Samarra is a prisoner of the Children of the Oracles. And as such, she will meet their leader, Alexander Shaw- and so will we, for the first time, not counting anything like flashbacks or the like. What sort of man is he? And what does he want with our Samarra? I suppose we'll have to find out, time for a very interesting confrontation!

KedharS: Yeah, sadly Samarra is in a bit of a tragic situation. But then, she sort of brought it on herself, so…

Bad Writer: Yeah, that was back when I was still going back and forth on how to address the Eight Leaders and their positions. Hadn't quite worked everything out yet, so I occasionally slipped and referred to them as if counting backwards instead of forwards.

Guest: Yeah, we won't be going back JUST yet because we still have to wrap up all the loose ends, but we'll definitely be heading home soon. We've got a lot to deal with, after all.

Hyphenman: Yeah, Katrina is a sweetheart, but she's also really dumb. Even though her IQ is in the double digits. I wonder if she even knows they can go over 100!

Pokemon Academy: Beginning of Beginnings

Chapter 1238

Samarra looked at her fingers, wrapped up in the silk gloves. She was surprised by how soft they felt. Due to her abilities, she hadn't worn anything to cover her hands in years; certainly if she had been given the choice, she would have declined. But that choice had been taken from her. If she wanted to leave this cell, then she would have to give up such a fundamental part of her existence- no matter how she thought about it, there was no way around that fact.

She tried to pull them off. Just to experiment. As she expected, it was pointless. The cuffs ran against her elbows and refused to come down. Even if she were to dislocate the joint, the doubted that she'd be able to get it over the curve of her femur. There was no point. These gloves wouldn't come off unless she used the key to unshackle them.

I need to use my head, she told herself. I can't rely on my harmonia to turn these simpletons to my will. If I can't make a connection with them… then I'll simply outthink them and steer their agenda to suit my own.

This dinner was the perfect opportunity to ingratiate herself to the other people in this group. What were they called again? She searched Ayame's fractured memories for a name. Ah, the Children of the Oracles. That's quite a curious title for an organization. What could it mean, I wonder…? …Well, in the end it doesn't matter. I'll play their captive until I can free myself from this cage, and when I do… we will all share a connection.

That was the thought that went into Samarra finally putting on those gloves. The silk against her fingertips almost made her forget how caged she was.

"Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage." It was a famous line from the poem "To Althea: From Prison" by Richard Lovelace, and one that spoke to Samarra at her core. The idea behind the piece was that a person's body could not truly be imprisoned should their spirit and heart remain free; a rather ironic line of thought.

Even if Samarra was free to walk these halls… no, truly, even if she could remove these gloves that bound her hands, she was still a prisoner in her own body. Trapped in this thin spit of flesh called a "body".

…I have these gloves on now… so I suppose it's time for dinner?

It was neither Katrina nor Flora who came to escort Samarra from her cell. Nor was it anyone else she recognized. It was a small girl with stringy white hair, even younger than her sister. Like Gwen, she didn't say anything, she didn't even look Samarra's way. But the feeling Samarra got from her harmonia told her that the girl was on her guard.

The white-haired girl led Samarra down long stone corridors, and Samarra began to suspect that she had been in a true dungeon after all; one inside an authentic castle. If this wasn't an actual castle then it was a marvelous replica of one; Samarra had never seen a real castle with her own eyes, of course, but she had grown up in considerable wealth, and knew how to spot it, even when the walls of the hallway were bare. Of the many books she'd read in her father's library, there were several on humidity, mold, age and wear, things that could be used to judge her environment. She touched her finger against one of the bricks, and was surprised that it came back wet. It was rather damp in here. She sniffed the air and strained her ears, trying to hear more than just her footsteps. By her estimation, looking at the condition of the brick and stone, this castle was over 2000 years old; not something easily afforded even by a group of means.

They rounded a corner and Samarra paused. It was the first window she'd come upon. She glanced at it out of the corner of her eye as they passed. No bars or impediments of any sort, and wide enough to fit through if she tried; but all she could see on the other end was the blackness of the night sky and the twinkle of stars.

So that's it…

With a small smile in her mind that didn't reach her lips, she picked up the pace to catch up to the small girl, who led her down a few more turns before reaching a heavy oak door.

"Is this the dining hall then?" Samarra asked, setting her hand on the door. It felt strange, feeling wood against silk.

"…No," the girl shook her head. "This is the wardrobe. And the boutique. Shaw said you needed, um... some... grooming?" It was clearly a word the young girl didn't know very well.

Samarra raised her eyebrow. Fascinating.

A massive hearth burned in the castle's dining hall. Once upon a time, it could have been that this room would seat a thousand men or more, from the looks of things. The ceilings were high, the walls were wide, and long tables seating countless chairs stretched across the rug-covered floor. It was truly a majestic sight, and had been perfectly maintained, as if a grand feast was being anticipated. The fires in the hearth were stoked, and large chandeliers hung overhead, filling the room with a soft crystal light that was a beacon of the modern era; though this place may look like a castle from the ancient days, there was still electricity.

And even though this room could have seated an army, at this point in time only one table was prepared for guests. Far smaller than the others that flanked it in the room, this table could seat maybe two dozen at the most, and it wasn't set for that many, either. Only two placements had been set, one at the end of the table, and another on the far side, across from it- where a man sat in quiet anticipation.

He was an older man, though how old it was impossible to say. His brown hair stubbornly fought against the stains of grey creeping up his temples, and his friendly smile was hardly touched by the faintest lines of age. You could think he was in his thirties, or even younger, but the gleam in his eye made it clear that he'd lived a long and wise life. He wore a white suit that made his large figure seem oddly gentle and approachable.

This was the man known as Alexander Shaw. He took a sip from glass in front of him, carrying a wine of such a deep red it was almost like liquid night. The rolls at the center of the table went untouched; he would not eat until his guest arrived.

Flora stepped into the room, dressed as a maid. She had a gentleness about her that made such a position seem like a perfect fit. Standing beside her was another blonde, a man in a tuxedo, though his hair was dyed over brown, as judging by the roots that peaked out through the gold. Kyrese was dressed as a butler.

"She's hear, sir," Flora said.

"Quite stunning, if I must say," Kyrese added. Flora gave him a look and he shrugged. The two old friends each took one of the doorknobs and opened the wide double doors of the dining hall to allow Shaw's guest for the evening to enter.

"Ah. I see you found the dress I left for you, then," the man said. His voice was soft and gentle like a grandfather, though Samarra had never met hers. She raised her eyebrow.

"I fail to understand the necessity of this," she said, placing a hand on her hip and cocking her leg to the side to put herself on display.

Samarra's mother was known as one of the most beautiful women in the Sinnoh Region. And even though she'd spent the better part of a decade locked in a cell, Samarra still looked rather lovely. Her brown hair, which had dangled down nearly to the floor from a lack of grooming, had been cut short, its natural curls bouncing just above her neck.

As if mocking the gloves she was bound in, Samarra's dress was made of the same silky black material. Her shoulders and back were bare, with the bodice coming up to gently cup the generous swell of her chest, settling into place quite nicely and revealing a modest amount of cleavage for an unwed young lady. As it went down, the dress cinched against her waist in a perfect fit, flaring out at her hips into a loose, lacy skirt the reached down to her feet, which were clad in stockings and high heels. Not her first choice of footwear, and would make escape- or an attack- very tricky to pull off. A rather efficient use of resources, she had to applaud.

If Samarra gave care such things, she would have appreciated her beauty on an intellectual level, at least. Whoever had arranged her outfit for the evening clearly knew how to draw out her most charming physical features.

"So you're my host then," she murmured. A quick glance around the room confirmed everything she needed. A table set for two, the others dressed as servants; this was not some family dinner as Flora and Kat made it out to be; no, this was a private meal, and she was the guest of honor.

Following the proper etiquette she had memorized from her childhood years, she curtsied and walked to the only space open to her, sitting down across from the older man.

"…I'm surprised," he said, raising his eyebrow curiously. "I didn't think you were the type of girl to just obediently sit down at the table with me."

"What reason should I not?" Samarra asked curiously, tilting her head to the side. "I am your prisoner, after all, and it stands to reason that a prisoner should comport themselves in a manner that best ensures the continued hospitality of their captors."

"You're not a prisoner here," the man said, shaking his head. "Please let me correct you on that detail, my dear."

"Allow me to correct you on that," Samarra replied. "You lock me in a room, refuse to let me leave, bind my hands in these gloves, require me a chaperone should I leave my dwelling, demand my presence for your mea, and yet I am not a prisoner? I know you are not as intelligent as I am, but there are limits to the ignorance of mankind."

He smiled. "My name is Alexander Shaw. And my dear… it seems you are exactly as advertised."

Samarra's face was an unreadable mask. She slowly curled her lips up into a smile, a mockery of friendliness, and sat patiently in wait for her host to explain her presence.

"What do you think of the dress?" Shaw asked, taking up his wine glass and gesturing to her with it. "Is it to your taste? I thought that black would suit you, as you have the same complexion as your sister, after all."

"I hold little regard for what I'm wearing," Samarra replied. "Whatever clothes I must dress this shell in, they don't matter all that much. But I am curious that it fits me so well.

Shaw smiled. His light brown eyes twinkled. "You can thank our Flora for that. She's grown to be quite a seamstress. And of course, we have a fashionista or two among us who pick out just the most brilliant of styles for young ladies such as yourself. Who was it again… Rui? …Yui? Ah, it's not important. Flora took your measurements from those… rags you were wearing, and… what do you think?"

Samarra didn't answer. She'd been given countless pretty dresses as a child, none of them meant anything to her. Tokens from her parents, motivated by emotion she didn't have use for. But this dress… the information she got from this dress would be very helpful.

"You must have gone through a significant amount of trouble for something like this," Samarra murmured, carefully running her finger across the neckline. "A lot of work for something that you must know is meaningless. Which tells me that you're a man who cares quite a lot for appearances, isn't that correct?"

Shaw laughed. "Very well done. Just as I heard, a sharp mind. Anything else?"

"My hair. You asked me to have it cut, so I did," Samarra said, reaching up to play with a curly bang, now slightly more manageable since it was no longer hanging down over her eyes. "Another test, I presume? Seeing how I would alter my appearance? There are a great deal of things one can judge from the length a woman chooses to cut her hair."

"Really? Such as?"

Samarra narrowed her eyes. "You should know I do not give away the advantage so easily."

"Ah, my loss then," he sighed. "I was really hoping to get a good sense of just what sort of woman you were, Samarra Harker."

"A foolish gambit," Samarra replied. "Only an inferior mind would try to learn more about his opponent. When dealing with an entity of my level, there is little for you to gain, even if you should try. Just thinking of me in the context of a 'woman' is a mistake on your part, and a possibly fatal one. I don't aspire to such flimsy physical constructs."

"So you don't identify as a woman then? My apologies if I've offended you, then," Shaw said, taking a sip from his glass.

Samarra paused. "…You need not worry. Just as you cannot be offended by an insect who scorns you, neither can I be offended by such trivials. Things like gender mean nothing to those of us above humans like you."

"You really see yourself that way, don't you?" Shaw mused, stroking his chin. "A giant among the lesser insects, I mean. I'm sure many of those 'insects' would feel insulted to hear you say such a thing about them."

"It isn't an insult," Samarra said matter of factly. "It just is."

"…And does that make you happy? Being so high above the other people? Staring down at them from your world in the clouds, a domain where no one can reach you? I imagine that would be incredibly lonely."

For the first time since she'd sat down, Samarra felt uncomfortable. Something Shaw picked up on somehow, even though her expression didn't change. Perhaps it was the way she'd sat, or how she was breathing. Whatever it was, he made a move, and nodded to the decanter in front of her.

"Try the wine. You're old enough to drink, yes?"

"I am," she nodded, though she didn't tell him how old that was. Regardless of whether he knew her age or was just guessing, there was no merit in telling him.

"Have you ever had alcohol before?"

"I have no desire."

"I see, what a pity. But I really must insist."

Trying to inebriate me, are you? Inhibit my brain? It's what she would have done, if she were sitting across from an intellectual superior. He'd already robbed her greatest weapon from her, her harmonia, and now was trying to take her second greatest, her mind.

Samarra, having no other choice, poured herself a glass. It was surprisingly… pleasant. She poured another. And then another.

Shaw stared at her in amazement, and so did Flora and Kyrese. Seeing the brunette drown practically the entire decanter was a marvel.

"…Well," Shaw cleared his throat. "I know that this was a very good vintage, but… I'm impressed. You must really have a taste for it. Were you that thirsty?"

Oh. So that was the feeling in her stomach. Thirst. It had been so long since she was given something other than an IV drip, she had forgotten what that was like.

"…You have had something to drink since you were let out of that cell, right?" Shaw asked, staring cautiously at Samarra. "At least you've eaten since then, yes?"

"Why would I need to do that?" Samarra questioned. "My body was still functioning under normal parameters."

"I-I see. And… sleep, then?"

Samarra blinked. "…Which one is sleep?"

Shaw let out a long sigh and massaged his temples. "I see we have a long way to go with you," he said, shaking his head. She was almost as bad as her sister, and in a lot of ways even worse. "It appears I've done you a great disservice, my dear, locking you away in that room without a bite to eat."

"I had no interest," Samarra replied. "If I need nutrients I can provide you with a list of supplements to inject."

"…You say that, and yet… evidence would suggest that you enjoy the act of taking in nutrients in a more… natural way," Shaw said, gesturing to the empty decanter.

"Flora, she drank that whole thing, yeah?" Kyrese whispered to his friend.

"Yeah, and she doesn't even seem buzzed. What's up with this woman?" Flora whispered back. From the way Samarra was talking, the chance of her ever drinking alcohol before was slim to none. And apparently she hadn't had solid food in… a while.

Yet she wasn't slurring her words, her eyes weren't unfocused in the slightest, she remained completely focused on the conversation in front of her as if she'd just had a nice glass of fruit juice instead of drinking a decanter of vintage wine.

"Normally I wouldn't force you to eat if you didn't want to," Shaw said. "I believe in freedom, in my heart. But in your case… I question if you even understand the ramifications of your actions in this regard, so I must insist."

If Samarra was the type to laugh, she would have. The thought that anyone understood the ramifications of ANYTHING better than herself was laughable. But then, she was still a prisoner here. And if he wanted her to eat, then she had little choice. She had to ingratiate herself to her captor however she could.

So when Flora and Kyrese took rolls from the center of the table and buttered them for her, she ate them. And kept eating them.

If it wasn't for her impeccable, almost robotic table manners they might have seen her as little better than a pig with the amount she consumed.

"Now, as I was saying earlier, in my eyes, you are not a prisoner," Shaw assured her. "You are our guest here. The beloved older sister of our precious Guinevere. …Oh, and you don't have to worry about her. Guinevere will be just fine. She's recovering in her room and won't be joining us tonight."

Samarra ignored him. Why should she care about Guinevere's condition? She was much more interested in the strange thing going on in her tongue. The food was causing her to feel strange. Had she been drugged? Or was this what everybody who ate felt like?

She called back the memories from her childhood of eating meals with her family and compared the two stimulations. They were about the same. She had no taste for quality of the food, but the act of eating and the experience of flavor were identical.

It didn't help her understand why people cared about something so trivial, though. Just like with the wine, it had the same effect on her as putting anything else into her body did. The only value she could find in it was that her stomach was compelling her brain to do it again, like with the wine, so she did. It didn't seem to matter much though.

"If I'm not a prisoner then am I free to go?" Samarra asked, even though she already knew what the answer was.

"When we've finished our meal, then you will be escorted to your room. Not back to that cell, no, we've spent quite a deal of time decorating bedroom up perfectly for you," Shaw smiled at her. "And then you'll be allowed to come and go as you please. There are no other locks you'll find here, not even on the doors outside. You may leave, if you like."

"…Come and go as I please," Samarra echoed. "You say that because this castle is just another prison, correct?"

Shaw frowned. "What do you mean by that?" He asked suspiciously.

"This castle is on an island in the sea," Samarra replied. "Even if I wished to leave, with neither pokemon nor boat there is nowhere for me to go."

"Whoa!" Flora gasped, surprised.

"How'd you figure that out?" Kyrese asked curiously.

"Besides the fact that you just told her?" Flora said, elbowing him in the side. Kyrese turned pale and glanced at Shaw, relieved to see that he wasn't upset.

"As if someone like that would be of any use to my intelligence," Samarra dismissed Kyrese without even looking at his despondent face. "I figured it out immediately on my walk over here."

"…Oh?" Shaw raised his eyebrow.

"The first clue was the air," Samarra said, lifting her finger. "Temperature and humidity. At first I thought we were higher above sea level due to the barometric pressure, but I figured that we must be on a cliff of some sort, yes? Or at least somewhere high, overlooking the sea. With the scent of saltwater in the air, and how damp bricks and stone of the castle are this late at night, we must be very close by, no?"

Shaw chuckled. "Yes, very good. But we could just be on the coast. How do you know that we're on an island?" He asked, leaning in curiously.

If Samarra was the type of person to smirk, she would have. But without the influence of others, she had no need to do so, explaining the situation with perfect composure. "When I walked across the castle, I made a map of it in my head. It was too dark to see the surroundings outside the window, but there was something you couldn't hide from me, the sound of the waves. No matter where I was standing, I could hear them. From the distance and directions I heard the sounds from, not only was I able to figure out that we were surrounded by water on ever side, but I could also determine the precise size and shape of this island as well. Would you like me to draw it for you?"

"No, no, that won't be necessary," Shaw said, sinking back in his seat. "I must say, what I've heard doesn't do you the slightest bit of justice, my dear. You really are-"

Samarra narrowed her eyes. "I'm not done."

"…Oh?"

"I said that it was too dark to see my surroundings, but there was something I could see," Samarra said, pointing towards the ceiling. "The stars."

"…What about 'em?" Flora asked, confused. Shaw glanced at her and she clamped her hand over her mouth. It wasn't her place to talk.

"I only got a glance, but that was enough. From the position of the stars, I could tell not only are we on an island, but we're on an island that must be approximately 27.83 miles off the coast of Sinnoh's east shore. If you like, I could provide the approximate longitude and latitude."

Kyrese's jaw dropped. "How the HELL-?!"

"My father had a book or two on astronomy," Samarra replied. "I memorized it when I was three. The position of the stars doesn't change in such a short period of time. The only way those stars could be where they are is if we are at this specific spot. Which means that is where I am. An island off the coast of Sinnoh. Simply by glancing out the window this level of reasoning is possible for someone as brilliant as me, you must realize."

"Very good," Shaw laughed, applauding Samarra's performance before taking another sip of wine. "VERY good! You're better than I ever could have dreamed!"

"I see I've demonstrated my point then," Samarra said. "I am smarter than you. I am smarter than anyone. And I have no intention of remaining prisoner on this island. So tell me what I need to do to be allowed to leave, and I will do so. Then we can both put this behind us."

Shaw stared at her in quiet contemplation.

"…Yes. Very good indeed…"

Well, Samarra's a bit of a show-off. But what could Shaw want with her? He can't actually be serious about letting her go free, can he? While we certainly wouldn't want that to happen, it's hard to imagine that what the leader of a terrorist organization would want with someone with her powers and intelligence could be anything good.