"What's our move?"
Blanche barely registered Candela's question. There was so much to observe, so much that was out of place. To start with, there was the fact that Candela was no longer in a state of murderous rage. Which was a good thing, Blanche supposed, but they had so many questions. And then there was Spark, whose limp had all but vanished. The adrenaline, perhaps? No, something else wasn't right about him, either. His eyelids fluttered, and Blanche even caught his head droop and jerk back up, as if he were falling asleep. Blanche knew they were all exhausted, but nodding off at a moment like this, surrounded by weapon-wielding strangers and a woman who had just decreed their execution?
"Blanche, snap out of it," Candela hissed, elbowing them in the side. "Think we can fight our way out?"
"I doubt it," Blanche said. "Even if we used all our pokémon, we're facing too many people with too many ways of taking us down. Maybe if I talk to Waik…"
"D'you know enough of the language to do that?" Spark slurred. He drew his head back, as if he were taken aback by the sloppiness of his words.
Blanche looked at Candela, expecting an explanation.
"Spark might be a little bit drugged. I'm suddenly realizing that the stuff Waik gave to him might have been less about healing and more about sedating him after he mistook me for Dr. Dillinger," Candela said, wincing.
Blanche blinked. "What?"
"Guys, we really don't have time to delberate. Uh, derlivate. Dlebernate." Spark growled in frustration, unable to get the word out. "We. Don't. Have. Time. For. This."
The small, regal woman that Candela had called "Waik" approached them with her head held high. Men flanked her on either side, though the majority of her people remained on their knees, stealing furtive glances at the goings-on. She stopped within arm's length of Blanche and extended her hand, palm-up.
"I don't understand," Blanche said, then remembered the difference in languages. They knew a scattering of ancient words, but certainly couldn't speak fluently. They knew the gory bits, about wars and crime. They'd been fascinated by the archaic systems of justice. Blanche racked their brain for something that might apply, but came up short.
"She's asking for your pokéballs," Spark said solemnly.
Blanche took a step back. "No… raka."
Waik's eyebrow twitched. The word for "no" was the same, at least. Or perhaps she'd simply read Blanche's body language. Waik curled and uncurled her fingers a few times, and the message was clear. You're going to hand them over, and you're going to do it now.
Spark reached in front of Blanche and placed his pokéballs in Waik's palm. Blanche watched, thunderstruck, as he nodded to her, and she nodded back. Then, she passed the balls to one of her men, cupping them delicately.
"Spark, what the hell?" Candela asked out of the corner of her mouth.
"She's not gonna to kill us, an' she's not gonna hurt our pokémon. Give 'er a chance to think," Spark said.
"You're high, Spark. You're not thinking clearly," Candela said.
Spark shrugged. "I won't lie to you. I'm feelin' weirdly chill right now."
"Because you're high," Candela interjected.
Spark held up his finger. "Yes, but, 'member how I said Waik is kinda like if you and Blanche had a baby?"
Blanche got the feeling they'd missed a lot while they were following Venomoth to the village. "What do you mean?"
Waik, despite not speaking the same language, seemed to wait for Spark's answer with the same tentative curiosity. She extended her hand to Blanche again.
"What I mean is, Waik is a rattinal – urgh – rational person, yeah? She's been calm and logical and Blanchey this whole time," Spark said, his brows drawn in concentration. "But she's also emotional. She's terrified right now. She's trying to fight her emotions with her logic, so let's not give 'er anything else to fear. Let logic win. Let 'er know we're not a threat."
"She doesn't look terrified to me," Candela said.
Blanche agreed with Candela, though said nothing. Waik reminded Blanche of a storm system on the horizon, a distant cloud of untold energy and power. Perhaps the storm would bring only cool winds and rain for the flowers, or perhaps it would bring a deluge of destruction. There was no way to predict Waik's path. She didn't look frightened. She looked angry, and like she was losing patience.
"You can keep arguin' with me, or you can trust me and avoid bein' escuted," Spark said with an uncharacteristic air of exasperation.
"Executed," Blanche corrected for him.
"Exactly," said Spark.
Blanche considered Spark's reasoning. Apart from the slurring and far too laidback demeanor, he seemed of sound mind, and he'd made a good point. Perhaps it was time to start trusting him again. Blanche steeled their heart and placed their pokéballs into Waik's hands. Again, Waik gently transferred them to one of her attendants.
"You can't be serious," said Candela. "I can't just hand over my pokémon."
"We'll get 'em back," Spark assured her. "Please, Candela."
"We don't have a choice," Blanche said.
Blanche detected the hint of moisture in Candela's eye as she slowly, painfully, gave her pokéballs to Waik. Waik bowed again, and this time, she broke eye contact. Blanche hoped that was intended as a symbol of trust. Next, she pointed at the duffel behind Blanche's legs. Blanche stepped aside and allowed one of Waik's posse to take the bag.
Waik gave a few instructions to her followers, and several of them moved behind Blanche, Candela, and Spark. Waik waved her hand, inviting them to follow her. With armed men and women at their elbows, they complied in apprehensive silence.
§
The room Waik deposited them into was dark and cylindrical and contained only one window, tightly barred and high enough up the wall that someone would have to stand on another's shoulders to see out of it. Blanche's fingers trailed down the claw-marks in the walls, noting how much harder this rock seemed to be than the stone than comprised the other dwellings they'd passed on their way to their holding cell. Had the marks been left by pokémon? Surely, no human could score the walls like this.
"Are you happy, Spark? Now that you've landed us on death row?" Candela spat. She paced the room, bare feet pattering against the cold floor. It was strange for Blanche to see her and Spark in these simple robes instead of their usual, colorful ensembles.
Spark slumped against the wall, his face slack, totally at peace. He looked like he could be meditating. "She's talking it over with her people. We're not gonna die."
"And how do you know that?" Candela asked.
With closed eyes and a soft smile, Spark replied in a singsong voice. "Because we're the kings from the door."
Candela stopped pacing and planted her hands on her hips. "Blanche, do you know what he's talking about, or is his brain turning to soup?"
At least Spark wasn't in the frame of mind to be insulted by Candela's blasé condescension. Blanche tried not to be bothered, either. "He's talking about the carvings we found on the door of the great hall. They appeared to document a story of war between ancient cultures. Three figures who happened to share a passing resemblance with the three of us brought the fighting to an end with the aid of the legendary birds. In one of the images, they were crowned royalty. But something went wrong, causing the people who had united under their rule to seal themselves away here. That's my interpretation, anyway."
Candela nodded along with the information, her face tight with either frustration or contemplation, Blanche couldn't tell. "I guess I remember Dillinger saying something about crowns and carvings when she put those things on our heads. Why didn't you mention this?"
"It seemed less important than other happenings," Blanche said.
"Really? Because it sounds kind of significant to me. Like, ancient-prophecy-level significant," Candela said, but her words weren't as anger-edged as before. "Like, a tribe of cave-people bowing before us significant."
Blanche pressed their lips together, biting back a sharp retort. "You're right. I should have mentioned it previously."
Candela's muscles relaxed and she sat, cross-legged, in the middle of the room. "Thank you."
Blanche tilted their head. "For what?"
"For not arguing about it," Candela said. "And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry for losing my temper with both of you. Spark, I guess I should keep my word. I said I'd have your back, so fine, I have your back. I just hope you're right."
"I'm definitely right," said Spark. Blanche hadn't even known he was still awake. "Man, I wish I felt like this all the time. It's like nothin' matters. I don't care. I can't even feel anything. This is greeeaaat."
Candela bared her teeth in a nervous grimace. "Still trying to trust you, buddy. Guess that was some potent shit Waik gave you."
"About that… What exactly happened while we were separated? Starting with the incident at the waterfall, if you would," Blanche said. As nice as it was to see Spark so relaxed and casually confident, his words were somehow unsettling. It was like it wasn't really him speaking, and they didn't like it.
Candela leaned back, holding herself up with her arms and staring at the distant ceiling. "Right, that. You're going to think I deserve a straightjacket."
"Try me," said Blanche.
"While I was crossing the stepping stones, I got this overpowering sense that Team Rocket was right behind me. I wigged out. When I turned around, I saw a Rocket grunt trying to throw me off the falls. So I attacked him, but then the grunt turned out to be Spark. I lost my footing, and that was that."
"She's lying, Blanche," Spark mumbled.
Candela sat straight up, like she'd received a jolt of electricity. "What?"
"She's a lying liarson," Spark said, louder, but still with closed eyes.
"And you're tripping on cave-juice," Candela accused.
Blanche pinched the bridge of their nose, trying to alleviate a budding headache. So much for the peaceful discussion. "What do you mean, Spark?"
"I dunno," said Spark, unhelpfully. "But she's lying. Someone's gotta say it. She sold me the same story earlier, but it wasn't true, and I didn't say anything, but now I'm sayin' something."
Since Spark didn't have anything concrete to offer, Blanche pressed ahead. "Never mind, then. Something obviously happened to you on the falls, and you were washed downstream."
"Right," said Candela, relaxing again. She relayed to Blanche their story of surviving the rapids, of Spark pulling her to shore only for them to be captured by the pale people. She described how Spark mistook her for Dr. Dillinger, and how Waik pressured him to drink the mysterious liquid. "I think she was even trying to tell me that it was intended as a sedative, in case he started waving a sword around again."
"So, you both had these vivid hallucinations," Blanche recapped, mostly to themself. "Unfortunately, I must admit that I experienced something similar. When you fell, it was as though I was transported somewhere else. Do you remember when I fell through the ice out in the woods?"
Candela leaned forward and frowned at the memory. "Of course. I felt horrible about that for years."
"One moment, I was watching you disappear into the water. The next, I was under the ice, just like when I was a child. It felt so real. It was freezing cold, and I could feel myself sinking. I couldn't even breathe," Blanche said.
"That's… that's terrifying, Blanche," said Candela. "What happened? How did you get out of it?"
"I'm not sure. As quickly as it happened, I was back, and the two of you were gone." Blanche paused, surprised that the recollection had shaken them up a little, judging by the tremor in their voice. "I sent Venomoth after you, and he found a dry path for me to follow to reach you. One of the villagers caught me on the outskirts of the community, and in no time, I was surrounded. I was just so distracted by the architecture…"
Candela chuckled. "I'm glad we didn't actually need rescued. At least, not at that point."
Blanche smiled sadly. "I suppose. I'm quite concerned about these visions we've all experienced. I'd chalk it up to exhaustion and mental strain, but am baffled by the intensity of my hallucination. Selfishly, I'm unsettled by how drastically different my experience was from yours. You and Spark both saw members of Team Rocket in the place of each other. Why am I the odd one out?"
"I… uh…" Candela made the scrunched-up face of a person about to say something they'd regret. "You're not. Spark and I didn't actually have the same vision."
"What? Is that what Spark meant when he said you were lying? Why lie to me, only to admit the truth mere minutes later?" Blanche asked.
Candela inclined her head toward Spark, who had finally passed out against the wall, mouth agape, snoring softly.
"You didn't want to say it in front of him," Blanche surmised. "What did you actually see, Candela?"
Candela smiled, but it was spiteful, sour. "That's the thing. I didn't see anything. Not anything that wasn't there, anyway. When I attacked Spark, I could see that it was him."
Blanche's heart picked up its pace. "What are you saying?"
"I knew full well it was Spark, and I wanted to kill him."
Blanche struggled to comprehend Candela's words. She couldn't have meant that. She had to be joking. "Well, everyone has wanted to kill Spark at one point or another. Is that what you mean?"
"I'm serious, Blanche," Candela said, a pained expression twisting her features. "I was overcome with this incredible rage. It was like a physical thing, you know? Like I was possessed by it. I saw him, and was going to murder him. There was no other option. Even though I could see Spark, I don't think I even acknowledged it was him. Not until I missed my step. Suddenly, I realized what I was doing, but it was too late, and we were falling."
Blanche's throat felt dry.
"Blanche, please say something," Candela begged. "I've been trying to keep cool about it, but I'm scared out of my fucking mind. I don't know what came over me, and I'm afraid of telling Spark that I was literally trying to murder him. He's barely keeping it together as it is. If you could have seen his face when he thought I was Dillinger…" Her breath hitched. "What if it happens again? What if I go after you next time?"
"I don't know," Blanche said, choking on the words. They didn't have the means of processing all this information. The "what ifs" alone were petrifying. Candela's transformation had happened so instantaneously before. How could they prepare for something they couldn't predict?
Candela carried on, almost like she hadn't heard Blanche. "And the worst part of it is that even when Spark was threatening me with an actual weapon, I knew he'd never use it. Not even on the real Dillinger. As much as I hate that woman, I'm not sure I could, either. But back there, when I swung at Spark, I meant it. I would have killed him, and I… I just… I'm sorry."
She shook from the effort of holding in her tears. She must have been forcing herself to maintain her composure before, but now the floodgates had opened. Blanche didn't know how to comfort her, so they waited quietly for her to regain herself.
"I'm sorry. I know my emotions are all over the place right now, and emotions aren't exactly your forte. I've just been trying not to think about what happened, but I know I can't do that forever. I feel lost," said Candela, her voice hollow.
"You should tell Spark the truth," Blanche said. It was all they could think to say. Keeping secrets had done none of them good so far.
Candela shook her head emphatically. "I can't do that. In the river, he helped me stay calm and he got us both to land, even though I was freaking out, and even though I would have killed him a few seconds before. And I didn't deserve that kindness. I can't stand the thought of him knowing that I wasn't just defending myself against what I thought was an enemy. I can't look in his eyes and tell him that I-"
The door to the cell grated against the ground as it opened. Waik politely bowed to her captives, and then pointed a slim, bone-white finger at Blanche.
Blanche stood, but didn't approach her. Waik twitched her fingers, demanding Blanche's obedience. Blanche knew they'd have to follow her, but after everything Candela had said, they weren't ready to leave their friends alone together. They had to do something.
Blanche held up a finger, a just one moment gesture that Waik appeared to begrudgingly acknowledge. They then pointed at their eye, and extended an invisible line from their eye to Candela and then to Spark. How Blanche wished they could think of the word for "watch," or "guard," or even for "eye."
There was one word that might get the point across, Blanche supposed. "Bli-tauk," they said to Waik. Shield. Their questionable childhood interest in the violent parts of history was paying off.
Waik's eyebrow twitched down as she tried to decipher Blanche's meaning. Then the light of understanding entered her ice-pale eyes, and she waved one of her guards into the room. Blanche nodded their approval, and started toward Waik.
"Wait, no, you can't leave us here," Candela insisted, hurrying to stand.
The guard's hand closed around the hilt of his sword, and Candela backed up. She looked to Blanche, her eyes questioning. Why did she look so wounded? Blanche was doing this to reassure her, to protect her. Now there would be someone there to stop her, or Spark, if either of them… well, if either of them needed to be stopped. It wasn't as though Blanche could stay with them, as much as they wanted to.
"It will be OK, Candela," Blanche stated. "I'll be back."
Candela shrank against the far wall, her arms crossed tightly, as if she were cold. "You'd better be."
Blanche rolled back their shoulders, lifted their chin, and followed Waik out of the cell.
§
AN: FicCanon that I might not be able to delve into but wanted to express: Despite their interest in war and ancient justice systems, Blanche doesn't like violence. This is reflected in their battling style, which often relies on status-changing and environmental moves (which is why they like Bug and Grass types, in addition to their ultimate favorite: Water). But baby Blanche had a lot of pent-up frustration and a serious sense of justice and morality. So after enduring the unfair treatment heaped on them by unkind classmates, they liked to retreat to their room and read about how wrong-doers in the past were dealt with. And they maybe imagined doing the same to those bullies, but only a little. Blanche also liked the art and architecture aspects of their readings, but found the cultural details of past societies to be difficult to comprehend.