Good creatures, do you love your lives
And have you ears for sense?
Here is a knife like other knives,
That cost me eighteen pence.
I need but stick it in my heart
And down will come the sky,
And earth's foundations will depart
And all you folk will die.
A. E. Housman, XXVI
oOo
Sunlight struggled to filter through grey clouds and sent distorted, misshapen shadows across the roads. His sneakered foot paused coming down, carefully bypassing the tortoiseshell pattern of shade and stepping instead in the sparse bit of sunlight beside it. He didn't know how long he'd been doing this, avoiding the shadows. He'd been concentrating on simply breathing, so that by the time he'd noticed the discrepancy he'd already been walking a good fifteen minutes, and by then it didn't matter anyway because he was halfway there.
Almost there.
It felt like the longest walk of his life.
He watched with clinical detachment as he abruptly side-stepped a shadow.
He wished he had a hat...which spoke volumes of his state of mind because he hated hats. Only n00bs and idiots wore them. And not even for the purpose they'd been created for. They wore it in some lame, misguided attempt to look 'cool'. Now however, on the streets in broad daylight, he found himself wishing he had one. He didn't care how stupid it made him look, or that with the overcast there was no real need for one. His spill in the bathroom had left an open gash at the back of his head. A leaking gash. He couldn't tell yet how bad it was, but even after showering it was still pouring blood. And nothing grabbed attention more than blood. Not to mention that with his lavender hair - never mind that it was a fairly common color- it wouldn't take long for anyone to recognize him.
…on second thought, maybe it would. He looked horrible, worse than horrible, and anyone who saw him now would probably swear he was on drugs. Or worse. They wouldn't be that far from the mark, actually. He was dead on his feet, the wound on the back of his head throbbed, and every time he took a step, every time a piece of his clothing rubbed against his blistered, chafed skin it felt like sandpaper.
And he hurt.
God he hurt. Everywhere. His limbs hadn't been in this much pain since he was eleven years old, when he'd first started out as a trainer and had had to run whenever he'd disturbed something his rookie Pokémon had no chance of defeating—
He kept his head down, shoulders hunched, lank, pale strands hanging in choppy clumps around his face, and shoved his hands deep into his pockets.
After taking a shower he'd rustled through his bag again, this time for spare cloths. The soap had quite possibly made his skin worse; he hadn't been able to find his own toiletries and had been forced to use the hotel's cheap soap and shampoo, which admittedly had done little to aid his already raw skin. Plus, the only clean article of clothing he'd found in his knapsack was a plain white T-shirt. The rest of the things were far from fresh, but had certainly been better than the ones he'd taken off. He would need to get to a store to buy new clothes, or to at least launder the ones he had, but most of his money was only accessible electronically through his dex, and since it was currently uncharged, that point was moot. He rarely carried loose money; it was much too hazardous for a trainer, but now he cursed the practice. He'd have to wait till the dex charged up again before he could buy anything.
Briefly he considered having Reggie wire him cash, but quickly quashed the thought. His brother would wonder why he needed it, would nag him for an explanation, and he did not have the patience yet to deal with him.
After securing his belt to his jeans and running a hand through his still damp hair, he'd been ready to go. There hadn't been much he could do about the room. Most modern hotels had doors that required a trainer to scan their dex as a key, but since his dex was currently useless –presently plugged into a wall outlet because it charged faster that way than with the portable chargers trainers usually carried- he would have to have one of the hotel workers open it.
If it even was his room. He decided not to dwell on it.
Floaroma town was one of those sickly sweet places that made a person want to hurl. Literally. The scent of flowers was disgustingly intense, and his nose for some reason was prickly and oversensitive. Every time he took a breath it made his eyes water and his sinuses burn, but breathing through his mouth didn't seem to be any better. He hated flowers, but here there was no way to avoid them. They were, quite literally, everywhere; planted neatly (and not so neatly) along the sidewalks, growing wildly in yards, looming overhead in the guise of flowering trees. It was just barely spring, but somehow it looked like every flower in the fucking town was in full bloom.
He sent a cursory glance around.
From the sun's position in the sky, or rather, from its position behind the clouds, he'd guess it to be about 12 or so. And yet except for himself and a few loiterers, the streets were mostly bare. The atmosphere, for Floaroma at least, was unusually subdued. Towns like this were usually bustling with life, especially on bright, clear days like this. Little old ladies out watering flowers, kids running around getting in people's way, Pokémon trainers passing through…
Today it was a ghost town.
He shook off the apprehension that coated him. It was good that there weren't a lot of people around. Less people meant having to deal with less idiots. It meant no one would be hounding him for autographs or training tips or battle techniques. It meant no one would be interested in the lone, sunburned, lavender-haired boy with his hands shoved in his pockets and blood dripping on the neckline of his T-shirt.
And if he was noticed, he thought, watching as a teen ambled past him, it meant he looked bad enough that no one recognized him. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. The boy's eyes met his—
Hey! You're Paul from Veilstone!
Look everybody! It's Sinnoh's Hopeful!
-and simply slid over him dismissively.
If he hadn't felt so awkward on his feet, he might have been offended.
Like everything else in the Floaroma, its Pokécenter was drowning in flowers. He must be allergic to some of them, he thought irritated, because breathing through his mouth wasn't helping. At all. He swiped at his leaking eyes, swearing softly before shuffling towards the front desk. His skin was burning again, probably from the sweat. It wasn't particularly hot today, (a little chilly, actually) but he was sweating buckets and his breath was labored. His body had never been this out of shape before – chasing after wild Pokémon and walking damn near across the continent prevented that sort of thing – but now it was altogether sickening how out of sorts he was, and he couldn't help the grimace that crossed his face.
All the more reason, he thought, to make this quick. He didn't need another episode like the bathroom-
He broke off mid-thought.
Behind the desk, not even 3 yards away was a Chansey. Ginormous and pink, with that ridiculous hat the nurses seemed so fond of dressing them in. It stared, looking faintly startled, and he glared back. He hated dealing with the things and they weren't very fond of him either. Therefore, it should not have been a surprise when it abruptly turned and waddled away.
He didn't have time to get indignant, because a pink-haired Joy was suddenly peeking out from the doorway the Chansey had disappeared through. Her eyes widened, and then she too disappeared, making him roll his eyes and exhale in exasperation. His irritation dissolved in a fit of coughing seconds later, and suddenly she had reappeared, cradling – he squinted – cradling…cradling something in her arms before laying it carefully on the counter and turning towards him.
She looked, he noticed, much the same as the other Joys. A bit younger maybe; he'd gotten that impression on the phone as well. The other Joys were polite and unassuming, but this one had sounded hesitant. The sort borne from youth and inexperience.
Then again it was hard to tell with them. He scowled. They looked so much alike it was plain ridiculous.
He didn't speak at first. Truthfully he hadn't thought of what it was he'd say when he got there. Something along the lines of, 'How the hell did you get my number and what exactly happened to me?' That wouldn't go over well. Random confessions of amnesia after all did not sound…sane. He should have researched this more, he realized suddenly. Should have come up with some kind of a...plan or something. He clenched his fists. This -- impulsive actions-- were not his style. He never did anything he hadn't run through his head at least 500 times.
So why hadn't he thought this through?
He didn't know.
No. A lie. He did know, but the realization of this was abjectly worse than not being prepared.
You were scared to be in the hotel room alone, you douche. You were eager to leave—
He halted this thought immediately, jaw unconsciously tightening. He glanced up to find the nurse's eyes on him. He was taking too long. Or had she said something? If so, he'd completely missed whatever it was. The thought made him angry, frustrated him even more. He opened his mouth -- to say what he didn't know -- but the words, whatever they might have been, died on his tongue at the expression on the face of the woman. And watching her watch him, he was suddenly struck by something. Something he should have picked up on the moment he arrived.
She didn't look at all surprised to see him. She'd seemed to be expecting him, even.
The Chansey too, now that he thought about it, had appeared to recognize him on sight. As if they'd seen him before. He narrowed his eyes, silently sifting through what little memories he had access to: Dodging the afternoon shadows across the roads. Falling on the bathroom floor. Finding the sighting on his Pokedex, watching the shadow move across the bed—
A flash. The night sky, dotted with stars and a pale, waning moon—
A moment later it was gone, and he had no way of knowing whether the image was of his immediate past or of something he'd seen any number of times during his travels. Regardless, his attention had already returned to the situation before him. He was Shinnoh's 'hopeful', after all. Anyone who owned a TV knew who he was. That was it. That was all. Likely the nurse and her Chansey were just as familiar with him as the rest of Sinnoh. They'd have to be, what with the TV constantly blaring from the lobby. It was, he noticed absently, tuned to the same documentary his own television back at the hotel was on. Momentarily satisfied, he inclined his head coolly in greeting, but she was already turning away, towards whatever it was she'd laid on the counter. Unbidden, his eyes flew to the thing, and all thoughts blanked completely from his mind.
Not many things could surprise Paul. Therefore, it was testament to his control that his face remained neutral at the sight of the Pokémon.
He recognized it. …or thought he did, anyway. Amidst the bubbled, deformed body he could barely make out what species it was even supposed to be—
Except somehow he knew.
It was the eyes, he guessed. The body itself was near beyond recognition but the eyes were the same. There was, of course, no way it could be the same as the one he'd owned so long ago. The very idea was ridiculous, in more ways than one. But for some reason, for reasons unknown to him, the thing actually seemed happy to see him. Those blue-grey eyes lit up, flame tail flaring weakly before dying down to barely a flicker.
He turned away, mind racing.
It wasn't the same Chimchar. It couldn't be the same Chimchar. Not only was that Pokémon fully evolved, but it no longer even belonged to him. He hadn't seen the thing in years.
But…
Those dead eyes had glowed when they saw him. Just like…
-and…it…resembled his old Chimchar. Not that this necessarily meant anything. Most unevolved Pokémon of the same species generally had similar physical features, after all. To the untrained eye they looked the same.
But this one…it was clearly in horrible condition. Whatever had happened to it, whatever it had gotten itself into, it was blatantly obvious to Paul that it wouldn't survive. It was already beyond saving. The smell of death clung to it, a sickly mixture of rotted blood and decay that made him queasy. And something else. Something that reminded him vaguely of sulfur dioxide. The same something that had hung in the air around him when he'd first awoken. The same something that clung to his soiled and sweat dampened cloths before he'd flung them over the side of the tub to dry—
It could have been the boils, he reasoned, glancing back at the thing on the counter. They looked like they were still oozing…something. He wrinkled his nose. It had been burned. Badly. In fact, 'badly' was putting it mildly. It looked like it had been hit with a Flamethrower and then dowsed in molten lava. And then acid.
His face twisted.
A fire type dying of burns…laughable.
Except that there was nothing even remotely funny about it. That it had even managed to survive this long was surprising. What sort of battle had it been in to be in such a condition? Obviously a prolonged one, but which Pokémon breed had the power to leave its opponent with such wounds?
If the Joy noticed anything in his expression, she didn't comment, choosing instead to focus her attention on the little flame monkey. She hummed quietly as she worked, misting its body over with spray, dabbing at the running boils, speaking softly to it. He watched silently, growing increasingly disturbed as the woman continued. But when she moved to drop a pill down the Pokémon's throat, he intervened.
"Why are you doing that?" Her movements stilled, frozen as if by time, and she turned to him slowly.
"…doing what?" The question seemed innocent enough, but her casual response seemed guarded. He didn't even try to keep the distain from his voice.
"…wasting your time? Wasting medicine?" She stiffened, and his suspicions were confirmed. Worse still was that she probably expected him to pay for all this, he thought darkly, even though it wasn't his to begin with. And with the shape it was currently in, whatever treatment she'd given it thus far wasn't going to come cheap. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead crossing his arms and glaring pointedly at the broken creature behind her.
"It's dying, isn't it? Why bother?" She didn't answer, turning instead back to the little monkey.
"Please don't talk like that in front of Chimchar." This was whispered, and if he hadn't been standing so near, he probably wouldn't have heard at all. He scowled.
"You failed to mention its 'condition' over the phone."
This time she threw him a helpless look, eyes filling with tears.
"You don't have to sound so blasé about it! How can you be so cruel? I thought it'd be better for Chimchar to spend its last remaining hours with its owner and…" her voice wavered, "I didn't want to alarm you over the phone." She drew a shaky breath. "Some people get…distraught when they hear news that way, and you were...I mean…you…you were…" she seemed to struggle with her words. "…don't you care about your Pokémon at all?"
He paused, considering. The nurse had turned her attention back to the monkey and was now fussing over what was left of its skin. She was humming that tune again, but it seemed forced. No doubt she was one of those tree-hugging new agers. The ones who protested Pokémon battling and ownership and who labeled Trainers, Breeders and Coordinators as 'cruel and inhumane'. They were a pain, and lately they'd been popping up everywhere. Like daisies or something. Things once considered legal not even five years ago could have a person's license stripped away today.
"It's not mine." The humming stopped.
"…what?"
The little monkey's eyes dimmed.
"I said it's ."
"You…how DARE you?" This time the woman turned on him in a flurry of anger. He'd never seen any of the nurses display emotion besides concern, but this one, this one was truly furious.
"You bring your Pokémon here, half…half dead…" she closed her eyes, fighting for composure. "..and now...now you'll just.." the tears spilled over, and Paul found himself looking away.
"People like you shouldn't even be allowed to own Pokémon! Chimchar wasn't in any condition to battle in the first place!"
"Not my problem," he said curtly, and turned to go. It had been a waste coming here, and now on top of everything else the dull throbbing at the back of his head was escalating into a full-fledged ache. The very edges of his vision were growing yellowed and dim. He wondered briefly if he was concussed.
"Your Chimchar's been in suspension for over eight years," she continued evenly, as though he hadn't spoken, as though he wasn't walking away. "Eight years without ever being pulled or even exercised. It was in no shape to battle in such condition, yet you chose to use it anyway. And then three days ago you bring it here barely alive-"
Wait...what?!
He stopped.
"What did you say?"
He turned slowly, eyes sliding past the teary eyed, red-faced nurse to the mangled thing that lay on the countertop. And for the first time since he'd been there, he looked at the monkey. Really looked at it. Looked at the vacant stare in its wide Prussian eyes already glazing over with death, at the barely-there flame probably seconds away from extinguishing, noticed the labored, rattling breath, the melted, waxy skin, the boils and pus and- and-
His head began to pound, and all at once he felt that tingling in his skin, the itching burn, and it was suddenly hard to breath. The air around him turned thick and smoky, burning his eyes, clogging his throat. Dimly, faintly, he was aware of a voice speaking to him. The nurse. Her tirade forgotten, she was suddenly her normal nurturing self concerned over a potential patient. He swatted her hands away, staring again at the monkey.
A battle. A major one, from the looks of it. Considering – briefly - that the nurse spoke the truth, then the monkey had been brought in three days ago by…by someone… fresh from a battle and it still looked bad, was on the very verge of death, even after nearly half a week hospitalized.
What the hell was going on?
"Are you alright?" her voice brought him out of his stupor, and he straightened, staring at her, staring through her.
"…don't look so good yourself, sir." Her hands fluttered near his forehead but dropped at his pointed glare. "I'm not sure you should even be-"
"I'm fine," he spat, spinning on his heels. The place was suffocating him. The florescent lights, the sight of the Chimchar, the smell of burning, rotting flesh and flowers...of death. He had to get out, he needed air. Even the suffocatingly floral scent of the town wasn't enough to stop him from gulping in lungfuls of perfumed air, from collapsing, weak and nauseous, against the brick wall of the Pokécenter.
His head ached. Mostly from the split in the back of his head, but even without the throbbing it brought he would have still had a migraine. He needed to get out of this town. Fast. That nurses were now claiming to see him…? Claiming to recognize him? It was too much. It didn't matter that he himself- if his dead dex were any indication- had been out like a light for at least three days. It didn't matter that his skin was peeling and sunburned, that his memory was in shambles-
And his cloths? It was just coincidence that they smelled of smoke, that he'd obviously been involved in some sort of fire based attack. Like the Chimchar. He didn't have a Chimchar. And while he didn't deny the fact that he'd very likely been at in the tail end of some random Pokémon attack, a fire based attack, the two events were not correlated. He hadn't been with a Chimchar…that Chimchar when whatever happened to him happened.
If it happened.
Whatever 'it' was.
He leaned back and shut his eyes in an effort to calm his racing thoughts.
He could very well be under a Hypnosis. It had occurred to him briefly while showering. The Pokémon using it could make its opponent believe they were walking on air while simultaneously beating the living shit out of them. Numerous Pokémon knew the attack. He could have run across any number of them in his travels, but… hallucinations usually didn't last this long, did they? Not on a human, anyway. Although admittedly his perception of time at the moment was skewed. And of course, knowing you were being hit with the attack lessened its effectiveness to a degree. Hypnosis used elements from the victim's mind; this, factored in with his height and weight would probably affect the strength of the attack. But that wouldn't matter if the Pokémon were particularly experienced, he reasoned.
…even so, he highly doubted a Pokémon would be able to stage a hallucination this complex. Especially not a wild Pokémon with no real experience in human interaction. A breeze brushed past him, stirring his hair and making goose bumps break out over his arm.
Great.
He was back to square one. Not that he'd ever really left it in the first place. First course of action: He would go back to the hotel, get his stuff, and go. Why he was here in the first place was the million dollar question, but it seemed less than important at the moment. He needed to distance himself from that nurse. It was ridiculous, he thought angrily, especially when he had had nothing to do with the Chimchar or its condition, but the nurse seemed dead set on the Chimchar being his, and with it all but dead and his dex a glitchy mess there would be no immediate way of contesting this. Nurses had the authority to have a trainer's license revoked. If she decided to press the issue…if she thought he was being inhumane…
And he without his memory. They would ask questions he couldn't give answers to right now-
The sound of muffled whispering tore him from his thoughts. Scowling at the intrusion, he pushed off from the wall, automatically opening his eyes and looking around.
He was alone.
Stupid kids, he thought, glaring around, fully expecting to hear their muffled laughter at any moment.
It never came. The streets were eerily silent.
Whatever. He needed to go, anyway. He needed to go to the Pokémart as soon as his dex recharged. He needed a cure…something to stop the effects of… whatever had happened to him. In fact, he wouldn't even wait for it to fully charge, he decided grimly. It should have a sufficient amount of energy by now. True, it would take twice as long to recharge if he used it now, but he would take his changes. He needed himself at one hundred percent ASAP. He wasn't used to feeling –he winced at the word—vulnerable. It left a sour taste in his mouth, and he scowled, casting another suspicious look around. As before, the streets were deserted, but he could still hear vague murmurs on the breeze. Children, he guessed again frowning. Probably playing around. Stupid brats. The wind picked up and off chance, thinking there was a storm coming, he found himself glancing up at the sky.
It was red.
Dark red. Black red. His breath caught. Something stalled in his throat. And as he stood squinting up at it, momentarily paralyzed with shock, the whispers returned full force.
But now they were closer, clearer.
He could just make out the chanting tendrils of their speech, lilting, hitched in excitement. He struggled to breath. Not human. Not any language he'd ever heard before.
Run.
It was his first coherent thought. But reacting to instinct in panic was not always a good idea. His right hand was moving, sliding over his shirt, resting now at the hem of his jeans.
Run.
He felt the sudden heat of their breath, the lingering touches against his burning skin, caught sparse glimpses of gleaming eyes. The hand at his side fumbled, searching. Where was-
Run you stupid idiot!
Startled, he struck out, fingers catching nothing but air, body falling hard against the wall of the Pokécenter. What the hell—?!
His fumbling pats turned to desperation.
There were no balls. He wasn't wearing them. He'd wasn't wea—
He smelled it before he felt it.
Something acrid and sharp and nauseating. The smell of burning flesh. He looked down at himself, arms away from his body, ready to drop and roll like he'd been taught as a child. Except that he couldn't see. Even the red sky had vanished. His eyes were burning, and there was nothing but blackness. Blackness and a slow burning pain.
He woke suddenly, hands clawing at the damp sheets around him, choking and gasping for breath.
It was a full minute before he realized he was alone. Another before he realized that he wasn't outside the Pokécenter struggling with fire and phantom voices. And he could see. His eyes were fine. They hadn't been melted away by heat. Unconsciously, his fingers trailed along the rim of his eyes. They were swollen and tender. Had they always felt that way? He honestly had not paid attention. He was in bed, the same bed he'd awoken in before, back in the hotel room, and just as before, his body was soaked with sweat. The air was chilled around him, and the methodic hum of the air conditioner seemed at odds with the frantic racing of his pulse. Across from the bed, the television shone brightly, still tuned to that same documentary as before.
Except…
He looked down at himself. He was dressed in the same white T and jeans he'd pulled on before going to the Pokécenter. The clock on the wall read 3:47, and the window behind him was streaming sunlight into the room from a crack in the curtains. He took a moment to collect himself, trying to settle his thoughts.
He'd been dreaming.
Again.
The relief he felt was tangible. There was no Chimchar, no annoying nurse. No…red sky or fire or… he stopped this train of thought immediately.
He must have taken a shower, gotten dressed, and collapsed back on the bed. Not good, considering he probably had at least a mild concussion, but it was better than the other alternative.
And yet… it cemented the fact that he was probably worse off than he'd originally thought. He didn't have dreams like that. Was it possible he'd misdiagnosed himself?
Well…yes. It was possible. It was entirely possible. He wasn't a doctor, but he also wasn't an idiot. He'd been a trainer for eight years; had been around Pokémon since before he could walk. There was no way he'd—
He pulled himself up, wincing at the sudden pain in his limbs. He didn't remember them being particularly sore when he'd woke the first time, but then again he'd been more concerned with his lack of memory than his body. He reached over to the nightstand, grabbed the dex and flipped it open.
Fourteen percent recharged.
It wasn't much but it would have to do. He hadn't upgraded his dex now for at least two years. He was running off an older model, but it would probably hold a charge for as long as it took him to get to a Pokémart at least.
Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.
He needed some sort of antidote, aspirin, and something for burns. That was first on the agenda. Until he was fully healed he couldn't even trust his own instincts. He'd work on clearing up the effects of whatever attack he'd been hit with, and then he'd concentrate on getting his memory back.
He slid off the bed, staring warily around the room. Only his belongings were here, and there was just one bed, but that meant nothing these days. He needed to call the front desk. If this really was his room, they'd have his registration and check-in information. And if it wasn't…well, then they'd have somebody's information on file, not that he'd be privy to it.
They'd also wonder what he was doing here, in their hotel, in a room that didn't belong to him. He sighed. Maybe calling wasn't such a good idea at this point. It might have been easier if he'd woken up in a Pokécenter somewhere, but he avoided sleeping in them lately. When trainers found out he was staying at a local center, they never left him alone. As a result he'd taken to booking hotels. They were more expensive, but his privacy, he reasoned, was worth it in the long run.
After he splashing his face with water, (while very carefully avoiding the face in the mirror) he unplugged his dex. It beeped and powered on. He was half-way tempted to go searching again, to scroll through the files, to investigate the supposed 'sighting', but that would have to wait. Simply loading the screen ate up precious energy, and he only had about twenty minutes or so to get everything done before his dex died again. There was however, one thing he had to do. One thing he'd neglected to do, or at least did not remember doing in the dream. Before leaving the room he needed to test the lock on the door. If it unlocked after scanning the eye of the dex, if it recognized his dex, then it was likely his room. If not—
The door clicked open, and Paul was left with a heavy feeling of apprehension.
oOo
He was struck with déjà vu walking through the town.
At least there were people out this time, he thought, glaring as a child riding a bike steered precariously close to him. Their eyes didn't go through him; rather, they avoided him completely. He looked a mess, he knew. Like hell warmed over. But for a town supposedly renowned for their hospitality, they were acting decidedly cold. More disturbing was the amount of detail he'd managed to pick up. From a dream. Like the little yellow house on the corner with the pink azaleas. Or the cherry trees and Bradford pears that dotted the streets. Was it possible he'd picked up these particulars before? He wasn't naïve enough to believe he'd come across them via dream; he had, after all, passed through the place a couple of times as a kid, and each time he'd gone through here it had always been spring. Just like now. His brain had probably filed away the details of the town. It could explain why he was remembering things so vividly.
Still, he couldn't shake the unease, the burning disquiet that ran through his gut.
He could smell rain on the air. The sun was, once again, obscured by thick grey clouds. It made strange shadows in the sparse afternoon light, made his body tense. But he trudged resolutely forward, defiantly stepping into every patch of shade he came across, ignoring the sudden chills that ran through him.
I'm cold. That was it. He was just cold, and deliberately stepping out of the sun to stomp in the shade wasn't helping. It was…childish, actually. So he stopped. He had yet to find his jacket and the early spring weather still had a biting chill to it. There was no reason to court sickness by leaving the sun's view. He made a mental note to purchase a fleece while he was out.
The Pokémart too was deserted when he arrived. The lone attendant, a burly old man whose attention was engrossed in a small television set behind the counter barely seemed to notice he'd entered. A scruffy looking Glameowsat curled at the man's feet, giving Paul a lazy, one-eyed stare before closing its eye.
Perusing the aisles, he felt like he was eleven years old again. He hadn't been on this aisle for years. Antidotes and tonics for humans were very different than the kinds used for Pokémon recovery. It took him a while to decide on his symptoms, and even then he was unsure of the dosage. How would it affect him? The description said may cause drowsiness, but that usually depended on the dosage and the tolerance of the user. If he was indeed concussed, it'd be suicide to fall asleep, but the thought of seeing a doctor, of being in this town any longer than he had to be, was even more unpleasant. And he'd already been asleep for several hours with no problem… Unconsciously, his grip tightened on the box.
On his way to the counter, he stopped to pick out a fleece. It was a novelty; black with the Floaroma town motto emblazed on the front and priced way more than it was actually worth. Despite his success as a Trainer, keeping Pokémon was in itself expensive and he disliked throwing money around. For the price they were asking he could easily have bought two jackets in a style he actually liked elsewhere. Regardless, he didn't have a choice, so he grit his teeth and flung it over his shoulder. Passing a display of bug repellant, he grabbed a can. He hadn't remembered seeing any in his knapsack earlier, which was odd, but maybe he'd simply run out.
Next were hats. They had a decent sized selection, but they all looked so…so..ugh. Like something a kid or a tourist would wear. He grimaced, reluctantly deciding on a hideously bright periwinkle blue. It clashed with the fleece he'd selected and the color itself would likely draw more attention with than without. God he felt like such a dork. He slid the hat on, suppressing a shudder and tilting it low over his eyes. With any luck, no one would recognize him. It was so glaringly atrocious and gaudy that no one in their right mind would willingly consent to wear such a thing, especially not him. At least, that's the line of thought he hoped most people would think.
At the counter, the man, much to his annoyance, took his time glancing up. He seemed to have trouble tearing his eyes from the television.
"Never seen you here before. Passing through?" He had a raspy voice and a wooly beard. The nametag on his jacket read 'Don'.
"Yeah," he answered shortly. He was in no mood to conversate, but was suddenly struck by a thought. "Is something going on?"
The man looked up from bagging his things. His brow was furrowed. "Y'musta been living under a rock not to have heard. I hear you trainer types like to live out in the wilderness for months on end, but geez." Paul resisted the urge to scowl. He might spend 'months on end' in the 'wilderness' but at least he didn't look it. Thankfully the man continued on, voice lowering to a stage whisper.
"They're sayin' some kinda meteorite hit. From outer space. Crashed into Verity Lake. Everybody wondered at first if it had something to do with them." He nodded his head, satisfied that he'd made his point…as though it were immediately obvious who 'them' was. Paul stared. The man, seeming to realize he was losing him, hurried on.
"You know. Them. Since they blew up that lake those years ago…" Oh. He was talking about Team Galactic, then. He was well aware of Galactic and the Lake Valor incident, but failed to see the significance here.
"What's the big deal, then?" Paul asked, glancing towards the glass doors. Were they the only ones inside? He thought he'd heard someone come in; the papers on the magazine rack were still drifting from an unseen breeze. The lazy Glameow was sitting up, staring at something behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw nothing. "It's not the first time a meteorite's hit this region," he continued, shoulders relaxing. It was true. Sinnoh was peppered with craters. Most of the springs and lakes were the result of landings. The man looked at him as though he were dense.
"It crashed into Verity Lake…and dried the whole thing up. Nothing there now but a four mile crater."
Oh. Well then. That would be a big deal, he guessed. Not that it explained why people in Floaroma town would be affected; they weren't all that close to Verity Lake in the first place.
"Everything within a four mile radius was destroyed. Animals, trees, the like. But get this…" he leaned in close, so close that Paul could smell the chewing tobacco sour on his breath. "They can't seem to find the meteorite at all."
Paul scowled. This was the problem with getting second hand info. Especially from older people. They always tended to dramatize. He disliked hearing stories. He wanted cold hard facts.
"And where would a meteorite that size go?" he asked, unable to keep the patronizing tone from his voice. The man shrugged, tugging on his beard, oblivious to his tone.
"Don't really know if it is a meteorite."
Paul glared.
"You just said it was."
"Yep. Said that."
"But now you don't know…?"
"…nope."
It was his own fault, he reasoned. He didn't usually waste time talking to people, especially not people as stupid as this man obviously was. He scanned his dex, noting he only had 11 units of energy left. And he still needed to make a stop somewhere for food. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, though he wasn't all that hungry. If he hurried he could make a quick stop and get back to the hotel before the energy ran out completely.
"…nope. Don't think it was a meteorite at all." He ignored the man. He was looking for an audience—
old timers always were— trying to lure him into asking a question he had no intention of asking. Flipping the dex shut, he grabbed the bag wordlessly, rolling it up and shoving it under his arm.
It was then that he noticed the newspaper.
Then man had gone silent; probably realizing he wasn't going to get the reaction he'd been hoping for. But then suddenly he spoke.
"Hey…ain't you that big shot trainer from TV? That kid from Veilstone?"
"No," Paul lied.
"Oh…" this seemed to satisfy him. He trailed off, though Paul could feel him studying him, mapping out his features to the ones in his memory. "Well, you look sorta like him," the man continued finally. "I actually think you might be taller than him. He's a short little fellow." Paul bristled internally. "Don't really like 'im myself. Got no stage presence if you ask me. Only got two expressions. Angry and more angry. And angrier. I guess that's three expressions, huh?" he laughed at his joke, and Paul frowned into the newspaper.
"My grandkid's in love with the guy," the man persisted, ever oblivious. "Has all the posters, magazine articles, records all the matches she sees on TV. Don't see the appeal to him, personally." He swiped a thumb across his nose. "Seems kinda fulla 'imself. Back in my day you learned to respect your Pokémon." he noticed Paul eyeing the paper. "Hey, you gonna buy that, son?"
Disgusted, Paul dropped the daily, wordlessly exiting the store.
The jeweled eyes of the Glameow followed him out.
oOo
I have to apologize for taking so long with this chapter! It was actually supposed to be out months ago, but I ended up reworking it. A lot. This version has at least SOME semblance to what I'd originally envisioned. I was actually going to split it up, (because it seemed to run way too long) but since I'd taken like, 5 months to post it, I figured a longer chapter would be better. As always, thanks to all of you who reviewed! Fire spirit, SecretAgent999, I hate paul!!!, RC_84, Wassermagierin, Yukira Hakumei, Jordan-Daniel, and Rei Rei 97. Your thoughts and reviews are always very much appreciated! Thanks also to you lurkers out there who may not review, but who still read and keep up with this thing. ^^
Please note that I am taking NUMEROUS liberties with the Pokémon world. This is obviously an AU, though I'm trying not to diverge TOO far from canon. Speaking of canon…
Pokémon DP has, ultimately turned out to be a total disappointment to me. And it's not even over! With the richness of the myths of that region, there was SO much the writers could have done and they just… HAVEN'T. It actually seems like Ash and the others have DE-evolved and forgotten everything they learned from the first few seasons. (or maybe it's just the new voices?) I dunno. I've actually been hoping that the writers make DP 132 Paul's last appearance. I love the guy, but I want him to go out on top (like he did in that epi) rather than the writers attempt some half-baked attempt to 'redeem' him.
Anyways, I'd love to hear your thoughts.