Chapter 13
Haven
Compared to the browns and grays of Blindhollow thus far, the fenced-in spread of green was stunning. Despite the late hour and cloudy weather, the color still managed to stand out wonderfully. The plants were arranged in neat rows and sectors, with every plant in a sector looking to be the same species and at the same phase of growth. Most were leafy bushes but one plot had rows of growing saplings, their wood the pale brown of vulnerable youth.
Most of the Nursery's plants looked to be bearing their bounty. While some sectors had colorful flowers, and some were bare of anything but leaves, Squirtle could tell that seeds were in plenty. They grew from the ends of branches, along branches, alone or in bunches, high on the bushes, or sprouting from stalks near the earth. Squirtle knew he was no expert in the matter, but seeds growing in place of fruit seemed scientifically wrong. Either plant terminology was all mixed up in these lands of Pokémon, or these were very special plants.
Their footfalls rumpled fresh, neatly-trimmed grass, a welcome change from dirt and dust. The Wartortle stopped them at the first sector of nearly-identical plants and faced them.
"Welcome to Wartortle's Seed Nursery. I am, in fact, that Wartortle. I used a different name long ago, but my life has been intertwined with this place over the years, so I go by Wartortle now. I know you two are travelers, since you do not live here in Blindhollow. What are your names, if I may?"
"Quil!" spouted Quil, and exchanged his greeting with the far taller Wartortle.
At least one of us is feeling bubbly and carefree, thought Squirtle.
"I'm just Squirtle, like you," he said, and launched upward and forward to deliver a strike with his head.
Simultaneously, Wartortle moved forward too. However, his head retracted into his shell as he attacked, all but vanishing into darkness. What Squirtle struck was not Wartortle's forehead, but the hard white rims of his shell's head socket. The blow didn't hurt, but it was surprising.
Squirtle resisted the urge to glare at Wartortle for the sake of politeness. He expected him to reemerge with a devious or gleeful expression, but was met instead with surprised confusion.
"My apologies, Squirtle. If you don't mind me asking, what pond do you hail from? Or do you come from one of the lakes up north?"
What pond? "I, er, why do you ask?" he replied to buy time.
"I'm not sure I've ever encountered a member of our line that does not use our greeting. Are you from waters very distant from here?"
"Well, I'm from, uh," sputtered Squirtle. He couldn't make up a name, because Squirtle had a hunch that Wartortle would be able to tell the given place was fictitious. And he couldn't produce a real name, because he didn't know the name of a single body of water except for the Karp river, which was no pond or lake.
"A pond very, very far away. I've been traveling, and I'm quite far from where I grew up. I doubt you might have heard of the place."
The Wartortle yielded a small smile, but it did not reach his eyes. "Don't worry, Squirtle, I know every pond. And if I don't, I'll have learned something new – a victory for us either way."
Squirtle glanced at Quil for help, but his friend was silent.
"The truth is, I can't remember, Wartortle. I'm sorry I was dishonest, but it's not information I like to spread around. I don't recall much about where I came from, and certainly nothing about being a Squirtle. I know that doesn't make much sense, but it's true."
As with Tiller the Palpitoad, Wartortle looked distraught at the news. His visible pity made Squirtle cringe in embarrassment.
"Ah, so that's the reason. I didn't mean to pry into your personal business, but as a Wartortle to a Squirtle, I was frankly shocked to be met with the general greeting instead of the one I am always met with when meeting one of our evolutionary line. You can't remember ever seeing or performing it in the past?"
Squirtle shook his head.
"You can't recall your parents, your hatchplace?"
Squirtle shook his head, wishing they would move on to the tour.
The Wartortle's troubled expression lingered, and he seemed to be mulling something over. "Enough of that. Pardon me. Onto more joyous matters, like this wonderful Nursery!"
Quil gave a little whoop of excitement.
"This first plot is where I always begin, for its seeds are one of the most common you'll see. These are known as Plain Seeds. Though they have no effects, they are edible and nutritious. Unfortunately, I must report that their taste is entirely plain."
With a chuckle, Quil remarked, "I've eaten these a million times." The seeds that extended off the tips of some of the bushes' shoots were yellow, oblong, and rather ordinary in appearance. They grew in clusters.
The Wartortle moved them along, giving juicy tidbits of information for every species of plant they passed. The terminology used was often like a foreign language to Squirtle, but surprisingly, Quil appeared to be following along much better. Squirtle appraised Quil's plant knowledge and skill at locating edible plants in a new light. Were all Pokémon as resourceful as him, or did Quil have a green thumb, so to speak?
If Quil's interested in gardening and helping plants grow, it'll be the irony of the year. He is literally on fire.
Wartortle pointed to a mottled white growth hanging from a bush. A fruit? He plucked it and expertly dug his claws in to pry it open and reveal its core. "Inside of this ripened inflorescence is a cluster of seeds. As you might recognize, these are Eyedrop Seeds." He indicated the lime green seeds within, small enough to fit four or five in Squirtle's hand.
"Visual acuity, and especially attention to small visual details, are temporarily improved upon consumption. It depends on the Pokémon, but effects last approximately one hour. Like most seeds, continued consumption will provide no permanent improvements. Rapid physical tolerance always occurs. Luckily, this tolerance fades as quickly as it forms, in most cases after a few days. Then, the seed will have nearly as powerful an effect as it did the first time."
Squirtle was amazed at the power contained within those little pieces of plant material. What would it be like to notice the small details that were ordinarily skimmed over? To see the trees of a distant mountain range come into stronger definition as the effects of the seed took hold? Squirtle wanted to try a seed and find out. He wondered how valuable they were.
The tour continued smoothly. Wartortle was obviously an experienced guide. He took every question posed by Quil and returned a satisfactory answer every time. The Wartortle looked to be enjoying giving the tour, too. His enthusiasm for the subject improved the experience. It was evident in the manner he pointed things out, the tone of his voice during certain explanations.
"Oh, Wartortle, I heard once about a seed called a Reviver Seed," said Quil following the Life Seed sector. "Is that a real seed? Or is it a myth?"
Wartortle smiled, his eyes closing in amusement. "A common question, naturally. The best answer I can give is this: probably. Three tourists that have come through here have related their experiences of seeing the seed's use. I myself have never seen anything like a Reviver Seed, but I questioned each of those tourists thoroughly and their stories of the seed are consistent. I would say Reviver Seeds exist, but where they grow and just how rare they are may well be a mystery forever."
"Do Reviver Seeds do what they sound like they do?" asked Squirtle. He refused to believe that a seed, no matter where it came from, could restore life.
"Reviver Seeds, if they do exist, will restore a Pokémon to full strength and awareness after they have fainted from the stresses of battle, without even needing to be ingested. Some stories say they can do more. Who knows?" He added a mysterious eyebrow raise.
Truly, the variety and number of seeds were staggering. Like the legendary Reviver Seed, some of the displayed seeds did not need to be eaten. A single bite could trigger a reaction within a Blast Seed that unleashed outward a torrent of forceful heat. Some seeds like the Doom Seed could be thrown, as its thin outer membrane would break upon impact and release chemicals into the skin of whatever Pokémon it struck. The Violent Seed, which temporarily boosted most offensive capabilities of a Pokémon, was one that Squirtle particularly wanted to try. Would it feel like an adrenaline rush? A mood change, like a surge of aggression?
As the tour progressed, the infrequent gusts of cool wind became a steady turbulence. Even shielded by the short brick fence, the thousands of leaves in the Nursery were whipped about by the weather. Squirtle peered up at the sky. Though the weather was tame compared to the extraordinary storm of his first day as a Squirtle, miserable weather was miserable weather. It was a shame that he was experiencing the natural beauty of the Nursery in the dim gray light of the coming twilight. The only other damper of Squirtle's enjoyment of the tour was the suspicion that Wartortle was scrutinizing him every now and then. He wished Wartortle would get over his unknown origin and just treat him like every other Pokémon.
The tour finished with a showing of notably rare seeds. One 'seed' grew beneath the ground, presenting as nodules from the roots of a particularly difficult plant to grow. The Joy Seed, Wartortle explained, was said to have a more long-term effect, perhaps even permanent. No one was certain how it functioned, but the Pokémon who consumed it became healthier, more capable. Another rare seed was the Heal Seed, whose health restoration properties were unmatched. In seconds, they could cure most temporary ailments, physical or mental: Confusion, Paralysis, Burns, and more.
Quil appeared to have no reservations about believing in the alleged properties of every seed, but Squirtle held onto his skepticism. To him, it was silly for Legendary Pokémon to be considered unbelievable while these tiny bite-sized seeds held potential beyond the capabilities of most or all Pokémon species. He would believe that these seeds did what Wartortle said they did when he used them himself.
"That concludes the tour of my Seed Nursery, Squirtle and Quil," said Wartortle, once again in front of the double doors. "Ordinarily, a fee is required to see the Nursery, but you've paid a price already, haven't you?" For the first time, his expression hardened and any trace of mirth left his voice.
Squirtle frowned, wondering at his meaning. Quil shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the fee.
"Besides," continued Wartortle, "I must admit I was eager to give another tour. It's been a couple of days since the last one, thanks to that Raichu. Or maybe we have that wicked storm to blame for slowing down traffic through Blindhollow."
The words of the Seviper they had bumped into came back to Squirtle as he racked his mind: You're here to visit Wartortle's Seed Nursery? Well it's off-limits unless you give Raizula something she thinks pretty, something she likes. That could be what Wartortle was referencing.
Wartortle didn't know they had sneaked in, had not had to pay any toll or meet with Raizula. Squirtle figured it would be best for it to stay that way, even though he felt guilty for the decision.
Wartortle had already proclaimed his disapproval of Raizula, so Squirtle knew he had some leeway to speak openly. To be safe, he spoke in a quiet, conspiratorial voice. "Are things that bad here Wartortle? Has Blindhollow become a lousy place to live?"
Wartortle's eyes slid along the perimeter of his fence as he made a full turn. Appearing satisfied, he said, "That Raichu and her, hmph, supporters, are making a real mess of the way of life here. She has multiple tolls running, as you may have guessed from what you saw closer to the middle of town. Word will spread fast – travelers won't see Blindhollow as a must-stop destination if they're going to get kicked around or stripped of any possessions they might have when they arrive. Pokémon are leaving, and I wish I could join them, if I'm being honest with myself. But I'm tied to the Nursery, and that Raichu wouldn't let me leave anyway. This place is the biggest force that will keep 'mon coming."
Squirtle was surprised by the outpouring of honest emotion in Wartortle's voice.
"So what you two have heard is completely right. Blindhollow's going downhill fast, and I'm not talking about the fact that it's built in a crater, ha! The 'mon are scared. No one has seen this level of power before."
"Is there anything we can do to help?" asked Quil. Squirtle nodded, agreeing with the sentiment.
Wartortle hummed, but shook his head after a moment. "I'm afraid not. Not unless you could humble that Raichu in a fight or two, and I'm not sure even that would restore Blindhollow to the way it should be. It's a strange situation here. You two shouldn't trouble yourselves with our problems though. Be happy you were able to see the Nursery, mm?"
Squirtle didn't bother voicing his doubts about their ability to take on Raizula in a fight. Quil was silent also. The amount of power that she possessed had to have been immense, for Wartortle made no reaction to their lack of response. Squirtle could only frown, and Quil's body language indicated distress as well.
If only they were stronger fighters! That Espeon would not have been able to mistreat him and leave him without any answers. Stolt would not have been able to so easily knock them out. Raizula would not be able to oppress and exploit Blindhollow's population. At least at first glance, it all came down to fighting capability. That gave Squirtle an idea. Every little bit helped.
"Wartortle, I have a favor to ask. I want to become a more experienced battler so that I can help remedy situations like this. Is there any technique you might be able to share with me, as a Pokémon who was once a Squirtle? Any tips, or advice that is typically passed down amongst Pokémon in our line?" He hoped he was not being too bold in overtly requesting training assistance from a Pokémon whom they had just met, and who was in a worse situation than them.
The Wartortle stood straight as the wind tousled the fur covering his long ears, before nodding solemnly. "You bear a substantial burden, Squirtle, not knowing your home, your family, your past. We of the Squirtle line are not solitary Pokémon, you know. We don't leave the pond until we're ready, if at all. For that reason, I'm obliged to help."
Squirtle beamed. "I'd be thankful for any amount of coaching."
Wartortle gestured for the pair to move off to a corner of the Nursery away from the plots, expressing a desire to not alter their watering schedule by what was to come. As the lesson began, Quil initially paid polite attention, but soon wandered off to re-examine some of the plants in the Nursery.
"Use Water Gun on me," Wartortle commanded as he lowered himself to his hands.
Squirtle mirrored him, then did as commanded. Water erupted from his mouth toward Wartortle. Just before impact, Wartortle began his own stream of water. His was a thicker, swifter, and neater flow. Squirtle's was a gurgling stream, Wartortle's was a sleek river. Water droplets spattered the grasses as well as the two Pokémon. Squirtle spotted Quil dart farther into the Nursery to be safe from the stray droplets. In seconds, Squirtle's Water Gun had been subsumed by Wartortle's. Once the stream intersection was pushed to Squirtle's face, he slammed his mouth shut. Thankfully, Wartortle curtly cut his own stream off.
"Thank you," said Wartortle. "Just wanted to check your elemental strength, you know. Now, have you tried withdrawing into your shell during a battle?"
Squirtle's mind leaped to all sorts of potential uses for that strategy even as he responded. "No, no I haven't!"
"Don't feel bad about it; many Squirtle, or even Wartortle, never think to try without seeing it or being told about it. Usually happens by accident eventually, in those cases. Withdrawing is a valuable tool though."
His voice became agitated. "So many Pokémon are concerned only with their offensive capabilities, and doing as much damage as quickly as possible. But defensive techniques can be just as useful, once you get the feel for when to use them. As a Squirtle, you'd be wasting your potential if you weren't using something you always had with you." He rapped his shell's front with one hand's claws. The almost wooden sound was almost exactly the sound that Squirtle's shell made.
Squirtle shook his head forlornly. This whole time he'd been fighting without ever thinking to use his shell. An amazing shield, biologically designed to resist outside forces, and he'd thought of it up until now as merely another component of his new anatomy.
"We call the technique Withdraw, but it's not as simple as that," Wartortle continued. "If you're Tackled while you're asleep in your shell, it'll sap your strength more than if you'd used Withdraw properly while awake. Let's try it now. Go on, go in your shell."
Hastily, Squirtle complied, tingling with excitement at the prospect of learning a new move. The world retreated, and he felt squeezed snugly but not uncomfortably in his little shell.
"This part is hard to explain; it comes mostly with practice and experience. Try to brace against the inside of your shell. Use every bit of you: head, arms, legs, tail. Push upward and outward, like you're trying to break out of your shell from within."
Squirtle followed along, and now felt even more tightly compressed. Every bit of him that he could move was taut, causing his whole interior to be tense and stable. Without warning, he was suddenly soaring through the air. The outside world visible through his head socket rotated and blurred. The gray clouds of the sky were visible, the building connected to the Nursery, Wartortle's face studying him, greenery, then a sudden stop. He'd struck the ground. Allowing his head and limbs to pop back out, Squirtle released the tension and stood to face the approaching Wartortle.
"How'd that feel?" he asked, quite calmly for someone who had just knocked a fellow Pokémon to the opposite fence of the Nursery. Squirtle wasn't going to complain to his tutor. He was thankful for every moment.
Squirtle thought back, focusing on the details of the sensations before replying. "Not bad, I think. The impact was more surprising than painful or draining. I felt stretched and compressed at the same time, in my shell. Very tense."
"Good, that's how Withdraw should feel! And it allowed you to turn a decent blow into a less serious one. Practice it as you travel, if you can. Brace against where the opposing technique is coming from. Time it with the impact. One day, you can try to land on your feet, ha! Oh, and Withdrawing is not nearly as helpful in protecting against elemental moves, but it'll help a great deal against attacks like Tackle."
Squirtle absorbed it all, tried to file it away for future pondering. "Great, thank you! Do you have any pointers for my Water Gun? Your water was better in every way."
"That, I can't help you with Squirtle. Control over your water comes with time, experience, familiarity. Think of how the water moves, feel its source. And if you evolve one day, that will sure help too." He scratched his ear with a claw. "All I can say is don't be afraid to experiment. If one day your body tells you to shape your flow a bit differently, or incorporate air into the flow – whatever it is, don't be afraid. If you're lucky, you'll get to a level of elemental control where you'll be able to use Water-type techniques without your mouth. Secreting water out of your hands, say."
Of this, Squirtle was skeptical. But the Wartortle sounded older and was certainly more experienced. No trace of dishonesty or deceit yet. What choice was there but to accept that such a strange phenomenon might one day be his to command?
"Fair enough. I'll better myself through practice, and I'll remember what you said. Thank you very much for the lesson, Wartortle."
Wartortle did not smile. Squirtle guessed he was thinking about Squirtle's past, or lack thereof, and it was saddening him. In fact, a frown threatened to creep onto his fanged lips.
"I've never seen a Squirtle quite like you, and I grew up among over a hundred Squirtle. The shape of your jaw, the angle of your tail, the color of your scutes; they're all so...perfect. Perfectly average."
An unusual feeling of trepidation enveloped Squirtle as he heard the Wartortle's words. What is that supposed to mean? What is he saying?
"In appearance at least, you resemble the typical and average Squirtle. Hm, if such a Pokémon existed." His ears twitched and he tore his gaze away. "Please forgive my ramblings. I haven't come across a Squirtle in a long time."
Squirtle didn't have any response to Wartortle's words. What could he say? Thank you? The words troubled him. Why would he stand out to a Pokémon that had seen so many other Squirtle? Was his appearance actually odd? Or was Wartortle overlaying Squirtle's unique lack of history onto his visual perception, mistaking his appearance as unique as well?
If Wartortle's onto something though, what does it mean that I'm a singularly average looking Squirtle? There's nothing wrong with average; sooner or later, a Squirtle's going to hatch that happens to look perfectly ordinary. However, I didn't hatch.
Wartortle was turning and striding slowly to his plants. His head rotated, appearing to consider different sectors, before he walked to the plot of bushes that bore Totter Seeds. Those seeds had the capability to inflict short-term confusion when striking a Pokémon. Wartortle delicately plucked one and returned to Squirtle as he waved for Quil to join them.
"I have decided to part freely with one of my seeds, considering the circumstances. Before you go, take this Totter Seed." He raised a hand to stall Quil's squeaks of joy and Squirtle's excited thanks. He wore a grim smile as he said, "It may come in handy sooner than you think. Nonetheless, it is a remarkable seed, so enjoy it while it is in your possession."
A particularly grotesque seed, its outer coat was purple, though one end was a sickly orange. Quil eagerly took it and held it with his forelimbs as he turned it over and over, inspecting it.
"Your Nursery is beautiful and incredible, Wartortle, more wonderful than I expected! I'll never forget it!"
"Thank you again for the battling instruction," said Squirtle. He remained ill at ease regarding the Wartortle's previous comments.
Wartortle led them through the doors, and encouraged them to spend as much time as they'd like in the 'atrium' before moving on in their travels or exploration of Blindhollow. He then picked up the basket he had left behind, and closed the doors as he returned to his plants.
Together, they admired the seed Quil held for a minute. Squirtle knew he wouldn't forget the moment, as it was his first possession as a Pokémon, even if it was a shared one.
"Looks like we've accomplished our goals, Quil. We visited Wartortle's famous Seed Nursery, and learned for ourselves the state of this town. Now seems like an appropriate time to get back to your journey, right?"
"And 'Now is the best time', as they say. You're right. Same way we came in?"
"Actually, I thought we might try the window on the other side. Maybe it leads to a more hidden alley?"
The pair sidled up to one of the windows on the opposite side of the atrium from where they had come in, and peered out. The buildings on this side were luckily arranged in a more protective and clustered fashion. Squirtle and Quil would not be able to be spotted by the denizens of Blindhollow as easily, unless they were looking out one of the buildings' windows by chance. Overall, Squirtle thought it safer, and Quil agreed.
The alley was empty, and no Pokémon were in sight. The coast was clear. Plus, the darkness of the coming night was apparent. They climbed onto the sill and dropped quietly to the ground. Their covert progress ran into no hitches until they were halfway along the Nursery's fence.
Quil came up short beside Squirtle with a hiss. But the hiss wasn't from his mouth, it was from behind him. His back? Squirtle and Quil glanced upward at the same time. The clouds were at their darkest and grayest. A tiny raindrop struck Squirtle in an eye. He blinked it away, then looked worriedly at Quil.
Quil was turning about, looking presumably for cover. Another hiss came from the hot spots on his back as a raindrop struck and boiled.
"The grass?" asked Squirtle, pointing up and ahead to the lip of the crater.
"Won't offer much cover, I'd prefer if we got under something solid!" said Quil urgently. Before Squirtle could protest, Quil was awkwardly half-sneaking, half-trotting to the nearest structure while looking around corners for potential onlookers. The intent for stealth was still present, which Squirtle appreciated.
The winds were still picking up, and Squirtle was unsure if an extended hike in the rain would be pleasant, so taking cover and hiding might be a comfortable course of action to take. Dangerous, but comfortable. Quil should have mentioned that he was not quite okay with taking shelter in the grasses of Blind Prairie before they entered, but Squirtle was sure he did not mean anything by it. He followed after his companion.
Because of the concentric ring layout of Blindhollow, another building was very close by and at the same elevation in the crater. Calling it a building, however, would be misleading. Over a space on par with the square footage of Wartortle's Nursery, some portions of the ground were raised up four or five feet. These had vertical, slit-like windows. The portions that were not raised were pock-marked with holes in a roughly grid-like pattern. The holes were too small for most Pokémon to fit through, so they must have been sky-lights or breathing holes. Quil was leading them to a small hole near the periphery of the 'building' that turned out to be earthen stairs leading underground.
An underground structure, eh? thought Squirtle. Wonder how deep it goes, and what reasons Blindhollow has for digging underground instead of constructing above.
Squirtle stopped at the top of the staircase, turning about to see if there were any onlookers. A couple of ordinary buildings were nearby, yet Quil had chosen to enter this strange underground staircase inside a hole. Why? Squirtle couldn't complain though; no curious faces looked back at him, which meant in terms of stealth, so far so good. He followed Quil tentatively down the hard stairs.
After only fifteen or so steps, the staircase terminated with a large door made of unshaped, bare rock. The frame was sturdy and featured hinges, but Squirtle saw no reason to open the door and peek inside. Thankfully Quil had not peeked either. He crouched on the small landing by the door that led inside.
The rainfall began in earnest. As Squirtle reached the final few steps, at which point the sloped ceiling above the door blocked out the sky, he hesitated. The pitter-patter of rain actually felt pleasant against the top of his bare head. And shell. And arms and legs, feet and hands. The rain steadied to become a constant shower, but far from feeling like an unpleasant barrage, the feeling was closer to snuggling up in a warm bed. Squirtle struggled to compare the feeling to the experiences of his past life, which elicited flashes of sensation. The warmth of a merry fireplace, the tender loosening of muscle under a friendly massage, a satisfied belly full of delicious food. The rainfall was none of these sensations, but reminded Squirtle of each of them. He slumped down on the last step that was still exposed to the rain, and closed his eyes with his face pointing to the clouds.
"Water-types," said Quil in a sarcastically exasperated tone. Squirtle imagined he was rolling his eyes behind those creases.
Squirtle smiled, but made no other response to the jab. The natural music of the pouring rain was too calming. With luck, their trip through Blindhollow so far should not have raised any red flags to Raizula or anyone else in charge, so Squirtle saw no reason not to relax for a while in their cozy underground staircase.
Squirtle repositioned himself to the belly-down position he always fell asleep in, as if he were sun tanning. The sound and feel of the raindrops against his skin, and even his shell, loosened him up. He could easily take a nap and feel fully rejuvenated afterward. Actually, he figured he'd feel refreshed whether he fell asleep or not. What about Quil though?
He lazily cracked his eyes open. Quil, thankfully, seemed content as well. He lay curled up in the corner opposite the door, clutching the Totter Seed. His flames were at their usual height and intensity. The spot he chose was the spot farthest from the rain. No coincidence there.
With a rise of melancholy, Squirtle recalled the realization he'd had following the training session that Keel the Marshtomp had kindly given him. Every time they encountered water, he and Quil would have opposite reactions. That included rain, evidently. What a shame. Squirtle fancied that two Water-type Pokémon or two Fire-type Pokémon traveling together would have their priorities and comfort zones better aligned, but Quil and he had gotten along quite well so far, even as opposites of a sort. Besides, the tactical center of Squirtle's mind reminded him that two Pokémon of the same Type would never have the same potential in a battle as two Pokémon of different Types.
What would it be like, thought Squirtle lethargically, to be a Fire-type like Quil? Is he warm all the time? Or does he not feel heat, so that he can be comfortable in very hot environments like in a desert? Or even inside a fire? He verbalized his questions to Quil.
Quil chuckled. "I'm flabbergasted right now as I watch you lie in the rain and enjoy it. Really, it's amazing to me. But I'm sure you're thinking the reverse when you look back at me. Knowing what it feels like to be a different Type, let alone a different Pokémon, is impossible. I'm not sure if you remember this, but most Pokémon soon after they hatch go through a phase of amazement at the huge differences between their Type and all the rest. And that's just Type, right? Every species of 'mon is so different from just about every other species that it's impossible to relate. Rest easily knowing that everyone feels the same way though."
"You get used to it? You don't keep wondering at how incomprehensible other Pokémon seem?"
"You get used to it." His eye creases scrunched up further. "And to answer your question, I feel warmth just like everyone else, but it never bothers me. I'm comfortable in the heat like most Flames. Unless it's really hot, like a Flame's attack."
For the umpteenth time, Squirtle found himself curious about Quil's vision capabilities. How could the Cyndaquil see when his eyes appeared to be so tightly shut? Could he really see through those thin wrinkles? While on the subject of the vast differences between Pokémon species and Types, this might be the perfect time to ask Quil about it without being too impolite. Quil had taken offense to the suggestion of his being on fire being strange, but this was as good a chance as Squirtle thought he would get.
"Quil, I've wondered every now and then about your eyes," said Squirtle tentatively. "Is, er, your field of vision very wide?"
Unfortunately, Quil did not appear to be listening. He'd shifted from his comfortable curled up position to an uncertain crouch. He said, "Sorry to interrupt, but we have a problem."
Rainwater was beginning to pool at the bottom of the staircase where Quil as of yet remained dry. Squirtle hadn't noticed, but now he saw twin rivulets of water draining down the staircase from outside and stagnating on the landing. In less than a minute, the landing would be a puddle.
Squirtle knew what the answer would be if he suggested going back out into the rain. They were pinned. Only one option remained.
"Let's see if we can't get this door open."
"I could try to boil away some of the water with my Ember technique, but that's only a temporary fix. I think you're right, we have to go inside."
Squirtle dug his fingers and claws into the groove between the door and the frame, and Quil placed his forelimbs alongside. Together they pulled.
"Thanks Squirtle, by the way. I know this isn't according to plan. At least we get to see more of Blindhollow!"
Squirtle grunted in acknowledgment and in exertion. The door swung ponderously open. Once the entry was large enough for Squirtle's rigid shell to scrape through, the pair slipped inside, pulling the door shut behind them. The sound of the rainfall vanished as the heavy stone door closed with barely a sound. Squirtle's eyes roamed over the new surroundings.
Quil and he stood on a landing halfway down a fairly lengthy staircase that connected three floors. Upward led to ground level, and downward led deeper underground. Ahead of them, opposite the door, stretched a corridor, with the ground made of solid rock, and the ceiling and walls made of earth. On both sides, rooms were regularly spaced. Some were small, while a few could have accommodated a Dragonite. Each was dimly illuminated by a small port in the ceiling: the holes that Squirtle had observed from outside. They granted the only measly light for the entire floor. Squirtle could hear the sound of water dripping down from the holes in each room.
Most of the rooms had no doors or coverings, but a couple of them farther down the corridor had some white substance stretched across their entrances. Once Squirtle noticed the barriers had a geometric pattern with radial symmetry, he realized they were webs. Not the kind that marked a room as derelict, but the fresh and resilient variety.
The Prison, Squirtle realized in a flash. These weren't rooms, they were cells. The ones sealed by web were likely occupied, with the open ones currently vacant.
What did a Pokémon have to do to be sealed away underground like this? In a culture where fighting was the norm and Pokémon greeted each other with violence, what did a Pokémon have to do to be considered unfit for society? Squirtle went through a quick list of crimes he could recall, but most seemed like a lesser offense among Pokémon, if an offense at all. How could assault ever be taken seriously with everyone so durable, and battling so accepted? Was arson a crime among Fire-types if they lost control, or if a stray ember from a battle ignited someone's property? Countless other crimes were impossible because of the low level of technology or other aspects of the Pokémon lifestyle.
For what, then, were these inmates isolated? What sort of Pokémon were they?
Quil nudged him, and gestured left down the staircase with some whispered words. "We should get out of sight, Squirtle. This must be the Prison, and I don't think prisons would be unattended. To watch the prisoners there might be-"
"Guards," finished Squirtle, mentally slapping himself. He'd been lost in thought while in plain view. Maybe the stone portal closing had attracted attention? He crept down the stairs after Quil but kept his eyes on the cells lining the walls.
The form of some large Pokémon crawled along the ceiling into view at the distant end of the corridor. As the cells slipped out of view, Squirtle marked the vivid colors of its body, the ivory mandibles and horn, and numerous spindly legs. Then he was hidden further down the staircase.
As Squirtle and Quil continued cautiously down the stone staircase, a musty smell met Squirtle's nostrils. The smell of damp, dark places beneath the surface where little to no airflow could occur. The light level decreased as they progressed, making Quil's colorful fire stand out all the more. Squirtle was suddenly aware of the sound of his breathing. It was quieter further down the staircase. He followed closely to Quil, anxious to reach the bottom. The Pokémon from the upper floor might even now be peering down the staircase.
The staircase ended with a quarter-turn to the right, placing the pair out of view from above. The bottom floor was similar in lay-out to the floor they'd come from. Cells were hollowed out of every wall along the corridor, which met another corridor perpendicularly at the far end. Unlike the upper floor, all of these cells were empty and unsealed, and nearly everything was composed of rock. Silent torches burned in intermittent sconces to provide irregular lighting. Some burned brighter than others, and a couple were completely out. The air was cool, the stone chilly beneath Squirtle's feet.
Squirtle and Quil tentatively walked away from the staircase. For once, Squirtle felt uncomfortable within the little glow of Quil's fire. He imagined the furtive shadows of locked-up Pokémon watching the light from the dark recesses of the cells. Every eye would be on Quil's glow as they walked. Squirtle turned and began to walk backwards, just in case.
Here, the atmosphere was very quiet. The small claws on Squirtle's six toes scraped the stone with the smallest of sounds that was nonetheless audible. Squirtle could hear the hiss of Quil's ordinarily nigh-imperceptible fire. A mechanized humming crescendoed then faded from somewhere far above. Movement.
"One of the Magnemite line, right? Could be a guard or a prisoner," whispered Quil. "Erm, never mind. Only guards can move around."
"Maybe we should stop here and hole up in one of these empty cells, Quil. We're out of the rain, and I doubt we'll be bothered down here during the night."
Quil faced him, and with his back's fire facing away, his face was shadowy. "Aw, are you sure?Exploring this place in secret is kind of exciting!"
I'm sure you'd be singing a different tune if there was a threat that required battling, thought Squirtle, but he said nothing. Instead, he simply shook his head and quick-stepped into the nearest cell, hoping Quil would follow. Thankfully, he did. They settled down in a corner of one of the cells close to the T-intersection of their corridor with another.
In an attempt to recover some of his dignity, Squirtle said, "Sunset's probably come and gone by now. Shall we get some sleep?"
"Mm, today's been quite a day, so I'm ready to..." he trailed off, and Squirtle could tell his attention was focused on something outside of the cell.
A sense of foreboding enclosed Squirtle's senses. He peered about for anything amiss in the dimness that was the bottom floor of the Prison. The uniformly dark corners and dim rock face made the quick scan easy. The glow of each torch was unequal in size and strength, but steady. Nothing was moving. Then Squirtle noticed the one thing that had attracted Quil's attention. One spot was moving.
Somewhere along the intersecting corridor, barely out of sight, some light source was flickering. The light it cast was not vanishing then reappearing, but constantly changing its exact brightness and shape. The glow was organic, not artificially designed to be steady like the other torches. The light source might simply have been a torch sputtering toward its end as the last of its fuel was consumed, except that the light it cast was strong and bright. Squirtle knew that torches grew dimmer and weaker until they died, not more powerful and expansive.
"Strange," whispered Quil. "Looks like the light from a campfire or a fireplace. Oh, maybe there's a little den where a guard left a fire going!"
Squirtle chose not to comment on the likelihood of that possibility, but could not deny that he too was curious to see the source of the glow. Considering that no alarms had been raised and no Pokémon had followed them down the staircase, it was safe to say that carefully snooping around a bit more would have no negative side-effects.
"Let's check it out."
Together, they crept to where their corridor ended and another began, stretching far to the left and right. Squirtle and Quil poked their heads around the right corner. More empty cells arrayed both walls. These cells were larger, likely intended for suitably larger Pokémon. The torches in this corridor were as untended as the previous ones, and again, all surfaces were natural rock.
The source of the aberrant light was clear. At ground level within one of the cells, a flame of yellow and red danced. The fire looked to be coming from a thick, smooth stick that trailed away into the darkness of the cell's rear. If it was a torch, it was a strange one. No torch handle was that thick, and it looked to have an abnormal color. Orange?
Quil kept moving toward the light, and this time Squirtle continued with no second thoughts. He wanted to get a closer look at the wavering flame.
"This doesn't make sense," whispered Quil, as they approached the entrance to the cell. "None of the other cells had torches in them."
Something in the cell stirred. Squirtle could hear a great bulk shifting around in the dark. With the motion, Squirtle could better see what exactly was on fire. It was the tail-tip of some massive Pokémon. The flame lifted off the ground a couple of feet, illuminating a shape that snaked out of the darkness. Upon a lengthy neck, the fanged snout of a Charizard emerged into the firelight. The Charizard's eyes slid open and fixed on Squirtle and Quil.