faAuthors Note: Thank you to all who reviewed, followed, and/or favorited the story. Apologies for the wait on this chapter, the life of a sailor is rarely stationary and I often had little time to write. At this current time I have a plan of how the next few chapters will go and a timeline written out for the majority of the story. Following this chapter I feel is when things will start to really pick up.
-YaboiPutin
( )
"Your first lesson begins now..."
Five years later...
The icy slopes were not undisturbed in the cold winter afternoon, and a fifteen year old human flew down the hills on a set of skis, whooping excitedly as he jumped slopes and slid at high speeds down the mountainside. But he was not alone, a black blur was just behind him but not quite as fast as the ski riding teenager. It was an adult Sneazel imitating the ski set by manipulating ice along its feet. To an onlooker it would soon become apparent they were racing. The now teenage Simo Thorsund rode the adrenaline high as hard as he rode the slopes. The mountains he and his companion almost flew down were especially steep and frosted with a layer of powdery snow atop a harsh ice sheet, they chose this spot due to the absence of pine trees that would prove dangerous obstacles at the already risky speeds they traveled.
Simo glanced back, his Sneazel was just behind him and gaining, having figured out how to reduce its profile for the sake of aerodynamics. He did the same, he would not allow his closest friend to win if he could help it, their relationship borne from competition as much as it was companionship. Simo reduced his profile even more and matched his pokemon's speed, they soon were neck and neck. They both could see the agreed upon finish line: a pair of dead pine trees that stood almost as a gate into a flat clearing they could use to stop.
Twin waves of white went up as both skiers went almost sideways in order to stop, Simo and the Sneazel's bodies almost parallel to the ground as they slid to a halt. Simo stood and patted off some of the larger pieces of snow that had stuck on to him and he regarded his companion with a smile (although hidden by his ski mask).
"Beat you again!" he said more out of their usual competitiveness rather than actual fact, they had real no way of knowing who had actually won that race.
The Sneazel looked at him with its equivalent of a smile before suddenly leaping at his human friend and tackling him into the snow, the two wrestled for a few minutes, the pokemon using its superior physical strength and natural ferocity to its advantage while the human used his larger size and intelligence to his. There was no real enmity, the pokemon knew it could easily kill the human with a single swipe of its enormous claws, play fighting was a normal part of their friendship.
Getting in a good position, Simo threw the Sneazel off of himself and they squared up to each other once more, before relaxing their stances as Simo said: "C'mon Skar, lets get home." Skiing home was a much slower affair since they were not racing down a mountainside, but it gave the human a few moments to reflect on the beginning of their friendship.
( )
Five Years Earlier…
After catching the Sneazel, Simo's grandfather gave him a lecture on the responsibilities of pokemon training and more specifically, how to deal with a Sneazel:
"You must understand, while in the letter of the law you own the pokemon you catch, you are their leader and teacher. You do not own them, pokemon are intelligent and to treat them as slaves or property has caused the deaths of many foolish or greedy trainers. This applies doubly so to Sneazel and triply to dragon types period if you ever manage to gain one. Sneazel form a type of pack bond that more closely resembles a human gang rather than a pack of wolves or canine pokemon as you know, in the wild this normally works as the strongest and most violent Sneazel or Weavile leads a gang of subordinates through sheer brutality and fear. However if you can gain a Sneazel's trust through kindness and its respect through strong leadership rather than fear you will never find a more loyal ally, and I assume this would apply to pokemon that also form similar wild dynamics, I only ever trained Sneazel as I was a trainer in the days before the pokedex or reliable pokeballs."
Simo tried his best to understand and understood the 'why' but not the 'how':
"But Grandpa, how do I earn his respect? He could kill me in a second if he wanted to!"
"That's up to you boy, starting with food will never hurt."
Although his grandfather had been told of the advanced systems of modern pokeballs, such as manipulating the captured pokemon's subconscious mind to favor their trainer, the old man did not put much faith in such things; old fashioned was he. As such, he did not tell Simo of this, preferring to teach him to garner the creature's respect without relying on the pokeball's functions. After all, such manipulation of the subconscious was minimal by necessity, lest the creatures mental faculties be compromised, and was no guarantee that the pokemon would even abide the trainers commands, much less truly respect them or even like them, only not immediately attack their captor upon release.
The old man stepped back up to the porch and leaned against the guard rail to watch his grandson release the pokemon, but before the boy could he spoke up again. "One more thing, crouch low to his level and make this noise" the old man then let out a chattering hissing noise that surprised Simo to how close it sounded to an actual Sneazel call. "That particular call is a friendly good intentioned greeting, if you do that, he'll likely feel even more welcome."
Simo tried to mimic the noise and it took him a few minutes before he got it down to somewhat passable, hopefully it would be enough.
Simo fiddled with the pokeball's small holographic screen to change the release settings to "recent capture" this, the interface explained, would release the pokemon based on a targeting laser, recommending a distance of thirty feet. Then, the pokemon would be instantly withdrawn into the pokeball if it exceeded a distance of fifty feet away. This particular mode was meant to prevent a newly captured pokemon from simply running away, and could even prevent teleporting pokemon from doing so.
The boy stood and steeled himself, pointing the targeting laser the described distance and pushing the button on the front of the device. With a white and red flash of energy, the Sneazel materialized.
The pokemon looked around confusedly, to Runt's senses, it was as if it had been put to sleep and suddenly reawakened. The Sneazel sniffed and turned to the human child that had captured it, staring cautiously. It didn't understand just what had happened, but it knew the humans had done something to it and wasn't sure what was about to happen. The small pokemon stood at the ready to defend itself, but simply waited to see what was about to happen, its instincts advising caution in the face of the unknown.
As far as Simo was concerned, he was just relieved the pokemon didn't try to attack him again. So he did what his grandfather had described, he crouched low and made the call he had just learned.
Runt tensed in surprise, how was a human making a sneazel call? But still, it was the call of friendly greeting, for a member of a gang. Had it been accepted despite everything? The young Sneazel didn't quite understand (nor would he with most things human related), but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth (if he knew such an equivalent turn of phrase), especially when the human child threw a slab of venison his way. Runt slowly made his way forward and took a bite out of the gifted food, before deciding to go make its own gesture of ganghood, something that he had witnessed a lone Sneazel do in an attempt to join the gang he had been born into.
Simo was given quite the reality check when faster than he could react, the Sneazel was right in front of him. He startled slightly and the pokemon hopped back a pace, then Runt crouched low, made the same call back that he had made moments earlier, and displayed the back of its neck and head. Simo couldn't help himself, he smiled a small but friendly smile, reached out, and petted the pokemon's head. Runt, startled by the gesture, but not sensing any ill intent, allowed the touch; assuming (correctly) it was perhaps a human gesture.
The boy took this an allowance to keep petting, eventually moving to a behind the ear scratch. Runt decided he rather liked that particular scratch and pushed his head into Simo's hand almost involuntarily, it was the first time in his life that he had truly experienced physical affection, as Sneazel and Weavile parents did nothing of the sort; as was the nature of their kind.
Simo eventually stopped the ear scratch that the pokemon liked so much, much to Runt's disappointment. Runt looked up towards his newfound gang member, and the human boy pointed to himself.
"I'm Simo, and that's Grandpa"
Runt assumed he was being told the names of his new gang-mates, he didn't understand what either names meant, but applied them to the boy in front of him and the old human who stood off in the distance by their den regardless.
Simo then pointed to Runt and said: "I'll call you Skar. How does that sound, Skar?" punctuating the name with a point at the young Sneazel.
Said pokemon didn't quite understand at first what the human meant, but then it dawned on him: He was being given a new name, he didn't understand why, he had introduced himself as Runt in the purring chatter that he had uttered before those otherworldly ear scratches.
The pokemon then considered: perhaps this was a human thing, to be accepted into a human gang maybe meant a new name and a new start. Thus he committed the name Skar to himself, and with that: the desperate orphan cub Runt was no more.
In his place was Skar, the Sneazel accepted into a human's gang. It made the young Sneazel well up with pride and a strange sort of happiness he had never before really encountered: true acceptance into a family group. He then initiated another form of Sneazel affection by leaning into Simo's leg, similarly to a cat. This was twofold a form of affection to his newfound friend and gang brother, but also to officially mark both Simo and Skar himself as members of the same familial gang.
"This was honestly the best it could have possibly gone my boy, I'm very proud of you." Came the booming yet raspy voice of Simo's grandfather, which made the pokemon turn to look at the elder. Skar took one look at the elder human and assumed (correctly as it was the same in his species familial groups) that this 'Grandpa' was the Alpha male of the gang, which confused Skar as to why he hadn't been the one to greet him.
This confusion went unnoticed by the two humans. Simo was now occupied by another lecture from his grandfather on the basics of Sneazel care and behavior. But the seed had now been planted and the path laid. A bond had been forged that winter morning, one that would be even stronger in the following years.
( )
Present Day…
In the half a decade since that fateful winters morning. Simo had learned much from his grandfather, he had qualified for and just taken his Journeyman trainer's license exam, one of the youngest aspiring trainers to do so; but in the past year, most of his training had been with the Snowpoint City Pokemon Gym. Initially because Simo's grandfather did not know much of the more modern aspect of pokemon training, such as technical machines, pokedex issuance, modern training methods, and robust pre-licensing education a journeyman pokemon trainer's license required. It had since almost overtaken the full scope of his training, as his grandfather's health was declining rapidly.
After the two companions returned to the cabin in which they lived. Simo bowed and prayed briefly to a symbol of a white tree overlayed by a crossed sword and hammer, the fanciful symbol of his ancestral faith: Sengii-torvuun, the Scyfling Pantheon, before stepping fully from the foyer and into the main living room. As quietly as he could, he stowed away his skiing hear, a quick affair; his skis were a newer model he had purchased with money from hunting, the set of telescoping skis easily and quickly were put in its place in a small closet by the fireplace, he then walked into his grandfather's bedroom, Skar following behind like a wraith in his shadow.
Before them lay Simo's grandfather, tucked under the covers of a reclining hospital bed and hooked up to a small suite of medical equipment. Whereas years before the old man was still strong and broad, even in his advanced age, now he was weak and frail, riddled first with cancer of the lungs but being left a mere shadow of his former self as the price for surviving the chemothereapy treatment. The elder cracked his eyes open as the teen and his pokemon entered. Simo sat in a chair at the bedside while Skar sat on the edge of the bed and for those unfamiliar with the Sneazel, giving the surprising gesture of clutching the old man's hand in his clawed but gentle paws. The Sneazel had become very close to the elder human almost as much as his 'human-brother' Simo over the previous years, as wisdom and true parental love can transcend even the boundary of species.
"How are you feeling Grandpa?" Simo asked, a sadly common greeting he gave his elder who now could hardly ever leave the bed in which he now lay.
It took a moment for the elder Thorsund to muster up the physical strength and mental will to answer:
"Worse than yesterday I'm afraid, I don't think this new medicine is working." His voice came less booming baritone and more of a weak rasp, a far cry from his condition even three months before. Nothing the doctors had given him had helped, even the essence of Chancey eggs had only relieved some of the pain. Although the old man would never admit it to his beloved grandson, he knew his time was coming.
Skar had never truly seen the effects of aging on any of the members of his gang in the wild, for those who did would be cast out as a weak link and left to die in the wastes, or worse: cannibalized. Witnessing his gang alpha in such a state was distressing to the Sneazel, but he loved the old man almost as much as Simo did, and would always visit and ensure the elder had whatever he needed, his understanding of the human tongue strong enough to understand what the elder wanted when it was asked most of the time.
"I'm sorry grandpa, give it some time, maybe this will be the one to help the pain go away" Simo tried to be reassuring, but both men knew it was a lie, a well intentioned one but a lie nonetheless. Although Simo denied it to himself, the teen knew deep down he would soon be an orphan again, a realization that brought him deep sadness that was only remedied by the presence of Skar, who was more of a brother than a pet.
"...How was your skiing today?" The elder changed the subject, the desire for happier conversation overtaking him.
"Skar and I went racing again, I won." Simo said with a mischievous grin, Skar's responding chatter full of feigned outrage.
Their conversation from there on end was of happier things and happier times: Simo and Skar's training, escapades with Simo's few human friends, and of course: hunting.
Simo had indeed fulfilled Uncle Joe's prediction years before, and had become a masterful hunter. He had stalked caribou and deer across the wastes and tracked the movements of Snover Clans in service of the Snowpoint gym. Before his health began to fail, the old man had taught his grandson everything he knew of bush-craft and outdoor survivalism, there was little Simo did not know of surviving in the woods, mountains, or steppe.
After about ten minutes of idle conversation, Simo noticed his grandfather had drifted off to sleep. The teenager checked the heart monitor and the elderly man's breathing just in case anything had happened. When he was reassured he adjusted his grandfather's blankets as to ensure his warmth in the cold winter evening before moving onto his next task.
Simo left the bedroom and moved into his own room, which had been built relatively recently, as he aged his grandfather's couch became less accommodating for the young man's needs and size. Simo had started growing early and was like a weed, sharing his grandfather's bulk but his father's height. Simo stood at an enormous six foot five inches and was still growing. His usual outdoor activities combined with his own training at the Snowpoint Gym had gifted him with a muscular body that was the envy of many of his peers. Along with his size, the scope of his interests had also grown, much like pokemon, Simo was almost obsessively interested in weapons, particularly firearms. He had set up a small workshop in his bedroom that he used almost exclusively for tinkering with his old .22 rifle, which now collected dust as a wall hanger unless he wanted to hunt small game (which was rare), and to maintain the rifle he now primarily used: His Grandfather's legendary Imperial Armory Taranov Marksman patterned bolt action rifle. When he was big enough, and his grandfather could no longer hunt, the rifle had been bequeathed to Simo, who treasured it more than almost anything else he owned.
While Simo had been at first almost religiously hesitant to modify anything on his grandfather's old rifle, both Uncle Joe, and his grandfather himself encouraged him to replace the worn and old parts as needed with more modern components, but Simo still refused to mount a scope on the weapon. The one place Uncle Joe and his grandfather diverged (in a rather explosive argument) was that a scope was unnecessary for a true hunter, who used only his eyes and sights, and the more practical explanation that a scope could give away a position with a reflection.
The teen had planned to go hunting the next morning, and also as a way to pass the time, almost reverently pulled the rifle from its place in the corner of his room. Skar, now sitting on the bed, watched Simo work with a rather disinterested gaze, he failed to understand why his human brother would bother with an implement that needed so much work. But then again, Simo had no claws, or sharp teeth really, the pokemon supposed that was how humans had to fight, glancing at the hatchet and large knife that sat embedded in the Human's homemade desk, if one had no weapons, best make them. Skar debated himself for a while before drifting off to sleep, he truly didn't know how he did without the soft beds humans made before he met the Thorsunds.
Simo meanwhile, oiled the rifle generously before running a rag down the barrel and through the action and cleaning the bolt (which honestly did not require that much cleaning). The bolt action, like his varmint rifle, was painted white to blend in with the snow, and had a few dings and marks on the stock and body from its long life. A small graze on the body near the end of the barrel marked where Simo's grandfather had his closest shave with an enemy sniper, a tidbit of information that he only confided to his grandson after much inquisitive prodding and with such a resulting browbeating that Simo dared not ask the story behind many of the other small imperfections, such the hundreds of tic marks that Simo could see on the stock that looked as if they had been painted over later on.
Simo had since learned much of his grandfather's heroics from the Great War and later from gym trainers in Snowpoint; eventually taking a trip to the public library to search through the history books, and to his shock, discover an extensive Wikipedia article on his grandfather and two of the main sources that brought him such renown:
The Massacre of the Red Ice, and the Second Battle of Snowpoint.
The latter was well known to most Snowpointers, and was also somewhat easier for his grandfather to speak of: His grandpa, already famous for his actions in the former event, and his trusty Weavile Wotan came out from the woods to defend the city of Snowpoint from a sadistic bandit warlord and his army of criminals and ex-soldiers. Like a ghost in the wind, he assassinated the warlord and his lieutenants, causing the army to rout from the field of battle and eventually succumb to Sinnoh League reinforcements and infighting among themselves.
The Massacre of the Red Ice however, was something that Simo dared not ask his grandfather about. For after learning what had occurred, understood his grandfather's avoidance of the subject. His grandfather and a company of marksmen slaughtered a force over ten times the size of their own in a series of ambushes on the steppe in the dead of winter during the Great War, beginning with an ambush on a frozen lake that saw over a thousand men die before the marksmen hunted the retreating force through the steppe and slaughtered them down to a man. His father alone had over seven hundred confirmed kills over the course of those six months and was suspected of killing at least two hundred more over the course of his service. That had almost forced Simo to stop reading, for years he was unable to reconcile the grandfather he had known with what he had just learned, and he never spoke of this to his grandfather, as he knew it would do his grandfather ill to speak of it, especially as his health failed.
To hold the implement of such violent and bloody history, let alone have full ownership of it, brought Simo a newfound respect and admiration for his grandfather as a man. He tried to explain such to Skar (who mostly got bored and ignored Simo's obsessive prattle) during his many one sided conversations with the dark pokemon, but Skar did not particularly understand or see why it mattered (not as if he could really communicate his opinions to Simo on such an arcane subject). Simo finished his maintenance quickly and moved on to his knife and hatchet: both were already sharpened to a shaving edge, but Simo oiled them and sharpened what few imperfections he was able to find. Both weapons served him well in the aftermath of hunts, but Simo also used them to practice his martial art of choice: Scyfling Toir Kyrak.
Although he was too tired to practice his martial art, Simo reflected on the main dogma of Toir Kyrak: Strike from the snow as a Sneazel does: Suddenly and Decisively. It was a simple martial art that relied on dual handling of a knife or machete with either a hatchet or tomahawk. It had been practiced by Scyfling warriors for as long as they had recorded their history, and Simo had immediately taken interest in it as soon as he learned of it. Much of the art was inspired by Sneazel and Weavile's movements, and Simo thought it would give him and Skar another element over which to bond. Skar on the other hand, although he would never tell his human-brother, thought he looked ridiculous when he practiced the simple and flowing forms of Toir Kyrak.
Simo finished up with his work after about ten minutes and finished up a few reorganizing and cleaning tasks that needed to get done before he went to sleep. Simo checked the calendar on his bedside, December 19th, two days before his birthday. However, the next day was marked as the day his grandfather's doctor would visit, as he did monthly or if either Simo or his grandfather called. He mentally prepared himself for what would likely be another round of bad news before fading off to sleep. Dreams of better times past and future adventure dancing within his mind.
( )
Meanwhile in the Coronet Mountain Range, South East of Snowpoint...
AAAAAAUUUUUUGH-SKREEEEEIIIIIIIIII!
The birth scream of a ghost pokemon is rarely a pleasant sound, but a wild Frostlass's is much more than that. A scream riddled with such terror, despair, pain, and rage compounded with the malevolent energies that form and fuel the otherworldly horrors known to the world as Ghost Type pokemon. A snow rabbit a mere two yards away from the eldritch energies that took the form of the ghost simply dropped dead on the spot, its eyes and expression in a universal form of primal terror. A Snover clan two miles away stopped, each one filled with a sense of growing dread, their Abomasnow Matriarch quickly making a rumble of orders, trying to hide its own fear, knowing that their homelands were no longer safe and that their clan must quickly leave. Hibernating animals awoke from their slumbers, or simply died, pokemon did the same: a trio of Noctowl simply dropped from the air to their deaths, rendered catatonic while in flight. A duo of humans out on a hike were driven mad from the shriek, one leaping from the mountainside to her death, while her companion simply fled into the snow, turned into a gibbering wreck, to freeze to death in the following days.
To the ghost that had risen, a rush of memories and feelings filled its perception: a mother, abandoned by her lover in the snow, left to die in agony, and with the primal instinctual terror of a parent knowing that they would never see their young child again. Faces that brought sadness and rage flashed across its vision, the ghost sobbed, the being that was the new frostlass battled for its own identity distinct from the remnants of the soul that spawned it.
"Name, I must have a name."
'Indria...'
"NO! That was hers, I am not her. I AM NOT HER!"
The ghost shrieked again, although less eldritch and unsaturated with ghostly power, and fell to her knees in despair.
"I have no name."
An image of a human male came to her mind's eye. She did not recognize him, but the soul of the woman known as Indria did, and within the ghost's mind she shrieked her rage and hatred at his betrayal. Like what happens with almost all naturally formed Frostlass, the ghost itself saw only the object of its former soul's rage: a human male. A terrible desire was formed: a desire to hunt, and imprison them as a mere trophy to both the former soul's raging desire for vengeance and the ghost pokemon's own vanity. Frozen as ice statues which the ghost would admire and taunt as its whims demanded.
Using powers that now came as instinct, she disappeared into the icy wind, her latent powers brewing an unnatural and haunted snowstorm. This snowstorm was imbued with ghostly energies and filled with a haunted song, the singing voice of the Frostlass projecting hypnotic power to men, all within its newfound territory in these remote mountains or caught in its storm would be enthralled, and would become infatuated with the wonderful voice that called them in, they would travel heedless of cold, thirst, hunger, fatigue, and even pain to the lair of this terrible entity. Those who survived the journey there would meet a horrific fate: frozen solid; some left in infatuated bliss, most released only a moment before to suffer the full agony and horror of their situation, from which there would be no escape, as their flesh froze before their eyes; only so the Frostlass could witness their suffering faces contort and scream.
That fateful night, fifteen people would go missing, the first victims of what would later be known as the "Dread of Hroki's Peak".
( )
The next morning, the Thorsund's Cabin...
Simo's sleep was plagued by nightmares that night, he awoke upright with a start. His nightmare had been vivid and particularly horrifying but alas he could not remember the details for more than a few moments after awakening, left only with a feeling of terror and despair. Simo did not have much trouble with nightmares so this was out of the ordinary for him; and due to his religious nature, he prayed to his people's gods to find protect him from whatever inspired such horrible visions. Skar, sensing his restlessness, cocked his head at his human-brother in concern from his position standing in the doorway. The dark pokemon had awoken earlier in the morning when it was still dark to patrol his family's property, as was his instinct and unspoken duty. Skar gave a small purr in greeting, gaining Simo's attention and with his body language inquiring if his human-brother was alright.
"Oh, good morning Skar. I'm fine, just a bad dream." Simo said before standing up and getting dressed for the day. Unlike the day before, he was not going out or hunting, so he wore a simple pair of jeans with a grey sweatshirt, he went barefoot mostly in the house and today was no different. He looked over to his pokemon and asked:
"You catch anything out there or do you want breakfast?"
Skar did the Sneazel variation of a smile and chittered happily, he had indeed caught a rabbit, but that did not mean he still didn't want breakfast.
"Of course you do" Simo rolled his eyes, at this point knowing perfectly well Skar's often gluttonous eating habits. "If it wasn't for training at the gym and hunting all the time you'd be as fat as Mr. Bjorn."
Setting up in the kitchen was a simple affair, Simo decided to make an omelet with venison, peppers, and onions. His favorite, but Skar was mostly there for the strips of venison that would get tossed his way.
He made a small plate for his grandfather if he could stand to eat this morning, and took the largest share for himself. Skar received whatever leftovers were to be had in the pan and if his grandfather wouldn't eat again, probably his small omelet too.
Simo walked the small plate to his grandfather's room with a glass of water and set them down on the small table that was installed into the hospital bed. His grandfather was still asleep so Simo simply waited until the smell woke him up.
With a snort the old man awoke, it took him a few moments to fully become aware, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Good morning son." He said slowly.
"I brought breakfast grandpa, venison omelet. And some water for your medication." Simo said, gesturing to the plate he had brought.
"I hate these damned pills" the old man grumbled as he dutifully took the medication with a swallow of water.
The rest of the meal was a silent affair, Simo's grandfather would only eat a few bites of his food before proclaiming he couldn't eat any longer. Simo knew that prodding him would only upset him, and simply passed the remains of the food to Skar, who despite the situation devoured it.
As swiftly as he had awoken, the elder Thorsund had gone back to sleep. Simo then went about his day while he awaited the doctor, mostly reading textbooks on pokemon training and weapon manuals.
He was disturbed by his reading by the expected knock on the cabin door following the approach of a snowmobile. Skar had heard and smelled the guest's coming long before Simo ever could but also knew by now the scent of the Doctor that entered in at Simo's call of: "Its unlocked!".
To Thorsund household, Doctor Caitlin Eddain was a friendly face, one who had seen to their healthcare since before the younger Simo had been born. To those unfamiliar, she was a stern and uncompromising doctor who was notorious for her lack of bedside manner and who gained all manner of real world medical experience as a combat medic for the Sinnoh League Defense Force. Her hair was a light grey and tied into a ponytail. Her face set almost in an almost permanent scowl, dark beady eyes glaring from narrow and squinting eye sockets. She took a moment to remove her scarves, heavy trench coat, and snow gloves to reveal the attire of a lifelong medical professional. The bag at her side filled to the brim with all manner of equipment that bordered on the arcane to those not within her profession.
In very sharp contrast, a Blissey hopped into the doorway behind her, a permanent smile set upon its adorable face. The doctor turned and helped it unwrap itself from the layers of scarves that helped keep the healer pokemon warm.
"How are you this morning Doctor? Hello Valkyrie." Simo said in greeting to the woman and her pokemon assistant. Skar peeked up from around the couch, he tolerated the woman well enough, but that Blissey of hers was a pink nightmare as far as the Sneazel was concerned.
"Oh you know, I travel for most of the morning with this one just to take care of a grumpy old curmudgeon and check up on his block head grandson and his delinquent Sneazel." She snarled sarcastically.
Simo knew better, this was her way of being friendly. Valkyrie simply hopped and trilled happily, giving Simo a hug before, with surprising swiftness, grabbing Skar from his hiding spot and squeezing him in a ridiculously tight embrace. Skar struggled against his captor's strength, but the Blissey was wise to his usual tricks to escape a hold, and would not be denied a show of affection.
Simo tried not to laugh at Skar's distressed expression and flailing limbs before the doctor simply ordered: "Valkyrie that's enough, leave the wretched thing be."
Skar was released dutifully, but not after a rather rough, but affectionate head pat. He hissed at the eternally happy and pink horror as it made its way back to the doctor's side.
"How has your grandfather been the past week? Any attempts to leave the bed?"
"No, not anymore, I think he's getting weaker and he said yesterday that the new meds weren't taking the pain away." Simo reported honestly, he knew better than to be anything other than brutally honest to the family doctor, despite his own optimistic hopes.
Dr. Eddain said nothing in response and entered his grandfather's room, wordlessly checking the medical suite that she had set up for the elderly man in previous visits. During this time the old man awoke and the two old curmudgeons grumbled at one another despite their long standing friendship. The doctor spat a barrage of questions to the elder Thorsund, who answered to the best of his ability. Valkyrie gave Simo a look into just what its species was so famous for in the medical world: The mere aura a Blissey evoked was such that it calmed and put at ease even the most delirious and agonized of patients and acting on its own, gave the elderly man an injection of its egg's essence. A Chancey or Blissey's egg essence when injected or ingested was thought in folklore as a cure all, but in reality this was more of a strong painkiller that acted as an immune booster. With common illnesses it was very often a cure, but unfortunately for most people in the condition of the elder Thorsund, it was a stopgap measure at best, and a placebo at worst.
After the good doctor gave a well meaning scolding to the old man over his refusal to eat more than a few bites of food, she let him drift back off to sleep and walked Simo back out of the room.
When she turned to look at the grandson of her patient, her face lost its usual severity and was replaced by a sad look of concern and resignation.
"Simo, I'm sorry, but there's very little that can be done to improve his condition, his body is simply falling apart slowly and its all we can do to delay the inevitable."
Simo turned away and sat down on the old couch, placing his face in his hands.
"How long does he have? What do you suggest we do?"
She sighed and sat down next to him, "Days at least, weeks at most. What I am going to suggest you do is take my advice: allow the progression into hospice care and let him go."
The teenager sniffed as tears that he had tried to hide began to fall, "And what then? He's the only family aside from Skar I have!"
"That's not true, you have my family, the Bjorn's and Joe, the enigma that he is. Hell even the Snowpoint Gym trainers see you as one of their own. Let your Grandfather go, I know its hard. But look at him, he is dying and he's in pain. At least let him die with whatever dignity he has left and as comfortably as possible. He knows this too." The doctor said the last sentence with a hard edge that brokered little room for argument. She had had this discussion with many families over the years, and the one now hit very close to home for her as well.
Skar had sat next to his human-brother, he did not like all this talk that made Simo cry. But he in a sense understood what was happening and tried to be supportive as best he could by clutching Simo's arm in a gentle embrace. Not to be outdone, Valkyrie did what she did best for grieving relatives: and gave an enormous hug and sang a comforting tune.
After a few minutes Simo uttered a single sentence just barely above a whisper: "Make the arrangements, please."
The Doctor nodded an affirmative and re entered his grandfather's room, in truth she had anticipated this, and had brought everything she would need. She worked in grim silence, the only sound the mechanical utterances of the machines that kept the elder alive, and the sound of Simo's sobs.
( )
The next morning...
When Simo woke up the next morning, he hardly remembered that it was his birthday. In truth, he hadn't made any plans to celebrate it as he was so focused on care for his grandfather, and now that his doom was all but certain, Simo felt hollow and treated it as simply any other day.
Aside from a small bit of rabbit that Skar had all but forced the teenager to eat, Simo had no appetite and just sat with his grandfather, who slept peacefully on a very high dosage of painkillers. Skar did not like how sad his human-brother had become, and sat against Simo's legs, it wasn't much, but to Simo it was a welcome reminder that even when his grandfather passed he wouldn't be alone.
A sudden knock at the door caused the pair to jerk their heads in the direction of the door. Simo was not expecting any guests and so he approached the door slowly, his hatchet held in his right hand. Skar following close behind in the darkness of the foyer.
Peering through the peephole, he was relieved to see a familiar face, yet surprised at who it was. Simo opened the door after putting down the hatchet and quietly telling Skar to stand down. Their unexpected guest was a broad man of average height, whose dark hair and intense eyes were betrayed by the friendly stance and large smile. It was the Snowpoint Gym leader, the Snow Lord himself: Ivanov Johanson.
"Leader Johanson" Simo greeted with a small bow, "I wasn't expecting you." While he had been trained and educated by and large at the Snowpoint Gym, he had only met the Gym Leader himself on a few occasions as the man was often busy with dealing with the occasional challenger and various duties both for the Sinnoh League and the City of Snowpoint, as the Gym Leader of Snowpoint also stood on the board of the city council and was also the police commissioner.
"Right now, just call me Ivan. May I come in?" The older man asked politely.
"Of course… Ivan..." Simo was rather knocked out of his comfort zone, this was not how he had expected his birthday to go.
The Gym leader made himself at home on one of the couches in the living room, Simo sat in an armchair across from him and asked rather bluntly: "Why are you here?"
Ivanov chuckled "wow, you're reputation precedes you Simo, in terms of directness."
There was an awkward silence as Simo did not really know what else to say and had no real idea if he had just committed a faux pass.
"Anyway… I always personally deliver the results of the Journeyman trainer exams to aspiring trainers in this city, a small luxury afforded to me by the rarity of people like us Simo." It went unsaid that he only delivered the passing scores.
At the teen's cocked eyebrow he elaborated: "Many people try for the journeyman license Simo, almost all fail, not because of lack of academic knowledge, but because they lack the spark, that trait that lets people like us lead and command the most dangerous beasts of this world… The vast majority of those who call themselves trainers never leave on the journey that is the precipice of our trade's lore, I would wager three fourths wont ever go beyond gym trainers or apprentices." He paused almost as if for dramatic effect, "You are the only one in Snowpoint this year to pass the examinations this year, and have earned the right to the privileges, responsibilities, and duties of a Journeyman pokemon trainer. Also, happy birthday."
Simo for the first time in a while, lit up with true happiness and the gym leader's eyes twinkled with sympathetic joy, even Skar seemed to pick up on the positive mood, he was just happy that something had happened to bring his human-brother joy.
"These include but are not limited too, the right to possess and carry both concealed and unconcealed class two and three weapons in any public jurisdiction within the Sinnoh League, the right to train and possess all species and types of pokemon and the accompanying responsibility for their care and behavior. You are now also subject to trainer clause of the Sinnoh militia and civil support amendment, and you may be called upon for civil duties based on proximity, skill level, and necessity. This license may be revoked at the discretion of the Sinnoh league for misconduct under the Trainer Customs and Courtesies Act of 61 A.W., guilty verdict of any felony charges of any sort, violations of the Animal and Pokemon Cruelty Act of 79 A.W., and willful failure to report for duty as specified in the Trainer clause of the Sinnoh Militia and Civil Support Amendment." He huffed and took a breath.
"Now that the legal bullshit is out of the way, here's what we all really care about eh?" the Gym leader laughed mischievously and pulled a rather plain black box from his vest pocket.
Simo could hardly believe his eyes, the box of the device he and every other aspiring journeyman trainer lusted after.
"Your pokedex, latest edition of the international database pre-installed, courtesy of our beloved Professor Rowan of Sandgem Town, also with functional sat phone, GPS, and distress beacon. Just needs all your personal info and your trainer ID put in. That can come later though."
They both stood almost in unison and Simo reverently took the box and removed the red device, it was covered by a waterproof, impact-resistant, heat and shock proof hard case.
The older gym leader put his hand on Simo's shoulder, "Congratulations Simo, the lads back at the gym had nothing but good things to say about you and from what I have seen of you, you're destined for great things, just like your grandfather."
At the mention of his grandfather, Simo's face fell, this did not go unnoticed.
"...He isn't well is he?"
Simo shook his head sadly.
"I'm sorry, perhaps I should have come at a better time, but whats done is done. I bid you adieu and good luck, I expect either myself or my daughter to face you soon."
"Your daughter, Candace?" Simo asked, remembering the strange girl who occasionally spoke in third person.
"Oh its not common knowledge yet, but I'm retiring next year, farewell Simo Thorsund." Ivanov said with a mischievous wink as he made his way out the door.
Simo turned to Skar and grinned, "We've done it!" Simo could hardly wait to explore his new device, Skar was simply happy that whatever human thing they had been working towards the past few years had finally happened and it made his human-brother happy.
Calming himself, Simo entered his grandfather's room and was surprised to see his elder awake and sitting up in bed.
"Simo?" he rasped
"Grandpa, you're awake. Look, I passed the Journeyman exams, Gym Leader Johanson delivered my pokedex himself, look!" Simo couldn't help himself any longer and held up the device for his grandpa to see.
"That's wonderful, I'm so proud of the man you've become Simo. I'm glad that after all my parental failures I managed to have one success."
Simo didn't quite know how to react to that, but paused and gently gave his grandfather a hug as the elder held his arms out to do. Skar hopped up on the bed as well, eager to share in the elder's affection.
The elder obliged the pokemon, "you too Skar, you take care of my grandson now." He leaned back into the bed.
"Simo, I love you, my grandson and friend. Please, do not make the mistakes I made."
"I love you too Grandpa, what are you saying."
"Its almost time. Its time I go to be with your mother, Wotan, and all my old friends."
Simo's tears fell free, not now, it couldn't be now, not after he'd had such great news. He clutched his grandfather's hands as the old man muttered, slowly falling back to sleep. "...Goodbye, my grandson…"
Simo Karteski Thorsund never awoke again, and his soul finally rested two days later. His grandson, Simo Ragnar Thorsund, was an orphan once more.