Prompt 9: Accessories

It was the early hours of the morning. So early that the sun had yet to rise and the Pidoves had yet to sing. And yet, Emmet carefully and quietly moved about the house, getting a head start on weekend chores so that he could enjoy a good chunk of his Saturday and Sunday relaxing while careful not to disturb any of his fellow inhabitants. He paid extra attention in ducking to avoid the little webs his Joltiks often left behind on the ceiling.

Emmet had already moved back the curtains, his eyes tracing the faint light of dawn as he passed the living room window into the hall and up the stairs to his room, waving to Garbodor who had gone to the yard in search of early morning snacks. He had already set his linens in the wash, being forced to take two trips in order to fetch his laundry. And with spring arriving and the need of insulating clothes all but gone, Emmet had also decided to clean out his room and to that extent, his very much neglected wardrobe.

Emmet sometimes had trouble focusing on certain things. Conversations with boring topics or just long conversations in general. To-do lists. Paperwork on his desk at the station. Cleaning out his closet. And so maybe it came as no surprise when amongst the numerous shoe boxes and ill-fitting slacks and ugly ties, a certain crate resurfaced. One covered in canvas cloth and tied shut with two rings of red twine having been shoved into the darkest corner of his top shelf.

Maybe it's tied shut for a reason? I don't remember stationing this in here. Emmet frowned. I will return to this station later on. I need to attend to the bulk of this mess first. He moved the box over to his bed and sat it down on the bare mattress, figuring that the obvious oddity would get his attention later on in the cleaning process when he had the time to properly address it.

Emmet knew that he tended to be a bit of a slob, especially on his worse days when he was stuck in a bad way and couldn't right himself; it was a nasty habit from his childhood that he had never quite reformed. Socks were a big issue, constantly being found all over the house. He would sometimes leave his shoes downstairs and on rare occasions, his belt. Digging through his closet, Emmet found more than enough old, destroyed uniforms to toss. He compiled a trash bag full of frayed belts, singed ties, over and undersized clothes, and much more left to collect dust in a forlorn section of his closet.

Emmet uncovered one of his more precious stowaways: boxes full of photo albums containing pictures from when he and Ingo were on their pokémon journey across Unova nearly an entire decade prior. Ones where Elesa was just shy from appearing in the frame. Ones where Emmet had taken before and after photos of Ingo during their gym leader trials. Ones during their late-night ventures exploring Chargestone Cave or getting into trouble in the cities. Ones taken from places up high like Celestial Tower and Victory Road. Documentations of how time had passed, completely forgotten but perfectly preserved.

Emmet sighed, snapping the book shut. I need to focus. I can look through the pictures later. Emmet then blinked, rising and placing the crate beside the other tied-up one. A quiet reminder, one that made him want to wake up the entire house at the prospect. Ingo would love to see these! They could help with his amnesia!

Emmet was about to turn back to his closet when he paused, his eyes catching on the tied-up crate once more. Fine. I will see what's in here. He gently moved the album box away and untied the cords keeping the canvas cover held to the plastic mesh of the crate. With bated breath, Emmet gently pulled the canvas cloth away before dropping it onto the floor.

"…Oh…. Now I remember why this was tied-up."

On the very top of the crate, haphazardly folded with obvious burns and scuff marks, was an off-white jacket much like Emmet's standard issued uniform jacket back at the station. But then, he remembered that the one he was holding in his hands was one specifically tailored for travelling. One that he had secretly commissioned Elesa to make a long, long time ago back when Ingo had first disappeared. Almost subconsciously, Emmet donned the jacket, a shiver of uncomfortable ease and safety wrapping around him as the furred inside of the jacket nested against his skin, reminding him of why the jacket had a fur-lining in the first place: enduring unpredictable weather. The thing had a slight putrid scent to it.

Emmet had worn the jacket like a second skin while he had been scouring the other regions for his brother after long months of being pushed to his limit by sympathetic passengers and pitying depot agents dogging him throughout his entire shift day after day after day. He recognized each mark and tear in the jacket. A tear in the hood where he had run into a pack of Mightyena in the Hoenn region, the leader catching the scruff of his hood instead of his throat. A burn mark on one of the sleeves, the only remnant of a run-in with a trainer and their unruly Salamence in the Alola region. Numerous tears and holes in the tail end of the coat where a Centiskorch had tried to use it as a nest back in Galar.

Each burn mark, tear, hole, and ripped seam was a reminder of the numerous months Emmet had spent turning over every stone searching for his lost twin, mindlessly fueled by anger and obsession and desperation. Emmet dug his hands into the pockets of the coat, pulling out ancient receipts from pokémon centers and hole-in-the-wall restaurants and emergency pokémart purchases. He pulled out bits of ripped paper, knowing that they came from the torn-off remnants of the picture of Ingo he used to haul around for identification.

It was bittersweet, wearing a jacket that had warmed him when he had been far from home on a fruitless task to find his twin who he only now realized had been unreachable in every sense of the word. It was only when Emmet had journeyed to Sinnoh had he been stopped dead in his tracks when he had stumbled upon a specific museum deep in the heart of Snowpoint City. He still remembered that infamous day as though it had happened the day before. The comically large Froslass near Mt Coronet. The feeling of something constantly walking behind him in the mountains. The silent call of the icelands. The accidental stumble into the local museum. And of course, the records section where Emmet had seen Ingo's likeliness as clear as day plastered on the wall amidst numerous other oddly clothed strangers. Said to have been well-known and well-respected. Marked to have been long dead.

Emmet took a deep breath, realizing that his hands had been trembling all the while. He exhaled shakily and slowly got to his feet, wiping tears from his eyes. "Break time."

Quietly, he started back down the hall, the faint but warm light of dawn reaching through the living room windows. Bells jangled. Excadrill and Durant had raided the fridge in the short time they had been awake, scuttling away once Emmet came back into view. Emmet only shook his head at his pokémon's antics and began to make a pot of coffee, still wearing the old coat. Still pulling out old receipts. Still fiddling with the lapels and buttons and pocket flaps.

After a few minutes of waiting, Emmet had his coffee. He took a seat at the kitchen counter and sipped at his drink, lazily tracking Garbodor as they plucked a plastic bag from the backyard tree and swallowed it whole.

Footsteps sounded on the hall stairs. First came a tired groan. Then a scratching noise. Ingo shuffled into the kitchen, his eyes shut and his hands stuck in his disheveled hair. His pajamas wore him rather than the other way around, Chandelure having to pull him along with one metal arm curled around his forearm. Ingo cracked open one eye, blinking upon noticing that Emmet had been sitting silently only a pace away.

"…Good morning, Emmet," Ingo rasped, yawning. He then blinked. "That is… an odd fashion choice for six in the morning. It's not cold in here. Is that an alteration of our usual subway coat?"

"It is not. It's… unique."

"Ah." Wordlessly, Ingo made his own mug of coffee, taking a minute or two to add in some creamer and a splash of honey before pulling up a seat directly beside Emmet. It was a comfortable silence. That was until Ingo suddenly rose from his chair. "That reminds me! I will return in just one moment." He was up the stairs in one second and stumbling down them the next, wearing a coat much like Emmet's own.

Emmet raised an eyebrow. "You still have that beaten up thing?"

Ingo shrugged, taking a seat as he pulled the fringes of his very old, very much destroyed subway coat around his torso, the faintest of smiles on his face. "I keep it tethered to me. It's…"

"Comforting?" Emmet tried. He couldn't quite piece together what he wanted to say. What emotion it was that Ingo's battered coat reminded him of.

"That's… that's precisely it." Ingo took another sip of his coffee. "There are quite a few memories attached to this coat of mine," Ingo rambled. "Pleasant ones and… less than pleasant ones. And I find it interesting that despite our diverging rails, we both still ended up with destroyed coats." Ingo smiled, lining up the sub-bleached edge of his coat with the hole-ridden edge of Emmet's. Ingo met Emmet's gaze, practically beaming. "Still matching."

Emmet grinned. "Nah. Yours is worse."