Ashley: guess whaaaaaat

Me: what

Ashley: WE'RE GOING BACK TO THE PAST!

Munchie: ...wait. I'm confused.

Me: Yeah what.

Munchie: Are we going to the present or the past?

Ashley: Both.

Influence: Neither. -goes back through the portal-

Ashley: -grabs the long leaf on his head and yanks him back- FUCK YOU

A Deaf Flame's Flicker

Chapter Seven: I Don't Think I was Misunderstood

He... he couldn't exactly form it into words, but the munchlax surely felt something when he caught the look of the chimchar just as he stood on the edge of humanity, about to dip into the world of the past, of his home, again. He had not a clue how much time had passed since he entered the future, but possibly not too long, since it seemed the chimchar in his arms hadn't noticeably grown agitated for that reason: well, she had. When he completely stopped walking whatsoever. But nothing for a slower pace. Perchance time had hardly sped up at all and Munchie was complicating things again when he didn't have to, but in his heart—besides the things hanging around that couldn't be formed into words—he felt that his friends would be in splotches of momentary safety. Hey, Ashley's big scary dad was about to ruin the past: you couldn't really get all that better than momentary safety, in this sort of situation. It was just how the world worked.

Like how the world worked with a great mixture of Mystery Dungeons, then the one little tip of uncontaminated Treasure Town that Munchie had begun to often see more and more as the only bit of contamination left in Zundentun: though according to the great almighty Influence—oh how heavily he digressed—Treasure Town would forever remain the way it was. It simply wouldn't be possible for the magic of Mystery Dungeons to take over all; there had to be spaces of legit nature, too, to keep a—though painfully unbalanced—share of each side of how everything could live and grow. Munchie didn't want to believe that grovyle only because the speaker of such doubts had been Influence himself, but Munchie was in no room to argue. So he didn't.

The world, he recalled, also worked on another form than Dusknoir equaling momentary safety or the strange balance of sorts in Zundentun to warps and nature. Sure, both were a sort of magic, but one stuck out: thus Mystery Dungeons. The other didn't act so bold and uncalibrated: thus nature. The world worked on those cogs, the time gears, and those time gears, without being properly watched and cleaned and looked over and worked at and all of those great, cleansing methods tending to be used upon the grace of such exalting matters, would die. Simple and there. Did the time gears begin to run out of whack, lose their power, their shine, did lackluster break out like monsters from that one psychotic child's imagination upon their gentle, cool, green surfaces, or one time gear wrecked and its replacement not properly formed: the world was over, fine and dandy, simple. Time would stop, so therefore space would move awkwardly as well, and the world would freeze and every single sense of observation would fade until its use could no longer be identified and the souls of pokemon twisted into cruel, immortal beings that could never escape the lives they only wished to outrun. That... was how the world officially worked. Screw up the time gears, everything died. Simple fix: no screwing up the time gears.

Only one single problem could dominate that marginally simple task, and his name was Dusknoir. He was problem. He was big problem. His problem was so massive it inflated further than his oversized ego, as Ashley might have called it. At the thought and mention of her name colliding inside of him, Munchie shook himself. He definitely saw a cause and effect of wooziness and strange reactivity with that flaming-colored girl nearby. Explosions... in emotion? In his heart? Munchie continued questioning these sorts of unimportant, trivial problems of the world that stopping and thinking wouldn't solve while the wispy entrails of sableye children spilled out amongst him and hissed softly, angrily, a sort of trill rubbing off on them.

Munchie then remembered what the heck he was doing in the first place and stepped into the hole of light. None of the wispy, purple monsters managed to skewer him, nor follow him, any further than they had already gone. Those strange half-siblings of Ashley's showed limitations in going toward the portals. Another strong reason for them to be the guards, he remarked to himself. They couldn't just take off. Perhaps Dusknoir wasn't the most thoughtful father, after all. Munchie began to wonder why he had so many kids in the first place—how many different woman were there in the future?—as the all-seeing bright, white lights encompassed him and strong, fluid winds burled over him and rumbled against. The sudden urge to take Ashley's hands and squeeze them to himself came over the munchlax, and before he knew it the once-again dusk-colored creature of layers of fur had his arms locked behind the unconscious chimchar whose face with the hole in the side of the head casually dripped for reasons he didn't want to elaborate, and the arms connected with the hands. A cool breath of relief washed upon Munchie, and he felt that much more sure of himself with just the simple gesture of their fingers entwined, connecting them together. He began to hope that wherever they were, Influence and Jalendalynne weren't injured and okay—wait no not Influence he didn't like Influence. Then, Munchie rectified himself, may Jalendalynne be unhurt and smiling, with her bright pink pichu cheeks of blush encompassing her small, round, sweet face.

With that thought safely secured, Munchie hugged the limp, orange smudge—actual orange—of his friend to his scruffy, blue chest, and Munchie saw the accidental tattoo swarmed off the center of the pale, sandy circle on that chest of his. Just barely off. He looked like everything had been shifted just a little too much, like mere moments could have saved its position. The funny story was, no, it couldn't, because it had socked him right in the chest as it whizzed by, that time gear from the wrong slot trying to be put on the Waterfall Cave pedestal. He had a burn mark on his chest, and it looked like an intricate tattoo mere scoots across from being perfectly aligned with the pale sandy circle on the middle of the dusky fur. Maybe Ashley liked it. Munchie didn't know why he was suddenly so interested in the deaf girl and why it mattered whether or not she liked his accidental tattoo that would probably come off—in given time, if at all—and it didn't matter. Just singed fur.

But there he went. Munchie cared. Maybe it was with the whole part where he held each hand of Ashley's with his, to keep them carefully entwined and warm his scruffy old soul. Maybe it was one of the new, dangerous, strange things they'd done in those last times, like the time gear singeing his heart to flame, just about, and other strange but normal anomalies like... like an oshawott—these water mammals that were mostly white with the colors of different oceans on them—had multiple different lengths of their long, thicker, rope-like hairs. And those were their ears. He'd heard that most had small, prim, proper lengths of ears but that others pertained to much longer ropes of them. Munchie in particular had never seen it, but some of the most outrageous things were told of simple anomalies like that when one eavesdropped for the vast majority of their entire life. But even still, whether or not it resulted from either of those finds: there he went. Munchie cared. Maybe because Ashley would look at him and think he was ugly.

Wait no she wouldn't. Munchie tried to shake off these random, awkward feelings of succumbing, directing to the weak self-esteem that should have made a barrier to his heart, but didn't, because he didn't have any, so thus no barrier. For the sake of the chimchar he still awkwardly held in his arms with her hands on his hands, try to be more positive, stupid. If he didn't... oh, he didn't know. Maybe... it'd... What did Influence do when he was sent to the past that messed up his mind and shocked him into amnesia? Ashley said they weren't holding onto one another and he had been whisked away or something, so he'd landed both somewhere wrong—the Waterfall Cave—and somewhere potentially hazardous—there was a time gear there. And nowhere near the chimchar who'd started it all. Well, whatever it was, Munchie didn't plan on releasing the girl from his grip anytime soon.

He's almost forgotten about the winds until those picks up with melodramatic swwwoooooooooossshhh... ssssswwweeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrssssssshhh sounds that cried out and demanded for notice. That was what they got; Munchie's fur billowed around violently as if suggesting to rip right off his being and scatter: now that, that was worse than a misguided time gear in the wrong pedestal, forcing itself to be flung far away and evidently smacked into the living being nearby. But seriously, if it had only been like a little bit more to his right, its left, and a little bit more up, both of their ups, he would have had a perfectly imprinted time gear on the brightly-contrasting circle on his chest. Munchie should stop worrying about things he didn't have the ability to change. Singed fur was singed fur, and that was all it would ever be. Though it did look a little like a tattoo, it'd—at some point—grow out.

And then the winds picked up again and rustled him harder. Munchie practically squeezed whatever life was in Ashley back out again from the nervous breakdown in his heart. White lights began radically flashing, blinding the thin munchlax who thus rabidly sealed his eyes tight shut so that even if a soul came knocking, they wouldn't budge. Those layers of fur saved his eyesight, as the dusky layers prevented nigh all of the strange, vibrant brightness from effecting him directly. Only a slight, lighter sheen covered, and still the big color he saw through his eyelids was a blue: a not-as-dark blue, but a blue all the same. He'd be safe. The smudge of orange he pawed to himself would probably be okay since her body had shut down some time ago. Oh geez, he hoped she was okay. He couldn't cover her eyes since he was too busy squeezing her hands with his hands and feeling unsafe for many logical reasons, so he awkwardly hid her head into his chest furs. The singed ones were partially shielding this special girl. Of course they were some of the saviors.

Munchie wished he could stop focusing on how warm and nice it felt to have her that close to him and continue worrying nonstop about his safety, her safety, Jalendalynne's safety—anything but Influence's safety—and any other factor he had no control of. Anything but—truly nothing else than—this girl who was against him and it was like a hug or an embrace and yeah it was warm but no don't think of it that way don't you even, stupid Munchie. Stop. His brain wouldn't stop though and a random, tacky smile branded to his lips and no matter how hard he struggled, Munchie couldn't stop it from erupting within him, and the warmness of the occasion exploded on his inside like a lovey volcano. And just like that, things began to fall, and one of them hit him. And he saw it.

Oh.
Oh.

That one word. Lovey. Lovey volcano. Did that mean... he felt... that way... about Ashley? And, like, he had feelings for her? And, like, he couldn't do anything because she insisted Influence was all she deserved when man, that guy was the scum, and Ashley stop calling him for you if you think Munchie's so great, because you know what, he thinks you're so great, and he can't get you out of his head like at all, and: nah.

He probably was just overreacting. No way did he feel that way about anyone.

The emotions inside of him burbled angrily and began to hiss at that tone. What tone? That was no tone. Munchie simply stated the truth, and the truth has no tone but its own. He was shedding light to the situation, but suddenly his heart bit something inside of him and he squealed at the shock of bright-red color over his eyelids and the gnawing sensation inside of him that Munchie, you've done messed up. He didn't... do anything, though. He was just trying to be an honest-to-goodness munchlax that, sure, didn't have the strongest self-esteem and all that, but he was trying to find truth in a situation that was dark and filled with an inky, sucking void that he wanted to save from the future-likeness of the moment. But still, something gnawed and his vision painted red and oh, was he doing something wrong. Which was hilarious because he had done nothing wrong—or was it hysterical? Was Munchie breaking out? Would he run down the line of capsized emotions again? Oh, geez, no, he hoped not. He didn't want to start freaking out about Ashley all over again. Munchie sucked in a tight, pinching breath, and decided: whatever he felt was wrong.

Something angrily thudded in his heart, but all Munchie could do was ignore it. His brain began to squeeze, but Munchie ignored it. Voices in his head screeched that he was wrong, but he ignored it. Innards began to plead, his fur itched, the eyelids started fluttering in their place like a threat, a threat he helplessly needed to keep off but couldn't even control as his hands flopped about randomly and almost dropped Ashley which that—that—that he really didn't want to do—and then suddenly his toes wriggled and felt about ready to come off. Oh, geez, he was going insane. Or something. And still... Munchie gallantly put up this facade that he didn't care and he held it down, held it tightly down, his fists clenched and feet, though shaky, in place. In place enough. Of course he forgot that with his fists clenched his fingers would bite into Ashley's, so he quickly unfurled that act and deliberated that he needed another one.

And with a final squeeze, the lights gave out, and suspending Munchie in place, they violently flashed out one last time with lashing, chemical white hands and released, sending he and she sprawling into the sands below, himself nearly dumped into the waves of gloomy low-tide just under. Seeing that, he rapidly flung himself forward and landed, signaling a hefty thUMP as sands puffed out and escaped underneath him, which got him smiling again. Perhaps the sands of the beaches and oceans could tell the difference between a regular munchlax and skinny munchlax, but he couldn't help but feel they sympathized with him and let him have bigger clouds just to feel better about himself. Shaking off in pride, picking out specks of granular pale he could recognize from all of those sunsets he'd spend at the beach, Munchie picked himself over to where the orange smudge had fallen, moving over dunes and sometimes kicking them down for no reason, no order. His head turned to the right, angular ears swishing, and those dark blue orbs caught sight of something he hadn't seen in a long while, something the hope rimming those blacker colors caught and held to. It... it was real, alright. A real sunset, all over again.

As if reciting for a play he knew by heart, Munchie's mind began to chant as the colors took place. Blue, the portrait, the eggshell melting pot, held up strands of orange which bleached its canvas a lighter of sorts and began churning with yellows that fell into place and vibrant greens which fell in splotches, going so far as to surround the sun with bleached limes of green that appeared so pale they nigh were sunbeams themselves. The green mixed with the orange, the yellow, and the hints of old blue with streaked across the sky in lashing waves of color, streaming behind leftover strays thus reporting as purple, a grape purple blooming like flowers in pinpoints of blue streams. From the edges of this earthen and seaward land, dusk fell like a hush, and the colors began to die out of shape as the sun sunk toward the ocean, releasing a final, majestic spray of color: purple to pink, to those bleaches lime greens to streaks of yellows, their undying glow demanding the sight of their single audience, as he had once been. And the dusk fell softer, closer, gently embracing with the color like old lovers and sounding the end. It must be hard, soft realization waded in on Munchie: to only embrace like that with such... love... only when the sun rose, or the night did. Or the sun set, or the night. Those intervals met so only a couple of times spread throughout the day, every day, could they truly meet and spread their wings of color and shade and light out. It was a sad thing.

But at least they didn't have it like the land and the sky, a pair of celestial beings unable to truly entwine, to only see one another and wish, wish with breaking souls that they could collide once more. The only way they could meet was if the world ended and everything was destructed of its core, releasing any hopelessness and pain holding the sky from its land, keeping itself once as a protective bubble until released, and when that happened, the world would stop existing, and lovers would be brought together, but at the expense of loss. The future, Munchie saw, was like that. Darkness, grief, pain... but it all melded together. One couldn't find a true sky or a true land. It... mixed upon itself and melded where it wished to and altogether wrung out souls that deserved to be together and couldn't. At least the night and day had those chances of sunrise and sunset—moonset and moonrise—to meet again. The earth and the sky had nothing, nothing but the hope that one day this throne of life could fall, and they could meet again.

Munchie's brain slyly remarked that no matter what these celestial suckers had to go through, he'd always be with Ashley. He slyly returned that the sky and the earth would have one another did they not make a move on or they'd be screwing the world. He didn't know where his friends were, but Munchie felt pallid certainty did they get the choice, they'd choose Jordan over saving the world. The guild was cool like that, but also a mega-jerk to everyone else like that. Everyone would group hug and the world would die at the seams of their fingers, where they had the chance to sew it together. Either way, Munchie wasn't sure if Dusknoir would even give the guild a chance to have Jordan or the time gears. He seemed... kind of really attached to the female gallade. From that thought, Munchie's heart struggled to swallow and evidently sat there like a forlorn stone. They... they had to do something. Had to stop this anarchy from coming down and he didn't know how to, but then he remembered: right, Ashley would know. She was... she was from the future. She'd learned from so many old tales from so many forgotten, old souls in their screwed future of the past, of what happened, of how to save it. And here she was now, doing exactly that. And Munchie: he would help her in any way he could.

"Hey! Munchie! Please help me! I'm fucking stuck!" And there she was. Awake, he realized with a sudden strike of joy. And alive. And she hadn't even noticed that one of her ears had gone missing. The dusky, scruffy munchlax with newfangled joy pumping in his veins reached out and took a hand of the chimchar, her long fingers wiggling dramatically in her struggle. She was on her back and judging by the pale stains under her face and the bags of lines, Ashley was tired, and she'd need some help traveling. Once he'd gotten her up, Munchie ran back to the streams of the ocean and dipped his fingers in, rushing back and sloshing his cold, wet, fluffy hands over the side of her face, attempting to clean the cut as quickly and efficiently as possible while keeping Ashley without worry. "What the—FUCK! THAT STINGS! DAMN WHY DOES THAT SING! FUCKING ARCEUS! SHIT! SHIT SHIT SHIT! STOP! THE HELL!" She rapidly spat as the words went splat and soon balls of saliva had rolled up on the ground just about everywhere, sticking and swirling with sands and clear liquids. Munchie suddenly remembered the phrase rubbing salt in a wound. He had saltwater on his hands. He was cleaning out a hole punctured in Ashley's face that should have contained an ear. Problems spiked. Obvious problems he should have seen coming. Munchie winced, mumbled over a few apologies, and quickly finished getting the dried red off of her cute, round face.

"Is it any better?" he mumbled, cleaning off his hands in the ocean waver and wringing them out, then looking at the peeved chimchar in question. She blinked slowly. Those pretty, fiery orbs seemed to wink at Munchie, and it made him feel special—oh freaking gosh what was wrong with him. Munchie felt like he had sinned and wanted to cry out all over again. And, he noticed, he had regained the ability to cry, so if he needed to, he should feel free to let it out.

In response to his question, Ashley had at first paused, then, cautiously, ran her long fingers across the edges of where her left ear was supposed to be. She mouthed a few words as her eyes slowly widened, then shook her head. "Oh," was all that came out for a moment. It eventually, after a lengthy pause, was followed by a few more words. "Oh... oh, shit. I had no idea. I'm sorry, Munchie, I fucking hate it when I have to get all loud at you and then your emotions jumble up somehow... and then we're both screeching. Ugh..." She shook her head. "I'm really fucking sorry."

Munchie merely blinked back. He took a moment to say something in return since he still couldn't believe Ashley had cooled so quickly and felt guilty—guilty, Munchie thought only he felt it like that—about her actions like he always did. Munchie still did. But he'd gotten better at it, being so thankful he had Ashley in the first place. And now... it seemed like it was... in a way, her turn to voice her guilt, and they would eventually: yes, cried his internal organs, yes, he and she would meet in the middle and there would be those emotions trapped inside him—in motion, because: no, wait, nothing. He waved it off. He was lying to himself again. He'd tried to shed light but it seemed the light hadn't wanted to be shed. In the end, he just tried to shake off the emotions, which as usual, of course, didn't solve any of his problems. "Ashley... I swear, I didn't realize how much we had in common. I... I used to feel like that." Munchie didn't truly realize until then how much he'd missed the soft tone of his with the husk wrapped about it. "But it's... it's okay. I truly... I don't mind."

"I make you fucking angry. I don't like you like it when you're pissed."

"Maybe I don't, but I like you a lot more than how much I don't like getting peeved."

"Oh fucking do you now."

He blinked, snickered. "Yep." Ashley, though he thought she might have, didn't respond to that single giggle displaying righteous happiness and other emotions of the sort. Yep. And she said nothing in response, just stared at the gentle yellows of sand below beginning to dramatically shade over with the reign of night and the moon, not whispering a word. Her flaming orbs spluttered and stared with this peace and this slight, little sliver of sadness. Munchie didn't like to see her in such an usurped state, but he felt like if anything happened, he'd at least protect her. And that was a good enough emotion. Munchie began wondering again why every thought about this chimchar not only seemed heightened in number but in strength of feeling. Whenever he saw her eyes, he thought they were pretty, but now when he saw them they simply glimmered and appeared so bright, so warm, so spectacular, that he could hardly contain his explosion of warmth in him: every time. Every. Single. Time. Then remembered, "Um, Ashley..? What do we have to—to do now? How do we save the past?"

"Mm?" That rush of heat and warmth summoned inside of him, dissolving patchworks of knotting any pain inside might have caused, and those flaming orbs peered up at the munchlax quietly. She'd been watching him, as well, the entire time, and caught what he had asked for. The deaf chimchar, now lacking an ear to show for her bravery and uncaring to it, raised her small head delicately, and nodded. "Oh, well... we have a lot of fucking phases to bitch through, so I'll make it a little easier by saying what we have to do now and then what we have hot on our trail next... and we'll go through it slowly like that. Finish one thing, I go over the next and a little bit more." Munchie then realize how unexpectedly organized Ashley was. He also realized how uneven she must have felt, with one ear cut off completely, with hopes dashed of being even at all unless someone offered to completely lop off her other one. Still, not that she could use them as it was. "First off, we find out where the fucking hell Influence stumbled off to. Then... if he's with your little buddy—I am not fucking jealous"—oh gosh she was jealous—"we... sure, what the hell, she'll join us too, and then once we have our team organized, we have to... we'll figure out which of these to do, but either ransack my fuckdad, or... well... we'll have to go to the spoke."

As much as Munchie hated him, the way Ashley threaded those words really made him want to look for Dusknoir before anything else. That whole spoke thing made it sound like they would either choose from spending a day hanging out with Byrender or getting swallowed by him. And they should want to hang out with him, not be eaten by him. Plus, Munchie felt relatively secure Byrender didn't even eat meat, because his diet was a solid income of apples, most of the same color and size. So that would not only disturb the eaten, but the eater, too. And be honest: hanging out with that buck-toothed bibarel and hearing his jazzy voice for the entire day sounded incredibly amazing and tempting and if anyone asked, they'd want to do that. "Let's be honest. My fuckdad is my fuckdad. But if we can just nab the time gears from him, beat the shit out of him, and then put them back where they're supposed to sit their asses down and stay, it'd be a fucking lot easier than getting repeatedly attacked by him while trying to go back to the spoke and reset everything. Plus the first option means that he's already down. The next-in-command is an even shittier next-in-command than Chindu is." And that—that was saying something. Everyone knew that Chindu was only next-in-command because he and Spirit had that thing going. So thus he stayed. They loved him, but man, he didn't know what he was doing.

"So basically either hang out with Byrender or get eaten by him. Those are our choices." It just kind of fell out, alongside Munchie's thought process which had evidently been tossed out the window some time ago. Ashley's face, though, when she heard that and put it into her own thought process: was priceless. The burst of red over her cheeks and the wide, wild spark in her flaming orbs of red and yellow and orange: it was so worth it. If Munchie could, he'd freeze that moment just to stare at the face a little longer, but it soon morphed into a fall as Ashley hit the sand again and burst into a shatter of giggles, erupting into louder, raucous waves of laughter that streamed and warmed Munchie's heart over and over again with each round until it devolved and slowly hissed into nothing but a wispy cough, to which she said, "That was fucking beautiful, Munchie. Say it again." With a nonchalant shrug—and a blooming red face—Munchie did. Her laughter spiked and hit harder, all the same. She didn't ask for another encore after but to be picked up off the ground. As Munchie assisted her, their eyes interlocked and he saw her face did happen to be as red as his, those blushes swooning in her cheeks.

Munchie also remembered the other part that'd struck his head the wrong way when Ashley was organizing what they had to do. She really was a tidy chimchar, and preferred to keep her ideals neat and righteous, unlike a certain munchlax hanging on his shaking limbs, awkwardly somewhat hugging her to try and calm her nerves. And again, words magically fell out. "I'm jealous of Influence, too, you know." The soft whisper, shrouded by the husk, forced out the sentence before he'd even saw it over, and then he was sure it was over for him, too, like his sentence was. It was just... as an eavesdropper, it was painfully obvious for the munchlax to see that yes, Ashley was jealous of Jalendalynne and how similar she and Munchie pertained, and, well, it was pretty obvious—in some ways—that she was when she said she wasn't—though he knew of pokemon that after they said they loved their friends they hastily added in a friend way and those weren't lies—but he just: it was obvious for him. Some pokemon spent eons questioning it, trying to figure it out and feel safe. Munchie didn't have to question because he knew. And he'd been jealous of stupid Influence for a long time. Ever since he'd met him, pretty much.

The change in Ashley's posture was astronomical. Her limbs became an octave weaker with a lurch, and Munchie soon became the only reason her feet stayed secure on the ground, having to completely support her with his stronger self. He hadn't folded in on himself, thus making Munchie the keeper of the chimchar. Her warmth threaded though to him and his face burst in an extreme paint set of colors. Her hands nearly went limp, but scrabbled to hang onto him, and those eyes, so small, so squinted, pointed together like stars, as if trying to figure him out. All she had to say was, "ah..." and it was all she needed to say. All she could say. Munchie did feel a little awkward to be folded over this cute girl like so, but he'd known Ashley for some time now, it'd be okay. And anyways, if anyone looked awkward, it was her. Her flushed cheeks and scrabbling hands, and her wilted composure like she was losing it. Munchie didn't know... what he should do.

Eyes scrabbled shut, face turned aside, mouth screwed up, Ashley released and found a will to stand, shaking at first on her long feet, then, as her hands joined them and she shook her head a few times, stability was found. "We... we need to find Influence," she said, quietly versing, and trudged on. She'd just... what did that mean? What did that entire thing mean? Did it... what did it—did he do something bad? Was Ashley mad at him? He didn't know, but for some reason his heart beat and it assured him that she didn't feel remorse or something at him. It was... something else. Inside of her. Yes, that felt right: she was struggling with inner turmoil at the moment, inner turmoil that refused to unearth itself. That, he pawned off, was okay. He'd done that, too. They both had ways to deal with it, ways that varied much, with himself taking it out on the outside, going outdoors, freely showing off how he felt... while it seemed Ashley cooped it up within and quietly tried to figure out what was going on inside of her.

Munchie, himself, was still trying to shed a light on a situation that called for it, he'd gone so blind. It felt really dark in there, and he just felt like he was going to keep messing up if he didn't get that light out on his strange feelings hanging on. But he couldn't, because it was stuck in his throat and wouldn't go away, and it just tore right at him, through him, into him. Munchie didn't like that, so he squabbled with it, and, of course, as always, nothing happened. As if the situation had become so unbearable it had become accepted as the light Munchie struggled to shed: but it couldn't be. Those emotions inside of him: they couldn't be. Couldn't be, and that was that.

Dusk hairs on his ears shifted, shaking themselves, in the slight breeze of darkness as it spelled through. Spirit would have been furious if he knew Ashley and Munchie were outside, trying to save the world, at night. They had... become nocturnal, and the wigglytuff, he hated nocturnal. Desperately hated it with a burning passion to the point of idiocy. Past the point of idiocy. Nobody mentioned it, though. Ashley didn't, at that time; she just went on, and Munchie slowly trudged after her through the sand, until they'd come through the labyrinthine passages of Beach Cave and their coral trenches, clawing through and leaving such pink-rimmed cave as they took a path Munchie pointed out—he knew this place like it was his best friend since he was a child, and it practically had been—and popped out into the main streets of Treasure Town. Most sensible pokemon had gone off to bed, but there were always the stragglers who didn't quite get the message until after everyone else had long dispersed. And sometimes those same stragglers who didn't quite get the message never got it at all and stayed up for an entire day plus the night without fully recognizing such. Munchie could always tell if he missed a day of sleep, always. It was in his munchlax genes, hooked right up to his brain: that and eating. His stomach suddenly let out a long, abandoned sigh.

"Shit. I forgot about food." Munchie shook his head.

"No, Ashley! We just have to loop through the coral pathways just before we get into the Beach Cave and we can find a whole loot of grub. It's... what I used to survive off of." Yep, he was embarrassed. Ashley, saving his man points that he doubted he still had as it was, merely smirked and wiggled one finger from her right hand at him before turning around. The fiery tail glowing behind her shuddered with energy into the night, and her flaming orbs glowed. Munchie felt pretty darn sure if it wasn't for his coloring, he'd stick out like a sore loser on a shopping spree. But, with it, he blended into the night well. Ashley continued to look as huggable and warm and welcoming as she always did. Perhaps she digressed, but he didn't. Even though Munchie had no willpower and no stubborn authority, he stuck to that notion and he clung tightly, because unlike most anything else—not including the singed tattoo on his chest—he felt secure here, with this plump girl. He found her adorable, unlikely as others may find it, and he didn't like going away from her.

They took their meager break in the yawning echoes of hallways splashed by dull, shadowed coral and other pink marines. The occasional greenie—he now knew what those things were and didn't find them frightening at all—sauntered by, always a pink-scaled corsola with strange formations crafting its figure, and Munchie didn't care all that much about them. He'd seen these suckers before; he'd see them again. He knew they were harmless, so the thin munchlax and salty chimchar walked by with ease. As he took his own rounds, he made sure to not use so many paths that he tended to wander, as those mostly led back to the beaches where nice views or niches splayed out as good places to watch the sunset or simply the waves crashing, roaring, bellowing out, and then calmly lulling themselves to bed. Some others played as sleeping hollows. They were more or less suitable, nothing in comparison to the hay chambers he'd spent his time resting in at the guild, but also a little better than whatever the heck he'd slept on in the future. Ashley didn't want him to remember that place, though, so he didn't linger on the blackened thoughts.

Once enough food was laden in their arms, Munchie led himself and his chimchar friend back outside again. It was a short, brisk stroll, as he'd made sure would happen with the paths they took. He did know this place inside out. It was his job to figure out which directions would be easiest. A better purpose than watching the sunsets, but not so good as serving the guild. But... the more he considered it: was that really Munchie's purpose? Yeah, he'd enjoyed it; yeah, he loved those guys; yeah, it was way better than anything else he'd even had a chance to try. But still, he felt as if... there was something else. Munchie's eyes wandered and accidentally—accidentally—landed on someone. What—no. She had Influence; he didn't like Influence and she didn't deserve him. She had her own life; she despised her life and wanted to stay in the past and get away. What about her family she loved so much? ...Did she really love them that much? She'd said they couldn't truly experience such emotions back in the future, back with those pokemon, yet the way she looked at him deterred from her accusations of herself. Maybe... Okay, he'd spit it out: maybe his purpose was to be with her. There. Happy? He said it. He freaking said it. Now leave Munchie alone. He was done.

Whether or not his purpose was to follow a deaf chimchar to the ends of Zundentun, then to the ends of the future, then to the ends of the world, why not, he still enjoyed it. He didn't have to spit that one out because it flowed naturally through him, like an exotic stream in an oasis that brimmed with life, and beauty, and happiness, and other things pokemon dreamed of. Oh, like love. His face burned at that last one, and Munchie feared he might soon understand and interpret why—correctly—but at that moment it mattered not. Munchie was allowed to be happy he was following his friend at all. They then tidily landed beneath a tree on the lingering edges of Treasure Town with nice shade, which made so sense that they chose the shady tree since it was already so inky black out, but there they sat and spread out their rainbow of goods. Munchie had managed to carry an untidy wreck of an abundance of gooey, sugary gummis, and a few, round apples, and some berries of assorted coloring as well. Ashley had something that was purple and had a rank smell, tart and dark and leaking and: why, of all things? Why, Ashley?

"Why the fuck does all of your food look so fucking delicious if mine looks like future shit?" Oh, she wasn't used to scrounging around, just for the bits she did recall from back home. And apparently, if they happened to feel like eating back there, they ate whatever, and that was what whatever looked like. Munchie yanked a tree branch from above his head with his long arm and sent a scatter of dark,wispy leaves over the vile thing his dear chimchar friend had found. He vowed to never send her on a food mission again. Munchie would stick to it himself and let her carry some sparse number, since she wasn't a munchlax and didn't have the abilities they did when it came to stocking up foods, even just in carrying. He neatly split their pile—trying to be as organized as possible for her—and abruptly took a bite of the first thing he grabbed, which happened to be a bright green berry with a weird stem on it. The gentle seep of sour fluids robbed his taste buds of perception, but he was a munchlax. This was one of his things. Trying to be casual and not quite awkward about it, Munchie slurped the lingering liquids of juice from the side of his face and shoveled the rest of its juicy pulp in quickly with a slurping thop.

Ashley blinked at this and raised her fingers, staring down at the orange gummi she unearthed from her pile of food. "I don't know how the hell I'm going to eat all of this on my own," she calmly announced, then shoved the sugary food into her mouth, loudly chewed with exaggerated cheekbones sticking out like twigs, and swallowed harsh. It left a gulping noise. "Oh. Shit. No. I will not eat all of those. I sure do hope you munchlax weirdos do have an expansive appetite, because no way am I eating all of this shit on my own." Munchie merely nodded through his own pile of goodies and waved her off with a sticky hand. She smirked as a thin layer of yellow mush thukked her good on the face; rubbing it off and forcing it in her mouth with one hand, Ashley decided she had no idea what Munchie was eating. He looked at her through a glance from his gently-creased, gently-peeled banana and nearly laughed through yellow chunks at her look. She didn't know what they were consuming because she ate that crud hiding beneath the leaves when she felt like eating. But in the past, where everything was more normal and made more sense, she did have to eat to survive, and here she was. Munchie vaguely wondered if Influence didn't know this and nearly starved himself to death: Jalendalynne would've helped him, though.

In the end, Ashley had been right. She only forced down a couple more pawfuls of food: stomach still getting used to its need or something? Or maybe normal pokemon only needed a little bit of unaided foods, like how everyone at the guild simply could eat one apple and be done. A munchlax could not, so Munchie continued chewing without feeling too awkward because it was kind of like his life was at stake here did he not chew, so he did, and he finished all of his and most of hers and managed to hold in the majority of a burp. "Oh... okay. Munchie. Big question for you, now that that's done." Thankfully, he's only burped—almost—before this came up, so Munchie was able to rub at his pale maw a little and sit up, straighten his back, everything, appear ready. "Um... I know I shouldn't be asking shit like this, since I'm the one that bitched this plan out in the first place, but—do you think we can do this?" Do what? Eat all the food? Don't worry, Ashley; Munchie already did; he wouldn't throw up; yes he wasn't going to hurl whatsoever; he promised. "Can we... um... c-could we actually stop my dad and... s-save this place? The past? Correct the fucked future and completely eradicate it?" He ignored how much that could have implied Ashley dying and thought on his own for a moment. Could... could they actually pull this off? Did they have this power to... keep the screwed future from becoming however it became? Because if they didn't, this would all have been for naught and Munchie would find his old corpse as the future became a reality and there was nothing to stop it until the world went back to Ashley and her time and—everything. The screwed future would always be there... and whether or not they could save it—or was this fate? What was fate?

Nope. Wait. Munchie blinked to himself. Too many questions. He should just answer that first one, then maybe, if he wanted, once the world was all better, he could become a crazed philosopher and spend the rest of his life questioning the will of fate. For now, he had a simple question from a scared chimchar. He knew as the protective boy in her life that he should stand up, look cool, and assure her that they would be okay in the end, then pat her head or something as she stared up in awe of him. But that... that wasn't Munchie, and everyone knew it. He wasn't like those pokemon of Treasure Town, who did as they wished unaided and screwed everything up and called magic dumb. He'd been thrown in that mix, but he was physically an outcast, and thus he found the others who related toward him. He found Spirit Bright, he found Jalendalynne, he found... Ashley. Munchie purposely left a blank without including Influence because he hated Influence. Simple as that. Still... how would he, as himself, as Munchie, answer his dear girl's question?

What did he think? Munchie stopped and pondered this. Well, considering he'd been blindly following all of Ashley's orders until she stopped to ask him a question, Munchie was either an idiot or he trusted her and the fact that they would stop Dusknoir and save the past and thus the future. He was really hoping he wasn't an idiot, for once in his sadistic life. Honestly... the more he thought about it, the more Munchie hoped that he truly wasn't. And... he felt like it, like he wasn't an idiot. Like he was more than a bumbling dummy, like he had personality and flavor in his life, like the world meant something to him: because Ashley. Because Ashley meant something to him, and with Ashley by his side, he felt that... anything was possible.

Munchie wished he could copy his thought and print them into Ashley's head. Instead, he had to go with his next best choice: "Um, yep." And then his throat got stuck and his soft tone slipped from his grip, and all he could see were those warm, flickering flames of eyes. "We can." He later found this speech of his remarkably terrible and would regret it for a long time, but in the moment, it was all he could think of saying. And in the moment, it was perfect. Munchie didn't think about it and regret it just yet.

"Y-you think so?" Ashley seemed to agree with him, and Munchie's spirit soared so high he felt partially gay for a strange moment.

Munchie didn't say that part either. How could one tell the girl he felt so happy around that he was gay? Was he gay? Again, Munchie felt secure in the thought that when he imagined loving someone, he imagined a female; his brain pinched him hard at that and directed him toward something, but he missed what. Or who. No, it was probably a what that he missed. Not the girl sitting in front of him, eyes glimmering so helplessly beautifully. "Y-yep! With..." He'd almost said it, but now the orbs were questioning. "WithyouIcandoanything." Then he shut up and his face blared.

"A-awwwwww! That's... really sweet." Then Ashley's eyes blinked, and again the flames had fallen, and she was... a little... upset. A little in pain about something. Munchie... didn't like how upset she looked, and it thumped him in his heart hard. "It's too sweet... It's not..." A shake of the head from the lively chimchar. Munchie hoped she might have smiled, in the least, at his comment, not appear so... so... heartbroken. Ashley, if you were going to be in such pain, at least... laugh about it. He hated that face, that painful expression edging her down, cutting it finely with a silvery knife, chopping it down to size, to sad, painful size. "Don't... say those things, Munchie... not about me."

"Ashley, you mean a lot more to me than I can explain. I'm sorry it comes out so awkwardly... I'm sorry it makes you so upset... but it's true." He quietly admitted to himself how happy he was that they never talked about Influence in those sorts of conversations, and how much he... didn't matter. Ashley understood emotions more than her entities, but still not as much as the others in the past. She was like that antisocial kid who never, never talked in the corner of the past, but the super outgoing one with all the friends and all the boys in the future that she hated so despicably much. And Munchie... he could understand. The entire time they were there, he'd felt invaded, cold, fearful, lost, alone, it just kept piling up, but then Ashley's hand kept hanging onto his and squeezing his and it seemed nothing was so dark and scary. Because Ashley was there.

And she continued to stay silent for another long moment, clinging to the quiet of the night in the moment, until she whispered, "I don't see how I'm so great." In that whisper... she sounded a lot like him. Quiet. Awkward. Confused. Alone. Upset with herself. Low self-esteem, to that matter. It was all Munchie could do to stretch out his dusky blue arms and place them around her, to let her know he was there anyways. "I don't see how... you're so great. How is it possible..? That you're... this amazing?" Her whisper was met with silence and quiet, gentle sobs as Munchie hugged her and caressed her anyways, because it felt right, because it looked like she needed it.

He knew more about her than he thought.

She knew more about him than she thought.

It was... a little nice. Munchie didn't open up and unpack that thought still sitting in his heart, the one he was trying to interpret the wrong way, because he didn't want to, because it didn't feel like the right time, but he hugged her. As a friend. As a trusting soul that would believe in her until her flame-colored eyes finally puttered out, and longer. Longer than that, too. It seemed she, as well, wanted to keep him near her. Munchie didn't quite know how to feel, and it looked like Ashley didn't, too, and that was okay. That was nice. A little nice. A good nice. He smiled despite himself before releasing, and whispering, "Let's go save the world."

She smirked a little. "You'd do it better if I wasn't here."

"I'll be right next to you anyway."

"Okay. I think I'll live with it, then." Okay. And that was that. Okay. The word hollowed him. It rung through him, like a bell, picked up speed, plucked at bits of heart, and let it go, and went on. Okay. She accepted fate because it included Munchie, and he did because of she. Okay. It was better than all else they had. Okay. Okay. Okay.

And they went on. Dodging through half-black hallways of dirt, creeping across the straw tops of houses, narrowly edging behind tents, feeling the fuzz of the home on their backsides, their feet encased with grit on the bottom, a nice and healthy brown like caramel, like chocolate, like Byrender, still they went on. It took time, precarious, precious, carefully-melded time, as the moon ticked by overhead, offering meager light with its smiling crescent shape spilled overboard, and dark still stayed dark and then there was grumbling. A harsh, curt, rude grumbling that lashed out against someone else. Munchie squeaked and cried out at that sound, disappearing into the shadow of an old well with stone encircling the hole in the ground, where thankfully the pair did not lie, but behind it, and he latched out and caught the poor, yellow pichu with a reddened face as Ashley did the same to Influence. No, not quite. His angular, lanky, green self was slapped across the face by the chimchar who spluttered sparks and used her calloused fingers to paddle them over and burn the poor grovyle, who grumbled loudly, screeched, then ebbed out and his head bobbled accusingly. Ashley smirked. He did not, however. Munchie just kept sharing awkward glances with Jalendalynne, who seemed okay for the majority but looked like she might want to cry.

"I'm fucking tellin' ya, we need to just go home, Ashley! I've been hearing things about a mob—a mob of black monsters these creeps think are enchantments from the Mystery Dungeons—this mob that definitely contains Daddy Dusknoir and some buddies of his, created through the black in his mind or our own pokemon—and we'll be in the shitter by morrow. No way. No how. Who cares, anyways! Let's just go home, where it's better!" He casually spat out these words. Not to be mean, though: to stay true to his inner Influence. Munchie felt pretty sure he was named that because he had lots of younger siblings, not so he could be an influence to all the jerks in the future that wanted to stay there and liked it in their creepy hidey holes where everything was marginally dark and scary: much darker and scarier than back at home. "C'mon. Leave those punks. We don't have anything better ta d—"

Ashley simply blinked, and that shut him up good. "Yeah. Shit. No." He snorted at his mate and seemed ready to retort when Ashley continued. "I don't know why the hell you're getting so fucking pissed. We'll be fine, dammit! We have all in our reason to feel safer here, dammit! Why go back to the hellhole of our lives? Shit! It's so fucking perfect here in Zindenny!" Zundentun, but he didn't correct her. Ashley was a flame about to set fire to change. A good change. "And why the fuck does it matter what"—she shared an important glance with that sly grovyle—"happens, we know what we're doing. And this is for much better than what your sorry ass would be up to now without this hope to use, to light, to make happy and shit. And... who the fuck said we couldn't? My fuckdad! He told you he could win, not that he actually could and proved it! Dammit, can't you tell? He's a bitch who's pretending everything. You come on, you sorry fuck!" Wow, that wasn't bad. Munchie also saw how much she changed, right then. How... she said she didn't like her identity. That was her identity, but there were parts of her she couldn't quite reach, couldn't quite see. He liked those parts, and he didn't mind this part, either. Now it just slightly made him laugh from the nostalgia. And... it was from his answer that inspired her so deeply. She might have never gotten this far did Munchie not try to... be there for her. He smiled again in spite of himself.

"Oh, fucking shit—fine! Fine! We'll do it. Now I need some fucking foooood! I don't know what the hell it is, but that yellow girl over there says we need it or we'll, like, die or whatever that term is. So... we need somewhere to crash. She said her pad was good." Her... pad? Oh, like that gigantic mansion built into the Foggy Forest. Whoa. They were... they were going there to spend the night? They... that sounded absolutely exhilarating and amazing. "We'll stay around there, but we should try to get out around sunset, travel by night, make it easier."

Ashley nodded, now accepting her mate a little more. "Okay great. From what I've seen, my dad hasn't really done much yet, so we just have to get ourselves started." Thinking of Dusknoir made Munchie think of Jordan, which, in turn, made him consider Spirit and what could have happened to him and the others, and his heart went soft and numb and sad. He wanted to check in on the guild, but it seemed he couldn't. He... he officially was with Ashley for number one. Always... surrounding by her. He'd do that, then, and it'd be okay, it seemed. He was okay with that.

Before they left, Munchie quickly checked in with the tall—though up to the edge of his chest—pichu as he released her, apologizing profusely and receiving profuse forgiveness. "So... we'll stay with these relatives of yours? You're okay... with that? You'll be fine?"

"Yes... of course." She simply smiled. "I feel as if... I should not stay with your crew. I am not... the strongest... and I would lag behind... and I have had enough... of this adventure—which I feel... in my heart. But... you can stay with me... for a little longer. It would be... fun. I have... never had... a true sleepover..." The first thing that registered in Munchie's mind was that her voice was even softer with his, husk or no. Her dainty flower petal whisper now forever etched in his mind had this gentleness, this sweetness, this softness, that nothing could compare to. And also, he saw that they were kind of similar. It seemed when you didn't hang out with complete oddballs like Bright Spirit, one started realizing that, right, everyone did have at least one thing in common with another, and at least one thing not in common: but hey, you did have something similar.

Smiling back, Munchie simply nodded. "It'll be fun." And Jalendalynne nodded, too, in agreement. Yes. It would be a smashing good time, and they would enjoy it. They would very much enjoy it.

Ashley and her mate eventually toned down on their screeching at one another and the rough, pugnacious quarrels spouting like weeds throughout them, but all was good by the end of their albeit rocky start. Munchie and Jalendalynne got along by the metaphorical relation of daisies, bright white-petaled, yellow-dotted flowers sprung up with gentle scents and huggable looks. Daisies. Hey, they weren't the weeds, and Munchie was thankful. Their trek, once settled, to the Foggy Forest was much simpler than the munchlax remembered. A short walk off from Treasure Town, and it opened up, the Foggy Forest of white, pristine fog, even in the black of night, though with some smoky shadows pertained to it now. The ground itself was covered by fogs so thick that the dark didn't even stream through. Just... regular coloring of flaky, puffy, brown dirt. Munchie was pleased to see that this hadn't been altered by the dankness of the loss of a time gear, not just yet. But it would, soon. If Dusknoir had it his way, he would still have a kidnapped Jordan and stack of complete—no, almost complete—time gears in his hand. The one for the Waterfall Cave, whether he realized it or not—probably didn't; he looked like an idiot—was still sealed. Ashley and he had made sure of it. For how many dull points were on the time gear, there was one missing for the number that guy had in his big, white mitt. How Munchie pleaded he didn't realize one was missing. Oh how he pleaded.

They had nothing to do but go completely forward. The walk itself happened to be crisp and cool and nicely temperature-oriented, and it was nice in general, and the pristine fog was pretty and sparkled some. It didn't take that much time for the great, teak-wood doors of shining, elegantly-carved brown thus ineffective to the moist mist outside to show themselves up. Still, the walk was long enough that being completely shrouded in the mist of the Foggy Forest, and the fact that the entire rest of the house was made by some elegant, white gem, it was basically impossible to find unless you both knew exactly where it was and happened to be looking for it as well. Jalendalynne, face slightly pinking, gestured them in as her soft, fluffy yellow paw ran along the handle—who needed security when her parents were sleeping and no one came anyway?—and notched it open. No such as a creak emerged. Munchie and his sleepy friends wandered on in—yep guess who he just considered a friend as of now—and the silent, softly tiptoeing pichu showed them through the great entry hall with chandeliers and actual—actual carpets. Like, legit carpets. Those alone amazed him. He could have slept the night away on one of those carpets. But he didn't.

They filed close behind the girl and she led them carefully into a hallway through many corridors and warm, white rooms and walls and chandeliers and those beautiful, white carpets, into a single room filled with oodles of pink. She really liked pink. Also, painted flowers adorned the walls and gentle, flowing creases of red silk spouted from natural crevices, and it was beautiful, and that fluffy pouf of a bed with real blankets in the back was beautiful, and they went to it and everyone slept like kings of one castle they all shared together. No one questioned, just calmly chimed to rest.

Munchie took longer to find sleep than the others. His dark orbs wandered, and he saw how cute Ashley slept, splayed beside him, one thumb in her mouth, the other resting underneath her orange hairs and head mushed against it and pillows. Influence, stretched up above him, made rumbling noises as he slept, and Jalendalynne, curled up in a sweet little ball further out, one foot tucked into her, the other pulled by a sleeping Influence's hand, her ears twitching like streams of wind on a calm midsummer night. It was a pretty scene, and Munchie was sharing it with pokemon he was happy to be around, and the last thing he felt before falling into slumber was Ashley's own hand clenching over him, and the smile etched across his lips.

Me: Aw that's so pretty I should draw that scene.

Jalendalynne: ...pretty...

Ashley: it'd be fucking terrible

Me: gee thanks for the encouragement

Ashley: ewe hwaaaaaahh~

Me: you know I COULD REPLACE YOU WITH ONE OF THOSE OSHAWOTTS.

Ashley: THE FUCK?

Me: I COULD

Ashley: PLEASE DON'T I APOLOGIZE FOR MY WAYS

Me: … apology accepted.