"Believe me," Darkrai pleaded, his voice quavering. "I did not inflict that... injury upon her on purpose... no! I—I was not the cause of it at all, even! You may ask her!"
There was no verbal response to his — dignified — pleads for reason and restraint, but there was well a reaction: perhaps without even knowing what they were in the midst of doing, the villagers took cautious steps away from him, huddling up into an ever tighter mass around Gallade, stuck in a dually tyrannising binary of either not daring to take their sights away from the creature, or being wholly incapable of looking at it at all.
The stomp of a foot broke the monopolising, monotonous whining of Mawile. Between them — dazed, fear-struck, and caught in an inexorable paralysis — and him — dazed, fear-struck, and caught in an inexorable paralysis — Ursaring imposed himself, resolute to defend his flock, claws protracted and teeth baring.
The warning signs of a coming attack instinctively repressed for Darkrai any worries about the judgement of the eyes, allowing him to break free from terror's hold. He had no snarl nor menacing theatrics to offer, only a furtive stream of dark energy coalescing to his strained hand, readied to strike the bear down if it decided to go beyond only a threatening demeanor.
But, before he could react, a magenta light whisked before his sights and infiltrated the insides of his carapace, startling the Nightmare Weaver and making him frantically shake and roil in the air, as the furry, pink orb gyrated again and again around his head.
"Please, stop at once!" The wraith exclaimed once he realised what was happening.
"Good morning!" Espurr responded with a giggle, as she wormed her way from the back of his head to the side of his face, still on the inside of his battlements, with the motion of her tail tickling his neck.
"Good morning to you as well, Espurr," his voice still trembled from the fright she gave him.
From the corner of his eye, Darkrai could swear that he had just seen Gallade exhale, before the Guardian slowly retracted and them lowered his blade, turning back to address Mawile with relative poise. "Could you repeat to me what happened?" He asked her after placing a hand on her forehead and closing his eyes.
The toddler stared back at Darkrai, frowned and huffed — of course — and then laid her own, stubby hands on Gallade's arm.
"Morgrem and I were staying in the field and watching the Cottonee and everything come back," she began her recounting. "And then the Nightmare Weaver came out of the ground and fired a MASSIVE beam into the air that made all of the Grass-types flee for no reason!" Gasps from the crowd. "We both got startled and I hit him with a Flash Canon," gasping far more intense than the last. "Before trying to get away and then I sprained my ankle because I stumbled over my jaw!"
He could have intervened without causing them both so much distress... but he was far too distressed himself to be able to accurately judge the correct procedure at the time. Poor kids, he would have to excuse himself to them.
"Nothing," Gallade's eyes opened again, and he took his hand off of her forehead. "Didn't feel anything messing with her mind. Seems like this really was all just an accident."
"Well, your mouth thingy makes running pretty difficult, right, Mawile?" Espurr, sat on the inside of his collar, chimed in from between the gaps. "That's hardly Darkrai's fault."
"Do not change who is blameworthy here," Gothitelle hissed. "Why did the Nightmare Weaver go out of his way to scare them?"
"That is not entirely true, Espurr," the wraith moved to respond the instant he saw Gothitelle open her mouth to intervene again. "The reason that I... made such an... abrupt entry was because Morgrem stated that the Pokemon there were on the verge of sleeping," he turned to the goblin, hoping to be able to ask for confirmation but, at the sight of his harrowed face, could not get a word out.
"Well, what we're all wondering now is why you were specifically crawling around the area where the two younglings on their own were playing?" Much to his ire, Gothitelle's eyes lit up and she found another opportunity to interject.
All three of his plumes descended and he wrapped his arms around his chest. "My... my sincerest apology for the injury," he stuttered at Mawile. "And for scaring you both..." he remembered and glanced at Morgrem for a split second. "And... for not being here on time... as well," the wraith instinctively bowed to the crowd — and to Gallade in particular — as he would have done before his creator or elder siblings.
He thought that he would have been forced to feign feebleness, as he had done the day before, but, having been blasted, bitten and then submitted to their oppressive scrutiny once more, he had been constrained to a far more authentic performance.
These interactions made him sick.
"This has been resolved," Gallade declared, much to the Moonshadow's relief. "Darkrai, may we get on with the day, then?" The village's protector gestured to the nearby hospital.
The wraith was quick to fulfill his demand, yet, in the middle of his departure, he couldn't help but overhear the request Leavanny addressed to Gothitelle. "Gothi, could you help out Mawile, since I have my hands all tied already?"
A bitter refusal was the response she received. "I deal in comas and intense, psychological scarrings, not sprained ankles."
"Well, since that's your domain of expertise," the bug type continued, her voice free of any hints of sarcasm or other malice. "Would you rather take care of Darkrai, then?"
As Gallade was soon to call for his attention, asking once more that he enter the hospital, Darkrai was unable to follow that conversation with such nerve-wracking implications to its terminus. Yet, once he was joined inside by Leavanny, he knew he could breathe a sigh of relief.
"I'm sorry, but what is it that you're doing?" The dark creature lying there in her hospital bed spoke up, causing her to tense up at the weak murmur. It was a much needed reminder that he could, indeed, speak, but had chosen to drown the room in cruel silence instead.
Gallade's absence was suffocating.
Reluctantly, Leavanny forced herself to glance back at him, feeling herself begin to shiver anew, as she looked to the nightmare demon she had been told to fear from childhood, sitting on the straw bed, awaiting his treatment and inquiring into her procedures, as any other patient would.
This was no typical patient, but she wasn't sure if this was that monster either. It was close to the descriptions which had been passed down by those few heroes who had survived their confrontations with it ages ago... but it was not it, just... uncannily close, and that somehow made the sight of him all the more unbearable.
She couldn't remember a more suffocating feeling that the utter dread she experienced upon locking sight with those unblinking, blue eyes across the room, which she knew had been tracking her every movement when she had her back turned to them.
Why had she made herself do this?
Do... the question! Good grief, she had forgotten to respond to his question!
She gasped and turned to the concoctions and bandages which she had just been manipulating. She had just committed an awful blunder, but, in the short term, she was relieved to at least be given an opportunity to avert her gaze from that oppressive stare of his. Whether he could hypnotise or not was unknown, but she silently cursed herself for even taking that risk at all.
"Oh! I'm combining Sitrus and Babiri Berries this time around," she attempted to fake a degree of nonchalance while finishing up stirring her pot. "Sitru—" no, she would remember not to insult his intelligence by acting as though she thought him ignorant of the most common healing items. "Babiri Berries greatly accelerate recovery following Steel-type attacks... since... you said you got—" she would not mention Mawile any longer, no, and pray that he would forget about her offense entirely.
If not, then she would plead.
"Quite interesting," he finally muttered, sending a chill down her spine. His voice made her feel meek. No matter the difference in health between them both, she couldn't help but quiver in his presence. "Excuse me for the protracted silence, I am... not the most easily articulate, it takes me some time to clearly formulate sentences... compound that with the disorientation caused by my present situation and... well..."
This was the worst. He was evidently not some dumb forest beast, and that terrified her. It would have been most convenient for the Moonshadow to be but some non-sentient entity or eldritch force or plague, but no, that wasn't the case.
He was far more courteous than she would have hoped for, far more courteous... yet that only served to nourish her growing doubts as to whether she should have given him any aid. The realisation that he surely was smart enough to possibly deceive them made her stomach turn, as she couldn't help but begin to re-evaluate her decision to keep him there.
Had this all been an elaborate deception, achieved through a potent mental manipulation he possessed, as Gothitelle believed? Would he turn on them the moment he was no longer pained? Should she continue to heal him, if that was the risk?
"Miss Leavanny, with all due respect, you do not look well," again, she was reminded that said being was there, and she was alone in the same room as it. His remark made her realise another thing: how much she was trembling and sweating, tyrannised by the immense pressure her decision had all put them under.
He would be gone soon. Hopefully.
"Don't worry about me... I'm fine," she tried to smole, now remembering that what came next was the administration of her bandages. Meaning that she needed to approach him.
Slowly, and by almost tripping herself on the way, she got to the bedside — his disconcerting blue eye closely following along — and resolved to abruptly plaster the silk and leaves onto the remaining open gash on his arm. She had been able to take care of the other ones while he was asleep the night before, at least.
The sudden, even if mild, twitching of his claw made her tense up, leaving her feeling as though her entire body was covered in pain from lacerations which did not come. He hadn't slashed at her, all was fine, she... she could breathe.
Instead, the movements of his claws and that he began to rub the wound made her understand what was happening. "Oh, I'm very sorry, it's just that I added more Sitrus this time around and it's a bit acidic, it's normal that it stings a little!" 'Please don't hurt me', she added in her head.
"Thank you for your care... and for your vote... yesterday."
His physical appearance and demeanor when he remained silent combined did not even come close to being as unsettling as the disconnect between how she would have expected the dreaded Nightmare Weaver to act and the... mild-mannered entity before her. The contrast of what he was with this perplexing politeness only served to make her feel more uneasy around him.
"It's no issue," another forced smile. She wanted to cry. "I'm sorry for not being able to finish up healing you yesterday. I couldn't bear not to help someone so thoroughly injured."
"Thank you..."
...
And how pathetic he looked and acted, lying there, made her want to relax, yet she knew well that she couldn't afford to let her guard down.
"Do you think you'll be able to leave today?" And there the question came, after much nervous back and forth between the side of the bed he occupied and her laboratory of pots, flasks, and bags at the end of the room.
"I am quite sorry... but... I do not believe so, no," the truth of the matter was that he had all but entirely healed throughout the previous two nights. Two nights was all that a spawn of Arceus — blessed with the adequate regenerative capabilities to be able to serve the Original One until the end of times — required...
What was not required, but — after the initial awkwardness of their meeting had waned — became desired was the attention she— they provided him with. Finding himself back on the soft, comfortable bed made Darkrai realise just how thoroughly he had missed it. The Nightmare Weaver had mastered the art of ignoring pain and discomfort, yet... this... this was simply delightful.
It was one more reason to continue further faking his decrepitude, for however long that would be tenable.
Leavanny stared at him with her mouth opening and shutting, her lips twisting, as if she was trying over and over to say something. "You need to get some fresh air," she finally blurted.
What? What? "Pardon?"
"You heal unnaturally well and fast and..." the bug stuttered through her sentence, rubbing the back of her head all the while. "I don't know full well how you... function, but I'd wager that it would do you a lot of good to remain more active, since... that's been working for now!"
"As in, go outside?" He didn't want to go outside and... and... come face to face with... anyone, really! He wasn't going outside and there was no way she could get him to go!
"So, over there is Miss Ribombee's Boutique, it's the shop where she sells Pollen Puffs! Then, you have Mr. Ariados' repairing shop and... uhmm, the Murkrow's Anything and Everything shop..." Espurr — sat in the comfort of the inside of Darkrai's battlements and directing his attention to any and every establishment along the dirt path of the marketplace — had exhausted her list and finished her presentation sounding a tad... perplexed. "I said the word 'shop' a lot, didn't I?" She leaned into his line of sight. "Say, what's a... a... another word for shop?"
"Oh, what you are searching for is called a 'synonym'," the Nightmare Weaver was delighted to have anything other than the surrounding crowd to focus on. "And some examples of synonyms for the word 'shop' would be: 'boutique', as is the case for Miss Ribombee's enterprise, 'store', 'emporium' — though that last one would be rather... hyperbolic, for any shop within Haven — and, in the case of the arrangement of establishments within this particular marketplace, 'stall' and 'stand' work fine as well."
"Okay, thank you!" She smiled and heaved herself back to peek through gaps between his spikes, waging her tail — sometimes into his eye — while continuing to scout their peripheries.
Darkrai did not wish to risk locking sights with any more townsfolk than absolutely necessary to ambulate, and so left whatever mildly interesting events were taking place around them for her alone to spot.
Since his arrival, the area had depopulated: Kricketune's melody had come to an abrupt halt and he had flown away, along with Oricorio, whose dance had stopped just as suddenly, Mothim's gasp at the sight of Darkrai had been followed by her bolting to attach herself to Lampent's face, forcing him into the depths of an alleyway, Honchkrow's feathers had puffed up with fright and he had flown into the air as well, as high up as he could, for Arbok, it was instead as low as possible, coiling away beneath a stand he knew well could be destroyed with ease.
All at the sight of the monster they had seemingly forgotten now resided in their village.
These stares, twitches, frantic retreats happening all around him were grinding the wraith down, making him almost unwilling to move and craving to plunge into the abyss of his shadow and to never emerge again, freeing them of the torment that was his mere existence.
"There's Miss Druddigon's Shinies Emporium," Espurr called soon after. "She isn't here right now."
"Its proper name is the 'Shinies Shop', not 'emporium'," he rushed to explain. "You cannot swap a word within a proper noun in such a way."
"But it's a neat word..."
"But it is not the correct name for the establishment," was he coming off as too strict? Was he upsetting her? "However, it does have a pleasant ring to it. Suggest to have it renamed the next time she visits."
"Oh my," Leavanny's — evidently fake, yet... somehow also sincere-sounding? — giggle spooked the Nightmare Weaver. "Are you where she got her sudden vocab from? I had joked about her suddenly waking up with it..."
"Yes."
...
The answer disconcerted her. Darkrai was made aware that it disconcerted her as soon as he uttered it, he had uttered it too soon, it was too blunt, and yet he remained silent and blankly stared at the bug, making the situation all the worse, as he was far too busy reflecting on how it disconcerted her to stop disconcerting her further.
She looked like she wanted to cry.
He couldn't get himself to cut it off.
"Ahh!" Another gasp from Espurr came at just the right time. "Do you want us to go and get Pollen Puffs? You said that you wanted one quite badly that one time!"
He did want—!
...
Did he want a Pollen Puff?
He wouldn't be able to eat it. It would be odd to ask one just to appreciate the aroma.
Granted, they already saw him as odd, to put it mildly, but... surely fueling such a reputation further was not the way to go?
Did he want a Pollen Puff? He did want a Pollen Puff...
But... should he get a Pollen Puff?
Decisions. Decisions...
"I told you that I appreciated their scent," Darkrai eventually resolved to respond, leaving the rest of his lines of thought and action up to whatever he would improvise once the moment came. "However, keep in mind that I have no mouth."
"Could we still get one?"
"I do not want to get a Pollen Puff solely for the aroma," rationing and moderation were long-entrenched Havenish values, after all.
"But I'm hungry," she mewled, tapping her belly with both hands. "I haven't eaten since the morning..."
...
Of course! She also wanted one for herself! He had not considered that!
How selfish he must have come off...
"Oh, well," the wraith sputtered. "I meant for myself! Of course, if you are hungry we shall go and get you a Pollen Puff."
Her cheers of delight delighted him, yet when they arrived at the boutique selling the delight, Darkrai's cheer — already barely present — evaporated: the fairy's reaction to his approach was, as expected, one of terror, bordering on sickness.
Leavanny stood a comfortable distance away from him, while Espurr leaned in from within his battlements and placed her order — 'the usual' — which sent the bug which owned the place swaying as if nauseous to the depths of her stall, only taking her sights off of the Nightmare Weaver with great reluctance.
"I would assume that 'the usual' is Mago Berries, correct?" Darkrai attempted to ignore the nigh-sickened shopkeeper in favour of starting a salvatory conversation with Espurr, something he had become quite skilled at by then.
"Uh-huh, uh-huh! I quite enjoy how sweet they are!" She rubbed her chin for a second. "Your favourite was Wiki Berry, right?"
"Indeed, I appreciate their... scent and shape," they did have an amusing shape! They reminded him of Ferroseeds!
Soon after, the shopkeeper returned to the very front of her stand, making sure to hand the two Pollen Puffs to Leavanny, who in turn proceeded to hand one to Espurr and place the other into his claws, then quickly retracting her own hand away, as if not to get snatched or bitten.
...two Pollen Puffs?
He hadn't asked for one, yet had been given it...
She had evidently misunderstood what he had told Espurr as an order for himself...
What to do with it now?
Ought he to return the delight?
No, that would evidently be perceived as being highly impolite. He would keep it and... just carry it around?
It smelled of Wiki Berry. Quite pleasant. He would keep it, yes.
"Oh!" Another gasp came from his friend while they were already on their way to... he didn't know where, really. "When Morgrem's back at his berry sho... store! When Morgrem's back at his berry store, we can go and buy you some Wiki Berry seeds, so you can plant some in your forest!"
Morgrem? Darkrai... didn't want to have to interact with him, and it was likely that the sentiment was mutual. The poor kid was terrified of him!
Before Darkrai could decline, Leavanny interrupted them by uttering a bizarre gagging sound, which made the Nightmare Weaver flinch not due to its abruptness, but because it was legitimately unsettling.
He quickly spun around to look at the insect, preparing to as if she was well, but was instead interrupted once more. "R—Remember to stick to the town! N—No going up into the woods!" The bug stuttered with a nervous chuckle, her antennas stiffened and her hands covering her mouth.
"Aww..." Espurr sat herself back down by his head. "Well, then perhaps we can plant it by the Shelter? We'll all look after Darkrai's cute little Wiki Berry farm!"
"By the shelter..." Leavanny muttered to herself, evidently not wanting the creature which common knowledge dictated ate children regularly visiting by where her toddlers slept.
The Moonshadow raised a claw to prepare and decline this proposal as well, but was — of course — spoken over. "Also, Darkrai will be leaving once he's well. A few days worth of upkeep is not worth throwing away seeds over, right?" She looked back to him, hoping to find a sign of confirmation that he would indeed leave.
He granted her that solace with a nod — after which Espurr and her caretaker devolved into a back and forth argument — but, in truth, he knew not if he was being entirely honest.
Seeing them shudder under his softest gaze, flinch at his mildest movements, run off and hide once they sensed his mere presence nearby... certainly did serve to make the Nightmare Weaver more willing to leave. It ached his heart to see, to know, that maybe, just maybe... probably... there never was any chance for him to be redeemed in their eyes.
Though, no matter the excruciating focus always veered towards him — always exuding an infusion of fear, resentment and disgust Darkrai could sense and its beholder would rather have kept hidden — he truly did love them, them and this place.
He had always been there.
Haven from an encampment of half a dozen, Gallade from an anxious Ralts, Leavanny from a care-free Sewaddle, old Kricketune from a Kricketot who could not vocalise anything but a grating screech... Gothitelle from a jolly Gothita... he had seen it all grow to where it was today, and had been there when those who were not around to be sighted anymore came and went.
The calm would be missed, his relocations never brought any.
The comfort of his routine, one which he had followed for decades, would be missed... well, perhaps that was firmly behind him now, no matter if he left or not.
...
It wasn't as though he could not simply decide to walk back on his promise. What would Gallade— what would any of them be able to do? Nothing. He would not allow for himself to be poisoned, paralysed or plagued by any other such affliction. They would not out-maneuver him in such a way for a second time and they could not best him without trickery...
He had made a promise to them... would he really betray the trust of those he owed so much to already? A trust so generous yet undeserved that he would almost consider it misplaced, were he not its recipient, with full knowledge of his own motives and intentions.
It wasn't Haven's collective trust, of course, but it was the trust granted to him by the Pokemon who had every reason to end him, but chose not to, and that of the Pokemon who had no reason to aid him, yet chose to help end his suffering.
...
This was his home. He did love everyone there. And so it was acceptable that he leave them be, and that some other place suffer his continued existence in their stead.
"Stop thinking so much, it's making your head overheat!" Espurr got up and blew on his white plume a few times, as if to put it out, making Darkrai snap out of his torment. "Look, it's already on fire!" She giggled.
He would have given a chuckle as well — it was a decently amusing thing to say — were it not for his sudden outrage, caused by the sight of crumbs of Pollen Puffs on the inside of his battlements.
"Try not to make a mess within my carapace, please," he heaved an irritated sigh, noticing ever more clearly just how many crumbs she had dispersed inside of it. Of course, he would not shout at her — even thought he felt an urge to — as she deserved his unending respect.
"Espurr, listen to him, please," even though the Nightmare Weaver had done well to tame his tone, Leavanny still sounded like she was on the verge of crying. It was all so ridiculous.
"I'm sorry, I'll clean it up this instant!" Her ears raised themselves ever so slightly and, after a moment of concentration, released a pulse of energy that displaced the fragments of the treat on the plateau around his face... mostly into his plume.
"I'd consider that good enough," he shut her ears with one hand and used the other to clear the morsels blown into his hair, not wanting for her to try again and risk an accident.
"I think we need to go to the meadow now, to stay away from the others, like you advised!"
"I would... quite appreciate that," less souls would be tortured by having to look at him and his own spirits wouldn't be so tormented by their continuously fixated eyes.
"We should rather stay close to... the village, yes!" Leavanny protested, thoroughly botching her sentence with stutters, repetitions and indecisiveness. "We have to stick by the hospital, just in case any of those wounds... well, uhm, go sour again!"
A 'sour wound', what a gross expression. Thankfully — ... maybe — it had no roots in sound medicine. She was doing her best to mask what she really meant, 'I don't want to wander too far from anyone who could defend me from you'.
Which was incredibly fair, though... well, upsetting, in a way.
"Well, is it alright if I stay here, where everyone else is, then?" Darkrai listened as Espurr asked her question, at which point his eyes veered to the left, towards Leavanny, whose visage betrayed not even the intent to respond.
And, after an uncomfortable, extended pause, it became apparent that such a will would not sprout at all. Left to right, the Moonshadow's sights slid back to his friend, but he had not braced himself to be met with her own, piercing stare.
She was asking him?
"Certainly, it is... more of a guideline, rather than a strict rule, that you avoid urban areas," the wraith assured, to the utter delight of the giddy furball. "You being here at all is a testament to it not being necessarily hazardous and, truth be told, I would like to get to know more of the townsfolk, anyhow," that was a lie, but he may as well fake enjoying it, so as to curb their collective apprehension.
"Don't worry, I won't become upset as long as I'm with you!" He loved her so, so dearly. "However... I am becoming a tad excited, that might not be too good either!"
"Do keep in mind that we will be doing nothing but continuing to scour nigh-depleted emporiums, then."
"We could go to Arbok's then!" Leavanny essentially screamed to him, making Darkrai recoil his claws and retreat from her. "If... you're becoming bored just... waltzing around, that is!"
It was clear that she had interpreted his remark — which was meant to be quasi-comical — as him legitimately voicing his discontent. All the same, knowing that it would be perhaps quieter and definitely more sparsely populated inside there, he accepted with a 'that would be lovely' and, so, Leavanny, Darkrai, and Espurr, leaning against the back of his head, all found themselves heading towards the plaza.
A plank of wood and a slight elevation announced the end of the marketplace and beginning of the Town Square, with its rectangular, stone pavement. Moving past the Sanctuary as fast as possible, the wraith realised that he had never been there in... such an open manner before, the closest he had ever come was during that accursed night.
It felt surreal to be there. It was such a charming little place — he could maybe even call it his charming little village — yet plagued by so many depressing details.
His gaze shifted to the very core of the extraordinarily empty plaza, landing on the fire pit which had started it all. There were always vigorous debates over whether it was far too much of a hazard — both the fire and the gaping hole — and so should be put out and filled in. The conservative voices had always won out thus far, but the opposing side needed to win only once for it to be relegated to history forever.
Around it, the pavement formed a circle very noticeably different from that in the rest of the town: perfectly square instead of cobbled, closer to black than it was to gray, made from wood, rather than rocks. It was the only such spot left in Haven. The idea of a wooden pavement, even if it was far more economical, had been struck down following a meeting of the village, where it had been decided that — no matter how unnerving — being able to hear movements upon the stone of the plaza at night was a requisite for safety.
Where the regular, wooden pavement stopped, the cobblestone took over and gave form to the rest of the center, until it was blocked as well, this time by the very buildings of the village. Haven was like a compact fortress, with every building being huddled together and connected to some degree, it tended to make travelers feel claustrophobic and besieged. It was cramped, they said. But was it cramped? No, it was safe and cozy and he loved it.
That being said, it wasn't as though there was no respite from the monolithic structure either: there were alleyways in abundance — dead ends were to be feared, after all — and, though they were indeed narrow and discrete, oil lamps illuminated them even during the day. It would have been an abomination to scatter such blots of deep darkness all throughout the settlement!
When it came to the homes and enterprises themselves, a common, quasi-universal feature of the architecture was the plenitude of overhangs. Another precaution for collective safety mandated by the heads of the village, as it would be quite a tragedy for some poor soul to step outside and be whisked away without warning by an appendage from above.
The houses were also generally sat upon a tall, cyclopean foundation of stones, setting the doors themselves above the ground level. Was it truly useful for anything? Not really, the rain tended to be heavy — as the state of his flooded cavern could attest — but rarely so severe. Did they believe it useful for anything? It was uncertain if they really thought about it at all. Was the added distance comforting? Mildly so, he would say.
It's not as though it was a costly waste, however, as no matter how many resources were used up in setting those foundations and constructing those porches, rarely did they need to build new ones. After all, it was not too uncommon for a residence to be... freed. It did not happen as often as it once did, but they could still afford to keep quality in mind.
...
Another thing which followed this logic of setting aside prices in favour of the comfort provided was the colouring of the houses: outside of the — admittedly plentiful — streaks of black wood branching across them and keeping their structures in place, all houses had been bleached fully white. White was light and so an antagonist to the dark and, so, perhaps even an antagonist to the Dark.
This pattern of white wrapped with long lines of dark planks was only disturbed by the — also admittedly plentiful — greenery of the potted Chesto Berry bushes hanging from every window... windows whose barred, jail-like, essentially-always-closed shutters served to protect and hide those inside from him... or, rather, the thing which they had imagined him to be.
... and also from the thieving Murkrows, which he scared away from the roof they had been perched upon with a gaze. The roof itself, of course, had also been given much thought before being made: entirely slanted to one side, with no plateau nor unseen regions. Those were dangerous, something could hide there.
Above even the roofs themselves were the many chimneys, always puffing smoke. The night was cold, and so coldness was of the dark, and so the fireplaces were always alight... except for the exact building he was looking at, apparently, as there was no cloud of grayness rising from its chimney.
"That there is our Post Office," Leavanny's intervention made him shudder. He had forgotten that he wasn't furtively watching from the shadows! Espurr was even still there, sat by his head, munching on her treat in full serenity.
But, looking back to it, it indeed was the Post Office. He had yet to assimilate the door, wider than that of the rest of the village, so as to move merchandise in, and the opening on the second floor, from where Chatot and Drifblim departed and arrived.
"It's managed by Drifblim and Chatot," the bug added.
"And by Swellow and Ninjask before that, yes," and the entire enterprise had found its beginnings with a long-dead Noivern, this time with no associate.
Her facial expression made clear that his answer had somehow been registered as off-putting — what wasn't? — but that she would go on all the same. "Well, speaking of Drifblim and Chatot, what did— do you think of them?"
The implication hadn't gone unnoticed, and it would be countered. "Chatot is an amusing character and Drifblim an admirably hard worker."
"I definitely agree!" He got the usual nervous laughter from Leavanny, making the wraith eager to scout the area for just about any distraction.
It did not take long to find: Skwovet, in the midst of running from one end of the plaza to another, tirelessly sweeping dust and rubble into a neat bunch, away from the doors of the establishment while, further down the avenue, he could clearly see Ursaring and Ariados working together to rebuild a lamppost which had been split in half.
And was there work to be done: in certain areas, the pavement had been overturned and scattered, in others, cracked, in some, reduced to dust. Stone walls had been excavated and caved in from blasts, and their wooden counterparts had been burned or shattered. Torn decorations from the festival, though huddled together in small piles, still littered the plaza. In short, it was the mess he had made on the night of the New Moon...
Suddenly, a simple realisation came to him: he had once been far more charismatic, certainly, but the Nightmare Weaver now possessed the expressivity and an aura of a brick, and perhaps not even that, as all of the Stonjourners he had encountered thus far had been captivating folk. It was not to say that all of the time he had spent with Espurr, fine-tuning his reactions to different scenarios, was for nothing, but he would not be able to endear them to him through any charm of personality — he had none to offer — but rather ought to rely on his acts.
The Nightmare Weaver clenched his fist with great resolve, fighting off the tangling impulses of his anxiety, and advance towards Skwovet. Almost immediately, the little Pokemon abandoned the sweeping she had done her best to carry on with beforehand, to instead stare at him wide-eyed, with her tail wrapping itself around her many times over.
"Greetings... Miss Skwovet," he gave a slight wave to the quivering rodent. "Do you require any aid? It is the mess I caused, after all."
She only sank deeper into the fluff of her brush, offering no response.
Providing practical aid was a doomed course of action, it seemed... was there any other way to solve the conundrum which was this awkward situation he had pushed them both into?
What did he know about Skwovet? That she adored eating?
...
The Pollen Puff!
"I offer you this Wiki Berry Pollen Puff," Darkrai extended his claw towards the apparently mute squirrel, at first making her jump, before the scent of the treat he had been carrying with him pulled back in her cautious attention. "For your efforts in keeping this village clean."
A string of incomprehensible gurgling noises — as if she was choking — was her response, with a now ashen face and terror-struck eyes unflinchingly fixated upon the Pollen Puff within his hand, as if it would be the death of her to even reach for it.
Her demeanor greatly upset him, but soon, his feelings would twist to apprehension, as the heavy stomping lead him to notice Ursaring begin to approach, teeth-showing and mighty fist clenched.
"I only wished to proffer her my aid in cleaning the mess I caused," the Moonshadow preempted any demand for an explanation, carefully retreating away from Skwovet and Ursaring throughout.
"Oh, yes, yes, that's true!" Leavanny luckily intervened before either of them would be forced to escalate, leading the ursid to decontract his paw and slightly temper his frown.
Darkrai allowed himself to take his eyes off the bear and point them back at the trembling rodent, extending his offer once more. "Go ahead and eat it," his words were meant to be pleasant and inviting, but the wraith's growing frustration could not be held back from seeping through.
Skwovet shrank and shuddered, before reluctantly snatching the treat from between his two talons, stuffing it down her throat as fast as possible, and rushing to the comfort of the alleyways of Haven.
...
He had just wished to be polite and show that he wasn't some vicious beast and instead he had unwittingly engaged himself into psychologically torturing the poor lass. What a gruelling day...
"Would... you require my assistance, Ursaring?" It was worth a try. He was quite strong physically, after all, even if special attacking was his... well, specialty. "With reconstruction, I mean."
The bear's face twisted into the beginnings of a snarl, before... it relaxed and its gazed softened once more?
"Nah," the nonchalant, quasi-amicable tone of that response caught the Moonshadow off guard. "My work's best done alone... well, except for the stuff my spider buddy does, of course," he signalled to the — cowering — Ariados. "But everything that isn't the stitching together at least is solo. You just sit back and heal up."
...
What?
Well, he would, but... what?
After that... odd encounter, with Darkrai deciding to chalk it up to either Ursaring not being as brave as he first thought, or it being an elaborate mockery, as the former would soon leave, the group arrived at the doors of the Haven Lounge and penetrated inside, only to be met with what was for the Nightmare Weaver the most gruesome sight imaginable: Pokemon.
A lot of Pokemon. Almost the entire town's worth of Pokemon. This was why Leavanny had proposed the Lounge to alleviate the boredom she had apparently sensed, because everyone was there.
Suffocated and paralysed. Suffocated, paralysed and soon caged, as Leavanny closed the door after them. A torrent of whispers ensued, loud enough to make him wonder if they thought him deaf, stupid, or incapable of deciphering speech.
The question Pumpkaboo mumbled summarised the general sentiment well enough: "Why did they bring him here?"
For them, there was no respite to be found from him that day, and, for him, there was no respite to be found from the reminders of the loathing and fear he inspired. Loathing and fear which, upon his arrival, had choked Kricketune, paralysed Oricorio... and also made Arbok slither beneath another table.
"I do enjoy the music here," Darkrai told Espurr — and Leavanny! But mainly Espurr... — once the bug was left with no other option but to go on with his instrumental and the bird with her dance. "Kricketune is quite talented, as is Oricorio."
"Oh!" Her eyes lit up and her tail-wagging into his eye intensified, much to his ire. "After that moment with Skwovet, I think that it would be for the best that I help you a tad more with making friends. Since you're like my little son, after all," she punctuated with a giggle, before hovering up into the air, leaving him perplexed.
Was that not the exact opposite of their relationship? Not to say that he acted... fatherly, towards her, of course. Was he overestimating how much help he provided and, in turn, failing to appreciate her efforts?
...
Wait, what did she mean by—
The furball suddenly grappled his finger and began to tug on it, overwhelming him with an inexplicable compulsion to follow her lead. "Where are we going?"
"MISTER KRICKETUNE!" Espurr screamed once she had brought the wraith sufficiently close to the musician, her voice trumping even the melody of the performance and calling the attention of every single soul to them. "Darkrai really enjoys your music, he told me! Play a tune just for him!"
Darkrai and the insect stared at each other, wide-eyed, unblinking, frozen with shame or fear.
This was awful.
This was awful.
This was awful.
How could she do this to him? What had he done to merit such an utter betrayal? A distraction — any distraction! — would be welcomed at this rate. He just wanted out of there!
"Miss Leavanny!" A shrill voice — that of one of the myriad Murkrows — cried following the sound of the doors being pushed open. "Skwovet is unwell! Very unwell! Needs help!"
There was but one explanation that rushed to mind and, with all eyes once more pointing to him, Darkrai's instincts gave him but one option: to rush.
Unthinking and moving with the resolve and momentum of an unstoppable force, the wraith plunged into the shadows below and fled the lounge, the central plaza and almost Haven entirely — were it not for the precise strike of a Shadow Ball throwing him off course.
His evasion still guided by pure impulse, the Nightmare Weaver rapidly pivoted on himself and was on the verge of taking off again, before Gallade's blade suddenly came to threaten his neck. "What did you do?"
Next chapter: 15th of May. Thank you for reading!