A/N: Hi hi! I'm back, with the latest installment of this story! I think you guys will be shocked and very much annoyed at where Part II is taking place hoho. But don't worry. I'll get back to our other beloved characters in Part III. Red, Yellow, Gold, Pearl, Blue, Green, Emerald, Cheren, Tanzanite...they'll all be back.
So, um, I hope you like!
Rant over! Read on!
-Silvia
Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon or anything else. This is purely fiction, and fan-made, in fact!
Misunderstandings of Monarchy
Part II—Bluebirds and Grey Clouds
Weeks earlier, at the same time as Crystal Oak returns to her palace in Chapter One, in a faraway land…
We should have known that a riot would break out, was her only thought as she wove through the crowd expertly to get away from the hectic scene.
It had all gone wrong, predictably, when Surge opened his big fat mouth and ranted on about how the anarchy was not so bad. That got some shouts of agreement, but other dignified and slightly intoxicated people begged to differ, and soon a political debate was occurring at the main counter of the pub.
"He's drunk," Marlon observed from where he and his companions sat, at a reasonable distance. They could not hear the man, but Surge was gesturing animatedly amongst the debaters.
"Well that's a shock," hiccupped Whitney sarcastically.
Volkner quietly removed the drink from her hand and added, "Perhaps we should go. We shouldn't even be here. Our mission is up, and Dra— Father said we have to be back as soon as possible. Times are tough, and we're not many. Plus with most of us over here and Elese and Grim out where we can't reach 'em, the going's gonna get tough."
"Relax," Marlon said. "We're only here a little while longer. I mean, it's not every day we dive into a civil war just to retrieve a few stolen artifacts."
"We're the good guys," Whitney added excitedly, "and the good guys should wind down a bit. Or at least Surge. If we deny that man a chance to be rowdy, I don't know what he'll do." She sent a sympathetic glance to the youngest of the group. "You know this is only Surge being Surge, right?"
"I don't like this place," she admitted quietly.
Marlon crossed his arms. "Do you think Surge has been acting out of hand?"
"He's Surge," Volkner replied, not flinching even as someone from the "political party" threw a chair and it broke against the wall to the left of him. "He's always been out of hand, 'specially when Elese ain't here."
Whitney tapped her chin. "I think that chair means that this has been enough for today. We should probably get back home soon as we can anyways," she decided, as if it was her idea, and Volkner sent Marlon a what the hell? look, but Marlon only snickered.
"Oi Surge!" called Volkner, heading to the door of the tavern. "We're heading out."
But that, unfortunately, was around when all absolute hell broke loose.
"Trying to leave, pretty boy?" asked one of the debaters, one on the pitiful side of the monarchies. Volkner had internally scoffed at him before for choosing such a stupid side, but he suddenly looked much stronger, since he could shove even the rock that was Surge. "Afraid of some real action?" the guy prompted. Surge must have drank more than his companions had realized, because he slunk over to the man and shoved him right back. A shove turned into another shove, which turned into a tackle, which turned into a one-on-one match, which turned into an all-out brawl. The bartender tiredly tried to shout some reason to the fighters—how did they know what side anyone was on anyways?—but this must have happened before, because he didn't do much else. Some people in the street had heard the ruckus and stopped to look in, or to break up the fight, or to egg on the competitors.
"We ain't leaving Surge," Marlon shouted over the noise as Volkner turned to the door.
The blonde man sighed resignedly. "Fine. You take the girls and get outta here before it gets real ugly. I'll get that idiot out."
Whitney and the youngest, a girl with dull eyes, did not protest simply because they were glad to leave. Though it was a struggle with all the shouting and the chair-throwing.
But then someone in the small kitchen must have gotten involved, because a fire suddenly licked at its doorframe.
The youngest shrieked and only wriggled through the crowd faster, leaving her friends behind. She hated fire. She knew it was a bad idea going into the tavern. She didn't care for places such as those much. It was no proper place for a girl, but then again she had never really been in a proper place except her home, which she now longed for. She made a silent and mental promise not to allow Black to ever complain about his privileged life again, despite its faults. For he was not the one who only ever saw a grimy daylight, never a polished and prim one. No, that was her.
She burst into the streets and glanced around. The streets. She was a street kid, and that was where she belonged, and that was all she would ever really be. Her home now was safe and warm and true and fancy and posh and everything perfect, but that came after she had already become so scarred.
She shook her head. Not right now. She only wished she hadn't gone into the tavern in the first place. No, scratch that; she wished she hadn't even gone to Sinnoh. With a weak democracy, a growing anarchy, and a dead monarchy, the entire kingdom was at war with itself, never mind the real war against Kanto and Johto. She let out a puff of air and ran a hand through her white-blonde hair.
When Surge gets out of there, she thought, we're going straight home. I don't care if this was his homeland, I'm not letting him dally here anymore.
Frustrated, she called out to Whitney, who thankfully answered and burst out only seconds later, Marlon in tow. Together, the three of them waited, huddled in the chill November air. Even though Sinnoh had a rather temperate climate, their port city, CanalaveCity, was fairly north and on the shoreline so it was just a little more cold.
It was a long while before another person leapt out from the crowd, and when they did, it was Surge. He looked wide-eyed and panicked. Blood stained his clothes.
"What happened?" Whitney screeched, never one good at dealing with serious matters.
"Just run," Surge told them.
"Where's Volkner?" Marlon questioned.
"Run while we can!" Surge urged.
"What happened to Volkner?!" Marlon pressed.
"He's gone!" Surge shouted. "He's gone, now go!"
Not a word more needed to be said. The four of them turned and started down the streets, running on adrenaline, yells directed to Surge ringing out, their breath clouding the air in small puffs before them.
They had lost one of their own, once again.
Volkner was dead.
And they had to run, run again, until they reached home.
Workers took turns cleaning up after guests, tidying the tables, dusting off shelves, or mopping up the floors like they always did following noon.
The doors swung open like they did every day at half past two, and a girl walked in, wearing a green dress that matched her watery eyes to a tee.
A debate started off sometime in the afternoon, as was expected. After all, a coffeehouse was not only a source of drinks but also a grand place to socialize.
White beamed proudly. Even if working in such a place was not the most rewarding professions around, it was a start, since she was young. Someday, she often thought to herself, I'll own a place as busy and bustling as this. A theatre or something of the sorts. She wiped the flour from her hands once she had finished preparing the dough for cookies and other treats. Definitely not rewarding. But steady.
Curiously, she peeked into the small—it was not a full bakery, nor was it a wealthy joint, so the entirety of the facility was rather miniscule, but charming nonetheless—kitchen area of the coffeehouse. Her best friend had only ducked through its doors minutes before, but she already grew concerned. She tried to stop the heavy thrum, thrum of her heart as it plunked against her chest, though that proved hopeless.
"Black?" she called gently, unsure if he heard. On any other occasion, she might have gone in the kitchen full force, shouting and dragging Black away for slacking, but lately he had seemed upset.
At last she spotted him, sitting with his elbows on his knees and his hands covering his face. Of course…she thought, things must be rather difficult for him as of late.
Tentatively, she approached him. She would never want to make him feel weak, since he certainly was not, but she had to make sure he was alright. "Black, are you…" He must have heard, but he did not move. She closed the distance in quick steps and knelt before him. "Black you're making me—"
Suddenly he looked up and his hands flew theatrically from his face with an exclamation of, "Baaaa!"
White blinked.
Black combusted in bellowing laughter—which, although she would never admit it, warmed her heart—and slapped his knee. "I got you."
"You did," she replied, trying to scowl. Unfortunately, it came out as more of a smile. She turned away to try to hide it and began cleaning off platters. Damn it damn it damn it…"Just quit distracting me," she said, quickly and brashly.
"Hoho. I'm a distraction." White didn't turn around to look, but she assumed he was wiggling his eyebrows up and down. Annoyingly.
"Now," Black began dramatically, rising and hopping onto an empty wooden box formally hosting bags of sugar. "What are the six unspoken rules of every great mystery novel?"
"You don't even work," White answered, glancing up from the dish she was cleaning, staring into space and not at the pair of mesmerizing brown eyes that watched her inquisitively, "so why are you here?"
"Number one!" he went on, ignoring her. "The crime must be dramatic. You can't make a big deal out of nothing; it has to have…what's the word…?"
"Turmoil? Exhilaration? Suspense? Commotion?"
"I was going to go with pizzazz, but those work too. Number two: there must be a intelligent, observant, dashing, heroic detective—that would be me," Black added with a wink as White passed him by, rolling her eyes and ignoring the annoying heat in her cheeks. "Someone quirky and memorable. Now, number three. C'mon, you know this one, Prez."
"Is it 'stop annoying White'? Because if it is, I like that one." The fluffy-haired girl wiped off her hands and shoved open the door to a small side street that was more like an alleyway. Black swung out from the doorframe, keeping the door open for her as she hoisted up some shipments that had been left by the kitchen entrance.
"No, it happens to be that the criminal must be a formidable match for the detective. He—"
"Or she."
"—cannot be defeated too easily, or else that wouldn't be fun." White shoved past him back into the kitchen, bustling about as usual. He shut the door behind them, adjusting the leather-bound notebook tucked under his arm. "Number four. Some evidence and all the suspects must be introduced at the beginning of the story because…"
White sighed, setting down the crate and reluctantly finishing, "All clues available to the detective must be available to the reader as well."
"And the sixth rule?"
She dusted off her hands and unpacked the crate. "The solution must be plausible. The crime cannot be an accident. Clues can be logically connected and traced back to the criminal. There. Done."
Black leapt onto the crate again, easily as a feline, eyes glinting in a rather chatoyant manner. "Ah, but you forgot the seventh rule."
White spun round. This was new. "But you only told me six! What's the seventh?"
Black beamed. "Never ever let the reader catch the crook before the detective does."
"Huh. I never heard that last one before."
"That's because I made it up."
White knocked the spindly boy off of the crate as easily as knocking down a house of cards. "Stop standing on that, you'll break it." She swept past and went back to sorting and shuffling. "Do you want to go to the library afterwards? Maybe that will encourage you to be silent and actually work on this mystery novel of yours instead of just pestering me about it."
"C'mon, you know me, White. Not even a library could quiet me."
"Very true." She sighed, satisfied with her arrangements, and clasped her hands. She quit the kitchen and returned to the main area of the coffee house.
White went on ignoring the tight feeling in her chest, as well as ignoring Black and forcing herself to continue pushing the work force on. Even though she was not even remotely in charge, her empowering confidence would lead you to believe otherwise—hence Black's nickname for her, "Prez".
However, her ploys to continue on working unfaltering turned out to not work.
It was shortly after that a scuffle began. The green-eyed-girl—she was about White's age, a recent yet consistent customer—accidentally bumped into a much larger man at the door and spilled her books on the ground. The man—short of temper, White assumed—instantly began shouting. Others tried to calm him, claiming that the girl's blunder was just that, but he grew angry at them as well.
As soon as White saw an opening through the tight bundle of people who had gathered around, she rushed forth, scooped up a few stray books, grabbed the girl's arm, and raced out of the door. She could hear the man's shouts behind them.
White glanced around. She didn't want the quarrel to get any bigger or any more confusing, so instead of leaving the girl where they were, she bolted down the street to one place that was surely abandoned, one of White's favourite places in the city.
The tower. Made of neutral-tone bricks and rough, round edges. Formally used as a conservatory for astronomers. Rarely visited.
White only stopped running once they were safely inside, and she let the girl slump to the ground, shuffling the books back into the strap that she carried them in. White had always seen her enter the coffee house with a small stack of books and envied her; she probably was able to attend the free lessons given out at the one of the smaller local schools. White had always wanted a better education than she got, though she had to work to support herself.
Even so, the green-eyed girl was the sort of clumsy girl that White envied—and also wanted to befriend.
"Are those all the books?" she asked.
The girl glanced at her shyly. "Yes. Thank you." Even from those few words, White could detect a Kantonian accent.
White, unable to help herself, looked closer at the girl's books. A few of them didn't look like the type of book used for studies. The girl noticed her gaze.
"Sorry!" White instantly said. "I didn't mean to pry. It just looks like an unusual book."
"It is," the girl answered. "It's, um…on how to define whether or not a piece of jewelry belongs to a certain family house."
"Oh. Well, being a jeweler sounds like quite a promising study."
But the girl blurted, "That's not it."
She put a hand to her mouth, as if she hadn't meant to let it slip out. White turned back, now very intrigued. "What do you mean?"
"I'm not trying to be a jeweler," the girl said, "I'm trying to find out if this bracelet came from anywhere." She held up a simple silver bracelet.
White inspected it. "Huh. Well, I wouldn't know anything about that, but I don't think I've seen it before. Tracing a family heirloom?"
"Something like that." She looked embarrassed now. "I, um, was a foundling. This was the only thing I had with me, really."
White's eyes widened. "Fascinating…" she breathed at such a predicament, then caught herself. "I'm sorry. I'm just curious. And I'm being rude. My name's White."
"I'm Belle." And they shook hands.
A short silence enveloped the two, but it didn't get very tense before a whistle sounded out at the tower's entrance. White whirled around. It was Black. Of course he'd know where to go.
"You're a right hero, Prez," he said. "Maybe I should make you the dashing assistant of the detective in my story."
"That's absurd."
Black's gaze caught on Belle, and his expression darkened. "I'm quite sorry. That man was one of my cousins. He's very violent, and often not in his clearest mind. Just earlier today he returned from Sinnoh. Now he's had two conflicts in the past few days."
White rolled her eyes. "You need to learn to control those cousins of yours."
Black's dark look suddenly shifted to a grin that made White's heart stop. "Nah, they're not all bad. Marlon and Whit and Poppy are pretty tame." He shook Belle's hand politely, as White had done earlier. "I'm Black, by the way."
"Belle," she replied once again, and shortly after exited the old tower. As Black turned to leave as well, White stopped him.
"Black," she said. "I think I may have just found us another mystery."
The street kids returned home and presented the reclaimed artifacts to their makeshift father, Drayden, without a word. "Where's Volkner?" he questioned gruffly, as Marlon had before. They only shook their heads.
Whitney trooped off sadly to her quarters, most likely to record what had happened; a habit of hers. It helped her recover, somewhat.
Surge and Marlon went off who-knows-where—Surge probably to punch a wall or get a drink or even go on another mission so early, and Marlon probably to play with some koi fish in some fountain somewhere.
The youngest of their quartet went into the courtyard, which was vacant, surprisingly. Usually at least one of the "street kids" as they still jokingly called themselves, was there. Perhaps news had already spread about Volkner. Perhaps some of the others were out on a mission. Perhaps they simply did not want to be in the courtyard. Dimly, the young girl hoped they'd all be able to come together for dinner like a real family should.
On the other hand, it may have been a good thing that no one was around. That meant that she could sit in the quiet and—
"Poppy!"
And wait until that idiot showed up.
Black sat onto the stone bench beside her and grinned like nothing was wrong. Word spread fast and Black was a good listener; he most definitely had already heard about Volkner but was ignoring it. It's not as bad for him, Poppy thought to herself. He was born here, on the manor, in such a privileged world. The rest of us…we grew up on the streets, not knowing any other life than stealing and begging and hiding until Drayden found our gang and brought us here.
She remembered when she had first arrived at the manor. She had been years younger, clinging to the comforting hand of Elesa, her oldest "sister", and her only one aside from Whitney. At that time, they had simply been a group of misfits and thieves, either unwanted or runaways. The youngest was Clemont. Their oldest was Surge. They were dirty and messy but Drayden led them along to the manor, where they were welcomed greatly. Black was a year younger than her, but he had grinned toothily at his new "cousins".
"Isn't the sky just great today?" he asked, staring up with a carefree expression.
Poppy stared at him. Her eyes were a strange combination of turquoise blue and light violet, which swirled blankly and hardly registered emotion. Since she was young she had decided to be quiet as to not make trouble for herself and others, and now it was simply a habit.
So rather than chatting aimlessly about the heavens above, Poppy deadpanned, "You're back already?"
Drayden's nephew smiled meekly. "Indeed. Surge turned up and started some tousle at the coffee house, so it closed down early," Poppy let out a breath; Volkner had once broken a series of cups at this very same, unfortunate coffee house, "and I think Prez was too miffed to do anything with me this afternoon."
He started off, but as he strode away, waving a hand, Poppy called out spontaneously, "Why do you call her Prez?"
Black stopped short and glanced over his shoulder. Poppy had never met this "Prez" whom Black was friends with. All that she knew was that the young girl was rather uptight and had eyes the colour of the sky.
"I dunno. It's slightly ironic?" he answered back and then left for real.
It was ironic. Considering he was the son of the vice president of Unova.
Poppy watched his retreating form and then sat silently for a long time, as she had planned to do before. She only looked up when a shadow fell over her. It was Falkner.
"Poppy. You have a mission." He shoved his blue hair out of his eyes coolly.
Already? Poppy thought to herself, but stood nonetheless, smoothing out her skirts. She had disliked the way her dull red dress made her look especially pale, but she disregarded that notion at the current.
She had a meeting to attend.
Seeing Drayden alone terrified Poppy, even though her vacant expression registered none of that. She sat before him in his office, where the blinds were always up and guards always stood at attention. Hardly anyone could come near Drayden without getting interrogated by his guards, except for his beloved children.
"Poppy," Drayden drawled. She was always for some reason confused by the way she never saw his mouth move behind his white mustache. "I have a task for you."
She nodded. "I have heard, Father."
Drayden sighed. "You always have been the stiff, proper one, haven't you?" he asked no one in particular. He addressed her casually, as he did to all of his street children, even though she acted just as reserved from him as she did from everyone else. "Grimsley and Elesa are very skilled, so it is a shame that they are away, but their task is just as important as yours."
"I am honoured that I have been chosen amongst my siblings," Poppy replied, though her tone held not a single note of emotion. Just bleak vacancy. Of course, she had always been that way, ever since the street kids had first found her.
Drayden clasped his hands. "Yes, yes…see Poppy, this task is very important towards the goals of our family. Your dear cousin Black has already done much of the research for you, so all you must do is find a way to carry out the action. Over all this time, your uncle and I have strived to do the best for our kingdom. We see a bright, exciting future. One where all people are equal. Every peasant has their say."
Poppy's wide eyes held a strange gleam of warmth. She and her siblings had only dreamed of a country as that in the past, so they now worked to do everything in their powers to make it so.
"This task can also be daunting," Drayden went on. "It is not the sort you are used to. You are quiet and quick, and that is why you have been so useful to me as a thief. You're a well-trained ruffian. However, this mission is different. You may have to lie, or do whatever it takes to achieve your goal."
"I can lie," Poppy told him. "I can complete this mission."
"Yes, you can." Drayden seemed to smile beneath his mustache. "I trust you with this, Poppy. I trust you to take care of one singular, seemingly insignificant object which poses a great threat to our plans. By eliminating this, there shall be almost nothing in our way. I cannot trust your other siblings with something this vital; for their strengths are found in other places. Which is why you must do this, Poppy." He paused for a moment, to let her drink it in. "You must kill the former prince of Unova."