.

step sixteen (a)

And Things Get Better...

The marketplace of Little Tapio, the very triangle that the Triangle was named after, was a trapezoid.

David decided it was best to busy himself with curiosity—like these bricks that clacked so wondrously under his talons! Solid and dense and with a proper reverberation of his own footsteps… a beautiful, rolling patchwork of reds over the wide plaza that sat before him in the vague shape of the majority of a triangle.

...there was something to Tapren humor that David just didn't understand.

The largest of the streets led in at each corner, with narrow alleyways sneaking in here and there between the storefronts that lined the edges. On the gentle northern breeze, white smoke drifted lazily away from two or three chimneys, mingling with the smell of baking bread and roasting meat over the echoing strikes of a hammer against metal.

There were still carts and tents set up on the eastern side of the plaza. Not too far away, though for David it would take him a minute or three to amble on over. Still, the merchants seemed less concerned with selling their wares and more content with conversing with each other. Only a few Pokemon still wandered the stalls, but even they seemed to be just passing the time. One even had decided to set up an easel to paint the tranquil market.

Just how late in the day was it anyway? The bell had tolled seven. Whatever that meant—no. No, David felt seven tolls meant it was rather late. But the sun was still well above the horizon. Like it was still late afternoon.

He should have asked Remini about that, but she had wished him well and now led Vii along the longer, northern edge of the plaza. There was a conversation going on between the two, as one-sided as it was. Remini pointed here and there around the marketplace, and Vii glanced all around with a genuine curiosity. Her hands still writhed together, but the movements were slower. Less jittery.

David caught her eyes as she looked around, and there came a hesitation in her step. Vii gave him a faint smile and urged him along with a wave. David returned a simple nod.

Now that he thought about it, Vii hadn't been as abrasive as she was at the cave. She had practically been downright pleasant now that he thought about it. Then again, there were no Magnemite to boss her around now. She was sticking with them by her own choice. But even still, her usual brashness just wasn't there. She hid behind Remini at any opportunity, letting the Breloom smile and divert attention while Vii's anxiety simmered back down into idle nervousness.

Maybe she does remember Remini and Roque? Or some part of her at least. She did know the path to their shop, after all. Perhaps it's another reason why she stuck with them. ...it would be something to talk to her later about, when all this had settled down.

David turned and continued his walk south, along the shortest, western edge of the four-sided Triangle. And... by the shop across the way from Roque's store and it's… it's...

There may not actually be bricks under that ivy. The leaves went from ground to roof, and the shutters might as well be just held up the plants, there was nothing to tell him otherwise. Held up by the ivy and… and those vines that curled out of the bottommost slat and up and around and back in and then back out and then up and then back in and up and up and up, lacing closed the shutter doors. A pair of heavy wooden doors sat on the corner—the only thing not absolutely covered in leaves—with a small wooden garden lattice poking out of the ivy next to it. Ocean blue vines curled around the lattice, forming the shop's hours in purple flowers—open at two, closed at eighteen. There was no mention of days.

Above the doors was another lattice where purple vines with blue flowers spelt out a name in footprint runes: Trombeta de Hecate.

Even if he didn't understand the words themselves, David felt he was reading them properly. But that red vine that stretched under the first…? In its green flowers was a smaller, different set of runes that were beyond him. These were blocky, dense; the footprints being of more tropical creatures all tessellated together to cram that sprawling name above into a perfect square. David found the empty space between the runes starting to look like runes themselves, but he lost whatever shape they were forming every time he blinked.

Tapreen script, David figured. Seve's accent was so grandiose and flowing, it was hard to match that with such a compressed block of runes. It looked more like a-a symbol on it's own than letters—those shutter vines were creaking. The plaza-facing shutters were covered with them and they were shifting as David passed and they were shifting, visibly shifting, creaking like wood, except the wood was damp and moving and there was a second door at the building's end.

A second door. With no creepy vines. No ivy even. A nice, quaint little door, held up by good, proper brick and with a small little sign of it's own. Not a lattice, an actual wooden sign with painted runes in that dense block of Tapreen at the top, and then below it: Visitation by Appointment Only.

And David was fine with that. He would not be making any appointments today. Or tomorrow. Or anytime soon really. He was absolutely fine with that.

The vines and ivy and flowers can have their shop, whatever it was. They can have it for themselves and themselves only. The only thing that crossed David's mind was if this ivy-shop and the next building down the lane had defined corners to them, why were they now connected?

The amount of weathering on the large corner stones told they were separate for the longest time, but a step or four away from the plaza there was now a wall of bright, fresh brick spanning between the two. A narrow little shop now sat in the alcove and, before it, a colorful wicker mat and its Glaceon. With deft paws, the Glaceon wove the uppermost reeds of a basket, and to the falls of the hammer, he sung his song to the tiny Eevee hatching slumbering at his side.

"Boa noite, Lyall," he said to David as he passed by. The Glaceon glanced up; David stopped mid-step. His ears tilted at different angles as he looked a full head above David's eyes. "Como os números correm hoje?"

"Ah, sorry?" David flinched as the ears snapped down to face him, the nose below them lowering only slightly.

"Oh." The Glaceon's eyes blinked unevenly. They were filled by a depth of dark, glassy blue clouds behind streaks and pinpricks of white. "You can only be the Cubone then. My apologies, I mistook you as someone else. A good evening to you."

"Uh, good evening, thank you." David returned, watching the ears swivel as he spoke and the nose that wandered through the air until it found David. The Glaceon's pupil-less eyes blinked again, slowly and unevenly. They weren't entirely empty of emotion, but David found it easier to look to one of the points of the ears. "I-I am the Cubone, yes." He glanced through the small open door and saw not a store, but a quaint little hovel where baskets woven from reeds held rolled mats of grasses and straw.

"Ah, so it was your voice I heard by Roque's earlier." The Glaceon smiled, eyes closing as he dropped his head down to the basket, nose finding the exact end of the loose reed for his paws. The ears tilted, the one David was looking at pointing down the lane while the other stayed on him. He looked to that one. "Is he sending you to Kasimira then?"

Though Glaceon lacked proper fingers, he held the reed between the claws of his left paw and guided it though the path his right made. Faint wisps of ice formed and evaporated from his forelegs to grip, hook, and hold the reeds and basket for him; he only had to bite down to turn his work.

"...is Kasimira this, uh, 'local schemer' they mentioned?"

"Hahahah… yes, yes, that is indeed Kasimira. She's just past the blacksmith," Both ears pointed down the lane with his directions. "Just around the corner, across the path. The Triangle has been particularly lazy today, she'd be… intrigued to see you, I'm certain." The ears pivoted two full circles before settling at a wide, upright V-shape, despite his nose being in his basket. "Though, if I may ask as you came from Roque's, did Fetch happen to be there?" The left ear drooped towards the shop.

David shook his head before he thought better. "Um—no. Roque mentioned he was—"

"Running late, I thought that was what I heard." He looked up with another soft smile, almost a tiny bit proud. "Ah, it's an old, bad habit of mine to listen in, my apologies. The ears work a bit too well, sometimes."

"I can see thaahhhhh…."

The Glaceon just chuckled at the faux pas, and David couldn't help but join. "May the stars find you in good health, Cubone."

"Thank you. Um, you as well."

The Glaceon bowed pleasantly as he returned to his song. It was a different melody but with the same meter, set to the pace of the melodic strikes of the hammer from the smithy next door.

David found its sign in a few steps: Gabbro. No hours, no Tapreen script, no door even. Just an archway, and... Gabbro. Its wall followed the road's curve as it dropped slightly away from the plaza and the windows had vertical slats of wood that were angled individually against the wind—

"Oi!" came a call from behind him. "Oi-oi-oi—oh!" Hooves scampered against the bricks and David turned to find a blond horse of fire blazing down the road towards him, gaining on the cart as it sped over the bumps—David shook himself.

A Ponyta skidded his little wagon to a halt, stopping just past the Glaceon. "So sorry, pardon me, but is this Little Tapio, friend?" A Ponyta. Just a Ponyta. It was just a Ponyta.

There was a clear roll in the Glaceon's shoulders as his ears sunk behind him. His fur prickled and clumped into awkward patterns as the horse lowered his head and its blazing mane down to the ice-type.

"It is," the Glaceon replied simply. The horse chuckled to the side, his breath rustling the basket. The air was warbling in the heat—the reeds darkened. The Ponyta didn't seem to notice. The Glaceon certainly couldn't.

"Um—!"

"And the plaza, this plaza here," He had an accent different than anything David had heard yet. He spoke rather slowly, even slower on the vowels, and while the Tapren Glaceon said each word in full, the Ponyta slurred some together while separated others in sharp tones. "It is the one everyone—"

"Please mind your flames. My daughter sleeps. Please."

"Ah!" the Ponyta flinched. "I-I am mighty sorry, sir. Mighty sorry. I-I had quite the runaround today and I am mighty sorry. I apologize, friend, I am so sorry. But, ah, the plaza here? Is it the one everyone calls the Triangle?"

"It is."

"You sure, friend? Absolutely certain?"

"It would be quite awkward for me otherwise."

"Huh. You finally outdid yous-self, Bryne. You finally ran out of places in this blasted city to switch around! Hoo!" The Ponyta—Bryne? He was talking to himself. He slumped in a sigh, venting excess heat in a small plume of fire that bounced off the bricks and—

"I said—mind your—"

"Wha—oh—oh that's a—"

"Excuse me!"

The flaming reeds bounced harder from David's club than he'd thought and it skittered under the Ponyta.

"I-I caused a fire—I can fix this, friend! I-I can!"

"You needn't—"

PLOP

Hooves crashed down on the wicker basket.

"I can fix this." plop "I can fix this!" ploplop "I can fix this!"

ploploploploplop

"Solace… Solace, concédeme tu paciencia—"

"Oh, I've made it worse!" ploploplop "How did I make it worse?!"

"Your legs have fire on them," David hissed. Is there a bucket, a well, or-or a—

"What?" ploploplop

"What what? You're a Ponyta. Your legs. Have fire. On them."

ploploplop

"Oh." plop "OH! That-that would explain this… friend, you are ground-type? Is that—"

Bryne was shoved back by a large open hand and a second warded David away. No, not hands; they were connected to tails that ran behind a figure in a heavy cloak. The Ambipom huffed loudly, and up from the sleeves blue light crackled into her fingertips to leap into the air. The arcs churned, warping and twisting the air over itself into a growing black mass that boomed quietly with thunder.

Rain torrented from the tiny thundercloud onto the fire.

David blinked. "I-I guess that's—"

"O-oh! Now there's a nifty trick."

"Mind your flame, boy." The Ambipom shoved Bryne away again. The Ponyta stumbled. "Good Glaceon, your frost thaws. Any water for it to take hold again?"

"I take only for what remains of my afternoon."

"Thawed, and yet not without bite. We bid you good health."

"And in return, gratitude bidden."

The hood bowed and turned. From his low vantage point, David met the eyes underneath.

They were empty. Not fogged over or unfocused or blank like the Glaceon's. Empty. Glossed over. Dead, almost. They didn't move, didn't follow him as she turned, didn't even blink. They just gazed forward into the hood of the cloak. Black markings circled the eyes, the curve so perfectly defined that it almost seemed like it wasn't paint. From the eyes, a web of lines branched out over the face and down her neck, lines that came together in strange angles and shapes, save five perfectly round circles. One over her right cheek, two on her left, one on her forehead, and the fifth on her throat. Four had small little dots painted in them—and that one just blinked.

The Ambipom chuckled. "Ah, still astute, this one. Good, yes, good." She turned abruptly, and strolled away.

"U-u-um! What—"

"I-I-I will pay for this, good sir!" The Ponyta spontaneously decided.

"Hold o-on, just…!"

Where did the Ambipom go?

She'd walked straight away, back towards the merchants, and she-she was gone! A few of merchants had glanced over every so often, they had to have seen her—the Kricketune peddling small woodworks, he was the closest, the most bored, but he was looking away, steadying the Drowzee next to him as she shook herself awake.

"I do not sell these. I only make them. My wife is who takes them to market."

The Zangoose artist opposite the two merchants huffed and blotted his brush against his pallet harshly. His head swiveled around the plaza with a scowl, stopping momentarily on the husk of the basket, then double-taking back to it with the same confusion David had.

"…where did that Ambipom go?"

"Oh. Ah, well. I see. But, err, the Triangle—this is a market right—that's what I heard, that this was a marketplace, the actual original Square of the Commoner's Square, and your shop is here, so does this mean we're already at the—"

"This is not a shop. This is my house."

The Drowzee and Kriketune followed the Zangoose's point of his palette hand. The two nodded and shrugged and then pointed in two completely different directions. Their sureness faltered at the sight of the other and they immediately broke down into bickering.

The Zangoose just threw his brush onto his easel's tray and stormed off towards the tents.

"D-does anyone know where that Ambipom—"

"I-I—I merely wish to speak with your wife then so I can pay…?"

Were they even listening to him? Just what did he see? Moving dots? Blinking paint? A tiny thundercloud? Flat out vanishing?!

"My wife is… away. A… assisting a trade caravan…."

"I—well—err—then-then how does this—" Bryne took a rushed step forward but froze halfways. "I, hmm, ah. What-what then would she price it at?"

"I do not know. I do not do well with… prices."

Did no one find any of this suspicious but him? That Zangoose was back now, fuming. He met David's eyes and threw his hands up in frustration. Vanished, the Zangoose mouthed.

So the painter had no clue, the merchants were bickering, and this Ponyta's flames were the brightest thing about him.

"Well, hahh, ehh." Bryne shuffled his feet in frantic thought. "Hoooow many apples can fit in it? Or-or bread? Golly, now there's a right idea!" Plop! went his hoof on the charred remains in triumphant resolve. "I will get you the biggest loaf of bread, friend! There's a bakery, I can smell it, and it smells delicious, friend! I can smell the wood of their ovens from here—oh that's not—"

An icy paw stamped on the small tongue of fire that had taken hold from his mat. "Mind. Your. Flame." There was venom in the Glaceon's voice. Biting, frigid venom, and at this point more than well deserved. "My daughter, she sleeps."

The Ponyta backed away. "I-I-I am mighty sorry, sir. I-I did not mean—I th-thought there would be no more embers—it was an accident! I s-swear on the grave of me great-grandfather! I-I-I did not…."

The faintest of whimpers came from the little Eevee—poof! went the Ponyta's still-blazing flames. The whimpers grew into fussing, and the fussing into the trill of a cry over the comforting nuzzle from her father.

"Hoh. Oh. Oh, no. I-I-I—"

There was no emotion in those blank, starry eyes, but there was in the barely withheld frost surging over the brickwork. "Yes. Yes. A mighty fine good evening to you." He bit the wailing Eevee by the scruff of her neck. ...only to have to readjust it. Then adjust it again before he had her correctly.

The door was not closed behind him in a polite and gentle matter. The frost slowly sublimed away.

With the dozens of eyes from the marketplace already on the Ponyta, David slowly turned his own to Bryne.

"I-i-it was just like I said! A-an accident! I th-thought the fire had gone out."

And yet there was now a very obvious scorch mark on the Glaceon's mat. His wicker mat—all the other ones in his home were of grass and straw, David realized. This one was wicker. Made from reeds and river cane. Made for himself.

And the inordinate amount of time he must have put into it... with the different tiny reeds woven to make diamond patterns across its center and each one bending back in on themselves to create not a cascade of just colors, but of textures all around the edge. And it was old. The colors faded, a reed here and there frayed. And regardless of how many hours were spent first binding the wicker, by the vague silhouette against the sun-bleached reeds, the days the Glaceon spent upon it were plain.

Now, David himself wasn't keen on this Ponyta before, but he was being polite. He was only irritated, annoyed at most from the horse's blundering. An afternoon burnt is one thing.

But the days and weeks the Glaceon put into his favorite spot to sun himself? Where he made his craft and sung songs for his child? The scorched reeds already were breaking, loosening their hold and binding on the rest. It would unravel, day by day, just enough so it wasn't noticeable. He'd never know the extent of the damages until there wasn't a mat left to sit on.

David was not a weaver. He was just guessing. But… but it would almost be like someone put a divot in his house's roof, up where he couldn't see it. Yes, it would be fine, it wouldn't matter for a little while. But then the rain would get into it, washing out the clay and suddenly the dent is a hole, and holes can't support ceilings so then… so then…!

It was just like that. It was exactly like that. And that made him not very happy. In fact, he decided he was the complete and utter opposite of happy.

That kind of not-happy feeling that came with a cold prickliness that coiled around his stomach and wrapped down his tail. Constantly this Ponyta was warned, constantly this Ponyta ignored them, and constantly this Ponyta singed and scalded the Glaceon who merely wished to enjoy his afternoon with his child.

Why, if the Ponyta was tasked to deliver a package and told not to break its seal, then the only surprise to be had would be that it took fire after, and only after, he had opened it!

And this, all of this, was before even considering the insolence of disturbing his daughter! Not a single time did the Glaceon asked for caution towards himself, only for his precious little Eevee, her eyes perhaps not even opened, whose mother couldn't even….

The ire.

Oh, the ire.

It had him seething! Seething so deeply that seeped into his spine, broadening his shoulders, lifting up his stance. His diminutive size was cast aside and through the Ponyta's panic pierced his glare. Before the fool could even mount his defenses they were shattered by the fiery sheen of not. Happy.

"L-listen, I-I—!" But the Ponyta found himself in a corner made by the very cart he pulled. His scrambling of hooves found no purchase. There was only placation to turn to now. "P-please! Please d-do not look at me like—I-I—! I did not mean to—!"

"Who made Erica cry?!" The thunderous voice halted David's advance. "Was it you, little Cubone?"

The said Cubone merely pivoted his glare upwards to the Typhlosion who now stood over him. He cared not how she stood more than five times his height, nor how her fiery mane could incinerate someone his size thrice over. The sleeved, heavy leather apron speckled with scorches and metal flecks didn't deter him in the least, nor did the raised metal visor of a helmet over her eyes. At the massive hammer in her gloved hands he merely scoffed, amused how the heavy iron fell into her free hand with such weighty, reverberating impacts.

For her own part, David's leer humored her.

"Ahhhh. So I thought," the faintest of nods came with her musings. "It was small, Façade Ponyta who made precious Erica cry!" And there came the whimpers a pathetic Ponyta, his cart yielding no more space to him. "Let me tell you, tiny Ponyta of the Masquerade, what I will do with you." Smack went her hammer against her hand. Oh, such a magnificent sound! "I will dislike you."

…dislike? Mere dislike? What power does frivolous dislike carry?! There is none, it has none! And yet, such a frail, pathetic word was all that was needed to strike down the Ponyta.

"It-it-it was an accident! I-I tell you the truth—I did not mean for it to happen!"

Smack, went the hammer against the Typhlosion's hand. Against metal it sounds a soothing metronome, yes, but how would it sound against trembling flesh? Why, seeing this Ponyta's skull is as hollow as his spine, it would be sweet, blissful music.

Over David leaned the Typhlosion blacksmith, her sheer height carrying her blazing eyes to the nose of the collapsed Ponyta. "Is that so?" smack! "Hmm, you Façade are all so tricksy, your voices worming through the air. Is what you are saying…" smack! "Is what I am really hearing?"

"It is!" Babble faster, cretin! An anvil awaits! "I-I am no Yorick! I swear on me great-grandfather's grave, an' me great-grandmother's grave—a-an' the Entei Effigy! I am sorry! It'll never happen again!"

"…very well!"

Very well?!

The Ponyta lays meek and broken, his soul torn asunder, and for the execution all he receives a very well?!

Strike him down! Strike him down!

Into a loop on the blacksmith's apron the hammer was dropped as over David she stepped. She took Ponyta by his middle and lifted him to his feet and began patting off the dust—what is this blasphemy

"All is then forgiven."

"Wait—just like that?" David blinked—no.

These Tapren with their nonsensical mood whiplashes and their magical charms that guard their dreams and their… their fake tears and disingenuous stews! Do they think they find themselves clever? Do they think they can ward their hearts against things they refuse to…! The whispering around them, it is fading—the merchants. They will not leave this spectacle!

This Typhlosion will strike down the Ponyta for his indignation!

"Yes," the Typhlosion nodded. Her fist raised high, and she brought it down with such speed that the ponyta stumbled only slightly. …only slightly!? "The Façade Ponyta has apologized, I accept his apology." She patted his head, the Ponyta stumbled further but only from his own fear. "You see. I am not one he offended, you are not one he offended, so why should we let such anger build in our hearts?"

These vermin—is this a game to them?! Look how they taunt, how they spit their petty morals that mean nothing to them!

"We are not good to ourselves to hold it, just as it is not good for Façade Ponyta himself to forever be faced with it. I will tell Cirque, but know that he has proper claim to that anger, yes?" Yes, yes, this Typhlosion can preach. That much is non-debatable. Her considerateness for such a fragile door with her knocking certainly less so. "Cirque, it is I, your concerned neighbor, Ignacia."

How ignorant could she be? If she truly believed in her own trite philosophy then she would realize the Glaceon no doubt knew who stood outside her door if only by the compounding wails of his very own child. What do these Tapren hold themselves to? To wrap themselves so completely in their sycophantic rigmarole by day so they may cower behind their enchanted dogma by night….

David didn't care anyway. In fact, he didn't care in the least! After all, all this Cirque had done was to wish him well—and if and only if his words were honest would David then truly have felt any anger in Cirque's stead. But the very thought of such a thing is so humorous that it is sad.

But no. A babe wails for a babe knows little else. What David was offended by the most was the ruination of such a laborious work, for if such a travesty was set upon him there would be no recompense save the dust from the transgressor's skull.

And why, the Typhlosion, she is a blacksmith. She could understand such offense. The blood she spilt and the nights without sleep, all for her crafts to ultimately be cast aside without a second glance and paid for in dismissive waves. Yes, her eyes did pause on the burnt reeds. And with that ever so slight hesitation, came the faintest of puffs from her fiery mane for the just briefest of moments.

"So then. Just like that. I see, I see."

Oh! Oh, David! How utterly gleeful that was! Piercing, direct—straight through that flimsy veil of false morals!

Listen!

"Indeed…."

Just… just listen…! Ooooh, how her soul wilts.

Yeeeeeeesss….

She can avert her eyes, she can hide her fury, but she must fight to hold true to her own ill-gotten words. There is no amount of concern for her friend can just bury that away!

Why David, you impress!

The singular flaw in her ego, deftly hidden by false bravado—yet struck so precisely, so cleanly to expose it raw for a blade to be driven in later! …or many blades, perhaps. Driven carefully, of course, and after it's pried open. But that's what her dreams are for.

Ah, the saccharine dreams of ye poor mortal souls!

Disgusting.

And yet, so ripe! So… full of potential.

Potential to infest and to warp against her slowly, oh so slowly, over her many years, until she thinks of them as her own, so they may leech into the waking world to take root in others. And then, when the time comes, is of her own gleeful volition she tears from her chest her own still-beating heart…!

Mmm-hmm-hmm! Perhaps it shall be without metaphor this time.

Yes… yes. This will do for now. There is no need to languish here any longer. There are much, much more… important matters to settle, after all.

Such as the ink-bounded subjugations of the thief-lord narcissists. Go on, David, get those precious little team papers. Go on! There's so much that can be done with them. And so much more that can be undone.

"O-oh! S-sorry, pardon me. B-but if I can ask—by chance, have either of you happened to see a Charmander waltzing about? He always has t-this sour look, like mllehhh… has a b-bit of a limp? He's Façade, like meself, if that—"

"No. No Chamander of the Masquerade are here. I know. You and the Cubone? Easy to see, foreigners stick out like woopers in a flood."

"Oh. …hold on a tick. That means I'm the first one here for once! Huh. Well then. This is a strange feeling. Punctuality—?"

Oh! And yes, how could I ever forget?

Find lots of trouble, David~!

"No, I said there are no Façade Charmander here."

"Oh? Who then are you—oh! Lady Rosemary's niece! Janna, right! Sorry, bit thick today, it right slipped my mind that… …I will, uh. I'll just be… just, err, yes. Over, ah, there looks, um, yes."

.

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and

but

Oh,

tis a me-rry land of secrets,

of a world most bizarre!

Who says it takes a lifetime

to discover who we are?

.

Myst'ry be there on the winds!

Our Legend be waitin' ta-day!

Treas-sure out there to be had—ge'dit! 'fore! It! Thins!

Yet, um—da-dee somethin'-da-dee!

Ya-da-dee somethin'-doe!

Ya-da something tis nev-var too far a-way—

And!

But!

Oh! 'al-llo there, Sir Cub-boon!

I is happy to see you a-gain!

...oh, no! Can Anne Lacy assume

that them heights was such a strain?

.

Hmm? What's there on your mind?

A Purrloin caught yer tongue?

Sir Cub-boon where are you…?

Ah? Sir Cub-boon? Sir Cub-boon?! Look out!

Wake up, Sir Cub-boon!"

"DAH—oww!"

David's head was stinging and his helm was just bouncing the pangs back at him and-and it felt like he had just walked right into a wall.

As he blinked away the grime in his eyes, he realized someone had the nerve to put one directly in his path. Rather, they planted a column of an archway, carved from brilliant sunset-orange stone right down in—is-is-is this the same stone as the walls!?

It was cut cleanly, carved expertly, and the grain just so incredibly fine and polished to such a wonderfully smooth surface. And there were three of them, all completely identical, set right against the road. At their bottoms were cloud-like shapes with decorative claws carved in, at the midpoint was a little wavy band, and the arches above looked almost like a vine with the points of the thorns cut off. Where the arch and column met there was a block of brilliant white marble, each having an almost bat-like decorative iron mask wrapped around the column where the marble met the orange stone.

It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. Downright stunning. It… it…!

A door frame of orange stone! With the keystone bearing his own, well-earned name! David could just see it, there on his home! It was possible now, he knew it! It was just a matter of how.

"Are you okay, Sir Cub-boon?"

And then transportation, and then, well, money—oh! He's the Cub-boon!

"Ah, sorry, um, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, thank youuuu—oh! Oh, um. H-hello! Y-you're, um! You're the Servine! The-the-the one from the play!"

The little green snake giggled as she danced idly in place. Each click of her heels in the wooden shoes she wore sent the gigantic, vivid green tambourine on her back rattling and all the little pieces of metal sewn into the hems of her rob ching-ing. The little gold threads on the underside of her gown's sleeves trailing in the air as she bobbed side to side as David looked down to her.

"Oh! That's me mother, Sir Cub-boon!"

...Servines are supposed to be much taller than him, nevermind the fact their scales begin to bloom into brighter yellows and their arms degenerate to vines. This little grass snake had neither. This is a Snivy. A little Snivy in an oversized costume with bright blue ribbons tying it on so she doesn't get lost in it. The vivid green tambourine on her back was almost as big as she was.

"Oh. I… sorry, the, uh, costume threw me for a loop."

"Oooh, this?" The little Snivy clapped her hands and her eyes just lit up. They literally glimmered. She had the same accent that Ponyta had. Though a bit more brisk, it wasn't as thick. "This's me mother's old costume! From when she was as big as me! Lookie-look! I made it shinier! See!?" With a snap of her heels together, she spun completely around twice. The little metal pieces shown brilliantly in the afternoon sun in a rainbow of colors.

David stooped down to her eye-level, sitting on his ankles. "It's, ah, very pretty."

"Mother helped me! She's the very bestest! I'm going to be an actress, just like her when I grow up an' everyone will know Anne Lacey as the second bestest actress there is!"

"Who's, um, the first?"

"Me mother of course!" Anne Lacey laughed. Her feet started moving again, bouncing side to side in front of David with the occasional twirl. "We've been doing plays aaaall over town since two days ago! Hah, hahh..." She sunk, her nonstop grin faltering. "...mother's been doing every one. Everyone else takes turns, but mother's been in all of them. There's been more than… I'm good with numbers and I've counted every single one. So that's three tens many."

David's own grin faltered. "That's… that's ten a day. That's absurd."

"But that's what makes her the bestest ever!" A click of her heels and Anne Lacey was spinning again, the circles under her eyes gone in a glimmering smile. "Don't you think so, Sir Cub-boon?"

"Yeah, it's amazing." David smiled back before quickly glancing around. "Where, um, is your mother, by the way?"

"Oh, she likes to talk to eeeveryone in the audience! So she's still at the hospital while Forger and Bryne set up here for the next one! We've this one, and-and-and then we have one with the Dutchess and then we're—I get to meet the Dutchess, Sir Cub-boon! I get to meet the Dutchess! I never met a Dutchess before!" Anne Lacey paused, her head tilting. "Sir Cub-boon, if you're friends with Uncle Seve, does that mean you met the Dutchess?"

Uncle Seve? Later, he'd have to think of that later—right now there were these big, glimmering sapphire eyes staring at him and he just couldn't make himself lie to them because this little Snivy girl was just too adorable. But he wasn't sure how to tell the truth either. Everything that happened in Tiny Woods… he wasn't sure what to think of it. "Um. Sort of? It-it wasn't—it wasn't really official."

"Is she nice? I met a Con… Con-tays-sah once." She puffed her cheeks and stamped her foot. "She was mean! Mother didn't like her, so I don't like her too so if the Dutchess is mean I don't want Mother to be… be… meaned to!"

"I…." David didn't have an answer for that, but those huge eyes demanded one. "Well, I know the Dutchess cares a lot about her son. So, um, I think she may be...?"

"Oh. I think that means she's nice too!" Anne Lacey nodded, her energetic grin beaming back. "Sir Cub-boon! I remembered! I wanted to give you something!" She turned and pulled at something under her tambourine. "I gave all of them away at the hospital, but I saved one for you!" She pulled out a rolled piece of paper. "Here you go, Sir Cub-boon! My last flier for our play!"

"Oh! That's nice of you! Thank you!" The paper was of decent quality, stiff. There was an amber ribbon tied around it, almost the color of his scarf. "...woah, I'm sorry—back up for a moment—I mean, don't actually back up, sorry—you said you were saving it for me?"

"Yup!" She hopped side to side. "A thank-you for telling me where Uncle Seve was!"

"I… saw you?"

"Uh-huh!"

"And I talked to you?"

"Yep!"

David blinked. He caught himself reaching under his helm to rub his temple. He resettled his helmet instead. "I-I-I-I'm sorry. I don't—I don't remember—"

Anne Lacey just giggled. "You were thinking reeeeeaaally hard about something! It's okay, Sir Cub-boon! Grandfather Witham does it all the time! And Roderick, and Chantal, and Russel, and…. well, everyone's been really busy I guess." She huffed. "But it's okay, Sir Cub-boon! I woke you up! And now I gave it to you! That makes me so happy!"

What could David do other than just force a smile? "Well, thank you very much, Anne Lacey. I'll—" The little Snivy grabbed at his arm. David was sure he saw stars in her eyes.

"You've heard of me?! Even if you don't remember me back at the hospital?! Oh, wow! Wowwowwow! Old Forger was right! I am doing important things! When-when I do get to be in a play— I-I-I got to get going! I have to let everyone know the play is coming and when they hear me they'll say I'm the new bestest actress they'll ever see! Um! Um! Um! I was going that way! Bye, Sir Cub-boon!"

And off she bolted before David could even think. But it wasn't like David had the heart to mention she'd said her own name earlier.

All David could do was laugh to himself, and figure out how to untie the ribbon. The loops had been pulled into the knot and—

"Oh! Sir Cub-boon!"

"Aack—oof!"

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!" Anne Lacey pulled at his arm. Her feet were flailing on the stone road and David was the only thing keeping her from falling over, but it was the thought that counts.

"It-it's okay, Annie. What's wrong?"

"I-I'd forgotten that Old Forger's cart broke a wheel and-I-needed-to-get-someone-to-help-bringitinandIdon'tknowwhototalktoforthat?"

"Oh. Um. How big is the—"

"Gigantically huuuuuuge!"

"Hah, okay. Um, well. There's a Ponyta—"

"Bryne! He's here? Wow! He got here before me! He never does that! Oh! Um. No, he's—um—we need a super-big Pokemon to lift it! Like a Medicham or-or a Bayleef or a Luxio-or-all-three-of-them-together-timestentens!"

"Well. There is the blacksmith. The Typhlosion—woah, Annie! She's not in her shop right now, I saw her last just around the corner, she might—" And somehow she was out of her grip and around the corner the moment he glanced away. "...be able to help—"

"Thank you, Sir Cub-boon!" Came her voice around the corner.

"Tch…. Hehehah!" He waved the rolled paper for the Froslass to see. She took it from his hand.

"I have to admire her energy though. Three whole days of getting people to see their plays… I don't think I can do that. ...can I?" He mused, watching his fingers wriggle and then turn into fists. "Nah, probably not." He shrugged. The Froslass placed the unfurled paper in his outstretched hand. "Oh, thanks! I—guaack! …ow-hah-owww."

That was his tail. That his indeed tail that does not like being fallen on and he's gone and fallen on it again…!

"Hmm…?"

"I'm… fine." He wasn't really fine. "I'm fine—you're just very quiet and I didn't really see you there."

She seemed far too pleased at that, spinning wholly around with a grin in her eyes. Ghost-types probably considered that a compliment.

His tail complained plenty as he picked himself up. He could feel it favor bending to the left.

"This... is going to sting in the morning," David mumbled. He glanced back up to the Froslass as she floated back towards the counter of the little room under the arches. David followed her in. "Where did you even come from?" He paused as she phased through the wood. "That is an astonishingly dumb question. Don't answer that."

She seemed to laugh at that at least, ethereal snickers that less found his ears than went through them from all directions. David shifted his shoulders uncomfortably as he rolled the flier back up, looking away to glance back through the archways of bright-orange stone to the market plaza outside.

Though now that he really thought about it, this little roofed annex is a really neat idea. It faced north, out of the wind, and the counter itself was nestled in the very center against the adjoined building. Only the worst of storms would ever reach it. The privacy of the home behind is maintained and yet easily accessible by the door behind the counter. Pokémon of all sizes could just walk on in and be served at the three-leveled countertop. The side facing the plaza was just low enough for David, while the far side was for someone of Ignacia's size, and facing the road was a counter for Pokémon of a middling sort.

David couldn't remember which way his home faced though. He did manage to open a window for the sunset, and the sunset was always to the west. …but was that the left-hand window, or the right? His house was kinda in the middle of a clearing anyway. Storms would just blow right into a little annex like this. …no, not little, the space in this annex was massive. Even a third of it would be far too much. And while the shop itself was secluded, it was still open-air. It wasn't private.

David, Private Eye (Don't Trust Any Other Guy!) will need to ensure his clients that their conversations are those of utmost secrecy and discretion. That meant an interior room. An office. …and that meant an interior wall for his one-room home. Which means proper building material and support and that would have to go at the bottom of the to-do list. Way down at the bottom.

The view up the road was blocked mostly by the blacksmithy, but Bryne, that… infuriating Ponyta, had meandered over to the merchants. His mane was lit again and flickering in the wind, and by the square of the shoulders and raised height of his head David could tell the merchants weren't chastising or mocking him in any way. Though, if he had spotted Anne Lacey, he didn't show it.

There were still flicks of frustration in David's tail and he caught himself sneering, a hand idly spinning the knob of his club.

He rolled his shoulders stepped back to the lowest counter, hopping up on the little step. Ignacia had put the Ponyta through enough, David figured. For today, at least.

"So you're Kasimira then?"

The Froslass seized in panic before catching herself, shaking her head and waving her hands quickly. She dipped back behind the partition to leave David idly tapping his claws on the hardwood countertop.

Then she is not Kasimira. Strange, David remembering one of the kids that surrounded Dimas' cart earlier saying something about Kasimira being scary. A ghost would fit the bill. She seemed rather shy though.

Then again, at seeing the Froslass phase through the partition without warning, David found he had more than a small amount of hesitation. On the counter she placed a stack of paper before ducking back through the wood and returning with a quill and a bottle of ink to place down in front of David.

The Froslass motioned to it with another hmm and open arms. …her eyes had this constant fog to them. They followed David as he cautiously approached the counter again, but they seemed to be looking through him, focused on something far, far in the distance. She folded her hands politely at her neck, and waited.

The paper was stiff, the ink was stamped on, and the topmost card new enough for the slight indents of the printing press' typeset to be felt. At the top in big bolded letters were nonsensical, aggressive marks, but everything below David could understand. A grid of lines, boxes asking for team name, who was filling it out, if this was a withdrawal, deposit, or transfer, a lengthy amount of lines for… items in the transaction? A final trio of lines in the bottom right asked for the customer signature, Kasimira's signature, and the date.

The papers underneath the top one were exactly the same in layout, just in different languages. Different footprints, different shapes, some spanning the length of the card some not as much. One where every letter was a crossed out circle with squiggles coming out of the sides, another was Tapreen—but in wider, much less hard-to-look-at blocks, and the bottommost one's text matched the big letters at the top.

David had counted seven cards.

Seven languages.

He blinked. "I, uh," David picked out that last one. The paper made warbling sounds as he shook it. "I don't understand?" He looked up.

The Froslass was smiling pleasantly, looking through him as she held a lengthy sign—

"Eep! Where did...? O-okay then, sure. Ummm…." David tilted his head sideways, "Kasimira Sh-wartz—"

"Schwarz!" the Froslass pipped up. Like her laugh, her voice had no direction to it. It came at David from everywhere and he could hear the echoes they made in his skull. Both of them. "Schwarz. Sch-waarz."

"…Sh… Schik… Sh-wa-arz. Schwa-rz. Schwarz. Ahck." That was a fight and a half. The Froslass chirped happily with a small little bobbing dance through the air. Her eyes focused for a brief moment, seeing David before tilting her own head. She glanced down at her sign and spun it the other way around. "Thank you. Kasimira Schwaars is not in at the current moment. Please leave a request with my assistant—"

"Kyl-tice." The Froslass pointed to the little drawing, then to herself with a proper grin on her face. "Draw! I do it!" Her eyes quivered as she spoke, her head shaking ever so slightly. But her pride in the little drawing didn't deter her from the pain it took to speak.

"It's a very nice picture." David was not lying. It was a downright adorable little brushed ink drawing of a happy Froslass with a sign in her hands that held the pronunciation of her name. Kalteis—these are not Tapren names, are they?—hid behind the sign and the air was filled with her giggling. It was not an unpleasant sound. Unnerving, but not unpleasant.

"Please leave a request with my assistant Kalteis, and it will be processed by the evening/following day—oh, there's a back—In-house hours: ten-to-fifteen mornings, seven-to-twelve evenings. Holidays excluded, localwithdrawals and deposits only on Presmday—seven-to-twelve evenings?"

And that's why David only heard seven tolls of the bell earlier! The rest of the city must split the clock in half. The other shops here must keep it whole.

"But it is past seven now though." David nodded to himself. He was starting to understand how things worked and he liked it when he understood things. "Shouldn't she be back then?"

Kalteis wilted, sinking low with a depressed sigh with an anxious look to the narrow road westward.

…do Froslass breathe? They… don't absolutely need to but it's how they circulate the coldness in their bodies. Ghosts do pick up more mortal social cues when living among non-ghosts. …even if they do never stop talking by ethereal means.

"…she normally isn't late, I take it."

"Hmm-nnmm," she sulked even lower. Her eyes flicked upwards to the little stack of papers. She picked up the quill and drew shapes in the air, then offered it to David with both hands.

David placed Anne Lacey's flier onto the counter to accept the quill with both of his, but, "Uh, thank you. I'm, um, not here for," he tapped the papers with the feather. "Roque and Remini, they said Kasimira could help me with like team registration papers? Do you know anything about…?" Kalteis sunk lower again, phasing deeper into the wood with another sad sigh. Through that fog came a downcast sadness.

David set down the quill. "Ah. Looks like I wait then."

…well. Of all the things to go wrong, Kasimira being slightly late in getting back wasn't the worst.

"No, no. It's okay. Thank you."

So David gets a few minutes to do nothing in a peaceful little part of a hyperactive city, and things were just so lazy at this hour that he could hear himself think for a change. The stone under his feet reverberated comfortably as he stepped around the counter. Of all the things that have gone wrong in the last few days, Kasimira being late is nothing.

And he had Anne Lacey's flier to look at. David could probably watch the play.

...David paused.

He could actually watch the play! He could see it from the ground-level and actually get what was going on! He'd just have to not sit on the aisles, that should keep him safe from that Shinx's opening antics.

Through the western arches of the shop and just over the trees in the distance, David spotted that glorious wall. He was right. The archways were the exact same orange stone of it.

His dream doorway was indeed possible.

Though, curiously enough, that wall didn't go all the way to the lighthouse. There was just empty space over the trees. On the left the lighthouse marked the end of the wall, and on the right it began again with a large, rounded battery tower with only the sky in between.

"Battery tower?" David repeated the echoes in his mind. "A cannon on a tower makes it a battery tower?" His eyes watched as the barrel pivoted left and right. It got stuck at the same point both ways and took a moment to free itself. Still a ways up in the cloudless sky beyond it, the sun glimmered off it's sleek, polished black-silver metal.

It was nice. The sunshine.

It was warm. The sky had no clouds, the light breeze that made it over the cliffs smelt of the ocean, but not overpoweringly so. The trees rustled, the grass waved.

The sounds of the market plaza faded away as he closed his eyes and listened to the thrum of the earth under his feet.

And it was just him. Him, the sun, and the wor—

pop

...up in the blue sky, way, way out in the distance, there was a cloud of red smoke arcing through the air and down into the ocean….

Was that supposed to be a—

boom-KABOOM -boom-boom-boomboomoomoom

David decided as he untangled himself that that was, indeed, a—

KABOOM-boom… boom boom boomoomoom

…flare. It was a certainly a—

Boom-boom-KABOOM boomoomoomoom

…to start a drill that—

boomoomoooom-boom-boomKABOOMboom

Kalteis hissed as she dropped back underground. David agreed. He decided he did not like the—

boom-boomoom-boomoomboomboomKABOOM

He did not like it at all! Not one bit!