when you kept refusing to answer and you never showed up in Nacrene,” she whined. She tilted her head and glanced at Cheren. After a short pause, she stamped a foot and tapped him in the shoulder. “Hey! Speak up!”

Cheren winced at her touch and shot her a dirty look. He nervously glanced up at the Xtransciever and away again. “I’m sorry for what I said in Wellspring Cave,” he mumbled at last through what sounded like a mouthful of cotton. “I lost my cool. You didn’t deserve that. It won’t happen again.”

Hil tossed his left arm over his forehead, blotting out his view of them and their view of his face. “Don’t say that, Cheren,” Hil sighed. “I mean, I appreciate the apology, but what I meant is… you weren’t wrong, really. It is scary that I freeze up like that and that’s gonna be a big problem if I don’t deal with it. That’s why I went off the radar. I wanted to practice without having anyone to fall back on for a while but myself. Hoped it might force me to see reason even if I was having a freeze-up.”

“…Did it?” Cheren asked quietly.

Hil thought about that for a second as he moved his arm from his face. He hadn’t really had but one or two moments in his training throughout the week where he truly froze, and both times, his pokémon had taken up for him. At least, Noodle had. Rather than continue to panic alongside Hil and wait for him to issue commands, the Snivy had taken it upon himself to react when Hil began to lose his focus; he seemed to default to a Vine Whip, and then would lightly tap Hil’s legs with the vines as well to try to regain his attention. Interestingly enough… it had worked. Noodle had to repeat his ministrations a few times, but it always worked.

“I think so,” Hil answered finally.

“So, nothing bad happened while you were out there?” Bianca asked worriedly. Suddenly, he felt very annoyed with that question. It sounded as if Bianca were being protective at him. While part of him wanted to be appreciative, what little pride he had was wounded at the implication he needed guarding by her.

“Nope,” was all Hil answered her with. She didn’t deserve his vitriol. “I caught a Blitzle, though. His name’s Prada.”

“That’s awesome!” Bianca beamed. “Where are you at, anyway? You look like you’re in a bed, but we haven’t seen you in Nacrene.”

“You look like you slept on your head and forgot what a shower was as well,” Cheren added dryly.

“Ha ha,” Hil sneered, “yeah, I’m in Striaton City’s hostel. Was able to convince them to let me have a room alone.” Hil curled his lips a little and mockingly said, “Perks of being the kid of a dead gym trainer man.”

Bianca visibly cringed at that statement, but shook it off within seconds. “W-well, we’re at Nacrene, if you want to meet us here! Cheren already won his badge from Lenora. We were waiting on you to come along and have your battle before we left!”

Hil blinked. “You were?”

“Yeah. We left Nuvema together, didn’t we? Why split up now?” Cheren questioned. “Not gonna let one little fight ruin us, are we? We’ve had worse spats, I think,” Cheren laughed a little nervously.

Hil chuckled. “You have a point… okay. I’ll get ready and meet you guys in Nacrene in…” Hil glanced at the time in the corner of the Xtransceiver’s screen. It was currently 10:12 AM. Oh boy, he had sure slept in. “…Probably about noon,” he said half-heartedly. “Sorry, I had no idea I slept in so late…”

“You always sleep in late,” Cheren mused.

“We’re away from home, who cares? Sleep as late as you want!” Bianca giggled.

Cheren scowled at her. “That is not healthy life advice.”

“Thanks Daddy, always lookin’ out for us,” Hil grinned.

With that, Cheren hung up and Bianca squealed something incoherent, laughed, and quickly wished Hil farewell before hanging up as well. Hil felt relief welling in his chest. He hadn’t realized how badly he had missed talking to them and how painful it had been to actively ignore them over the course of even just the week. He had known Cheren and Bianca his entire life, and he looked forward to putting that spat behind them.

 ----------------------------

Castelia City had felt suffocating recently. It was a new feeling to the happy-go-lucky gym leader of the most bustling, lively city in Unova. The open, winding streets and various shops that had once felt warm and inviting now felt restricting, like the straps to a straitjacket, and he, the loose cannon of a patient.  He had opted to leave the city for a while. He still had rights to a studio in Nacrene City and although he had allowed some younger artists to use it for the time being, they had been ecstatic at the idea of having him back for a while. Their exuberance had been welcome. Burgh didn’t feel like he was anyone’s favorite person anymore, but their reaction had made him feel wanted.

Many would tell you Burgh was the cavalier, artsy gym leader of Castelia City, enjoying life at its fullest and encouraging his gym trainers and challengers to do the same. They would proclaim him as easily the most upbeat of the entire Unovan Pokémon League Staff, they would celebrate his portfolio of art, and lightly tease his fondness for Bug-types. They may have whispered about his occasional artists’ block and how he’d travel to Nacrene City to escape it on occasion, since he had started his art career as a lost, lonely art student in one of its outrageously expensive studios.

More recently, however, one may have found a wildly different picture of Burgh painted by the brush of news anchors: the ignorant, careless gym leader that did not notice the light fading in one of his students. A callous, pompous artist who no longer concerned himself with the emotions of others unless it suited him for public viewing.

It had all stemmed from the sudden suicide of a gym trainer of his named Vincent, or as he had preferred to be called, Vince. Burgh also felt the blame aimed his way was highly unfair because he never had any idea Vince was struggling. Vince was more outgoing than many of his other trainers, he joked often, he loved to pretend he really was a court jester in alignment with their funny clown outfits… He had seemed so excitable and happy. Sure, Burgh had been aware Vince had an unpleasant home life, but the gym had seemed to lighten his day up. No matter how many times he scrutinized his time spent with Vince at the gym, he could never come up with an ounce of evidence pointing to the idea that Vince was struggling with such bitter demons.

The closest thing to evidence he had come up with was that sometimes, Vince showed up in unkempt clothes, the scent of coffee strong on his breath, and his eyes glazed over dazedly. It had given Burgh the impression that he may have been hungover, but what was he supposed to have done about that? Vince was a grown man, and while he preferred his trainers to show up unintoxicated, there was no official rule about it. The only time anyone was asked to sit to the side for those reasons was if they were actively disrupting instruction or clearly not in their right mind. He hadn’t had an incident like that with any of his students, well… ever. Vince had always joked about his uneasy state whenever he arrived like that, and Burgh had just joked back, thinking that’s what Vince had wanted.

Insulted was a kind way to put how the media’s lashings made him feel. Burgh prided himself on offering help to others and indeed, his passion for art had grown from a desire to show off the beauty of everyday mundanities to others in a bid to brighten their lives. His love for Bug-types had sprung from a youth spent sympathizing with them for how most considered them gross and unsightly. He had striven to show they were just as deserving of love as any other pokémon. As any other living creature.

Over the course of three short months, the media was running his name into the ground. Truth be told, not everyone believed it; Burgh had personally touched the lives of many people and his status as gym leader meant that many had difficulty even considering the possibility of the sensationalist stories being right. Even so, the small group of people who believed it were very real. An odd glare here, a hurried, husky whisper there… Burgh was not blind nor was he deaf to the hike in public criticisms. He could have marched up to them and demanded they stop spreading such nonsense—indeed, he could have even gone to the news stations themselves and order them to stop spreading such insidious stories—but he knew that would only worsen his reputation. He had begged other League Staff that had wanted to defend his honor to leave the subject alone and let it blow over. It seemed like it would never blow over, though…

On top of all of that, crime was on a minor rise in Castelia City, and he knew the source of it. Robberies, though only of relatively small amounts of cash, were being reported. The culprit was described as a mid to older teenager that used pokémon wordlessly and seamlessly in his thievery. Burgh had known immediately who they spoke of and although he had not exactly been interested in divulging that information to police (nor was he required to), guilt had pressed him to offer those stolen from some compensation. He earned plenty of money from his art as well as his job as a gym leader. He played off their confusion as him simply wanting to be a good citizen.

Meanwhile, he really was just trying to lessen the heat on the robber. Burgh had met the boy, Taven, some years ago, by chasing him through the streets of Castelia and well into the sewers after hearing stories of a mysterious young man robbing grocery stores for food and other menial supplies. He had grown frustrated with the chase and had his Leavanny use String Shot to tie him up, force him to stop. Until that point, Taven had been mostly silent save for the occasional grunt, but upon finding himself trapped, he yelped and began to struggle madly against the bindings. The fright in his dark, slate eyes had given Burgh some pause. That was a notable change from the careful, almost smug expression he had seen earlier.

Initially, he had intended to calm the young boy down, and then take him to social services where he would personally oversee how they handled his case. Yet, as Burgh and his Leavanny had drawn closer, Taven had glared up at him with an almost feral look of fear and snapped, “No!” He then had jerked with so much might in his attempt to free himself that he had lifted himself nearly completely off the ground. The panicked effort had seemed to sap most of his strength, as when he stopped, he had been panting wildly. “They need me!” he had gasped, his voice cracking in the last word. He had squeezed his eyes shut at that point.

An Oshawott had then scurried from the sewer water and jumped in front of Taven, brandishing a shell in its tiny arms. Unlike most Oshawott Burgh had met, who looked as if they had no idea where they were most of the time, this one had been dangerously focused. Rattata soon had followed and begun to gnaw away at Taven’s silken prison. Zubat then swooped from the darkest recesses of the arching ceiling and had descended on Burgh in a swirl of beating wings and screeching. His Leavanny had managed to scare them off, but by that point, Taven had been long gone. A pile of shredded silk had been all that remained.

After that, it had been a long road of carefully gaining the boy’s trust, and coming to the unspoken agreement he would not try to remove him from his home. Even if Taven’s home was literally the Castelian Sewers, he seemed happy there, and he had never forgotten the sheer panic and conviction in Taven’s voice that first meeting. Taven truly believed he was all that looked out for the pokémon that called Castelia’s sewers and alleyways home. Burgh knew that although integrating him back into society would have likely been best for him physically, Taven would have hated every second of it. The more he learned of the petty thief, the more he saw him as his own son, and felt a stronger desire to help and protect him where he could without forcing his hand. Taven… was complicated, but Burgh knew he had a good heart. After all, despite his downfalls, Taven’s primary motives were rooted in helping abandoned and starving pokémon around Castelia City.

Except recently, he feared that was taking a turn. Robberies performed by Taven up until that point were done to take care of himself or his pokémon. Clothes, food, the occasional creature comfort—but these robberies were simply for cash, and although nobody was ever hurt, the details from the victims showed that Taven was not afraid of threatening the victims to get them to listen to him. Burgh liked to believe he didn’t have a truly violent bone in his body, but…

He sighed. He was wondering if he knew what anything really was anymore.

Suffice to say, he was looking forward to heading to Nacrene City, and hoped to get some coffee with Lenora and Hawes while he was there. They were a lovely couple to hang out with and Lenora typically inspired him with her discussion of new artifacts that had been given to her museum for curation. He had a habit of over-blowing details in his artwork of ancient pokémon she described, but she seemed to enjoy his work, nonetheless.

He was walking the straightforward route through Pinwheel Forest. The buzzing of life from within its depths always made him feel a little introspective, he thought with a snicker. It was where he had met the majority of his pokémon. He often escaped to the Pinwheel Forest whenever he wanted to draw as a child and that habit had not fled him even as he grew older. This was not his destination, however, so he pushed through the last of the canopied pathway and found himself on the neatly trimmed path that connected Pinwheel Forest and Nacrene City. A beautiful fountain circled by pathway appeared in front of him as he walked and he decided to take a breather on one of the benches next to it. He listened carefully to the Pidove cooing overhead and the distant calls of Patrat chuffing at threats in the distance, likely telling the rest of their pack of a prowling Purrloin.

He breathed in the clean air. It smelled strongly of the nearby forest and a little swampy. Parts of Pinwheel Forest were marshland, after all. Already he was feeling the prickle at his fingertips to begin to sketch as a loose, indescribable image formed in his head. All of his art started that way, as a nondescript blur in the back of his mind, and it was his hand that sketched it into proper form. After a few seconds of waiting to regain his stamina, he was off again. He’d have to settle into his studio and then go meet Lenora before he could be free to camp out in the forest for a day.

 ------------------------------------

He had only just noticed her before she came barreling at him at top speed, enveloping him in a tight hug. She was a lot stronger than he remembered. Hil staggered at Bianca’s hold and laughed when he stumbled as she let him go. Cheren strode up to him next with his arms crossed. Hil gave him a small smile. Noodle, on the other hand, practically danced on his shoulders in excitement as he recognized Hil’s two friends.

“Yeah, that’s them, buddy,” Hil chuckled. He snorted as Noodle finally opted to climb onto his hat and lean down on Hil’s visor to get a better look at them. Cheren snorted and awkwardly reached his right hand out to pet the bouncy Snivy.

“So, are you wanting to try and take on Gym Leader Lenora?” Cheren asked idly as he continued to rub Noodle.

“I guess I could try. We were training for a while out there…” Hil glanced at the visor of his hat. “Noodle, you think we’re ready to fight the next gym?”

Noodle peered over the visor, sticking his nose into Hil’s face, and chirruped. Hil felt his tail gently thwap against his head a few times. He laughed and moved to grab Noodle’s tail to steady him. “Easy, pal, that’s my head, Arceus knows I’ve got enough brain damage,” he giggled.

“Would you stop,” Bianca complained as she gently swatted at his arm. Cheren took a step back.

“Stop what?” Hil asked, genuinely confused.

“Saying stuff like that,” she huffed. “That’s mean.”

“It’s about me, though.” Hil really was clueless as to what she was getting at.

“Exactly, stop saying mean stuff about yourself,” she said, nodding. Hil dubiously agreed that he would, but really he didn’t see anything wrong with it. It was funny. He was allowed to have some humor about his situation, wasn’t he? That familiar feeling of irritation picked at his chest. When was everyone going to stop shoving their ideas of how he should handle it onto him?

“Anyway,” Cheren interjected sharply, “if you want to challenge Lenora, we’d better get there soon.” He adjusted his glasses and turned to face further into Nacrene City. Hil noticed the cityscape behind his friend was mainly that of dark wood and faded stone structures. It looked old, but lively, with people bustling from the various apartments and studios. “Gym Leader Lenora only takes trainers at certain times of the day since she works as the Museum Curator.”

With that, the three friends headed toward Nacrene City’s museum and gym. It was a large, stately building visible from well across the other side of the city, but as they drew nearer, they noticed a crowd of people gathered in front of it. It was easily two or three times as large as the one that had blossomed in Accumula Town for the Team Plasma speech there. Yet, it soon became clear that was exactly what this was. To the left of the museum’s entrance, a group of seven or eight silver robed men stood proud. Just like in Accumula Town, two on either end of their makeshift stage proudly displayed flags bearing Team Plasma’s insignia, while a man in darker, rounder robes paced back and forth between them. He had a tall, round hat and gray, grizzled hair spilled out from beneath it.

“This looks good,” Cheren grumbled as they all slowed to a stop at the back of the crowd.

“We call ourselves friends, or benevolent caretakers,” the elderly man was saying, his voice rising in volume, “and yet we bring our ‘friends’ back from the dead to fight for us! They are brought back from a life some thousands of years ago, likely from a time very different from ours, and expect them to assimilate to our society! To our brutish way of battling one another for sport! Fossil restoration is barbaric and another cruel invention of the Pokémon League!”

Hil had started to laugh, but was cut off by the roar of agreement that came from the gathered people. He shared a look with his friends and noted the shock on their faces as well. He had known Team Plasma had managed to gather a rather massive following… but, as he looked out over the crowd, actually seeing it in person was an entirely different feeling. The air was alive with their chanting and fist-pumps. This seemed less like an informative speech and more like a rallying cry… He cringed as he heard some of the words from the crowd.

“No more exhuming the dead for sport!”

“We shouldn’t profit off of something resting in peace!”

“And yet, that’s exactly what trainers do…”

The elderly man looked over the gathered crowd with a satisfied grin. He jabbed a fist into the air and screamed, “We must put an end to this horrific practice of bringing back the dead to serve the needs of selfish trainers, usually young children that have no idea what it is they’re doing! Not only are we abusing pokémon, but we are manipulating our youth into believing this behavior is acceptable!”

[dorianbrightmusic]

N and Aura

Whilst it’s generally accepted that individual pokémon species and families have enough intraspecial communicative ability to have developed observable cultures, few species actually have grammatically and syntactically founded languages. (That said, some researchers have dedicated their careers to investigating some species, such as Jynx and Deoxys, that do appear to have semi-linguistic speech/code.) Most pokémon can pick up on some degree of human language—that is, enough to understand both basic commands and simple statements—but the limit to their understanding varies from species to species. Trainers typically cite normal, dark, fighting, and psychic-type pokémon as being able to comprehend complex concepts well compared to other types; however, little empirical evidence supports this. (Many researchers would agree from their own observation, but designing experiments to test a zigzagoon’s response to ‘entitlement’ is often challenging.) Little is known about pokémon’s non-linguistic communication systems, but over the past six or so years, paper upon paper has emerged in Pocket Monsters (think The Lancet for pokémon instead of medicine) dictating that aura plays a crucial part. Rowan, Burnet, Kukui, and Oak are all sceptical, but Elm, Sycamore, and both Junipers will gladly vouch for this theory.

Prior to being taken in by Ghetsis, N lived amongst wild pokémon—hence, their aura-based communication became his first language. (Had N lived out his infancy amongst men, he may have been revered as a great psychic rather than a cultist king.) However fluent he is in English, he’ll never accept it as his mother tongue. Rather, he’s aware that Ghetsis hammered it into him so that by the time he was (presumably) ten, he could speak better than any peers his age. (For that matter, whilst the little king was to be kept from the world, Rood, Bronius, Gorm, and Ryoku all made an effort to teach him all they could of philosophy and literature. Now, N can strike up a conversation in Chinese or Hindi just as eloquently as he can in English, but those who’ve spoken to him in either agree his speech is unnervingly archaic. After all, his only linguistic partners in non-English for years were sages—old, wise men.) Yet N still thinks in the non-speech of a pokémon—his thoughts are not word-based. That’s why he takes to mathematics so swimmingly: Equations better resemble the workings of his mind than sentences. When N hears a pokémon's voice, he doesn’t hear it so much as sense it. The process better resembles telepathy—heavily physical telepathy—than speech, but N could hardly describe it in words. After all, human language is limited by its inherent humanity.

As a result of N’s brain’s workings, everything he hears he remembers as if translated into his aura language. Sometimes, words lose their eloquence and craftmanship along the way, and N is left with empty husks of sentiments he knew once moved him. Other times, already-barbed sentences gain second sets of claws upon conversion to N’s aura-tinted memory. N doesn’t dwell on the specific words Ghetsis told him in his rage and madness. Rather, each slice his father—his father no longer—made at his heart slices again. For aura, unlike memory, is immortal and unfading, never diluted by decades. Raw experience and trauma lives on in N—the emotional wounds Ghetsis doled out will try and try and try in vain, but they will never scab over.