Chapter 28 – Jubilife

The sun was still peeking over the horizon as I walked to the Jubilife morning market, shopping list in one hand and basket in the other. Silas was sticking the rim of his shell over the basket's edge, and was taking in the sights as we headed to the bustling madness that was the market. Occasionally, I got an odd look or several as people wondered why I had a shellder in my basket.

For my part, I was also doing my fair share of sightseeing. The streets leading from my family home to the market hadn't changed much since I'd been gone, it seemed. Similar to yesterday, everything in Jubilife seemed to have been frozen in time or something like that. Unlike Canalave, where there were different ships docked in port with each passing day, life in my old hometown seemed to be at a standstill for some strange reason.

"It's certainly different from Canalave," Silas remarked, as we passed by old Miss Foo's house. "Everyone here is so... quiet."

I nodded, noting that Miss Foo was still in the habit of dusting her carpets early in the morning. "True... And kind of unusual given that we're in Sinnoh's broadcasting hub. But maybe the people here just got fed-up of all the noise."

While many things in Jubilife were clearly the same as they had been not too long ago, some things had of course changed. For one, there were more military agents and creatures on the streets. Then there were the new buildings, all located where I last remembered a row of derelict houses being before they got slotted for demolition. And naturally, there hadn't been the inlaid spike strips or security cameras at the street corners back when I was in elementary school – those were little artefacts of the Revolution.

Even the species of pokemon and digimon that the army had patrolling the streets of Jubilife were unique to the city. Canalave and Sootopolis were both harbour cities, so during my trip to the Harding's place the street patrols were more or less identical from a species perspective. The ports mainly had divermon and water pokemon walking about, whereas Jubilife had the likes of tankmon and magnemite making their merry way all about the place.

As we approached the skyscraper that was the Jubilife radio tower – the heart of Jubilife, some claimed, and they wouldn't have been too far wrong - Silas let out a whistle, "Damn, that's a fine piece of architecture. More than a century old, isn't it?"

I stopped in my tracks and nodded, surprised. "Well, yes. How'd you figure that out?"

He blew a bubble. "I've been in captivity longer than you think, Trainer. So I learned a few things over the years."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yes, Trainer," he said, sounding a tad wistful. "Twelve years in a tank, until you of all people came along to bail me out. Fate is cruel, isn't it?"

"Twelve years?" I stared at him. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Ask Babamon if you don't believe me. Anyway, it's nice to see that old buildings like that are still being preserved – everyone ought to appreciate history where it's due!"

Shaking my head out of sheer disbelief, I continued walking. "You surprise me, Silas. Didn't think that you'd know about Jubilife's history, of all places."

He whistled at me in response. "What else is there to do in a tank, really? There was this old wartortle there who seemed to know loads of history, so I hung around with him until he died. Really, until you came along, I didn't even plot and scheme or anything."

"Keep it down, will you? Someone might overhear us!"

"As if they'd care," Silas huffed. "What were those black things flying around the radio tower, anyway?"

I shrugged, "Probably a few dusknoir – they use to them monitor radio frequencies from the Underworld, supposedly."

"For real?" his eyes bugged out a little.

"Ask my father later – he works in there," I rolled my eyes, even though there wasn't anyone there at eye-level to see it. "And here we are, Silas!"

We went around a corner, and were assaulted by a sudden wave of noise. Yup, that was the market, all right. And it seemed that business went on as it always did, as with everything else in the city.

Silas' eyes were bigger and rounder than ever, and seemed to be at risk of exploding as we passed by the market's various stalls. Heaps of vegetables, huge slabs of fresh meat, veritable mountains of crushed ice with fish heads sticking out of them, piles of fruits... and that was just the food. Racks of clothes and other imitation goods were also on display, along with toys and trinkets.

And of course, there was the market crowd. Beings of all shapes, sizes, and colours, all united in the common goal of marketing. Some of them were garbed in pajamas, some were dressed in casual wear, and once or thrice, I even saw a few people in military uniforms making their way through the crowd. As for the reason for me saying 'beings' earlier? Well, a few pokemon such as ampharos could be seen walking around with shopping baskets of their own, running errands for their trainers, or even the odd digimon or two.

"Fresh beef! Get your choice cuts here!"

"Locksmith services available here... keys, locks, locksmith services available here!"

"Curry noodles! Fried chicken!"

"See, everyone – this detergent cleans the stubborn stain right off!"

"Three for the price of one, farm-fresh produce!"

There was a loud thud, and a large fish was suddenly on the ground in front of us, flopping about as blood oozed out of its swollen forehead. Silas and I froze where we were for a moment, as an annoyed fishmonger stepped out from behind her stall and proceeded to club the fish over its head with what looked like an iron rolling pin.

"Sorry 'bout that, laddie!" she said cheerfully, as she hauled the unconscious – I hoped – fish back onto her chopping board and proceeded to behead it with one swing of a massive cleaver. "Some of 'em have thicker heads, need to bang 'em twice to conk 'em before the chop!"

"Trainer," Silas said, for once sounding awed, "this is... incredible!"

I raised an eyebrow at that. "You are quite the little sadist, aren't you?"

"Not the fish whacking, the market, you nincompoop!"

"Jubilife's market is one of the busiest in Sinnoh, Silas," I nonchalantly nodded, as I made my way towards Mom's regular fishmonger. "So there's lots of interesting stuff to see here. Now, what does Mom want... fish, eggs, and some leafy garbage to top it all off."

"You do know that without that 'leafy garbage', you'd be shitting bricks, don't you, Trainer?"

"We both know where you can stuff that answer, don't we?"

"Hah, nice one, you fuckwad!" several curious looks were aimed in our direction as he cackled that one out. "And what are you buggers looking at?"

Thumping him on the shell to stop the flow of profanity before it started – and drawing some scandalised looks for it – I held Silas up in front of another fishmonger's stall, where several large lobsters were on display. "They have hammers here, Silas. And I'm sure they know how to use them."

"Pfft, as if those puny things could crack my shell," he retorted smugly. "You'd be better off trying to send a snorlax sailing on a paper boat, really."

"Oh, of that, I'm sure," I said, nodding enthusiastically. "Mister, can I borrow this hammer for a moment?"

"What the-" the fishmonger, a burly man with a walrein-like moustache, barely had time to get startled, let alone respond, before I snatched up one of his hammers. According to the engraving on the side, the hammer's head was a five-pounder; more than enough for my purposes.

Without further ado, I brought down the hammer on Silas' shell with a resounding CLANG! As expected, his shell wasn't even chipped by the blow, though he did let out a shrill squeak that quavered somewhat near the end. Hell, the hammer seemed to have been somewhat dented by the blow, as opposed to his pristine-looking shell.

"... Kid, you need help, seriously," the fishmonger sighed, as I handed his hammer back to him. "Could I interest you in some crabs or lobster, then? Best prices in the marketplace!"

"Thanks, but no thanks," I answered, holding Silas up to look him in the eye - I saw that he seemed to be slightly cross-eyed. "Have we learned our lesson, Silas?"

"... Bastard child... My head's ringing like a drunk bronzong..."

"You don't have a head," I happily reminded him, as I continued on down the market lane, ignoring the glares and stares I was receiving thanks to me going all Quasimodo on him.

"... Asswipe..."

It didn't exactly take long to finish Mom's shopping list after that – surprisingly enough, I actually remembered where the stalls she frequented were all located – and Silas even got a free snack thanks to the fishmonger, who somehow found him to be a cute little thing. We ended up taking a walk down a few back alleys, and finding our way to a secluded little lane with several little shops lining it.

"So, how's your first impression of the city?" I asked Silas, as I sat down to my breakfast in one of the alley's small eateries.

"First impression of the market, you mean? Haven't seen the city itself, aside from the radio tower," he replied. "And my head's still ringing from that banging."

"Could have phrased that second part better, that's for sure," I shrugged as I bit into the bun that was my breakfast. "Well, the city's pretty similar to Canalave... so the market's pretty much closer to what the locals see it as."

"Fair enough, then," he chirped, as he returned to the piece of fish the fishmonger had given to him. "And I'm going to get you back for the head-banging, just you see!"

"You and whose army, eh?"

"Someday, someday! Perhaps I'll get those lopunny back at Canalave to tie you up and take turns to molest you!" he said haughtily.

I spat out a mouthful of half-chewed food, narrowly avoiding choking on it. "That, Silas, is one of the sickest things I've heard in a while."

"You are definitely my bitch, Trainer," he cackled.

"Are there any soup pots here?" I looked around casually, noting Silas' panicked expression before I faced away from him. "Chowder sounds good..."

"... Fine, you win. For now."

We just sat there for a while, with me nibbling on my bun and Silas finishing the last of his free fish. Laundry that had been hung out to dry several floors above us formed a sort of roof over the alley, and the sunlight that reached us changed colours as several sheets got blown about in the wind.

"It's so peaceful here," Silas remarked, as the two of us finished our breakfast. "Curious, really..."

I turned to regard him with a raised eyebrow. "And what has gotten your curiosity's attention this time, dearie?"

"If things here were always so quiet and peaceful... why did you leave?"

Breakfast didn't seem so appetising anymore after that question of his. I pushed what was left of my bun towards him, and exhaled slowly.

"Let's take a walk, then."

"Where to?"

I picked him up, and placed him in the marketing basket, on top of the groceries. "We'll drop these off with Mom, and then we'll go to the Jubilife... cemetery."

xxx

Jubilife's one and only cemetery was but a stone's throw away from my family home, so it didn't take us long to get there. I'd managed to snag a satchel on the way out after delivering the groceries back home, so Silas was strapped to my back, peeking out at the sights behind me as I walked. Every now and then, someone walking past me on the road would slow down, as if the sight of Silas in a satchel was something unusual.

Really, it seemed that a man couldn't even carry his companion shellder around on his back anymore without being regarded as a weirdo, or something.

"Here we are, Silas," I said, as I took off the satchel and turned him to face the cemetery's gates.

"And why are we here, again?" he asked me, as I walked through the gates, carrying the satchel in my arms.

"You'll see."

If there was one thing they'd managed to get right when they built the cemetery, it was the location and terrain. The gently sloping grounds were silent and pleasantly cool thanks to the large trees that grew there, and the surrounding housing estates pretty much kept the city's louder residents away from where the dead were supposed to be resting. However, I did notice several ghoul-like bakemon hovering about in the treetops – so it seemed even the dead weren't exempted from security measures, these days.

At least the person who'd posted the bakemon to the cemetery had had the good sense to select a mute species. It was a common joke among the staff back at Canalave's port control that a bakemon only had three senses; to our knowledge, they couldn't smell or taste anything. Somehow, though, they seemed to get along well with the lampent that patrolled the streets at night. Curious, given that bakemon were little more than sentient bundles of rags that could easily be set on fire by their pokemon companions.

Since it was a weekday, there weren't many mourners around. The only people we passed as we headed towards our destination were a couple of old folks with trowels, who were weeding the land between the graves. A loaded wheelbarrow was parked not far away from where they were working, filled with uprooted weeds, some trash, and bunches of rotting flowers that presumably had decorated several graves.

"Trainer, where are we going?" Silas asked me softly, his tongue flicking out to taste the air.

I stopped. "To visit an old friend, I guess. Just a little further in, and he'll be there."

Sure enough, my memory had not failed me. As we went over the top of one of the slopes, his tombstone came into sight. It looked a little yellowish and worn compared to the last time I'd seen it, but that was to be expected – no one visited him, really. The only reason his grave remained presentable was probably due to the efforts of the old people we'd seen earlier, or someone else along those lines.

With a sigh, I sat down in front of his grave, and took Silas out of the satchel, placing him by my side. "Well, Silas, here he is. Meet Sean – the guy who inspired me to run away from home."

Silas' eyes were wide, but he remained silent. I took that as my cue to continue, and patted Silas on his shell before speaking again.

"You see, he and I were best friends in elementary school. Inseparable, we were. That is, until we finished our basic schooling and he decided to go on his training journey. I went on to high school, as you already know.

"We would correspond by mail, as he travelled. I was content with high school, and he got news from home as he went about the continent. Almost every week without fail, there'd be a letter delivered to my place, and he'd have a letter waiting at the next city or town that he was heading to."

I blinked, as my mind suddenly processed the fact that I was talking to a shellder, in front of the grave of someone who had been dead for some time now. It certainly was a weird feeling, to say the least.

"How did you know where he'd be going?" Silas whistled. "Did he have a psychic, or what?"

Shaking my head, I rubbed my temples slowly. "Nah, he started with a paras. Caught a gligar later, and a gastly, but he never did get a psychic. I was basically the person he filed his flight plans with. If a letter was late, I'd notify his folks that he was held up in Eterna forest, or something.

"Thing was, he wasn't exactly on good terms with his parents. Not since the divorce, at least. Sean was pretty much a free spirit, and if I'm recalling the facts right, he stole money from his father to start his journey. So they didn't even bother calling him or sending him mail, once he left. See, they thought he was wasting his time, since there wasn't even a gym circuit anymore – the Revolution saw to that."

A soft raspberry was heard coming from Silas' general direction. "Interesting buddy you had there. So... what happened to him?"

All I could do was shrug. "Who knows? He sends me a letter telling me that he was planning a trip to the Wayward Cave, and the next thing you know, he goes missing for a month."

"Did he die then?" Silas asked, eyes as round as saucers. "Even I've heard of how easy it is to get lost in those caverns."

Wayward Cave was indeed notorious for its labyrinthine tunnels, and during the pre-Revolution days, it held the record for getting the most trainers lost. And also being the place with the most missing trainers who were eventually presumed dead, for the matter.

"No one knows for sure," I murmured, as I cast a glance at the faded inscriptions on Sean's tombstone. "A group of Hikers near Coronet found his body near a bend in the river that came out of Wayward Cave, and that was that. His parents drove out there, identified him – couldn't have been dead that long if they were able to do that, though – and brought him home for a burial. And that was pretty much the end of Sean's journey."

My starter made as if to say something, but I silenced him with a tap on his shell. "Hold it there, Silas. I'm getting to the runaway bit soon enough. You really do need to brush up on your patience, you do.

"At Sean's funeral, I was probably one of three teenagers there. He was only sixteen when he died, Silas. Same age as me back then, but what he taught me that day was beyond my comprehension then.

I stared off into the distance, as the memories flashed through my mind like the scenes from a music video. "It was after the funeral that his mother passed me a letter – the last letter he'd written, or so it seemed. She said it was addressed to me, and left as soon as I'd taken it from her. His father was sobbing over the tombstone, and everyone else had gone off by that time."

My voice trailed off there, as though my vocal cords had suddenly ceased functioning. We sat there in the silence for a while, listening to sounds of the breeze blowing through the trees, and the distant echoes of the city's daily routine. The bakemon lingering in the nearest tree stared at us with their glassy black eyes, ragged bodies rustling as the wind blew past them.

"So what did he write in that last letter?" Silas spoke up, so softly that his voice was almost inaudible.

"Eh?" I shook my head, snapping myself out of the little reverie I'd gotten into. "Oh, right, the letter. He'd only left me one sentence in it, and the writing... well, it looked like it had been written while he was stuck in the cave after his torchlight had run out of batteries, if the handwriting was anything to go by. Or he may have been injured when he wrote it, but I didn't see any bloodstains on the paper.

"All he'd written was this one phrase, 'The time of my life'."

A sudden creaking sound coming from behind us made the two of us jump up from where we sat, and we spun about to check it out. Silas looked ready to fire a few icicles at whoever it was, while my hand had gone to my sidearm. Fortunately, the sound turned out to be from the old people from earlier on, as they moved towards our section of the cemetery with their wheelbarrow of cemetery detritus. I offered them a smile and a wave, and they responded in kind, seemingly rather cheerful despite the job they were carrying out.

Very fortunately for the old folks, they hadn't startled the bakemon too badly. Silas and I had seen the videos of how bakemon dealt with perceived threats, and their methods were... colourful, for lack of a better word. Even a hyperactive blender would've been hard-pressed to match a bakemon for gore as far as disposing of bodies went.

As we settled back down and turned back to face my old friend's grave, Silas nudged me with his tongue. "That was it?"

"For the letter, yeah."

"And you ran away because of that?" his voice held a note of incredulity in it. "Trainer, is there something I'm missing out on, here?"

"Well, he was assumed to have died of starvation, Silas. And the autopsy showed signs of psychic probing in his brain. So he was most probably half-dead from a lack of food and maybe even a victim of mental rape, but still he wrote that letter. What do you make of that?"

He let out the shellder equivalent of a snort. "He was a lunatic just like you and the people you tend to hang out with?"

I could help but laugh at that. "Mad, that's a given. But the way I see it, he wrote that letter to tell me – and from there, others – that he had no regrets. Only after I finished high school did I realise just how much weight that one phrase carried. I really didn't want to end up handling the family business and retiring someday like some old lag, Silas. All I wanted was to make something of myself, beyond what my family expected of me."

"Right..." my shellder said slowly, narrowing his eyes. "Your late friend didn't regret somehow ending up in a situation where someone fucked with his head and he was starving to death. And you decided to follow his example, of all people.

"I'll give you that one, on the point of you achieving something, at least. You seemed to have made it to some extent, there... Tell me one thing, though, Trainer; do you have any regrets over running away?"

All I could do was to chuckle, as I suppressed a whole torrent of memories that threatened to make my voice crack. "Two replies to that, Silas. Firstly, ask no questions and you'll be told no lies. And of course, why the hell are you asking a question that you know the answer to?"

"You, my good man," Silas blew a raspberry at me, "are an enigma. And yet... oh well, I suppose you turned out alright, in the end."

I gave him a pat on the shell, and picked him up. "If you are going to put some thought into this, do let me know when you think you've gotten the message, then."

With that, we walked towards the cemetery gates. As I walked, the answer I'd avoided giving to Silas played about in my mind. He'd asked me if I had any regrets about running away, he had. My answer to that question was simply 'a few' - perhaps even too few to mention.

Briefly, I had a flashback of Sean's last letter, and remembered what I'd done with all of the letters after I'd run away. Maybe someday, someone would find that little metal box I'd buried near the entrance of Wayward Cave. And then, I wonder if they'd ask the same questions Silas asked me.

I hate open-ended questions.