Okay, so I'm back. My hands feel okay now, but in the case they suddenly don't, I won't hesitate to drink more of my sacred, French inspired tea.
Anyway. Five minutes later, after a somewhat unsuccessful training routine at the Lake of Rage (Cinder didn't want to train in the water), I got off Lorcan, landing back onto the ground with a shaky thud. It was still raining, and water still splattered onto the crystal blue lake in a dizzying frequency. However, a man with red hair stood before the sign, musing to himself. He did have a black cape draped about him, but he wasn't muttering about radio waves.
Not that I especially cared. Not with that Dragonite there next to him.
A Dragonite! Here I was, looking at one for the first time, and I couldn't even catch it. It belonged to the red-haired guy, and I couldn't help but sour at the thought. Still, I reassured myself, it couldn't long until Lorcan evolved to sheer awesomeness.
"That red Gyarados wasn't acting right," the man muttered. My attention snapped back to him, but I was barely able to see his face—his back was to me. "As I feared, someone must have forced it to evolve..."
I was pretty confused. I mean, I'm not a Pokémon evolution expert. But I don't think evolution works that way with the Magi-crap. They don't evolve with stones. You can't just scream in its face, "EVOLVE, DAMN YOU! EVOLVE!" Still, I decided to be polite enough to say nothing to this man, who, if the donut man had it right, was probably a weird, nutty kind of guy, Dragonite or no.
I spared a glance at the Dragonite. It was probably possible for Pokémon to be nutty too.
Feeling a tang of thirst, and wishing to subside this really annoying headache in my head, I reached into my bag for my water bottle. While I took a few sips of my water, Lorcan inched closer to his fellow Dragon friend and began blabbing, all of a sudden, a bunch of personal information about me. (Lorcan was trying to find a mate through the Dragonite, and was giving out contact information.) At that I tore my water bottle away from my lips, hastily smearing away drops of water from my chin.
"That's enough, Lorcan," I said, my face heating. I didn't dare to look at the red-haired man or the Dragonite. "They don't need to know that my name is Lyra, or any of that stuff. Besides, you really don't need a girlfriend right now. I thought we've already established that—"
"You're Lyra?" the red-haired man said, sounding genuinely interested.
Fuck my life.
"I'm Lance, a Trainer like you," he said. "I heard some rumblings, so I came to investigate..."
I nodded, my face still flushing.
"I saw the way you battled earlier. I can tell that you're a Trainer with considerable skill."
"Thank you. I try."
"If you don't mind, could you help me investigate?"
I froze. Eyed Lorcan, eyed the Dragonite. I knew that if it came down to struggle, I would probably lose.
Lorcan whined, pulling on my sleeve slightly with his jaw. A look of pleading came across his delicate, dark eyes.
I was still hesitant, but then I suddenly remembered, from a newspaper I've read a long time ago, Lance is, or was, a part of the Elite Four. If anything happened, Lance would immediately come to the public's eye. It would be scandalous. Lance would never be able to get a top-ranking job again.
So I shrugged. "I'll help your investigation. I don't have much better to do, anyway."
He clapped. "Excellent!"
At this point I winced in pain. Lance's eyes narrowed. "Is something wrong?"
"Nah. Just a headache."
Lance nodded, not really caring. He continued on with the whole "investigation" business. "It seems that the Lake of Rage's Magikarp are being forced to evolve."
I sipped more water. "Why would you say that?"
"I am a Pokémon master," Lance said, like that can explain everything.
"And...?"
"And I read a book."
"I..see."
Later, I would find out that the Gyarados out at the lake were at a much weaker stage than when a normal Magi-crap would evolve. No help from Lance in figuring this out.
"Anyway," Lance continued, "a mysterious radio broadcast coming from Mahogany is the cause."
"Are you sure about this?"
"Yes. I read this all in a book, while also being a Pokémon master."
"What book did you read this in?" I demanded.
"A philosophical study on evolution."
"I doubt that book helped much."
He seemed insulted at that notion, and therefore ignored me.
"I'll be waiting for you...Lyra," he said gravely, before dramatically flying away on his Dragonite. Probably to avoid the new toll price.
Because I, too, wished to avoid the toll, I had Kitty fly me back to Mahogany. Honestly, I tried to speak to him about the battle with the Gyarados, but he just would not listen. I finally gave it a break, believing that the young white colored Pokémon was too tired for whatever reason. It must have been the temporary transition of my travel from night to day.
Even so, I had gotten at least three different phone calls, all from guys, and one from a guy who already called me two times that day—Huey. It was ridiculous, but I couldn't figure out how to put my phone on silent. My mom bought the stupid cheap kind of Pokégear for me.
It was so cheap and dumb, in fact, it couldn't even surf the internet. I had to borrow a phone from a random Trainer at the Pokémon Center to look up the "symptoms of forced evolution."
After that, I went to the awful Souvenir Shop with the terrible radio, obviously. When I got inside, I found that Lance was already there, his Dragonite in front of him. And in front of the Dragonite was the man in the karate clothes.
"Dragonite, Hyper Beam," Lance ordered, before I could go ahead and stop him.
Now.
Now.
Do you know how Hyper Beam is? Hyper Beam is a move that's devastating. It's powerful, and that Dragonite was a powerful Pokémon. If other Pokémon could hardly withstand it, how can a regular guy can?
Dragonite used Hyper Beam, a wave of sheer power surrounding him as the beam charged forward into the karate guy's chest. The man slammed backwards into the wall, falling to the ground. Not even a whimper passed through his lips before he was struck unconscious.
Perhaps struck dead.
"YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" I screamed at Lance. I ran to the karate guy, falling to my knees. Tapping his chest, I kept shouting out, "Are you okay, are you okay? Can you hear me?"
No response.
I turned back to Lance as I got up, my chest feeling like it was about to burst. "Damn you, damn you, damn you—! Sure, he did a bad thing, but that was not necessary!"
Lance watched me coldly. "Calm yourself and get back on track."
He only said that. Like, I was supposed to forget that he'd just downright murdered someone in front of me.
Lance continued like nothing in the world was wrong with forcing a Pokémon to murder. "Just as I thought, that strange radio signal is coming from here."
He walked across the room, facing the guy who resembled the Gym guide. The guy winced and immediately backed away in fright. Lance regarded him in the same cool he had shown me seconds before, and turned to the golden box that had been next to the guy.
"The stairs are right here," he mumbled, pushing the box aside. A staircase was revealed underneath.
"Lyra, we should spilt up to check this place. I'll go first."
He descended the staircase, his dark Dragonite sullenly following him. Lorcan gazed at them in horror before returning to the karate guy. I trailed my Pokémon, wishing to check the man's breathing. However, that was not needed.
"Urrgh..." the man uttered, his head slumped against the wall. Somehow, he had regained consciousness—but barely. "That guy's Dragon-type Pokémon are tough..."
I looked over to the Gym guide, who seemed somewhat paralyzed with fear. "Hey! Look over your friend here, all right?"
He shakily nodded as I ran down the staircase, following the dreadful Lance. Hopefully before he attempted to kill someone else.
I arrived at a metal underground chamber. Statues of Persians with glowing red eyes were lined up against the wall. There was no sight of Lance or his Dragonite.
My breath held, I wandered in front of the first Persian. Sure enough, a Team Rocket grunt—grim, insolent, brim of his cap low on his face—ran out and approached me.
"Intruder alert!"
"Is it now," I said snidely as the grunt released his Drowzee. I directed Lorcan to it in a single, swooping gesture. "C'mon, now! Use surf!"
Lorcan appeared generally indifferent, his tail twisting lazily around his head. However, his eyes were full of sharp concentration. Piles of water (don't ask me where they came from) began to spread out, splashing harshly against the Drowzee. Drowzee, barely able to hold on, leaned back and made this weird sparkling noise. I scowled.
"Whatever. Lorcan, let's use surf again—"
But Lorcan was still. His eyes were full of confusion—not at my command, particularly, but on why he cannot execute the move properly. It was blocked from him. Somehow, for whatever reason, he couldn't remember how to do the move that he had done only seconds ago.
I took in a breath, studying the Drowzee. I believe I found out what that sparkling move meant.
"Okay," I said, "use that dragon rage move." Still studying the Drowzee.
Thankfully, Lorcan was able to use the move, and the purple flames erupted out of his mouth again. The Drowzee was lost in the midst of the smoke and flames. Eventually it thundered on its back, having fainted. The Team Rocket guy made a snarl that did not look good on his face at all, and took out another Poké Ball. A Zubat emerged from the Poké Ball, whirling in the air, wings flashing out with its sharp jaws bared.
Overall, it was not a difficult battle. Lorcan was able to fight the Zubat with no problems. But after the battle, another annoying Rocket guy came out of nowhere, pushing his face into mine. I couldn't even back up because of the Persian statue that was behind me.
"It's my turn!" he yelled, even though we were clearly in each other's faces. "There's no escape!"
I sighed, gesturing Lorcan to stand at the side for battle. "That really is unfortunate. After all, you lot (and you in particular) are as disgusting as the slime infested Pokémon you carry."
Well, eventually I beaten that guy, too. I don't know where all those losers went to, but they left me alone in the metal chambers. Not bothering to pass by another Persian statue (and get into even more annoying fights) I ran over the floor, evading statues as I went along, until I came across a switch.
"Yeah, better switch it," I said loud enough so the guy in scientist clothing next to me heard.
He immediately turned his head to my attention so quickly a creepy snapping sound erupted. "This was a ninja's hideout once."
I made a whistle, looking around the metal of the hideout. "I had no idea there was so much technology back in old Japan."
His face flushed. "There are traps to confound intruders like you."
Then he had us go through a Pokémon battle, right there, even though his laptop was next to him and everything. Well, I wasn't the type of person to complain in a situation like this.
So I allowed Lorcan to mess up the entire section with water, surveillance system and all.
My feet clanking against the metal steps, I descended into another chamber. Lance waited for me there, his lumpy Dragonite standing beside him. I stiffened. Miranda, who was following me at that time, viewed them curiously.
"Are you all right?" Lance asked.
I nodded and turned away. But Lance was insistent.
"Your Pokémon are tired and hurt. Here, give them some of my medicine."
So I did.
"Let's give our best for Pokémon," Lance announced once that healing was over.
He walked along the hallway and I quickly hurried to his direction in a sprint. However, I had to go through some Pokémon battles on the way, and it took some time to catch up. Once I finally did, I saw that the asshole was roughly interrogating a grunt (shoving him against the wall, threatening him with Dragonite's powers, the works), though he stopped once I came his way.
"Lyra! in order to unlock the door to the radio transmitter, you need the voice of a certain person."
"I've heard the same." Really, I had. Those grunts were the worst kind of idiots and gave every single direction for how to get past them. Even if they thought I wasn't going to make it, they should have at least realized that the hideout was not the best place for storytelling.
Lance paused, so he can announce dramatically the name of the person we needed the voice of. I waited, glaring at him.
Finally, "The name of the person is Petrel, the Team Rocket Executive!"
"Sheesh. How many executives do they have?"
"Four. And they always argue."
"Good to know."
"I read that somewhere."
"That's not good to know."
"Anyway..."
More dramatic silence.
I glared at him.
"Annnnd..."
More glaring.
"I have found out that he, Petrel, is hiding in their leader's office!"
Lance said this like hiding in your boss's office is the most scandalous thing you can think of.
"Okay," I said.
"Unfortunately, though," Lance said thoughtfully, "that room is also protected with a password..."
"Okay," I repeated.
"Lyra!" he said desperately, in that annoying, loud way he does every time he says my name. His eyes widened slowly for effect. "We need the password to their leader's office first!"
I gave Lance a serious look. "I am not five."
Lance looked momentarily shocked but quickly hid it. "Very well, then. Let us spilt up."
He went one way, implying that I would go the other way. I took a mere glance at the way and continued where Lance was going.
"Urrggh..." the grunt Lance was speaking with was groaning. I stopped and went to him.
"The guy in the cape is incredibly tough...and I had no choice but to tell him all the secrets about this hideout..."
"All of them?"
"No. I didn't tell him that the leader's office is protected with two passwords."
"Well, thank you for telling me that."
I walked off in the direction that Lance went. But I didn't find him.
One fool did, eventually, tell me a password. It was RATICATETAIL, because they probably want to chop off the tail of Joey's evolved Rattata next and call it food. Like such a thing could happen.
Another fool told me another password. It was SLOWPOKETAIL, 'cause why not, probably.
Eventually I came across the boss's room. It was also where I came across Pikachu Boy. (I almost added a Lance worthy dramatic moment right there but decided I pitied y'all.)
Pikachu Boy, in all his terrible dark clothes and messed up hairdo, in his yogurt stains and permanent scowls, came forth. He seemed stunned to see me.
Then he asked, "Are you from heaven?"
I was shocked. "You thought I was dead?" For some inane reason, I started thinking, It was probably the flood. Everyone thought I died in the Marill spit flood.
But the moment my voice let loose, disclosing me as snarky Lyra, his face flushed as red as the fires on Cinder's ass.
He stared at me intently for a few goddamn moments (like he always does), before speaking like the words were painful, "You look...different today."
My eyes narrowed. I turned around and began walking away.
"Wait!" he called out, running to my side. "So you are messing with them again."
I shrugged.
"Humph, you must really like Team Rocket so much."
"One, you are a hypocrite. Two, if I liked them, I would join them. Three, uh...you are still a hypocrite. So there."
I wasn't sure why Pikachu Boy randomly decided to spend time at a souvenir shop's secret underground hideout, but you know. He's probably as excited as I was about the whole thing.
"Tell me," Pikachu Boy insisted as we both stopped before the leader's office, "who was the guy in the cape who used Dragon-type Pokémon?"
"A psychopath. He also happens to be a member of the Elite Four. His name is Lance."
Pikachu Boy's fell.
"I'll make a guess, and say you've battled him."
Pikachu Boy avoided my gaze. "My Pokémon were no match for him," he said quietly.
I studied him. "Yeah, you kinda look like you're gonna throw up."
"No, I don't care that I lost," Pikachu Boy claimed, lying very badly. "I can easily beat him by getting stronger Pokémon."
"So what's the matter?"
"It's what he said that bothers me...he told me that I don't love and trust my Pokémon enough."
I bursted out laughing. Lance doesn't love and trust humanity enough.
"I'm furious that I lost to a bleeding heart like him," Pikachu Boy said fiercely.
"Okay, Pikachu," I finally said, having almost lost myself to unbearable laughter, "you don't have to listen to Lance. In fact, don't listen to Lance. I can't even beat Lance. Lance is just telling you all that love and friendship shit so that you can leave him alone. Really, Pika, you couldn't have beaten Lance even if you had all the love and trust of Pokémon in the world. Your Pokémon just aren't that well trained yet."
"But, Lance..."
"Lance has been training for many years. You've only been a Pokémon Trainer for about a month, or something. What did you expect in a battle between the two of you?"
At Pikachu Boy's reluctant pause, I added, "Trust me. That guy acts like a psychopath. He was just saying that stuff so you can fuck off. Although, you really do need to treat your Pokémon better, now that you mention it."
"Do you think I'm a psychopath, too?" Pikachu Boy asked. His face became tense at the prospect.
"You have certain traits. But I also think you can work over it."
Though his facial muscles relaxed, his eyes remained ablaze with anger. "After this, I will train everywhere! I will train in the deserts, in the oceans, in the beaches, I shall train even in my underwear—"
"Okay, that's enough," I interrupted. I did not like the idea of Pikachu Boy running around in his underwear. It was largely unpleasant. "You've better leave. I've got work to do."
Pikachu Boy scowled. "Well, I don't have the time for the likes of you, either!"
He shoved me aside and stalked off.
Well, someone woke up on the wrong side of bed...as usual. It was not impressing me anymore.
I entered the two damn passwords to unlock that door. When I got in, I noticed right away a middle-aged man in a black trench coat with one of those bowler hats to match. I walked to him, my face probably all heated up, while ignoring the Murkrow that glared at me from its corner.
"Muhahahahahahahaha, we've been waiting for you," the man said. "You must be Lyra..."
"Muhahahahahahahahahahaha, I am indeed Lyra. And you must be...?"
"Me?" He looked shocked. "You don't know who I am?"
"Nope."
"It is me, Giovanni. The majestic Giovanni himself! Wahahahaha!"
"You sound nothing like Giovanni."
"I don't?"
"Yeah. You don't even look like him."
"How come?" The man—Petrel, probably—frowned. "I've worked so hard to mimic him."
With that, Petrel tore off his disguise, since it was obviously convincing nobody. "I am a Team Rocket Executive!"
"Yeah. Petrel. I know."
"How?"
"Your grunts. They're really awful at keeping secrets, you know?"
He frowned, then chose to ignore my comment. "You must be trying to sneak into the radio-transmitter room."
"No. Lance is."
"Wait—well, never mind. That's not going to happen. Nobody is going to sneak into the radio-transmitter room, including you, lance, sword, or whatever other medieval equipment you brought."
"Even if I'm magical and I made them talk?"
"Especially then. That room is protected with a special password. And that password is 'Hail Giovanni.' "
"You people must really like your passwords," was all I said.
Petrel quickly surveyed my face. "Aren't you surprised to hear it from me?"
"Not really. Your grunts are all the same way, as I have previously mentioned. They must have learned their bad habits from somewhere."
"They are pretty dumb. Knowing this password won't help you, though. The door won't open unless I say the password. It only reacts to my voice."
And then he threw out his Zubat.
It was fairly average fight, as far as fights go. Petrel seemed to be easily impressed by my Pokémon's power, but then again, I would too if the only Trainers I were around were the Team Rocket grunts. Those grunts could be beaten in Pokémon battles by a cranberry.
After the fight (at which I had so evidently won) was over, Petrel leaned back and began to give me a history lesson. I don't know, maybe he thought I would be the future or some shit.
"Since disbanding Team Rocket three years ago, our Giovanni has been missing. But we're certain he's been waiting for the right time for our revival..."
I zoomed out for that part. It took me a while to realize when he'd stopped.
He had paused as though expecting me to say something. When I didn't, he carried on. He went on about some random things like friendship and loyalty and shit. I zoomed out for that part too. In fact, I only zoomed back in when the topic turned to the radio-transmitter room, and even then I was still tempted to sleep.
"Losing to you won't change the fact that you are unable to get in the radio-transmitter room," Petrel said. "You need my voice to unlock it."
Petrel ran away to God knows where. Then I was alone in the room with his weird...Murkrow. I gave it a pointed look as it came in front of me.
"Hail Giovanni," it said. In Petrel's voice.
Okay, I could work with this.
Murkrow ran off, and I chased after it. I chased after it all the way to that locked door, and it would keep saying "Hail Giovanni" the entire time. I'm not exactly sure why it was helping me. It must have liked my Pokémon, or something. For the first time in its life, it was faced with Pokémon that looked pretty damn decent.
Finally we came to that door. Murkrow screeched out the password like its life depended on it.
Seconds later I was passing through the door, facing red cables and wires and some other shit. A woman's voice shouted out behind me and I turned. What faced me was a sullen grunt, and a red-haired woman that strangely resembled Pikachu Boy—it was probably both the hair and the distinctive scowl that did it. She wore a swooping, long white dress that somehow didn't look good on her.
"We can't let a brat like you do as you please forever." These were her words as she gazed at me in hatred, her red eyes narrowed.
I only shrugged.
"Why did you even let a brat like me do what I please for hours, then? Why should I not do it forever? I've done enough already."
For whatever reason, she actually thought I was serious.
"It'll hurt Team Rocket's pride over and over again. Making it lessen, you see. So it's time to finish you. However strong you may be, if the two of us fight at the same time, you'll have no chance of winning. Don't you agree?"
"Not really—"
She gave a high-pitched laugh. "Sorry, baby. Now, get ready to get thrashed."
Lance—I honestly do not know where that idiot has been this entire time, a magical talking lance would have done more work—flew in the scene, panting, with that Dragonite of his behind him. "Hold it! A two-on-one battle? That is so unfair! Typical of Team Rocket to be so sneaky. Allow me to join the battle!"
"Lance, calm down," I said. "Go eat cookies or something. I can beat them on my own—"
"What?" the red-haired woman said, glowering, "you had an accomplice?" She looked at me, silently repeating the word "accomplice," like having one is even worse than hiding in your boss's office. "Where is your sense of dignity?"
I decided to give her the silent treatment.
"As interim boss in place of Giovanni, I'll show you how wrong it is to meddle with Team Rocket...with an accomplice!" She shuddered at the last word, even as she tossed out her Arbok. Her grunt, next to her, ejected his Drowzee out of his Poké Ball while Lance directed his Dragonite to battle. Me, I had Lorcan fight this battle, the sky blue dragon slithering forward reluctantly. He turned back to me and we exchanged looks.
I know. These people really are too much.
I was about to give Lorcan orders when suddenly I froze. From the corners of my eyes, I watched Dragonite prepare for battle.
Okay, I'll admit that I've hardly seen Dragonite. But I've seen a bunch of them on television, and I've stared at them a million times on magazines, so I think I'll know what I'm talking about when saying that Lance's own Dragonite was much weaker than a Dragonite should be.
There were the other symptoms, as well—the symptoms of forced evolution.
A chill came down my spine as I walked over to Lance.
"I really hate what I'm going to say," I muttered, "and it's probably not going to be right. But I think you forced your own Pokémon to evolve."
"What?" he said, loudly. Very loudly.
Ariana and her grunt shot us looks.
For a moment, I hesitated. I realized that Lance could give the excuse that he got the Dragonite from a trade or something. It was then that I remembered that kind of thing is easily tracked and is pretty much illegal, so I continued.
I cleared my throat. "I think you forced your Dragonite to evolve."
"Speak louder. You're mumbling."
"YOU PHONY, you forced YOUR OWN POKÉMON to evolve! Even as you go after these people for evolving MAGI-CRAP!"
Ariana and the grunt both (dramatically) gasped. I pursed my lips and looked away.
Lance's face flushed, which really didn't go well with his red hair. "That is not true."
(Ariana checked something on her smartphone, and showed it to the grunt. She and the grunt gasped again.)
Lance's face flushed harder. "Fine, dammit," he snapped at me. "Go fight Team Rocket on your own. See if I care!"
With that he walked away, his shadow of a Dragonite following him. I watched them coolly before directing Hamako into battle with a stunned Lorcan.
I may have been one person going against two. And perhaps those two were adults who had experience with Pokémon that lasted for years. But it was, thankfully, an easy battle. Those people must have been drunk that hour or something. At the end of it, Ariana stretched out her arms and yawned, her red hair unraveling from the thick amount of hairspray that was on it. Her heavily applied makeup had a musty feel to it.
"But that's fine," she mused, looking somewhere out into the distance. "The broadcast experiment was a total success. It doesn't matter what happens to this hideout now."
I shrugged. "Just get the hell out of here."
Ariana looked straight at me and snickered. "You'll come to appreciate Team Rocket's true power soon enough. Enjoy yourself while you can."
She walked passed me, a wave of a perfume flooding over me. It was a terrible scent, though.
The grunt jogged lightly to keep up with her, his hands still holding his Poké Ball. I looked over his hand and caught sight of a half-empty wine bottle sticking out from his bag.
Drunk theory confirmed.
With Ariana's last high pitched laugh ringing in my ears, she left me in the eerily silent hideout with her accomplice of a grunt trailing her. As I approached the red cables, I felt my every step vibrate in the metal structure.
I stopped before those red cables, the ones that had caused all those problems to begin with. The sizzling bolts of electricity that spun in the wires make me feel uncomfortable—a single wrong move could bring a deadly end to my life. Yet, as I wandered here and there to observe the massive technology, I could find no switch among them. There seemed to be nothing I could do.
Then I noticed the Electrode, their searing power the one that was running through the circuits, and I felt a strange push to my chest. I stood next to them, my heart pumping wildly.
If I were to make them faint...
But wait.
I didn't want to do this. I didn't want to strike them unconscious.
This isn't right. My head brought currents of dizziness spiraling around, perhaps from the force of everything that had recently happened. It isn't morally right.
It took way much too long to complete the thought, and once I did, I found myself sighing out in relief. It did occur to me that this was all absolutely ridiculous, but that thought was also too long to complete, so I didn't even try.
I leaned against the wall, feeling a ceaseless throbbing bang against the flesh of my forehead. My sensitive nose felt tight, still wounded from the Marill spit flood. Why can't I afford any kind of doctor? They should give health insurance for Pokémon Trainers...
I looked behind me. Like there would be someone there, a proper person, telling me what to do. There wasn't.
I shook off the headache, switching Lorcan and Cinder's Poké Balls before directing a puzzled Cinder forward.
It's not like they're going to die, I thought.
"Cinder, use ember on those Electrodes."
I can just make them faint.
The first Electrode became engulfed in billows of fire as wisps of smoke and flame sparked around the metallic floor. It became difficult to see even the outline of the Electrode's large, circular body through the masses of dark smoke that began to become dense around it.
It is clear, to anyone who knew her, that Kris would not do things like this. But I am not Kris.
