Tarah's next movements were like the gentle, hesitating steps of a man attempting to approach a wounded animal. Each step was careful and prepared to withdraw. Her eyes remained locked onto Ebgin's, and her hands were raised, palms-out, as if to say that she meant no harm.
"Ebgin." She called him Ebgin. She eased a step forward. "You're just confused."
Ebgin wasn't buying it. She must have seen it in his eyes; he wasn't hiding it. Yet, she went on.
"My departure recently was necessary but unfortunate. I should have been here to help you out, O.K.?"
Ebgin suddenly noticed she was almost within arm's length. Every sense in his body began screaming that he should escape. With his heart racing, he was frozen in place for just an instant. It was long enough.
"I'll talk to the boss, alright?"
Ebgin started to turn, to get out of there, to run. He could figure things out later. Tarah took a final step and her hand shot out like a striking Arbok, fingers clamping on his wrist. All of his momentum was stopped. He tried to pull his arm away but it was like trying to pull down a tree.
In his sudden panic, Ebgin lost his sense of composure, and the helplessness of his situation took control. "Tarah, please, just let me have Spark and go." His eyes were squeezed shut, and his face was pointed at the ground, shoulders hunched, every muscle tensed as he spoke in a flurry. "I know everything that happened with Nancy, but I don't care about any of that. I just want her to be happy. I can't do any of this anymore."
The room became as quiet as death, except for the low clicks of the various lights and the whirring of cooling fans.
Eyes still shut tightly, darkness around him, fingers clutching his wrist, pinning him in place, Tarah's voice came softly from the darkness. "Ebgin."
Ebgin remained where he was, waiting for her response.
"Look at me," she said gently.
Ebgin slowly turned his head up, opened his eyelids, and looked directly into a vicious, bitter smirk. It was so cruel that Ebgin gasped. Then her grip tightened on his wrist and a yell squeezed out of his throat as if he'd been gagged.
"You presume to tell me what you're doing? You quit? I think not, Ebgin. You're being fired. Let me tell you another thing." He fell to his knees, teeth gnashing. Her grip seemed to have endless endurance. He could feel the pressure against his bone, spreading his fingers wide to relieve the tension.
"I'm going to let you go, kid, but I'm going to make an example of your little girlfriend." Tarah pointed her other finger behind her where Donasson was about to stand. "Don't you move, Donasson."
Ebgin looked up, only one of his eyes willing to open, and saw Donasson slowly lower himself again to his seat. He gave Ebgin an apologetic look.
"Please," Ebgin said, clutching at her fingers. She gripped harder and Ebgin's other hand fell away. Then she lifted and Ebgin was pulled to his feet with a grunt of pain.
"I tried to do good things for you, little one, but I suppose you're just not smart enough to accept them. Now, let me have Spark and you may go."
Ebgin shook his head, tears of pain rolling down his cheeks, but he wasn't crying. "No, he's Nancy's."
The pain doubled and Ebgin just screamed.
"I can do this for hours," she said and with her free hand she grabbed his chin, lifting it so that they could meet eyes. "Look at me."
Ebgin looked. She was smiling gleefully.
"Do you think you will last as long as I will?" She purred.
Ebgin shook his head, words not coming for the pain.
Withdrawing her hand from his chin, she held it palm-up. She waited.
Ebgin reached into his pocket and withdrew Spark's pokeball. With a trembling hand he set it into her waiting palm. She slipped the small pokeball into one of the holders on her belt. Ebgin could only wait for her to release his wrist, for the pain to stop. Instead, she pulled him forward and, still with a pinsir-like grip, she hugged his neck, placing her cheek against his. His legs wobbled.
The pain was so great that Ebgin hardly cared about anything but making it stop. "Please," he managed to squeak, but the rest of the words couldn't manage to break through the haze of agony.
"Little Boy." She whispered softly, lips so close to his ear that they brushed against it. "Remember this pain. Don't forget it. Remember, too, what I intend to do to Nancy."
Ebgin's breathing quickened, tears began to fall more freely. He had trusted her, he had wanted to be proud of her. The betrayal hurt him, and the pain sank deep, settling into him like it would be there for a long time.
"Now, go." She said quietly, and withdrew, releasing his wrist.
Ebgin pulled the wrist in close to his stomach, cradling it with his other arm. Turning, he exited the room and shut the door.
Ebgin turned to his left and looked down at Spark who was waiting quietly for him.
"Roast that knob," he hissed, every ounce of pain he'd felt converting to fury.
Spark built up a fire in his mouth and blasted the doorknob until it had turned red.
"Good. Let's go get you home."
They walked out, Ebgin staring angrily through tears, gingerly favoring his wrist. Tarah was going to pay for this. Everyone was going to pay.
"Hey, there!" Tolby called out as Ebgin exited the wood. "It went well I trust."
Tolby grew quiet when Ebgin was close enough that they could see the color in each others' eyes. He looked down and Ebgin tried to hide his wrist, but the purple hand-print wasn't easy to cover and anyway, it hurt too much. Forget it. It didn't matter who knew. In fact, it was probably a good thing. He needed allies. He wanted to go in alone and tear the place apart with his bare hands, but he knew, even through his rage, that he'd not be able to do it alone.
"That Tarah get her claws on you?"
In response, Ebgin began to breathe heavily through his nose, stomach sucking and distending, brow furrowing tightly. Anger swelled and shook like a volcano preparing to erupt.
"Yes," he spat. "It won't matter soon. None of it'll matter."
Tolby held out his hands. "Now, now, Ebby- Ebgin. I know you're upset, but-"
"Don't, Tolby." Ebgin grimaced and the grimace twisted and his lips curled, but he tried to contain himself. His wrist throbbed and it made him madder. "Sorry, Tolby. Please. Let's just go."
Tolby looked at Ebgin a bit longer, his expression serious. Ebgin was getting irritated, expecting an argument, but Tolby just nodded and turned toward the water.
"Let's get you home."
As Ebgin set foot on the sandy shores of Loamy Town, great irritation filled him. He realized that his parents would not be happy about his wrist. He needed a way to hide it. He had a sweat-band for the wrist in his room. He just needed to keep his injury out of sight until then.
Entering the house, Ebgin kicked his shoes off, harder than he had intended. They bounced off the wall, making a racket. Ebgin looked quickly toward the living room and listened. Nothing. His parents must not have heard. He would need to be careful. He couldn't risk drawing any unnecessary attention to himself until he'd gotten his wrist covered. It was ridiculous that all of this was happening, yet his parents could still stop everything by something as simple as grounding him.
His PokeGear showed that it was 5pm. It seemed like it had been longer since this morning when they had gone to the Stacked Inn.
Ebgin gingerly eased his injured wrist into his shorts' pocket and opened the inner door. His parents were in the kitchen talking while Mamma made dinner. Ebgin had forgotten about food, and the smell set his mouth to watering. He didn't want to stick around though, not with that wrist. He needed to act normally to avoid suspicion. He considered his words carefully.
"Hey, Mamma, Pop. I'm home."
"I hope you weren't out there in that rain," Mamma said, already sounding reproving.
What would his normal response be? "I was, but I'm almost dry now."
His folks both came out of the kitchen. Ebgin shoved his wrist a bit farther into his pocket, wincing as the pressure sent pain right down to the bone.
"Get out of those clothes as soon as possible," Pop said. "That water next to your skin aint good for you, especially in this frigid air Mamma likes." He was referring to the air conditioner, which Mamma liked to keep low, even if everyone else was shivering.
"I told you to put it wherever you want it," Mamma responded, absolving herself of all blame.
"Yeah," Pop said. "That aint a challenge."
Ebgin would have enjoyed the banter, but he was anxious to go, and worried that the longer he stood there the more likely it was he'd get caught. He shoved his other hand in his pocket and pretended to be colder than he was.
"Alright, I'm gonna go take a shower."
Father jerked his head in the direction of the stairs. "Go on."
Ebgin had to restrain himself from sprinting, instead walking and trying to maintain a casual gait. He had no idea if he was succeeding. He didn't relax until he got to his room and shut the door.
Over the next half an hour, he tried to forget his problems. He made the water in the shower a few degrees hotter than normal, stayed in there a few more minutes. He shuddered as the warmth countered the chill that had been seeping into his fingertips and the bulb of his nose.
When he finished brushing his teeth, he got dressed and sat on the edge of his bed, seething and thinking, but mostly seething. He'd already decided what he was going to do. Tolby was prepared to help him, he knew, but that wouldn't be enough. Tairn and Faust, though, they were looking for a gang, and Ebgin knew where to direct them. Hierarchy was going to go down in flames if he had anything to do with it.
A knock at the door made him spasm and look up just as his father walked into the room. Ebgin put his wounded wrist behind his back.
Pop shut the door, leaned his back on it. "Let's see it," he said on an exhale, resignation in his voice, but the resignation was for Ebgin, not for himself. For a moment, Ebgin almost panicked, but then he just shrugged and pulled out his hand.
The wrist was now turning a sickening yellowish-green.
"Hold both your wrists out," Pop ordered. Ebgin did. His bruised wrist was noticeably bigger than his other.
Pop looked at Ebgin's eyes, and Ebgin looked down guiltily. He wanted to tell of what happened, but it would make things more complicated than they were.
"Who did this to you, Son? I can see the handprint. I know it wasn't an accident. You didn't fall. Tell me the truth."
Ebgin could feel those tears coming back. The helplessness he felt. Tarah's complete betrayal, her cheerful enjoyment of his pain. Why didn't she care about him at all? Ebgin stood there silently, shoulders shaking as he wept.
Father knelt down and embraced him gently, careful to not harm the injured wrist. Ebgin wrapped his good arm around Pop's neck and cried into his shirt. He stayed that way for a long time.
Ebgin sniffled and eased back. "It won't happen again," he said quietly.
"Oh?" Pop said, using his comparatively large thumbs to wipe Ebgin's tears.
"Yeah. I'm not hanging around - that person anymore."
"That's good to hear. I don't suppose you want to tell me who it was."
Ebgin did. Badly. It wasn't worth it, though. There was too much going on. It'd just make it harder to do what he needed to do. Ebgin shook his head, not meeting his father's eyes. Pop stood and tussled Ebgin's hair. "Alright. I trust you, Son. Whatever you've got going on, just do the right thing, you understand me?"
Ebgin's eyes darted about as he rapidly considered the words against his situation. His intention was to assault Hierarchy, destroy everything there, and scare off any employees. This - this gang wouldn't hurt anyone anymore. "Yes, sir," Ebgin said, certain in his conviction. "I'm going to do the right thing."
"Good. Now come downstairs for dinner. Your mamma needs to hear some compliments. Splash some water on your face, too."
At those words, Ebgin recalled Tolby. Tolby'd been a good friend, treating Ebgin as well as anyone ever had. Now Ebgin would need to ask another favor of him. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Ebgin typed a message into his Pokgear. At first he tried to use his injured right hand but the fingers didn't really want to work without pain, so he had to take it off, set it on the bed and awkwardly use his left hand to type. Finished, he sent it off, then followed the sweet smell of supper down the stairs.