I'd like to thank everyone once again for the support this story has received. This isn't a terribly long chapter, but I still think a decent bit happens. Finals are coming up in not too long, so I'm hoping to build a decent chapter buffer.
Enjoy the fourth chapter of Crisis of Faith!
HANNAH IZOLA, 18
It wasn't my fault that I was late to the restaurant. For some reason, the upcoming storm was affecting the train schedule, so there weren't as many options to get to the Epona District from Fairview.
The muggy air held a hint of thunder, so I could at least understand why the forecasters thought a storm might be coming. Otherwise, the skies were peaceful as I jogged over to the Golden Kitchen.
In front of the entrance to the restaurant, a tall young man waited for me. His fluffy brown hair had been tamed somehow, but what hadn't been tamed were his fierce blue eyes. And yes, they were fierce, as though he were angry at me for being late.
"Sorry about that, Bryant" I told him, recalling his name from the website we'd met each other on.
Bryant frowned. "Hannah, you do realize that you could have arrived sooner? Our reservation was for 6 PM."
"I said I was sorry, didn't I? The trains aren't running as frequently, they say a storm might be coming soon."
He narrowed his eyes, and I saw that there was a certain determination within them. It was hard to place exactly what this determination meant, but it was rather like what I'd associate with a wolf-like Pokémon.
"Why would weather that's going to happen in the future impact train schedules?" he snarled at me.
Well, this already isn't going too well. Maybe I should just head home and cut my losses.
To many people, that would have been the sensible thing to do. The way Bryant talked to me should have been a red flag, but I didn't heed it.
"I don't know" I told him, trying to keep my voice as measured as possible. "But please, Bryant, forgive me. The night's going to be a lot more unpleasant if you don't."
Finally, the Braixen waitress came back. Seeing I was there, she led the two of us to our table, which was on the outdoor patio, in view of several other couples.
After the waitress had poured each of us a glass of ice water, there was an awkward silence between Bryant and I. Neither of us seemed to have any idea what to say.
Bryant was the first one to talk, echoing my thoughts exactly. "Well, this is the most awkward first date ever, huh?"
I couldn't help but laugh dryly. "Don't say that, Bryant, or you might make it so."
The next few minutes passed, during which not much was said. There was still plenty of noise, though, from Bryant chugging down a couple glasses of water.
Of course, it was a hot evening; rarely did a day go by without hot temperatures in Moraga City. However, that didn't give him an excuse to be so loud when drinking; he was slurping his drink as though he'd never heard of manners before.
"Would you mind being a bit quieter? There are other people in the restaurant."
Bryant smiled slightly. "My bad; I'm just so thirsty."
We both are. But you can't neglect basic table manners just because of the humidity.
Once the waitress had left the table again after giving us a basket of bread rolls, I decided to make another attempt at small talk. Clearly this was something Bryant struggled with, but I wasn't ready to give up on this date just yet. Not when it could still be salvaged.
"So what do you do?" I asked him. "Are you a trainer or anything like that?"
Bryant looked a bit uncomfortable, as though he didn't know how to answer. Soon, though, he did.
"I've only got one Pokémon. But she doesn't battle."
I couldn't help but be a bit bewildered. As far as I'd always known, Pokémon existed to battle one another; the life of one wasn't complete without that pastime.
"You own a Pokémon, but you don't use her to battle? Have you forgotten what the main purpose of owning a Pokémon is?"
Bryant sighed visibly. Right away, I wondered if I'd gone a bit too far. A few seconds later, he shook his head.
"Why did you shake your head right there?"
Bryant frowned, narrowing his eyes at the same time. "Well, doesn't shaking one's head mean that they're saying no? And that's what I'm saying."
Of course. Thank you for giving me that 101 lesson in nonverbal communication.
The rest of our conversation was pretty awkward and uncomfortable. We talked about what universities we'd be attending come September; while I was heading out to Coronet City to study, an impressive distance away of some thousands of miles, Bryant would remain in Moraga City for his post-secondary education.
Great, I remember thinking. We're going to have a long-distance relationship, which, from what my friends have all said, almost never works out. Perhaps it's all over before it even begins.
And then Bryant started talking about colors. Perhaps that was his way of showing that he was nervous, or maybe he was genuinely excited about that topic, but it weirded me out, to say the least.
He mentioned his favorite shades of dark blue and light green, or it might have been the other way around. I didn't care enough to know the difference, but what I did know was that he didn't seem very interested in what I had to say. Still, I paid lip service, because what else was I supposed to do?
"Hey, uh, Bryant?" I asked eventually, finally working up the courage to jump in.
"What is it, Hannah?" he replied. "I was just talking about colors."
My next words came out more harshly than I meant them, but they were what he needed to hear.
"I know, and that's the problem. You don't seem too interested in what I have to say about my life. It's all about you."
"Do you really think so?" Bryant replied, frowning.
This exchange continued a bit longer, during which time I was determined to tell Bryant what he needed to hear, even if it was the last thing he wanted to hear. This might sound harsh, but he clearly needed some tough love, to put it one way.
The whole time, I was acutely aware of the other diners. As they ate their exquisite meals, they turned to watch our little corner of the Golden Kitchen's patio. To some of them, it was like a battling tournament, an exciting event that you couldn't tear your eyes off of. To others, it was like a horrific car accident that was so terrible, you couldn't look away.
Eventually our food arrived. It was filet mignon for Bryant and roast chicken for me, which was quite welcome; it would serve as a reprieve from our tense exchange.
As we started eating our food, I noticed that Bryant's table manners were weird in more ways than one. There's a certain way you're supposed to cut your steak, and he wasn't doing it that way.
"Bryant, why aren't you cutting your steak the right way?" I asked him. My intention was not to insult him or make him look like a fool. Rather, I just wanted to help any way I could.
"The right way?" he replied, not making eye contact with me.
"You're supposed to hold the fork in your non-dominant hand, then slice the steak with your dominant hand. Unless you're left-handed, you're doing it wrong."
"I'm right-handed."
It was hard not to raise my voice as I gave him instructions. The way he conducted himself at the dining table made him look almost like a wolf; he didn't hate table manners, he was just ambivalent to them.
To his credit, Bryant did take my guidelines to heart. I believe he was at least making an effort, but in my mind, it was too little, too late.
When we had finished our meal and paid the check, I gave Bryant one last look. Even now, I don't know what I was going for. Perhaps I was just looking for a way to make it clear that I disapproved of his conduct at the restaurant, but to do so without attracting attention from the other patrons.
"I wish you luck in all your future endeavors" I told Bryant as I picked up my purse. I then left him alone, departing the restaurant and heading for the subway.
On the way to the stop, I thought about just how badly the first date had gone.
There wouldn't be a second date; no matter how hard it was to find someone on Hinder after this, I wasn't going to default back to Bryant Forest. He wasn't necessarily a bad guy, but he certainly wasn't socially aware either.
I almost feel bad for him. He was trying to make things work; that much is clear. But I just…I can't get past it.
Hiding my tears on the subway was difficult. I couldn't be seen rubbing my eyes, not least because I had to have a hand on my purse at all times.
I didn't hate Bryant, but I didn't exactly want to see him again either.
BRYANT FOREST, 18
"Attention, all refugees currently in the Heart of Arceus, also known as the Church of Arceus, Zoness Diocese: We have an announcement to make."
That was the Gardevoir running the show; she'd managed to rig up one of the church's microphones, and now she was giving a secular sermon of sorts. Although she (probably) wasn't a pastor, she spoke about as well as a pastor needs to.
"As almost all of you surely know by now, given that you witnessed it, Frank Speech of Fairview has become a Dragonite. We do not know why or how this happened, so until we have a definite cause established, it is advisable to exercise extreme caution."
I sat with my parents against one of the church's walls. My back only felt more stiff now, and all I wanted to do was to get out of my pajamas. And, as if the physical discomfort wasn't enough, everyone in the church seemed to be on edge.
"As such, we advise that you do not approach Mr. Speech. Not only is he extraordinarily dangerous in a tight space such as a church, but if this is a contagious disease, being huddled together like this could create a superspreader event. It's better this way."
After that, the Gardevoir lady stopped talking and stepped back from the pulpit. The other refugees, on the other hand, remained where they were for the most part. This included me and my parents.
"We'll all have already been exposed anyway" I whispered in my mother's ear. "So keeping Frank away from us is useless."
My mother shrugged. "It's just like the Gardevoir said, we don't know what caused his transformation. It could be that it's not an infectious disease at all."
"Yeah, but I hate not knowing!" I all but shouted through gritted teeth, causing about twenty people to shift their eyes toward me. Their eyes widened, as though they were appalled at what I had just said.
"Well, too bad," my father replied. "Sometimes you just don't know what's going to happen. I don't like uncertainty any more than you do, but one has to tolerate it somehow."
Something else entered my mind, a thought that I tried to suppress at first. But the more I tried to force it down, the more it seemed as though an ice pick was hammering the inside of my skull. I had to engage with it.
"Why are they keeping Frank in the basement, anyway?" I wondered aloud. "They shouldn't let him stay in the church; it's just like Gardevoir told us, he's a threat to himself and others."
"Bryant, would you please be quiet?" my mother all but snapped. "Your father and I are trying to figure out what happens now, and your speculation isn't helping. So please, cut it out."
"Fine" I grumbled, getting up from the floor and walking over to the other side of the sanctuary.
From this vantage point, the building should have been beautiful, considering the numerous stained glass pieces in a veritable rainbow of colors. But it was filled with people from Fairview, all of whom had one thing in common: They'd fled everything to come to the slums of Moraga City.
Eventually, breakfast was served, albeit a rather lame excuse for one. We were fed grits, a dish that I'd only had once or twice a year before this, but was apparently much more common in the slums.
It wasn't a proper meal, in my view, and I turned up my nose at the sight of them.
"Look, Bryant, it's better not to complain," my mother instructed me. "No matter what situation you're in, it could always be worse. People from Zoness eat this all the time, so how bad can it be?"
The difference is, they aren't used to nicer food. They didn't just have steak last night.
It was hard to comprehend that my disastrous date with Hannah had only occurred yesterday evening. Just fifteen hours or so ago, I'd been optimistic about the future; it had seemed that things were going right for me. I'd secured a date on Hinder, and even if it didn't work out, I would always have another chance with someone else.
Now, though, my life had been ruined. After things had gone south with Hannah, the storm had hit, and we'd had to come here. I kept running into Hannah, something neither of us were very thrilled by. There was the little matter of how my neighbor had become a Dragonite.
And, worst of all, I was stuck in my damp flannel pajamas.
That last part might sound like a trivial complaint, but it's not. The church may have been gorgeous, but it lacked air conditioning, and as the morning wore on, the air inside grew increasingly stuffy.
Thirty minutes after I'd finished my pitiful breakfast, my flannel shirt was stuck to my body with sweat. My forehead had grown rather clammy. And my mouth was dry.
At times like this, it's often helpful to count one's blessings. Like my mother had said, things could always be worse.
For one, Alana could be gone…oh, wait.
I'm not proud of what I did next, but I walked into the small bathroom adjoining the sanctuary. Nobody else was in there, so I shut the door and looked in the mirror.
The same young man stared back at me; same brown hair, same blue eyes. But there was a marked difference this time that had not been there just twenty-four hours before.
I'm carrying so much more now. Am I supposed to hold a funeral for Alana?
I'd never considered myself a religious person. I wasn't the type to pray to Arceus when I encountered a problem. But ultimately, this wasn't about me; it was about Alana.
How would I go about doing that? Do I just say a few prayers for her? Would they even be in the Book of Arceus?
I shook my head. I didn't know what to do here; even if Alana would never know that I was honoring her, I felt as though I should be doing something to honor her life. She'd given me so much, only to have her existence cut short by my own shortsightedness.
Eventually I leaned over the sink and ran some cold water onto my forehead. It was a bit startling amidst the building's heat, but it gave me clarity.
Perhaps there's a reason some people do that before praying.
I clasped my hands together, intertwining my fingers, and began to speak. I wasn't praying to Arceus so much as hoping that I, myself, could do what needed to be done.
"Alana, thank you for all that you've given me. I had no friends, and you provided me with your friendship. When I was lonely, you gave me company. When I was stressed out, you helped comfort me.
"I'll miss you very, very much. I'm not a religious person by any means, but if there is a heaven, I'm sure you're there right now. Perhaps you're in a brilliant meadow running around with other Pokémon. Certainly that's a better place for an Alolan Ninetales than the city; that's another sacrifice you made for me.
"I will always love you, Alana. I will always be grateful for your existence and presence in my life, even if it didn't last forever. Until we meet again, thank you."
With that, I opened my eyes again and separated my hands from one another. I didn't care if anyone had heard me, for the most important thing was that I'd given Alana the send-off she deserved. Really, she deserved so much more, but that was the best I could do.
When I walked out of the bathroom, I saw Hannah on the other side, giving me a weird stare.
"What's with that look?" I asked her.
Hannah frowned. "I heard you saying something. Were you praying for someone named Alana? Who's Alana?"
I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Alana is…or, well, was my Pokémon. I mentioned last night that I had a Pokémon, that was her."
"Oh" Hannah replied. She didn't question my use of was rather than is.
"Yes. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll try to find a quieter part of the church. One where I can be alone with my thoughts.
She snorted. "Good luck with that."
The rest of the day went by very slowly.
The few refugees who'd had the presence of mind to bring their phones were hit with dismay when they discovered that the Zoness district did not have any Internet connection. In my mind, nobody should have been surprised by this; after all, these were the slums.
Of course, the lack of Wi-Fi was more than just an inconvenience. It meant, for instance, that we had no updates on the situation back in Fairview, or if the rest of the city was able to take in people and Pokémon who'd lost their homes.
For the most part, I just sat around looking at the other refugees, and the others did pretty much the same thing. It was boring, yes, but you can't exactly talk about your former homes for twelve hours straight.
A few Pokémon, including the Alolan Vulpix I'd seen last night, were reading passages from the Book of Arceus. Perhaps they were praying for deliverance from this boredom, but I didn't pay much attention.
At about two in the afternoon, the Gardevoir lady returned to the pulpit. After clearing her throat, she leaned right into the microphone and began speaking.
"I have an announcement to make," she told us, and my heart sank. Judging by the grave tone she used, the news could hardly be good.
"I've just received updates from the outside world; my phone is the only one here with service, since I am the volunteer coordinator for this shelter. At any rate, the news is not good, so I won't beat around the bush with you all.
"Our intelligence tells us that the district of Fairview was almost entirely destroyed by the storm. Very few houses were left standing, and even the post office suffered extensive damage. Therefore, I hate to say this, but it doesn't seem as though you all have a home to go back to."
We don't have homes anymore. We'll have to find new places to live. And there's no telling what will happen next.
I could hardly believe it. My home, the one I lived in with my parents, had been a symbol of everything predictable in my life. It hadn't been perfect, but it had served as a monument to my parents' marriage, financial security, and overall stability throughout my eighteen years of life.
And, literally overnight, it had all been torn down.
"Believe me", the Gardevoir lady continued, "it brings me no joy to deliver this news. Nobody wants to lose their home that they have worked so hard to build, but there is no benefit to shielding everyone from the truth. It must be faced eventually."
There was a long silence in the church after that. Perhaps nobody wanted to accept what Gardevoir was telling them, no matter how evident it was.
Finally, Freya Speech spoke up. She had to shout to make herself heard thanks to the sheer size of the building.
"Where are we going to live now?" she all but bellowed.
The Gardevoir lady frowned. "I do not know the answer to that question. Most likely, the city will reassign all of you to different living arrangements. We are a city, after all, a community, and that means we must care for one another."
I realized that unlike many of the other refugees, my parents and I had a simple way out: We could go to live with Zachary.
How ironic will it be when he's forced to support all of us now? Oh well, I guess that's the cycle of life.
Still, I wasn't content by any stretch of the imagination. From this vantage point, it was hard to see this story having a happy ending.
Once the Gardevoir lady was done with her speech, I made my way back over to my parents (we'd been on opposite ends of the sanctuary.) And I asked them a question.
"Are we going to go live with Zachary now?"
My dad shook his head. "Well, not necessarily no. But not right now. We can't just show up at his door and demand to be let in. As badly as we may need that space, he has a right to refuse it. It's his apartment."
"Besides", my mother said, "if what happened to Frank Speech is contagious, we've all already been exposed. We don't want to turn him into a Dragonite!"
I tried to imagine how guilty I'd feel if, as a result of arriving at my brother's apartment and begging to be let in, I ended up infecting him with a life-changing illness. I just couldn't imagine it.
"We will find a place eventually" my father assured me. At least, that's what I think he was trying to do, but he didn't do a very good job of it.
I shook my head. "I'm not so sure."
"Bryant", my mother snapped, "please be optimistic. This is a rough time for all of us. I know it's hard for you to be happy, but try to stay cheerful, for everyone's sake."
I knew she had a point. The more I wallowed in self-pity, the more unpleasant I would make this predicament for everyone else. Complaining wouldn't get us a home any sooner.
But if I thought things were bad now, I was wholly unprepared for just how catastrophic they would become in the ensuing days. If I could, I would have begged Celebi to turn back time, or even just to freeze it right here. The latter would still be worth it if I could avoid the pain that was to come.
However, time waits for no 'mon.
