The dusknoir's maw brought with it unearthly wails unlike anything Johannes had ever heard - strangled cries and moans played through the filter of ages past, distorted and stretched out across all of time itself. A slow caterwaul shook the ground - powerful enough that it made his bones ache and chilled his soul. The air around him dropped in temperature sharply and the entire alleyway was bathed in a darkness so deep that the world itself seemed to cease less than a few feet from him.

He threw himself to the right as an orb of deep purple energy exploded against the wall where he stood a moment earlier and landed flat on his back, Viola splayed atop him, unresponsive. He could see his breath and hers misting in the air. Shivering, he plunged his hand towards his belt and unhooked two balls from it and with a small, almost ineffective toss, they exploded open and revealed the forms of a harnessed Chloanne, his skarmory, and Aki, his piloswine.

Chloanne gave a great shriek and eyed the dusknoir with a sharp eye, while Aki obscured Johannes and Viola's fallen frames. The shaggy hair that dangled over his eyes and nose fluttered with a snort as he too fixed his attention on the dusknoir.

Johannes struggled to his feet, Viola's limp frame keeping him slightly hunched over, and muttered, "Chlo, we need to get out of here. You ready to do some heavy lifting?" The skarmory ruffled her wings and let out screech of approval.

A sphere of energy formed on each of the dusknoir's hands as it groaned, its voice hanging thickly in the air of the alley and leaving the hairs on Johannes's arms standing on end, "Your resistance is foolish, futile and damning, dawnsoul. Dusk comes for all who walk the light. Even the gods themselves cannot restrain us." It threw both spheres directly at Johannes, though Aki intercepted them with a deafening roar and let out a much louder snort as it rounded on the dusknoir. A second roar echoed in the alleyway and the piloswine breathed out a cone of intense cold. Patches of ice formed on the dusknoir's shifting body and created a thin, shining veneer around its body. With a spin, the ice sheets cracked and fell away from it with a soft tinkle as the dusknoir launched a volley of purple spheres at Aki with a snarl.

The piloswine endured these as well, though a pained growl followed by a low whine sprung to life deep within the mass of fur afterwards. Time to move, thought Johannes, before Aki took any more damage.

"Let's go Cholanne, get us out of here!" he shouted. The skarmory took flight and hovered over Johannes's head. He grabbed hold of the underside of the harness and clutched Viola closer to his body with his free arm. "Freeze it Aki!" The piloswine let out another bellow at the command and a storm whipped up around him. It partially obscured the great, shaggy mass, but that mattered little to Johannes - recall beams did not discriminate on the count of something as simple as a small blizzard.

The piloswine's body turned a bright red as it dematerialized and shot back into his pokeball. Johannes prepared himself to let out a sigh of relief but felt it catch in his throat as the dusknoir began to float after him. He whipped his head about and shouted to Chloanne, "Get us out of here as fast as you can!"

The skarmory responded with a great cry of affirmation and began to speed towards the inky blackness that had replaced the sky beyond the rooftops. There was a loud crashing sound and a long, unearthly moan rose in Johannes's ears as the pitch darkness broke away to something akin to shards of pure black, into the familiar, sunny sky of Lumiose proper. They rose up out of the opening and Johannes whipped his head back towards the dusknoir in pursuit. His mouth fell open - it was as if the section of alley they were in had been slotted with black gelatin, so sharp was the division between pitch-darkness and regularly lit alley. The dusknoir did not give up its pursuit and began to launch more balls of purplish-black energy at the fleeing trio.

In his arms, Viola stirred and let out a soft whimper. Dissonant notes rose in his head, uneven in their register and volume. "Johannes...what's happening?"

Johannes grunted as he threw his legs to the left, pitching Chloanne's body in the same direction and out of the way of an incoming shadow ball. "We're. Avoiding. A dusknoir." He shouted for Chloanne to dodge right and then brought Viola closer to his body, fearing the rolling changes in Chloanne's orientation would slip the gardevoir from his grasp. An arm clutched around his midsection as Viola regained her composure.

Her eyes scanned the rooftops streaking past them as they fled from the ghost. "Then we must evade it completely or destroy it." She raised her free hand - a ball of soft, pink light began to form in it and with a grunt of exertion, she tossed it directly at their pursuer. It clipped one of the dusknoir's arms but did not deter it, instead drawing a pained, furious moan from the apparition.

Several balls for ghostly energy flew at the trio and Johannes commanded Chloanne to roll sharply to the left and pitch downwards. The rooftops and winding alleys of Lumiose sped towards Johannes and he shut his eyes, terrified they'd crash.

For a moment, he thought they had, as a sharp pain exploded on his right thigh, but he then felt a sharp yank upwards in his stomach as Chloanne evened out her pitch and through grit teeth he looked over his shoulder for their pursuer. The dusknoir seemed to have stopped chasing them and instead was screaming in anger at them. Strange sparks of purple energy flew from its body and then, all at once, it was gone.

"Get us on the ground as fast as you can Chloanne," he panted, his hand pressed over the smoking wound on his leg. "Please."

Viola wound her other arm around his body. "Breathe in slowly, Johannes," she explained, the voice in his head dripping in worry, "I can help."

Chloanne set the couple down outside of a confectionary shop and let out a soft croon towards Johannes. He thanked her and recalled the skarmory before collapsing into a chair. A crowd of muttering onlookers watched in disbelief at the interaction that unfolded before them.

"Move your hand Johannes. I will do my best to remedy this." He nodded and complied. A large patch of his jeans had been burnt away and an angry crater of black flesh burned with purple cinders still. Johannes clutched the armrests of his seat tightly as Viola began to work, wincing and letting out a sharp breath of pain as she pressed her hands against the wound. Her eyes closed as she drew in a deep breath and held it; when she opened her eyes again they flashed red and a peculiar pinkish-purple aura sprung to life around her hands, and the blackened crater upon Johannes's thigh began to regain color and life.

When she pulled her hands away at last, the crater had diminished considerably, replaced instead with flesh that was raw and red, not unlike skin scraped away by rough road after a bad fall. A moment later the wound began to bleed, and while painful, it was a fair sight nicer than a blackened pit. "Thank you Viola," he muttered, wincing, "dunno what I'd do without y - argh." He grit his teeth as she pressed her hands against the wound, face creased with worry.

"We require something to wrap this wound Johannes."

Somewhere behind Johannes, someone cleared their throat. "Excuse me sir, do you require medical assistance?" The researcher turned his head and found the figure of a man dressed as a waiter. The small, polished nametag on his chest read, "Ferdinand."

Johannes nodded. "Yes. Please." He looked around as the waiter retreated into the cafe. Eyes from all directions seemed to bore into him. Pain had made them invisible, but the prickles and stings that lived beneath Viola's hands could do no such thing. His eyes scanned forgotten pastries, half-empty mugs of coffee and glasses of water. They moved to overturned chairs and the crushed and cracked toppings of a fallen table, no doubt the product of surprise or fright brought on by the sight of a grown man bearing a smoking wound on his thigh and clutching a gardevoir descending upon them, hanging from a skarmory.

He almost laughed. It must have been quite the sight. Unfortunately for him, the strange mixture of subsiding adrenaline, relief at their escape, and the stinging pain in his thigh would be completely replaced with the uncomfortable sensation of a stone dropping into his stomach. From the confectioner's shop emerged not only Ferdinand, clutching a medical kit, but also a somber-looking Lumiose police officer.

The waiter opened the medical kit and removed a roll of gauze and said quietly, "If you would please have your gardevoir move away, monsieur. "

Viola turned to look at Ferdinand and with a huff of disapproval held a blood-streaked hand up to him and flexed a finger adorned with a ring. The waiter hardly had time to flinch as the gauze flew from his hand and into Viola's. A cold voice in his head said shortly, "I am more than capable." She took to wrapping the gauze around Johannes's leg, her face set and gaze hard.

The officer sighed as his eyes flitted between Viola's hands and down at Johannes's, no longer tightly clutching the armrests but instead simply laying upon them. A soft glint of white-gold caught the sun. "Of course," he muttered. "Tourists." He pulled up a chair and sat down next to Johannes and glanced over at him. "Sinnoh."

It wasn't a question. Johannes turned to look at the officer. "Did I break some kind of law?"

The officer pulled a small notepad and pen from his jacket and flipped to a blank page. "Maybe. You might have fit the description for a murder case." He licked the tip of his pen and began to tap it idly against a corner of the page. "I doubt you do now."

Ferdinand bent to whisper something into the officer's ear. With a short, sharp laugh, the officer shook his head and replied, " Sinnoh. Elle est son épouse. " The waiter threw the couple an almost patronizing look and then disappeared back into the shop. The officer turned his attention back to Johannes. "Officer Moreau. I have a few questions concerning how you got that wound and your rather startling appearance at this confectionery shop."

Viola stood up, wiping her hands clean on an extra piece of gauze, pleased with her handiwork, but had little time to enjoy her success when she saw the wary eyes and slight frown upon Johannes's face. She switched her focus between him and the officer. "Did we do something wrong, Johannes?"

He gave the officer a long look before he sighed and slumped into his chair. "I don't know Viola." He paused and turned to look back at the officer. "What are your questions officer?"

"Have you been in Lumiose for long?"

"Less than a week."

"And Kalos?"

"Same. Less than a week."

A pause. The officer made a note in his pad and then continued: "Have you visited Cafe Ultimo?"

"No. Someone suggested it but also told me to wait until it wasn't closed anymore. Didn't say much else."

The officer chewed on the end of his pen. "What happened? Why the wound?"

"A dusknoir rose out of the ground in an alley I was in, knocked out Viola and then tried to kill us both. Said something strange to me about souls or something, I don't really remember. It chased me after I took to the sky with Chloanne, my skarmory."

There was a long pause as the officer stared at Johannes. The researcher hoped desperately that this far-fetched tale wouldn't be written off as some kind of bizarre lie. Finally, after a solid minute of silent staring, the officer spoke:

" Merde."

Ignace drew the dagger on his boot and ran his finger across the flat of the blade. "Hunted how, d'Artagnan?"

"The Sight has shown us muddied figures that wish to see us destroyed, Mortician. We are hunted."

Ignace stood up and turned to face the door, dagger in a reverse grip and his stance defensive. He heard a chair scrape next to him as Charles walked over to join him.

"There is no need to be worried just yet Mortician." With a loud click of his beak that signaled for Ignace and Charles to relax, d'Artagnan continued, "The shapes on the horizon are yet formless and paranoia will deliver us nowhere."

Ricard nodded and added, "We should be fine Ignace, sit down. Your insistence on having the entirety of both apartments tagged and laced with alarms will finally prove itself useful."

The detective continued to eye the door, a thin frown creasing his face. "Tagged and alert or not, there's always another way in. Brute force and subtlety are a little bit harder to prepare against, you know damn well we don't have much in the way of options for that shit." Signing this to Ricard while still keeping his eyes on the door was difficult and awkward - despite the gravity of the situation, he heard Charles snicker. Perhaps he did look ridiculous. A hand came to his shoulder; it was Ricard smiling and shaking his head.

His hand movements, his posture - all of it was laid back."We have guns for that very reason Ignace." He gestured back to the chair. "Sit. If it is so worrying to you then you may remain here until these formless entities have retreated."

"Strength in numbers I guess. Let me grab some shit from my apartment. Let's go Charles."

They succeeded in moving a pistol, several magazines of ammunition, three books, his pokeballs, his anti-stab vest and his second, longer knife without incident. Charles even managed another bowl of liechi berries. No sooner had they crossed the threshold back into Ricard's that Ignace wheeled around and slammed the door, throwing its many bolts shut and propping a chair against the door knob.

The sound of his pistol racking rang out in the quiet apartment, hung for a moment and then was drowned out by a chorus of laughter from Charles, Ricard and d'Artagnan. The serious look upon Igance's face gradually gave way to a grudging grin and he sighed as he holstered his pistol. "Fine. It was an overreaction. But we're still staying here. Gods know that Ricard can't shoot to save his life."

With a look of mock offense, Ricard replied, "How could you Ignace? I'm sorely wounded." He finished with a rude gesture at Ignace, complete with a wide grin and turned back to the television. The grin fell immediately from his face, replaced instead with a look of alarm. Noticing this, Ignace turned to watch the screen as well.

It was a shaky video, likely taken from a C-Gear and the sounds of scratchy, compressed screams were playing through the speaker. A figure hanging from a Skarmory and clutching another body that Ignace couldn't make out was flying over Lumiose, evidently fleeing from a-

"Dusknoir." He said aloud. Ricard turned to look at Ignace, incomprehension alive on his features. "Dusknoir," he signed, "Why the fuck is a dusknoir chasing him?" The video cut out to another perspective - clearly the entire spectacle had people all over the city looking skyward.

Ignace drew closer to the television and squinted at the figure the man was carrying; he turned back to Ricard and signed, "It's a gardevoir. I think anyway, video quality sucks shit."

The accountant shrugged. "Whatever pokemon that Trainer may have with him, it is imperative we figure out what has happened to them. We could get important information from them."

"Such as the location of yet another obscene pillar," boomed a voice in both of their heads. The two looked at d'Artagnan, who preened his feathers in response. Ignace turned the volume on the television up.

"...taken in by the Lumiose police department for further questioning. Witnesses said the Trainer was pursued by a dusknoir for several blocks before the pokemon gave up chase. Police have refused to release further information, or if the Trainer is a suspect in any of the murders over the past month. Official reports by police indicate that no connection between the killings has yet to be drawn..."

Ignace lowered the volume on the television again. "He probably doesn't know what's going on," he signed.

Ricard nodded. "Yes, but he does know something." His friend raised an eyebrow. "He knows where the dusknoir appeared to him. And a heart could be nearby."

"For fuck's sake Ricard, you really want to get some poor dick involved?" he signed in reply.

"We are not involving him. We are getting information from him." Ricard paused. "I fear he may already be involved anyway. These are forces beyond our comprehension. He could be a part of d'Artagnan's oft mentioned "tapestry"...or perhaps he is indeed just some "poor dick" as you put it."

Ignace sank into a chair. "Aren't we being hunted? Can we even chase this lead down?"

"There is little need to worry about those who hunt us now, Mortician," said d'Artagnan. Both Ignace and Ricard turned to look at the xatu. "The tags work well." The two turned to look in the direction d'Artagnan was facing and noticed one of the tags that adorned the ceiling was glowing a soft purple.

It was an idea born entirely out of paranoia, and Ignace was not one to let even slightly founded paranoia go unappeased. He insisted on plastering tags around his and Ricard's apartment, and while they were significantly more slapdash than the work Ana could have done, they clearly, as d'Artagnan noted, functioned.

"What's trying to get through?" mumbled Ignace. Charles was standing at attention next to him, arms raised, a low growl rising in the air.

"The Sight does not penetrate the world of the damned so easily Mortician, especially not when the barriers of man overlap the barriers of the immaterial," explained d'Artagnan coolly. The xatu's eyes in his head closed, but those on his chest flashed a brilliant purple. "As expected. A murky figure, squat and spiked, but eclipsed by shadow. Bipedal."

Low, throbbing cry of laughter echoed out of d'Artagnan and made the hair on Ignace's arms stand on end. "Nevertheless we are safe within our abode. Upon exiting however...I am not so sure."

"Can whoever's pursuing us hear us?" signed Ricard.

"Hardly. Our voices are muffled by barriers both real and immaterial, our forms blurred by the glass between worlds. Our pursuer is privy to our species, but not our discussion." There was a short pause. "Ah. And our assailant is furious ."

Terrence eyed the barrier created by the tags that kept him from phasing back into realspace with contempt. They were everywhere in Lumiose, but they usually kept storerooms, pokemon centers and the like secured against unscrupulous owners of ghost-types and wandering ghosts alike. He reached a hand out and pressed it flat against one of several symbols that floated in space before him. Beyond it he could vaguely make out the softly pulsing shadows of four figures, but his hand came up against a hard, invisible barrier and the symbol closest to it pulsed and emitted a loud hum. He inspected the symbol again and smirked. The light it emitted wasn't pulsing, as the symbols normally did, but instead flickering ever so slightly.

He balled his hand into a fist and punched the symbol squarely in the center. It flickered, let out a much louder hum and then a small shock worked its way through his hand and into the core of his body. With a grimace he punched the symbol again - the shock was stronger the time, but the symbol did not flicker as brightly. With grit teeth and face set, Terrence punched the symbol a third time and the symbol exploded. The shock was the worst of the three, but it was not enough to dissuade him.

The figures began to clear somewhat and he saw them moving about. Perhaps they were panicking, perhaps they were none the wiser - he hardly knew nor cared. The sooner he could rid himself of the xatu and two humans the sooner the bisharp would be left alone to the assault of Karan, Vassal and himself.

He phased through the barrier into the room, still invisible. Here, on this side of the veil, the figures were more defined, but as he was still almost entirely phased, his view of them was intensely blurred and the features of the room were lost on him. Sound, however, was not.

"Have you come to kill us, interloper?" echoed a voice.

Terrence snarled, "Yes." He phased completely into to the room and his eyes flashed a shifting palette of colors for a second, his gaze trained on the bisharp in the room looking up at him. The pokemon clutched its head and stumbled about, confused.

The dark-haired figure seemed to be flailing his arms, but Terrence ignored it. He wouldn't have long to work - the bisharp would not be at a disadvantage for long - and dematerialized again to cross the room unhindered and rise up behind the xatu in the chair. As he faded away and moved into position, the bird spoke:

"Your coming was foreseen, hunter. We may not know you nor your party, but we know of you. We know of them. Your "surprise attack" will not succeed." The xatu's voice was calm - almost gloating. "You may even meet your end here, shade."

As Terrence rematerialized, his hands emanating an aura of deep purple energy aimed directly at the xatu he heard a strange sound. It was almost familiar. Metallic.

Clack.

The blonde and black-haired humans in the room both had pistols leveled against him. The blonde's face was twisted into an ugly grimace of rage, while the dark-haired man said gravely, "Faster than a bullet asshole?"

Terrence swore under his breath and phased out of reality again - two sounds, one after the other, almost pneumatic in nature, rang out, and the feeling of a punch unlike any he'd ever felt erupted to life in his left leg, followed immediately by an insistent, painful burning. He flew as quickly as he could back through the tagless ceiling and phased back into the spirit realm. Spewing a nonstop stream of profanity at himself and his ineptitude he made his way back to Vassal and Karan, his leg screaming the entire way.

Here, in the realm of the dead, the wound did not flow, but instead sublimated - strange purple and black hazes rose from the puncture. They found their way through the cracks in his own fingers, around the incomplete seal his stubby, tiny hands could afford him, and he felt himself become considerably weaker as he trudged through the plane as quickly as his body allowed him. Wounds here were amplified on his kind, as the spectral energies within him flowed easily out into the ether - far more easily than blood flowed from the living in their world.

By the time he'd returned to the alley Karan and Vassal were hiding in, Terrence had only enough energy to phase back into the world of the living, whereupon he promptly collapsed before the two. The trip through the world of the damned had wrought havoc upon his gunshot wound, the energies of unlife having flowed freely into their native plane. His breathing was ragged and he struggled out, "They...were prepared. Can't strike. Got shot. Xatu knows about...us." He reached out and grabbed Vassal's leg, his expression now pleading. "Help. Me."

With a groan of frustration, Vassal pulled a bottle filled with a clear liquid from his pocket and rolled the gengar over to inspect the wound. It had stopped smoking and was instead emitting a peculiar purple light that rose up out of it like smoke and spiraled into the air, dissipating gradually all the while. "Karan. Get it out."

The weavile knelt down next to Terrence and inspected the puncture. With a soft purr she extended a single clawed finger and dug it into the edges of the wound. Terrence clenched his eyes shut in pain and grit his teeth. With a sharp upwards yank, the embedded bullet popped out alongside considerable amounts of purple light and black smoke and a singular, pained shout of obscenity from Terrence.

Vassal unscrewed the cap on the potion and poured the contents into and around the wound. The light began to fade and the wound closed partially. Flesh grew back only so quickly - and spirits coalesced similarly.

Terrence groaned and sat up against an alley wall. "Now what? I've gone and blown our chances for now." As much as he disliked Vassal and Karan, they were the only way he'd be getting any closer to getting the King to live up to the end of his bargain. Until then, the visions would remain muddied and their meaning out of reach.

Vassal paced the alley before sighing. "The King will not see us back into his court without their demise." He pulled another potion from his pocket and tossed it at Terrence. "Lick your wounds. Karan and I shall come up with something while you do." He left the alley and called back over his shoulder, "Karan. We're off." The weavile flashed an evil grin at Terrence before following after Vassal.

The gengar sighed and rolled the potion bottle over in his hands, watching the liquids slosh back and forth. He grit his teeth, anger and self-loathing bubbling and churning over in his stomach and mixing with the throbbing pain in his leg; with a growl he uncapped the bottle and upended it over the wound.

"Have to move. Can't give the King a reason to string me along." Terrence got to his feet, unsteady and limped to the manhole cover nearby. He moved it aside by hand. "Can't phase. Not for long." A drawn out, pained sigh. "Maybe at all."

From the tag exploding to the gengar's disappearance, not more than twenty seconds elapsed. Ignace set his pistol on the table, and with an audible sigh signed to Ricard, "A gengar. Why am I not fucking surprised? More ghosts. And this one broke through the tag. How do you even fucking do that?"

Ricard set his pistol on the table and took a seat. "Sufficient strength of will." He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Or poor tags."

Charles growled and let go of his head at last, his gait unsteady.

"Alright Charles?" asked Ignace. He gave his friend a firm pat on the shoulder to the sound of an affirmative grunt. "Confuse ray's a bitch, eh?" With another grunt, this one almost embarrassed, Charles nodded and shrugged off Ignace's hand. He returned to his chair and took a bite from one of his liechi berries, a sullen look on his face.

"Don't beat yourself up about it, he caught you by surprise." Ignace sank into a chair and looked over at Ricard, making a note in his head to check on Charles in a few minutes after he had gotten a few minutes of sulking in, signing, "Never thought we'd get a chance to use these things." He pulled his pistol from the table and ran a finger along the suppressor before setting it back down and looking back to the accountant. Ricard smirked but signed nothing in reply. With a roll of his eyes, Ignace answered for him, "Thank you Ignace, it was a wonderful idea to have suggested we fix suppressors to our weapons if we intend to do work in enclosed, public spaces. They were in no way a wasted investment."

He responded to himself, "Oh, you're too kind Ricard, I agree, I sure am glad I pestered you into buying them."

At the sound of hoarse, quiet laughter coming from Ricard, Ignace stopped signing and chuckled. "It was an investment from over a year ago Ignace. The cost has long since been written off," he signed. Ricard took a sip from his now cold coffee and shook his head. "But I digress. Yes. It was a good idea. Illegal as it were." Their conversation lapsed into a discussion of further security enhancements they could place upon their apartment.

D'Artagnan, finding himself intensely uninterested in the discussion, took notice of Charles's sulking demeanor and lifted off his chair and then floated over to the brooding bisharp. His voice - his actual, "speaking" voice was low and throbbing. It was unmistakably akin to birdsong, yet at a pitch so low it was like a guitar with strings wound only just tight enough to produce notes. "Consider yourself lucky. A few more seconds and you'd have laid waste to that foul shade. I, on the other hand…"

Charles turned to the xatu and took his time chewing his berry before swallowing and saying, his tone curt and voice like wet gravel, "Weak. Stupid. Weak." His fists clenched and he hung his head. "Stupid. Weak. Slow."

"Hardly. You were surprised, I'd wager, not weak. Not every day a ghost breaks through tags with an intent to kill," reasoned d'Artagnan. A low coo hung in his throat. "This shade is intelligent. You are aware, yes?"

The bisharp contemplated the bowl of liechi berries for a moment before he turned to look at d'Artagnan and nodded. "Went for me first." His fists clenched and unclenched again, and then he popped another berry into his mouth and chewed it in contemplation. His eyes settled on the guns upon the table. "But then, steel explosions. Unexpected. Shade was hurt." He smirked. "Smart to stupid with a bang."

D'Artagnan chuckled before saying, "Blade, there is no sense sulking for any longer than your kind no doubt require you to. Lest some strange punishment befall you for not brooding enough."

Charles rolled his eyes and flicked the back of d'Artagnan's head. Ignoring the indignant squawk he got in reply, he said, "Bit stupid to do. Just wanted to help."

"You already have. And the tapestry that reminds us all of the obvious says that you shall again, friend."

Charles looked across at Ignace and smirked. "Speaking of friends," he mumbled. The bisharp rose and crossed over to Ignace to slap him on the back. Incomprehensible growls met Ignace's ears, but the their tone and the self-assured grin on the pokemon's face were more than enough.

"Done actin' like a bitch? Alright," Ignace replied, the same self-assured grin on his own face, "let's go find that poor bastard." He rose from his chair and stretched before signing to Ricard, "Call up Lumiose Police. Time to use up your last favor."

"Do you have any other Pokemon registered under your ID number?"

"Just my skarmory and piloswine."

"Your ID monsieur. "

Johannes sighed and pulled his wallet from his pocket to fish out his ID. "Here you are officer." He had been taken into a Lumiose police station for further questioning and was told on his way to the station itself that he was rapidly losing status as a "person of interest" but was also potentially an invaluable source of information. Which is, of course, to say that he wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

The officer, Rousseau, thanked him and swiped the card through the computer in front of him. There was a loud beep and then the display in front of him lit up with information. "Hoenn-Sinnoh dual…" He began to mutter to himself and continued to scroll through the data. "One unaccounted."

Johannes's brow furrowed. "What do you mean officer?"

Rousseau drew his head away from the display. "17398217-2 and 17398217-3: a skarmory and piloswine. No associated number for her." He pointed at Viola.

"Sorry, one second." He turned to Viola and said, "You didn't leave your pouch back at the hotel did you?" The gardevoir tapped his nose.

"Worrywart." She pulled a pouch from her belt and handed it to him.

Johannes unzipped the pouch and pulled an ID card from it - it bore a smiling photo of Viola.

After running it through, the officer's eyes widened. " Merde. Region's been busy, hasn't it?" He didn't wait for a reply. "17398218/282-G. Ah, that explains the jump. Old designation was dash-one. Accounted for and associated with 17398217." He returned the IDs to Johannes. "Thank you monsieur. I will also require a means to contact you as I have been made aware that you will not be detained as a suspect, but may be contacted to provide further information that may assist us in our ongoing investigations."

The researcher sighed and handed the officer his C-Gear contact ID as well as the name and number of his hotel room.

"Thank you sir. Please, have a seat while we process the information. Could I interest you in some coffee?" Johannes shook his head and sat down at a row of chairs near the precinct's front desk to watch Rousseau work. Viola sat down beside him and dropped her head onto his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," said a voice in his head morosely. Her eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused and ignoring the officers and their pokemon filtering in and out of the precinct.

Dull blues flickered in his head with those words and Johannes wrapped his arm around Viola and drew her closer to him. "What are you apologizing for?"

"For failing you." She wound an arm around his side. "I did not expect an attacker in that alley. Much less a dusknoir."

"Neither did I," mumbled Johannes. "So that makes two of us. Therefore, no need to apologize. Not your fault." His eyes scanned the precinct - everyone that rushed past them seemed distracted and some were positively haggard looking. He expected more confused stares but it seemed as if none of the officers streaking past even knew he nor Viola were there. Doors opened and shut, carts of folders being pushed about and policemen balancing stacks of papers all blurred past them.

Viola sat up proper and grasped one of Johanne's hands with both of hers. "Johannes," she began sadly, "it is not so simple a thing as fault, it-"

"Monsieur?" called a voice, interrupting Viola. "Your information has been processed, if you could please follow Officer Leroy." Rousseau gestured to the woman standing before a glass-paned door to his right.

"Come on Viola," whispered Johannes, helping her up, "And what were you saying?"

The gardevoir shook her head. "Afterwards, Johannes. You and I both should be focused if they intend to question you or I." The pensive, melancholy expression on her face told him quite clearly that the interruption bothered her deeply.

The two approached the waiting officer who gave them a curt nod and then ushered them inside. They were marched past still more glass paned doors and into an office with the name "Durand" stenciled on it. Leroy opened the door and gestured for them to enter. They complied, and found themselves in what they imagined was a detective's office. Bookshelves lined two of the walls and were filled to bursting with folders, stacks of papers, books, unusual knick-knacks, degrees, awards and accolades. Before them was a desk with two straight-backed chairs set in front of it.

"Durand will be here shortly," explained Leroy as the two sat down. She snapped the door shut behind her and went to stand next to Durand's desk. It was just as cluttered as the bookshelves and had a considerably larger quantity of papers upon it, many stacked just a bit too high for Johannes. It reminded him of Eric's desk back in university during midterms and finals.

The minutes stretched out before the three and after what Johannes swore was a fifteen minute long lapse of total silence the door swung open and a scruffy, unshaven and yawning man strode into the room. "Thanks Isabelle," he said, turning to nod to her as he passed by, "You're good."

Isabelle gave him a nod and exited the room, closing the door behind her with a soft snap .

"Right, so," said Durand, his tone brisk and clashing with the dark circles under his eyes, "Johannes Talburn." He looked down at the printout in his hands and scanned it. "And Viola."

The gardevoir made an indistinct noise in her throat. A brief flash of red sprung to life in Johannes's head. He glanced over at her and then back at Durand.

"Talburn," he said quietly.

Durand looked up from the file for an instant and then dropped his eyes back to it. "Yes, sure, whatever you say monsieur Talburn. Then, may I ask who is giving this account about what happened, you or madame Talburn over here?"

"I am," replied Johannes.

The detective nodded and pulled a thin, short device from his desk. He pressed a white button on it and then a red one and set the device down on the one patch of his desk that wasn't covered in clutter; a single, blinking red light greeted the couple. "Very well. From the very beginning. Speak loudly and clearly." He leaned back in his chair and pulled a notepad and pen from another drawer. "Begin."

Rousseau glanced over at the display to his right and scanned the number attached to an incoming video call. He closed his eyes and sighed. He rose and tapped the "Accept Call" button with a finger. He took a breath and then looked at the display at the smiling visage of Ricard.

"Pierre Rousseau. It's been too long," signed Ricard.

"Grimaud. What a surprise. I was beginning to become hopeful that you'd actually decided against ever calling in again," he signed back the officer. "What do you need from me now? And I hope you remember what I told you the last time."

Ricard rolled his eyes. "Of course I remember," he signed back, his motions somewhat agitated, "This is indeed the last time I'll call on you. I was right to hold onto this favor too, it's a rather large one."

Pierre groaned aloud before looking about to see if anyone was watching. "Does it really have to be? Come on Ricard, why can't they be something simple like a name?"

"A name is part of it. I need to know the name of and how to contact the individual you took in that was being chased by a dusknoir earlier. I'm not sure if he was taken into your precinct or not."

"You're in luck, he was, but Ricard, please...he's not even a suspect, let alone a criminal, what could you possibly need that for?"

The accountant looked unimpressed. "Do you really want to know?"

Pierre hung his head and sighed. "No. I guess I don't," he signed after a pause. "Last time. Call again, I'm hanging up on you. Call enough and we're putting out a warrant for your arrest."

Ricard smirked. "Arrest? Over what?"

"Insistent annoyance of law enforcement. Do you have a pen and paper handy?" asked Pierre. The accountant nodded. "Good."

The questions did not dig much deeper than those that Moreau had asked him outside of the confectioner's shop, and Johannes could not help shake the feeling that all the police had really done was waste his time. Perhaps they were well-meaning, but it was a wasted day had been kind enough to give him and Viola a cab back to their hotel (where Viola had insisted they return) at the very least.

The car ride back to the hotel was as silent as the walk up into the hotel, the elevator ride up to their floor and their arrival at their room. Johannes slid his keycard through the reader on the door and said aloud, "So what were you saying Viola? Now that we're away from prying eyes?" He pushed the door open to their suite and ushered her in before closing the behind him.

Viola sunk against the wall that divided the entryway and the kitchenette, arms crossed, and said in his head to a chorus of blues, "My worrying, your ideas about fault, all of it - that isn't how it works Johannes. I can't help but feel it. It is a compulsion. " She felt a hand lift her chin up so she was looking Johannes in the eyes.

"If that's the case-" he began.

"Sorry to say that I'm not one for voyeurism. Especially not this kind." The two turned in alarm as a black-haired man with serious, thin grey eyes stared them down. He had strode out from the other room and looked between the two before calling out, "Charles."

A bisharp appeared from the closet in the entryway and stood in front of the door, his arms crossed. Viola and Johannes turned between the pokemon and the strange man in their hotel room and drew closer together.

"What do you want?" asked the researcher, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

"I want your help, Johannes.