A/N: No proper notes from me this time! Let's jump right in!


-Several tapeless boxes stuffed with other boxes and slips and manuals dot the otherwise empty floor of my room, more than enough handiwork for myself if I'm being flattering today. Moving is such a project, it boggles the mind how humans manage to migrate entire families worth of junk into a single mode of transport. I for one am exhausted simply shoving it all into boxes, much less loading it up into neat stacks in the truck. And I wish that were the least of my concerns-with me riding in the back, it's up to me to make sure they're stacked safely as well! Sitting alone in the back of the truck...huh. Would anyone hear me if I got hurt? Or if the dust lit my lungs on fire? Surely my aunt thought of that possibility...

...But if she's already sick of her sudden responsibilities over her brother's expensive child, perhaps not. I don't want to see her in such an unsympathetic light, however my mind is having its own difficulties coming to terms with the fact that she cares about me. It isn't even a question of why, it's a question of how to get over it, and I'm not sure how to answer it. With my entire body draped over the largest of the boxes, and unmoving aside from the sporadic leg kicking, there's a miracle in the fact that I can call what I'm doing "effort".

Defeated, however, I feel weaker than ever.

I want to carry the video games myself, honest! But the boxes are too heavy and there's simply not enough of the cardboard cribs to package them fewer to a box. That, and I'm not tall enough to lift them into the truck. I can't bring them beyond my waist! It's a bit ridiculous...and my aunt says it's my fault for having so many games...and keeping the boxes for every one of them...which she'd be right, but...

Getting rid of them really is not an option! I want that as little as I want help, possibly even less. It's just not fair of her to expect that of me-in an effort to force me to rid myself of the expensive items, she left it up to me to carry them to the truck. And stack them up in the highest reaches of the confined vehicle, as if that makes it any better...

I know she does it out of love and concern for my "sanity"-her words, not mine, as if locking me in a house with nothing but the wall to stare at is healthy mental medicine-but as far as I'm concerned her love is more placed in making sure I'm not exposed to the likes of swear words. You know, the foulest of language, like the word "damnit". Written right into my E-rated game with colorful characters on the box. I don't get it. I'll never get it. What I do know, however, is that I won't let my first boot-clad step into that house be rife with regret and despair. No matter her efforts, I want my games.

Which is why I can't just be sitting here. In time, she may force me to forget about the several boxes of the valuable items. That's unacceptable, no matter the angle of which I view the scenario. At least I should be able to mentally decide, not relying on my dwindling body strength to choose if I keep my life's collection or not. Ugh. A stray groan signals my lift from the overly uncomfortable resting place I had chosen atop my adversary, entire body aching from the prior physical activity of "carefully" shoving as many pieces of labeled plastic into the boxes that I could. Which, with a minor burst of creativity, turned out to be all of them. Niiiice.

Regretfully, however...

Ahh, I can barely move the boxes. When had I gotten this many? To be honest, the amount is rather embarassing. Half of these I don't even play, the other half would probably never see the cardboard prisons again. The sheer number of those in the former category is what's bothering me into a lonely blush, of which I don't know the cause because I'm the only one who is aware of that little statistic. I nudge the box with my bare foot.

...Not sure what I'm expecting, anyway. The cardboard is cold and unfeeling as it generally is. Oh, if the box could be worth any comfort! It'd be my best friend, I'd have one.

For something so filled with my life, it sure is not an ounce of soothing! Bah! But it demands a steel throne of others much like it! For that, I must deliver. I shall receive nothing in return from the box, simply the precious cargo inside that will show gratitude for my selfless actions! I stare at it in mock disgust, almost apologetically.

Selfish box. Why can't it move itself? Unlike some of us, it doesn't even have to lift. Gaaah. And as if it had been waiting for the frustrated sigh, my predicament floods back into my memory. I need to move this box. There's no way around it. And staring at it until it hypothetically grows legs and waltzes charmingly into its place on the bed of the truck would take too long, not to mention the other boxes. So. I need help. I wish there's another way around that, but...there won't be.

I drop my hand into my pocket, deciding to test the waters with my Pokémon-agitation gnaws at my head, I know they won't be able to load these things, but with their limited resources perhaps they'll be able to help a little. Combined. With me at the helm, putting my untrained back into it, for what has to be the seventieth time today. It may or may not be wishful thinking, my mind wandering again with growing dread that I'll have to leave these behind.

I absolutely cannot leave these behind!

My hand grazes three heavy forms shoved haphazardly into the fluffy confines of my jacket-and I remember for the sixth time this week that I really need a Pokéball belt-feeling with a single finger the sticker on the top of each. My labeling system, for lack of easy selection waistside. It's unkempt, kind of tacky, and makes my drawing of the creatures inside rather slow, but it works for my casual approach. The final pass over a small, heart-shaped sticker tempts the impulsive grab of the ball it resides on, second nature, really.

It's funny, really. The shape and color of the sticker is admittedly very unsuitable for both myself and the Pokémon inside, even named as they are, but I feel no twinge of regret for it. It's pink. Puffy. Glittery. And it was also the last of May's "cosmetic stickers" at the time that she helped me catch my companion lying inside. For her disorganization, it had been a wonder that she even had such a thing to give.

And as the decorations are wont to do, it stuck.

I trail the button half-heartedly, disliking the idea of disturbing him and lighting his need to help for a mission that I know he'll fail. But just the same, I press it, aiming the blue flash to the floor.

"Heartbeat." No one is around to hear my call, and I am especially not battling anyone, so it is unnecessary. But I still do it as a courtesy to my resting friends. Even if they can't hear me, as I'm sure they are unable...which would be magnified by the fact that I'm speaking more an unconfident inquiry than a trainer command. At least I know he understands that more than anything...

"I-I...need your help."

The newly-reformed Kirlia puts on his curious, expectant face, and my fate is therein sealed. Admitting it, then. He'll know I can't lift to save my life and will even stoop as low as to use my Pokémon for simple chores. The very beginning tips of shame root themselves into the way I feel around for my second Pokémon, to add if Heartbeat can't help. A preemptive strike in that manner is notably a sign that I don't think he'll be able. Especially since he has not yet received his shot at solving it...

"...you um...h-how's your telepathy looking? Do you think you could help me move these boxes...?"

I'm smiling, actually. It's impossible for me to see, but the feeling of an involuntary tugging at my lips is more than enough. I feel as if he knows already, my predicament, just by looking at me.

And I might be right. Heartbeat's expression changes to a scrutinizing gaze. Despite knowing what's coming, my eyes still follow his small, pink-tinged paw's point to my left pocket. Proud of his assessment, he insists with a small purring.

...

My cheer drops.

"...O-of course I've thought of th-that..."

But the Controller isn't so much immoral as it is, impractical at the given time. I decide with some guilt that if it weren't for the indiscreet wire required to operate the thing, I'd have used it already. But my relatives are not fit to be subtly abused in such a way, even if Heartbeat covers for me-as he is fixing to "say", I know it-that'd only make it worse. It's just out of the question.

The blue Pokémon considers all of this, I'm so used to him being able to hear my thoughts that it's not even shocking. Myself, I'm simply good at deciphering what he's trying to say. Right now he's simply in deep thought, paw returning to a place under his chin. The words written in his ever-balanced posture can be read like English, clear as day, and the more I'm around Pokémon the more that I am realizing that this ever holds true.

...Finally, he speaks up again.

"Prraa." With a twirl, he directs his arm to the largest box, using Confusion to open the flaps. My attention is commanded to the neatly packaged games inside, then again towards the truck.

The flaps are closed again. I know exactly what he means.

"Rrrrr?" More of the impatient rattle, this time in a question.

Horror sets in, as well as a sudden flash of embarrassment. I didn't even see that as a potential solution until he pointed it out! I make my last ditch attempt to key into the impracticalities of bringing the games into the truck, and then putting them into the boxes, as he had implied, to save myself from the regret. Outsmarted! My cheeks burn.

"I-but...that'd take forever! I'd have to make s-so many trips, you know?"

Without missing a beat, he responds with a prideful purr accompanied with a point at himself. I don't even have to watch the latter to know, 'Not if I help'.

He still has a point. But for the sake of my already damaged pride, I reject it again. "S-still... it's too... l-late now, Heartbeat. They're...already in the boxes." Defeat accepted, he does have a higher IQ than me at any rate, for being Psychic-type. Though everything aside he knows as well as I do that unloading everything just to pack it all up again is not happening. He's just trying to make me feel bad. It works.

But the hint is thankfully clear as day. "I...I'll send out the others."

After all, if we do this as a team, Heartbeat should be able to use his Psychic to lighten the weight of the box. Perhaps he's already thought of that? I produce the final two Pokéballs from my pocket, one with a raised sticker shaped like a Pokémon's dainty footprint, and the other, with a small puff of a white feather glued to its front. Makeshift, I'm still meaning to replace it..

"Sixsham, Ferris, you're up."

At least I expect the confusion on their faces when there's no one around to battle. A sleek Delcatty and especially fluffy Swablu make their stares, awaiting command obediently-thing is, I haven't the slightest what to tell them. Part of me still refuses to admit defeat...the other part looks over to Heartbeat, frowning. Saving face in the fact that he's quick to pick up on it, stealing his companions in conversation that means nothing to me...at the moment. I'll be able to speak Delcatty eventually! It can't be that hard!

...still...

A huge portion of my mind knows beyond all doubts that they won't be able to help. Sixsham would drop the thing, being as reckless as she is, and what would Ferris even be able to do? Wind? Eh...Suddenly, I'm not even sure I want them to try. Though it might have something to do with Sixsham chewing absentmindedly on an old, broken cartridge adapter left abandoned on the floor, and Ferris chirping at her. Was she even listening to Heartbeat at all?

Evidently not, with the way he watches my eyes.

...I'm not a very good Trainer...

Small agitation in a quick, hot flash burns somewhere into my chest, the urge to ignite and whine filing in next to it. The reactions are hand-in-hand, for me to step back, stare at the three creatures in front of me, and sigh. A boy and his Pokémon, classic story, and mine refuse to even move a box. Why? They're my Pokémon, they should listen. Heartbeat at least tried...

"Myaaaa~"

There's a bumping into my leg. The prim Pokémon wants affection, this much is plain, and it turns out I've spoiled her. As if to answer my question, she had made her demand. They're too hooked on battling, food, and cuddles. Shoot! Of course I've made such a stupidly grim error, Sixsham is necessary to moving the box and she doesn't want to give it a shot. At least Ferris is doing his level best to convince her...or that's what I think his insistent chirps mean, at any rate.

"No, no, I'm...I'm busy, Six." However much it pains me to do so doesn't even matter as I drag a foot over to nudge her away. This is a mess. Because, beyond these three, I have to ask someone to help. There's no way around it now, and I feel slightly embarrassed for even attempting to use my partners. As if they can be called that, today. They definitely need more training...something I hope to accomplish in Verdanturf, and the esteemed Mauville City next it. After all...I'm barely even a Trainer, today. With a single Gym Badge, and three Pokémon that have very little synergy(and a power struggle to boot), there's no way I can call myself such a thing without a moment's hesitation.

Still, that's just being whiny. It's all nothing I can't accomplish in due time. My current situation, however, demands attention now. And I am sad to say(marginally only) that I have to deliver such a thing to it. With my frown growing in intensity, I slip my boots on, deciding with a silent resolve to resort to the pettiest, and most borderline illegal thing I could think to do if I have to. It all has to do with a small, rectangular device tucked away into the confines of my cardigan. And it is simply so unlike me to try. But if it feels necessary, I will, to Heartbeat's earnest advice. I swiftly take my hand from my own pocket when the yellow bands of light that generally streak my outfit light up in full force-something almost instantaneous to my steps out the door. Which is fine, it just has a tendency to attract strangers to staring.

"...See you guys in a bit, 'k? I'm gonna go get help."

And they get not a single say in the matter. Not after I'm still a bit bitter about their refusal to aid me, not so much Heartbeat, but the other two. With the makings of a small frown forming on my lips, I'm out of the house, making a point to address not my aunt or her charismatic husband in that moment. There's a bit to think about. It's not my situation, not my currently MIA parents, not my lackluster teamwork with my Pokémon, and especially not the ferocity of which my bands glow. All of these things flash by in under a second as some sorts of accessories to my current issue, that being...People. People, of all things.

But it is a very valid concern, and as far as I'm aware there's not many I can think of that I'd like to ask for help. While I'd gotten Professor Birch's then-budding Trainer of a daughter's help before, that was by circumstance and she's surely well into her journey by now. And even then, she hadn't seemed the type to be interested in lifting things. Perhaps that's simply a judgment on my part for her being a girl, but nonetheless one I deem proper. So. That leaves just about three people, one of which is not easily accessible at the moment, another of which is probably long dead, and...the third of which, I've bothered about these menial tasks before.

If, by chance, he said no, I'd find it perfectly justified. But the fact remains that he's my only option right now, and so. I work up the smallest amount of nerves I can, ones buried somewhere inside me, and head off across the green grass of Petalburg. There are few things I dislike more than burdening others, and yet for the umpteenth time in my life I find myself doing it again, over something so private and personal as a bunch of timeless video games...!

But Mr. Norman is the strongest Trainer I know personally, and one of the most generous people in all of Hoenn. This is all only natural, that I come to him for help once again. In a sad sense of closure, I guess. One of my first experiences as a Trainer was made possible by him, and what has to be the start of my journey-I will definitely not be staying in Verdanturf-will be aided too by him. And I'm happy for this. Despite the embarrassment, even. With it still eating generously at the pit of my stomach, it's a trouble to find those words possible, yet.

With my hands on the cold gym door, I decide to reminisce, albeit a bit shamelessly. In somewhere under five seconds, a few things catch my attention. Overhead Swablu, an Azumarill in the pond, and the gentle chit-chat of neighbors whose names I'll forget when I'm gone. All things that will presumably be regrettably forgone in this move...

A flash of anxiety hits me with the cold Gym air, and again, my fate is sealed. Now I simply have to pose the question. With a thousand obstacles in my way. I'm being a bother. It's too early for this. I can do it myself. He doesn't have time for things like this. I need to let go of the things. There's no point in being spiteful to my Pokémon. My outfit is dumb. This is the second time I've had to go to him for something due to my incapabilities. I should really just make friends. Leave the boxes. Leave the boxes.

..."...e-excuse me..!"...


A/N: Thank you for joining me for Chapter 2! Here we take a nice, long, drawn out look at Wally's characterization that kind of edges on unnecessary...but also establishes plot points in a few small areas. Have fun finding all of them, if you want! This took me quite a bit to find my muse for this Wally in particular...but I feel his base characterization will work nicely when he and Brendan have their first real conversation next chapter. Trust me, I have an idea of what I'm doing. Also yes, Heartbeat is shiny. If you don't like that I kinda don't want to hear about it, it's actually important and I'm keeping it in.

Wally has an odd naming quirk, but another thing that shall be revealed.

I know the ending is abrupt but I rather like how it plays into the struggle, at any rate.

So anyway! Please feel free to comment, criticize, or outright destroy this. I need it all for the sake of my improvement, which I would very much like to have some over the course of this fic. See y'all next time!