A Deaf Flame's Flicker

by Starry's Light

An incredibly thin munchlax suffering from low self-esteem butts heads with a deaf chimchar whose mouth has yet to be washed of curses, thus forcing their fates to twist and their story to be not alone but together. Now apparently they have to get along or something? And, like, be... friends, and junk? Some lives are about to change: big-time.

10. Epilogue:Forever's Sort of a Possibility

Me: here it is.

Characters: …

Me: who's feeling overly emotional? -raises hand-

Influence: dammit, don't you always feel that way?

Byrender: I think it gets worse'r somethin' when she's about to finish a story.

Spirit: -loud snort- HAH, I'D LIKE TO SEE HER FALL IN LOVE.

Me: owo yeahthat'sgreat -shoves him back quickly-

Jalendalynne: -at a loss of a lot of things. Stares all dazed and confused-

Me: ...good enough. Who's ready for me to start the last chapter?

Influence: -walks out the door-

Ashley: -yanks him back in-

A Deaf Flame's Flicker

Chapter Ten: Epilogue: Forever's Sort of a Possibility

Deep breath, he told himself, deep breath. It would keep him going. Keep him living. Grunting, he shoved his chin over the weight of the stack of gem-like creations hefted in his arms, scruffy blue fur ruffling in the weight and momentum. Nothing else to do but continue on, he instructed himself. Tastelessly, the words pattered on, imprinted and repeated in his head, but he couldn't live them through. For one, his physical assertion constricted and he was tired. Another, it simply felt unruly to do this. Still, no one else was around. Apparently, nobody cared as much as he did, and this was all he had left at the moment. Staring at the temporary singe of fur on his chest, shifting on its own like a hypnotic pattern, his hope-blue orbs blinked stubbornly and his feet motioned further. Further: further from the tower fate had just stuck there for many different sore reasons, further from the resting places of souls that would never exist in peace—not even a rest-in-peace—again, further from the strawberry-colored bruises throbbing in his eyes, in his vision, further from the knot of string connecting him to what had come. And as far as he pushed, as far as he went, it stayed sound and attached to him. Soon enough, it was supposed to be forgotten, its existence irrelevant and meaningless. It should have been. It was from the past, a past that had ground up into memory: this memory planted with seeds of the future. A happier future than the one predicted, like a forecast of storms swerved and replaced by clear, blue skies. A blue not unlike the one his eyes had taken over. He felt the burn on his chest would eventually fade away, but his eyes looked solid enough. Strange. Calling his own eyes solid. He felt uncomfortable thinking about it, so he didn't, and he clenched his precious metals closer to his chest, his heart, in their ambling stack, the sextuplets with sextuplet the number of gear lines sticking out. He had one last journey, and then it was all over, whether he accepted it or not.

But this path in its own was necessary. Without it, the world may as well fall to turmoil again, yet he wouldn't have that. The fate in his hands wouldn't allow it. He felt profusely sure no one would duly, truly take note of what had occurred in his life or accept what had come, and honestly, that was okay. He wasn't a hero. He was just himself, and he just had one last trek and he could be done with it all—forever, if he would. Honestly, he didn't know if he wanted it to end. One hand suggested the peace and comfort it would bring to his ill mind. The other suggested he continued living in the ebbing rays of passion in his heart. Some of it would never leave, even though a lot of other things have happened—and a lot of other things will happen, one day. That day, though, he commemorated, was not today. Not in this moment. One journey left, and it was done.

The lone boy simply had a few areas to step into and deposit the small things he held in his grip that determined whether the world lived or turned dark—rancid, lost in a screwed version of beauty, a devoured version of beauty. He had a fixed set of places to go to and he could go as quickly or slowly as he wished. The boy could easily rattle them off of his head. A sextuplet of magical places, the hotspot of his home and what the vast majority of his island reigned in. He labeled them, sticking out both hands and fumbling as he counted on his fingers around the stack of gem-like treasures: Waterfall Cave, Point Shinely of Foggy Forest, Pine Nut Volcano, Southern Desert, Great Shiku Tree, Devaur. Each their own unique entities. Most had something to do with plantlike matter, which he found humorous because the honest-to-goodness majority of those magic-laden spaces were waters, beaches, sands. He was at an idle point of view. Thumbing over his fingers, a cut of pink tongue sticking out in fervent concentration, he deliberated the most efficient journey of his would be to start by going a direct south and then plowing about the bottom coves of the big sister of the deserts—Southern—until finding the holy pedestal or whatever consecrated entity it was: the embodiment of the time gear, and then he would place it.

He thought longer, feeling it'd be rather safer to plan ahead before moving on. He would have to go far east and then a northeast cut until intercepting the rear end of the Foggy Forest—having never gone that far from the west point and area, where his original home and most everything else sat, he brimmed with tactful excitement—and thus reach Shinely, and thus crown the next time gear. After, a straight north and slight curve west would bring the small cove of palm trees and then the oak: Great Shiku Tree. Plowing on westward would reveal the coarse, turquoise plains of Devaur filled with naught but clear skies, fuzzy grass tips and sand bars, and a lot of empty nothing. Apparently another time gear had a home in that sort of domain. Moving on, crooking himself south and west, just above his home—his heart began to race just a little at the thought of it—he'd cross over to his favorite Mystery Dungeon, the Waterfall Cave, and return that time gear as well. He didn't dwell over any other memories in that place and ended his journey plotting plans to meet and reunite with those in Treasure Town he loved so dearly and then take off straight south and end in the Pine Nut Volcano.

Once it had finished, he could honestly go anywhere. Live anywhere. Be wherever he felt to be: it mattered not. Anywhere he'd been would take him in, and, he began to realize, anywhere he'd go would accept him. Simply because they shared the taste in Mystery Dungeon-esque life and the love of it. Nobody would truly know him except for those back in the far west though, so he didn't know how much he'd like to take off like that, be so alone. Maybe it'd be nice, though. He... could go anywhere he wanted to, truthfully. Anywhere he decided he wanted to go, from then on, he could go. He could see, do, he could be. Wordlessly, nobody mentioned why he had this sudden, wonderful, gleeful logic, to distance himself like so. It... would hurt to think about it. It already hurt. A wordless hurt, a silent ache, one that continued inside of him. A silence he would forever notice.

Maybe... time made it stop hurting. Maybe it got better as did the days. Maybe his blooming distance would recover and he'd suck in a breath and nod his head, do something, one day. Well... that day was not today, either. He didn't even know if that day would ever exist again. It looked so far away, so distant, furthermore distant than he'd gone, and it was cotton in his head to think of it. His heart went silent in his chest again, and without further ado, nothing else to do but try and stop thinking about it, try to stop letting it pester him, he went on. The goals in his head swiveled halfheartedly, not asking—begging—pleading—whispering to be followed. They sat there and didn't serve much of a purpose. He didn't really even try. The breaths came and went, but he couldn't feel them and didn't try to focus on them and find out. The only reason he knew he was still alive was because he just did. If he'd died, it would be different. Everything would be different. Perhaps. But it wasn't. So he lived. And he still had this road to travel.

Colors sanded away at the back of his head as atmospheres changed and different Mystery Dungeons twisted and melded back before starting anew as different entities of magic, their own special sparkles and glimmers and strangeness, to that. Their own special strangeness. Nodding securely, he lumbered on until the more miniscule structured webbed up and formed the sandy pathway down slopes and far south into the steaming belly of the Southern Desert. He stopped for a papaya tree on the brink of the sun-baked yellow grounds and munched contentedly on those, not quite recalling what his last meal had been, prior to stepping in the sunny, steamy depths. It didn't take too many lost days of stumbling and mumbling and bumbling before he found a hidden, leafy confine in the earth and saw it to be a small, purified oasis brimming with thick, healthy effects. The deep brown-trunked palm trees hung their shifting leaves high and mighty, delivering shade in the desert. He drank water like he never had before and took the methodical pressing and placing of the time gears into the oasis pool until they didn't fling out erratically and one of them stuck, and with a click, signaled that this was a safe haven once again, and no... monsters... would return to disturb it. He only saw the stubborn silhouettes of green-eyed sand creatures—sandile, the brown quadrupled creatures were called—and more of such greenies to spare.

He hiked up and out of those stubborn dunes, his fur never quite losing the gristly feel of sand in his hide, not quite minding the rough texture all the same, and scampered a little more north and up further until delving into the cool, calm depths of a forest of trees he could hardly even see, due to the unruly fog beckoning his way. The Foggy Forest now permeated the vast majority of his vision. Recalling that this large area of wisp and tree was the last ring of Mystery Dungeon before one dipped into the Hidden Lands and reached where he had just been, just ended himself prior to the start of his final journey, he chortled softly to himself. It was a little funny, a little sad, was sad. Truthfully, he didn't know what at all to think and felt discontented on his own. But still, swimming through thickset streams of the cool, white air, the scruffy one emerged and gasped his way, sauntering up on top of a small though big—big for the Mystery Dungeon's mostly miniature and cute—hillock, where a clear, empty bubble connected by its own shimmering substance was all that held the next time gear. He went though his process, eventually one fell into place, and, gathering the other—indestructible—time gears, the still homeless brethren, he was off again.

Never have coming close—so close—to this eastern realm of his home, he was tempted to stop and sightsee. But he didn't. He was in a world that wasn't quite the time or place for stopping and sightseeing, simply marveling the atmosphere out here to the other side of his great island: his world. He dodged past the numerous sorts of trees until shoreline swam into view and easily found the leaves of canopy from winding branches, using the long line of cover to help find himself a Great Shiku Tree. The boy blinked to himself, soon finding if he tucked his chin on the right spot and kicked up his knees, he could scale that monster without dropping anything and thus requiring to start over. Or, at least, his notions would make it somewhat simpler. So because he saw nothing else to do, his hands connected with warm, worn, raw bark, and planted a seed of life into his soul for a second. The plant never found its chance to sprout, as it fell from the boy's scruffy self and never managed its metaphorical stem to crawl in. It was okay, though. It was his fault, not some cute seed's. Shaking himself, he took his hands and spread them, and hunched awkwardly for his time gears to be secure, and using his limbs, flailing in a sort of dance-like pattern, clambered up hard, gnarled wood. Sunbeams came in gentle, waving bursts he was thankful for, and they scuttled, settling upon his back as it shifted in the slight breeze. Somehow, at some miraculous point in his life, the boy reached the top of the tree and shifted through the branches until he found a basket weaved into its leafy confines and deposited time gears until one clicked into place and then he was halfway done with his strange little walk. Sighting that there had been stairs carved delicately inside of the tree trunk all along and nigh calling himself stupid, he backed down on that safer way and escaped through a knot and a curve in the massive, brown creature.

And up next, it was those plains he's heard of, but never quite seen—and after that, the road to home would become visible. He'd start to really recognize things, and that caught his heart up in a tangled, pumping tizzy. Just the thought of it—of seeing stuff he'd seen so much of prior, of lining up dusty, old memories and feeling them click in place—it almost felt wrong. It shouldn't have felt wrong, but it was going to for reasons he didn't want to dwell on. At some point, the emotions would catch up with him. At some point, he wouldn't be able to escape the overflowing sensation of loss. But dumb, numbing shock and cold, collective realization dulled it at the moment. Somewhere inside of him, he was already a lot worse than he was, wordlessly dodging old ideals and kicking back things that hurt to think about. Hurt to know about—everything hurt because of it. Shamefully shaking his head side to side with a whumff, whumff, whumff, he regained enough of himself to move into the Devaur Plains of turquoise, purple and minty or dark greenish coloring reflecting upon fields of naturally cut-down grasses nigh as short as the earth they stuck into. Due to coloring and an abundance of such grasses, one still couldn't see the dirt just below their feet. The grass utterly carpeted what was hidden underneath his feet, and anyone else's that took step into the plains. He thus assumed there was a chink, a crack in this guise, and that would find him the place to remove and return another of the time gear brethren. His feet stomped and scuffed around on gentle slopes and fields, but so far no such luck. As the time passed by, he eventually had to stop and find a nearby bushel filled with truculent-looking fruit that tasted healthy and regular enough but had gnarled roots and tough skin. He mostly just ate the skin as was, being that was how he worked, and it was quite filling skin, too, and he ate the roots as well, and the pulp inside was like a sweet, sugary princess or something for him.

It didn't matter in his heart, though. Nothing really mattered. Duly noted, he lifted his head, shook it a little more, and continued his tiring scuffing of feet and aimless searching of something, anything, in the midst of the Devaur Plains that could hold a time gear. Once he started losing hope on his ability to find anything, he unplugged the time gears from their stack and began waving them around, an idiot smile plastered on his face because he would have felt shameful and stupid if he could feel at the time. Sure enough, something cold and slick came like holy light down from the clouds above and snatched a time gear, thoroughly enforcing it with layers upon layers of white foam and laying it somewhat high in the sky. It was a frozen cloud that never moved. That had to be the strangest one yet. Having no idea what to say in the matter, words dried up on his tongue, he turned back and left the plains, passing by that bushel of fruit from prior as he crossed boundaries and even began meshing into and through puddles as he went on, reminding him of the Brine Cave. He honestly had forgotten where that one was, though. It didn't mean all that much.

Listlessly, with no feeling, his fingers thumbed through his last couple of time gears and he stared deep into their swirling depths of glimmering green. Each one did have the same basic color, but those wispy entities inside, the embodiment of this hallowed thing, shifted and changed each passing moment, and neither looked anything alike up close, no matter how truly related they were. The one on the bottom of the stack caught his eye, and he surely enough began to slowly recognize the patterns in it. Having been to the Waterfall Cave in saving grace of it prior—he skipped over and blotted out the rest of the memory mercilessly—he did recall enough to know what the heck he was looking for. Proudly, he trotted up and through the crashing waves booming down from silvery rocks, fur slipping downward in wet weight, and calmly traversed the strange starts then depths of the puddling, befuddling cavern. He knew this one and its song-like verses of plips and plops and puddles, and it didn't take long to seek out the gentle, silvery-white pedestal sitting at the bottom corridor of the place. It was supposed to be a long and harrowing journey—one he happened to have already taken—and he simply remembered things. Memories threatened to capsize; he struggled back and shook himself. It was getting to him—it always had been—always would—but he was in the moment, and he could pretend it didn't.

Placing it on its glittering, floral throne, he stepped back, eyed it gently, nodded to himself, and clambered back up. He deliberated to stay with his friends after Pine Nut Volcano regained its own embodiment and all peace was restored, then he'd feel better about the state of the world. For the sake of reasons he didn't want to look back on, he wanted to know the world was at peace prior to anything else. For... for someone. Okay, he lessened it, for her. And it was. He quickly made work searching about the innards of the steaming hot volcano, avoiding red-hot streaming lava for the life of him and trying not to touch the walls so much or leave his foot in one place too long. Already, blisters began to boil. They twinged a little, hurt some, but he got over them relatively well. Wasn't all that big of a deal, honestly, he mumbled to himself, sifting past cracks in the lava chains and finally pushing that stubborn time gear into a burbling lava pit, just in the middle where it stuck up on land gleefully. Snorting at how happy an inanimate object looked, his eyes gouged past and he took the trail back out of the heat-blazing volcano and shook himself out some, then wound his way back toward the entrance to Treasure Town. He may as well say hi, while he was in the area.

It felt strange to go back home without—someone—there with him, but he swallowed it back down. Nothing he could do about it. Nothing you could do, so just hold your head high about it and try to make the best of it. Problem was, he wasn't the optimist, never quite was, more pessimistic than optimistic and not in a way realistic, but he wasn't too bad on the lower side. More of misgivings, more of insulting himself regularly—though for reasons that didn't seem to happen much anymore. He wasn't sure what would go back to how he was before, but he didn't want any of it to stay, and he didn't want any of it to change, either. He liked where he was, but the most important part of his life was already gone, and he couldn't get it back. He was supposed to forget about her, but his eyes were so light now and he couldn't forget about something as strange as that. His time gear burn had finally melded away, but thinking of it reminded him of her as well. Thinking about what was once there...

Perhaps they'd remember her too after seeing their friend with strangely light blue eyes. There had always been a rim, but not until quite recently had they gone so bright, so... such a hopeful blue. Such a complete light sky of blue swamped them, now, and he wanted to keep it that way. He wanted that to always stay. He didn't quite understand how it worked—he was sure the reason they turned blue didn't understand it either—but he just remembered some of her last words and smiled to himself a little bit. He didn't know what would happen now that he couldn't forget—never forget—none of anything else even mattered, but her, he couldn't forget—but... something might. He didn't know. Or maybe it would just give him nightmares. He didn't remember the last time he slept.

A voice called him on. It was a girl, a girl he knew relatively well, her height towering over him but she was still a pretty cool girl. Long strands of turquoise hair flung down her back and over her shoulders and her bangs eternally covered her eyes, and she smiled and waved her green hands and porcelain face. He smiled somewhat back and then she ran up and, falling to her knees, tackled him in a sudden hug and popped a sisterly peck on his cheek. Okay great she remembered him. He'd heard when... when his loss stopped existing, everyone was supposed to stop as well. Apparently that was not the case. Her eyes, under those bangs, struck him dead in her scythe-like arms. She told him of how much they felt like something had been missing but couldn't quite tell until her eyes landed on his, and they were bright. And it meant something, and then his name came to her mind and she used it and he tried not to flinch from it, from hearing the word that defined him. It didn't feel right at the time. Maybe it wouldn't ever feel right again. Only time could tell. She asked him how he'd been and he said oh he was good, and they didn't mention anything about being a hero or saving the world, none of that junk. It wasn't really true. They had done what they had done, and that was what they did. And that was... that was that. All there really was to it.

Anyway, he felt like a lousy hero, if that was even it. Wasn't, though, he didn't think so. His dear friend led him up to the trail now completely diverting Treasure Town because who needed those nincompoops and up the new, dusky-cut path leading up and then left and up and up and up the tall hill that did overlook Treasure Town, but also a great view of the start of the world, and it took his breath away. He'd been away from these things for a long time, and somewhere inside of him, memories had clicked and tied together and, yeah, it was a little nice to see those things again, admittedly. It did happen to be a little nice to remember. But it also hurt and he also wasn't sure of how much he liked it. In the end, he decided he couldn't trust himself going down the ladders in his old home, so he sat on the outside of the white-and-fiery tent and waited, and the rest of these pokemon he knew so well sat with him. They were quite knowledgeable about one another. Like the pokemon of Treasure Town, they had to stick together.

The stoic elgyem that nobody remembered—species, that was, he was a special creature; the deep, jazzy-voiced bibarel; the mudkip princess; the murderess female gallade; the gay, strangely-colored wigglytuff; the also-gay but he was hilariously awkward chatot; him, as well. He fit right in. The skinny, self-conscious munchlax. Nobody mentioned anyone else, though they knew someone else had once fit in their ranks. Some things were best left unsaid, but everyone still felt it, understood it, in the charged air wrapped about them. Some things didn't have to be spoken, and they were still shared. This was one of those things.

In their own way of showing the care they still harbored and would always feel clenched inside of them, his friends complimented him on his eyes. They all immediately recognized the plain difference in color, and understood it was by no normal means did they change. The sun, magic as it was to their eyes, didn't bleach irises like so. Sure, it blinded, but it didn't bleach. And the sparkles of flame everyone saw except for the one adorning—it was rather hard to see one's own eyes—just sort of proved it. The missing cramped up in them would always be there because it was painstakingly obvious that not even in death did they stand a chance of finding the one they'd all nigh forgotten—except for he. Because he couldn't. She's bestowed that upon him, and he wore it like a crown, the inability to lose her forever from his mind. Or at all, honestly. The more he thought about her, the more clouds began rising inside of him, darkening like black, wispy monsters and churning electric emotions popping of static. They made small talk of kindly things and larger talk of the one gay overly teasing his lover in which a yelling spat ensued, but he loved those guys and it was great to hear of them again. Someone had given the guild master packets of apple tea either from threaten or thanking a time ago, and someone else from the guild had already poured some hot water in preparation of the coming time, and so it was brewed and the sweet, natural scent of apples wafted both through brimming, steaming hot tea and the scent, thick of it. He slowly wondered if the leader of their strange little guild smelled like apples so often, and that was how everyone met in the first place—well, except for himself and—and another exception he didn't voice. The scent of sweet, succulent apples bloomed all about them either way. A dreamy sort of grin etched across the boy's cheeks.

He stayed longer than planned in the end and bid farewell to the others, knowing that he would surely come back again one day. They did mean a lot to him, but... he didn't think about it but he melded in so well with everyone he met, and by the by, he had other companies to assort with until he could go find himself somewhere quiet to sit with his thoughts and bask. Or perhaps not bask but miss. As the night grew thick about him, he stumbled down the new path and eventually warbled off into the wispy call of the Foggy Forest all over again, but only on the white-strewn tips, for as he focused his mind onto it and steered himself straightforward in motion and thinking, focused and divinely ready, he found the great mansion in the hill, appearing small and quaint at first until one entered through the crook of the elaborate teak doors and saw how it expanded vastly both underground and out, through the hill. Bumbling along corridors eventually led him into the arms of another dear friend, a short—though tall for herself—one with bright pink cheeks and fuzzy, yellow fur tinged in black. The cute little being and he stayed up late into the night as they found her room and they chatted about useless and useful things alike, simply enjoying the fact that they'd found each other again. He stayed for a short time there, still without meeting the girl's parents but being able to see a fair share of both sunrises and sunsets through the grand glass windows in her room, even opening them and standing out on a balcony that spread and cupped the world around them.

Pretty, he used the term countless times. Chancing upon her dressers, the boy duly noted they were shining and had that extra layer of white paint to really burst with finesse and glamor. He didn't know much of the sort, but it seemed to fit right for her. Even still, he bid this dear friend farewell as well, seeing then a pattern that had emerged. He could fit in anywhere, even in the sewers of Treasure Town had he been secure, even without realizing it. But he never truly felt safe and happy—it didn't matter where he was. It mattered with whom was by his side. And it seemed he'd never feel that true sense of belonging ever again. He could mosh with all of the pokemon he wanted to and feel content enough: but there was nobody, nobody, like her. Nobody ever would match in his eyes. So he bowed to the mannerly pichu again and she bowed back, finally letting fly a small comment on his skyline eyes prior to his leave. He smiled at that for a moment, before reality took him and shook him by the shoulders, and it was set that the reason his eyes were so bright now wouldn't show again. She'd told him to... to... oh, screw it, to fuck the rules, and here he was now. And he missed her. Perhaps she would have always had that thick, oily, black barrier keeping them from truly uniting, but he'd rather have she and her barrier than nothing at all. The only reason he held onto her still was because of his eyes. His eyes; what a peculiar thing to say. The one thing she'd left behind.

So she saw him off and in a twist of events, he decided to check in on that marvelous kingdom, painted like a picture in his mind, a picture that had learned how to speak and called out for him to take another glance at the orange-dyed sun and sky, lying like a blanket along every last angle in that bountiful landscape and its shores and seas of beauty and the seashells studded in sand, the homes made of both planks and sandstone and the occasional patch of fabric—multicolored stains of beautiful fabric that just made it even nicer, somehow. The rural, quiet, and aspiring kingdom—the kingdom of Fyshyngtyn. The boy on his silent adventure stopped by upon the grand castle behind with its sparkling, sand walls doused in shells and surprisingly lilies that were well-congenial and accepted those odd, pink-and-white flowers warmly. Somehow, it worked. After reaching the tops of the short but long staircase—short-sized steps but long hill to clamber up—he mustered enough courage to stick his head in and be welcomed quickly and pulled in by all sorts of charming laddies and lassies. He stumbled along someone in a dark cloak who he almost called out to but was pulled into turmoil again, squeaking for the guy with the green face and the cloak to come back and yet he didn't and it made him sad. But honestly, thinking back, the shorter creature had the eye of a hunter in him, that one with the cloak, and he wasn't sure about that. True emotion was spilled when he ran into the prince of Fyshyngtyn and his new occult. They held up scraps of tree bark and waved them around in the air, screeching the most unruly enchantments. He recognized nobody in this new occult of the prince's—his young sister was right in that he changed quickly; his parents were right in that the last one had been by far his kindest and most hopeful for him to become a better personality. It suddenly made sense why he wasn't instructed to become king and that throne was skipped down to his little sister.

Sure, some parents believed in oldest child gaining all. Others had the wit to wait and see which one turned out to be the most promising, or the one that most enjoyed what they were looking for. And were exceptions made, exceptions could be cut in. Love must have been awesome, not only familial but all intimate with gooey emotions in relationships, and the love of dear friends who could say anything without worry, and then there's the love of per se a king to his kingdom, as well. And the love of a franchise, like the prince to his occultism. Love was everywhere. But the one time it truly mattered for the boy staring now dull and soft and quiet and leaking of somber sorrow, the one time he held it and nigh, so close, it hovered just above his palm: he lost it. His hopes were left dashed, like those of a newborn pokemon when it learned it would never be able to become a legendary. But these ran deeper than a childlike spirit of bouncy playfulness: deep inside the crevices of his heart, dragging down into the pit of his soul. Not knowing what else to do, he sucked in a deep breath and let it all out. Painful chips of emotion rattled inside of him.

He did see the king and the queen, and dear arceus, they really loved each other. He swore, there wasn't a moment they weren't side by side and smiling and just radiating this sense where everyone thought they were just so cute. Well, good thing they were always seen, then, because when a king and a queen have a closeness like that and the folks always see that: sometimes it rejuvenates an old, cold soul. A frozen loss warming back to life, or... like... watering dead grass because they were water types and his jokes had become just as bad as his gay leader back at home. The boy shook himself and left the dancing to the folks of Fyshyngtyn. He did belong, but yet he didn't. When one fit in everywhere, finding the one thing they truly longed for in life didn't come so easily. And it didn't. And it was gone, for him. Gone with the darkness of the world.

At some point or another, after the marvelous, enticing seas and sands of Fyshyngtyn had been left behind, the boy continued simply wandering for a time. He had a brisk gait so the stroll was warming but he never stayed in a single place for long, and it was easier that way, just wandering amok without a care, and it kept any thoughts that chased him so surely away. The sights he saw began to blur and didn't stick with his memory all that well. They smudged over the hard knot in his mind that was everything beforehand. Colors and thoughts clashed irregularly and nothing mattered all that much. He ate. He moved. He was alive, sure. But his hope-colored orbs felt off, felt wrong, felt missing. A piece of the boy had died somewhere. He couldn't even stand hearing his own name for some reason—surely, that... that had to mean something. He felt lost, alone—insane, stone... He felt wrong. Something was missing from him and he didn't like it. By sheer fate or luck or miraculous twist single-handed striking him down, those shards of thunder in his clouded mind befuddled and twisted and tossed away, torn down, not a droplet of understanding remaining, his lone figure particularly collapsed in a spot he could recognize. It took a few blinks of his mind, of his eyes, took some stares from pinkish, rock-like entities with eyes—greenies—the color of time gears shredding into him with meek curiosity, those freaking greenies that scared the heck out of him—but he audibly gasped that they weren't a corsola but a krabby crew—there the boy had fallen on the end of a cliff overlooking a peak he'd never seen before.

He thought he knew all of the trails in the Beach Cave. Apparently not. This one, looming high in the air through a corridor and balcony of coral he'd never even seen before, stuck out on a perfectly edged corner that supplied both a place to rest his back and a way to sit and look out—and it was... it was that time again. Not the set of the sun but a sunrise, spiking slowly, gingerly, above the waters in front of him. It was then he realized he must have been in another Beach Cave on the other side of Zundentun, for his special place only provided ample view of the sun setting over sea, not hatching over and spilling the world in its brilliant glow. Coated in sparkling, golden waves, the boy stared out with this drastic awe. Pastel colors, not the bright, rippling ones he usually saw, but gentle pinks and blues popping through one another, splattered by hues of generous purple that spilled over and tainted the sky until it meshed and the yellow glowed and an orange fire in the sky fiercely roared until it became evident that blue, the eggshell, hope-colored blue of the rim around the world, would return soon. The other colors began to ebb in their dramatic, scenic play, as the pecking baby blues joined in and quietly took over. There they were.

Seeing this reminded him of something else. He couldn't even feel the tears in his eyes, but they came and went as the sunrise came in. He was shaking slightly, and his heart ached, and in his ears, a single name called, one he wasn't allowed to hear. A creature's face stamped in his head, one he wasn't supposed to see. No one was supposed to remember her, but he had to. He couldn't handle this—this not only loss of her but the lost of her entire existence as was. He couldn't take the loss and it caught up to him and squeezed his soul taut and he hated it, absolutely hated it. He just wanted her back. He wanted her back in his life. He was broken without her—he wasn't broken with her, he was broken now that she had gone. And it ached.

Oh, how it ached inside of him, like tendrils pushing down on all sides, pulling him in, compressing his heart and squeezing and blurring his vision. His head went down and his eyes stared at nothing but the purgatory he was left to. Alone. So hopelessly alone without her. No matter who he'd belonged with at the time, be it the guild or the pichu or the future or the stupid grovyle nobody even remotely seemed to recall or the dusknoir even—again with no recognition whatsoever—whatever was going on in his life, he'd had her. And that was what mattered.

Curled up in a weak ball, head against his knees, body shaking, practically convulsing, shivering, shuddering, feeling pain splatter upon it and it wouldn't let go, continued to yank at him by his tongue. He could never let go, and she was gone, and it hurt.

Nothing else hurt more than that did. Nothing else would ever hurt so much. He'd tried to recover from it, he'd tried to let it go, he'd tried to forget about her, he'd tried to remember all of his friends, he'd tried to run away from it all, he'd tried to lose it.

No matter what he did, she was always there in his head, and that was all she would ever be. And she didn't belong there, because she no longer existed. Quietly, he decided he'd let himself hear it, and he whispered to nobody but his own soul that life wasn't fair. Nothing was fair. Everything was different and he didn't like it at all and his throat clogged up and it wasn't the same, and it never would be the same, because everything changed. But he couldn't live with just memories dancing around inside of him. He needed more than that.

Slowly, as the understanding seeped into him like a blanket and helped hug him close, helped him mop back the tears and stop shaking, the boy raised his head and his hope-stained tears of eyes, and all of the sifting pain in them, and it hurt, it did, it hurt. But there simply was nothing else he could do about it. Ashley—he'd said it—Ashley... He shook his head no. And he sucked in a breath. And he began to calm himself down again. Eventually, not even the tears remained, and he just stared into a sunrise that appeared to have slowed down and stopped moving, and his breathing was soft, and he was calm, and he was... he was... He simply was.

And before the boy's eyes, a final rip tore into the sky and out fell a beautiful soul the color of—he couldn't even tell what, but it fell and landed with a pouffff in the sand and its ears wriggled in discontent. Squishy ears, a pale color. The creature, he saw, as he bounded closer, smelled of absolutely nothing. Just fresh air, fresh birth, fresh... what was it? What was this thing? Something from the—the future? But his heartbeat picked up and suddenly the creature spluttered in its fetal position, puling the softest it could, shivering to itself as flecks of ocean waves cascaded upon its poor, cold body. It wasn't quite tall, but seemed even shorter due to its longer, orange-furred legs and shorter arms. Judging by the sort of gait it had, it wouldn't be able to stand on just its legs, though it appeared to count as an orange, bipedal creature. The orange bob of hair around its head coming down first in scattered bangs then short, to-the-chin scattered locks of hair, and there was also this knot of longer hair in the back, smaller, that scattered slightly as well. The boy, now that he knew other pokemon, didn't blush as he stared down upon its cute face. He once did, when someone else fell from a rift. But this was different, wasn't it? The future couldn't disturb the past any longer; Dusknoir, he'd already been banished, and he was the only connection they had. Plus, they didn't exist. That overhang of darkness, that screwed future—whatever it was, it was gone.

Flaming orbs tentatively peeped open, and the girl squeaked in sight of him. When their eyes locked, he suddenly knew who it was, and looking into those orbs, he saw that she didn't know who he was. She... He realized quietly that this was Ashley, and she wasn't cursing, she wasn't upright and fiery and sparkling or any of the sort. She was shivering, and she was petrified, and she was puling in fear. Her ears wriggled again, and he soon recognized that she was still deaf—no. No... wait. He paused. Because of her father, she was deaf. And at that moment—they weren't wriggling because she didn't hear, they were wriggling because this was the first time she'd ever heard before. And her memories had completely spilled over and her missing ear had returned and everything about her that was from where she was from: it no longer existed. She... Why was she here? Was it—because—he was supposed to let go—and he didn't? Still, blackened memories chewed into him about Ashley's past, and he realized she no longer had anything like that barrier.

Judging from the jolt in his chest and the blush on his face, she was still the exact same soul he'd met in the sunset on the opposite Beach Cave. Their souls were still the same souls. Searching into those fearful, flaming orbs, he also recognized something.

A hand raised to his chest, and he whispered gently in his soft tone with the husk, "I..." A rapid point. "Am..." He didn't know what to do to show that word so he was kind of still. "Munchie." And he pointed again. Munchie pointed at himself again for emphasis.

He recognized that she was still the same identity, deep within her soul, and so was he, and there was no way he was letting her out of his sight again. Never.

From that first attempt of conversation with the completely washed girl, he deliberated he'd use words like I and am once he set up the basics. Her orbs fogged and her long, sand-colored fingers poked at her own chest quizzically. Yeah, he needed help. Munchie took her hand from her own chest and slowly pointed toward his own self with both of their hands entwined. "Munchie." Recognition began to dawn on her face, but not the one he wished he could have seen. It was a recognition of what the heck the Munchie thing was, not that her memories would return. He silently understood that her memories would never come back. And if he recalled her well enough, from the past: she would have wanted it to be this way, if her "past self" could have seen this. She would have wanted complete and utter loss of the future that had permanently scarred her, and she would have wanted this chance to be with Munchie, and Munchie alone, for as long as... as ever, really.

To his surprise, her other hand rose and pointed with her first one. And she whispered in her own voice, quietly, unsure, shy, afraid: "Munchie..." He nodded and repeated to show that she was doing right. Ashley, surprised with her sudden knowledge, bobbled her head back awkwardly, not really sure what that meant. Oh, of course she didn't know what a nod was. Well, whatever. She knew absolutely nothing, and it had become Munchie's job to teach her all over again. He was sure sometimes it might get painful, but—seeing this side of her... It made him think that she wasn't going to begin yelling, and there wasn't going to be an aggravation.

He wanted to find them a place to stay, where she wouldn't have to feel so exposed and afraid, and he could let her know that that was their safe place and they could stay there together—but she didn't even know her own name. Quickly, getting giddy, trying to test her, he used a thickly questioning tone: "Who... am... I..?" Then, pointing to himself, asked it again: "...Who?"

"Hoo, hoo," she stumbled over the words, echoing giddily. He should have waited. He should have waited. Of course that was dumb and wouldn't help her. Munchie shook her hands back and forth and instead taught her another phrase that he thought might help, and it sounded simple. "No."

"No?"

"No." Giving a more stern glimpse, he shook his head tight. "No."

She blinked. That, at least, appeared to stick. A hand fell from his chest and rose to hers. "No Munchie." No Munchie. She... she was basically letting him know that she wasn't Munchie. Well, it wasn't going to be easy teaching her every single word ever, but he had to start somewhere, and no Munchie looked like a good place to get in a few basic things. So Munchie nodded, repeating it while his hands went then to her fingers and her chest, because she was no Munchie. He desperately wanted to tell her she was not Munchie, but didn't know if that might confuse her or not. He decided to leave that for another day. Grammar didn't matter at the moment.

Then he realized this was his chance. "No... Ashley." And his hands flickered to his own chest. "No Ashley." Of course her head cocked and her gaze blurred at that, because she was probably thinking something like what the heck is ashley but he had a solution to that, and his hands moved to her chest again, and he said softly, "Ashley." Recognition spiked again, and excitement drew into her voice as she squeaked and repeated him and his little exercise, soon well rehearsed in a couple of very plain things: she was not Munchie; she was Ashley. No Munchie; Ashley. And he, he was no Ashley; Munchie. She now knew that she, out of everything in the world, wasn't Munchie. But hey, it was a start. He'd probably have a heck of a time teaching her that she wasn't sand, or grass, or water, either. Or maybe she'd get the hang of it. He had no idea, but whatever, he wasn't letting go ever again. He felt... whole, now, with her return. When Munchie first awakened from his idiot self-esteem issues and befriended the very same chimchar, he never truly lost her until that moment she stopped existing. And seeing her gone, and knowing her gone: it took his breath away, and no matter how much he'd refilled his lungs, they would never be full again, they would always ache.

And there she was. Nothing in the universe could keep him away. Munchie slowly trotted onward through the sand in satisfactory skish, skish noises, deciding he'd tell her what a shoreline was later—she had a lot to learn and it wasn't gonna be easy but they'd get through it—when he realized his footsteps hadn't been accompanied. Glittering, hope-filled orbs turned back and saw her standing there, raised on the sand, her entire body shaking like he'd just—a-abandoned her. No, he wasn't doing that. Oh, stupid Munchie assumed she'd just follow him. Stupid. Stupid. Sucking in a breath, he gently began opening up his arms and told her softly, "Safe." And he smiled a little, too, trying to be kind, trying to show her it'd be okay. She didn't seem to quite understand, but her flaming orbs buzzed a little. Munchie thought more on the matter, then skished back his way toward the sweet girl and extended his hands. Somehow, by instinct or some other mechanism, she saw this and her hands extended too, and then they were overlapping, and unlike the first time he'd ever touched Ashley—how about he didn't remember the day he stuck his hand in her mouth—he didn't let go, and he didn't ever—ever want to. "Trust." Again, gentle, soft. His orbs glimmered softly down upon the chimchar, and a sudden warmth surged in his heart, just seeing her there, knowing she was here with him on the earth again and—she was unblemished of the future. Every barrier she'd felt that time ago had been flushed away. And... every single memory she made from the very beginning would have started with him. He'd get to... always be there for her. "Trust Munchie."

"Safe." And again. "Trust... Munchie."

She blinked. "No... no?"

Oh, double negative. And this time he smiled slowly, and instead of shaking their entwined hands side to side, he gently pulled them up and down, opposite of no. "Yes. Safe. Trust Munchie." He repeated each sentence again, each on its own, and tried to sound out the emotion deep in his soul that he held for this little chimchar, and how much it meant to have her there again, where... where she belonged. If he felt broken without her—then he belonged... with her... no? And he wasn't going away. He could never go away. Never.

Finally, either because she had no other odds or trust had begun to collect within her, to put her faith within him, Ashley's bob of orange hair shook as she nodded her head, understanding the phrase all the better now. "Yes..." Pausing, unfinished business still along the line, her flaming orbs pinched up and, body stiffening, head down, she mumbled out, "Ashley... trust... Munchie." Oh gosh she was learning. He never thought he'd be the one leading her around, but he was. And Munchie gently, slowly, eyes on hers the entire time in complete, wholehearted assurance, let go of one of her hands, so he could, like, lead her. It'd be kind of awkward to lead the poor girl backwards or something like that. Eying about the place, Munchie's gaze settled further outward, on a bluff pointing out and back, to a far right of the opposite Beach Cave, which appeared to have a sound cave area within it they could access through minor trail-blazing. Also, trees hanging with leaves and moss provided both a shadowy shelter and bedding. They'd be pretty set here. When Munchie took his first step, his eyes flickered back to Ashley, and she, after staring blankly for a moment, registered and hesitantly kicked a foot through some sand and forward. She flinched back as a minor spray of yellow grit grazed her lower-leg. Somehow she continued to walk well, even with his hand over hers so she couldn't use her arms and legs. Then it came to Munchie's attention that he could teach her how to walk like a full biped, if he wanted. Aw, cool.

Seeming to get sick of the continuous assault of something whose name she didn't even know, Ashley screwed up her cute little cheeks and, with her free hand, pointed in rapt notice at the dunes below their feet a few times, her eyes foggy again. Munchie tried to think up a quick way of explaining to her what it was, then decided that it'd be easier if he set up a ground rule first. Raising his voice in the example of thick questioning, he thought about all the strange words and painfully decided, saying, "Who am this?" and looked down at the sand again in playful interpretation. He'd teach her the words what and is in due process. For now, she just needed some basics. He'd already used those words to her, and he didn't want her to get lost without knowing them, so whatever, might as well. He'd made sure if they ever were in public, first she got some more grammar polishing. But right now, they just needed to set some understanding. He longed—yearned for her to understand him, and if it meant tying up a few words by skipping some errors, he'd live with it for the time being.

Ashley understood, and pointed back at the sand. "Hoo—Who am this?"

He nodded. "This am sand." It hurt, man, it hurt. He'd just said this am sand. Anyone with any knowledge would scowl at him for using that sort of phrase, especially to the poor, lost chimchar. But hey, he wasn't really a teacher as it was. Spirit and Chindu—they could deal with that since they were in control of the guild. Munchie, on the other hand, just wanted to share all the moments he could with that chimchar by his side. Yes... she did change a lot, and she wasn't so spunky or loud and she didn't even know what a curse word was, let alone any curse words. But... her identity would never change on the inside. And no matter how much she herself changed, Munchie would... he'd admit it: he would always be in love with her. He would always love her and want to stay with her. His soul... was drawn to her soul. And... somehow, even through the loss and the confusion, he was sure Ashley felt the same deep inside, and she just couldn't comprehend it yet. But he'd help her until the very end, and when she understood coherent grammar, they could laugh about this moment, when he told her this am sand.

Pointing to herself, she practiced. "This am Ashley?"
And because in all honesty, it was technically true, he said, "This am Ashley," pointing back at her. The giddy smile in response was worth it. She was learning, and soon she could use these things and understand them all the better, and, screw it, Munchie was proud of her.
"Who am this?" she asked, fingers pointing high above to the eggshell blue horizon.
"This am sky," he murmured gently by her side, squeezing her fingers as they walked.
"Who am this?" she asked, fingers scrabbling against the waters.
"This am ocean," he murmured gently by her side, a smile blooming thick on his face. He honestly had no idea if she'd remember any of this by the end of the day, but Ashley was a bountiful learner, and she appeared excited to rehearse and rehearse until content she would collect all of the data again one day. Ashley pointed to her skull, asking what was up there, and Munchie told her it was her brain. In single relays of messages, tagging along back and forth, he somehow managed a conversation between the girl he so loved that remembered nigh nothing, and he was able to convey the message that her brain stored everything there was to know, as soon as she experienced it. He hadn't used quite those words, and it still took repetitive breaking down of subjects and verbs to show for it, but she truly had understood. Ashley... was regaining her lost knowledge.

Perhaps, one day, the time would come when he could hold full-on conversations with her, and they would both understand and talk together and... it would be nice. And maybe then he would... Maybe one day he would tell her about who she once was, who she used to be. Who she had once been, until she stopped existing and became something... She wasn't truly different, but she wasn't really better, either. She was... she was—she became something not deaf. She wasn't deaf any longer, and that took a chunk of what he meant to say into metaphorical meaning. But that seemed to fit. And perhaps one day he would explain to her the past. He had no doubt recognition wouldn't cross her face, because she'd been completely wiped of it, and he felt it was to such a level that memory... the memories truly didn't associate with her anymore.

But he still kind of wanted to express that past to her, and see what she had to say about it. Maybe... he wouldn't, although. She looked so small, so fragile, so shaky with her hand in his, her eyes wide and body shivering, and it seemed practically the only thing anchoring her to the world was who she held onto. With a jolt, Munchie recalled who that was, and despite himself he smiled about it. He couldn't help it. He burst in an emotional rainbow of effulgence, joy, stubborn glee—mostly happier notions high up on the scale—just... just because she was there, and she was there at his side, and she began to adjust to the warmth in her fingers and even though both of their palms were a little sticky, it was kind of nice, and she looked happy. It brought Munchie another round of giddiness to glance back and not only see the gently-moving chimchar but her pleasant adjusting as well to the situation at whole. As he considered it, what if he and she had switched places and he remembered naught but this chimchar he seemed attached to continued to look out for him—it would have been nice, in the least. And Munchie wanted her to feel nice, to feel happy. Ashley deserved to be happy. Always happy.

Once they reached the outskirts of the tunnel that fed into the cavern of a bluff with a view, Munchie quietly taught Ashley a new word called stay. He pointed his fingers to the ground, after telling her a small number on ground, dirt, rocks, those sorts of things, and told her gently to stay. Her head cocked and those eyes blurred again, so Munchie pointed his finger still and didn't move it, and murmured again, softly to her, "Stay." He blinked with his eyes in hers. "Ashley... stay."

"Stay?" she echoed, uncertain and quiet probably a little more than slightly afraid.

Munchie just wanted to go out and quickly nab some food and moss, make this bluff area a little more cozy for her. He'd pop right back in, just disappear for a moment. "Here." His arms expanded to where they stood. "Ashley... stay... here." He tried to imagine if someone kept pointing to him and then the ground and saying to stay, then showing off the landscape and telling them all about here. Maybe he was just being biased, but it seemed to make sense to him. All she had to do was focus a little and see he didn't want her to move. Her thoughts seemed to flash in her eyes, for she tried out a couple of little words she'd begun to learn:

"No walk?"
"No walk."
"No move?"
"No move."

"Stay..? Here..?"
He nodded gently. "Yes... Ashley, stay here." And it actually sounded like a real sentence and everything. He managed to address her like that on the first day and it was awesome and it even had correct grammar.

"No Munchie?" Suddenly, her orbs struck like flint in fright. She didn't even seem to know why, but that idea mortified her. Oh geez, Munchie had to think of something to get that off her mind. He wasn't leaving for that long but he didn't want to use more time explaining what was on his mind. Sadly, the only word that came to his mind was temporary, and he didn't want to use such a huge word on Ashley's first day back to life. That was plain rude. And—more than ever—she was a lady. And that just made it worse.

He racked his brains for a moment, then slowly settled on another answer that looked a little better. She could handle double-syllable words. Heck, her name was a double syllable word, and so was his. "Ashley stay. Munchie leave—moment." Moment. Not forever. He tossed his hands back and forth as if to suggest he was cutting something off. He'd never leave her forever. It was just a quick second to step outside and grapple some fruits, get some moss, just the usual. He'd only be gone for a moment, then back to help her. He didn't want to be dragging her all over the place, and perhaps she could rest her feet or something there. No Munchie, he felt pretty strongly, could translate to leave if Ashley was stay. And moment—he'd paused, done the cut-up-air thing. Not for long. Never for long. He couldn't bear losing her—he just wanted her to rest while he got her some actual bedding, something to eat.

Ashley slowly, gently nodded, proving she understood and still trusted Munchie. He began to take slow, gentle steps out from the bluff, again rehearing what he'd just said, until he dispersed from her view. He'd be back quickly. Padded feet skidding across dirt and trail and sand alike, Munchie tore off satisfying hunks of thick, green, soft moss and fled to some other bush where he picked off too many apples for his own appetite to handle—he didn't know how hungry Ashley would be, she'd just started existing all over again—and rushed off to the girl he loved again, breathless by the time he scurried back. He decided he didn't like, whatsoever, leaving her off all alone like that. Nope. Not even for a moment. He never wanted to go through that again.

Apparently, she felt the same. That rush of flaming relief in her eyes caught his heart beating and made him smile off to himself some. Munchie felt like such a weird idiot, blinking madly to himself, but he still had the stuff taking up space in his arms down so he knocked the apples off in a storage sort of corner and attempted spreading the moss on the ground, but his trial to making a pair of beds ended with an untidy mesh that made one. Ashley, eyes wide and bright, planted herself beside him and moved her own fingers, somehow tying his mistake into a much nicer single bed... but—but it was still—but it was still only one bed and would she want to sleep with him well yeah Munchie wanted to sleep with her but would she be okay with that?

His breath went reeling as something smacked into him and both objects of interest stumbled to the ground, his arms quickly secure about the creature that had tumbled into him and theirs suddenly wrapped about him. Judging by the unconditional warmth given off, the shakiness of the body, and the overall feel of it, Munchie found it quite obvious who had attacked him. Ashley mumbled weakly into his shoulder, her face and breath warm against him, "Who am this..?" She—she... of course she didn't know about hugs. About what to call those... those feelings locked inside of her that he knew were there, where they always would be. And so, Ashley asked.

"Th-this... am..." His face flushed. "Hug."
"Ashley... yes... hug," she fumbled over the words, and grinning, Munchie helped correct her until she could proudly go, "I like hug!" He'd told her about plurals and how it was hugs but he wasn't sure Ashley quite understood the importance of the hissing sound at the end to secure it a plural noun. He didn't quite care though. She was hugging him, he was hugging her, and both seemed to really dig that.

Gently, awkwardly, testing out the words, Munchie added, "Munchie... Ashley... together." Munchie and Ashley together, went the part of him that knew what grammar was, but the rest of him stared in peculiar awe at the warm-furred chimchar tied so closely to him. He began to recognize the little smile dawning over her cheeks, and felt a burst of pride that she seemed to be this elated. Quickly, because it really did pain him, he added, "Munchie... and Ashley—together." Then, trying to break it down for her, "Munchie... and—also Ashley. Both." He linked their fingers somewhere along the line at that word. "Together." Well, whether it was the warmth of the hug or his preaching, something or another must have made sense to his dear girl, because her head bobbled into the makings of a strong nod and they accepted this together.

Then her stomach let out a growl. And soon it became time for him to teach her the essentials of eating. Oh, Spirit would clobber the girl if he knew not only that she had not a clue what an apple was anymore, but straight after, Munchie planned to get them both to sleep, even though it'd only just peaked to a bright afternoon. They might just become nocturnal for a short time. Oh, the horror, he giggled softly to himself. But seriously if Spirit ever figured it out he'd kill them Munchie felt pretty set in his ways that Spirit would kill him, no hesitations. That cheery note on board, he assisted the cute, little girl up and brought her an apple, and himself one, too, to try and not confuse her even though his stomach was the kind that needed more food. He simply attempted to shrug it off for the time, and, sitting in their shared moss bed to-be, its silky confines comforting, Munchie taught her that this thing was an apple, and—remembering—he quickly pointed to the skin, then stuck out his tongue too, and called them both red. He pointed around until a splash of colors immersed, and he could safely call them a rainbow and assure that Ashley knew what the heck a red was, as well as everything else. Then he pointed back to the newly-labeled apple and simply said, "Food.

"We—Munchie and Ashley—eat food." Then, with a notorious pose, he raised the crisp, red fruit to his mouth and took off a hunk in one bite, crunching the sweet fruit down. Ashley, staring with wide eyes at what she'd just witnessed, had nothing else to do but try and copy him, her own maw stretching with an attempt to swallow the same size a bite as the munchlax did. With some frantic chanting of noes and the shaking of his hands, he managed to convince the girl that it didn't matter, and some pokemon ate more or faster or bigger—or whatever—than others. He ended up teaching her sizes of names both big and small, next. Poor teachers had such a long, harrowing, exhausting job. He hoped he'd never have to do this thing again, oh gosh. It was nice, to help her out and have an excuse to be with her all the time, but dang, he was ready to curl up and sleep for a couple seasons. Once the apple cores were eaten to the seeds, or as far has Ashley could get with the food in her—not very far at all and Munchie ended up chowing her leftovers, which he explained vaguely—he deliberated that she, as well, had had a long morning, and her yaws outstretched in a thick yawn. Rather instinctively, her arms curled around him.

But then they didn't move, and he saw the flaming orbs peering up at him, and he thought they really didn't want to move, and realized quietly that Ashley wanted to stay there with him. Oh, he had to show her how to... sleep. Take a nap. Slowly, gently moving his back downward until hitting the soft fluff of the moss, Munchie directed his and Ashley's bodies until they lay side by side, down on the bedding. His eyes gently fluttered shut. "Sleep," he murmured, and yawned quite thickly. In procession, the chimchar to his side did as well, and then they... they actually snuggled together until both of them were out unconscious and the day slipped by through rest that each dearly needed. Munchie had never truly slept with another, especially one so close to him, right there, by his side.

It was like magic to wake up and still see her there, and for her to be the first thing his eyes caught. Her cute, warm bunches of orange fur on her arms and legs, up to her neck, over her back, her chest a clean, pale color. The actually not steaming but simply lukewarm flame burning on her backside—her tail, yes. The bob of orange hair about her sweet face, and the longer knotted-up section in the back, and both of her ears: and she wasn't deaf any longer, as it was a deformity of her past, because of the monster that started it all. She was completely wiped of any trace of what didn't exist any longer: anything stepping outside of her soul in general was gone. And she had both of her ears; someone had really taken their time on her. It brought him such colorful joy caught up in his chest to see her like this, perfect and whole and—

Then he wondered what the heck was going on in her head. The Ashley prior, the one who was rooted to her true origins and knew each of these things, not so amnesiac and malformed, practically, like such, with her deafness and her cussing and her everything else, Munchie knew she would have been happy. But he hadn't thought of how this poor girl would feel now, with her mindless brain that had only just started working again, and held no information for anything that might have concerned her. Munchie had begun the slow teaching to her of all things she needed, starting with plucking words in general then to things like actions, like food, categories, lists, a multifarious of how-was-he-supposed-to-do-this, but he had to, and... having no way to voice her opinions, Ashley had to stick to him. But even still, she appeared bright and happy enough to stay with him. It... it must have been scary for the poor chimchar to awaken after another fluctuation of some space-time continuum or another, after the lightning and the light and the sparks died down, and she woke with a bolt of listless energy in the sand, too afraid to even get herself up, off the ground. What would it have been like, to her, to see him reaching out to her fetal figure with his gentle self—to welcome her? Only time would tell when she could explain that "first" meeting to him. It wasn't their first, and whether she knew it or not, there was an entire line of a past betwixt them already. Considering the dear girl he nearly lost—the first... Ashley?—it told him to not just go and start spewing about the screwed future of anything. He was a horrid teacher, but he had been consoled better than that. He wanted Ashley to be built up on a feeling of safety, of warmth and happiness and the knowledge that he—he would always be there for her. Perhaps one day she would learn the use of the words and she would grow stronger, and she would be there for him, too. But the truth was, just the fact that she had returned and despised the thought of losing sight of him for even the thinnest flurry of moments: it was enough to warm him up and keep him moving on.

"Who am this?" Her fingers grazed past the sky she's gotten to know, past the cloudless barriers he had yet to explain with no clouds out, and it poked at the flaming, golden ball rising in the sky.
"This am sun," he murmured to her softly. The cold chill of realization struck him that one day he'd have to teach her about magic and Mystery Dungeons—no, he was getting Spirit and Chindu to help him on that note. No way was he doing that alone.

Munchie and Ashley lived in their strange bluff cave together for a time. He didn't see anyone, and nobody saw him. It was just he, and just her, and he felt like nothing else truly mattered for him. They easily lived off of the apples and various fruits provided, and whenever a long day had passed slumber was relatively easy on the moss bedding. If it ever grew stale, Munchie simply dropped that one off somewhere or another and rounded up more moss. The lithe chimchar always followed him. At first, he did succeed in teaching her how to walk on just her legs, but she continued lagging and crashing and he thus had to explain to her about her hands and she was meant to use those too as she walked. Whenever he turned back and watched the small, still-somewhat-shaking girl hop to him, he smiled, and he so easily saw the same chimchar before him: the one that he first met, the one that he helped return to life, and ultimately, the one he loved, and the only one he loved. She had changed drastically, which became more noticeable as more words flooded her insight—should have seen the look on her face when he explained to her that "that am" and "who am" were sometimes the wrong grammar and had to carefully reteach her all of that. For one, she truly had none of that blackness hollowed in her any longer. And, Munchie felt guilty for rejoicing in this, but, come on: no Influence, man. No more Influence. The world was a beautiful place. As well, she'd become incredibly soft and docile and quiet, but even so, a form of outright swankiness. She didn't like it when Munchie did something either out of the ordinary or without her consent or knowing. She was no longer deaf and loved to listen, and she loved it when her dialogue grew and Munchie and she began to speak more frequently.

The thin munchlax had a sneaking suspicion she'd grown to her own voice, too, and appreciated the ability to hear herself. She would never know, but her past self—or simply her in prior time, before she stopped existing and all that—her past self had never heard her own voice in her entire life, not until she returned with not a trace of the future on her. One day, he was sure, she would want him to tell her more, about the past—and he could go into it, delve deeper, and truly explain to this girl about who she was. She, more than anyone else, did deserve to know. Perhaps it would never be able to click, and she'd never truly understand, but she did trust Munchie. She knew that word very well, and relayed it to him quite often. Even though her grammar levels had begun to improve, it was a simple "Trust Munchie" that always set his heart racing. She could have said something like I trust you or Munchie is to be trusted, but she chose to just keep on using bad grammar for the heck of it. That was one of the small things that reminded him of her before. A single phrase swam to mind each time: fuck the rules. Oh, how she had. Did Ashley even know, somewhere in the fates or perhaps in her own self—did she know how true that had become? Maybe. Well, he did. And he had her, and she had him, and oh dang it looked like both of them weren't letting go, and it was great.

Tedious days filled with lessons began to take easier strides when Munchie ran out of things for Ashley to point at and question. She heavily enjoyed systematic orders and memorized rather quickly, so when something out of order happened—like one time a tornado struck—she both cowered and fumed, too, a little. Munchie later found himself hugging the poor girl close to him and telling her softly about tornadoes and that they weren't so scary, and they weren't so bad, and they happened sometimes. Magic didn't have a pattern. He'd get into that last part when he found her satisfying enough to take out to friends and reveal that Ashley was back again. Considering all that he taught her, whenever he remembered something new he'd use the dumb catchphrase this am to grab her attention and would try to explain to her what it was like, to show it off. For things like snow and cold and icecaps, he really had to get creative trying to show off chills. Living by the ocean did that to pokemon, since there wasn't all that much snow around, and he had to point at his angular ears and her tail to—not hot, not Ashley, not warm—using a ton of synonyms to counter and craft antonyms—this is cold, and ice, and shiver—and when he used that word, shiver, it reminded her of her shakiness and she started to get the idea of it a little more. One day he'd show her actual snow.

Trees proved to be such a hard topic for him to get out to her that he took her over to one and placed his hand on the bark, motioning for her to do the same. Unlike how she had once been, Munchie could never get angry at her. He simply couldn't form the true, bubbling anger and boil-over of emotions. There were times Munchie was annoyed at himself for his teaching, what with the whole grammatical error of who am this, but he couldn't truly yell, and he was honestly happy enough she'd shown again it was hard to gain any other emotions besides the sheer, incredible joy of it. Trees were hard, but not so bad after he opened up her perspectives, even lifting out his arms and twirling to show the branches, the shaking in the wind, the leaves. Seeing her eyes sparkle and widen was a magical moment, and he liked it even more than he did Mystery Dungeons and their glory. He'd just put Ashley above Fyshyngtyn. That meant something, man, that meant something.

By far his favorite moment of teaching his beloved girl into life again was as they nigh fell into sleep one cooling night—Spirit would be happy again—and her head rose up, and her orbs fell across him, and she mumbled, "Munchie—what is this warmth—in me?" Hearing all of those words strung so thoughtfully together had made him happy—look at how much she'd come—but... the meaning within the words burned deep into his soul. She wanted to know why her heart felt so warm all of the time, perhaps if this was natural. He knew that it would take some tedious wording to get through with this, but it still was wrought with a smile.

"The warmth... is special." She knew that word by then. He'd called her special multiple times and how everything was different—special. "Not forever. Moments." Munchie had deliberately chosen the word moments because of that first time, when he'd left her just for a moment—not forever. When he'd chosen that word over temporary, because it had been smaller. "There are... many emotions. Warmth is... emotion, but there are many." He had to teach her others and more at some point. Those words by themselves.

Her eyes, so wide and curious, looked deep into him. "But why the warmth?"

"It's..." That was the only apostrophe word he'd taught her so far, and it nearly took her by surprise to hear it again. "It is—it's..." Sadly, only one word could fit that space and as awkward as it felt, there was no other way he could teach her. "It's love." She seemed freaked out by that sudden word. "Love is good. Love is... happy. Happy is good. Happy is emotion—one emotion. Love is one emotion." He held up both hands and spread them apart, their backs on the ground and eyes to the sky, trying to distinguish that love was one emotion, and happy was another, but they were also warm, and nice, and similar. "Love is happiest." The word took her off guard, and she stiffened until it began to seem less of a strange thing to use, the addition to the original word, happy, to happiest.

"How... Munchie—show—love?"

She was too curious. He was going to kill himself on the inside at this point. Smirking to himself, it reminded him of a crafty chimchar that was her, but also wasn't quite. They both had become the same, and they both were Ashley, and he loved her. Simple as that. Groaning silently to himself, Munchie moved his head to the side and somewhat sort of maybe let it press against hers a little tiny possible bit. "Kiss... shows love." Then, "Kisses... show love." Grammar was a key to sounding crisp and clear.

Ashley had taken that to heart and suddenly kissed him back.

It was the most awkwardest thing in the world to teach her about that feeling, but he had, and he was done. He was out. Munchie was done, man.

Still, when he reflected upon his time, it always got his heart racing. Also it taught Ashley a new skill called kissing-Munchie which she seemed to enjoy doing par...particularly...often. Which was—which was nice and all that. But it was this conglomeration of moments and the growth of Ashley's knowledge who was now speaking nigh just like she used to with the exception of Mystery Dungeons, the screwed future, and a couple of terms he'd probably forgotten about, oh, like friends—Jalendalynne and everyone would be next. They were going on what he emphasized as a journey, and explained to her softly that unless she wanted to, they didn't have to stay around in the place they were visiting. He had to reconnect her with the other pokemon, show her if she wanted, she could stay with them—where she retorted that she wasn't staying unless Munchie stayed too—but truly—the time did come. His friends were going to be so angry with him for not visiting in all that time, but he'd been busy, and they would understand when they saw her.

Another thing he refused to teach her were the words Ashley once adorned upon her sentences like accessories. Words that he pretty much never used because he wasn't like that. He thought Ashley would like that more, to not even know what those words were, much less anything about them at all to prevent it in the first place. So when he and she finished up and swept out the last of the moss and he brought her on the long trails of Mystery Dungeons and everything—whenever she asked what it was, he told her she would understand soon. It took a relatively short hike to cross through all of the magical lands and into the dip of Treasure Town, a much shorter scale in comparison to how long it'd taken him to teach that girl everything in the world. Geez, no wonder they were so attached. If he was in her life at the time—yeah, no way. Ashley would have been the one thing keeping him from going insane, did that happen.

Munchie had to round up Jalendalynne who thankfully didn't say much about it because she was a dear and then round up the guild to which Spirit was so upset with him for leaving he asked him if it was because he'd gone gay, too, when he was supposed to be in love with Ashley, which would have messed him up alrighty, but he gathered his friends and even decided, heck, why not, to end up in the kingdom of Fyshyngtyn to tell his story and let them all gather round and explain with Ashley as well. Sticking together in a comfortable clump on some sandy archipelago's island or another, the orange-dyed waves and sands comforting about them, ensconcing them together, the pokemon of the kingdom free to listen if they felt like it—he just thought the place was cool okay—he told them. He told them a lot of things. He told them about the final spoke point and the drop of the time gears and the loss of someone they all knew dearly—and how they were supposed to forget any of that happened, because the present had changed the future and all that good stuff.

But they didn't, and he didn't quote her, but the words rumbled in his head. Fuck the rules. Everyone but Ashley herself pretty much figured that's what had been said. Munchie then had to go through the tale of how he brought all the time gears back to their homes, visited for some time, then took to exploring. It helped him try to focus on anything but... the pain. But it was always there, and eventually he broke down on a Beach Cave that was opposite of the one they all knew well enough. And... eventually, at the end of the sunrise, he'd looked up and a bolt of light happened and then Ashley happened, and she remembered nothing, and he had to teach her how to live—words, food, heck, he had to teach her about waste and all that great stuff nobody wanted to think about all that much. He had to teach her everything.

He was going to need help on Mystery Dungeons. And that was when everyone started butting in and charged with electrical knowledge, everyone focusing in on the chimchar who now wasn't deaf. He'd explained that to them as well, and now even Jalendalynne took a say or so, and each incorporated, and it was pretty bad and messy, but the grin hanging on Ashley's face kept him watching over her and smiling back. These were the pokemon he assured her she could trust as well, but don't trust Byrender with secrets because he tells everyone, don't even pick a teasing fight with Jordan, try to remember who Drynt was, get used to Mystic's strange sort of sarcasm, and, right, Spirit and Chindu were gay. Jalendalynne was pretty cool, and he didn't have much to voice in apprehensive worry about her or anything.

Eventually, somehow, Ashley began to understand, and she could even list the names of a couple Mystery Dungeons—the Foggy Forest, the Beach Caves, and also the Waterfall Cave because Munchie loved the Waterfall Cave and she absolutely had to know what that was—and it was decided they would finish this up tomorrow, or however much longer it might take, and Munchie was to stay in the area until that was secured. He could roam all he wanted afterword, but first Spirit stuck a fluffy white hand on his chest and let him know he'd better visit more often.

Munchie didn't mind all that much. Once they finished, he planned on roaming about with Ashley some and meeting more characters that resided within the Mystery Dungeon world they lived in, like the kingdom of Fyshyngtyn and the bluff by the other Beach Cave he and she had been sleeping in. If they didn't find anyone, heck, there was always the greenies to try to converse with, which didn't work but was pretty adorable to watch them try.

What mattered was that whatever happened, he'd keep the chimchar by his side. They could explore, do whatever, all they wanted, and he and she could honestly fit in anywhere they went, just by nature, just because they all shared their general liking to the beauties surrounding them, but the only time he would truly belong was if this girl was with him.

"Munchie..?" she asked him quietly as their friends began to settle down.

"Yes, Ashley?" came his quiet response, soft with the husk upon it.

"I love you, Munchie," was all she had to say, before flopping onto a pile of thick sand and slinking into sleep so inhumanely quickly he just stared for a moment.

Then, "I love you, Ashley," he told the unconscious chimchar. Because he did.

And that was all that mattered.

So... now it's over. Heh. What did you think? :3 It's an interesting little story, if nothing else. I'll just say that it's impossible for me to imagine Ashley as who she is now! XD I've known her for over half of my life by now and oh my gosh I can not see her so quiet and everything, but it's honestly the best way for the story to end, and I feel that it's a nice ending.
I just can't see her acting like that as a freelance character in my mind.

Ashley: fuck logic. Fuck reason. Fuck the rules.

Me: YEAH THANKS YOU TOO.

Well... My name... koff, is Starry's Light, and thank you for reading this funky dunky tale of mine. X3 Ashley loves you.

Ashley: yes she does.