A/N: Went back and edited Claire's nationality. She is now from Kalos (the actual place where French-based characters are from).
Chapter Two:
Sleeping Beautree Wakes Up
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"Chama," Vincent murmured immediately, and the ninetales stood up and swallowed the will-o-wisp she'd previously created. The smoke slithered between Chama's teeth, and Claire was impressed, but not as much as she was nervous. Guilty, too. She knew Smile had seen her clamber inside the secret base, but she would've never thought – she didn't think – how could she have assumed this wouldn't have come back to bite her in the ass?
The secret base was immersed in darkness. Claire gripped her drying shirt so hard she heard the fabric stretch between her fingers. She'd forgotten, in the middle of the adrenaline-fueled escape, that mightyena were smart – and above all vengeful. How could she have assumed that Smile wasn't going to get the rest of the pack to avenge Big?
Dwight Eisenhower once said, and I quote: in preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable. What does this mean to you, Ms. Tolbert?
Mr. Lehrer had asked her that once, when they were learning about some stupid war – and she'd hated it, hated having to study history instead of being able to practice what really mattered. I don't know, Mr. Lehrer, she'd admitted, without an ounce of shame, crossing her arms and staring up at the old man with the kind of defiance only small children can gather. Mr. Lehrer had – of course – sighed, and then had proceeded to ask someone else. Claire had sat down again, and resumed staring out the window of the classroom.
What did it mean anyway, she thought, angry at herself for continuously digging up Mr. Lehrer's life advices. She always had plans, always managed to make them work, and that was why she was so freaking good as a trainer. And it wasn't just confidence – she was good. She was real good. How could planning be indispensable while plans were useless? Eisenhower obviously hadn't known jack shit.
"Okaaay," Mike whispered. Claire's eyes had already grown used to the darkness; she could see him scratch the nape of his neck, frowning. "I'm guessing they're hunting. It's a waxing gibbous moon tonight, makes sense."
Claire didn't know what a waxing gibbous moon was, but she didn't particularly care – what she did care about was that the pack was on the move tonight.
"It's raining, though – not like they can see the moon," she said.
Mike's eyes hadn't adapted yet. She saw him turn his head in her direction, squinting briefly, and then choosing to roll his eyes instead.
"It doesn't matter if they can't see it. It's not that the hunt is conditioned by whether the moon is visible or not, it's more like – I dunno, they schedule it according to its states. Of course," he went on, looking oddly serious, "they only hunt in large packs when something big is up. Usually, a group of four or five does the trick, but … " he let the words hang.
"How do you know that?" she let slip, suspicious.
"I know a lot of stuff," Mike replied, with a sly grin. "It's okay, though, don't let it get you down. Not everyone can be as amazing—"
"Okay, whatever," Claire cut in, looking at Vincent. He, like Mike, seemed not to see as well as she did in the darkness; wearing a stony face, he looked even more serious than Mike had. This didn't really surprise Claire. Alex had always said, y'know, Claire, if you watch someone when they're not paying attention, you'll get to see their true selves. And she'd filed it under 'bullshit', because she didn't really care about other people. But she'd learned Alex had been right. He always was, anyway. "We'll be fine. How many pokémon do we have if we pool them together?"
"Uhh, I have three active, but my altaria's almost knocked out. So—two healthy. A seviper and a graveler."
"Vincent?"
He looked surprised to have been addressed.
"Oh. Um. Just healthy ones?"
"Yes," she growled, impatiently, and watched him fidget in the darkness.
"Sorry, right – three healthy. Apart from Chama and Garra – sorry, that's persian – I have a steelix, too."
Mike whistled. "You have some wicked party, man. Hey, do you have any medicine you'd like to share? Me and Claire over there are out of luck."
"No, I only have status healers. Sorry."
"Okay," Claire cut in, "I have three healthy with me, plus two near-knockout. My lairon can hold its ground against three mightyena, maybe four if one of them's underdeveloped. My cacturne is—"
"Look, not wanting to interrupt your strategic plans, Colonel Claire," Mike cut in, frowning at her, "but why are you assuming we're going to need to fight … the pack … ?"
His eyes widened, then, and confusion gave way to accusation as he narrowed them. The paleness of his irises was glacial.
"You said you'd been chased." Claire looked away; Mike's voice was steely. "… They saw you come in here, didn't they?"
Claire opted not to answer, instead putting her shirt back on. Her face was hot – it was bad enough that she was angry at herself for having been so mindless, but to have her mistake thrown at her like that?
"Sorry," Vincent said, voice surprisingly steady. He was looking at the floor; he hadn't noticed Mike had been talking to Claire, not him. "I wasn't careful enough – I thought I could leave the secret base before they tried to get me again."
"He was talking to me," Claire said, and meant for it to come out as steady as Vincent's voice had been, but her voice softened. She glared at the floor, feeling weak.
"Oh, this is fucking pathetic," Mike said, groaning, a hand massaging his forehead. He took a breath, then another. "Okay, so the pack knows we're here. Fucking great."
"If we hold out—" Vincent began, hopefully, but Mike was having none of it.
"Look, I'm glad you're an idealist, but I'm not, okay? I'm glad the two of you think – seven? No, eight pokémon can hold out against a pack of thirty-plus mightyena, but that's not gonna happen! And—I think I've said this before, but this isn't the way I want to go out, okay?"
He sighed, then, and it was bitter and long.
"Well," Claire said, through a tight jaw, "I'd rather accomplish my life dreams than to get torn apart by wild pokémon, too, but here we are."
Mike's expression softened, and he looked regretful for a quick moment, but then turned away, staring at the entrance of the secret base. The silence was heavy, so Claire broke it.
"Moving on," she said, inhaling, "if we assume that the pack will want revenge for having been attacked—" Smile had looked at her, had marked her, and she knew now that they were probably coming back for her (and Vincent, apparently), "—we need to have a plan. Let's rule out the impossibilities first. The weather won't let us fly too far, but in case of an emergency, I'm guessing we can use it to escape to somewhere near here, at least."
"Um, sorry – the weather's too lousy for that," Vincent said. "I couldn't fly at all. So – um."
Claire nodded at him.
"Okay, flying's out. What next – does anyone have a pokémon with teleport?"
Vincent shook his head apologetically.
"Mike?"
"No," was the curt answer.
Claire tightened her jaw, thinking. Once, she'd been stranded in Dewford Cave—no, but she already had Lambert at that time, and he'd dug her out of there, not applicable. She'd gotten lost in Mt. Pyre's misty hills once – no, but she'd flown; she had still been training with Josephine at that point. She flexed and loosened her fingers, mind working hard—"Oh, wait, of course," she said, annoyed, rolling her blue eyes. "Who has a pokénav with them?"
Vincent shook his head, but Mike turned on the ball of his feet, expression less tense.
"I've got one," he said, fishing his pokénav out of his pocket. "Why, what about it?"
She stared at him, baffled – "well, just call someone, won't you? We can just ask for help."
Mike sighed, putting his pokénav back in his pocket.
"Afraid you'd say that. Mine's the old version."
"Ah, merde," Claire hissed, feeling more frustrated with each hypothesis discarded. She wanted to ask Mike why he hadn't gotten around to buying the new version (with the indispensable match call update), but thought better of it. "Mine's out of commission; I think water got inside it," she added, after noticing Mike's raised eyebrow.
Running a hand through her wet, sticky hair, she attempted to ignore the hot feeling spreading across her stomach. Stealing a glance at Vincent, she felt the sudden need to kick him in the face. Who travelled without a pokénav? Mike had the old version, sure, but he still had one, so—
"Um," Vincent said, after noticing Claire had been glaring at him for the past ten seconds, "sorry. Ah, er, all I have is a pokégear."
She straightened in interest.
"Does it work?"
He shrugged awkwardly, looking as if the last thing he wanted in the world was to rile Claire even more.
"Well, I've, um, I've uploaded it with Hoenn maps," Vincent said, awkwardly, "but the service isn't – I mean – it's not as good as a pokénav."
"Have you tried it?" she asked, aware of that hot anger bubbling up through her throat.
"No, um, sorry—"
"Dude, calm down, it's cool," Mike told Vincent, giving Claire a significant look before turning to the older boy once more. "Look, pokénavs don't get service inside secret bases, and since you say your pokégear isn't as good as a one, I don't think we'll be able to call anyone while we're stuck here." He sighed curtly, and then smiled bitterly. "Unless someone would like to volunteer to take a walk outside to try—dibs on staying here—and find service, I don't think we're going to be able to ask for help."
Claire growled curses under her breath, but eventually relented.
"Fine. Just – fine, okay. I propose we get some sleep, then. There's nothing else we can do, anyway." She kicked at her sleeping bag, regretting it as soon as her bruised rib twanged painfully. "Vincent, tell Chama to bring out another will-o-wisp so we don't freeze to death."
The taller boy nodded, after a beat, and whispered something to his ninetales. She yawned sleepily, and a flurry of blue flames came rushing out of her mouth, stilling once they were in the air. Garra, still curled beside Vincent, watched them with unimpressed eyes.
Mike stretched, yawning without bothering to cover his mouth, and then walked towards his bag. Claire kneeled on the floor carefully, attempting to set her sleeping bag the right way without moving too much. She'd finished laying down when she remembered she was supposed to sleep on her bruised rib – and she wouldn't be able do so without taking another set of painkillers. I should've bought the most powerful ones instead of the ones for period cramps, she thought, seething.
Mike, a few feet away from her, was already inside his sleeping bag, turned away from her and Vincent. Claire could pick up on his even breath; he seemed to be asleep already.
With a groan, she sat up, trying to find a way to stand up without injuring herself further. She was about to give up and sleep on her left side instead, when Garra dropped her bag in her lap. Claire blinked, surprised, but Garra just turned around and went to lie down next to Vincent, who was turned away from her, rummaging through his bag.
Her anger subsided, just slightly. She stared at Vincent, who didn't seem to find whatever he was looking for, and then frowned.
"Thanks," she said, nonchalantly, searching through her own bag for the painkillers' box.
Vincent stilled, only slightly, but then continued messing through his bag. Claire popped two pills inside her mouth, as usual, and then lay down, staring at the hovering will-o-wisp until sleep came.
She was standing on a battle stand. Her hands were damp; she rolled Marie's pokéball on her palm and it slid slower than usual. She huffed, trying to wipe her hands on her shorts, but the bald old man – the referee – gave the sign, and she stopped. With a determined nod in Marie's pokéball's direction, she released her.
On the other side, a golbat loomed, smirking. Okay, Claire thought, poison is weak to psychic. It's fine. Marie hopped from one foot to the other, watching, a glint in her eyes. Claire's throat was dry. She wanted a glass of water, but the bald old man had shackled her foot to the floor. She had to stay.
"Marie," she called, "come on, you can do this! Just focus!"
"Marie seems incapable of using her power," Mr. Lehrer said, shaking his head. He was the referee. But Mr. Lehrer isn't bald, Claire thought, frowning.
The golbat flapped his wings, picking up speed, and Claire saw the silver lining of his claw. Marie went flying, her eyes closed, her tiny wings fluttering as she struggled. She chirped, but didn't attack; her foe didn't have that problem, striking her again, and again, and again … Claire was shouting, now, words of plea disguised behind anger and frustration, and the golbat was still grinning, finally floating towards the other side of the field. She'd show him, she would, but Marie wasn't waking up. She'd been knocked out; Claire wanted to run towards her, wanted to do something, but she'd been chained down. She couldn't move. She couldn't. For the first time in her life, Claire realized how small natu were.
The golbat's tongue was lolling out of his grotesque mouth, tiny flecks of spit shining there, under the bright lights of the room. Claire gritted her teeth and returned Marie to her pokéball.
On the other side of the field, Claire could see her opponent, a brown-haired boy who was shuffling about, but she hadn't heard him yet. He didn't even need to call out to his pokémon. She started cursing him, but what she said was: "I really need a glass of water, Mr. Lehrer." She blinked, then. "Uh, may I be excused?" she tacked on blandly, remembering Alex's insistent stance on politeness.
Mr. Lehrer looked up from the papers he was grading, looking tired as always, and nodded. Claire stood up from her chair and walked out of the classroom, closing the door behind her.
She was standing on a battle stand. She'd lost, but the golbat smiled at her anyway, up until the bald old man accompanied her outside. Claire looked over her shoulder, trying to memorize the golbat's trainer's face, but the doors shut and she found herself once more by the counter. The battle tent was almost empty, and she was relieved – it meant no one had seen her lose.
"I feel privileged for having seen your pokémon's exploits," he told her, with a kind smile, but Claire hardly took notice. Her hands were shaking. Her throat was so dry.
"I've never lost before," she said, and her voice was steady, though her whole body was trembling. "I don't understand."
"What don't you understand, Ms. Tolbert?" asked Mr. Lehrer, from his desk. The classroom was crumbling into dust around her.
Someone was shaking her by the shoulders, Claire noticed. Her chest hurt.
"Wait! Don't do that," a man's voice called out, "she's got a bruised rib, I think—"
They stopped abruptly. With suddenly gentle hands, they set her down again.
"Really? Oh, shit, I didn't – er, well, you wake her up, then. She sleeps like the freakin' dead," a boy said.
Claire opened her eyes, feeling groggy. It was darker than before, which meant she hadn't slept for long. She swallowed, and tried to sit up, pressing her elbows against the floor. Her rib throbbed, and she winced, but remained sitting up. Mike was crouched next to her, a semi-apologetic smile pasted over a strained expression. Chama was gone, but Garra was still there, swishing its tail and glancing at the wall.
"Rise and shine, sweetheart," he said, but his voice lacked the impish tone he always seemed to glaze it with. "Get your stuff. We need to leave."
"What time is it?" she asked, brushing mud-spattered hair out of her face. Her mouth was dry; she smacked her tongue a few times before kneeling on the floor with a wince. She needed an ice pack, but all she had in her backpack were heating pads.
"Twelve-twenty. You didn't sleep for long," Mike said, throwing his bag over his back.
Claire took in the information, trying to make some sense of her day as she rolled her sleeping bag into her bag. She'd left Fortree at three thirty—she'd expected to leave only the following day, but Fortree was full of Aqua grunts, and Claire knew herself well enough to assume she'd get into fights with them—and had been walking for half an hour when the storm struck. She knew she should've gone back, but Claire didn't like showing weakness, not even to herself – she went on. That's when she'd been ambushed by Big and Smile, who'd chased her for … half an hour? She wasn't sure. It had seemed minutes, but she could tell the time from her decreasing stamina. Which meant she'd barged inside the secret base around four? Four and a half?
"What's the situation?" she asked, closing her backpack. She'd set the painkillers' box inside one of the outer pockets for easier access, but she'd also slipped some pills inside her pocket, in case she had to take some under pressure. Checking her belt again, she nodded, putting on her bag – motherfucker—
Her chest felt hot and shattered and she dropped her bag as quickly as she'd grabbed it, taking a rasping breath. She saw white, even after closing her eyes, and closed her fists as tightly as possibly – pain was weakness and she wasn't weak. She opened her eyes again—
And then Vincent was bending over, putting her bag over his with an awkward expression. Claire grit her teeth, wanting to tell him off, wanting to feel the pain, overcome it. I know you're proud, Claire, but pride can become foolishness if you choose not to tame it, Alex had said, once, his hand brushing back her bangs. She'd leaned into his hand, basking in the summer sun, feeling calm. Would you rather die with honor or survive and show them what you're made of?
Claire breathed in, jaw tight, for once wishing she had a pokémon who could carry her bag.
"Thanks," she managed, but it was aggressive and short, shot between teeth. Vincent swallowed in reply, quietly, and that irritated her, but Mike called out to them before she could lash out.
Looking away from Vincent, Claire felt a soft dab of surprise brush across her features: an electabuzz was carrying Sophie's still unconscious body on its arms. She frowned, briefly, but then decided she didn't particularly care (even if neither Vincent nor Mike had told her they had an electabuzz).
"Okay, uh—what was his name again, Vinnie?" Mike said, looking around the base.
"Oh, it's – it's Tesla. You know, like the—"
"Excuse me," Claire cut in, feeling annoyed, "do you mind telling me what's going on? Why are we moving out?"
"It's obvious, isn't it?" Mike replied, one sarcastic eyebrow raised. Behind him, his seviper – Hemlock, Claire remembered – was tasting the air, looking oddly pleased. "We can't stay here anymore. The mightyena are getting louder, which means they're getting closer. We have to leave before they reach us."
Claire bristled. She knew that a particularly large pack would have no trouble tearing apart a secret base – in which case they'd be trapped like rats – but was the option of leaving the apparent safety of the base really better than to wait for the weather to clear? She felt annoyed at herself: of course it was. But she didn't want to be led. She was used to being the one in charge, used to being responsible for herself.
"If they wanted to kill us, they'd been here already," she argued. "They know where we are."
"No," Mike said, shaking his head condescendingly. Claire narrowed her eyes at him. "Two mightyena – was it? – right, two mightyena knew where we are. Clearly, they went back to the alpha mightyena, asking for moral and physical support," he finished, with a sickeningly sweet voice. "I can just picture it – hey, boss, we've got these tasty trainers cooped up inside this stupid-ass bush—"
"Fine, I get it. Have the two of you already planned where we're headed?"
Vincent glanced at Mike, waiting for him to speak. The shorter boy scratched his neck.
"If I'm right – which I usually am – were at the middle base right now. There are—" he stopped, eyes looking up, as if searching for the answer, "—five secret bases in this route. Which means that we have two bases north of here, one in the south, and another one southwest. We're not going north, because we'd have to cross a considerably large tall grass field, and with the rain—"
"We can't tell if the grass is moving because of pokémon or water, yes, I get it," she cut in, urging him on with an impatient wave of her hand.
"Right," he said, looking at her with a combination of amusement and awe. "But we haven't picked the one we're going to apart from those two. The southwestern base is on top of a hill, but there's more open field on the way there. The southern one is closer, but we'd have to go through tall grass again. I say we discuss it while on the run, though – it'll still take us some time to get to the bifurcation and I'd really like to get the hell out of this shrub."
Claire cocked her head, watching Mike make way for the secret base's opening. Hemlock slithered down before him, edged tail shaking.
"There's nothing to discuss – we're going for the southwestern," she said, following him. Vincent and Tesla were in the back; she could see Sophie's legs hanging off the electabuzz's arm through the corner of her eye. "There's less tall grass, which means we'll be able to see incoming attacks. Plus, it's on top of a hill, which means that even though we have to climb, so do the mightyena. Our victory is assured as soon as we get to the top; I'm confident in my abilities as a trainer, and I'm sure I can defeat the pack as long as the battlefield is to our advantage."
Mike, who'd been peering outside, turned to her, his expression unreadable. Then, he grinned, baring all his teeth.
"Fine by me, Colonel," he said, and exited the secret base. Claire did the same, refusing to wince when she had to crouch through the opening.
Outside, the storm carried on. It hadn't softened one bit, Claire noticed, feeling bitter. In fact, it seemed to be even worse; the rain drops were icy and heavy, pelting her in the face when she tried to get a good look at the clouds (which were dark and full).
Mike was kicking at the mud, crinkling his nose: "… can't even ride a stinking bike without sliding… "
Vincent joined them, looking pale as he glanced around; he was the tallest one of the group. The top of Claire's head only reached his nose, and she wanted to ask him if he could see anything significant, but refused to do so, feeling too helpless for her liking. Thankfully, Mike didn't have such problems.
"You see anything from up there?"
The taller boy shook his head. "It's like – um – Claire said before. All the tall grass is moving."
"Fuck this weather," Mike said, in reply, and then bent over, pulling out his pokénav from his pocket only when his torso covered it from the rain. Clever thinking, Claire thought, despite herself. "Okay, there should be a hiking trail though the tall grass, just a few minutes away from here. After that, we head left – which is south – and then keep going until we reach a ledge. Clear field all the way to the base, after."
He put his pokénav on his pocket once more, straightening. His seviper tasted the air again.
"Hemlock should tell us if the pack gets too close – though I'm guessing the air is full of mightyena pheromones, tonight, so I wouldn't count too much on her tongue. Still, she's our best intruder alarm," he added, with a proud grin. "Vinnie's Garra over there will join us, too. Wanna send out one of your own?"
"I was planning on it," Claire said, rolling her eyes. With a practiced movement, she released Capucine, who blinked at her owlishly. "Capucine – in the case of a mightyena attack, prioritize brick break," she added, in a murmur. Her cacturne smiled at her, nodding.
"Man, you guys are such fucking showoffs," Mike said grouchily, staring at Capucine.
"Says the guy with a seviper?" she bit back, but couldn't help the amusement from creeping onto her voice.
Mike grinned, and, after looking at Claire and Vincent, who nodded at him, began walking in silence.
Claire's shirt was already wet, and the added weight annoyed her, even if the cold relieved her rib. She didn't think much about it, though; she needed to plan what to do in case of an attack. It was the best thing to do, after all, and she never went without a strategy.
Vincent had said he had a steelix, and steelix could learn how to whip up sandstorms through training alone. If his steelix did, indeed, have sandstorm, then Capucine would tag-team him; sand veil upped her evasion, and while fighting against a horde of mightyena, it would probably come in handy.
She glanced over her shoulder, searching for Tesla. It was trudging through the mud, right behind Vincent, Sophie's body in his arms. This means we can't use him, she thought, bitterly. Besides, Vincent did say he wasn't totally healthy. They were already between a rock and a hard place, but having to bring along an unconscious person just made things even harder.
Hemlock – she thought, turning to look at the snake – on the other hand, was a double-edged sword. Or, it would be, if she hadn't had Océane with her. Although she did much better on water, it was the only poison-immune pokémon Claire had, and that meant she didn't have to worry about Hemlock's tail accidentally poisoning her. But Océane was almost knocked out—
"Ugh," Claire groaned; she'd walked into Mike, who'd stopped abruptly. He made a frantic hand movement, bringing his other hand to his mouth, and Claire tensed, trading a look with Capucine. The cacturne cocked her head, looking at her expectantly, but Claire, after making sure her pokémon understood she was meant to keep quiet, turned to look at Hemlock. The seviper was moving its tail in an undulating, almost hypnotic movement, its tongue shivering between its jaws. Claire almost couldn't tell, because of the rain, but then Hemlock's eyes settled upon the tall grass, and her tail stopped.
"Fuck," Mike whispered, and Claire's heart sank when she noticed Smile glaring at them from between the tall blades of grass. It still seemed to be grinning, but abandoned the apparent cheerfulness in order to let out a loud, keening howl.
"We have to go," Claire hissed, pulling Mike – who seemed to have been transfixed by Smile – and starting to run. Her chest heaved and burned, stinging like acid beneath skin, but she knew that she'd rather break her already bruised rib than to end up as food. It was obvious, after all. Mike blinked, surprised, and stumbled, but eventually picked up, running awkwardly after her.
Until he wasn't after her – he was before her, his hiking boots gaining speed Claire couldn't match. She watched him with wide eyes, a burning feeling that had nothing to do with her ribs spreading across her chest. It wasn't fair that she was slower, because Claire knew she was better than him, she knew she could run faster and battle better and be better than anyone, but Mike, uninjured, kept picking up speed. Claire's sneakers skidded, and she felt the weightless dizziness that comes with a fall, but then Vincent's hands were on her shoulders, firm but careful.
"I'm fine," she hissed, pulling her shoulder away from his cold, wet hands, her voice breathy. Mike had stopped, aware that Claire and Vincent had slowed down, and was waving at them from the bifurcation. She hastened to meet him, to keep going, without so much as a look towards Vincent, and then Mike's face paled, even though the flush on his cheeks had since long gone. Claire took in his wide eyes, staring at something behind her, and then she turned, feeling cold.
A mightyena had jumped from the grass, and Claire only had the time to inhale before she noticed its muddy claws were extended towards Vincent's throat, not hers. Time seemed to halt; her mouth failed to work properly as she shouted Capucine's name. Vincent's brown, wide eyes stopped on hers; he was pulling his head back, but she knew the mightyena's momentum was too powerful for him to get out of the way. Her cacturne reached forward, trying to get in front of Vincent, but Claire knew her pokémon better than she knew herself, and Capucine wouldn't get there in time—
And then the mightyena was hit, mid-air, whining and growling at the same time. Claire felt a sudden warmth reflecting on her face; the smell of burning hair wafted through her nose before it vanished, replaced by the smell of rain and dirt once more. Her heart was beating, hard, as she searched for the mightyena; it was trying to get back on its feet, but its foreleg was burned, the flesh burnt and raw. It snarled at them, crouching low to the ground, ready to jump again.
"Again," said a calm voice, and the heat Claire had previously felt was born again. This time, she could see why; a torrent of flames shot from behind her, drumming into the mightyena's injured leg again. It barked, its voice breaking, and then tried backing away, hind legs skidding in the mud.
"Brick break, now!" Claire shouted, and Capucine slid across the mud, right arm slicing across the mightyena's neck effortlessly. There was a loud crack, softened by the rain, and the mightyena fell to the ground. It didn't try to get back again. But Claire didn't care, as she turned on her heel, meeting Sophie's eyes. She was standing now, albeit still holding onto Tesla's arm.
"Good evening," Sophie said, in a quiet – though steady – voice, removing her wet glasses and hanging them on the collar of her shirt.