Missing in the Jaws

I next woke up to an upset stomach and a stinging face.

I murmured through the fog of pain. "What gives…" the words bounced around in my skull. Ouch.

My vision came back. I saw a Salandit and her mug, one of her claws lazily raised and readied.

Was she gonna hit someone? I thought so, and rolled my heavy eyes left and right to confirm. No one else. So, yeah, she was gonna hit me.

"Stop, stop," I said. Words scratched my throat on the way out. "Don't hit me."

She cocked her head to the side. "The antidote is proven to work in thirty minutes. I cannot abide you pretending to be unconscious."

"Myeh-myeh, I cannot abide–okay, okay, chill with the hitting." I mustered up the strength to hold my claws up pleadingly. Through the long things I saw her frown, a window with white specks of snowfall landing on its sill, bits of gray plaster and carpet. We were in a drab room which suited her to the nines.

"That toxin was expensive," Quil said. I struggled to follow her as she slithered off, over to her bag by the door. "I'm surprised you aren't bawling right now."

I coughed. Funny how the pricier a poison is, the cheaper it makes you feel. "You wasted a lot of money just, you know, not talking to me. And you can tell your seller it hurts its money's worth!" I sprung up, a little pissed off. "What's wrong with you?"

She snorted derisively. "I lost Lora."

No telling if it was her answer or excuse.

"Well… Lora and I had a very pleasant boat ride, and she helped me with this." I gestured to my fur coat.

Believe it or not, I am not the world's first purple Linoone. I am a Galarian variant, yeah, but the purple was all Lora's doing. It was a thing called a 'Recolor,' and I scored one from her on the trip over. She did everything. My fur, my eyes, my tongue.

"I know," she answered. Her gaze went to the window. "The shipping company maintains a manifest of all new arrivals."

And she likely bought it. For such a cheap box of a home, she sure loved to blow money left and right. "So who's Lora to you?"

"Lora is a Primary. One who is a conscript of her own bloodline."

I scratched my head. No point clarifying my question. "Okay, then. A Primary's gotta have a Legendary they worship. So… who's she under? There's a whole district for Primaries, so she probably made her way there." Odds were, Lora was cloistered up somewhere, throwing her paws up and down in front of a Groudon statue. To be honest, I didn't care much for the whole Primary thing. It popped up after the war, and felt like a fancy way for Legendaries to keep pets.

"She has no relations in Xanadu." Quillon handed me a roll of gauze. "Wrap your wounds up. It will heal faster. Make less mess."

"Thanks," I grumbled, spinning the adhesive strap around my belly. "I was starting to fear for your wood flooring."

"I don't live in this box," she told me. "It's a hideout. Bleed in it, for all I care."

I blinked. "Explains the lack of furniture. For a sec, I thought you just slept glued to the roof. So, what do you mean, no one?"

"Primaries can follow consolidated powers. For instance, Primaries of moona–"

"A moona ain't a Legendary," I argued. "Even I know that."

Quillon stared at me. "Almost as if," she snarled at me, "I was about to liken them to Lora's situation."

"Sorry, sorry."

"Sure you are. Moona Primaries adhere to the greater power of their collective schooling. Through invention and infrastructure, they achieved a power that transcends what Pokemon may reach alone."

"What do they do?" I asked.

"Therapize Pokémon through the power of dreams, I believe."

"Whew. I could use that." I was feeling pretty traumatized. Some psycho had attacked me in an alley, laced me with chemicals, and dragged me to her 'hideout.'

"...I could use it, too." Quillon took a long draw from her mug. "Anyway, it is the same for Lora. The Painters belong to their own special lineage. Members are inducted only through pairing ceremonies. Consummation, too. It is all about passing down a certain power."

"The power of being dope at painting," I guessed.

Quillon sucked in a breath, her seriousness growing… seriouser. She glared at me, but it felt more like she was staring into me. Into my soul and stuff.

"A Recolor is more than a new appearance. It unlocks potential."

I stared at my claws, and wished she would have let me know before clawing me to ribbons. "So I'm powered up?" I asked. "Let's rematch."

"I would still win." With that made clear, she continued, now with a suspicious eye on my claws. "Output and throughput are two mechanisms of Type Energy. Organization is the third and most important. A recolor helps realign your application of Type Energies. It allows you to harness powers with which you have less inner conflict. Without it, species are organized along the spectrum of eighteen essential Types. Naturally fine, but also rather limiting. Luck, time, calculus. There are many vehicles for our power besides the elemental ones."

"For a creep, you're sorta smartsy," I said under my breath. I didn't wanna deal with this 'true potential' crap. "What you said was smart and creepy. I'd appreciate it if you could, I don't know, cut it out. I don't care if I'm better at math now, or whatever."

Quil huffed. "Is that all you took away from what I said?" She reached out–thought we were about to perform take two of the alleyway, but she was just helping me snip the gauze. I tied it off and rubbed over the injury with the flat of my claw. Of course, being Pokémon and all, it was already mending without the bandage's help.

And that was precisely my opinion on this recoloring business.

"Where I'm from," I told her upfront, "a lot of losers peddled stuff like this. This'll make ya stronger, this'll make ya safer! And it's a doll they made out of paper, or a cheap amulet, or a liter of Tyranitar piss. Paper-thin, cheap, sour-tasting hope. Not. Interested." I gestured to my purple fur. "Is this real, or is it something you and a lot of others in Xanadu deluded yourselves into thinking is real?"

Surprisingly, I won a chuckle out of the Salandit. She stood up and reached out a claw to shake, her claw-points steely and unnatural.

"You're annoying, but your city instinct seems fine. Less dead weight than I reckoned. My name's Quillon."

While I loathed shaking paws n' claws with someone who'd been goring me an hour ago, I took it. Not shaking is rude, after all.

"Grungy," I told her.

She grimaced and clutched my poor paw harder than necessary. "If you insult Lora's craft again, Grungy, there won't be enough Tyranitar piss in the world to mend you."

I delivered to her my best sarcastic, 'so nice to meet ya' smile. She pulled back her claw and shook off some imagined grime.

She stated our objective. "We're finding Lora."

Of course. The psycho with crazy street-clearing eyes and hideouts throughout the city definitely had proper business with sweet, innocent Lora. "Who's she to you?" I asked again.

"You allowed her to be captured. It's the least you can do."

"Come on. How can I help when you leave me in the dark?"

"She trusted you. It's your responsibility to help."

"I'm not moving a step–"

"Your mistake, your responsibility."

"Listen here you short little weirdo, you don't get to talk over everyone because you're scary–"

"Do you not want to help her?"

"Ahg!" I slapped the bridge of my snout with both paws. "Okay, whatever. You win, mystery lady. You poisoned me. You won't explain what is happening. But I'll help, because I'm an idiot."

The Salandit likely wanted to know when I last saw her, so I started there. "I saw Lora leave the boat fine. She seemed a bit worried, but we were all intimidated by you know, fwoosh–" I raised my paws from the floor to the roof, imitating one of the glitzy tallbuildings.

Xanadu has these structures that 'scraped the sky,' in human lingo. When you arrive via the Hoarfrost Port in the City's West side, you see a whole phalanx of these massive things staring right at you. Some lights are on, some lights are off–some floors are aglow with unnatural colors, fluorescent yellows and the heated red of the city's very popular 'Monster Parties.'

I closed my eyes and tried to remember Lora stepping off the boat. We exchanged glances, and there was a sort of expression she had? I thought it was nervousness, as she was swept up in the city's magic. But looking back… what if it had been direr? What if she was scared? Of something, or someone, hiding in the cracks between those concrete teeth? And I just stupidly waltzed onward–

"There's no way she took stock of you and expected you to rescue her," Quillon concluded for me. "I understand the situation. She recolored you fully–which I've never seen before–to make you into a beacon. She wished for me to find you, as you saw something, or heard something that could blossom into a lead. There wasn't enough time to fathom how stupid and useless you are… so you wound up homeless and walking the streets for three days, making it almost impossible to track you down. Because of you, she's in drastic jeopardy. Might… might not even be in the city anymore."

"Wow. Thanks a lot." I laid back down on the uncomfy straw mattress. Lame of me to admit it, but Quil's accusation hurt a ton more than her poison did. Kinda pressed on a weakness of mine…

I knew she was mad at me. But right then? I realized Quil didn't like me. The all-too familiar air of disdain… the contagion was airborne, and it had wafted over the ocean. Most pokémon I met wound up not liking me.

She closed in. "Are you still sick? No? Then why are you…" the Salandit sighed at me. "Get up. We need to go somewhere."

"Where?" I asked quietly.

Quil nodded her head towards the stairs. "To my job. Sul will know what to do. And remember: act up, and all you will get is this same song and dance."