Chapter 24 – Town

When we got back to his house, General Harding's father was flapping a rug outside, while a hovering carpet beater gave the cloth a decent whacking. Ben the gardevoir was chatting with a woman who had a baby in her arms, and whenever he laughed, the carpet beater's aim tended to waver a little. Mrs. Harding was nowhere in sight, though a rather lovely smell wafting out of the kitchen window suggested that she was at work preparing dinner in there.

"So, let's see if Mom needs a hand, shall we?" General Harding said, as he bounded up the stairs and through the house's front door. "She's getting older and the food isn't getting any worse, so I'm guessing that she's been working proportionately harder over time!"

When we got into the kitchen, I saw that his mother was indeed fixing up dinner. A bubbling pot was on the stove, and a covered wok was on the other burner. She herself was at the sink, where she was rinsing off some vegetables. Whatever it was that gave off the smell through the window was clearly in there with us, since it was noticeably stronger once we crossed the kitchen's threshold.

"Need any help, Mom?" he asked, lifting up the pot's lid and taking a peek inside it.

"Ah, just on time!" she replied, as she began speedily slicing up the vegetables. "Stir the stew, will you? The fish ought to be ready soon enough, so just lower the flames on the wok a little."

He did as she requested, and began stirring the pot's contents. As he did so, the pleasant aroma that had been filling the kitchen grew stronger, and it became evident that the stew had been the source of the smell.

"Anything I can do to help?" I asked, feeling a little out of place.

"Oh, it's alright! You're a guest!" she chirped, as she hopped over to the stove and threw the sliced vegetables into the stew. "Just go and help with the carpet beating, if you really want to do something – we're almost done in here."

"Ah, alright," I nodded, heading out of the kitchen. I got out of the house, and saw that the first rug had already been beaten, and that Mr. Harding was flapping a second rug about as Ben used his telekinesis to beat it with the carpet beater. "Need any help, there?"

"Oho, we could always use a hand!" laughed Mr. Harding. "Grab the other end, and help me flap it about faster!"

I did as I was asked, and soon enough, what little dust was left on the carpet had been completely beaten off. Ben nodded with satisfaction, and within the blink of an eye, both of the dusted carpets had lifted themselves into the air, rolling themselves into tight rolls. They floated off into the house, and the gardevoir followed them in, giving me a playful smack on the ass as he passed me.

At least, I hoped that the smack was playful and nothing more.

"So, you're not from Canalave, are you?" Mr. Harding asked me, as he clapped me on the back. "Your accent says you're most probably from the Coronet area, if I'm not mistaken!"

"Jubilife, sir," I nodded as I tried to let my lungs settle back into position after his clout. "Though I did spend about two years at Mount Coronet's training camp."

He nodded, as we headed back into the house. "It shows, you know. The folk from Coronet tend to speak with a more... fluid manner, for lack of a better description. They hardly pause when speaking, and usually finish sentences abruptly. Am I correct?"

"Yes indeed."

"So," he said, as he watched Ben unrolling one of the carpets over the living room's floor, "how's Zachary been at Canalave? It's literally been years since we last saw him, really."

I stopped to think for a moment before answering his question. "Well... he seems happy there. Generals Fen and Maine are also there with him, and they seem to have a good time together."

"I see," the senior Harding said, as he sank himself into one of the old, squashed armchairs in the living room. "But does he take care of himself? He's a man now, capable of doing that, but sometimes we worry for him, you know?"

"Oh, he does," I smirked. "Heck, everyone at port control is always on guard whenever he's in the building, since he's just that notorious."

"That's good to hear, it is," he sighed, as he closed his eyes and leaned back in the armchair. "When he went on his training journey, it almost seemed that every other week we'd get a letter or note saying that he'd gotten into some fangled accident or another. And of course, he sometimes did crazy stuff like getting that tattoo of his, so we ended up... getting used to him being a hyperactive little shite."

I all but laughed at General Harding's father describing him as a hyperactive piece of crap. "Wait, did you say he has a tattoo?"

"Oh yes he does!"

"Where is it?" I asked him sceptically. "I mean, I've seen him practically from every angle in the lockers, and I haven't seen any."

"That's because it's not that big, and it's next to something much bigger," General Harding's voice came from behind me – speak of the devil. "Unless you've been ogling my goods, you probably wouldn't have seen that little tattoo of mine, heh!"

"I don't... ogle you!"

"Please, man – you definitely do. And it's nothing to be ashamed of! Hell, Fen openly gropes me in the showers sometimes."

"... I did not need nor want to know that," I muttered, covering my face with my hands.

"I could have done without knowing that either, for the record," his father said, twirling his moustache. "So, is dinner ready?"

"Yup," Ben said, from somewhere else in the house. "Just two more minutes, and the stew's done!"

"Well, what are you guys waiting for? Let's set the table up!"

xxx

Dinner with General Harding's family proved to be a most... boisterous affair. The sheer amount of noise they made while eating was close to being unbelievable, and for some reason, their Blackjack-playing teddy bear was also present – it was placed on a small table next to the window.

Seriously, I didn't even have to say anything. All I needed to do was to nod appreciatively and laugh, since the dirt his parents were digging out on him was really quite hilarious. It was only ten minutes into dinner, and already they'd told me about how he'd ended up being chased by an angry granbull, got electrocuted by Fen's magneton, nearly died in an accident involving exploding condoms – that one was seriously weird – and then, his brief stint in prison.

"I tell you, he ended up being locked up for the night!" laughed Mr. Harding, as he recounted the tale of how his son had attempted to steal some fruits from an orchard during his training days. "We didn't bother bailing him out, since apparently he managed to bribe the cops..."

"Well, the fruits were that good!" my boss said, his mouth full of stew. "And jeez, Dad, do you have to share all my dirty little secrets here?"

"Of course he must!" his mother said, as she nibbled on some of the steamed fish she had prepared. "It is our solemn duty to embarrass you in front of your subordinate, since you made us grow more than just a few white hairs during your training years... and do you think I might have undercooked the fish a little? It tastes funny."

"Must be Ben's fault," Mr. Harding said, wagging his finger at the psychic, who was trying his best to look innocent while he ate his share of the stew. "Did you prank Mom's food again?"

"I did no such thing!"

"So it's a yes," she said, sniffing her plate. "Damn it, Ben, did you put sesame oil on the fish? No wonder it tastes a little saltier than it normally does!"

"Heck, you're good at this... alright, I did it."

"Aha! Caught in the act!" cackled Mrs. Harding, as she slapped the tabletop. "Ben, Ben... when will you ever learn that I'm just too wily to fall for your little tricks?"

"Maybe when age-related amnesia sets in?" he said brightly. "You did sit on your reading glasses the other day."

"That was an accident!"

"It was not, haha! It was definitely a sign of Alzheimer's disease!"

"Why, you little piece of delcatty shit!"

"What the fuck kind of an insult is that supposed to be?"

"Are they always like this?" I leaned over and whispered at General Harding, watching with wide eyes as his gardevoir and mother continued to insult each other in progressively vulgar language.

"Oh, this is fine," he said, as he bit down on a chunk of fish meat. "Mom just needs someone to argue with, otherwise she gets restless. So Ben indulges her, and my father gets to watch from the sidelines!"

Sure enough, Mr. Harding was chortling merrily as his wife exchanged verbal jabs with Ben. The teddy bear sat quietly on the window-side table all the while.

Suddenly, with a loud flapping of wings, a honchkrow flew up to the window, and pecked noisily at the glass. Everyone turned to look at it, which effectively ended the argument between Ben and Mrs. Harding.

"Oh, it's Frank!" she said, happily leaping out of her seat. "I'll just let him in now."

She went over to the window and opened it, letting the dark bird into the dining room. He bustled about and ruffled his feathers, preening himself as he held out one of his claws to Mrs. Harding – an envelope was clutched in his powerful-looking talons.

"Who sent it, Frank?" she asked him, as she petted him on his beak. "And how are the chicks?"

"Oh, they're all dandy!" he cawed, causing me to gawk at him – honchkrow were known to use telepathy to communicate, but training one to speak was quite difficult, supposedly. "That one's from the folks upstairs, by the way.

"And you folks are having dinner! Steamed fish, too!"

"Would you like some?" Mrs. Harding asked him. "I'm a tad full today, so you can have my share."

"Wouldn't mind that, but the last time you did that Ben had added a shitload of pepper to it," the honchkrow glared at Ben out of one eye. "What did he do to it this time?"

"Sesame oil, he says."

Frank cawed loudly. "Hah, you seriously think I'd trust Ben that much? I'd only trust him as far as I could throw him!"

"Using your psychic abilities, that could be quite a distance, though," pointed out Mr. Harding.

"Bah!" grumbled Frank with an air of disgust, even as Ben began laughing raucously at him. "You just had to spoil my ranting, didn't you? Anyway, I've got to get back, or the missus is going to have my feathers."

"See you around, then," Ben got up and walked over to the large bird, actually hugging him with a big, fanged smile. "Say hi to the chicks for us, would you? Their uncle of sorts misses them quite a bit."

"Only when you suck the peanuts out of my shit, that is," cackled the honchkrow, as he literally vanished into thin air.

For a few moments after he left and while Ben made his way back to his seat, there was silence in the dining room. Mr. Harding had happily returned to his food, whereas General Harding had been eating contentedly since he'd waved at Frank when greeting him. Mrs. Harding had left the room for a bit to keep away that envelope she'd received – wonder what it contained? – and I was staring blankly at the spot where Frank had been.

"Meowth got your tongue, son?" she asked, as she returned to the table. "Frank does tend to have that effect on others, hah!"

I shrugged, offering her a weak grin. "Well, it's not every day I see a talking honchkrow. He's yours, I presume?"

"He was hers," General Harding said helpfully. "He's been living out there on his own and raising a family of murkrow up on one of the wall-cities for a few years now, though."

"Bless him, Frank visits when his chicks aren't too demanding," nodded Mrs. Harding fondly. "Sometimes he brings one or two of them with him, to visit us."

"Unlike someone who hasn't been home for a few years," said Mr. Harding playfully, as he elbowed his son in the ribs.

All I could do was laugh at the way with which my boss swatted at his father's elbow. "So he found a mate and moved out? And you let him?"

"Well, he and his mate were perfectly matched in the sense that they were both wild spirits," she replied, as she shut the window to keep the mosquitoes out. "So it was for the best, really – and like I said, he visits every now and then!"

"He's also the reason why I've got so many psychics around," smirked General Harding. "Do you know how hard it was to get away with mischief as a kid, with that damned bird around? Fucking read my mind every time I tried to tell a lie."

"Word of advice, son," guffawed Mr. Harding, "is that you should always have a psychic on hand if you're just lousy at detecting lies! And they're also good for making sure that you never forget those lovely moments in the past."

"Sweet Arceus above!" cursed General Harding, placing his face in his hands. "Cue the embarrassing stories..."

"Umm, how much more embarrassing can they get?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. 'Embarrassing' and 'Zachary Harding' generally didn't fit in the same context, since the bastard was horribly shameless.

"Very embarrassing indeed!" laughed his father, slapping a hand on the tabletop. "Like the noodle incident!"

I think that was the first time I had ever seen General Harding looking genuinely mortified.

"Well, you see-" his mother began, only to get interrupted by her son letting out a panicked squawk, grabbing hold of Ben's forearm and disappearing with his gardevoir. "Oh, I suppose it can wait – there's no fun in telling those stories until he's around, is there?"

She then scooped up some stew from the serving dish, and offered it to me. "More stew, dear? Looks like my dear Zachary's fled to parts unknown for now."

Once we had finished dinner and helped Mrs. Harding with washing the dishes, Mr. Harding offered to take me to a pub, of all places. All I could do was to stare at him, goggle-eyed, as he stretched his back and opened the front door with a wide grin.

"But we just had dinner, sir!"

"Ah, the pub's great for desserts!" he laughed. "And of course, the word 'stressed' spelled backwards is 'desserts', so it's always good to swing by the pub!"

I felt completely lost. "... And why would we be stressed now?"

"Psh, stress is just an excuse to go drinking! For now, we're heading to the pub to catch that rapscallion that I call my son!" he chuckled merrily. "And to also get you unwound a little! Goodness knows that Zachary's probably traumatized you into being an uptight ponce over at Canalave."

"Sir!" I said, aghast. "A ponce?"

"See, there you go again with the 'sir'! God damn it, you're supposed to be young, dumb, and full of come, but you're so... berk-like instead!"

"Oh, gods," I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut and pinching the bridge of my nose. "Now I'm being compared to the female genitalia?"

"Shut it and come along, then!"

"... Fine."

xxx

As it turned out, the pub Mr. Harding was talking about wasn't more than a five-minute walk away from the Harding family home. Why my boss had decided to flee there of all places was beyond me, but apparently, it was his favourite pub in Sootopolis. And of course, his mother had insisted that we dump his unfinished dinner into a Tupperware container and bring it along with us, to be force-fed to him if need be.

So it seemed Mrs. Harding was very firm on her no-wastage policy.

"This is it?" I asked Mr. Harding, giving the pub's facade a quick once-over. "It looks... scary."

Mr. Harding laughed, and slapped me on the back with enough force to make my ribcage sing. "Why of course it looks scary! Wouldn't be a good pub if it didn't, now, would it? Anyway, we've got to get inside and catch that rascal son on mine!"

"... Just how many nicknames do you have for him, sir?" I asked him as he stepped forward and threw the door open, letting a wave of noise explode out onto the quiet street like an exploud farting. "Like 'rapscallion', 'rascal', and so on."

He probably didn't hear me, since he walked right into the pub through the open door. Wincing a little as the pub's deejay cranked up the volume and blasted yet more noise out at me, I said a little prayer for the survival of my eardrums, and headed into the watering hole.

Gods be damned, clubs were supposed to be noisy, not pubs!

As I entered the pub, the first thing I noticed was that the place was rather well-lit. Compared to the joints back at Canalave, this pub was lighted with the same type of bulbs they used in the archives department, which gave it a dim, yet comfortable light level. Music was booming from two coffin-sized speakers near one of the side walls, and the bar was located at the back.

Given the pub's small size, it didn't exactly take long for me to spot my wayward boss and his father. All I had to do was to look for the crowd placing bets on a table.

General Harding was holding up a shot glass and smirking at the lucario seated opposite him at a small table, while said fighter glared at him. Both of them showed obvious signs of intoxication, and the lucario's ears were twitching about frequently – a sure sign that it was coming close to being blasted out of its skull by means of ethanol. On the other hand, my boss seemed to be going strong despite his flushed cheeks and shaking hand.

"Still want to go, eh?" he drawled, eliciting several whistles and cheers from the betting folk. "Cheers, then!"

He knocked back the shot, causing some of the gamblers to clap heartily; I really wasn't that surprised to see his father among them.

I moved up to Mr. Harding's side, and nudged him in the ribs. "Mr. Harding, is he trying to out-drink that lucario?"

"Obviously, m'boy!" he replied happily. "And it looks like he's winning, too!"

"Damn, I knew he had an iron gut, but this is ridiculous!" I said, watching with wide eyes as the lucario swallowed its next shot and dropped the shot glass. "Does he know how hard it is to get a steel-type drunk?"

"Oh, Zachary knows what he's doing, alright," his father laughed. "Just wait till the lucario collapses, and you'll see what I mean."

"Sweet Arceus," I muttered, watching as my boss took down two consecutive shots and offered the lucario a wink. "By the way... where's Ben?"

"Someone called out my name?" Ben said from right behind me, very nearly causing me to jump out of my skin. "Oh, it's just you."

"Blast it, Ben!" I snapped, turning around and swatting him on his shoulder. "Did you really have to do that?"

He smirked, and leaned forward until our faces were just inches apart. "Definitely, my dear. When I see a male as delicious as you... I really can't help myself, frankly."

"You are a horny bastard," I retorted, slowly pushing him back. "And no, I'm not sleeping with you."

"Aww, you're no fun!" he sighed, bringing his hand to his forehead and pretending to swoon. "But I suppose that medicham was enough for one night."

I made a face and turned about to look at my drunkard of a boss instead of his lecher of a gardevoir. "I really didn't need to know that, Ben. So I'll just watch your trainer get stoned instead, alright?"

"Oh, he'll win," Ben said dismissively.

The lucario picked up a freshly-filled shot glass, and held it up to the light, almost looking as if it was toasting someone. It shakily brought the glass to its pointed snout, and tipped the alcohol into its mouth. With a triumphant growl, it slammed the glass into the table, and resumed its glaring at General Harding.

He didn't seem fazed, though. All he did was raise an eyebrow at the lucario, before offering it a jaunty salute. Then, he picked up the bottle of vodka that was on the table in front of him, and proceeded to drink straight from it, causing a few cheers to break out among his audience.

As he chugged down the vodka, I could practically see smoke coming out of the lucario's ears. It began swaying in its seat, and drunkenly tried to grab its own bottle of vodka. However, it missed the target completely, and fell off its chair sideways, crashing to the floor in a heap.

General Harding promptly got up, and slammed his vodka bottle down on the table. He then walked over to the lucario, and squatted down next to it. "Good try, matey."

"Oh, fuck you, Harding," growled the jackal-like pokemon from where it lay on the floor, massaging its temples. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to sleep."

"Holy shit!" I gaped at the downed lucario, and then at his victorious opponent. "That lucario talked!"

General Harding turned to grin at me, and said, "Well, obviously there's a brain in there since he could get intoxicated now, no?

"I heard that, you bastard child!" was the drowsy retort from the floor.

"Zachary, thanks for the fifty dollars!" boomed his father, as he appeared at his son's side and thumped him on the back, sending him flying forward into a trio of giggling women. "Oh, and your mother wants you to finish your dinner."

"This was for him?" Ben's voice asked from behind us, causing us to turn as one to look in his direction. Sure enough, he was holding the Tupperware in one hand, and a spoon in the other. "Oops."

His trainer merely smirked and waved at him. "So it looks like I had a liquid dinner, and Ben got the other states of matter, then!"

"You, sir, are incorrigible!" I said, shaking my head, causing his father to start laughing again.

"I try," he smirked, as he staggered over to the counter. "Oi, barkeep! A screwdriver for my buddy here, and make sure it stings!"

"Sir!"

xxx

By the time we finally got out of the pub, it was half past two in the morning, Ben had disappeared along with the bartender's medicham again, and I had somehow decided to strip in the pub somewhere near one. Fortunately, Mr. Harding had managed to persuade me to keep my pants on. In all seriousness, don't drink when around people like General Harding who are incredibly good at abusing the power of suggestion and intoxication.

Well, at least that lady who kissed me when I was topless was cute. Even though you know, she was a lady.

Since Ben was off having fun, we had to walk back to the Harding family home, which wasn't really a bad thing, really. What made it all good was the fact that Sootopolis was actually quite pretty at night, and so the walk back was worth it.

The streets were only sparsely lit, since the frequent flooding shortened their lifespan considerably. Walking down the shadowy streets felt oddly comforting, almost as if I'd returned to Sootopolis after several years spent away from it. Most of the houses had their lights off due to the time of day, but those whose inhabitants were awake tended to be the venues for various sorts of card games and conversations, it seemed.

We may have been walking inside the cone of a dormant, water-filled volcano, but somehow, insects were singing somewhere in the darkness. Blended in with the sound of the waves were the distinctive strains of nincada and kricketune, forming a unique symphony that was beautiful beyond anything I'd ever heard before.

Even the digimon troops didn't seem to be fussed about people violating curfew in Sootopolis – those that we passed merely waved at us, and carried on with whatever it was they were up to. Several water pokemon were with them, and those seemed content in watching the water itself rather than the streets they were supposed to patrol.

Although, I suppose it was really the lack of security cameras on the streets due to the frequent floods made it possible for them to be lax in their patrol duties. Aside from all that, though, there were the wall-cities. And believe me, they were lovely.

Of course, the deserted parts of the wall-cities were completely dark. However, the inhabited portions of the suspended constructs were all lit-up like Christmas lights, bright little pinpricks of light amidst the black background of the volcano itself. The bulk of Sootopolis' population may have been asleep, but the lights of industry continued to shine in the wall-cities. And as if that wasn't impressive enough, the water surrounding the Origin Cluster's entrance had a peculiar glow to it, which General Harding told me was due to undersea mining operations being carried out.

Sootopolis may have been a big city, but somehow, it felt like a small town as I walked through its streets with my commanding officer and his father.

"Is it always this... homey here, sir?" I asked General Harding, as we ascended the steps that connected his home's front door to the street beneath it. "Everything seems so quiet and... content."

He let his father into the house, and paused for a moment as he considered my question. A few seconds and a glance at his surroundings later, he finally answered my question with another question.

"Ever heard that old song? The one with something about the Beatles and John F. Kennedy in it?" he asked me, as he pulled off his shirt headed to his room. "Well, there's your answer."

It took me a while to place the song, but when I finally did, I realized just why he'd used it to make his point. "Is that 'Life in a Northern Town'?"

"We're southeast here, but yes, that's the one."

I only fell asleep half an hour after that. General Harding was already asleep by then, and was muttering all sorts of gibberish as he slept. So when I slipped into sleep, it was to the rhythmic sounds of the waves and my boss talking nonsense in his sleep. Despite the unusual lullaby, I slept well.

Had I known what the next day had in store for me, perhaps I wouldn't have slept at all.