Chapter 47: Fly Away

Victory was the worst thing that could have happened to Weavile.

She sat on Persian's shitty bed, furrowing her brow as she listened to some Servine ramble to her. Her friend Magneton came prepared with news articles and maps just to back up their pitch, and the two of them had been going on for… How long exactly? It couldn't have been more than five minutes, but it felt agonizingly long. There was a guard just outside the door. Maybe she could call him just to get them out of here?

"With that established," Servine went on as Weavile fiddled with a fresh cut in the mattress, "I don't know how you expect our footholds to recover. Storage is having nearly all of its stock withdrawn, and after the fiasco a few weeks back I don't expect that to ever recover. Delibird's delivery services are in less demand than ever, and nearly every parsel is getting searched."

Weavile huffed. "What do you think this is? A company? We don't need them to function."

Servine's eyes went wide. She looked back to Magneton, whose shrunken pupils on all three of its faces confirmed that she hadn't misheard. "Are— are you kidding me? We absolutely need them! They're our footholds!" Servine exclaimed, and Weavile cracked a smirk. An odd choice of words for a Pokémon with barely any legs. "If they don't work as a cover, then what are we?! Just a bunch of bandits?! We can't go up against them like this!"

"Hey," Weavile barked, "don't forget that we are the ones that beat the Guild. We're a force to be reckoned with —"

"Bisharp," Magneton interrupted, its voice warped and thick with static, "defeated Gallade. Bzzt. Not you."

Servine nodded. "And he's missing. Him and the rest of his troupe," she said through clenched teeth. "Without them, without Persian, we wouldn't stand a chance if—"

"Leave." Weavile scowled and pointed to the ratty old door. "I'm not listening to you nobodies pretend you know how to do my job. You have ten seconds to be out that door before I freeze you solid and shatter you with your friend here."

Servine bristled. Her vines poked out from her collar, and for a moment Weavile thought she would actually have to stain the floors again. Her claws rasped together. Was she ready for that? She had to be. Weavile narrowed her eyes, refusing to give another warning.

Servine whirled around without another word, clenching fists at her sides as her vines threw the door open. She didn't waste a second longer there. Weavile was about to let out a sigh of relief, but her gaze shifted over to Magneton. Sparks arced between the magnets.

"I came here six cycles ago to flee from war. Bzzt," it said, eyes shrinking to narrow in on Weavile. "You have brought it back."

Perhaps it was expecting an answer, but when none was given, it let out an electrical hum and backed out of the room, passing by the relaxed Raboot that stood as the guard.

Weavile groaned and fell back onto the bed. How many times had this happened in the past few weeks? She'd lost count. Over thirty, probably. Usually it went better than this, but usually she had someone else there to help. Murkrow, or Sableye, or one of the goons from the forest. But Murkrow was back at the orphanage keeping track of things, and Sableye was trying to test his connections, and the goons were… doing goon things. Weavile didn't really care what they were doing. They were useless anyways.

She looked up at a cracked window covered in a fine film of grime. The bright Raikou summer sun was warm and inviting, and it called out to her. 'When was the last time you stepped outside?' it asked her. 'Just take ten minutes to relax. You won't melt.'

And it almost worked. Weavile raised her paw towards the window to push it open. She could imagine the mountain breeze, the fresh air, the grass on her paws.

She shook her head, snatching her paw away as she shot up off the mattress. She barely looked at the Raboot as she passed him by. "I'm taking a break," Weavile claimed. "If anybody else comes in while I'm out, kick them in the groin until they go away."

Raboot winced. "Yeah, sure… Wait, where you off to?"

She shrugged. "Poke the dog. Maybe go for a walk later. Shouldn't be too long."

…

To someone as large as Arcanine, the cage that had been constructed from broom handles and construction boards may as well have been popsicle sticks and glue, and yet it somehow managed to work. The fearsome beast laid there with his eyes shut, possibly napping, as Weavile sat across from it in the basement. Even with only blackberries and a bowl of water to keep him going, even with his fur shaggy and his muscles starting to deteriorate, Arcanine was content.

Even when Weavile prodded at him with a broom, tickling his nose and sticking it in his ears, he barely did anything more than puff air or shake his head. It had become just another thing to do, like throwing a ball against a wall.

Sometimes they talked a little, and usually it was about the same old things. She'd heard that same line at least a dozen times by now. 'I'll escape when I feel like it.' She'd given the same answer at least a dozen times as well. 'You mean when he feels like it.' Still his face never changed.

"It's been over two weeks," she taunted, brushing the end of the broom against his nose. "What's your bet? Killed by some Wildies? Or did he give up?"

Arcanine puffed a breath of hot air back at the broom. He gave no other answer.

"I'm betting on the Wildies. With a leg like his, he couldn't outrun them. Just a shame we'll never get to see it."

Arcanine raised a single eyelid, staring bemused at her for a moment. 'Are you done yet?' it seemed to say before fluttering closed again. His chest heaved as it took a sleepy breath.

Weavile prodded again. "Break your cage already," she teased. "You know that cat isn't coming back for you."

"And yours isn't coming for you either," Arcanine fired back.

Silence. Weavile recoiled a little. How did he…?

"I have sharp ears," he added, though forgoing to admit he could apparently read minds, "and I know what Espeon's voice sounds like. He hasn't stopped by in some time. Maybe putting a hit out on his friend wasn't a good idea."

"'Friend,'" Weavile scoffed. "You think Espeon has friends? As if. He was using Persian just as much as he was using me. He'll show up eventually."

A shrug. "Maybe. And maybe it'll be with your replacement."

She laughed.

"Seriously. He already betrayed Persian, and you're putting your trust in him still?" Arcanine cracked a bitter smile across his muzzle. "Honestly, I never understood you. Either of you."

Though she didn't like it, Arcanine had a point. It had been two weeks now without a word from Espeon. He'd been seen regularly at his library, answered calls, gave them the courtesy of turning messengers away, and even still he couldn't make time for her. 'Busy,' he'd vaguely say. 'Tell her to clean up her own problems for once.'

With a sigh, Weavile leaned back and rested her head on her paws. She stared up at the dusty ceiling lined with thick cobwebs that had never been cleaned out. The environment out there wasn't right for sneaky criminal stuff. Maybe she should be a warlord? Wasn't killing more her bread and butter anyways? Lying and killing. Maybe if they grouped up and acted smart, they could get through the fortified defenses of the militias. Recruit a few others, branch out from the orphanage… Who knew? If she played her cards right, this syndicate could rival the Guild in terms of influence.

"Hey," she called, and Arcanine lifted an eyelid for her. "What do you think about raiding somewhere like Astraean? If I set you loose, would you take out one of those bastards guarding the place? Preferably that Blaziken." Although it was the Dusknoir that scared her the most objectively, she thought she had the most answers for him.

His eye closed again. "Open the cage and find out."

"Not gonna do that." Weavile popped her neck, and with a low groan she sat up. "If you're getting out of here, you're breaking that cage yourself. That way you'll at least get a splinter and I might get away."

Arcanine snorted. "Sure."

She poked again with the broom, but he didn't react. A hot puff of air made her think he was about to turn it into a torch, but Arcanine settled back again.

Maybe she should poison him to prevent an escape? He was big and tough, so a dose of the strong stuff would take… what, five minutes? She didn't have the numbers down, but she could reasonably do it. One less thing to worry about. … Even if it would mean losing a potential asset, and the only consistent person she'd had to talk to. Not to mention, if he planned to escape, he would've done it already. Why not greet Persian with the pests already exterminated?

Weavile groaned in annoyance before jumping to her feet. "Screw this," she proclaimed. To who, the house? The mutt? Herself? She dropped the broom and made for the creaky stairs. "I'm heading out. Don't break out while I'm not here."

"Mhm." His magnificent tail swished against the confines of his cage, rattling it. He gave no other answer.

Weavile rolled her eyes as she marched up, avoiding the weak spots by pure habit. Part of her wanted him to escape just so she didn't have to fret about it anymore. She didn't plan on coming back for a little while, so maybe...

…

She'd gone into Churchwell Village twice after it all happened, but it felt like an eternity ago. The evening sun felt nice on her cold fur in a way that hadn't in a long, long time. Winters were nice too, but there was just something about the summer sun that relaxed her despite her own biology. Or maybe it was just nice to finally stretch her legs again.

So full of vigor was she that Weavile had jogged the whole way, falling over a number of times and matting her already unkempt fur with dirt, and by the time the village was in sight she still had enough energy to dash the rest of the way. Of course she didn't. A Weavile running into the village in times like these would only look suspicious.

As she got closer, she noticed something new: guards. A crude platform had been built to perch some Pokémon she'd never seen before a vantage point. Some black, oddly reflective bird with eyes that shimmered red. Behind him, a banner showing off a kite shield emblazoned on a pair of wings. Two others sat just beneath him, an Illumise and a Machoke, posted behind a desk.

The bird squawked. Shrill, piercing, deep. Weavile clasped her paws over her ears, watching through squinted eyes as the two below it stood alert. They chattered about something while the bird remained silent.

Grumbling, Weavile stood a little straighter and kept walking. She had the right to be here, after all. Even if that Illumise was looking at her funny. Casually, she made as if to walk past them, but once she got within thirty feet…

"Stop," Machoke barked, arms folded across his very muscled chest. One wrong step and he'd crush her like a grape. "I haven't seen you around lately. State your business."

The piercing gaze of the black bird punctuated the command, adding two silent words: or else.

Weavile rolled her eyes. "Murder and plunder," she said quizzaciously, then threw up her paws. "What do you think? I'm here to check on my kids!"

Machoke raised an eyebrow. "A brat like you? Kids?"

"Wait," Illumise chimed, her tail lighting up in place of a bulb above her head. "You — you're… the matron, aren't you? For the orphanage?"

Weavile nodded, then hardened her gaze as she stared back up at the muscled guard. "This wasn't set up when I left. What happened?" she demanded. "I swear to you, if anything happened to them, heads will roll." Well, they would now, anyways.

The two behind the desk exchanged glances, and the Illumuse nodded. Machoke cleared his throat. "Somebody snuck in a week ago now. Took some gems and jewelry. Nearly made off with an egg too, but they had to drop it to get away."

Weavile shook her head. "An egg thief? The world really is going to hell, isn't it?" she lamented. As the two nodded and muttered agreement, Weavile finally pointed up at the black bird. It didn't even seem to have feathers. They were too… rigid. Plates? "So who's this guy anyways?" she asked. "I've never seen anything like him. Guild guy?"

"He's from overseas," Illumise answered, glancing up at the great raven's perch. His ghostly gaze hadn't once broken from Weavile, his permanent scowl still carved into its beak. Illumise tittered and looked back to the matron. "A-apparently they're called Corviknight? But he likes to be called Gawain… At least, I think he does? A-a-and yeah, he works with the Guild."

Machoke rolled his eyes. "As if that means anything."

You said it, Weavile thought, and then cleared her throat. "If that's all, then I gotta get back to the orphanage. Do I need to get searched first?" Machoke shook his head, and Weavile nodded. "Perfect. I hope you three have a good rest of your evening."

The three exchanged farewells and waves before Weavile continued on into Churchwell Village. On the streets she was met with curious eyes, pleasant waves, smiles that masked how they were supposed to feel. Big, intimidating Pokémon were on patrol with their emblems on display, but with how the villagers reacted to her, none of them bothered to stop her.

No, she was only a passing figure in the village. This early on, most were focusing on what was right in front of them. The abandoned houses, the empty storefronts, the property damage, how it seemed that at every waking minute somebody was packing their bags to move towards a bigger city. Why would anybody do anything more than wave to Weavile? It was only the matron, after all. Weren't there bigger priorities?

So she made it to the path undisturbed, surrounded by trees and veiled in long shadows: the first and only line of defense for this little business, not counting Murkrow and her. With each step, her guise slipped just a little. Her eyes got narrower. Her claws rasped together. There was still a tavern open. Maybe they could sneak in and grab a drink? Steal one, maybe… No, too risky. This was their home. Too much risk of getting recognized. And with how alert the Pokémon were, if they killed anybody, there'd be some forensics guy linking it to them in only a few hours. Maybe she was getting too ahead of herself. Maybe she could settle for something a little simpler. It was just the silence that got her imagination running.

… Silence? Wait, that wasn't right. Wasn't she only a hundred yards from the kids? They should've been audible by now. They'd said the kids were alright, but… That could've been a lie. Easily. Have her show up there only to be met with Murkrow dead, the kids missing, and a half dozen of those Explorers surrounding her. The way that Corvithing was staring at her…

Weavile whirled around to see if she was being followed, and she could only hear the wind and the leaves. She scanned again, once, twice… Gritting her teeth, she sprinted up the path towards the orphanage.

Murkrow, if you're dead, I swear I'll strangle you! You better be there!

Over the beating of her heart, she hadn't heard him until she saw the front porch, where Murkrow sat at the top of the steps. Four Pokémon sat around him as he read from a book held clumsily in his wings. They seemed enraptured by the story. And more importantly, Weavile didn't recognize one of them. Petilil, Prinplup, Chingling… but what was that Numel doing here? And more importantly, why were there only four? It was too early for the rest to have gone to sleep.

In a gentle, oddly youthful voice, Murkrow narrated. "The boy cried out, 'Look! I found a magician to be our tutor! He has a mustard pot that walks!'" A pause, and Murkrow's voice turned just a smidgeon deeper. "'I'm glad you're back,' said Kay." A pause, and now his voice became even softer and vaguely feminine. "'What a mess!' cried the nurse. 'Where did you sleep, master Art? Look at your scarf, all muddied and torn! And you've got twigs all tied in your fur!'"

The children laughed, and Murkrow smiled with his eyes as he briefly glanced up at them. And in that instant, he saw her: Weavile, dumbfounded and approaching slowly. Murkrow shut down. It took him a moment to realize what was going on. "Wea… Weavile! You're… You're back?"

At the sound of the matron's name, the three she recognized scrambled away from the story and ran over to her while Numel hung back with Murkrow. The other three didn't seem to notice. They were too busy surrounding Weavile, jumping up at her, almost tearing up with relief. She was okay. Smiling, Weavile ruffled the tops of their heads affectionately.

"Yeah, that's right. I'm back," she answered. "Don't you have any faith in me? Nothing can kill me."

"Where've you been?"

"I thought we weren't gonna get the chance to see you again!"

"You missed it, mommy!" Petilil brushed up against Weavile's leg. "I learned Leech Seed! Prinplup helped me!"

"Really?" Weavile shifted her gaze to the older brother in question, who was trying to hide a proud smile. And failing badly. "Wow. What do we say t —"

"Here, wanna see?" Petilil asked, then squinted her eyes as she refused to wait for an answer. There was no time for that. Her leaves started to glow —

Prinplup immediately stepped in, swatting Petilil lightly with his wing. She yelped. The glow stopped. "That move is meant to defend yourself," Prinplup scolded. "You don't use that on mommy. Clear?"

Petilil sniffled. "Y-yeah."

Weavile kept her smile up, but the look in her eyes changed as she glanced at Murkrow. It was only for a moment, but those devilish eyes said it all. "Alright kids, sorry to cut the story off, but Murkrow and I gotta talk," she said tenderly, then clapped her paws together. "Off to bed." They protested, of course, but before she could even start to make out individual words, Weavile stamped and placed her paws on her hips. "Bed. Now," she ordered, and they reluctantly shuffled off.

She overheard a little bit of their conversations as she strolled over to Murkrow, mostly focusing in on that Numel.

"That's supposed to be the mom?" she asked. She? Probably a she. Voice was a little too dopey to be sure. "Where's she been all this time?"

Prinplup shrugged. "It's… best not to ask, you know?"

"... Is she mean? She looks like she can be mean."

"So long as you do as you're told, you'll be fine. C'mon, let's go already."

The front door clicked shut, and Weavile stood in front of Murkrow with her arms folded behind her back. "I didn't know they were keeping this place this busy," she said, glancing around the front yard. Even most of the toys had been picked up. "Were the kids being picked up that quick? Who's even using them?"

Murkrow averted his eyes, repelled as if by magnets. He just couldn't. "Did… you come here to use them again?" he asked.

Weavile hummed. She hadn't thought of that until now, admittedly. Maybe… "Nah, I don't think so. Too complicated," she said, and Murkrow sighed with relief. "I'm in the mood for something simpler. You down?"

"Wh-what?" Murkrow squawked.

She took a seat next to him, slinging her arm around the bird's neck. He shrank at her touch. "Y'know, something low-stakes. All this crap with Persian has gotten in the way of things this past month or so. Whaddya say we go steal something? Have an adventure. Maybe we can grab a Dusk Stone so you can evolve too. Snag a keg to celebrate."

His head dipped. "... I… I can't leave the kids alone. It'd look bad."

"We've done it before," she answered. "We can leave the biggest one in charge for a bit. He's old enough, right? It worked with Breloom, so it —"

"Weavile?" Murkrow cut in, his voice dry. "I… I'm gonna go grab a bottle. Wait here."

She raised a brow as he squirmed out from under her arm. "Bottle? We keep alcohol here?"

"Fancy stuff. It's for celebrating." He flapped up to the doorknob and turned it in his beak, and Weavile watched as he marched into the dim interior of the home.

She furrowed her brow as she turned back around, resting her chin in her paw. Why was he acting so different? These two weeks had been hard on him, too, it seemed. Maybe it was because of all the kids gone. It must've been a hassle for him. And yet…

Weavile looked over to the book laying face-down on the porch. The spine labeled it The Once and Future King. When had that gotten here? It certainly wasn't anything they kept on-hand. Had he stopped by Espeon's place to pick it up? Maybe. Probably. It was the only good place to get a broad selection of books that most Pokémon had never even heard of before.

A minute later, Murkrow emerged with a corked gourd held in his beak. He shut the door carefully with his wing before setting the gourd down in front of Weavile. She snagged it, raised it, popped the cork, and placed it against her lips. "What're we celebrating?" Weavile asked as she took a swing. She wasn't big on the stuff. It tasted bitter and it burned her throat, and her face scrunched up.

Slowly, thoughtfully, Murkrow took his seat next to her again. "I don't remember who initially bought that," he said, "but it was supposed to be used to celebrate an adoption going through. It's kinda silly, isn't it? Treating it like a business deal… Or maybe it was supposed to be for us after they leave. I don't know. But if that's what it's for, then… we've got some late celebrations to make."

Weavile stopped halfway into her second sip, staring a hole into the side of his head while Murkrow looked off into the distance. "They're all adopted?" she said incredulously. "Are you kidding me? What have you even been doing while I've been out? They're not —" She could feel herself starting to yell, and she had to take conscious effort to quiet down. Those kids could still be listening.

A bitter laugh escaped Murkrow as he shook his head. "I thought it was a joke too. At a time like this, people were swooping them up by the armful? And most of them said the same thing: 'We can't just leave them here. They deserve to be somewhere safe.'" Silence. Murkrow gestured for the gourd, and Weavile handed it over for him to take in his wings. "'Now isn't the time to worry about family. If we don't come back together, then…'" He lifted the gourd and placed the spout in the side of his beak.

Weavile rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me that cheap crap actually got you."

He went on as if he hadn't heard her. His feathers were puffed again, and he seemed to be shaking. "And there was this older couple that were well-off enough to take a handful of them. Had some family overseas that they were going to visit, and they wanted to take some of the kids with them for a new start. A-and, they… They asked what happened to that Breloom." His voice had gotten progressively quieter, hoarser, as the look in his eyes grew more distant. He blinked away a tear. "'He seemed like such a nice young boy.'"

Speechless, Weavile clenched a fist as she stared at the steps. She still remembered the sight in Carrion Woods. The stench of that damned Kuroba's handiwork. The stench of her own failure. It was a low blow. She'd done everything she could to keep it out of her mind, which was a remarkably difficult task when she had nothing else to do.

As Murkrow set the gourd down between them, Weavile found her voice again. "We've been cooped up too long. C'mon, let's go get some air. A little outing could clear your head," she invited.

"'Outing,'" Murkrow echoed. The look in his eyes changed from distant to focused, as if something stood out on the horizon. Weavile followed his gaze, but through the trees she couldn't tell if it was anything more than the setting sun. "Weavile… Have I ever told you why I joined the syndicate?"

She froze. A vague sense of dread crept over Weavile. "N… No. I guess you haven't," she admitted. Nobody ever talked about their reasons for joining. They weren't ever pretty, and nobody ever really cared how anyone got there. Even for as long as she'd known Murkrow, it never came up once.

"I was a thief," he said. "Just a petty thief that could barely hold his own in a fight. I wasn't good at anything, so that's what I did to get by. My sister needed to eat, and my mother was too sick to work."

Weavile furrowed her brow. Sister? She tried to remember if he'd ever mentioned his family before now, and she was drawing a blank.

"To make a long story short," he went on, "they… I was set up. Took a job where I took one of those magic accessories, and then the owner's family was killed just after. As soon as I found this out, the guy that hired me contacted me. Said that the item belonged to someone that tried to run, and then… I was hired. I didn't have a choice."

Silence. She didn't really know what to say. She'd never been in this situation with any of her friends, so, what was she supposed to answer with? Probably not with what she was thinking, because admittedly, that made a lot of sense. Murkrow was never ambitious. He was clearly going through… something, and Weavile didn't want to risk making things worse.

Murkrow took a deep breath. "All this time, I was hoping they would end up forgetting about them. I didn't visit. Just did the crummy jobs, helped out the kids, tried to avoid killing when I could… I wasn't miserable. I did have fun from time to time. And you… When you went after Persian, I was happy to go along. There was a chance to get my family out from under his paw."

"Oh. Oh!" Weavile waved a paw at him. "Forget about it. If anyone threatens them, they —"

"They're dead."

Weavile froze. She averted her eyes, feeling guilt well up inside her. Her throat felt tight.

Black wings reached for the gourd again as he took a sip of the bitter, burning liquor. Two glugs later, he gently set it down and pushed it towards her. "I've heard conflicting stories. Abusive boyfriend, rabid feral, serial killer… I went to find them to make sure they moved somewhere safe after the Guild thing went down, and I was too late. By three months."

"I'm…" She reached for her elbow to hold herself. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah," Murkrow sighed. For a moment Weavile thought he was about to cry, and she was preparing herself to try and comfort him, but instead he just started to laugh. Quietly, somberly, but it was a laugh nonetheless. "Do you know what the funny thing is?" he asked. "Despite that, these past two weeks… I honestly feel like they've been the happiest days I can ever remember. Just me and the kids. Playing in the yard, keeping them feeling safe, reading stories, helping them find better places to live… I'm happy, Weavile."

"W-well, at least you're —"

"I'm not going with you," Murkrow said.

The blood ran colder through her veins. Her eyes went wide and her grip tightened around her elbow. Had she heard him right? Weavile couldn't keep up with the conversation. Confused, she turned to him. "W… W-wait, you're not? But you always —"

"Weavile?" he cut in. "I don't need to steal a dusk stone. I don't need to take a noblemon's coin purse. For once, I finally feel like I have everything I need."

She shot up to her feet and glared down at the bird. "And where does that leave me?" Weavile growled through gritted teeth.

He still didn't look at her. The bastard kept his eyes focused on that same damn point in the horizon, as if trying to will her all the way somewhere else. Even his voice was infuriatingly calm. "I don't know," he said. "You've got a lot on your plate now, so probably the mansion. Joker will probably try and visit you soon, if I know him."

That wasn't the point, and he knew it! Weavile snarled and leaned in closer. Her breath left glistening flakes of ice on his black feathers, and even though he flinched from them, he still didn't fucking look at her.

"After all we've done," she growled, "you're just telling me to piss off?! As if it meant nothing?!"

A pause. Murkrow drew in a breath and shut his eyes. "Weavile, as your friend, I'm begging you to forget about this place. You don't need it anymore. Please, just… let it go. Let me go." With those last few words, Murkrow trembled.

Weavile rasped her claws together, forcing herself to take deep, frigid breaths. She wanted to kick something. She wanted to start a fight and tear him apart, but when she even thought about raising a claw against him, her gut wrenched. He was soft. He'd always gone along with what she said. Loyal, even if he was cowardly. And the moment he started showing some spine…!

Her breathing evened out, Weavile nodded. "Fine," she relented, turning her back to him as she started down the steps. "I'll leave you alone without anything hanging over your head. You want out? Then you're as clean as can be. Take the stupid orphanage."

Murkrow finally stopped holding his breath, and as Weavile walked away, he nodded. "Thank you. Really," Murkrow said to her.

She left the front yard without another world. Soon Murkrow would realize she was being serious, and she'd hear the soft beating of his wings. The orphanage got further and further away, and soon Weavile stopped seeing it whenever she looked back. Any minute now…

That couldn't be it. Murkrow couldn't be taking that book into the kids' room and telling them a bedtime story. He was just telling Prinplup to look after the others while they went out. As Weavile started to hear the idle sounds of a sleepy village up the path, her claws rasped together.

… Maybe he was just prepping an apology. Of course! As she passed by the vacant storefronts and saw the outline of that Coviknight in the twilight, Weavile knew that's what was taking so long. She stopped and turned around, looking, hoping, desperately to find Murkrow.

But he wasn't there. Weavile drew in a sharp, venomous breath, whirling around and heading back down the path.

"... 'Ey," Machoke called out to her as she passed by. "It's barely been an hour. Where the hell're you going?"

She froze in her tracks. If she wanted to, she could rat out on Murkrow. Tell them all about the orphanage, run for the hills… No. That was a stupid idea that would only come back to bite her.

"He's… He's got things taken care of," Weavile answered. "I was just checking in on things. And now that…" She could barely keep it together. Her claws rasped together as she drew in a deep breath. Annoyed, distressed, she looked back over her shoulder. "Look, buddy, do you really care?"

Machoke raised a brow as Corviknight glared down at her with those strange eyes, but Weavile ignored them. Illumise raised an arm timidly. "It-it's dangerous out there. I know you're a Dark-type, but this late there's bound to be… predators… out there…"

But Weavile had already turned away. Her footprints left patches of frost in the dirt path as she left Churchwell behind. To hell with this place. To hell with everything.

…

"Come on, guys, let's get the show on the road," Joker called as he weaved between his workers. Since his return to the circus, he'd been overseeing the dismantlement of the circus in order to begin their trip to their next stop. The Pokémon worked happily, glad their ringmaster was finally back, even if he was clearly worried about someone else.

"Joker," Dragonair called his name from above. Joker looked up to see the serpent hovering over the fairgrounds. "Everything is running smoothly. At this rate, we should be ready for departure by noon."

"Thank you, Nairy. Make sure you help out wherever you can," Joker told her. She nodded then flew off to find something to do.

"Are you feeling alright, Joker?" Furret asked as he fell into step beside the Water-type.

Joker glanced at him as they ducked under a banner that was being lowered off the light posts. "Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you disappeared again with a handful of our troupe members, and then came back and told us to pack up, despite us only being here for two days," Furret observed. "I know traveling puts your mind at ease, but… it feels like we're running from something."

"Me? Run? Of course not." Joker cracked a smile. "Who would I even be running from? Everything's better than it's ever been before as far as our… side business is concerned."

"I said something, not someone," Furret pointed out. "You of all Pokémon should know there's more to fear than other Pokémon."

Joker couldn't count the amount of times the Normal-type had helped him with his psychological expertise, but in times like this, he'd really rather do without him. "I said I'm fine, alright?" he snapped. "Just leave it."

"I'd be out of a job if I did," replied Furret. "You can't just avoid your problems, or they'll only get-"

"Wait, shh!" Joker suddenly shushed the ferret.

"Don't shush me!" Furret protested.

"No, wait, do you hear that?" Joker asked, craning his head to one side, listening. Over the chatter and clatter, there was something tinny, melodic, loosely familiar.

"You're changing the subject," Furret remarked, but Joker wasn't listening anymore.

"It sounds like… but it couldn't be, that's…" … To that home on God's celestial shore, I'll fly away… Joker shot up and bounded in the direction of the noise. "Stay here!" he barked.

"Joker!" a frustrated Furret called.

"We'll finish this later!" Joker promised over his shoulder. As he ran, weaving between tents and ducking under ropes, the sound grew louder, closer. It sounded metallic and foreign, yet gentle and familiar. It was the sort of sound Joker felt fit right into this sort of environment, yet he'd never heard it here before. He didn't have the know-how to make it, and if he didn't bring it here, he wondered who possibly could have.

Then, he saw it. Standing just beyond the last tent on the fairgrounds, behind everything that was the traveling circus, Joker could see the source of the music. A tall, relatively slender figure, leaning suavely against a tree. Bipedal, and wrapped from head to toe in bandages and covered with a cloak. They held a small metal box to his mouth and continued to blow through it as though they didn't see the ringmaster slowly approaching. They both knew that wasn't the case.

"Hey," Joker called, "where did you — wait!" Before he could finish, the figure turned and hurried into the forest, tucking the harmonica away. As soon as they entered the foliage, their gait changed and they seemed to gallop unimpeded by the underbrush. Joker broke into a sprint and rushed after him. "Wait! I just want to talk!"

He followed the creature for minutes. They were as swift and evasive as a ghost, weaving around the trees and jumping over thick underbrush. Joker nearly lost them, until he reached a clearing. There, the cloaked figure stood in the center, right next to one of a dozen rotting tree stumps.

Panting, Joker skidded to a stop. "Where… Where did you get that?" he asked, eyeing the spot where its hand had disappeared to.

"Classified," the figure answered, taking a seat on the most stable-looking stump. He (it had to be a he) spoke with a deep and smokey voice whose tones evoked a smell Joker would've been fine never remembering. "Sorry for the chase, but… well, you should know why I had to do that. You're not stupid if you haven't been caught this long."

Between caution and curiosity, curiosity won out in the end. Joker shrugged. "You're giving me too much credit. You can get away with a lot if you say you travel around," he said, and then hesitated. Maybe not him, if his suspicions were right, but...

"I'd like to talk with you first, but if you answer my questions, Joker…" A hand disappeared into the cloak and came back out with the harmonica. He held it between two fingers as Joker's eyes lit up. "I might be able to answer some of yours."

Hesitantly, Joker nodded. He didn't like the fact that bribery was working on him, but an instrument like that… There was a lot to learn here.

The figure tucked it away again before leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "Right. First, you recently met a friend of mine back in Wrytsberg. Who are they?"

"You mean Ri-Ri?" Joker wondered how much he should tell the mysterious being. He didn't want to accidentally jeopardize the kid. "He's an Explorer. A Riolu, although I wouldn't be surprised if that changes when I see him next."

The figure nodded, gesturing for Joker to come a bit closer. He didn't know who this being was — hell, he didn't even know what he was — but as he stepped closer to him, he felt like he could trust him. On the other hand, though, Joker was very trusting. "Next," he went on, "they left something with you. What was it?"

"A letter to be delivered to the Guild," he answered. "It was probably a farewell note to his friends or something. I didn't read it."

The figure clicked his tongue before hardening his stare. He leaned forward so that the loose, dirty cloak fell over both arms, obscuring their careful movements. "And lastly, Joker, can I trust you? And can you trust me?"

Joker hesitated that last step, his throat suddenly feeling tight. Could he…? Swallowing, he took that last step and ended up right in front of the figure. "I'd like to think so. But that last bit is entirely up to you."

With a deep breath, a bandage-wrapped hand emerged from the depths of cloth and removed the figure's hood, then went to work on the wrappings. Strip by strip the figure's face was revealed, and Joker's eyes slowly widened in a mixture of shock and amazement. Swarthy skin smeared with dirt, greasy black hair and a beard that was starting to get messy, and eyes as brown and intense as the desert mesa.

Joker, nervous for the first time in a long, long while, was speechless. He froze up. His muzzle was agape and his paws were shaking. After a moment, he said the only thing he could think of. "Y… you look like you should be holding a cardboard sign on the side of the road saying you're a war veteran." He cracked a shaky smile.

A snort. "I've seen better days," the human agreed. "You can call me Markus. And I think you know why I'm here since I talked to our mutual friend."

"J-joining up, I'd guess?" He tried to keep himself calm. A human being in the flesh? If anyone saw him...

Markus paused, surveying the Floatzel intently. Something glimmered in those brown eyes. "In a sense. I'm here for information. Trying to find a way home. Figure out what's going on here, yeah?" He twisted and popped his neck while maintaining eye contact. "Riley told me what you told him. Espeon's library is being checked out hopefully right about now. And I'm here to just validate what he said." His left hand reached into the cloak, pulling out a ragged-looking journal, then placed a sturdy, sharpened twig and an inkwell next to it. "So can you run through all that for me? What did you tell him?"

"Well, let's see…" Joker thought back to that conversation. It felt like it had taken place ages ago. How his world had changed since then. "I told him I was human, and that I had another human friend, but that we probably couldn't help much in his quest for answers. I said if he wanted to know more, he should seek out Espeon, the Knowall librarian."

His eyes flicked down to the now open journal, and in a fraction of a second they were back on Joker. "Checks out. Even the… the bit about your friend," Markus said guardedly, and ticked a check on the page. "So what didn't you tell him then? Your friend can wait a bit. What're you hiding?"

"I'm… not sure what you mean." He said, wary but passing it off as confusion.

"Am I supposed to believe that you told him everything you knew right then and there? When he was mad and tired and probably fighting you a bit?" he asked, speaking quickly and with restraint. "And you know, you're remarkably calm right now. Tails aren't tensed, air sacks aren't extra puffed, et cetera et cetera. Even though I'm a dozen times more unnatural than you are, here you are, only a bit shaky." Markus paused just long enough to let that remark settle and allow Joker if he had something to add. When there wasn't, he took a deep breath and continued. "Aren't we on the same side here? You don't have to hide anything from me. I could help you, even. There's a lot I can share."

"I…" Joker hesitated. His uncertainty was written all over his face. "I don't think I should tell you. I'm sorry."

The human blinked, and when his eyes opened it was as if Markus had transformed. "I'm not sure if you get how important this is to me. To all of us here. Yourself included. I'm trying to be nice here. Can I please keep being nice, Joker? I don't like being mean."

"The rest involves someone else. It's their secret to give away, so I'm sorry, but I just can't tell you." He pursed his lips and avoided the human's stare. Joker truthfully did feel bad about it, but...

Slowly, heavily, Markus nodded his head. "Right then." With one hand he closed the book and gently put everything back into the depths of cloth. With grave and sober certainty, as if reading off an entry in his book, he continued. "The air sack around your neck is connected to your lungs, and while there's a sphincter to close the air off, it's a manual muscle. Your skin is almost as thin as a human's, and you're particularly sensitive on your crest and underbelly. And your tails are essential for all of your Moves."

Every word made the blood in Joker's veins run colder. The shaking got worse as he took an involuntary step backwards.

Markus' fists were clenched so hard that his knuckles cracked. "This is incredibly important, Joker. I haven't been this close in over twelve years. And I don't know how much more of this I can take." Markus's voice quivered as his eyes hardened. Though it was the first human face Joker had seen in quite some time, it looked truly pathetic. Desperate. "I just want to go home," he said. "Don't make me do this."

"I-I…" He tried to keep his cool, and he was failing badly. It was only a human, but what was he hiding under there? Could he get away? This was supposed to be Riley's friend, so maybe… But he couldn't just out the other one, could he?

A voice from the south edge rendered all those questions useless. "There's a Pokemon in Carrion Woods whom I believe would like you a lot," said a quiet voice.

At the first word Markus shot to his feet and whirled towards him, right hand hovering over his hip, as his gaze honed in on the source: Espeon. He sat in the grass, calm and apathetic, as though he had been there the entire time. Even though everyone knew that wasn't the case.

"You…!" The human's eyes flicked between the two, heart pounding, sweat forming on his brow. "What're you doing here? How did you know?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"I know a lot of things," Espeon answered cryptically. "I know you and your frog friend met with Riley, I know he's currently in the Forest of Mirrors, and I know the three of you are seeking answers from other humans."

Markus's face went pale. His hands twitched. "N-nobody… Nobody else…!" Deep breaths. Even though he was surrounded, he had to stay calm. Any misstep could lead to his death, and then all those days of traveling… "Wh-who told you?" he asked.

"It's my job," Espeon answered as he stood up and came closer to the two. "I've been watching that blue furball since he woke up in the Whispering Prairies. I know where he is at all times — well, almost all times — which led me to you. An interesting development, you are. An actual human in his own body roaming the world of Pokémon. Even I'm not capable of that."

He now stood directly in front of the man, craning his neck to look him in the eye. His rump hit the grass as his tail swished back and forth. "Allow me to introduce myself properly," he said. "I'm Espeon of Knowall Library. Back home, I am Sora. This makes me the fifth human you've discovered, doesn't it? Congrats. I'd shake your hand, but I'm not as tall as I used to be."

The way he locked up, Joker thought, must've been exactly what he expected. Even though Joker was just as frozen.

"Job?" Markus echoed. "Bullshit. Your little crime syndicate hasn't done a thing with humans. Do you think I'd believe —" As the realization settled, Markus's eyes shrank. His hand twitched again. His fingers brushed against something. "'Sora.'" The Espeon had never heard his name uttered with such malice before. "Who the fuck do you work for?"

"No one you need concern yourself with," he dismissed. "They're not of this world, and they're not a threat to you."

"That's not what I fucking asked —"

"Also I told you my name for effect, but I'd really rather you not use it. There's quite a lot of baggage attached to it, and I can't risk being recognized by the wrong Pokémon," Espeon warned.

Air hissed through Markus's nostrils as he did his best to calm himself. It largely didn't work. "Listen here, you snake. I'm already concerned," he said through clenched teeth. "And if you don't come clean right now, I'll knock that gem right out of your head."

Espeon bristled, half-offended and half-amused. "Oh? You think you, a regular human, could defeat me?" he snickered, standing up to face the significantly taller figure.

Joker raised a paw. "Uh, guys, maybe you should —"

"The big boys are talking now, Joker," said Espeon, waving his tail dismissively at him.

Joker lowered his paw and took a few steps back. Neither stopped him. "W-well — I'll just… leave you to it… then. D-don't come crying t-t-to me if you… lose a limb," he tittered. As he stole step after step, watching their staredown and expecting to see Markus go flying any second, the desire to run swelled more and more. And he did just that. Once he was back at the edge of the clearing, he ran. He ran and ran faster than he ever ran in his life, dropping to all fours even. Through his trampling of the underbrush he couldn't tell if he heard blows or not. Were those popping noises their fighting? Or just the twigs under his feet?

When he broke through again, Joker practically keeled over as he gasped for air. Performers gasped and flocked around him. They chattered and whispered as they stared back into the woods. Joker rolled over onto his back.

"Is he okay?!"

"I don't see any wounds…"

"Could've been a fire."

"Did you see any smoke?"

"Fire-type?"

As he anticipated getting an earful from Furret or whoever else, trying to lie between deep breaths, Joker knew that he'd have to leave them again. They weren't going to be happy, but he needed to go find Weavile as soon as possible.