Me: YAY WE'RE DRIVING BACK HOME NOW. I have.. like... two entire days to just do whatever while sitting around in a car. This seems like the absolute perfect time to write.

Ashley: Well you're wrong.

Me: what

Ashley: THE BEST TIME TO WRITE IS NO TIME AT ALL HAHAHA BITCH

Me: … well I can't argue with that. It seems there is no time. -turns off laptop-

Ashley: … -stares at the screen- Shit.

Munchie: -eye twitches-

A Deaf Flame's Flicker

Chapter Four: Influential Chimchars

It was like magic—like those accursed Mystery Dungeons that had, in fact, separated him so far from Ashley—when a memory unfolded like a scroll from the bug-bitten wall of his mind and slapped him upside that head as he recalled a time in one of those exact Dungeons when Munchie had been sauntering on, awkwardly, accidentally flaunting the furs about him, feeling like a dumb nincompoop, and Drynt had turned his multicolored eyes, tittered softy, and smiled at the sight. Right: he smiled at Munchie. He was thinking that scroll memory that he cherished over very correctly: smiled. And as Jordan's own face, just as she stood and began to twirl to the front, turquoise fronds fluttering like glamorous feathers, her eyes still invisible to the munchlax, he caught a miniscule glimpse of her sharp—they could be sharp, oh they could—lips upturned. Happy. That expression right there, it meant happy. Pleased. Whatever: smiled. A smile. Munchie would have sung out of joy if his voice could have supported it. But it didn't, and he knew better than to test such a theory.

Jordan's pointy white toes made little crunching pinches as they tiptoed into grasses and outside of the meadow area. See, there was a reason they called it Tiny Meadow. Dappled sunshine pleasantly sifted into the springy green plains from above in eggshell blue horizon. He saw that in some patches, in a few splotches, the actual sky covered the Mystery Dungeon ground. The actual sky, if he recalled correctly, was another sort of magic, like the sun and the moon and whatever. In a way, everything was magic. But also not really; the sun's and moon's magic lit up the sky at day or night to paint their up-high canvas however they felt like for the time being they were up and running. Still, actual sunshine... it reminded him of the pokemon back in Treasure Town who must be seeing the exact same sky right then, idly gossiping and not wondering about Mystery Dungeons because they hated Mystery Dungeons and lived in the single uncontaminated part of Zundentun for a reason, you'd think.

Then why the heck did a guild live so close to the awkward clump of a town? Why not near that kingdom Mystic was princess i—Fyshyngtyn, that: why? Perhaps because everyone had run away from one part of their musty pasts or another, and this ended up proving the best shade from it. Then one thing led to another, which led to a lot of different paths and other things leading just to that one another thing, if any of that even made sense, and thus, Bright Spirit opened. Spirit started up, apparently Byrender showed, then Chindu officially joined as next-in-command, maybe only because Spirit was his mate, who knew, but then Jordan showed, then Mystic, then Drynt, now Munchie and Ashley has as well. In an odd sort of way, this seemed a very effective version to find just the right pokemon to do that important thingy. For those... gears? Gears that... something. Very important gears that held the fate of the universe. Well, not really fate, if fate even existed: just the basics. Whether or not everyone died. That seemed to chalk it up relatively well. See how effective this was going? Everything connected and nothing fit. There were gears. The gears did stuff. The world was a great globe of blue waters and green lands that connected due to the power of friendship.

Wait.

Munchie stopped thinking for a moment and covered his dusky blue face with dusky blue hands, groaning slightly. He'd double-crossed himself a few times somewhere and now his head hurt. Feeling incredibly stupid, Munchie tried to blink beneath layers of blue and somewhat succeeded. His eyes had been poked by a few aimless strands of blue, but besides that, he felt pretty good. Maybe a little proud of himself. No, probably not. The munchlax began growling to himself in scrunched up pale lips, his crooked teeth angled like outstretched fangs or something demonic like that, and he removed his hands in order to see the female gallade crossing her scythe-like arms and grunting softly to herself. They had their own little symphony going. "Hmm... I'd take a gander and say we've stumbled off excessively far away from where we were," mumbled she in her sharp, dark-laced tone, toes now fully pinched against the ground in a thoughtful manner. "We were in Drenched Bluff... which is pretty close to Beach Cave, but some north and some east. So none of the townsfolk actually know of it. Good thing too. If they were walking over here and stumbled onto one of those cliffs..." Her shoulders tensed and looked to be snippets of snowy cliffs gently showered by seaweed: her hair.

"Ah!" Her angular head shook a bit. "Got distracted a little." Mm, he observed, a very focused and responsible girl who didn't like steering off-topic, but when she did, still careful and insightful. Chindu was actually right. She'd make a good mom one day. "We need a path to Drenched Bluff, preferably short and gentle. Unfortunately, we can only get one of those. Munchie, if we had to choose betwixt a safe and gentle route or the one that will get us to our friends as fast as possible, which would it be?" Obviously the safe and gentle route, but Munchie decided faster than that it'd be better not to offer his particular opinion. "We'll have to get there soon as we can, no matter what it looks like out there. Ever wanted to see a volcano?" Not in particular. Actually, no, how about we don't go to the volcano. Munchie's ears flattened which was a soft pouf of noise Jordan thankfully didn't catch. "Good. That's where we're headed, if we want to get there alright." No thank you. "Come, my friend, let us be off." No no no no no no no. Here's an idea. Jordan, you go your crazy murder route. Munchie, you go off and see if the longer route might have one of their friends just perhaps on it because they don't like the thought of evil volcano and losing their life either. Just maybe.

Not quite. Jordan took one nod toward those huge legs of hers—well, everything about her was huge though maybe not her eyes—saw the difference of hers and Munchie's, calculated how much of a change that would give them in pace, then mumbled an apology and snagged him right off the ground with her long, scythe-like arms and Munchie sawed just about through his lip at the screech trying to bubble through that someone just touched him with their hands on his chest and back and he did not take being touched by another being very well no he did not. If it was any relief, Jordan used her big scary arms with the sharp finger edges very gingerly when handling Munchie. She didn't want to freak him out, or harm him, and he knew that, he just didn't like the result of her options anyway, even if it was the only one and a pretty good one at that. Munchie at least wouldn't be walking. He'd be the prized possession hugged to the gallade's chest—oh, female chest, oh, oh no—with the red blade in the middle of it—this idea was getting worse the more he thought about it—and he'd... be... uh... safe. The word swallowed down his throat like a reluctant stone. Stones were reluctant enough as it was: they were stones, for goodness sake. This one was a mighty wallop to Munchie's esophagus, then stomach. The mucus slide in his gut must have been angry.

Muttering another apology, Jordan swished her hair back in a turquoise wave of flavorful color and hooked Munchie safely—sort of—with one long, green blade of a hand while the other held itself out and swung like a sword, a beware sign anyone could read. Well, except for the blind. Because they were, like, blind and stuff. Unless the blind pokemon was right in front of his friend's hand and felt that whiff of air from the motion, but then again the movement was kind of slight and the air wouldn't generate enough or be obvious that yep, that's a sword swing, stand back. He started wishing that nobody blind was nearby at the moment. That would be a health hazard for the poor, poor soul. Either way, whether or not the enemies were blind, nobody tormented them, and Jordan saw no reason to cleave someone of their head or other precious body part.

Munchie quietly wondered to himself why greenies even existed in the first place if they didn't do anything or serve a purpose. A punch settled in his gut when he recalled he didn't serve a purpose either. Then one of those gold-lined scrolls of memoir from what memories he had now swung out and fanned like Jordan's pretty hair, and this rolling memory showed that past punch up because now Munchie was part of the guild, and he had a reason, and he was special. Well, no, special was a bit of a push, he probably wasn't really special, he was a disease if anything, but he had a reason. And a reason was better, absolutely better, than nothing at all. Munchie, smiling through crooked teeth, began to wonder if Jordan would question the sudden beam. His dark, gaudily-hope-lined orbs—he blinked extra at that—upturned and caught a quick glimpse of Jordan's jawline and that she wasn't pointing her face near him and seemed currently unable to smile. Very unable. He wouldn't ask her anything with that grim look stuck to her face, not even if she'd like free candy. Jordan didn't look like the kind of pokemon to... enjoy candy, as it was.

If Munchie ever wanted anything out of her, he'd use apples. Thinking of the succulent fruit that Spirit kept such an astronomical abundance of—with a huff, the gallade quickly swerved by a lonesome tree in the midst of thorny plains that had an oddly green, bristly sky. Yep, there sure as heck were places where not even the sun would shine in Mystery Dungeons. That little catchphrase, when made to sound smoother, was the exact excuse pokemon of cheery old Treasure Town used to keep them out of anything as disgusting as such dungeons. I mean, how could something be, like, healthy, without the sun? Munchie didn't know, but he saw enough that Mystery Dungeons didn't harm him. Spirit the strangely-colored wigglytuff looked mostly fine—actually no he didn't—Chindu the normal, rainbow-filled and black-outlined chatot with the nice birdy red beak looked fine, as if all his time in Mystery Dungeons hadn't fried him. It was a myth he wasn't always gay, but that wasn't a disease Mystery Dungeons gave you, right? Oh, no no, that was mean, Munchie. Real smooth, stupid. He would have slapped himself if his arms didn't feel so cold, numb, frozen, and otherwise gaudy with Jordan's one securing them down like she meant to chop his upper body off. He trusted that poor girl enough, but, well, she was a gallade. A girl. A gallade. He had to be careful, it was in pokemon code. Sort of. No one seemed to think Spirit's off wigglytuff colors were something to be careful enough. Maybe the munchlax should just shut up and stop. Yeah, maybe.

Over prickly fields that began safely fixated on a dark green earth then started sloping upward, soon attached by low, thick, burly clouds that brought in spines of green light. Zapping, green light. He didn't like the zapping green light very much. Made him freaking nervous. Did his spindly warrior lady with a body built for both war and feminine woes drop him with her long, scythe-like arms, he could easily be hit by an onslaught of those thunderbolts. Lightning bolts. Their correct term inserted there: they were green, let the sickly munchlax call them what he wanted to. And where was the rain? Just... pine needle shocks of green lightning that smelled an awful lot like pollution. And a boiling stench of heat, what must be the zapping shock of electricity, and also a faint trickle of embarrassment. Why embarrassment, he didn't know. Munchie smelled what he smelled. Sometimes it was better not to question why exactly one smell over another. Either way, not mattering what was in that mix in the first place, Munchie's nose squeezed and his stomach curled. Something acid in taste and scent seemed to fit those green monsters of lightning perfectly well. Also, they were way too close to the ground—why the heck were the clouds lingering that low? Did they want to hit someone? Did they want to barbecue the elegant, pretty, slightly terrifying Jordan and her carry-on munchlax? Did they have a problem with those kinds of things? Did bolts of tiny, deadly, green lightning have problems? Munchie felt like he should stop making such big, vague questions.

The air drifted in like a bad pokemon. Like a certain dull-eyed lumineon and her mate the octillery: they didn't actually show up, but the air stank of it. Maybe some large specimen had peed here recently. Hopefully not. Munchie didn't want his poor friend to be stepping around in some other monster's monstrous urine puddle. That upset him a little: he actually had a friend and look at what the poor girl was doing, taking out the possible pee walk which he felt for certain wasn't the truth. Still... Jordan, here... his friend... Munchie shook himself, tried to convince that flimsy nonexistent stalk of self-confidence of nonexistent growing in his heart that he didn't have to cry about it. To be strong. To... be cool like that. Confident. Those big, thought-invoking, powerful words. He tried and succeeded for a couple of moments. Munchie stopped counting after that, feeling unreliably pleased about himself. The scruffy munchlax soaked in layers of sea-blue and beach-pale fur shook himself again and focused on the shiny, green arm that could potentially kill him did it drop him.

Up lumpy, steep hills pouring into further, taller ledges that fanned out to plateaus then, guess what, only drew on higher, Munchie felt as if his feet would fall of. He wasn't even walking, but staring down at Jordan's tiny, white toes sent aching trills up his own. She had to have been moving on for some time now, but she still refused to quite. Turquoise hair trickling whatever direction it felt like, or whatever direction the now-freer air permitted, her bangs still lay flat on her face and didn't how off irises. Or eyes, for that matter. She had them; Munchie had yet to see them. By this time of knowing the gallade, he just wanted to ask her. It seemed trivial, like that old notion of whether or not Drynt slept floating in the air: he, in fact, did. Even though he had a hay bed sitting there below his snoozing, suspended figure. Either way, the whole not-showing-off-eyes seemed just as trivial, so Munchie felt his dumb, curious mind could have asked it did he not feel like he'd be treading on matters of personal space. Jordan was a girl, therefore many questions were considered rude to ask her. It was difficult times.

Without another care, up up up. Toes pinched when they did, though now the gallade girl grew customary to taking large leaps at a time, waiting a moment, then taking one or some more. The briars had bloomed to full-out heat-streaming cracks in the ground that melded with flame and rock. The skies had cleared above, as the fogs seemed prone to the ground areas only. Weirdo Mystery Dungeons. Finally, with that notion, Munchie luckily stumbled on a question he actually could ask such a proper and scary lady, and lady nevertheless. "Uh... what're all these Mystery Dungeons called?" he mumbled softly. "I've hardly seen... any of them! Um. Much less heard... oh-p-please. Please could you tell me." He had to tack on manners, hasty or not.

"Mm..." Jordan, thinking, silent at the time, still leaping all the same. She didn't take in a pant of breath. Maybe she hated her parents for making her so like that, but seriously dear arceus was she powerful nobody should ever get in this girl's way. More hops, more silent strokes in the clearer sky, which was the color of running blood. Munchie felt queasy taking glimpses with that thing lurking above him, making the world look like the end had come. It... hadn't. Yeah. Probably. Maybe. They still wouldn't go to the Waterfall Cave again and you know what that really set off Munchie's nerves: that one little tidbit added up to how the sky was blood-red didn't bode well with the poor, unceremoniously thin munchlax. "Where we just trudged up from, those were the Rolling River Bends, with its strange accumulation of breaks and cracks and the like. Makes it appear as if once there was water or a stream of sorts winding down from the top of this volcano here."

The way her last bout of speech had gone gave Munchie a pat on the head. She'd said that we just trudged, not that she just trudged, I just trudged. Jordan had included the weak munchlax strung from her arms, and admittedly, bashfully, yeah, that made him feel special. Munchie tried to shake off the feeling, but it was slightly more stubborn than a certain chimchar he knew... relatively well? He... he knew her. That was all he had to say about that certain chimchar. Also he missed her. Munchie wanted to find her and hug her and let her know he was sorry, then probably let her go since he wasn't good at touching others and vice-versa, but seriously, Munchie felt cold sores of guilt, of no, determination, swarming inside of him. He had to find her again, apologize, find the others, apologize, do something. He... missed them. He missed them. Munchie... had other entities in his head and he wanted to find them. And apologize. Always apologize—but he wanted to be with them. He seriously did, felt it hard and cold like a throb in his heart, beating at the tune of his agony, clicking together other bits of angst and frustration and fear and a knot of sinewy distress preyed on his weak self.

"And I'd say we're about to file into the cords of Pine Nut Volcano. It's not a bad place, though the sky looks more than slightly foreboding. I assure you that I've been through this pass enough times to be eligible to say that no, it's not as freaky as it appears. The sky is just... red. Harmless." It sure as heck didn't look harmless, but Munchie knew better than to argue with someone like Jordan. Or just Jordan. Pretty much. "I'd safely presume that the cracks in the ground must be from old lava streams from the volcano herself. Spirit always affectionately called her Morgan, so we roll with it, as I'm sure Byrender has said to you prior." So they used each others' catchphrases sometimes. Munchie didn't find that the least bit helpful, but it sounded kind of cute. He should make a catchphrase so the others could copy it too. "After we traverse across the peak..." The softly dark voice rolled into a gentle, relaxing lull, as if she was softly whispering to the wind. Only Jordan was talking to Munchie, and he felt oddly comforted. He... really did like these friends of his. "Mm... then we'll have to go down... and around... run a little more... then we should find Drenched Bluff. Munchie, we tunnel onward, and once we cross that top of the volcano, we'll be out. We'll almost be there. We'll be with them again. Reunited."

It was on his mind. It burst. There was nothing he could have done. "Will we be able to pass by the Waterfall Cave?" Munchie couldn't stop thinking about that stupid dewdrop-splattered basin of silver and ceilings, sandy flooring and the soft call of the ocean, like what you hear through a seashell, echoing back. Made him feel like he had someone with him. Munchie just... felt a calling to that place. Maybe because he was always freaking lonely, but he did.

"Er... I don't think that's such a good idea."

Don't ask why, Munchie; that is very rude to a lady. "Why?" Too late. He chewed at his lip, face reddening with every passing moment as Jordan carried him. Any moment she would drop him to his death as he rolled back down those bristles the way they'd come and he would be killed right on the spot. All left of his sorry self would be a thin rope of blood drawn from his head cracking and ripping open like a rich, pulpy fruit and spilling its juices thinly for someone to eventually stumble upon his corpse. Do it, Jordan. Send him to misery. He asked for it. Oh did he ask for it. Do it to this poor, stupid munchlax who definitely deserved your endorsement. He waited, hovered, the only thing buckling him for safety that scythe-like green arm with the sharp fingers that scared him a little: no, a lot. Hot air from the volcano just above whiffed at him, like it wanted to smell him before he could smell it. His scent was lost to the steam as it billowed by. His tongue's surface roughly tasted of ashes.

"Mm... it's dangerous." How was it dangerous? They'd gone in there not so long a—wait Jordan no. She was supposed to kill him for asking why. "Munchie, please stop sitting so still and acting so sweet. It's like you'll spill over if you make the slightest error. All I can say right now is that it would be dangerous to go near there. We had reasons to avoid it, and we're not sure what exactly, but they're bad reasons. You..." She paused, took a leap over a frightening gap in the ground, straightened back up with a snap of her hair, and continued. "...had that on your mind for some time, no? I just feel it. Geez, next time, just ask. We're here for you." The words riveted into a ravine just in his aching temples, splitting open more questioning, which, with a slurred push, slowly dribbled into one thing: why was she being so nice? Well, Jordan was, and speaking of her name, all Munchie could mumble in thanks was "Jordan..." And it was a pule. A pule, of all things. He was a pathetic munchlax. Squawking to himself about how much better he could have done, Munchie shifted in Jordan's arm and blinked angrily. Blurred eyes caught fragile glimpses of the cracked earth, with dust and other disgusting molecules lying around there. Munchie felt then perturbed, disturbed, but not his initial anger at himself. What kind of a creature would pule so pathetically though? But at the time, he had bigger thoughts to mull over and uselessly worry about. The tiny tons of germs sitting there on unsafe, cracked earth that seemed to be growing redder and hotter by the second, for example.

She smiled through those sharp teeth and dagger-like lips. The thin munchlax took it as a good sign. Most likely a good sign. He crossed his fingers too, because he didn't trust himself all that much. Not like he didn't trust Jordan, but he couldn't tell if she was happy for him or wanted to rip out his throat and suck his blood. Did... gallades do that? No? Maybe? No. Probably not. But this one probably would because he was so terrible. For a rushed second, Munchie remembered like a light honing down on him in an abyss of something black and scary—a pit of tar—that he has asked nicely to himself to stop being so sad and without self-esteem, because these people did love him, and they did want him, and they did enjoy him. Then the moment was lost and Munchie went back to being stuck in his reliable pit of tar. Hey, it was always there. Maybe Munchie never had someone to rely on, but he always had his tar pit.

Then he decided to stop thinking about being pathetic, or tar pits, or anything of the sort, to make himself at least have the slightest bolster in some nonexistent self-confidence that he obviously lacked. And one could tell, even without him being thin. Munchie felt particularly sure that whether he had been so skinny or not... well, no. Maybe this was only because he was skinny, but that meant no matter what: this was who he always was, and it was always who he would be. Munchie couldn't change his physical self any more than he could pull out his crooked teeth to try and make himself look better. It wouldn't happen, and he learned to accept it and take the hampering on his self-esteem. Some things went that way. Munchie was one of those things. But he didn't mention anything about tar or pits or black, hopeless walks because he... he wasn't... that bad. He wasn't there. He hoped. More fingers crossed, and he toes reluctantly and gave stubby scrapes at one another as well. Munchie... didn't feel any better, but he pretended he did. For the most part, Jordan didn't question it. Probably thought he was crazy as it was. See, Munchie was very good at seeing the worst in himself while still making the others look better. Then again, Jordan would always look better, seeing who she was. Maybe she hated it, but no one could help but nod to it: she was... physically really cool.

And up came the ledge. The scruffy, thin boy hanging from his tall friend's arm, gently pressed against her chest to keep from squabbles or falling, rubbed at his eyes, releasing the knots of crossed fingers that seemed to have run their toll as much as they could. He... had expected something much scarier. This was when his low self-esteem came in handy. Brushing by that sly little fact, Munchie blinked again, rubbed at his eyes, and then blinked once more for good measure. What sat in front of him happened to be cracked, dried, and orange-brown. Some red heated into it, and steam billowed, whistled, like it could sing now, and it smelled worse than boiled eggs in musty fur—trust him, he knew these things from Treasure Town—but... nothing that bad. A looping, knotting rim traced around the gaping hole in the middle of the peak of the volcano thingy, but it was long, and it was—as said—knotted, and it was sturdy. Rocky. Had some cracks in it, but surely Jordan could manage. Just standing there, she only looked at a crack in the earth across and then it snapped straight up and flung itself down the steaming, gaping hole of volcano maw into nothingness below. Munchie didn't even hear it drop. He wouldn't be heard when he and Jordan fell.

No, stupid, have confidence. He didn't have to feel safe, but he felt Jordan would be fine. Heck, she was this super cool female gallade. She was pretty, and strong, and she hated pokemon and especially strong ones, but, uh, hey, she was cool. She liked him, he liked her, everything was sure alright. Finally, pulling as if they didn't want to do this, Jordan's little toes sprung and gave a much more slugmaish pace. Safer, yes. Safer. Keep them alive. Apparently looking at cracks in the ground cut them off. Leaping would... be scarier. Same death, if not worse, like completely ravaging all of the looped holes ringing around the volcano. Extreme heat belched into Munchie's face, panning out in front of the gaping volcano maw, and he gasped and choked for breath. Somehow the air came and he lived another couple of seconds before air was required again and the struggle droned on. "Munchie?"

"Y-yeah? Jordan?" So she wanted conversation. He could do that. Oh... uh... yeah. Yep. Munchie mentally wrung his soul out, smacked his skull upside the head, and went with it. He got this. He... had this. An inward cramp. Jordan was his friend, a close one at that—one of the few and he'd known her through Spirit Bright. Then again, he knew all of his friends from that same guild. Still. They meant something to him. Stop stuttering, stupid munchlax, and go along with it. He felt like an imbecile buffoon. Both at once. And a nincompoop.

She took some careful, soft steps, and breathed in a soft though still dagger-laced tone. It always would be; she had no way to escape that, but he was okay with it. They all were. "Do you ever want to evolve? You'd... most definitely go as tall as me; Byrender. Above Spirit." Spirit was tall in comparison to Ashley—Munchie was borderline his height, counting the odd, angular ears of his but not Spirit's—but Byrender, but Jordan... "I mean... you would be a snorlax, then. They're... quite huge. Quite heavy." Could he even evolve, Munchie realized. Could he even evolve? Was that something a munchlax with his sort of rare body state, so rare it was never seen and always disgraced, was that something he could do? He could have sworn a munchlax had to attain a certain weight before going to snorlax. But... say he could. He blinked. Say he could.

"Um... I don't th-think I can. But if I could... probably not. I... it'd be so weird..." Plus, a raging battle had taken aflame in his mind. Would he be a fat snorlax or an unbearably skinny snorlax? Could a snorlax even be unbearably skinny? Maybe. He had no idea, honestly. He probably couldn't evolve as it was, and that... suited him. He guessed. Heck, Munchie didn't know anything.

And after some careful wobbling, Jordan responded softly, her tone rivaling Munchie's general softness, including that husk. Not including the husk, no way could anyone get close. Not anyone he knew. "I never wanted to evolve from a ralts. But then my parents told me about evolutions, and I grew to like kirlia. I decided I would become a kirlia, and I would stay a kirlia. As you see... they had other plans. I'm... okay with it now, but that's what I had wanted then. I'm not... that sweet little thing, because of who I am, and I'll always have that hole in my heart. Munchie, I don't know if you can evolve either, but if you ever think of it... know that it's something that will forever change you. Nothing... can stop it. Ever.

"I asked Ashley. She didn't know chimchars could evolve until then. I don't think she'll change." Munchie didn't think she would either. "I know this is a little odd, but don't stop yourself just because of some pokemon. Not... not unless that pokemon means a lot to you." She paused again, small breaths fueling Munchie's gut as he faced away from the fumes and struggled to hold in this heap of information as well. "It's a lot of random information, but you learn stuff when you're both my... age, young as I am, and under Spirit's guild for however long. Some information stuff you never thought you'd learn its reasoning to. But... you do. You do. It can be nice." The gracefully dying—dying of heartache—of a dancer tiptoed her final steps off the loop and capsized over the edge, back to her leaping and roaming and onward, one arm in the air to fend off any foes or wave to a nearby bumbling friend, the other secure over Munchie.

It didn't take all that long to do the rest of those turns and those bumps and angles and whatever it was to get back to Drenched Bluff. For some reason through that time, Munchie felt like something was watching him, though he knew if something was, Jordan would have its head before it'd even started to consider looking at him. Maybe he was going loony. Yeah, maybe. That sounded like his most logical conclusion as of yet. Nobody could be staring at him. But still, whenever Munchie glanced back out of the agony of it, he felt like he could see yellow. Yep, going loony. Or maybe he was getting pinkeye. Oh, no wait. Pinkeye wasn't yellow. Those were two completely different colors. Blinking tiredly, Munchie went against questioning it. Once the watery, spongy grounds came into contact, he limply shrugged off Jordan's giving arm, which fell back, and he flopped onto what should have been the ground.

"Dude, you're okay!" first stated what was not the ground, then deeply murmured, "and I see you've found yourself a new place to rest your head, eh? Pfft, hahahaha. I'm sure you'll get off. Eventually." The munchlax... almost saw the smile in Byrender's buck-toothed grin. But his head was stuffed into the brown, caramel fur, so he didn't. Why did he always end up meeting the others like so, with his head directly hidden by Byrender? Maybe because Byrender the fluffy, brown bibarel felt safer to hide through, since he had such a warm, puffy composure and such a deep, laughable tone that could make anyone feel even a little safer. The most serious serial assassin killer murderer guy would probably feel as innocent as a newly-hatched baby if he'd just listen to Byrender talk some. Munchie felt the bibarel's thick lungs pumping rapid barrels of air somewhere above his own fluffy, layered head of dusky blue, plus the pale stripe. He wasn't really listening, but he was, to that soft, sweet voice. Anyone had to love it.

A whisper of a response settled comfortably beside Byrender's great bark of laughter here and there. "Thank goodness Munchie's safe," came the soft tone. Munchie detected hidden displays of happiness at the sound, but he wasn't too sure. Probably Drynt, though, since one could never tell what he layered in his whisper besides the soft, somewhat cool tone. Whatever, he seemed happy. A memory whacked him: Jordan said he'd been crying or something about him. Munchie had no idea if that was a prank of sorts of if the elgyem really had shed tears for his cause, but it still felt nice, if nothing else. And, right, Drynt cared. He just showed that bit of him off.

Other voices mixed in, and he felt pretty confident he could recognize all of them. The words fledged into sentences, into stories, into awkwardly long rambles that didn't seem to end for a moment or two extra and just held a hefty, heavy, embarrassing pause for a good lengthy moment. Still, he knew who these pokemon were, and he felt safe. Munchie filled a list of marks for the others. He'd already found Jordan, so her elegantly dark tone set safely, and he had himself resting against Byrender, Drynt had spoken prior, maybe cried for him, Spirit over there made enough gay jokes to sink a boat with, Chindu's squabbling digression has proven inefficient, Mystic's light quips assured that everyone makes mistakes, we're all stupid, and we're gonna die anyway, and... nope. Wait. That was it. No one else. No... where was... Where was she? Ashley? Missing? No one had found her? They'd regrouped and regrettably didn't find the chimchar that'd run off... or... maybe she hadn't run off. Munchie, he'd run off. Jordan went looking. She delivered. Which... made no sense because Ashley should have been straight up right there, sitting on yellow, spongy ground with the residue of water like footprints in the sand, her smudgy orange figure flounced and flopped down to the ground, burning flame of a tail flickering affectionately. But no. Simply: no. This... did not happen. His gallade friend had delivered him, the thin munchlax, but what about her, the thick chimchar? Whatever happened to her? Flaming souls didn't slip out of hands that quickly, not without burning someone.

Munchie's heart pounded with pangs of worry and attitude. He had to find her and get her back. It was his fault in the first place she'd gone missing, wouldn't it be. Determination swamped him like guilt had been for such a time, but now that gut full of regrets burned to what he had to do. Feeling the first little trickle of bravery rushing through his veins—rather pathetically, but better pathetic than not at all—Munchie shook his layered head, removed it from Byrender's stomach area, or wherever half of a bibarel was, and sneezed lightly. Someone cooed at the sound. Probably Mystic. "I... where's..." Munchie shook his head to try and move the fluff that might be clogging his thought process up in there. It was simple. All he had to do was say it. "Where's Ah... Ah... Ashley!" He winced after his voice rose to such an octave, but the others had rounding, thoughtful orbs.

Spirit was first to voice his opinion, floppy white ears flipping back as his cloudy green eyes further clouded. Fogs lived in his bloodstream, maybe, and made him look so majestic but foggy and the coloring of his fur was weird too. "I have to say that... I have absolutely no idea where she could have run off to." Something inside of Munchie's soul died. "Nono no no... nononono no NO! NO! WAIT! I have absolutely one idea." The same thing coughed and realized it was alive again. Munchie had no idea what it was, but it was alive, and that was probably a good thing. Maybe none so far as a blessing, but a good thing. And good things... they were good. "That one idea is that she has run away in the opposite direction that you ran in. Genius, right?" The thing gave a flailing, pathetic wail. But it seemed like it'd be sticking around for a little longer. Spirit then cockily sighed, "But there's always the chance she's already gone. Ohhhh, woooeeee is meeeeeeeee—"

Munchie didn't get a chance to hear the rest of whatever the wigglytuff had said. He flung himself down the hallway he'd taken prior to run from Ashley, only now he happened to be running in the other direction. Maybe his friends didn't feel inclined to search, but he did. And this was all Munchie's fault. He had to find her. He had to. Had to be kind to her and apologize to her and maybe even, like, shake her hand or something? That sounded so awkward but if it worked, it worked, and Munchie would take what he could get. He was... yeah, he was feeling pretty desperate. It was a cold, sludgy emotion that curdled down his throat, tickled his esophagus, and made him gag slightly. But he just wanted to find that pudgy primate so badly he could have been completely filled with desperation, like the emotion had created him and built him up, for Ashley, for Ashley, and he wouldn't wink an eye at it. Gritting crooked teeth that wouldn't meld together but still boosted confidence, Munchie clenched some fists and bit his lip and hoped he was okay. He felt relatively not bad.

His feet pitter-pattered on, their full-moon shaped and colored bottoms sliding without reluctance upon sponge ground. Teeth and tiny fists gritted, eyes wide and displaying his hope-rimmed orbs to an almost showy level, scruffy fur sticking up in odd places like polka-dots that were actually bundled nerves spiking, ears angled against the wind, falling for it easily, Munchie felt a little... relatively not bad. And that counted as good. Whatever anyone thought about the secretive, chubby, foul-mouthed chimchar, he just found her charming. Good. Happy words sprinkled over her more than sparks did, and Ashley had a lot of sparks on her from all of her flaming activity. He'd never seen her use an ember or any sort of fire move in action, just that bobbing tail, but he felt sure she could crisp up anything she felt the need to crisp. Growing dreadful, heart dropping and scooping itself back up while it looked like crud and didn't want to keep beating, Munchie cried out like a mournful banshee: "Ashleeeeyyyyyyyyyy!" He sounded as awful as a little girl who was told her imaginary boyfriend didn't exist. Fear threatened to spin his soft, husked cry out of orbit, but somehow it knotted to him and Munchie was okay. For now. Those words jarred him, and suddenly the munchlax became terrified of the shadow following him and felt completely sure that the yellow thing he felt watching him was hiding behind his shadow and was going to eat him. "EEEKKK!" He flung his arms in the air and sprinted off, tears streaming like banners.

Eventually the thin biped calmed and, fur slowly slicking to the sides in its scruffy manner, no longer sticking up like he was a cactus, because he wasn't and he was supposed to be a hug-laden munchlax, not a cactus, Munchie found his voice and, satisfied he didn't sound like a wandering hooligan, whispered her name to himself. Munchie found it enjoyable, to hear the word bouncing to him. He liked the way it sounded. "Ashley... Ashley... Ashley." Took him a moment, but Munchie began to see that he must have looked scary as it was to keep muttering her name. Whatever. Anyone asked and he could come up with some lame excuse. He liked the freaking way Ashley's name sounded on his tongue, don't mess with him about it, geez. It just... he wanted to hug his whisper to himself and keep searching for that sweet chimchar—he found her sweet in her own way, okay—until she herself showed. Munchie knew he didn't have enough courage to both search for her and hug her, but it'd be a sight for sore eyes to have her back by his side. He liked Ashley, Ashley liked him, they worked that way, as did everyone else in their crew.

A hand spouted and snatched his fingers. It came so fast and so cold he lost his breath and the ability to screech about it until the long fingers of the other hand stuffed his mouth shut. Pale fingers—long, right, he saw that. Long. Thin. Pale. Not really any hair, just skin. Munchie nearly bit that same lovely hand when his eyes widened even more severely and he wanted to cry out in joy because oh gosh look who it was look who he'd found. No, no wait, she'd found him. That might... Wait—why had she gone and captured him if he was the one trying to save her? Probably because he was too terrible to save anyone. Yeah, that sounded right. Shaking his head as much as his limited room allowed, Munchie managed to accidentally squirm in a position that freed his mouth so much he could speak and it seemed some air could escape and form coherent wording. He quickly squeaked, "Ashley! I've been looking all over—" and he cut off, recalling what a sin he'd done to her, and added "—I... Oh, my gosh I'm so sorry, Ashley! I'm so so sorry! Ugh, I'm so stupid and terrible... I'm so... sorry... I'm so terrible..." He continued repeating those words until he was practically mumbling heat into her fingers. Munchie couldn't take what he must have done to the poor chimchar. How... wrong... was that, to leave her. How... terribly wrong of him. He was terrible.

"Damn, Munchie." That was her sharp tongue, fiery and sparkly and oh, so Ashley. So perfect for her. She must have read his lips using her fingers. "You don't have to fucking waste your warm breath on my shit! It was a fuck-up I made. My snafu. My bitch shot. Okay..? I should've done something, dammit. You were gonna crack eventually. Hell, what we were doing to you, and everything I know about you; that's a lot of mean, shitty pressure. Dude. It's fine. Fucking legit." As the chimchar eased out, Munchie magically managed to lift her small but chubby frame and spin it around so that he could actually hug her. "Oh... wow. Dear fuck, you're both hugging me and choosing to touch me and it's not fucking awkward! DAMN STRAIGHT!" Her tail, oddly, was a warm tickle to his stomach and did not happen to burn a hole in his fur and/or skin. Impressive. "Munchie, I have to say, my boy, I'm very proud of you. See, you're not a dumbass! I've been trying to tell you all this time that you're the shit—er, you're great. You know... all of that. Thank hell you figured it out."

For a good few seconds, all Munchie could do was struggle for the words. "I... um... ugh... you... how... wha—what... I... I-I... I... then... What—who—no... No..." His head began to pound and Munchie scrabbled and hugged the chimchar in front of him a little aggressively. "I... Ashley... you... why... what... I..." That was a rather aggressive hug going on. "You..." Ashley snorted, which bloomed into a snotty chortle. She choked and spat on the ground, managing to not hit a soul this time around. "W-wow... I... Ashley. Why did you say that all to me..? Why were you... so... so kind? What was that all-ll ab-about? You're too kind." She just snorted again and a glob of spit stuck to his arm.

"Shit sorry. Munchie... I'm not... I'm not that nice. I'm not what the fuck you say I am."

He dully blinked—yes, dully. He was blinking like the fishy lumineon and her octillery mate had. He was going there. Such rebellion. One with attitude would snap their fingers or flip their hair for him. "Well, maybe." And... uh... nope. He thought he had more to say, but it all summed up rather nicely with that duet. Well, maybe. She wasn't bad to him, though. Munchie still enjoyed her. Perhaps... she wasn't nice. It... technically—no, Ashley was not a nice pokemon. She didn't go out of her way to help others or ask how their days were going or try to make them smile, do any of that stuff. But she made him smile anyways, and it didn't take kindness to do that. She mumbled a "No, really, I'm abso-fucking-lutely not, dammit, but whatever," then continued on, stumbling past his horrid attempt at a compliment. Then, Munchie wanted to apologize. Ashley would get mad at him if he did, though. For a while, Munchie really wanted to avoid that road. He understood by then it wouldn't be forever, but just... some time. He'll try.

"It was just kinda wrong of me to assume you'd be alright with everyone being shushed around you. And all the pressure and shit—but okay, we're all good. So... I was upset and looking for you and avoiding everyone else. Now I've found you, and now we take detour." What. "I just felt you flinch. Considering it now, that was a fucking terrible idea. Don't listen to me, no detour. So, blah blah, anyways, from where I'm from, I know exactly why the hell we're not going near the Waterfall Cave place, and that's where you and I should go. Because my trust for you is some pretty serious shit."

She was about to continue, but Munchie felt an itching need to intervene. "U-um, Ashley?"

"Yep?"

"Would it be bad or... awkward... if I asked if we could stop hugging?"

"Aw, are you feeling all awkward and shit?" She said she wasn't nice, but she still understood him. That felt important.

"Yes..."

"Okay, sure. It's cool. I getcha." He swore he'd never find someone like this chimchar. She needed an award. Munchie slowly removed his arms, swiveled them slightly, then took in Ashley's round face as it turned more in tune to him and those fiery eyes sparked. "Mm-mm." She giggled softly. "So I was thinking, hell, I need to get over to that Waterfall Cave area. It has to do with the time gears and all that shit. My trust for you and the damage in that area are both pretty serious shit, but they're also different kinds of shits. I'm sure you won't mix them up though. Maybe. Fuck. Sorry in advance if you do because of that. So where was I going... Oh. Hell. Right. We'll regroup with our buddies and all that, then we get to the guild, they sleep, and we do not, nope, don't fucking sleep. We have some other business of mine to attend to. It involves... most of my problems. Excuse me while I bitch, but I have a couple of serious conflicts. So... whenever we get there, that both solves my where-the-fuck-is-Inf issue and hell-which-time-gear-needs-fixing-first question. It's... uh, a little complicated. Damn, no, it's a lot complicated. I'll explain more when we're breaking the rules and running around in the middle of the night like nocturnal mutants." And, believe it or not, in the end, Munchie obliged to what his chimchar friend requested, because... she'd let him in on a few other things. He could tell she had secrets, because such a talented eavesdropper simply knew these things, but asking of them, learning of them, being able to share this trusted connection with her: those things didn't come from peeping in on townsfolk. Ashley wasn't one of those guys. None of his true friends were. And... the thin munchlax, odd as he was as well, he not only liked that but found himself preferring who he'd found closeness to.

"Sorry for dragging you around with all of my shit, but I swear more of my bitching will make sense later. Munchie, you're a really good friend, you know? You keep saying I'm nice even though I'm fucking not; dammit, you're the nice one." He what. "You are. You have real fucking fine and dandy manners and the others are really confused why you act so awkward and your self-esteem is such a shitter. You are good." No he's not. "You are. And I'm standing by that. I hope... you meet a nice pokemon one day and they make you happy. And they're nice like you. Whatever you say, you crazy munchlax, you seriously need to shake off your self-esteem issues." What self-esteem he didn't have any to recover plus it didn't matter he was terrible shut up Ashley. No, no; Ashley, please don't shut up, but stop acting like he was something Munchie most obviously wasn't. He didn't say much, didn't know what he would say, so Ashley shrugged.

"Onward it is. Let's get our asses over to our buddies." It wasn't cold or distant, just a little like a pat on the head. Her longer knot of hair flung over a small shoulder, and Ashley's long hands slapped against the ground with her long toes. Again in that weird quadrupedal formation. Munchie didn't quite question it, but still found the look slightly odd. She'd stumble, though, without it. Whatever, man. Do as you see fit, Ashley.

They did exactly that. Onward the odd pokemon went on, one slipping and giving off a major curse every few seconds, the other awkwardly stepping behind her. Admittedly, Ashley's unconditional cussing had both become something Munchie was used to and silently laughing for. He thought it'd be rude to burst out in giggles at her, even if she did happen to be deaf, so if the slightest rumble came it was swallowed, and yet Munchie had a half-moon grin hanging off his pale cheeks, a few straggly teeth sticking out crooked as they could just because they could, and that was all they could muster. Hey, they'd tried. Munchie would give them points for just attempt.

Any remains of guilt in his heart had crusted over, which Munchie quickly found pleasure in. He hoped that wouldn't ever come back to sock him in the face, the guilt. As for that moment, he seemed safe. Stepping over the spongy ground, from yellow to pale pink to puffy, soft blue, Drenched Bluff felt satisfied with its composure of moist, spongy buildup and pastel colors. Pastel wasn't a bad choice, idly agreed the munchlax. It gave a soft, hugging sort of feel that made even the worst monsters look like adorable little things, and sparkles. It didn't take quite a time for the chimchar in front to wind her way up and down the cliffs and peaks prior to wedging them with their... teammates. Friends. Fellow pokemon under the fellowship of Spirit Bright. Although Mystic sometimes called it an occult, Chindu hurriedly assured the others as his rainbow wings sweated cold fear awkwardly that no Spirit Bright was nothing like that. By then, the mudkip would be fallen over on her back, splayed out, giggling like there was no tomorrow, and Chindu's face got redder than his cherry beak. Everyone already knew this wasn't an occult, as they all, you know, were a part of the guild itself, but the scene for some reason always stirred in the poor chatot's heart. Munchie felt like he should do something about that one day, but that memory was a scroll lined in gold too, so the temptation fell through. He swore, even the bad in those guys made him smile and he'd hang it up on a wall and show it off to everyone if he could. Yes, he'd show off their flaws and call them beautiful, all of them. Even the ones that weren't a female gallade.

And thus, the troopers were off, off to their old tricks and games and strings of laughter connecting one awkward situation to another. Smiles very easily permeated the scene. Munchie didn't quite understand how the chimchar to his side, eyes rapidly flouncing around the corridor or wherever they lumbered along, could so casually bolt out responses that nigh always fit the conversation. The poor deaf girl just kept blinking and looking, reading lips, and she did it. Sure, she had to; sure, it was all she could do; sure, the deaf one had nothing else; yet it still amazed the munchlax beside her, for Ashley did that to him at times. Her fire orbs paddled about the place until she had an intake of enough information, growing used to the other creatures just as Munchie was, and she did it fine. It was rather easy to forget that Ashley couldn't truly hear. All the same, the thin munchlax far preferred it when he had just her near him and they could smoothly converse, or as smooth as his conversing could go.

Once escaping the strangely-cut rounds and bends of Drenched Bluff, going down a few River Valley roads, edging some Mystery Dungeon boundary or another, and stumbling into the early dusk of Treasure Town when some of the old timers continued gossiping while most sensible pokemon succumbed to their beds, Munchie and his guild buddies took off on that trail that coiled up and to the left, overlooking not only from the middle of the single untouched town of magic but the magic that surrounded it by every corner but the bluff looking out to sea, just a smidgen, and fell to a foggy haze that never left the region. He and his buddies, both tall, short, mid-sized and stubbornly levitating, ducked under the lip of the silvery tent with Spirit's face blown up and modeled on top, nearly falling straight down the wooden ladders to the grass, then succumbing to their own beds. Unless, of course, that buddy was a fiery primate whose long hand sprung out, snatched Munchie's, and tugged him back. The others must have been zonked out already, he tiredly complained to himself. They didn't stir, and Spirit didn't poke his head out of the holy door to his and Chindu's room to yell at them that nobody could risk becoming nocturnal, not now, not ever. None such events occurred. He simply stared with old, tired orbs that needed a rest until Ashley plunged him back up those stiff ladders and their planked landings hung by string alone until they escaped again and she lead him to the north, straight behind and further off the hill he should have been sleeping inside of. The grass beneath his toes was starting to look mighty fine, even.

But his trusted chimchar friend pulled and coaxed and slapped and cursed and he listened because that was what he always did when it came to Ashley and without even thinking his face nearly lost its expression eternally as her foot tripped him and he didn't crash into the wall of what looked like silvery stone in front. A moon gazed coldly upon the troopers, and the rest of the sky was covered in a haze, a haze soon overcome by dewdrops that glittered coldly and spouted toward rain. Munchie's fur became soaked, and Ashley's tail blinked in and out of the light it usually produced. Her eyes, though, stained of brighter flames he flinched back from. Always, always made him nervous. Always. "See this wall?" RAP. Thin, wet knuckles against the silver wall. They left bubbled dots. Sounded very secure. Something he didn't want to deal with. "That's the damn waterfall." He nodded, then—wait. Waterfalls... had water. Then where was the water? Ashley, that can't be a waterfall: waterfalls have water collected upon them.

"Aw, you look really fucking confused... Well, see... uh. That's the waterfall: water and all." No it wasn't. Munchie believed his friend, but not his eyes. Simple. "It actually is. Shit. See all of these weird, bubbly lines? That, you know, look like fucking water when moving as a waterfall, but frozen?" Munchie had never seen a frozen waterfall so he didn't have the liability to respond. "Dammit, I know these things. This waterfall is frozen in time." Wait she just—"Yep. Baaaaaasically. Pfft, that got something outta ya. I... well... ugh, it's fucking complicated, and it'd be easier if we found Influence and figured what the hell is going on first. But... I'm from a really interesting place. No, joking, it's an asspit. Don't go where I come from. My mom's fine, my dad's an ass... the world is shit. I'm sorry I keep shoving it off, but I fucking swear you'll be able to understand and that I really want you to. It's just... ugh... dammit." But still, she was telling him and trusting him and he saw it. "So we're looking for a clueless idiot grovyle and he should be nearby. Got it?" Munchie hesitantly nodded, which sent a spark of a smile to the deaf girl's lips, who nodded back and pointed toward the frozen waterfall. "I don't know what the hell our buddies from the guild are up to, but there's something called a time gear, and it's supposed to be in there, only it's been fucked so it's frozen in this area. But that's... only the beginning. Damn, my home is horrible." She was jumping topics, and Munchie struggled to catch on, and he felt slightly confident he understood, but not completely. Eh, good enough. "...Let's just go." So they did.

So they did.

Carefully, Ashley shimmied from a side of the waterfall where the waves caved enough to procure and protect, opening a shell of a bubble so slink through and into the frozen magical lair. Munchie did the same, which happened to be both easier and harder for him: easier because he was thinner, harder because he was taller. They made it all the same. And again, though the munchlax happened to be extraordinarily skinny, his layers of furs didn't give him such a tiny outlook. Ashley didn't really look like her gut was larger than his. But still, her chubbiness made her look freaking cute, okay.

Shivers spilled down the munchlax and the chimchar, their back fur sticking up in accordance to such display. Putting it plain, eerie painted the scene. Where light, color, and droplets should have splayed out into one beautiful scene, there stood... solid grays. The gray didn't even have the decency to change. Munchie had no shadow; Ashley had no shadow; she didn't even seem alarmed by it. Admittedly, the chimchar did talk like a slight expert to these sorts of things, so perchance she knew them and understood her sudden lack of shadow following her. Munchie felt like he had pinkeye and something yellow, or with this yellow sort of essence or something, continued to lurk behind him, which was again crazy. He felt with certainty Ashley would have figured it out—she was deaf, not blind—gotten and shown that thing who was boss, so he ignored it easily. No, not easily. He felt like something wanted to eat him and struggled closer with each passing moment. Munchie began to hope it wasn't some terrifying monster that didn't like him being near his dear chimchar friend. She meant a lot to him, and he didn't like the idea of being forced to, like... leave her. For any reason. Friends... stuck together, didn't they? And plus he found the fiery deaf one charming, to the least. Perhaps her personality didn't suit exceptional kindness, but that was okay by him. He... didn't need that... those kinds of things didn't exist, anyway. He liked Ashley, Ashley liked him, and that was that. All good. All good.

They continued a peaceful saunter, shadowless til Munchie started feeling as if his fur had been shaved off, something so small that drove him crazy, driveled him around shamelessly, but still the imprint the sun left on him in day and the moon even only a sliver at night didn't reveal itself. His shell of himself, left a temporary imprint on land, wouldn't come back unless the stupid Waterfall Cave stopped being frozen. He adored the Mystery Dungeon, and seeing it so grayed, cold, marred: frozen, seeing this pain sent an icicle up his spine and through his heart, all in one stab, effectively collecting the majority of his organs in one scoop, sending them out. At least his blood would be red. Hopefully. Would his blood be red? Oh geez, he didn't know. Munchie stared down at his arm and had to hold back struggling tears when he saw the colorless fur. It was getting to him. It was getting to him. The only positive was that the strange, yellow essence seemed to leave him with the color, and yeah, that was fine and dandy, but was he going color blind or something? Would he and Ashley match in the disabilities corner..? Wait, his miraculous metabolism might already cast him off there to sink. Ashley wouldn't sink, but Munchie's rock of a self-esteem would lose him.

Then the hand went across his mouth, and he tried to scream, but no sound came out. This hand happened to be longer than the chimchar's he so knew and preferred, and the skin was all weird, like velvety, like, no, leaves. And the fingers had thick pads at the end, entwined by colorless... leaves? Yeah. His body had leaves on it—oh, or her. His or her body had leaves blooming out of it, only nothing had color and that scared Munchie. "Psst," formed the whisper, and Munchie's brain was like oh oh it's Drynt. In fact, it wasn't Drynt. The leave hands, right. Also the voice, he learned later, was a sort of deep, dark rasp. "Who am I?" Munchie wanted to tell him he didn't know, but his fear factor spiraled out of control and unconsciousness suffocated him like a wet blanket could and he couldn't breathe and tears popped out of his eyes and he thrashed and something slung him back.

"YOU FUCKING DUMBASS! DON'T LAY AN ASS FINGER ON HIM!" He didn't question the whole, adding her curse word because he had to not because he liked cursing, ass finger. What did that mean? Did he have... fat fingers? Or did she not like his fingers? Or simply did she not want his fingers on Munchie? The munchlax had a sudden surge of embarrassment and something warm and something burning and something... enigmatic. Ashley could be enigmatic, and he liked that in her. Well, her cursing was enigmatic and flavorful. One could figure her personality when they knew her long enough. She was not, not, bipolar or anything. She was a warm fluffy pillow and Munchie wanted to hug her but he also didn't because he sucked at touching others, like, with his hands or anything. "DAMMIT, INFLUENCE."

Then it was Influence's turn to speak, and Munchie saw that this was the grovyle guy his dear friend had been searching for. Long, silky leaves spilled from his angular head, and he had a slender maw with a soft underbelly and long, twig-like limbs. Nice and thin and lean, not the strongest though. The raspy voice came flickering out with a forked tongue. "Influence? Is this some sort of joke? What kind of a name is Influence? That's, like, a pretty big and sad word, dummy." Munchie felt a severe desire to slap that guy across the face for indirectly and idiotically insulting his chimchar friend. The munchlax turned back and saw that Ashley's body had lost color as well, and its valor only fell from there. Her face should have hardened, reddened, her tail should have spluttered flame, but... she looked so dull and tired.

"I knew we'd fucked up somewhere... you've lost your memory. But for the fucking record, Influence is your name because none of the damn pokemon from home liked giving names because they'RE SO FUCKING HOPELESS BUT MY MOM, DARLA, AND SHE NAMED ME AND GOT HER FRIEND TO NAME HER FAMILY, AND HER FRIEND WAS YOUR SHITTY MOM, AND THERE YOU GO. INFLUENCE." She seethed silently for a moment, tiny, cute teeth gritted, then spat both words and saliva. Missing up, her jaw grew somewhat wet, somewhat tangled. "You have a ton of younger siblings and they're all fucking twins. Moraymon, Nana, Dunkin, Steve, Gop, Lorry, and how the hell would we forget little runt Jojo." The name bloomed in his head from that failure joke she'd tried with the name Jojo. A soft oh echoed in his head. "Your dad was fucking murdered by my dad"—oh that sounded terrible Munchie liked her dad a little less then—"and we wanted to fix the shit we were in. I completely understand you understood none of the bitching spewing from my maw, but maybe Munchie did. Whatever. Fuck. We fucked up when we came here, so your memory bitched at us and now you've lost it. DAMMIT." With that last word crunching over her teeth, Ashley squinted her colorless orbs and whispered, "I wish I'd spew blood did I slap myself for being such a dumbass," then her hand went and clapped and she'd not slapped herself.

Ashley's taut fingers collapsed after buffeting Influence and clocking him a good one. Standing to her full height with a jump just barely zonked him over the head as he crumpled to a colorless, leafy heap on the earth.

"And that, Munchie, that was my mate. Now how about I try to give you some chance to organize all the shit running like severe diarrhea up in you. I apologize, first off, for what I've caused to you."

Me: Heeeehhhhhhh... how confused are we?

Ashley: Not at all. -spits-

Munchie: … owo

Ashley: It's cool, I'll try my best to help you out.

Munchie: ….

Ashley: Fuck. He's looking zonked.

Influence: WHAT IS THIS

Me: HI

Ashley: GO TO SLEEP YOU SHOULD BE ZONKED