Chapter 21
Appeal
The skyscrapers of Castelia City. Looking up at them after stepping out of his parents' apartment building and onto the street. The windows kept so clean, so beautiful.
His mother, a scientist researching an esoteric branch of chemistry that most couldn't pronounce. Golden hair, focused eyes that could pierce to the heart of any problem. His father, a...mathematician of some variety. Statistics, maybe? Glasses, naturally, and a rare but heart-warming laugh. A hand guiding his back as he was taught how to bike near the harbors in southern Castelia. Advice at the dinner table on choosing a gift for a friend, with the aroma of peanut butter cookies in the air. A joyous childhood, but one that instilled principle.
A sister, as driven to succeed as he always was. Maybe more. Growing up, she attracted countless young men, but she was never content for long. Too smart for her own good, they taunted after their hearts were broken. He was proud of a sister who favored her work and her studies above all, as it pushed him forward too.
Memorable events in his early life. The annual dance competition at the Plaza in honor of a legendary dance team formed centuries ago. Learning to drive. Sight-seeing outside of the city for a weekend. The smell of the sea from his uncle's expensive boats. He could never remember the type of boat, since there were always so many that he learned that day.
Friends. Roger, the sickly kid who inadvertently taught him to perceive more than the obvious, to strive for insight in daily life. As introverted as they come. He was sure Roger would be a famous poet or writer one day. Edmond, a popular boy, from whom he soon grew apart. Edmond ending up starting a journey as a trainer. He politely wished Edmond luck like everyone else, but inwardly scorned Edmond's decision to trifle away his youth.
Brayden, everyone called him. That was his name. Brayden Lester. The two words felt like a favorite blanket that had been lost, then found unexpectedly years later. Missed, loved, inexplicably essential.
Understanding better the world he lived in, as he lived out his teens. Learning the positives in the world. Stringently protected parks and preserves in all the regions. Human freedom in most arenas, and strides in Pokémon rights. Technological might, as well as safety. Interconnectedness, global connectedness. Food surplus. A fairly idyllic world. Learning the negatives, too. Solar panels marring every roof. Immense power consumption. Impossibility of a rural lifestyle for anyone. Dead ends in the advancement of human medical care. Above all, overpopulation. Lack of space. Stalled urbanization, dwindling of progress.
A resultant dream of change. Exploring the possibilities of improving the world, of turning negatives into positives and improving life for all. Choosing scientific research, perhaps with a bit of a push from his mother. Setting out on his life's path.
Daisy, and their long talks of the ethics of Pokémon experimentation on Skyarrow Bridge. Discussions of the body and the soul, the brain and the mind. Sweet Daisy's thoughtful frown. Liz, a rival with an attitude. She couldn't stop him from earning a place in Castelia's neuroscience scene, not even after she'd charmed half the big-wigs.
Lectures, symposiums, projects without end. So many hours spent learning, then more hours when it was all over just to stay on the cutting edge. The brunt of his career beginning with small-time research. The developmental study on Ghost-type Pokémon sensation. Then some work on Pokémon grip strength, but most scholars agreed that there remained little of interest or profit to study in the physical capabilities of Pokémon. Consciousness becoming his passion, the pursuit that occupied months, then years of his life. Did consciousness arise from the brain's physicality, or its activity? Was consciousness something more? How did the configuration of cells in a brain determine a brainstate? A term his team had coined, and celebrated.
Yes, his team. The enthusiastic dedication he brought to the labs and offices. The glimmer of esteem in the eyes of his betters. Applying himself to producing publications for his research studies. His name's position on list of contributing authors moving up and up until one year, his name taking the first author position. The position of greatest contribution. And for good reason. Not long afterward, securing the prestige and authority to follow his own pursuits. There was no lack of neuroscientists who agreed with the direction he took in research. Another promising young man became a co-lead, but he couldn't remember his name. Their team was excellent, everything he'd hoped for.
A new publication under his name, one of his more recent memories. The title eluded him, but it broke barriers many thought were indestructible. Certainly any lay-person would believe them so. Something about a complete brain scan imprinted onto undifferentiated nervous progenitor cells, in order to accomplish some novel feat. What was it? The thesis had been memorable, too.
A new facility in their district of Castelia. The off-green ascetic was ugly, they all agreed. Function before beauty, they laughed. Holding tanks, preciously expensive servers and computers, rigorous safety protocols and training. Electroencephalography helmets with a mind-boggling sensitivity and resolution, courtesy of a manufacturing lab in Lumiose city. A facility to push scientific limits, and to open new avenues of neuroscience, psychology, biology, Pokéscience, politics. Even philosophy.
Hurdles, and easy stretches. Personnel leaving for one reason or another, and new hires. Experimental trials. Conferences. Many of these were blank spots in his mind, devoid of any detail. Some of the more recent ones, especially. Had he been drinking? No, he drank only infrequently. Drugged? Doubtful. Simply forgetful? Impossible.
One of the newest memories, a breakthrough. Feelings of disbelief. Happiness, mingled with disappointment. Betrayal? Rushing to the lab after...a phone call? A television broadcast? Arriving to find...others. Familiar faces in lab coats, but strangers too. Why? A crisis, a celebration? The newest memory was incomplete, like a photo album riddled with holes and tears. Their latest and most ambitious project had been reaching fruition, he recalled. What had happened?
The most recent memory. The last thing he could recall. A peculiarly stable and complete memory, albeit a simple one. His firm decision to become a Pokémon and step into a new frontier.
"I imagine it's overwhelming, isn't it?" said Ralia the Gardevoir across from him.
Squirtle's body jerked out of reflex. Exploring his memories in the silence of his mind, he'd forgotten the world around him. Ralia must have been patiently waiting for him to speak for a long time. Squirtle estimated he'd said nothing for the last ten minutes. Ralia's first question following her therapy had triggered his mind to think of his earliest memories, and he'd been following the connections ever since. The quantity of memories was staggering. Years and years of events, emotions, sights and sounds.
"I find it difficult making sense of all of them," Squirtle said after clearing his throat. "There's no labeled timeline in my head to follow along, nor are the memories sorted by importance."
"I can understand that. Memory is not immutable. It's flexible, and organic. Anyone can be tricked into remembering something that never even happened, just as they can repeatedly brand a true memory as a dream or a lie until they believe it to be true. And I'm sure you won't recall many of your memories even now until you find yourself in a context where they can be triggered."
Yes, I know all that, Squirtle felt like saying. I was a researcher at the fore of neuroscience, after all. But that claim would mean nothing to Ralia.
She must have seen an irritated or rueful expression cross his face, because she said, "I only say this to warn of the dangers following a memory-related therapy. Please, do not place your full trust in your memory. Now, or ever."
"Since we're on the subject, how come my memories are incomplete? I find blanks more frequently closer to the present, but shouldn't it be the reverse?" he asked.
She started combing her green hair with a hand as she replied, "Yes, I'm not sure about that. I...think that your memories were already that way before the therapy. As you said, there are total gaps in your memory, especially later on in your life. While I believe I fully repaired the retrieval of all of your other memories, there is nothing to be done about those gaps. It's as if those memories aren't in your mind at all. I could not find them."
Interesting. And not in a good way. "Do you have any idea what happened to them?"
Her bangs wobbled side to side as she shook her head. "Whatever happened to you that made you lose your memories is probably also responsible for the gaps."
"You mean, you couldn't see for yourself?"
A small smile. "Experiencing your memories for myself was not necessary for the treatment, and would not be befitting of a Psychic therapist anyway."
He ached to ply her with questions of how exactly she manipulated the brain or the mind in order to perform her 'Psychic therapy', but he knew that she would be unable to put it in the terms he wanted. Pokémon were not scientists, with their education, research, and explanations. They did the things they did without higher order thought or complete understanding of what they were doing. His thoughts turned to his own ability to blast water out of his mouth from some storage by an unknown bodily process. Squirtle was no expert in fluid mechanics, but his Water-type abilities wouldn't suffer. Psychics must be the same way.
He looked up at the Gardevoir, trying to generate more questions, but found he had nothing left to ask that she would be able to answer. Now all he wanted was some solitude to sort through his memories further.
"Thank you very much, Ralia, for what you've done for me. I hope the process was informative and helpful for you, in turn."
"It was, absolutely. The memories you have were, to speak crudely of a beautiful subject, scattered as if by a Shiftry's hurricane. I'm glad the damage was a simple matter to reverse, such that I was able to help."
More food for thought. He let a smile onto his face, and said, "I won't be in Cavetown for long, but maybe I'll see you around. Good luck with your training under Wolos."
Ralia looked gracious and professional in her final words and departure, but Squirtle imagined there was a layer of bright triumph beneath the exterior. "I'll leave this quiet area to you. Goodbye."
After the Gardevoir glided away toward the crowd at the commons' entrance, Squirtle prepared himself for some serious thought. Regaining most of his memory was a huge development. He needed to consolidate all that he knew, and reevaluate his priorities and goals.
Ever since that first night in Karprest, he'd been more or less following his two step plan. If memory served, and now it served more than ever, his first step was to remember who he was and what had happened to him. His second and final step was to use that information to create new goals. Now he could remember who he was, thus accomplishing half of his first step. He was Brayden Lester. A young scientist working out of Castelia City. The next part, remembering what happened to him, remained to be clarified.
No matter how he pried at them, the gaps in his memory leading up to that final decision to become a Pokémon remained present. He could not recall what had transpired to bring about his transformation into a Squirtle. The most obvious answer was that something at the laboratory facility had caused it. Yet as best as he could remember, there was nothing at the facility that was capable of transforming a human into a Pokémon. He ran down a mental list of coworkers and current research projects at Castelia, but found nothing related to such a transformation.
The circumstances of the transformation, too, were unusual. If he had decided to become a Pokémon, he would have done so after plenty of preparation and team discussion, and in a highly controlled test environment. The scientific method in full would have been employed. His memories indicated that that day was one of a kind, for some reason or another. There had been a critical situation, or a major new advancement while he wasn't on site. What had happened that could possibly have pushed him to become a Pokémon? How was the process feasible? His team had been working on nervous tissue arrangement and brainstates, not radical human-to-Pokémon transformations.
Furthermore, when he'd been transformed, wouldn't he have stayed in the same place? Why did he awaken alone under a tree in some forest? That sounded like teleportation, a concept he most certainly had not been involved in. What had displaced him, and where was he, really? He'd already ascertained that he was on the same planet, due to the preservation of constants such as day length, constellations, and the various Pokémon species.
The fact that Quil had not even heard the word 'human' before Squirtle had mentioned it meant that humans did not live in the area. He took to pacing as he visualized a complete map of his world. Unoccupied stretches of land were nearly non-existent due to a mostly unimpeded human growth rate, hence overpopulation and its daughter issues being some of the greatest problems facing humanity. However, he could think of at least twenty natural reserves protected by law from human habitation or influence. Some were under a mile at the widest, but others were bigger than Unova. Squirtle supposed that in the heart of the biggest of said reserves, the Pokémon would not have heard of humans.
Alternatively, a more outlandish phenomenon was at work. Maybe he'd been thrown into the far future or distant past, where humans were gone for whatever reason. Maybe, as Quil had proposed, all the memories he'd been reviewing were a false tale created by a nefarious Psychic-type. Or, he was still a human in his lab, but Quil and Cavetown and everything he'd seen and done was an intricate simulation or dream concocted for research purposes.
He could invent explanations and try to fill in his memory gaps all day, but the data was insufficient and would remain that way. He had to proceed to Step Two: use his available information to create new goals. Unfortunately the new available information he had was nigh on useless. Almost none of the memories of his previous life were relevant to his current life. What did it matter that he remembered liking vanilla ice cream or that he could explain how the occipital cortex interpreted visual stimuli? He was a Squirtle in a Pokémon-populated cave system!
Therefore, his best course of action should remain the same. Learn why he chose to become a Pokémon, and move forward from there. A fine goal, except that achieving it appeared impossible. Squirtle had thought the only clues to his past lay within his own mind, but extracting those clues had been completed to no avail. The memories were gone, probably forever. Ralia said they weren't in his mind at all. There was no one who could help him with this. He was alone with his problem. If he could not reason out the answer, it would never be found.
He grumbled to himself and slumped to the ground. What to do, what to do? Why did he choose this? To what end? How was it even possible?
His mind remained as dark as the depths of the ceiling above the stalactites. His gaze lazily followed one down to where its tip was poised above one of the pools, the same one he'd almost jumped into. He narrowed his eyes in consideration.
Eh, a change of scenery might be what I need.
A brief stroll brought him back to the edge of the beautiful cyan waters. This time the Floatzel, who was still floating tranquilly on its back, greeted him casually: "Water's nice." His voice sounded relaxed beyond measure. Squirtle returned a friendly smile, and wasted no time in slipping into the water tail-first.
As was to be expected of an ancient pool deep in a cavern, the water was cold. Squirtle loved it. He exhaled about a third of his air to allow his body to sink. With his eyes half-lidded, he drifted toward the bottom. About twenty feet down, the glowing aquatic fungi on the walls grew scarce. The rocky bottom was only barely lit. As a human, he'd no doubt have been frightened, but as a Pokémon meant for water, he cherished the tranquil environment.
A Poliwag turned out to be sharing the depths with him, and they exchanged a brief greeting. The airless manner of underwater speech came back to Squirtle easily. As the Poliwag spiraled toward the surface, Squirtle let his shell-back clink against the bottom of the pool. He could still see the stalactite far above, as well as the Floatzel's back with its two cream-colored spots.
Squirtle lay there, drinking in the calm. Holding his breath was easier than blinking an eye. On a sudden whim, he flared his tiny nostrils as wide as they would open, which was hardly wide at all. The motion was enough to draw water inside, and he detected a few sharp scents. An odd plant-like smell, the fungus. A pair of Pokémon smells, unique and indescribable. A salty tang spread throughout the pool, presumably from the dissolved minerals and sediment. There were other scents too, but each was old and faded. Previous occupants of the pool, probably.
To test his new-found aquatic smell's proficiency, he closed his eyes and propelled himself forward with his tail. While allowing the water to waft through his nostrils, he aimed himself toward the freshest scent of one of the Pokémon. When the strength of the scent diminished, he turned his head about until he was on track toward the source once more. The scent grew stronger and stronger, along with Squirtle's excitement. When it grew overwhelmingly strong, he opened his eyes to see the Poliwag eying him cautiously from five feet away.
"Sorry. Practicing my, er, smelling," he said. After a pause, the Poliwag swam away without a word.
I'm like an underwater Poochyena. Not a useful talent for battling, but what a thrill!
Sinking once more, he returned his thoughts to formulating a plan for himself. His thoughts were clear and discrete, as they always were when he was in his element. What had happened to him that day? Why did he choose to become a Pokémon, and how could he have possibly ended up here? What was he missing? Was he being tricked? Was this reality? The questions drifted through his mind. He examined each, tried his best to answer it, then moved on. For ten minutes, he lay at the bottom thinking.
Why and how this had happened to him, he still couldn't say, but the sense of purpose contained in that newest memory was brilliant as the sunrise. He chose this. This life was his intention when he chose to be transformed. An intention he'd had before his memories were taken from him. An intention he'd had while he was a complete person with a complete history standing behind him. What he was, was what he'd wanted for himself. It shouldn't matter to him what the reason had been, in light of those facts. He had to trust his past self. Not trusting himself would be folly.
As for what he should be doing, trying to learn more about why he'd chosen to become a Pokémon seemed to be an impossible task. Therefore he had to assume that waking up spatially and temporally at the worst of the lightning storm was no coincidence. That connection was all he had. If Squirtle had woken up next to a broken vase, he should mend the vase.
Something was very wrong in these lands, so it followed that he needed to do his best to fix it. Even if he was only a Squirtle.
He kicked off the bottom, then withdrew his arms and legs to streamline his body. His tail waved vigorously side to side. With a cascade of droplets, he launched out onto the poolside. Once the pool had calmed, he gazed into the waters at the edge. A typical Squirtle's face looked back at him. Violet eyes. Hooked upper lip. Smooth and shiny skin still glistening with water droplets lit from the cyan waters below.
This is me, now. This is what I wanted. Now that I'm more familiar with this Pokémon body, mind, and lifestyle, I can't say I'm displeased with my past choice. But enough thinking. He scanned the commons for flames.
There's work to be done.
Squirtle found the Cyndaquil and Quilava panting as they rested against one of the large fallen stalactites from the ceiling, Quil panting more so. A light coat of gray rock dust adhered to their limbs and bellies, so Squirtle knew they'd been moving around, maybe battling.
"Hi Squirtle!" chirped Quil. Cyndil the Quilava raised his chin in greeting.
"Hey you two. Quil, I wanted to talk about our plan. Are you busy?"
Quil's cheerfulness vanished. He expressed his thanks to Cyndil, who said, "No problem. You're tougher than you look. For a Cyndaquil," he finished with a playful laugh. Quil said his goodbyes before heading off with Squirtle to a deserted area.
"I bumped into a Psychic-type, a Gardevoir actually. She fixed my memories, or rather, what memories were still there."
Quil's reaction was exultant surprise. Once his joy on Squirtle's behalf had subsided, he began to ask questions, one after the other. Squirtle relayed the gist of his conversation and 'treatment' with Ralia, and Quil listened with fascinated attention. At first, Squirtle left out the actual details of his recovered memories, but Quil insisted on hearing about humans. The Cyndaquil could not seem to wrap his head around the idea of a laboratory facility, even after Squirtle's third attempt at explanation. He guessed he was a poor teacher, and he did recall never being any good at teaching his scientifically-ignorant friends and acquaintances about the work he did. "You're a doer, not a teacher," they would say as he struggled for words.
"But you still don't know what happened at the end. Krow's luck," Quil commented once he'd finished. "Did you remember your name at least?"
"Yes, I was called Brayden." Squirtle found the name didn't fit the atmosphere when he spoke it into the air. Like an old-fashioned name such as Theodore or Sally being applied in the modern day, the name Brayden did not sound right in Cavetown.
"Brayden," Quil repeated. "Brayden, Brayden. Hm. Alright, I'll call you by your real name now."
"No, that name is...I shouldn't be called that." What was he saying? Brayden was his name, no doubt about it. What was this reluctance he felt?
"Huh?" Quil's head tilted. "Do you remember, a minute after I met you, how you went as crazy as an Aipom when you couldn't remember your name?"
"I know, I remember. That name though, it..." He struggled to put his feelings into words. "It's not a name for a Squirtle. It doesn't belong on someone who lives how we live, who does what we're doing. It's a human name meant for a different place. A different lifestyle, culture, whatever you want to call it. A different world."
"I didn't want to say anything, but it's a weird name, for a 'mon." He chuckled in classic Quil fashion. "I think I see what you mean. You still don't have a nickname though, so what are you going to do if you don't like Brayden anymore?"
Squirtle crossed his short arms as best as he could in a gesture of thoughtfulness. "Good point. I don't think renaming myself feels right either. The only option left is to keep moving forward without a nickname. Squirtle I was, and Squirtle I'll be. That's reasonable, isn't it?"
"Sure is, not-Brayden!"
Squirtle snorted out his nostrils softly in laughter, but his mirth died as he watched Quil grow serious once again.
"You have almost all of your memories back now, but you still don't know how you ended up here as a Squirtle. So what are you going to do? How do you feel now about the plan we made after Blindhollow?"
"I have no choice but to operate under an assumption that the reason I'm here is to correct the chaos caused by the Electric boost. Because of that, I'm actually more resolved than ever that we should be dethroning Raizula one way or another."
Quil threw up his forelimbs in a cheer. "So we're still together on this, fantastic! I gave it plenty of thought myself, but especially after seeing all the refugees here-" His words faltered for a moment. Squirtle saw his flames behave in a novel way: the blaze died down, but bristled in a quivering motion.
He lifted his snout, appearing to look directly at Squirtle. "I'm ready for what comes next. I hope we're successful."
Up close, the glowing mushrooms were like alien lifeforms. The gills on the underside gave Squirtle the creepy-crawlies. The stalks made a squishy sound when compressed that reminded him of a soapy sponge being squeezed. The surface of the mushrooms gave way when prodded, but always sprang back. The mushrooms would surely bear the weight of two small Pokémon like Quil and Squirtle. The largest mushroom in the cluster was five times their height, even if the stalk wasn't especially sturdy.
"You're asking me to shout so that everyone can hear me. That is literally the reverse of how I normally talk." Quil shook his head at the absurdity of the idea.
Squirtle patted his friend's side encouragingly. "Once you start, they'll quiet down. You know that."
"Sure, but why can't you do this again? I told you a couple of days ago that you'd have to attack first, remember?"
Squirtle cringed at Quil's nervous irritation. What they were doing would be difficult enough. He didn't need the added stress of guilt. "We both know I don't sound like a 'native' Pokémon, even if I have been improving. The Pokémon here won't sympathize as much with me, because I don't know the lingo, the expressions and jargon that everyone else knows. Also," as he raised a finger for emphasis, "I think you'd be better at speaking from the heart. I'm more...aloof and analytical, don't you think?"
"Yeah, usually you are. Me, though," he began, then shrunk down into himself. "Me, though?"
Squirtle thought back to the times in his research teams when he needed to act as a leader. To make a decision for the group, or to bring everyone onto the same page. At none of those times had he needed to give a pep talk to inspire his team. He only worked with scientists who had an ample supply of personal drive. Squirtle didn't lead by emotion, anyway, so he had no practice at what he was about to attempt. Better to try and fail than not try at all.
"Quil, listen. You learned a new move from a powerful Quilava not half an hour ago. You were smacked off a cliff by a living boulder without a single complaint afterward. You spoke face to face with a psychotic Charizard alleged to have destroyed towns." He flipped back rapidly through his memories to come up with more praise, and cut off Quil's meager objections with a new sentence every time the Cyndaquil spoke.
"You worked steadily on your Fire technique despite believing it to be worse than terrible. You made it across the Karp river as a pure Fire-type, even under duress by hostile Pokémon at the beginning. You've been Paralyzed and electrocuted by Electric-types, yet here you are ready to take a public stand against them." Squirtle shivered at the memory of Stolt's assault, but he kept going.
"You left home into the big, wide world with nothing but some memorized instructions in your head. And, you set a clueless Squirtle spinning on his shell in the middle of a horrendous thunderstorm, but still insisted on getting him out safely. Which you did, might I add."
Quil smiled at the last one. Squirtle finished up his motivational speech with the kicker. "Tell me if this sounds crazy, but I think you have it in you to say a few words in front of a crowd."
Hm, not bad. I'd be inspired. But I doubt I'd be able to make a speech to all of these Pokémon, even with a list of my heroic deeds fresh in mind. Squirtle put on a confident face, for Quil's sake.
"Alright," Quil said soundly. "When you put it that way, I'd be silly to not try."
"Excellent! Remember the points you have to hit, and we'll be saving Blindhollow in no time. You have this, Quil!" Confident face, confident face. Please work, please work!
Quil leaped high up onto the largest mushroom, placing him at a height visible to all of the Pokémon surrounding the entrance to the commons. By Squirtle's estimate, at least ninety percent of the Pokémon in the entire cavern would be able to see him. Immediately Quil spoke up, probably to not lose heart, and in a voice louder than he typically used.
"Listen, please, everyone listen to me for a minute! Hello?"
The nearby Pokémon stopped what they were doing and turned to look at who was talking. No one farther than twenty feet away seemed to notice. The frenetic activity of the commons continued. Squirtle doubted the ones who noticed Quil would listen for very long.
"Louder, Quil!" he called upward.
Quil's worried expression told Squirtle that he could see for himself that his plea was largely unheard. His downcast face became a grimace of frustration, and without warning, Quil pointed his snout at the dark ceiling and exhaled a flurry of bright embers into the open air. The darkness receded momentarily, and the nearby stalactites were cast with a beautiful orange color. A pair of Pidgey swerved out of the way with peeps of indignation.
"Everyone, stop for a moment and listen to me!" An even stronger voice. Squirtle was taken aback. Quil really did have a louder voice. Not loud, but louder.
This time, Quil had the attention of the majority. Those who did not notice Quil's voice and display quickly noticed the reaction of everyone else and followed suit. The huge cavern quieted. Quil visibly quailed at the sudden rapt attention directed to him. Fortunately he seized the moment and began his speech.
"Hello, thank you. My partner Squirtle and I are travelers. In the last week, we've been to Karprest, Blindhollow, and all of the lands between. It's obvious to everyone now what is going on. Zappers are really, really powerful for some reason. We saw the horrible results of the imbalance in multiple forms during our travels, and we're outraged."
Now Quil had captured the crowd's attention. Squirtle saw a few Pokémon snarling, growling, or verbally agreeing with Quil's words. Others quieted their vociferous neighbors to hear Quil's words, which weren't very loud despite being a record high for the Cyndaquil. Quil pressed on with a greater measure of confidence in his posture.
"We've seen how so many 'mon have retreated to Cavetown in the face of these wicked Electrics, and we know some of you are as angry as we are. That's why I'm asking you now to help by joining us. Our first move is taking back Blindhollow, which will-"
The cavern echoed with a wide variety of Pokémon laughter. A Feraligatr's booming guffaws alone were enough to drown any syllable of Quil's. It was as if Quil had delivered a grand joke that appealed to all the types of Pokémon in the cavern. Squirtle felt warmth rise to his face and knew Quil was hating his existence at the moment. If this issue wasn't nipped in the bud, their strategy was done for.
"The refugees in the grass cave, Quil, think of them! Don't give up!" Quil's lips quivered, and his fire withered slightly, but he did not step down. Squirtle wondered if Quil heard his words. Once the laughter had quieted, Quil spoke up once again.
"Please, listen. I'm sure news travels fast in Cavetown, so I don't have to explain what's happening in Blindhollow. I bet similar injustices are happening where most of you are from. We have a common purpose, and we've all learned not to surrender when we can still fight. Join us, and let's stop it together!"
"What can you do against an Ampharos, Cyndaquil?" shouted a Prinplup from near the entrance tunnel. "Leer at it, and hope a stray spark doesn't land on you?"
The comment earned a round of mocking chuckles from the crowd. Another Pokémon spoke out against Quil, a Monferno casually gripping the rocky wall ten feet off the ground. "Hee, gonna teach all the Zappers a lesson with your Wet friend? Hee hee!"
Squirtle was on top of the mushroom at Quil's side before he could remember that responding emotionally to criticism would only validate the critic. "At least we're trying to help, which is much more than any of you can say!" he shouted in the Monferno's direction, and smirked at the way the Pokémon broke eye contact with Squirtle.
"We've faced Zappers twice," Quil added. "One of those times, the Zapper lost the battle! Standing against them is far from impossible!"
A bit of a stretch, but his point is spot on, thought Squirtle as he recalled the Electrike lying still on the ground. He was pleased to see that only a smattering of laughter followed Quil's claim. The Pokémon in the commons may have heard the ring of truth in Quil's voice, and anyone could see the honesty in his personality. Sadly, Squirtle saw many Pokémon returning to what they had been doing as they lost interest. Quil's credibility had been stained by the comments of the Prinplup and Monferno. Even those who appreciated the wisdom and truth in his words would think their goal an impossible task, thanks to the naysayers.
Squirtle knew by the defeated set of Quil's face that his friend lacked the strength to say anything further. He wanted to blast a Water Gun at something to vent his frustration. The speech strategy had been a failure. He looked for the next mushroom in the cluster to help him clamber down and out of sight.
"I'll join you," called a familiar voice. Squirtle and Quil jerked upright to follow the voice. So did just about every head in the commons that heard the announcement.
"So will I!" another recognizable voice added. The two speakers were a Zebstrika and a Seviper emerging from a cranny in one of the cavern's walls. Hayzin and Viper of Blindhollow, from whom Squirtle recalled hearing a warning not to travel to the town, a few days prior.
As they moved steadily toward Squirtle and Quil's cluster of mushrooms, the Pokémon in their path stepped aside to make way. That didn't stop them from sneering, jeering, or otherwise displaying their hostility at the Electric-type. However, none made overt attacks against the Zebstrika. Whether due to civility or fear of retaliation, Squirtle wasn't sure. The Seviper glared and hissed at the most threatening Pokémon lining the makeshift pathway, as if protecting the Zebstrika. As if he needed any protection. Squirtle knew the pattern on his hide resembling lightning bolts was sufficient to deter most if not all Pokémon in the cavern.
The pair made it safely to the mushroom cluster. Hayzin stamped a hoof and turned to face the assemblage. Viper made a coil of herself and looked outward as well. Squirtle refrained from jumping for joy in front of the crowd, but Quil was not so reserved. He thankfully only jumped once, and not very high.
"Anyone else ready to take back Blindhollow? This is happening. Be a part of it!" Quil called out to the Pokémon of the commons.
Squirtle could see a variety of reactions to Viper, and more importantly, Hayzin joining their group. Anger. Consideration. Disgust. Hope. Seeing those strong emotions, all directed at his group and the effort they represented, he experienced a revelation. Quil was correct. This was happening. The future for many of these Pokémon depended on the outcome of their endeavor. They could become a group of trusted and celebrated individuals, or one that was spurned and made into the laughing stock of Cavetown.
The hopes and dreams of hundreds of Pokémon rode on their backs. If that was not responsibility, Squirtle didn't know what was. Suddenly nauseous, Squirtle quickly descended the mushrooms to the floor. Down on the solid ground, he felt a little better, but he did not allow himself to show any further weakness before the crowd. The crowd was looking to him and those beside him for positive results. Now he was a meaningless Squirtle no longer. His importance had just skyrocketed. The nausea lingered.
Quil would have to continue the speech alone on the big mushroom. Although, it appeared that the time for useful speech-making had passed. Even when Quil restated their purpose, his voice bolstered by the two additions below him, no one else stepped forward. For reasons Squirtle could not divine with certainty, no one else joined them. Was it a desire to avoid associating with an Electric-type? A fear, or revulsion? Or were the Pokémon still unconvinced that they could make a difference, the mocking laughter still in their ears? Or some other reason he'd missed?
One by one, or in pairs and small groups, the Cavetown residents and refugees in the commons returned to what they were doing. Maybe some of them would join up in a more private climate once no one would be judging them for it. Maybe word would spread of this speech, and others in Cavetown would find Quil to join. But Squirtle had little hope. Still he was pleased they had two takers, despite the unexpected queasiness he felt at the realization of immense responsibility. One of them was an evolution, and an Electric one at that!
"Thanks for your time," said Quil to those few still listening, with his voice returned to his regular loudness. The noise in the commons returned to its normal, boisterous level. Quil hopped down, and Squirtle whispered to him as the Zebstrika and Seviper approached for a discussion.
"Fantastic job." In response, Quil gave a bashful grin, and some muttered words that Squirtle could not catch.
The four Pokémon regarded each other in a circle. Squirtle's nausea gave a twinge as the positioning reminded him of a team huddle at a sporting competition. If this was the team, he was the captain. The prospect of leading them was especially daunting, if Squirtle was being honest with himself, because the Zebstrika and Seviper were intimidating Pokémon. Both towered over him and could certainly take him out in a fight with low effort.
Hayzin and Viper looked to Quil, who in turn looked to Squirtle. He mustered his face into an expression of solemn wisdom.
"Thank you, Hayzin, Viper, for choosing to join us, even while under so much scrutiny. You won't regret your decision."
Hayzin nodded his acknowledgment, but Viper spoke up excitedly. "You can bet your shell we won't! Let's mosey into Blindhollow and take that Raizula out of there! Beat up any other crazy Zappers we see, too."
Hayzin looked curiously for Squirtle's reaction, perhaps gauging how he felt about that approach. Squirtle hesitated in replying. What would a tactful, yet firm leader say?
"While that is an option, I was planning on having a strategic discussion en route to Blindhollow. I think we should hold off on committing to a strategy until we've talked it over. Is that fair?"
The Seviper pulled her head up and back quite a distance in response, but Squirtle wasn't sure if that was due to a strong rejection of his words, or because her terrifically flexible body resulted in naturally large movements. She was so animated, even during a simple conversation.
"A strategic discussion, eh? Sure, sure, that's smart, I like it," said Viper.
"Do you two know anyone else who might want to come?" asked Quil tentatively. "Weren't there more of you coming from Blindhollow?"
Squirtle recalled the group they'd passed in Blind Prairie: a Seviper, Zebstrika, Bellossom, Rapidash, Taillow, and two Ponyta. He remembered that the Rapidash and two Ponyta were part of Hayzin's family. Surely the Rapidash would want to help.
Hayzin lightly kicked some loose rock shards with a hoof. "Doddi and Willow will wish to remain safe in Cavetown, I've no doubt. We traveled with them for safety and speed of travel, not any deep association. I have asked my mate and young Dashar and Rappard to stay too. I could not stay here while others endeavor to reclaim my home, but I could also not bear to put my family in such danger."
With a coughing hiss, Seviper added, "You forgot to mention the reason you're really leaving Cavetown. Not the friendliest place for Zappers is it?"
For a split second, Squirtle feared that the jibe would set Hayzin's mane crackling with electricity, but he only stamped a hoof irritably. "My intentions are charitable, Viper, not selfish."
"Fair enough," Squirtle continued. "It's probably night-time outside, right? How about we all get some sleep and reconvene by Cavetown's main entrance tomorrow morning? That gives some time for word to spread and stragglers to possibly join us, and we'll be fresh for a strong start."
The two newcomers had no objections, and departed together toward the entrance to the commons. This time, the attention of the surrounding Pokémon was not on Hayzin, so he progressed with little harassment.
"Glad that's over with," said Quil, sagging to the floor. "All this shouting, talking, commotion, it takes a lot of energy. Especially when there's a Zapper three feet away from you."
"True," Squirtle agreed. "Now he's definitely on our side, which gives us a major advantage for once. We've got Viper's, uh, formidable personality going for us too."
"Wanna take your advice and sleep until morning?"
"Fine by me. But where?"
The pair followed after Hayzin and Viper, and Squirtle found that the commons had thinned out some since they'd entered. He had no idea how the Pokémon living in Cavetown in the long term determined what time it was, or if they lived by their body clocks for mealtimes and sleeping. Personally, he'd prefer to have an outside indicator to rely upon. After enduring some wry smiles and Pokémon talking behind their backs as they passed, Squirtle and Quil exited the commons. From there, they decided to check out the Habitation Caverns from earlier that day.
With no superior alternative, Squirtle elected to accompany Quil to the room occupied by the grassland Pokémon he was familiar with. Besides the Pokémon they saw earlier, the cave was now inhabited further by a Jigglypuff, a large swarm of Rattata, and Doddi the Bellossom. The mood was hushed and melancholy. Squirtle felt he ought to make an announcement about their plans to set out to take back Blindhollow in the morning, but the cave's sense of defeat drained any ounce of exuberance Squirtle had. Any announcement would be hollow.
Quil would not be up to it either, since he curled up next to a bare wall once they'd all shared a basic greeting. He looked beat. There was insufficient grass to go around, so it looked like it was going to be another night of rest on cold rock, like in the Prison of Blindhollow. Squirtle was not quite ready to sleep for the night, so he told Quil he was going to walk around and maybe check on the progress of that digging team.
Once he stepped into the empty corridor, a shrill male voice spoke to him.
"Hiya Squirtle, how're you doing today?"
It was funny, but there was now a small Pokémon floating in the air of the corridor. Squirtle had thought he would have seen anyone in the corridor with his peripheral vision, and the corridor had looked entirely empty. Plus, the Pokémon stood out visually from the background, as its creamy white fur the color of Quil's underside contrasted the black rock of Cavetown. He chalked up the blunder to his preoccupation with the events of the day.
The Pokémon was a little smaller than him. He had two wing-like tails the same creamy color as most of his body, with three tiny orange fingers on each hand and two equally tiny orange toes on each foot. His eyes were unique in that they were entirely blue, with white pupils that looked like the sun amid clear skies. The friendly smile he flashed at Squirtle showed two tiny fangs, though this Pokémon looked even more innocent than the Jigglypuff from the cave behind Squirtle.
By far the most distinctive features of the Pokémon were his huge pointed ears, which appeared to form a crest atop his head. The vivid orange color of the crest took the distinctive shape of a 'V'.