Chapter 5: Appellations and Machinations
Gible woke up in an odd way. That is to say, there was nothing odd about it at all. There were no gods holding conferences in his head, no sudden shocks from berries, and no partners poking him. There was just him, coming to. Something had to be wrong. Or at least, something was different.
It was just two days ago that Mojave said Team Dune woke up early, and he had made good on that statement well in excess, so what was going on now? There were a few ways to find out, but Gible opted for the easiest one.
"Uh, Mojave? Are you there? Good morning if you are," he called out. His voice rang out through the building, with no answer. For the first time in his life, he was truly alone. He shook the thought from his head and turned his attention to something more productive. There was no need to be so pessimistic this early in the morning.
The first thing he did was survey the room he was in, the second floor of the building he now shared with Mojave. Gible had moved his bed up there clawful of straw by clawful, but never took the time to actually see the place. He just made his bed and went straight to using it.
The room was quite similar to the first floor, with its out of proportion furniture and all. There was nothing of real interest except for a bookshelf on one of the walls. Well, it was more like a shelf that happened to have some books on it. Knickknacks and trinkets outnumbered reading material by quite a bit. There was a pretty rock on one shelf, a blue feather on another, nice looking yet useless things like that. Luckily enough, the books were all close to the ground, available for Gible to reach.
As Gible approached the shelf he sneezed as he kicked up an ancient cloud of dust. Coming closer, he saw that none of the books had names on their spines, so he picked one out that felt right. It was hefty and unwieldy for him, but he managed to set it on the ground just fine.
There on its red cover in golden embossing, was its title. The characters that spelled it took the shape of some kind of Pokémon, but the species name failed to come to him. From half guesswork and half intuition he barely managed to make something intelligible from them.
Let's see… "Folk Stories of the… Lambent Region". Sounds interesting all right. Bet I can get through this one just fine. Maybe I'll know one of the stories?
It was then that a heavy thud shook the building. It was followed by the sound of a door's hinges slowly creaking open and the pitter patter of a trapinch's weird bug-reptile feet. Gible's adventure in literacy would have to wait.
"Hey Gible, are you up yet? S-sorry if I scared you, I forgot which way the door opened," Mojave called out. "I was out running some errands, we're not going to do field work today. Come down when you're ready, or if you're still asleep go back to bed if you want. Or don't. Your call."
Gible was quick to answer. "No, no, it's fine! Just give me a moment!" He left the book on the floor and made his way to his partner. He deftly hopped down the stairs from one step to the next, wondering how Mojave could have trouble with them.
If anything, Gible should have been the one having a hard time. Mojave's four legs should have been perfectly stable, while Gible barely even had legs and was probably wider than he was tall.
He arrived to see his partner fiddling around with the button on his bag, apparently having trouble opening it. Gible decided it was probably best not to mention it. "Good morning, Mojave! Now, I'm not complaining or anything, but what's with today's break? I thought we were doing important work out there."
Mojave answered him without taking his focus off the button. "Under any other circumstances, you'd be right. The Association's work in the Attaman Desert and abroad is important, but we can afford one day. Besides, there's something even more important that we just can't put off!" His enthusiasm was almost infectious.
"Well alright then, what is it?" If there was one thing Gible knew about his partner, it was that he really did care for his job. Seeing him put it aside like this was intriguing, to say the least.
The button finally came undone. "It's you!" Mojave turned to Gible, a great smile beaming on his face.
"Oh! I'm flattered. But really, what is it?" Hearing his partner place such importance on him, even if only for a day, was quite the ego boost. Still, there were plenty of things more important than one measly amnesiac.
"No seriously, it's you!" Mojave insisted. "Ever since you joined the team I started thinking, and yesterday's events only got me thinking more. We were out of our depth there, participating in that battle. I'm glad things worked out, but still." He paused for a moment.
"It's about time I reconsider what exactly Team Dune is. We're not breaking up, don't worry. It's just…" Mojave stopped to consider his word choice. "I need to get some things in order, and it starts with you." His enthusiasm had all but died out, and was replaced with a greater degree of seriousness.
"Oookay," Gible started, dragging out the O. His curiosity had turned to confusion. Was he in trouble? He figured that Mojave might be upset over him starting the fight with Domino. In his defense, he was just doing what he set out to do. Not his fault everything turned out to be so complicated. "I'm sorry about yesterday, if that's what you mean."
"Wait, what? Oh! No, no! That's not what I mean at all!" Mojave rushed out. "You're not in trouble at all! In fact, this just might be the best day of your life! Or uh, the best one so far."
"Well then come on. If it's so important, just say it already!" Gible's patience was beginning to wear. He wasn't going to snap at Mojave like he did with Mesprit, he was just getting really tired of Pokémon withholding things from him. It seemed that even his partner was in on it.
"Well, here goes." Mojave nodded quickly, as if affirming himself. "Gible, we're getting you a name! If we're gonna be partners, I can't keep calling you by your species. That's no way for a team or any kind of proper relationship to function!" Mojave smiled as he talked. At that moment, his face was the very image of joy.
Gible deliberated in his head for a moment. He felt something similar to his partner, but not fully.
On the one claw, having an actual name was one step closer to proving that he wasn't broken. After all, normal, unbroken Pokémon had names. Gible's namelessness hadn't been a detriment yet, but it still stung. It was a harsh reminder that there was something off with him, but he could fix it now, even if only partially.
Yet on the other claw, there was a certain finality to this that upset Gible. Going along with this would signify that he was truly moving on from whoever he used to be. The gible that passed out in that mystery dungeon would be different from the one that woke up. There would be no going back. He had already traded out his old life, whatever that was, with the life of a protector. The last thing needed to seal the deal would be to take a name from one as well.
There wasn't anything wrong with that. The past was the past, dead and done. The present was more important.
"Okay. I'm down. Just, do you have any suggestions? I only know like, three names." Even when he tried to get past his amnesia it still found a way to get back at him.
"Yup! I picked up a little something while I was out. Here, let's go under the dining table, it's where I do all my 'deskwork', so to speak. This might take a while." Mojave led his partner over to the table in question, with its legs seeming to tower over the two.
Mojave settled himself down by one of the legs and reached into his bag. From it he pulled out what appeared to be a pamphlet of some kind. Leaflet? Brochure? Whatever it was, it was much more diminutive than the chapter books upstairs. Its pages were still more than chock-full with writing though.
Gible took a moment to read the title. It seemed that this thing used the same writing system as the other book. "Give me a moment, my reading is rustier than my fighting."
The letters started to make out something legible. Gible read his progress aloud. "Picking Names and Other Advice for your…" he trailed off. It wasn't that he couldn't read it, it was just that he didn't want to.
"Mojave, is this what I think it is? Is- is this a guide for expecting parents?"
The trapinch was caught by surprise. "I- uh- yeah? I don't – is that a problem?" He nearly choked on every word he said.
"No, not really. It's just the principle of the thing. I'm not a hatchling Mojave. Or a child for that matter."
Mojave was quick to defend himself. "Well, technically, I think you might be. The gible family is quite similar to the trapinch family, you know."
"Are you implying that both of us are children?" Gible was incredulous by now. "What kind of organization are the protectors running?!"
Mojave rushed to protect his and his employer's reputation. "No! Not at all! We're more like…" he trailed off, not knowing how to save face when he suddenly snapped back. "Young adults! There you go! That's pretty much where we're at for around eight-year-olds of our species."
That would have to do. "Alright, fine. Here, take it back. Just find us the section where the names are listed."
"Are you sure?" Mojave asked, concerned. "You don't want to read into finding something with a particular meaning? Most Pokémon don't get to choose their name, you know. Why don't you get something that resonates with you?" It sounded like he was absolutely genuine with his worries.
"Is it really that important?" Gible deadpanned. "What's your name supposed to mean?" If Mojave wasn't happy with his name, Gible wanted to know. There might be something more to this that he hadn't picked up on.
"Oh, it's nothing really. Apparently, it's the name of a desert from a really old story. Something legendary or other I think, it's been a while since I heard it." He frowned as he said that. "It doesn't really mean anything." From his nonchalant tone, Mojave seemed to not be too upset about it.
It didn't look like there was too much to it after all. "No, I'm good. It could be the most profound thing ever, or absolute gibberish for all I care. As long as it sounds decent, I don't think I want to ask for more."
Mojave perked up when he heard that. "Oh, really? Then, I think I have just the one in mind!" His smile was back where it belonged. "How do you feel about the name, 'Typhon'?"
Typhon. That had a ring to it. Didn't sound half bad either. Yet, for as new and foreign as the name sounded, there was something about it that felt familiar. Did he know someone with this name? Did by some miracle the two of them manage to stumble on to his old name? Well, if it felt familiar, it must have been a good choice.
The dragon practiced the name on his tongue. He felt how it came out of his mouth, and how his inner monologue processed it. He thought about how he might react when a stranger called it out to him, or how someone he loved would say it back. He considered how his mother might have scolded him, or how the teacher would call him to the front of the class.
It didn't sound bad at all.
"Yeah. Yeah. From this day on, you can call me Typhon." Typhon took a breath. "I'll admit, I had some reservations about getting a new name, but I think I'm good with it. I feel like a new Pokémon now, that amnesiac you know is gone." Typhon could feel something swell up inside him. His best guess was that it was pride.
It looked like Mojave was feeling something similar. "Yes! This is great!" He was more elated than proud, but the effect was still the same. "Oh, yes! Yes! Typhon, now we can really get things started!"
Typhon smiled. "Alright, then what's next? Are we gonna find some mystery dungeon to tackle? Save some poor soul in need of assistance? I'm ready for it, let's go!" He had to admit, Mojave had a way of getting him amped up and raring to go.
How unfortunate that Mojave shattered these dreams in an instant. "Nope! 'Name' is the first line on the official Protector's Association job application!" Gible felt as though he had been sucker punched right in the gut. "If you're going to be a protector, might as well go the full way, right?"
He continued, completely unaware of Typhon's dismay. "Now, because I field-recruited you that takes out about half or so of the questions. Maybe. Here – I have a copy of the full version in my bag. You would not believe what I had to do to get this…" he trailed off into a story involving other protector teams as he searched for the paperwork.
This was going to be a long day.
Mayor Rings was waiting in his office. The grand space the ambipom sat in, as wonderous and rich as it was, filled to the brim with books and trinkets and artifacts, could not have felt emptier. The gold covered dome in the ceiling looked dull and bland. The paintings of rulers long since passed that lined the walls looked bored out of their skulls, the oils that made them conveying emotions that they never would have approved of.
But, what else could he do? While he waited on his informant to open those big, brass doors, Rings was out of options. He could look over the balcony again? What would be new? Yes, the streets were still busy. Yes, the buildings were still made of sandstone.
The top of the mayor's palace commanded Korb Town's skyline, there was nothing that the city's ruler could not see, and nothing Rings had yet to see in his tenure, short as it was. He could look past the city's walls and far to the west, just like the building's ancient architect once dreamed.
But would it have killed the guy to include something to do up here besides work? Yeah, yeah, the office was supposed to be all business but come on. Surely a dartboard or whatever the equivalent was a millennium ago would be fine enough. Rings would really have to remedy this for next time. Surely nobody would notice a slight dip from the treasury. It wasn't like he ever planned on using the Poké in there for much anyway.
Rings took a step back from the balcony's railing and went back to his desk. Apparently, the ancient thing was one of a kind, made from wood cut down in a sacred glade far, far away to the south where actual forests grew, and the land was green, not orange or brown.
The ambipom reminisced on the forests of his youth, where he was free to do as he pleased and act on his own terms. He never had much, but what he did have seemed like more than he could have ever imagined. Now here he was, among the most powerful Pokémon in the entire Attaman Desert, and he was bound to the whims of someone below him.
He quickly dismissed the thought. He knew what he was getting into when he signed that deal, when he made the journey over. His conviction survived all the challenges that he faced just getting to Korb Town, and he made some morally questionable decisions in its name. An hour of boredom would not be what brought him down. He just needed to stick to the Plan.
And what a plan it was! Rings wasn't exactly privy to the finer details of it, but that didn't matter. The Plan was ancient and grand, thought up long in advance by Pokémon whose names were forgotten to time, and here Rings was, playing a role in it!
All he had to do was keep things steady in Korb Town, leave the status quo as it was, and he would be rewarded. One fateful, glorious day, the message would come in and all would be well. His replacement would step in, and Rings could finally retire and go back to those forests he missed so much.
Everything should have gone smoothly, as promised. And for a time, they were. As far as anyone knew the situation in the Attaman had stabilized, and it looked like some kind of lasting peace had finally been brought about. Then a month after Rings was elected, that upstart Alexander just had to make his move. Rings just had to be the guy holding the bag when things finally started getting dicey.
No. It didn't matter. If he could just coast along a little further, someone else would be in his chair by the time that warlord-to-be came knocking.
Back to the moment at paw, Rings knew that he wasn't waiting on the message. Instead, he was waiting on something much, much worse. This specific informant was always a treat to deal with.
Just because he was also in on the Plan, he just had to mess with Rings at every opportunity. Even though it was Rings who found him, Rings who brought him up from the worst self-made Hell a Pokémon could find themselves in, this guy seemed to have forgotten it all the first chance he could.
It was then that Rings heard a commotion outside his door. "Mayor?" a female voice questioned. "Aren't you in your office? I- I don't understand."
"Yeah boss, eh what happened?" a male counterpart added on.
"It is of no concern to either of you," an imitation of Rings responded, eerily close to what it tried to be. "Just open the door for me please, no point in paying you two to just stand around the door."
The real Rings sighed at his desk. It looked like the informant finally arrived. How wonderful. He decided to cut the visitor's trick short. "Demi, don't fall for it," he tiredly said. "It's a zoroark. I am waiting on him though, so do let him open the door for himself."
Zoroark cursed and spoke with his real accent. "I fool guards every day, what makes these two so special?" His voice had an air of refinement to it, of class not seen among those who worked with their paws. It was worn down by years of stooping incredibly low, but stubbornness kept some of it around.
"Because, I actually like those two, as opposed to a certain Pokémon who just loves to keep his boss waiting."
Zoroark grumbled and pushed the doors open. As he entered Rings saw that he was still disguised as an ambipom, and to the untrained eye he was an exact match for Rings. The false ambipom flickered and shimmered, before dissolving away into Zoroark's true form.
He wore no clothes and had no distinguishing features, but he did have a bag at his side, an earring in his left ear, and two gold rings on one of his claws.
"Happy, boss?" Zoroark dug around in his bag for something while he made his way over.
He couldn't help but smile when he finally found it. Out from his bag came a loose stack of papers, hurriedly bound by a bundle of twine. Tied onto the string was a cute little bow, made from ribbon.
Zoroark bluntly dropped the stack on Rings' desk, where it made a considerable thud. He then reached into his bag again and retrieved a cake, small enough to fit in his paw, and gently placed it on the stack.
"Well," Rings began, "anything I should start with today?" He made no effort to hide his exhaustion.
"I'd recommend you start with the cake. A Farpoint gateau, made by the loving paws of a delightful maractus baker. She's really such a dear, you know." He spoke with a kindness to his voice that felt horridly out of place.
Rings sighed. "Yes, I'll be sure to eat this after a hard day's work. Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you?" He picked the cake up with one of the paws on his tail and threw it behind him, not caring if it landed on the balcony or the streets below.
"Oh, it hurts my heart to see you like this, all work, work, work, busy, busy, busy, maintaining an increasingly failing status quo." Zoroark's mock compassion didn't let up. He went into a fake swoon, "You really need to take a break one of these days."
"Yes, I think I shall enjoy such a moment as soon as I get you out of here. Just tell me the important bits before I waste another second with you."
Zoroark sighed and dropped the act. "Truthfully, there's not a lot new under the Sun. It's all the same: Alexander comes further east, Nomads burn another city, more client states are asking about your strategy, the works." He rattled the topics off as if he were reading a grocery list.
"Then, what is new?" Rings learned early on that if he didn't keep Zoroark moving from topic to topic, he'd easily find ways to derail the conversation.
"Well, that's the word of the day, isn't it? 'New.' There's a new arrival in town, and I think he's bad news."
"Then. Just. Tell me." Rings found himself on the verge of snapping. If Zoroark wasn't digressing, he was always playing up the moment. Pausing, adding drama wherever he could.
"Fine. We've got a new dragon friend in town. A gible, whose name I couldn't find out. Couldn't find out anything else about him either. Did you know that there are absolutely no records of a gible, gabite, or garchomp even being in Korb Town for the last ten years? Interesting, huh?"
"Wait." Rings took a moment to collect his thoughts. "Was this gible with a trapinch? I met a protector team with a gible in it the other day. Are we talking about the same Pokémon?" This was rather interesting indeed.
"Here." Zoroark produced a paper from his bag and proudly held it up. It was a childishly poor drawing of a gible, with a scar over one eye and a piece of orange cloth tied around his fin. "This is who I'm talking about." He slid the drawing over to Rings.
"Is- Is this crayon? Never mind. Yes, this is the one I met." Unconsciously, Rings' tails wound around themselves. "What about him concerns you? He seemed fine enough to me."
Zoroark came down and brought his face close to Rings'. "Come on. Isn't it obvious? Alexander makes his big push east and this Pokémon shows up out of nowhere? He's as much a protector as I am an ambipom."
Rings needed a second to process what he meant. "So… he's a spy?"
Zoroark was exasperated. "Yes, he's a spy! What else could I mean?" He threw his paws up in irritation.
"What did I mean when I told you about being straightforward?"
"Well what did I tell you about working with me? I may have changed careers, but I'm an actor to my core." He took back his drawing, snatching it away. "Might want to reconsider becoming an artist though…"
Rings sighed. He caught himself before he went off on another tangent with Zoroark. "Back to the matter at paw; no, I don't see it." He dismissively shook his head. "You're jumping to conclusions; a Pokémon like Gible is not out of place in this desert."
He took the stack of papers in front of him and put it in one of his desk's drawers, the time to read would be later. He already felt drained just talking with Zoroark, there was no need to make himself depressed so soon after. "Now, I trust that ends our discussion. You are dismissed." He got up from his desk and began walking to the balcony.
Zoroark was not having it, however. "No! No, no, no, that does not end the discussion! There's a spy walking your streets and you're just going to ignore him? Just let me off him now, we'll never have to even consider him again."
Rings did not turn around to face him. "There are no spies in this city except you. Gible is a protector just trying to do his job, and I suggest you do the same. I cannot fathom why you are so worked up over him, but get over it. This is not another one of your stage plays, stop looking for drama."
Zoroark didn't back down. "I'm not looking for anything, I already found it! Besides, it's better to be safe than sorry right? They're two Pokémon, I can take them out easily and we can get back to focusing on this war."
"No." Rings' tone was decisive. This would be the one thing he would not let Zoroark do. "Gible is a protector, a kind of Pokémon valued in the Attaman Desert and far beyond. I am not letting you get rid of such a valuable asset based on what amounts to little more than speculation." Rings turned around to face Zoroark. "No. You are dismissed."
Zoroark cursed under his breath, just barely unheard by Rings. "Hmph. Fine, but I make no promises. If he makes one wrong move I'm doing your job for you."
As he walked out of the room, Zoroark's body flickered again, this time snapping to that of a machoke. The purple reptile stomped out of the room, the sound of his footsteps quieter than they appeared to be.
Finally alone, Rings breathed a sigh of relief. He turned again to face the outside world. As he watched over the city, he only thought one thing.
This is going to be a long week.
