THREE: AULD LANG SYNE
Nine years ago: Gwyneth at fifteen, gawky and inelegant in a bright print dress. And there's Nika too, of course. They never did see each other in the Gym, but they were both staying at the Centre. When Gwyneth and her fellow travellers go to get breakfast in the morning, Nika's sitting right there at one of the tables with a couple of other kids. And when she sees Gwyneth, she waves her over, and Ashley and Tomás look at her, and Gwyneth wishes the ground would swallow her up, but okay, she can't pretend she hasn't seen, she'll have to go sit with her.
Nika introduces herself, and her friends too, Aimée and Katja. Katja is from Opelucid; Aimée is from Algiers. Katja has been waiting for this trip her whole life. Aimée only found out it was even a thing a few years ago, when her family moved to Opelucid, but she is already loving it. Unova: it's the greatest country in the world, right?
Now Gwyneth has to introduce Ashley and Tomás, and explain that she met Nika yesterday at the Gym, and all of this goes well, she thinks, even if it is completely weird. She's no fool, not even at that age; she's fairly sure Nika is just interested in her as Hilbert's sister, and she doesn't want to pick friends based on who she's related to. But Ashley and Tomás don't know that, and they get talking, swapping stories of the Gym – Nika actually won, how amazing is that? – and of the road south to Accumula and Nuvema. Katja intends to go down there a little way today, to see what pokémon you can find out there, and Aimée is going with her because these two started their journey at the same time and somewhere along the road to Village Bridge the two of them became friends, and so now they do all their journeying together. Nika wants to move on west, though. She's come here via a strange route, south from Humilau via Undella, detouring west to White Forest by way of Reversal Mountain, and then by train here to Striaton. (Apparently she didn't want to go to Nimbasa yet. There's something there, but no one pushes her to say it; they're all teenagers away from home, they all have secrets.)
Well, says Ashley, they're all thinking of moving on now, after Tomás' attempt at the Gym. Does she want to tag along?
And Nika smiles her metallic smile and says great, she'd love to, and Gwyneth smiles too and wonders if she's a bad person for wanting Nika not to come.
It's another long hike from Striaton to Nacrene, and the terrain is starting to change. The land flattens out and humps up again apparently at random, blanketed in pines that sweep in dark curves down to the shores of Houston Lake. Somewhere to the north there's supposed to be somewhere called Wellspring Cave, where a whole bunch of different pokémon live. Everyone agrees they want to have a look.
But things are different now to how they were on the road to Striaton. Tomás appears to have finally noticed Ashley, and now the two of them are more of a pair than they were, which leaves Gwyneth with Nika. And Nika is – well, she can't figure her out. She hasn't mentioned Hilbert again, or Cheren. But she does ask a lot of questions, and Gwyneth doesn't know if she's genuinely curious or attempting to get close to her to learn more about Hilbert or just trying to fill the silence. She answers as best she can, without letting her guard down, and Nika just finds more to say.
It all suddenly seems to have gone wrong. Gwyneth knows she shouldn't complain, that this is an amazing thing she's getting to do, but still, the magic seems to have gone out of it. Her little trio is breaking up. Nika's slithered in through the gaps. She thinks of Hilbert, of Cheren and Bianca, and is confused. This isn't how a trainer journey goes, is it? There's a group of friends and they stick together. Right? She doesn't realise yet, hasn't noticed the transitory nature of all these comings together. Even Hilbert's group, and it is exceptional, as he is, doesn't always remain unified. Bianca falls behind. Sometimes Hilbert or Cheren stop with her; sometimes she travels with others to catch up. Hilbert and Cheren themselves split up a lot, go hunting in woods or caves or cities each on their own.
She starts to feel very lonely. In the evenings she sits on the hillside hugging Blossom, staring out over the trees to the south as the sky changes colour. And Gwyneth doesn't realise how unhappy she looks, doesn't realise why Nika keeps trying to make conversation, trying to joke and laugh and smile. Because it's not about Hilbert, and it never was, not really. It wasn't the magazine that caught her eye, that day in the Gym. It was the girl reading it.
There comes one absolutely miserable day when they at last reach Wellspring Cave, following a tiny brook through the woods until they arrive at a cleft in the earth that goes down into a profound darkness; and somehow she gets separated from everyone else, trying to find her way back with her flashlight and the faint purple glow that rises from Corbin's skin, and sometimes she hears voices echoing from other parts of the caves as if they're about to just pop up behind her, and sometimes she hears wild pokémon scuttling around in the shadows beyond the beam of torchlight, and in the end Gwyneth just can't take it any more, she just folds up like a collapsing house of cards right there in the corner and she starts to cry.
It's something wrong with her, she thinks. How can she be so ungrateful? Blossom is right now trying to burrow between her arms to press her warm little body against her face, and Corbin is doing his best to beam positive thoughts to her in puffs of psychic smoke. She's a pokémon trainer. She has partners. She's on a trainer journey. All of this was given to her and she still manages to ruin things, still somehow manages to make herself feel so lost and alone.
And then someone has a hand on her back, crouched beside her.
"Hey," says Nika. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to lose you like that."
It's a watershed moment. Gwyneth could wrench her shoulders away, throw the hand off, turn and shout. Why are you still following me? What do you want from me?
Or she could turn and lean into Nika's outstretched arm, let herself be held, feel the wrongness ebb inside her in response to the simple truth of present human warmth.
It is the easiest decision she's ever made.
Saturday, 10th September
It's the strangest thing. When Gwyneth wakes, she's on a hospital bed, curtains drawn around her to keep out the hum and bustle of the ward, and for a brief hallucinatory instant, she half believes she's nineteen again and about to learn she has pneumonia. The pain in her hand, however, soon convinces her otherwise.
"Ow," she mutters, shifting slightly. "Ah, hell."
Now it's coming back to her. God damn it, this was meant to be the nice part of town. What are the odds that she'd stumble into the one feral poison-type in the whole of Moorview?
She blinks, raises her head. There's a pressure on her finger – one of those pulse monitor things, she thinks, although actually she isn't sure if they really do measure your pulse or not. She just assumed. But the other hand is the real issue. It's wrapped in bandages and hurts like hell, but it's no longer the same size and shape as a turnip, which she supposes is a good thing. The fingers are working again too, she notes, if stiffly.
What else? A cannula in her wrist, running yellow fluid into her. Some form of antidote, she figures. At least, it's the same colour as the stuff they carry in the Pokémon Centre.
It's probably also a lot more expensive, she realises, with a sinking feeling in her gut.
"You're awake," says someone. "Hey, take it easy now, okay? We just washed six times the lethal dose of venom out of you."
Gwyneth looks up, and sees a nurse slipping through the curtains. She looks friendly enough, with strong hands and the scarred cheeks of someone who once had truly terrible acne. Her name tag says TASNIM. Gwyneth wonders briefly what Tasnim sees when she looks at the body laid out along the bed. A patient, hopefully, before anything else.
"Where am I?" asks Gwyneth. It seems as good a way to start as any.
"Virbank North General Hospital," answers Tasnim.
"Oh. Okay." Gwyneth doesn't know what sort of answer she was expecting. It's not like she knows anything about Virbank hospitals. Last time she was here, she had other things on her mind.
"Do you have any other questions?" asks Tasnim. "If you do, I'll answer if I can. Otherwise, I have a few questions for you, if that's okay."
(Here we go.)
"Uh, sure. Sure, I guess."
"First of all, can you tell me your name? I'm Tasnim, by the way," she adds, indicating her badge. "We looked in your wallet, but I'm afraid we couldn't find any ID on you."
Everyone's favourite question. Gwyneth sighs and answers.
"Gwyneth. Gwyneth ze'Haraan."
Dad's name. It always feels weird on her Unovan tongue, this relic of someone else's language. She feels like it belongs carved into the ruins in the desert, in the ancient letters Gwyneth cannot read.
Tasnim pauses.
"Sorry," she says. "Can you spell that for me?"
"Little Z, E, apostrophe, big H, A, R, double A, N."
"Okay, thanks … right. Got that down." Tasnim lowers her clipboard and pen. "Now, I'm not expecting anything here, but I have to ask, can you tell me what happened? It looks like you took a really bad poison sting from a venipede, but we'd like to be clear."
"That's pretty much it," answers Gwyneth. "I went down this alley, and it just … jumped out at me." She pauses. "Didn't know it was a venipede, though. Never got a clear look at it."
"Right. There was a poké ball with you when you were found …"
"Yeah. Yeah, I had one in my pocket and I guess I just sort of threw it." Gwyneth shrugs. It's a more painful process than she remembers. "Souvenir from my trainer journey."
Tasnim smiles.
"Lucky you still had a trainer's arm on you, then. That venipede was either super angry or super afraid. It must have more or less emptied out its venom sac trying to get you."
Gwyneth shakes her head, not sure what to say. Venomous little monster. Of all the alleys in Virbank …
"Huh," she replies, in the end. "Guess my luck hasn't run out after all."
"I, uh, guess not," says Tasnim, the faintest hint of an unasked question in her voice. "Okay, now we've established that, I've just got a few more administrative questions for you. What's your address?"
It goes on, all the little bits of trivia that make up Gwyneth as a legal citizen of the Democratic Federation of Unova, and then the sixty-four thousand dollar question: does she have insurance? No. No, she does not. There's a pause, because although only Gwyneth knows how much money is in her bank account Tasnim can make an educated guess, and then Tasnim moves on with her questions.
Gwyneth feels it again inside her, that grinding shame like a millstone working on her gut. Unova. It's the greatest country in the world, right?
There is another pause, and then something else occurs to her, something even more important than money.
"Uh, what time is it?" she asks.
"About a quarter after eight," says Tasnim, without even looking at the upside-down clock on her breast. "Why?"
Gwyneth sits up. It hurts, and her head is spinning, but she stays up.
"I got to go," she says urgently. "I have to be in Castelia tomorrow morning."
"What?" Tasnim lays a hand on her, trying to ease her back down, but Gwyneth refuses to give way. "Ms. ze'Haraan, you really shouldn't be trying to move―"
"I have to," insists Gwyneth, trying to focus on Tasnim's face through the dizziness. "You don't understand―"
"Maybe I didn't make it clear, you were very badly poisoned. You're going to need rest―"
"My brother's getting married," pleads Gwyneth, playing her last card. "I have to be in Castelia, I really can't miss the ferry tonight."
Tasnim wavers. Gwyneth's vision is settling, and she can see the uncertainty in her eyes.
"Well," she begins, and Gwyneth pounces.
"My family will be there," she says. "I'm not going to be wandering around alone. I can see a doctor afterwards, I just – I can't miss this. Please."
She waits. Tasnim bites her lip.
"I'll have a word with the doctor," she says. "But he's not going to like this."
"Thank you," says Gwyneth earnestly. "Seriously. You don't even know how much this means."
She's being honest, but she knows it doesn't matter. Whatever the doctor says, she's going. Even if it turns out Jon Palmer's still at PokéStar, she's going; she'll drive the damn boat herself if she has to. She's going. She has no choice.
Castelia by noon tomorrow. Driftveil what, two days after that. It will be slow to walk, but after that she can speed up, get back on the buses. (Don't think about the money, not now.) Nimbasa, White Forest, Undella – and Humilau.
Humilau, and Nika.
She told Shane she wasn't going to break up the wedding. She really hopes she wasn't lying.
It's dark out now. Gwyneth feels rough, kind of like she has a bad cold and kind of like she just got beaten up, and she can't face the walk back down to the dockside; she caves and takes the bus, for another nine dollars. She'll do the math later; right now, she thinks, she'll collapse halfway if she tries to go on foot. Irritating, but it can't be helped.
The doctor was reluctant, but Gwyneth was relentless, and that makes people give up, eventually, just so they don't have to talk to her any more. She was only held for an hour or so longer, and then they took the tubes out of her wrist and the sensor off her finger and said she could go.
By night, Virbank comes into its own. The bus goes south via the coastal route, taking in Harvard Avenue with its theatres and playhouses, and the neon pops in the dark like a galaxy of light. Her eyes ache from looking – the poison, she thinks, or maybe just exhaustion – and she closes them, slumped forward on the pack resting on her lap. What was she thinking, trying to save the ferry? Who does something like that? Not Gwyneth. Some people get chosen and some do not, and Gwyneth is the kind of person who has to wait for the ferry like everyone else. Now she's wasted an afternoon, got herself sick and picked up a medical bill she has no chance in hell of being able to pay. What a perfect day.
Her fingers trace the edges of her pack, and stop on the pocket. There's a bulge there that she'd almost managed to forget.
What's she going to do with the damn venipede?
The hospital staff did give her the ball back, along with a lecture about the dangers of venipede that Gwyneth nodded her way through without listening, her mind full of questions about the ferry. Now that there's nothing to do but wait, the ball and its contents are coming back to her.
Gwyneth doesn't want it. She is not a pokémon trainer any more, and even if she was, this venipede is clearly not the friendliest of creatures. It wouldn't be anyone's first choice for a partner – or their second choice, in fact, or third, or fourth. She could release it when she gets off the bus, she supposes. Probably that isn't ethical, and she should take it out into the country or something, but once the thing's out of its ball it's not her problem any more. Besides, it was already living in Virbank anyway. It can't do much harm.
The only issue is whether or not it's going to go for her as soon as she releases it. Gwyneth would like to think it will just run away. After their last encounter, however, she isn't so sure, and she would rather not spend any more time in a hospital tonight.
By the time the bus pulls up outside the ferry terminal, she's made up her mind. She walks a little way up the street, to a little yard full of trash cans, and tosses the ultra ball behind a garbage bag. A blue light spikes up out of the dark, and she hears the skittering of pointed feet on tarmac. When she is sure she cannot hear them any more, she peeks carefully behind the bag.
The venipede is still there, a hump of scab-red carapace between two sets of gently waving antennae. It's missing its left eye, but it can clearly see her: it stiffens immediately, clicking its jaws in an insectoid warning.
"Whoa, there," says Gwyneth, straightening up hurriedly. "Let's not either of us do anything we regret, huh?"
It keeps clicking, and Gwyneth takes a few healthy steps away, in the direction of the street.
"You go on now," she calls. "I don't want any trouble, you hear me?"
A sudden scratching. A dark blur between the shadows. Gwyneth throws up a hand in front of her face, but there's no poison sting, no attack of any kind. Maybe it's out of venom, she thinks. It wouldn't surprise her. Or maybe it just wants to get away from her as badly as she wants to get away from it. She can't say she'd blame it. Gwyneth has no idea what it's like in a poké ball, but she wouldn't like to find out.
She waits a little longer, just to make sure it really has run off, and then looks behind the bag again. Nothing there now except the ultra ball.
Gwyneth picks it up and pushes its two halves together, hard. A sharp twist, and they separate cleanly with the crisp snap of breaking plastic.
"So long," she says, and drops the broken ball in with the rest of the trash.
Back down the street, the ferry terminal is looking livelier. The waiting area is half full, and the little café is doing a brisk trade, the smell of coffee making Gwyneth's empty stomach turn. For a second in the doorway she loses her balance, has to reach out for the wall to stay upright. Okay. Food is definitely a priority now. Ticket first, though.
At the desk, a different receptionist is on duty, a woman with dyed hair and a service industry smile.
"Did they find Jon Palmer?" asks Gwyneth, as she puts her card into the machine and hopes the transaction will clear.
"Oh, you heard?" The receptionist raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, thank god. Some kid who was in here earlier went up to PokéStar and talked him into coming back."
"Hugh?"
She looks surprised.
"No, the guy who was with him. Nate, I think his name was. You know them?"
Gwyneth shakes her head.
"I bumped into them earlier," she says. "Seemed … like the kind of people who get things done."
CARD APPROVED, says the reader, to Gwyneth's relief, and she takes her ticket and moves on.
Well, that answers her question, then. Who does a thing like that? Nate does. So everything she did was a waste, then. He got Jon Palmer back and she got poisoned. Gwyneth thinks this is probably the most succinct summary of her life she's ever heard.
She shakes it off, or tries to, and looks at the departure board. Fifteen minutes to kill until boarding; long enough to get something to eat, preferably from somewhere other than the café here, which she suspects of being overpriced. A grocery store a couple of streets away yields a large and inexpensive sandwich, and Gwyneth washes it down with the last of her water. It's not good food by any stretch of the imagination, but neither is what she usually eats, and if it keeps her upright then she feels she can't complain right now.
Gwyneth sits in one of the chairs in the waiting area and dumps her bag at her feet. The ache in her hand seems to have got into her blood and been washed right through her, a blunt, all-pervasive pain that pulses inside her like the bass at a concert. She hears the conversations of the other people waiting, the staccato zing and bang of a child's DS, the muffled roar of traffic outside. The lowing of some big pokémon. Laughter. Sirens. All of it is somehow utterly unbearable.
But there's nowhere to go, so she sits there and bears it until it's time to board.
Sunday, 11th September
It's a five-hour ride – closer to six, really, considering how long they have to wait at each stop. There are two before Castelia, at the Liberty Garden and at Unity Tower; apparently there are no express services at weekends, or maybe it's because of the strike. Every time, the ferry stays still for what seems like forever as cars are driven on and off the vehicle deck. Gwyneth doesn't mind. This was cheaper, and the longer it takes the more time she has to sleep.
She spends most of the trip in the big lounge at the front of the ship, dozing in one of the soft chairs scattered around the room. She dreams fitfully, feverishly, sweating and groaning in a way that keeps the other passengers away from her. When she wakes, she remembers none of it, and the world seems colder and clearer, sharper around the edges. Everything still hurts, but at least she no longer feels like she's about to die.
In the restroom, she wipes off her foundation and washes the sweat off her face and neck. Someone else comes in then, and she retreats into a cubicle, where with her tweezers and mirror she plucks out the most obvious hairs on her face before quickly running a razor over the rest and hiding its ghost beneath a fresh layer of make-up. She checks the mirror again and nods to herself: okay. Acceptable.
Back at the sink, she brushes her teeth and refills her water bottle, and heads back out to the lounge, glad to have got all that over with. The actions in themselves no longer bother her, having faded from an emblem of her difference to another part of daily life sometime during the past ten years, but there is always a difference between doing them at home and doing them out here in the wider world. Gwyneth has caught her share of flak. She would do almost anything to stop herself taking any more.
Standing at the window, she sees hazy spires of light forming in the darkness as Castelia draws near. It barely even looks real, and Gwyneth finds herself wondering, for a few seconds, if it's really there at all, if there is anything outside this bubble of light and glass but black water and the void of the night sky. Can there really be a Humilau out there, waiting for her to arrive? Suddenly it seems so unlikely.
Someone screams and Gwyneth snaps out of it, turns sharply to see a couple of kids running in through the door at the other end of the room. She can't see what they're fleeing, and she's about to dismiss it as some game they're playing when a man in a chair near the door jumps up, swearing, and something rattles loudly near his feet. Now other people are getting up, some of them even climbing over the chairs in their haste to get away. A lillipup jumps in front of its master, barking ferociously, and then leaps back again, yelping in dismay.
Everyone's staring now, or trying to retreat, and the chaos is working its way closer and closer, some unseen thing working its way between the chairs and tables. Gwyneth cranes her neck, trying to see the cause of it all, but whatever it is, it's well hidden by the furniture and the people trying to get out of its way. At the bar, a woman jumps up, fumbling for a poké ball, and a lithe green figure materialises at her feet, its hands bunches of thorns and petals. The roselia whistles an eerie tune, sending people as far away as Gwyneth into fits of yawning, but the move doesn't appear to take; the thing keeps moving, and now Gwyneth thinks she sees a flash of colour between a suitcase and a table, and now the man beside her is pushing past her to get away, and now, she realises, it's right here, it's coming right at her―
"Now!" yells someone, and the thing suddenly rises up into the air, wriggling and hissing in the grip of a giant beige hand. Gwyneth blinks, and her brain catches up with her eyes: here's a conkeldurr, squat and powerful, with a bulbous red nose and a concrete pillar slung over its shoulder. It's barely five foot tall, but at least three of that is arm.
"Anyone hurt?" asks the conkeldurr's trainer, a tall Latino man in a well-cut suit. There is a general shaking of heads, and a crew member runs up to him, red-faced above his white shirt.
"Thank you, sir," he gasps, chest heaving. "Been – chasing that thing – for fifteen minutes now."
The creature in question writhes, legs protruding from between the conkeldurr's massive fingers. Gwyneth hears a muffled clicking noise, and freezes.
"What do you want me to do with it?" asks the man. "Does it belong to anyone, or what?"
"Don't think so," replies the crewman. "Crawled out of – a vent. Must've come aboard while – we were docked."
Gwyneth is straining to see over the conkeldurr's thumb. Is that an eye in there?
"Right. Er, I don't suppose anyone has a poké ball? We could release it when we get to Castelia …"
The creature has worked its head through a gap in the conkeldurr's fist. It surveys the room with a single, malevolent orange eye.
"Release it?" A woman in a wine-red jacket laughs hollowly. "It's a goddamn menace. Ought to be destroyed."
"No!" cries Gwyneth involuntarily, and some small, sane part of her closes its eyes in despair. What is she doing?
All eyes turn to her, and her insides clench up like a steel trap.
"Is it yours?" asks the man politely.
Gwyneth hesitates, and feels the moment stretch out into infinity.
"Uh, yes," she says, stepping forwards. "Yeah, it's – it's mine."
And she is screaming inside, screaming at herself to forget the venipede, you have enough problems and you don't need any more; and it's just a bug, it's probably going to die in a month anyway as soon as it starts getting properly cold; and the damn thing's dangerous anyway, it nearly killed you; and somehow Gwyneth is still standing here in front of everyone, in front of all of these people and all of their eyes, and the screaming thing inside her keeps screaming and she keeps listening and nothing whatsoever shows on her face.
"Right," says the woman in the red jacket, derisive, looking at Gwyneth in that same old way. (Seeing: the jacket, the boots, the hair, the dirt, the androgyny, the ethnic ambiguity.) "Figures."
And Gwyneth knows better than to say anything, even though she is tired and sick and angry and her arm hurts like hell. So she says nothing, and stands there as the millstone goes to work again on her gut.
"That thing is yours?" asks the crewman, surprised. "I'm sorry, ma'am, what I mean is that it, ah, seems sort of wild."
"It's a rescue," invents Gwyneth. "It … it gets nervous." They're all still looking at her, at the woman fool enough to take responsibility for all that chaos. She burns and hates her pale skin for showing it. "I'm sorry, it must have wandered off when I fell asleep. I'm … I'm very tired. I'm sorry."
The crewman scowls.
"Ma'am, venipede are highly venomous―"
(Tell me about it.)
"―and letting it loose like this is highly irresponsible. There are signs up at all the entrances saying that potentially dangerous pokémon must be confined to their balls for the trip―"
"Doesn't have one," replies Gwyneth. The screaming thing inside of her has quietened down, is now simply staring wide-eyed as she digs herself deeper and deeper into the hole. She cannot believe she is doing any of this. "It's ex-Plasma. It has a problem with poké balls."
"Ma'am―"
"I'm sure there won't be any more trouble," says the Latino man. "The venipede is back where it belongs now. Right?"
He looks at her, and Gwyneth feels a surge of gratitude rising in her. God. Everything might have gone to hell, but at least the guy with the three-hundred-pound fighting-type is on her side.
"Right," she confirms. "Like I said, I'm sorry. I'll take it from here."
She holds out her hands (and wonders if she is really doing this) and the conkeldurr deposits the venipede her arms. It seems to have calmed down since it was caught – resignation, maybe, its little insect brain deciding that its time had finally come. At least, it isn't wriggling any more, and Gwyneth can cradle it in her good arm without much difficulty. All she has to do is not think about the fact that less than twelve hours ago this animal put her in the hospital.
"Well," says the crewman. He looks unhappy. He has chased this damn thing around the vehicle deck for fifteen minutes in the middle of the goddamn night, Gwyneth can see it in his eyes; he has got oil stains on his trousers and broken a shoelace. If this were a regular-size centipede, he would have stamped on it by now. But it's a pokémon and that makes things different; his anger turns around, finds a new target in this scruffy punk kid who says it's her partner. Who the hell has a pet venipede? That lady over there is right, the creature is a menace. It probably broke the kid's hand itself, he's thinking. Gwyneth almost smiles at the idea.
"Well," he says again, looking at the man with the conkeldurr. The big fighting-type swings its stick of concrete off one shoulder and effortlessly up onto the other. "Okay. I guess, if you promise to keep it under control …"
"I will," says Gwyneth earnestly. "Seriously, I'm so sorry. Won't happen again."
The venipede twitches in her grip, its legs digging into her chest like blunt knives. She swallows and hopes her discomfort isn't visible.
"Okay," says the crewman. "Fine. But I'm keeping an eye on you. Anything like this again, and you'll be barred from our ferries."
He turns around to leave, and Gwyneth sags in relief. Everyone can see, but she doesn't care; people are starting to look away now, to go back to their books or tablets or whatever, and this is over, and she isn't being fined or killed by a bug-type, and right now that's all that matters.
But it's not all done. The Latino man is still here, though, looking at her and grinning in a way that makes her feel uneasy. Gwyneth cannot see anything funny in this situation. She is suspicious of anyone who can.
"Thanks," she says, not knowing what else to say. "I think you probably saved me there."
He keeps grinning.
"C'mon," he says. "Gwyneth? It's me. Don't tell me you've forgotten me already."
And then Gwyneth sees it, and she is so deep in astonishment she forgets the poison-type she's holding pressed up against her heart.
"Tomás?"
"Hey, you got there in the end," he says. "Still causing trouble, I see."
Gwyneth feels herself reddening.
"Yeah," she says, trying to laugh and not succeeding. "Guess I am. But, uh, Tomás, how's it going, dude? I see Rafa's all grown up."
The conkeldurr looks up at the sound of his name and sniffs deeply, nose bobbing. Gwyneth vaguely recalls hearing somewhere that that's something like a greeting, for a conkeldurr.
"Yeah, yeah he is," says Tomás proudly, looking at him. "Blossom not with you?"
"Oh," she says. "Uh, no, not today. She … she's pretty old now, she gets dizzy on boats."
"Oh yeah, guess she would be." Tomás gestures to a chair. "Hey, now all that's over, let's sit down a minute. We have a little while before we hit Castelia."
"Okay," agrees Gwyneth uncertainly, and sits down next to him. Automatically, she releases the venipede into her lap, and for a second is seized by a sudden terror that it will run away again – but it doesn't move, just crouches there like a pint-sized demon. Does it know that she just saved it? She has no idea how smart bug-types are. For now, she's just glad it isn't causing any more trouble.
"So how've you been?" asks Tomás. His suit is impeccable, Gwyneth notices. She isn't a good judge of this kind of thing, but even she can tell it was not cheap. It fits too well for that.
"I've been okay," she answers, resting one hand gingerly on the venipede's carapace. She tells herself that she is doing this in case it runs. She does not believe she will really stop it if it does. "I'm in Aspertia at the moment. Heading back east for my brother's wedding."
"Really? That's great news! Wish I had a wedding to go to. Unfortunately, I'm just on my way to a conference in Castelia."
As if waking from a trance, the venipede shifts in her lap and turns to bring its eye to bear on Rafa. A rattling sound comes from somewhere deep inside it, and Gwyneth runs her fingers over its shell, hoping it isn't thinking of taking revenge.
"Yeah? What kind of a conference?"
"Bridges," he says. "No, seriously. Structural engineering. I make bridges. Well, I help at least."
Unova is split into three by the two huge rivers that come down from the north and empty out into the bays; it's a country with a lot of demand for bridges. Gwyneth doesn't know the first thing about structural engineering, but even she can guess that this is a lucrative business.
"Neat," she says. "That must be interesting."
Tomás laughs.
"You may be the first person to ever say that," he tells her. "I just do simulations, water flow over supports, that kind of thing. Pretty tedious, really, but I like it."
"Can't be that bad," says Gwyneth, because she is still looking at the suit and all the money that went into it, and trying not to be angry. Tomás doesn't deserve it. It wasn't him that put her in the wrong end of Aspertia. That's all on her.
Besides, he just saved her. She should make an effort to be nice, she thinks.
"It's weird, bumping into you like this," she says. "You, uh, still in touch with Ashley?"
Tomás grins and shows her his hand, a gold band on the ring finger.
"Sure am," he says. "We're getting married next year."
Gwyneth's smile freezes, turns glass-brittle. Of course.
The venipede clicks in her lap, and she realises she is starting to squeeze it between her fingers. Probably it's too tough to be hurt like that, but she releases it anyway, and quickly. She's all too aware of what an angry venipede can do.
"Really?" she says to Tomás, trying to disguise her alarm. "That's … that's amazing. You've been together all this time?"
"Kind of. We drifted apart a bit when we came back home and went to college, but then we caught up again afterwards and it was like we'd never left." He smiles. "It's a cliché, I know, marrying the girl you meet on your trainer journey. But hey, if it works, it works."
She forces a smile. Yes. The girl you meet on your trainer journey. That old chestnut.
"That's really great," she says. "I thought you two were cute together."
"Hah! Thanks. What about you, what've you been doing with yourself all this time?"
Great question. What has she been doing with herself all this time? She realises that she really does not know.
"Bit of this, bit of that," she says noncommittally. "Travelled around a lot with my … with a friend. Worked in a few different places." She gives him her best impression of a smile. "Nothing as fancy as structural engineering, though."
Tomás knows this already, or he can guess. Her life is stamped all over her, as his on him. He's not from a well-off family himself; his ascent into the middle class is a perpetual surprise and slight embarrassment to him. He has sat where Gwyneth is sitting, and he does not want to insult her with his pity or his disdain. So he changes the subject, and makes his mistake.
"It's not all that," he says. "Hey, by the way, there's something I've been meaning to say to you for the past nine years now."
"Yeah? Well, let's have it, then."
"How come you never told us who your brother was?"
The fury in her eyes is there and gone so fast Tomás isn't even sure he saw it. She sees the uncertainty on his face. If it's real, she thinks, he doesn't understand it. Who wouldn't be proud to know Hilbert ze'Haraan?
"He's … I just figured I could do without the pressure," says Gwyneth tautly. "Kind of rough for a kid on her trainer journey to have a brother like that."
"Oh, right." Tomás looks embarrassed. "Makes sense. Uh, sorry about that. Ash is always saying I need to think more and talk less."
How cute. Gwyneth has no idea what she's supposed to say. Some sort of reassurance, maybe.
"It's okay," she tells him. "I'm not a trainer any more. No competition now."
"Huh? I thought you were."
"What? Why?"
"Well, you know." Tomás gestures at the venipede, which flinches and makes Gwyneth's heart skip a beat in panic. "Venipede aren't exactly ideal pet material."
"Oh, right." (Don't attack. Please for the love of god don't attack.) "Uh, sorry, Tomás, but could you, uh, not do that? It's … well, like I said. It's a rescue." She holds up her bandaged hand. "This is what happened last time someone startled it," she says, hoping it comes across as a joke.
It does not. Tomás looks aghast.
"What, seriously?" He casts a sideways glance at the venipede, uneasy. "Wow."
Gwyneth forcibly unclenches her teeth.
"It's no big deal," she says, slowly and carefully. "Looks worse than it is. Just, uh, I really don't want to cause any more trouble."
"Right," agrees Tomás. "Sure. Can I ask how someone who isn't a trainer ends up with a rescue venipede, anyway?"
"You can," says Gwyneth, trying to think of a plausible lie. "I … well, I just … saw it at the shelter and fell in love. You know."
She pats the venipede lovingly on the hump, which is to say that she brings her hand very close to its shell but does not actually touch it.
"Okay," says Tomás. "Takes all sorts, I guess. I mean, there's Roxie and Burgh and all."
"That's right." Gwyneth wonders what he's thinking right now. She would be willing to lay money on it not being complimentary. "Anyway, I wouldn't change it for the world."
That must have come out especially convincing, because Tomás smiles in the way that people do when they think they see genuine affection.
"Nice," he says, and then a bell chimes over the PA system and the voice of Jon Palmer drifts out over the heads of the passengers:
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We will be arriving Castelia in about five minutes. Would drivers please return to their vehicles, and all passengers ensure they have all their belongings with them ready for disembarking."
Tomás stands up, although, Gwyneth notes, not too quickly.
"Well," he says. "Guess I'd better get back to my car. Nice catching up with you, Gwyneth."
"Yeah," she says, shaking his hand. "Real nice."
He walks off, Rafa slouching after him with the casual pace of a creature unaccustomed to being stopped. Gwyneth watches the two of them until they disappear in the crowd, imagining the car in the deck below, imagining it gliding out into the electric dawn of a Castelia night. She imagines a return to Virbank, Ashley waiting, a knock at a door, a kiss. She imagines Wellspring Cave.
Gwyneth sighs and looks down at the venipede. It looks back up at her with undisguised venom. She has never seen anything as nakedly acidic that wasn't reflected in a mirror.
"Well," she says, uncomfortably. "Guess it's just you and me, then."
It hisses at her, jaws clicking. She shrugs and looks out in the direction Tomás took.
"Yeah, me too, asshole. Me too."
Some people get chosen and some do not. Gwyneth is standing on a broad stone jetty in Castelia at four in the morning, holding a venipede, and she is not sure how any of this came to be.
At her back is the sea; at her face, a wall of night-dark glass. Castelia doesn't have the space of Virbank. Here, the skyscrapers push right up against the shore, their shadows tumbling out and onto the waves. Gwyneth remembers being eight and coming here for the first time, some school trip or something, and seeing the spires flame in the afternoon sun as the bus came over the Skyarrow Bridge. It doesn't feel that much darker even now. The streetlight, the traffic, the lit-up windows; Gwyneth saw on TV once that dolphins have half their brain sleep at a time, so the other half can keep swimming, and that, she thinks, is Castelia. Half of it sleeps, and half keeps on whirring towards the light.
The venipede adjusts itself in her arms and she comes back to herself.
"Okay, dude," she says. "I saved you, and thanks for not killing me again, I guess. You can go now."
She puts it down and starts walking up the pier towards the shore. She stops at the sound of skittering feet.
Gwyneth turns and sees the venipede squatting at her heels, its evil orange eye glinting in the streetlight.
"C'mon," she says. "Give me a break here."
The venipede does not move.
Gwyneth sighs. She's tempted to kick it into the sea, except she knows that even she isn't that cruel, not really. After all, she was a trainer once. Her viciousness is mostly reserved for human beings.
"This is 'cause I survived your poison, right?"
No reaction. It's possible the venipede doesn't understand a word she's saying. Bug-types are not known for their intelligence.
"Look, dude, I know what this is." She read all about it in those magazines, a lifetime ago. How do you get a pokémon to work with you? You prove your worth. Usually that's a contest of strength; that's what capture is all about. Sometimes it's other things. (She remembers Corbin, who followed her because, she thinks, he liked the shape and texture of her dreams.) "This is about me surviving your poison, right?"
The venipede threw everything it had at her, and she survived. She's proven her worth, in a grotesquely hardcore kind of way, and now it's impressed. It sees power, and wants to share in it.
Gwyneth cannot even begin to figure out how to explain what a colossal mistake it has made.
"I'm not a trainer," she persists. "Seriously. And I can't afford to feed you, either."
It keeps its eye on her. Gwyneth wonders, briefly, what gets close enough to a venipede this aggressive to take out an eye. Then she realises that she has it the wrong way around, that it is probably aggressive because it lost the eye, and all at once she sighs and closes her eyes, aware now that she has lost.
"Okay," she says. "Whatever. See if I care."
She turns around and walks on towards the city. The venipede pauses for a moment, then follows.
Except that of course it isn't the venipede, not any more. Now, thinks Gwyneth, it's her venipede.
The thought sits worse with her than the poison ever did.
