Chapter 6: Two Weeks' Notice
"Place of residence?" Mojave asked another unbearably boring and frankly asinine question from the application.
"Okay, really?" Typhon began. "We live together! You literally invited me here, just write it down!" Much of the process had gone like this, stretching a few hours into eternity. Mojave would ask a question, and Typhon would either say he had no idea or that the answer was blatantly obvious.
"Any character references?"
"I know one Pokémon in the entire world, and he's the guy asking the question."
"Any skill references?"
"See above answer."
Mojave sighed. "Look, I get that this all seems unimportant, but it isn't. Right now, you're technically an unofficial member of the Protectors Association, and protocol says we need to get you into the system as soon as possible. So, we fill out the paperwork as best and as accurate as we can. It would be terrible if we send this in and wait for weeks on end, just for the reply to say 'Sorry! Line 42 contains a typo! Please send the form in again!' Really, the guys in Records are the only Pokémon more stringent about the rules than I am."
Typhon took a moment to breathe. "Alright, I'm sorry. It's just- it gets grating giving the same few answers over and over again. I'd answer better if I could, honestly!" Typhon's resentment towards his amnesia was certainly not helped by being asked every detail about his life. His unhelpful answers were probably hurting him just as much as they did Mojave.
The trapinch cleared his throat and began looking across the sheets of paper laid out in front of him. On his left was the first one they filled out, the ink on it drier than the desert outside, and newly added to the far right was the latest one, the ink barely setting in.
He hummed. "Well, I think that's it. Every line appears to be filled out to the best of your abilities- and mine too. There was a lot of interpretation necessary, but I think it all worked out!" His characteristic smile was back on his face.
"Finally," Typhon groaned. "So, what happens now? Is there a post office or something around here? Stick it in a bottle and hope for the best?"
Mojave laughed. "Oh, don't be silly. The postal service here is the worst." He was frowning now. "You saw with that bill the Association sent us, there's no way that thing matches current records. We're going to get a courier, someone to run straight over to Headquarters and come right back. Give me a moment, I'll go find the seal and the envelope." With that, he turned away and headed for the kitchen.
Typhon was left alone, with just his thoughts to keep him company. If he was honest with himself, he was quite worried. He had a new name and his future as a protector was shaping up, but his doubts still found a way. All of them circled back to the same painful question.
Who was he?
And, would he ever find out? Typhon had a horrible feeling that his desire to discover his true identity was at odds with his new future. How could he learn about himself if he was busy being a protector?
If he continued down the path of being a protector, it would limit his ability to learn about his past. Helping Pokémon in need was quite the task, if the application's questions were anything to go by. And if Team Dune ever had to leave the desert, or even just Korb Town, the possibility that he'd ever find anything would practically disappear. What were the chances that he was some kind of globetrotter before becoming amnestic?
But still, he had to know himself. What kind of Pokémon didn't know who they were? Normal Pokémon had memories. Normal Pokémon had families. Normal Pokémon weren't told by goddesses that the first thing they ever did was a mistake. Normal Pokémon weren't broken like that. Then again, there was a good chance that normal Pokémon reacted negatively to finding out they had no memories, so at least Typhon had something going for him.
Actually, what was up with that? The part about the goddesses. It was just the other day that Mesprit intruded into his mind to tell him he was messed up. What did she of all Pokémon stand to gain from meddling with his-
A knock at the door shook him from his thoughts. Well, it was more of a thud, similar to how Mojave had to open the door by forcing his body against it.
"Hey, there are protectors living here, right?" an unfamiliar male voice called out.
Typhon waited for Mojave to respond. The stranger wasn't wrong with his guess, but Typhon didn't feel safe opening up. For all he knew, one of the soldiers from yesterday might have found them.
Mojave didn't respond, so Typhon was left to pick up the slack.
"Who's asking?" he said.
There was a sigh. "My name is Castform Cyclos of the Protector's Association, and I have a proposition. That is, if you are protectors. So, are you?" His voice droned, clearly unhappy at having to explain that.
"Typhon, is someone at the door?" Mojave called. "Let them in! It's easier to talk when you can actually see the other Pokémon, isn't it?" It seemed as if he only heard Typhon speak, and nothing of the actual conversation.
Typhon complied. If Mojave was cool with it, then he had no reason not to be. "Give me a second," he said to Cyclos, "nobody in here is tall enough to use the doorknob. Stand – er, hover? Float? Just move back, the door swings out."
With slight effort, Typhon opened the door. Sure enough, a lone castform hovered there, managing a defiant Normal Form in spite of the hot desert sun.
"Not quite hot enough out there?" Typhon attempted to joke. He felt a sliver of shame for giving him such a hard time.
"Impressed? I'm trying to control my forms better." Cyclos smiled. It looked like Typhon's joke worked. "So," he continued, "you're a protector?" And back to business it was.
"Yes. Kind of. That's- we're working on it." Typhon cleared his throat. "Gible Typhon of Team Dune at your service, all the same."
The castform frowned. "Team Dune, huh?" He rolled his eyes, not caring at all that Typhon saw him. "Damn it, don't waste my time like that. Thanks for nothing, jerk." He turned away and started to leave.
Typhon didn't back down. "Hey, come back here! What's your deal?" He might have gotten on the team by chance, but he was there for Arceus' sake, and he wasn't going to let some random stranger take that from him.
Cyclos came back to face him. "Oh, what? You want my 'deal?' You wanna know the flaws with your scam? Fine. Everybody knows Team Dune's been gone since forever. You want to pull this trick, try it on someone who doesn't have a brain. Or, use a different name, like 'Team Brain Damage.'" Every word he spoke was dripping with venom.
He began to leave again, when Mojave came barreling towards the door. "Wait! Cyclos, stop!" he shouted. "It's me! Mojave! Let's talk!" The poor trapinch ran as fast as he could, and was panting his lungs out as he skidded to a halt.
Cyclos turned back to face the duo, his face covered in dumbfounded shock. It looked as though he had seen a ghost. "Mojave?" His voice was as light and soft as the air he floated on. "Rayquaza's wind…" There was a distant look in his eyes, and it seemed that his mind completely refused to believe what was in front of him.
"Yeah, it's me!" Mojave said without missing a beat. "Come in, we have so much to catch up on!" He either didn't notice Cyclos' current state or chose to ignore it.
Typhon, for his part, was just as confused as Cyclos. "Wait, you two know each other?"
Mojave, still out of the loop, answered with cheer. "Yeah! Cyclos and I were on the same team back at the Academy! The Protectors Academy, that is. It's like a school for becoming a protector, you practically grow up there! Good times, right buddy? It's been a while, hasn't it?" Mojave took the conversation further inside the building.
"Yeah. Good times," Cyclos responded, still stunned.
"So, how've you been?" Mojave said. "I would've written, but I didn't think you'd have wanted to read it…"
Cyclos shook himself out and blinked rapidly. "I'm- I've been good. Um, are you alright? Anything, uh, traumatic happen? Any catastrophic events?"
Now it was Mojave's turn to be confused. "Yes? I'm not sure what you mean. There was… you know… that, but I'm mostly better. I hope." His head was at a tilt. "You know, something doesn't feel right. Are you sure you're okay?"
"No, I'm- I'm fine." His voice cracked.
"Cyclos, I know we haven't talked since… a while," Mojave said. "But we're still friends, right? What's wrong? You can tell me."
Cyclos took a deep breath. "Mojave, I don't know how to phrase this, so I'm just gonna say it. You're dead."
"I- uh- what?" Mojave spat out. "Dead?! Why would you think that?!"
"Well, that's what they told us!" Cyclos fired back.
"They told you I died?! Who do you even mean by 'they?!'" Mojave's voice started to rise.
"Well- you know- the Chief!" Cyclos sputtered. "There was a whole announcement and everything! They told us all four of you were dead! Team Dune hadn't checked in or sent any messages, so they had no choice! Everyone at Headquarters got the week off!"
"What?" Typhon interrupted. "Why would they do that? I know it was probably sad and all, but it's just one team."
Cyclos was incredulous. "One team? Just one team?! Did Mojave tell you who Team Dune was?! They were like, the cream of the crop! They were the fastest team to ever reach Gold Rank! You couldn't call them 'rising stars' 'cause it would be too insulting!"
Mojave tried to calm him down. "Well, I wouldn't go that far. Yes, they deserved their reputation, but that's a bit of an exaggeration."
Cyclos didn't slow down. "No, you know it as well as I do. When it came to Team Dune, there was nothing to exaggerate! Mojave, don't you remember? Everyone went insane when you got their invitation! We were all so jealous!" He slowed down to laugh to himself. "Though, it was kinda funny seeing you squirm under all the attention."
Mojave blushed. "Come on, you know I don't like talking about that…"
"Right, I'm sorry. I-" Cyclos went wide-eyed with realization. "Wait. If you're still around, then the rest of the team is too, right?" A look of incredible joy spread across his face. "Where- Where are they? Are they out for the minute? Oh, this is incredible, we have to tell everyone! Is Steelix here? Can I get her autograph?" He started doing loops in the air, burning off his excitement.
"Well- um- no. Cyclos, it's just me now." Mojave gulped. "The rest of Team Dune really is dead."
Cyclos hovered silently for a sickeningly long moment. "What? No, that can't be…"
"I'm sorry, but it's true. They're gone." His voice was broken. "They went out for the day and never came back. I waited as long as I could before writing to Headquarters. And every time after, I've made it explicit that it's just me, I swear! I don't know how any of this got mixed up."
Cyclos took a moment to respond. "Oh. Well. I'm sorry for bringing it up." An intense awkwardness settled over the two. Neither could bear to look the other in the eye. Mojave stared longingly at the ground. Cyclos distracted himself with the room's features.
Typhon did not feel the same shame. "Well, now that that's out of the way, why don't we get to something more productive? You had a mission for us?"
Cyclos quickly latched on to the opportunity to move forward. "Right! The Association's leading an expedition in two weeks' time! We've already got all the Pokémon we need, but having more couldn't hurt. Is your team up for it?"
"That depends," Mojave said, startled by how quickly Cyclos' mood changed. "What kind of expedition? I'm all for joining, but we've had a… busy past few days. I'm kind of exhausted of it all if I'm being honest." Typhon could see shadows beginning to form around Mojave's eyes.
"That's fine, there's time," Cyclos began. "The expedition's goal is to reach and then set up a research station at Little Crater. Have you heard of it before?"
"Little Crater? Um, maybe?" Mojave's voice was slow, as if remembrance could strike at any moment. "It definitely sounds familiar."
Typhon certainly didn't know what they were talking about, so he stayed quiet.
"Ah, don't worry about it," Cyclos said. "Really, its reputation for the past few centuries has been nothing more than a pretty hole in the ground. Somewhere to take the family, if you could afford it.
"All records of the place say that the meteor or whatever created the crater survived impact. So, the Association's put together a little meteorology team to study it. Your part of the mission would be to help make sure it all goes smoothly."
Typhon stepped in. "That's not what meteorology means. And, why now of all times?"
"I don't know, it's the crater's one billionth hatching day! Please, shut up and- stop talking," Cyclos snapped. He then continued as if Typhon had said nothing. "Besides escorting the researchers and all their equipment, there's also going to be… some fighting to do. You see, it turns out that a big - like big - group of Nomads settled down right on the crater." He shook his head. "So, you up for it?"
Before Mojave could say anything, Typhon interrupted again. "Isn't that a contradiction? Doesn't the name 'Nomad' imply they move around?" As far as he knew, the Nomads only destroyed cities. They didn't try making their own.
"In the name of Rayquaza, Gible. Where you dropped on your head as a hatchling?" Cyclos was getting quite agitated. "Do you think that they're just in a constant state of moving? That all the different Nomad groups across the continent are all vying for the world record of 'Longest Time Spent on the Move?'"
"Alright, fine, point taken," Typhon spat. "Then why don't you just wait for them to pack up?"
Mojave chimed in with him. "Yeah, I don't know about this, Cyclos. Team Dune's kinda had its fill of excitement for the moment. Maybe next time?"
Cyclos growled. "Mojave, as much as I'd like to, I can't stay here and discuss the finer details of the assignment. If you want some good work, come find us in two weeks at Little Pass, north of here." He sighed and spoke in a softer tone. "You should come, it'll be good for you to catch up with some of us. You know, maybe pick up a new teammate." He added that last part under his breath. Typhon pretended not to hear it.
"I- we'll- I'll consider it." Mojave looked torn. It wasn't as severe as it was down in the mine, but Typhon could see his partner already poring over the offer. "It was good seeing you again."
"The feeling's mutual." Cyclos came down to Mojave and moved in to what Typhon could only guess was a hug. Mojave instinctively moved his head to the left and Cyclos came in on the right. If either one had arms they'd be wrapped around the other.
Cyclos said nothing else as he left. As Typhon held the door open for him, he could see the castform change into his Sunny Form the moment the desert heat hit him. The sound of the door swinging back only barely muffled the sound of his cursing.
Typhon heard his partner sigh as he turned back around. Mojave was lying down under the table, legs splayed out and defeated. He could only assume that Cyclos' offer was already eating at him.
For that, Typhon didn't blame him. Mostly, anyway. He somewhat understood how much he must've wanted to rest. The incident with Domino didn't exactly look easy on Mojave, and to go back to something like that didn't sound inviting.
Still though, it was in two weeks. That should've been more than enough time to rest. Typhon would just have to chalk it up to his inexperience. Maybe there was something about working directly under the Association that he didn't get.
One thing was clear though, thinking about this was doing Mojave no good, and it was up to him to help.
"Don't worry about the crater thing," he said. "Whatever you end up deciding, I'm with you one hundred percent. Until then, how about we get back to the application?"
"Don't you hate it, though?" Mojave said. "I thought having more to do with it was the last thing you wanted."
Typhon shrugged. "Oh, I do. I really hate those papers. But we're done with it now, and the sooner it's out of here, the better."
Mojave laughed. "It's a shame Cyclos left so quickly though. We could have asked him to send your application through the Association. I'd trust the process a lot more that way." His smile faltered slightly.
I bet it'd also be a whole lot cheaper. Typhon kept that thought to himself.
"Well, nothing we can do about it now," Typhon said as he began gathering the pages. "Is he always like that? You know, moody?"
"First off, you were pushing him, some of that's on you," Mojave said. "And secondly, not really. It's just… he and I didn't part on such good terms. If it wasn't for you, I think he would've been mad at me."
Typhon arranged the papers into a neat stack. "You know what they say. Live and learn, right?" He caught himself. "That is a thing Pokémon say, right? No, never mind. It totally is."
Mojave laughed. "Don't worry, you're all good there. Just let me close it all up and we'll be on our way."
Mojave led Typhon through the streets of Korb Town to the courier service. In a rare display of decisiveness, he was absolutely adamant that someone private was hired to carry their package. The only other option he would have allowed was having Cyclos get someone with the Association take it, but that didn't exactly pan out well.
They took a much lengthier journey through the city than Typhon had been on before, down smaller roads and alleyways that Typhon hadn't even noticed. Mojave might have only been in town a few years, but he was extremely well versed in its layout.
These side streets, if they could even be called streets, were just as bustling and busy as anywhere else in the city. The only real difference was that they were smaller and the vendors were less aggressive, "less" being a relative term.
Along with that, Typhon started noticing posters put up on buildings. They were simple messages on bright white paper, and they couldn't have been out for too long. On them were pictures of desert Pokémon - and a few species that might have preferred other climates – dressed in military style clothing. 'Enlist today!' one said. 'Your city needs you!' read another. Maybe the mayor was taking the war seriously, or at least he was now.
The duo made their way mostly in silence, with Mojave pointing out interesting things here and there. There wasn't much of note, but the old buildings Mojave mentioned were neat. Every now and then he would point out a building that was significantly smaller than its peers, or a whole city block designed with radically different architecture. He said that these were remnants of different regimes that ruled Korb Town, going back hundreds if not thousands of years. It was interesting to think about how old the city was, or how many times it had to be rebuilt. But what could force them to rebuild the city?
Best not to know. But, there was one thing Typhon did want to know, as morally questionable it was to wonder.
Money.
Not, "how are we going to pay for this" money, but "how much did we make yesterday?" money. The sack they were rewarded with did look quite large. It might have just been his small size, but he could dream.
Pushing his honor away in favor of greed, Typhon asked, "I know it might not be wise or moral to ask this, but I gotta know. How much did we get paid yesterday?"
Mojave immediately gasped. "Typhon! You can't just ask that kind of thing!"
He immediately backpedaled. "Woah, woah. Okay, my bad. Greed isn't a very protectorly quality, I get it. Don't worry about it."
"Oh, it's not that," Mojave said. "Being mindful of your finances is an important quality all protectors should develop. Living on your own is a lot harder than you might think nowadays."
Typhon took the revelation in stride. "Look at me! Protector material to my core. But seriously, how much was it?" He wouldn't let up that easily, not after Mojave practically praised him for it.
"Listen." Mojave was whispering now. "It's just… not a good idea to openly discuss money in this city. Just know that we made… a lot. Enough Poké to send our package to the other side of the continent and back if we needed to"
Typhon was floored. He didn't show it, but he was giddy with every word that Mojave said. Some kind of primal feeling welled up inside him the more he heard about their wealth.
"So, we're loaded?"
Mojave shook his head. "Technically, yes. But don't go thinking we're living the easy life from this!" He stamped his foot. "While I was out this morning, I went to the bank and consolidated the bulk of what I – we – have. I figure a quarter of it will go to this package, and the rest… well, I'll get to that some other time. In the end, it'll all help our mission. You good?"
Typhon was only slightly disappointed. Giving the whole thing another thought, he didn't even know what money could buy, beyond the necessities. Some vague ideas of what they could do crossed his mind, but he wasn't sure if those were in any way realistic.
"Eh, works for me," he said. "How much longer till we get there?"
"We shouldn't be too far. Maybe a few more minutes?" Mojave's head was at a tilt, lost in thought.
Typhon must have lost himself too, and before he knew it someone had knocked him to the ground. The fall winded him, but nothing felt too badly injured.
"Woah! Sorry there, little buddy! Musta not seen you down there!" The offender said while lending down a purple hand.
Typhon ignored the offer and picked himself up, dusting the sand off his scales. Looking up, he saw that the hand was attached to a machoke who was kneeling down to his level.
Typhon swatted the hand away. As he did, he saw Machoke pull his hand back the moment it even looked like the two would touch, as if Typhon had the plague. "I'm fine," Typhon spat. "Just watch where you're going next time."
"Fair enough, fair enough" Machoke said. "Have a good one." The purple menace continued on his way, already seeming to forget the encounter. Typhon however, couldn't help but stare as Machoke disappeared into the crowd. There was just something about the encounter that he couldn't figure out, a feeling he couldn't quite recognize.
It took Mojave quite the effort to get him back. "Typhon. Typhon. Typhon. Typhon. Are you okay?"
"Oh- uh, yeah, I'm good," he said. "Quick question, do machoke have fur? Because I swear I felt something…" That was it. He wasn't exactly mindful when it happened, but he could have sworn he collided with something furry.
Mojave took a moment to respond. "No, I don't think so, just bare skin. Maybe it's scales? Truth be told, I've never met one myself, but I've seen the pictures. Are you okay? Did you hit the ground too hard? Maybe we should leave this for another day."
"No," Typhon declared. "I'm fine. Really. It's nothing. We're so close already, it'd be a waste to turn back now."
The pair soon arrived at the courier office with no other incidents. It was a humble little place; a short, square, sandstone building like all the others around. There was a doorframe with no door, so they were able to walk right in.
The interior was nothing remarkable. There were no other customers in at the moment, and the only real decorations to speak of were a few of the same posters that Typhon saw on the streets. At the far side of the building was a sandstone counter that came up just above the top of Typhon's fin. Another doorway behind the counter led further into the building. A thin carpet led the way to the counter, and it felt rough on Typhon's feet.
Standing behind the counter were a trevenant and a ponyta, caught in a heated discussion. Typhon could hardly make anything of it though, with how thick Trevenant's accent was and how energetically Ponyta spoke. Upon noticing Team Dune's arrival, Trevenant shooed Ponyta into the back room and turned to face them.
"Ah! Hello, new friends! You need something delivered, yes? My Pokémon will get it wherever you need, no issue!" he said in a deep, booming voice. Warmth radiated from every syllable he spoke, and for just a moment Typhon almost saw him as a friend, not a businessmon.
"Here goes…" Mojave whispered to himself. "Yes. My partner and I are looking to send a letter, if you'd take it." His protector voice was on.
"Oh ho!" Trevenant mused. "Something special, eh? We are not normally in the business of letters, but packages are packages, no? Where are you looking to go? I can get you from Nillsville to Far Point and anywhere in between! Just so you know, warzone travel costs extra." He added that last part rather hastily.
"N-no. No warzones. I think." Mojave's voice started to falter. "Um, do you do long distance?"
"But of course! How far do you need? Over Great Mountains, maybe?" Trevenant leaned onto the counter.
Mojave gulped. "Yes. H-how does Flash City sound? The Protectors Association?"
Trevenant took a moment before bursting into laughter. "Oh, you are a funny Pokémon Mr. Trapinch! Seriously though, where do you need? Over mountains and into Ferras Plains, yes? Tungstown? Iron Gate?"
"N-no, I'm serious!" Mojave said. "We have an important letter for the Protectors Association! Over the mountains, through the Ferras Plains, all of it! All the way to Flash City!"
Trevenant's face drooped. "Oh." A strange stillness settled over him. "You are not pranking me? You are not wasting my time? You are serious?"
"C'mon! Will you take it or not?" Typhon shouted. Sure, he may not have known much about the request they were making, so what? Trevenant said it himself. What happened to "packages are packages?"
"No." Trevenant was adamant. "Distance is too great. Time of year is all wrong. I cannot send-" Typhon cut him off.
"Look, we can pay! However much you need. Mojave, show him." Typhon wasn't going to back down, not after going through the trouble of filling the application out, and certainly not after making his way all the way out here.
"Yes, here- see?" Mojave reached into his bag. From it, he pulled out three gold coins, each around the size of one of his eyes and stamped with a P. There were some other markings on it that Typhon couldn't make out. He stood up on his back legs to put them on the counter.
If Trevenant felt something upon seeing them, his face didn't show it. He took a coin and held it up to his eye, pinching it between two of his "fingers" and inspecting it closely. He turned it this way and that, held it to the light, and felt its weight in the palm of his hand.
It took him some time before he spoke, scrutinizing the coin all the while. "Hmm. Shiny. Not handled much- if at all. Large denomination- no doubt specially requested." He set the coin down with its fellows. "This is a substantial amount of Poké, Trapinch, all withdrawn recently… so you can send a letter?"
"Yes," Mojave said. "We're protectors, and it's absolutely vital to our mission that this letter reaches Headquarters." He displayed his badge for proof. "So, please? We really need this."
Trevenant scooped up the coins and started chuckling to himself. "My friends, I think we understand each other now." Warmth had returned to his voice. "Here, follow me to map room, we will plan route." He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Ponyta, get out the big map, whole continent!"
Author's Note: This one took longer than I would have liked. I actually wrote it pretty quickly by my standards, but I got stuck editing it for a while there. The school year ends in just under a week for me from the time of posting, so hopefully time should be less of a constraint. I make no promises, but I'm feeling pretty hopeful. Now I just have to stop writing so late. I swear, Office is mocking me when it says "Yesterday at 10:42 PM."
