The cabin door flung open, letting in a blast of icy air into the cabin as in stepped Wilson, his clothes and face lightly rimed. In his left hand was a cube-shaped bottle with a pitch black label containing a deep amber liquid, its level matching the top of the black label. Wilson made a little bit of a stumble into the door with a berry-red face. He gave a deep exhale once he stepped into the cabin, belching a rank, putrid stench of liquor, making Jack wince.
Wilson had finally returned from his shopping trip, but he made a quick pit stop for his favorite whiskey, guzzling down some of it on his way back in impatience. Jack knew what potent alcohol could do to a hermit as bitter as the frozen wasteland he was living on.
And it was the key ingredient of cooking up a recipe for disaster as Wilson's eyes beamed at Jack kneeling beside a sick and weary Weavile on his bed. The older hunter's grip on the bottle tightened and his face was wildly flustered at seeing one of the Sharp Claw Pokémon he hated from the bottom of his heart inside the cabin.
Wilson pointed at the Weavile with a thick, gloved finger, "Jack? What the hell is this?"
Jack was still from the cold creeping in from the open door and his grandfather's reaction. Cleo was also stricken with a similar fear from hearing the other human's voice raised.
"You… you brought a fucking Weavile? You BROUGHT IN a fucking Weavile on MY property!?"
Jack took a step to try and calm down his grandfather by explaining what happened.
"It's not what you think!"
Wilson furrowed his brows and scowled devilishly. He took a massive swig of whiskey and slammed the door behind him, pointing at his grandson in anger awakened by bad memories and booze,
"Those things are fucking atrocities! Didn't I tell you that they're a SCOURGE!? You know exactly everything I told you about them! And now you brought one into MY house, on MY property, feeding it MY food and using MY bed? What the FUCK is wrong with you, Jack?!"
Wilson slammed the bottle onto the table and pointed back at Cleo.
"You have ten seconds to explain yourself, boy! Ten fuckin' seconds!"
Jack stretched his arms out in trying to plead with Wilson. The young hunter did his best to explain the situation.
"You-You were gone, and I wanted to pass the time, so I took a hike! You know, stretching my legs and getting some fresh air! I walked the same path we took yesterday, following the prints because it didn't snow at all, and-"
"You went out alone? Without any protection?" Wilson rudely cut him off. Jack shook his head and continued,
"No no no, I took my rifle with me for protection, in case something attacked me. And I walked on and on, recognizing the trail we took and then I saw it."
"You saw what?"
"There was this Weavile, just slowly wandering and looking sick, and I crossed paths with it."
Wilson gave a furious look at Cleo, still feeling weak and weary on the bed, frozen and staring back with her scarlet eyes. He shot a glance back to Jack, questioning him even more,
"And there was just this one?"
Jack uncomfortably nodded his head while Wilson shook his in disbelief.
"Boy, you do know they travel in packs, right? How do you know that there wasn't another dozen of them nearby? How do you know you didn't forcibly separate it from the others, and making them follow your scent all the way back here? Now they know where this is!"
Wilson snatched the bottle of whiskey from the table again, ready chug down another mouthful in disgust,
"You said it was sick? Well, then how the hell do you know that you're not gonna get sick by touching it?" He stuck the bottle's neck in his mouth, cocked his head up, and guzzled several large mouthfuls of booze, slurring his speech and feeding his temper. "And how do you'a know that it ain't gonna mistake ya for meat and start tearin' your guts out? I don't wanna spend the huntin' seas'n taking care of you, or any fuckin' Pokémon I told you to leave alone! Everybody I ever talked to agrees that they oughta be shot on sight because they're a damn scourge!"
Jack's heart and stomach started to hatefully twist inside of him, giving him a loathsomely warm feeling in his chest from embarrassment. He didn't want to agree with him here, but he was right. He handled her with his bare hands inside the cabin, and what if he got sick by making bodily contact with her? What if her pack wasn't that far away and they would frequently be coming to the cabin because they picked up his scent? Even if she was brought back to good health, what if they reject her from having a human's scent and want to disassociate with her? And worst of all, how could he be sure that she wouldn't turn on him? They have a devious and dangerous reputation for a reason!
Jack awkwardly stumbled through his speech trying to find an excuse for his behavior, but all he could muster were disconnected "Um..."'s and "uh…"'s. His grandfather did not take any of that as an answer.
"And look at her feathers. You know what that is you brought, of all things? A female one."
Jack turned around at Cleo, growing more afraid of the second human with every word he bellowed towards her.
"And what the hell are you gonna do if she's pregnant or attracts some horny Pokémon and haves babies on my fucking property? Because that's the last fucking thing I need to deal with! MORE of them! I do notwant any Sharp Claw Pokémon here! Do'yo understand me, boy? Huh?!"
Wilson stomped towards Cleo, shoving Jack aside in anger.
Jack put his hands up in exasperation, "Grandpa, please! You've been drinking! You're not the same person when you're drunk!"
Wilson violently turned one-hundred and eighty degrees to yell at Jack in a whiskey-filled rage,
"And who the fuck are you taking the high road when you are bringin' Weavile in my house when I'm gone? How do I know I can trust you now when I'm gone now and that you haven't been lurin' more ov'em here? I ain't gonna deal with it! No, not now, not then, not never!"
The hateful hermit ignored his grandson and glued his gazed on Cleo trying to tuck herself back from Wilson, unable to stand up and slash him from her weakness. He broke his gaze momentarily to pull down his Model 1897 from the wall.
Jack's stomach plunged and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of it.
Wilson threw open the nightstand drawer to fish for ammunition while hollering, "And I for one will not stand for this! I'll end this right here, right now!"
He grabbed a red shell of buckshot and drunkenly slammed it into the feeding tray on the belly of the gun, barely managing to push it into the magazine. Cleo shuddered at hearing the clicking sound, the trademark of the human's weapon. It perfectly matched the description of the scout; a long, metallic tube making strange sounds. All that was on her mind was that monstrous thunderclap with the last thing she may see being the supposed split-second flash of light; almost like her parents. Her innate fight-or-flight instincts failed her, forcing her to remain frozen in fear on the bed while her body was too busy cleaning up the last of her sickness.
Jack scrambled towards Wilson, desperate to prevent arguing turning into bloodshed.
"Grandpa, please don't! You don't have to do this! We can talk this over!"
The furious hunter vehemently shoved his grandson back with his right arm, making him stagger and almost fall. Wilson gave the action slide a solid thrust backward, making the pump action shotgun's signature loading sound. Wilson hollered at Jack struggling to regain his balance, aiming the Model 1897 right at the grandson in a fit of blind rage,
"You can talk to my twelve gauge! Don't get no closer, or I'll blow y'all to kingdom come with that fuckin' minge bag o' yours!"
He snapped his aim towards Cleo, making her stare down the point-blank barrel of the firearm as Jack heart-wrenchingly cried,
"Wilson!"
Wilson pulled the trigger.
And then came a hollow click, causing Jack and Cleo's hearts to stop for a second.
Wilson blinked dumbly at his shotgun not firing the buckshot. He pressed it again and again, essentially dry firing it multiple times. Wilson fiddled around with the pump slide and accidentally ejected the perfectly fine shell after a forceful racking, trying to figure out what went wrong. He grimaced and huffed while trying to fix the malfunction, thinking it was a feed issue but not fully understanding why.
"Dammit," he cursed sharply, "why da fuck won't this work?"
Jack got a glimmer of hope at the shotgun's malfunction. He knew that something was quite right with the pump, the gun's main method of feeding and ejecting rounds. Wilson totally forgot to bring it with him during his trip back to the city to get it checked up and fixed. Jack thought it was a miracle until his grandfather gave it a few forceful thrusts, making a nail-on-chalkboard type of sound and grabbing another round from the nightstand. This time it loaded and appeared fully free from whatever malfunction caused difficulty.
Jack couldn't put up with any of this anymore and made a crossed the line separating bravery and stupidity. He crouched and hesitated slightly behind Wilson and snatched the model 1897 from his grandfather, spinning away and quickly pointed it towards his drunken grandfather. The shoe was now totally on the other foot as Jack scowled and pointed his grandfather's gun away from Cleo and towards Wilson.
"Jack!" Wilson called as he slowly put his hands above his face, "give me back my gun!"
Jack took a step back with the shotgun still aimed at Wilson. The hunter had fire in his eyes and genuinely contemplated shooting Wilson for a fraction of a second. He could, in fact, end it here.
But Jack knew better. He strained the overworked slide some more and safely ejected the unfired cartridge, quietly rolling around on the hardwood floor. The gun itself was braced across Jack's chest in a death grip, now totally harmless outside of bludgeoning.
"It's over," rose Jack's voice, "Nothing's getting shot here."
"Boy, give me back my gun!" Wilson hollered at his grandson, "it's mine!"
The young man furrowed his brows and clenched it tighter in stressful silence. All Jack wanted to do was help the sick Weavile he met in the wild. If it meant he had to wrestle with Wilson's weapons, so be it.
"I want to talk this over." declared Jack while motioning to Cleo.
Wilson slowly turned his head to the right, seeing the Sharp Claw Pokémon almost fully break into tears judging from the quiet sobs from the trauma going on. And here Cleo thought she could finally get her life flatlined. No more troughs following peaks, no more downs following ups, and no more bad situations following good ones. Even for a Pokémon like her, she still had a soft side. The Weavile's emotions managed to move Wilson's heart just a little to cease his violent tendencies and discuss the Pokémon.
"Alright, fine. I'll give you ten seconds to talk." Wilson said with a heavy, tempered sigh. Jack now had two bargaining chips at his side, allowing him to open up civil discussion about what will come next. Jack rotated one of the tall, green chairs and sat on it with one leg crossed over the other, and Wilson's shotgun resting in his lap.
"But I'm still gonna get rid of this Pokémon. You do know that, boy?" Wilson argued, "Even if I don't blow its brains out here, I'll just do it once it's outside!"
"I just wanted to help, that's all," reasoned Jack, "what would've you done if you found it like I did?"
"Put it down right then and there," answered Wilson. "With my gun."
Jack looked at the floor, puzzled and embarrassed.
"Doing that would've been the smart thing to do, Jack," the grandfather continued, "Would save you from getting sick from touching that thing, and would save me from high blood pressure! You don't think my health is as good as yours up here?"
Jack tried to regain control of the discussion, "Listen, I'm not going to let this go to waste. Surely there's something I can do with Cleo to help us. Like… Like…"
Wilson shook his head in surprise and threw his arms up in the air in disgust. "And you've even named it, ppphf. Listen to me well, boy: you know that I'm right. I've been up here longer than you've been alive, doing what I know best: hunting. And when I say thatt'a right thing to do was to not even bother or put it down instead of bringing it inside, you know I'm right."
Jack grew increasingly uncomfortable as he thought of every plausible reason to keep Cleo around. Out of sheer desperation for an answer, Jack looked at his grandfather dead on and gave his reason.
"She could help me hunt."
Wilson was genuinely baffled by his grandson's response.
"What?"
"Weavile are supposed to be good hunters like you, right? Well, if that's the case, maybe she can tag with me and help me hunt. They should possess keen senses to be good hunters, after all."
The grandfather scoffed at the young man's proposal. Hunting with other Pokémon was spoken of occasionally, especially by those wanting a more orthodox or challenging method of hunting. But doing it with a Weavile? That was unheard of to the veteran!
"Are you serious?" Wilson deadpanned with a soft, almost joking voice. Jack started to get more violent and angry towards Wilson's attitude, growing the impact his voice carried,
"I don't want to have my act of kindness go in vain just because of some stupid incident you had a few years ago that made you forget what hunting is all about."
That got Wilson's attention, making him sober up.
"Watch your mouth, boy!"
Jack cut him off, now very coolheaded but still controlling,
"Listen. I still have a lot to learn about hunting, but I have a good idea. Even though she still needs a lot of time to recover, you can tell that she's already calmer and controlled than any other Weavile, right? And she'll trust me a hell of a lot more than she'll trust you since I'm the one that rescued, cleaned, and fed her. Not to mention, you don't survive out here being weak. Otherwise, I wouldn't have run into her in the first place. It's not much, but if you can just give Cleo and me a chance, I'll be able to leave my mark as a hunter. It can work out, me and a Pokémon working together, and maybe you'll change from it. I can you promise you that I'll make you proud."
Wilson felt so personally offended that his grandson offered to use a Weavile as a hunting partner. He hated Sneasel and Weavile alike, but on the other hand… Jack was still his grandson. Jack sincerely meant what he was proposing about keeping Cleo as a companion and using her to aid in his hunting expeditions, and Wilson knew that. He looked over to Cleo, who was glaring back with wet eyes of a Pokémon that does not know where to go. The boy was adamant on keeping her around and making damn sure that this wouldn't be all for just a headache and high blood pressure for everybody involved. Wilson clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, and stood there stumped.
"Well, how about it? Are you going to let me or not? Then why else would I have come here if not to learn and grow through your passion?"
Wilson sat down on his bed and wiped his forehead in defeat. He submitted to Jack's proposal and would temporarily allow the Pokémon he despised to be spared.
"Fine. Go ahead. And I'm only gonna let you do this once."
Jack warmed himself with a smile. His right index finger was over his lips, concealing his smile, and pointed his eyeballs towards Cleo with reassurance, then pointed them back to Wilson who was back on his feet.
"I was worried about you for a second," confessed Jack, "you really need to stop drinking and letting these Pokémon get to you. There's no reason to get so pent up over them. So what if it happened a few years ago? That was years ago. Let it go for once."
Wilson faced his grandson, now sobered up and in a much more civil mood.
"I should be more concerned about you, Jack."
Jack drew a surprised, worried expression.
"What? why?"
Wilson slowly walked around the cabin to explain.
"You're still young and have so much to live for. But when you're young, you don't know any better. There's some stuff you should know already, and some stuff you do, but that's how you learn. And here I am, scoffing at the idea of using a Pokémon to hunt by my own grandson."
Wilson stopped in front of a window by the door to gaze at the endless white abyss outside.
"That's why I like it out here so much, things are so different up north, and it's the perfect test to prove if you can adapt and overcome. It's easy to lose yourself out there. Your fantasies of being a real man by going out there will be the death of you."
He then turned towards Jack and Cleo.
"We can't go as a trio. Pairs work best out here, and your idea of going with that Pokémon won't work with me tagging along. You'll need a guide, or at the very least, better protection for yourself out there. I don't want you dying out there from a pissed off mother Ursaring if worse comes to worse."
Wilson cracked open one of the gun cabinets he was proud of and pulled out the revolver and chest holster. Jack went starry-eyed at seeing the shiny six-shooter being brought to his face. He distinctly remembered how Wilson said it was designed to be Ursaring repellent, and with how it could be carried in the holster, ready for a quick draw anytime.
"This'll probably be your best bet out there. Now hold still…"
Wilson made Jack stand up and slung the holster over his grandson to make a few adjustments for a perfect snug fit. He then gave the revolver to Jack, who instantly sheathed it in the holster, feeling most of the weight concentrated over his left hip. The gun was empty, but he felt very protected nonetheless.
"And this thing will stop an Ursaring?" questioned the young hunter as he patted the holster.
"There's still a lot of dangerous Pokémon out there. Although this area is known more for Sawsbuck and Stantler, it's not uncommon to find Ursaring out there. And if you do, well, you'd better hope you know how to use it. Still, you should hope you'll never have to use it."
Jack pulled out the sidearm and swung the cylinder open, spinning it around a few times, noting the durability and quality of it.
(This thing could easily bring something big down.)
"Hopefully you remember what I said about it packing a punch. It's not meant to be shot a dozen times every day. It's for your own protection as nasty as it is. If you thought my Model 1897 was rough, well, this one is far worse. Imagine trying to absorb the same amount of recoil in a gun a fourth its size. Still, I think you need to shoot it at least once to get familiar with it. Just once at the range, and nothing more for now."
"What about Cleo?" Jack protested, wanting to not leave her just yet when she was still stuck on the bed. Wilson sighed, still upset over the Weavile.
"Fine. You can stay with her for a few more minutes if it makes you feel better. But it's either me or it that will be with you in the next hunt. Either the one that knows every trick in the book, or you and some Pokémon that you can't even speak the same language in. If you're going to take her, you'll need to be familiar with what this gun has to offer. Speaking of, hand me back my shotgun, now."
Jack reluctantly gave the shotgun back to Wilson and held it against the back of his shoulders across his head like a soldier. He waited at the door, silently egging on Jack to check up on Cleo.
The Sharp Claw Pokémon still didn't know what to make of the situation. She was considerably shaken up by the violent atmosphere but seemed to have calmed down and stop sobbing. Jack knelt beside Cleo and stroked her on the back of her skull, behind her crown of feathers to comfort her. He got up and moved to the table that still had the slab of venison and knife, shaved off a piece about the size of his fist, and went back to offer it to her. Cleo watched the revolver jiggling ever so slightly in the chest holster fitted on Jack, quickly learning that it was another one of those tube weapons that Wilson threatened his grandson and her with.
"It'll be okay, trust me." Jack reassured Cleo while holding out the chunk of venison, "feel any better?"
Cleo snatched the piece of meat and greedily gobbled it down, feeling a little better at getting another serving of venison. The Weavile didn't say anything else and slowly worked herself off the bed, feeling groggy and not able to fight, but capable of standing and following Jack. She could soldier through this if it meant keeping Jack company and getting rewarded with more meat and the eventual promise of going back and having a hand at killing something again.
(Looks like I'll just have to follow you. Maybe the human will feed me again, that would be nice. And maybe the other one will leave me alone, or I'll scratch him up like that Deerling. One step at a time, one step at a time…)
"It seems Cleo's healthy enough to follow me around," answered Jack as he made his way to the door, "she just needs to take it slow. I'm glad she's on her feet again."
Wilson didn't say anything and went to grab the provisions needed for target practice; ear protection and ammunition. He gave another disappointing look at Cleo, who responded with a low, mocking growl towards Wilson. The older hunter shook his head a little in disgust and led the way to the firing range on his property. If he was going to trade Wilson for the Weavile for his partner on the next venture out, now was a good time to get him broken in with other guns, starting with the six-shooter for personal protection against ferocious Pokémon.