41.
Cyllene Meets Ʌ HeɅVenly King
"You can twist these taps and figure out how warm you want the shower. If it's too hot, it'll run out more quickly, so… just get yourself clean the best you can. I'll be waiting for you out where we came in. Please hurry."
Volkner licks his unscarred lips. His own tenor is starting to scare him. It's unnerving him, at least. He stares at his right hand lingering on the shower tap — wiggling the fingers just to make sure they're real — and when Cyllene catches him doing it he notices and slinks out of the bathroom, frowning.
Cyllene has questions. She has feelings. And for all of it, she knows Volkner won't talk when he's not feeling well. Ginter didn't like talking, anyway, and why should his younger self be any different? He's left her alone to undress, but already she doesn't want to be left alone in this "future" world, or expose herself to it any further. For all she knows, it's as unstable as her own time. It has to be, when she watched Hisui fall to fire and ruin.
Did he know that was going to happen? Is that why he didn't want to talk about the future? Did… I… destroy everything?
Her heart pounds behind the frosted glass of the "shower" while a stream of hot water rains down between her shoulder blades. Too quickly, the t-shirt is soaked, and her hands don't feel like her own as they push down on a pump bottle and a pearlescent purple glob splatters on the glass-tiled floor. It must be a kind of liquid soap, but it's so sickly sweet when she smells it she doesn't want to put it anywhere on her body.
Still, her Captain's instinct takes over. She scrubs the best she can, lingering in the warmth until it suddenly turns frigid and she bolts from the shower so fast the glass door rattles. Her reflection stares wide-eyed from the mirror taking up the whole wall above the basin.
No — a sink. Running water. If this was her time, a luxury meant for the Kanjoh Emperor, and his officers in the palaces of Gilderang and Celadonia and Vermilion Bay. Commander Kamado wouldn't dare to dream of this — though he convinced himself he deserved it…
No. Let's not think about that right now. Finally it seems Volkner's words have weight. She seems safe. This world seems real enough. She braces and straightens, meeting her own face fiercely. Her chest is tight, and her hands are shaking,
And there she is. A woman called Cyllene. Straggly blue hair hangs in her eyes until she slicks it up. Her eyes are large and paler blue — deep-set and looking sunken with sleeplessness. She sniffles and drips and shivers, until she finds a towel and hugs it closer around her shoulders.
She's human. Strangely, she feels human. Vulnerable. Confused. Overloaded with sensations. Too tired to hate herself or the world, yet refusing to accept any of it.
Wisps of steam follow as she exits the bathroom and enters the master bedroom again. In the corner nearest the bathroom is a wide white bathtub big enough for two. In the center of the room, a mattress wide enough for five men is raised over three feet off the ground and draped in sheets of shining red and gold silk. The scent of savory incense clouds the air, and the hardwood floor beneath her feet is so wonderfully smooth there's not a chance for splinters. The window faces west, toward the rocky cliffs, and so far shadows still cling to the edges of the room, unaware of any impending disaster.
What the hell. She digs in the closet and the drawers beneath the bed until she finds a dry set of clothes. There's a longer pair of sturdy pants riddled with pockets, and for over this she finds a sleeveless kind of shirt and a pilled pink zippered sweater. It will have to do, she thinks, if she really can't stay here long.
"Volkner?" she says.
The master bedroom is connected to the kitchen. It's a cozy affair, with potted bonsai trees all along the bar — miniature pines and eggers — and wine bottles stacked up in glass cabinets. A kotatsu sits in the far corner, with a variety of sparkling red crystals spread out amidst teacups.
"I'm ready to go," Cyllene calls out. There's no response from the corridor leading to the elevator. Volkner's not sitting on the massive leather couch, or standing at the wall of windows that opens to the balcony and the ethereal blue horizon beyond. This place is like a genuine castle in the air, with the illusion of gold and green flames dancing in blown-glass tiles all along the sunlit walls. She doesn't know what the long, sparkly red planks are stacked up behind the couch, but she has to stroke them as she passes.
Has he left without her? Shyly, she shuffles back into the kitchen, her stomach twisting. The cup of "cold brew" is still sitting on the counter, and whatever it's done to her, she may as well be poisoned. She sucks in a breath, heartbeat refusing to settle. A few sharp curses escape her lips.
"Ginter!" she cries, as if he might answer to that instead. But still there's no response. Where did he go? Why isn't he waiting!? What is this place, and why did he leave me here?
She pulls open the door of a great silver box and is met with a blast of cold air. Colorful packages and bottles are stuffed on every shelf. Curiously, she opens a paper carton and finds two rows of tiny freshly-plucked eggs just within.
And then she notices the beer bottles on a shelf on the inside of the door. What must be beer bottles, because the tall brown necks haven't changed shape in seven hundred years, and getting the metal cap off is as easy as wrenching it over a hard, flat surface like the countertop. Cyllene seizes one and grips it firmly in her right hand.
It's cold. She hasn't had a cold beer in…
She's never had a cold beer before. Not in Hisui. Not in Hoenn. Cyllene stares at the label — it's a man in a wide-brimmed cap riding on the back of a bucking Tauros beneath a full moon.
"I'm going to drink all your beer if we're not going anywhere," she tells the empty penthouse.
She waits a few seconds. Nothing. Then…
Ding!
In the other room, the elevator doors slide open, and a voice that isn't Volkner's is sighing very heavily.
"Well, I thought you'd already worked that into the plan. She can't… I thought Perrin told you that when you went to buy bikinis, babe. It's not her fault… Well, she can't stand up front if she's also taking pictures of the ceremony. That's all there is to it."
It's deeper and stronger than Volkner's voice. There's life in it. And it's frustrated.
"Yeah, I know you're gonna say Volkner shouldn't show up, but the fact is, I want Volkner in the pictures, so he's gonna have to suck it up and be nice…
"No, I haven't talked to him yet. I still can't find him. He never checked into the hotel last night. There's something weird going on… No, just… let me handle it. He's… he's not gonna try it, babe. 'Kay? Do you hear me? If he tests me, I'll cook his ass, and you can watch."
Cyllene hears the footsteps of someone in sandals. She freezes, bottle in hand, as the voice almost trips over the garbage bags. Why the man is talking to himself, she can't be sure, but this must be the "Flint" Volkner wants desperately to evade.
Slowly, she inches over the countertop and peers into the grand living room. There's a flash of movement — bright yellow fabric conforming to a shoulder. A large, suntanned hand, clenched into a fist. Curls of scarlet hair.
"We're just gonna have four guys and three girls. Perrin'll still be there, and it'll still be fun, okay? I love you… I know. I know… I'll see you tonight. Bye."
There's a dreadfully long sigh, followed by a powerful "Fuck." And then the stranger in sandals starts shouting.
"VOLKNER!"
The sandals start stomping. The bitter poison swirls in Cyllene's stomach, and she draws back, startled by the volume.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
"HEY, JACKASS! WHAT'D YOU TALK TO LAINEY ABOUT AT THE SOLAR BEAN THIS MORNING!?"
Flint's fists slam into the dense wooden door on the right side of the living room so hard she imagines it could create splinters.
"LISTEN, MAN, I GOT A SHORT FUSE, AND I KNOW HOW TO USE IT! "
Cyllene hears the door jamming back and forth. He must be ramming into it with his shoulder, jiggling the handle — trying to break in—
"VOLKNER!" the man shrieks. "WHERE DID YOU GO LAST NIGHT!?"
She swings the beer bottle into the kitchen counter, and it shatters. Ice-cold foam sprays over her fingers. Beer cascades off the edge, spraying her toes and soaking the front of the pants she just put on. Tiny bits of glass rain down all over the floor.
The bottleneck remains in her hand. Panicking, she flings it across the room and watches it burst into glittering shards against one of the windows. A crescent moon crack is left behind, slightly smeary.
She's too wired to realize what she's done. A knot builds up in her throat. The banging stops, and the sandals stomp toward her now, incredibly fast.
Cyllene throws herself forward and slips. The top of her left foot just scrapes a shard. She crumples, knees crashing into the hard linoleum. Her fingers come close to biting more sharp pieces of bottle, and she sweeps them away, watching them scatter in the cold, yeasty fluid running free.
Two huge hands slam on the countertop behind her. She can almost feel Flint's shadow arching — swallowing her before he even sees her face. She's frozen where she kneels, trapped amidst the glass, shivering and almost certainly dying…
"Oh…" she hears him say. Then, "What the…?"
The shadow nears, slinking on long, bowed legs. She tries to crawl forward, but someone's hovering above her now, probably trying to get a good look at all her miserable features. His thonged sandals squish into beer and glass.
Shrink, she forces. Thicken and shrink. Transform! Change!
Her skin doesn't ripple. Her muscles don't burn. Her insides don't gurgle or melt. She's human. The bracelet feels lifeless and loose on her wrist. She raises it, expecting the familiar magic glow of Volkner's blood — but it's turned back into the new silver "wallet chain," and some of the links are bent and twisted.
Her powers… aren't working.
"Let me help you."
He shakes a hand at her. Two gleaming black crystal bangles squeeze around the right wrist, matching a pair on the other.
"I'm Volkner's friend," Cyllene manages to say.
"I assumed that. My friend at the coffee shop said Volkner was trying to buy a drink for his girlf… girfr… a girl friend. Is he asleep?"
Cyllene tenses. "Don't hurt him. He doesn't want to see you, and he doesn't feel well."
"I wasn't gonna hurt him. I just wanna talk to him about some things. You probably already know."
She looks up at him, and already she's had it with this sunny silver city and all it has to offer.
"He hasn't told me anything."
"Yeah. That's typical," Flint says.
Flint looks exactly like Zisu.
The scarlet curls are shorter and fluffier, like a cloud around his head, and it's like the bones have shifted into the stronger sex — bigger brows and a squared-off chin sprouting even more scarlet hair. His oversized yellow shirt is unbuttoned to a toned chest and stomach, and while he's not too broad or beefy, his long arms and bow legs still make him impossibly tall.
Those smokey gray eyes carry that same cleverness — that same spark of mischief or passion that Cyllene has spent her whole life loving and trusting in. Alive before her. Warm. Radiant.
Zisu's children survived! is her first shocking thought. Volkner is friends with her direct descendant, and the resemblance is incredible!
Her second thought is inevitable.
Zisu is dead.
I am not supposed to be here.
Granted, Flint's smile is just as tense as she feels. He's embarrassed, and that spark is tilting sharply into passion as he strains to figure out why a woman without eyebrows just broke a beer bottle all over his kitchen when "talking to" Volkner is the only thing really on his mind.
"I really don't want you sitting in broken glass," he says, gently, and now she can recognize the timbre as well. If his voice were a titch higher, he'd sound just like the woman who first waxed her eyebrows in the first place.
"I'm sorry," Cyllene replies. "I don't feel well either. If you're angry, we'll leave. I just don't know where Volkner went."
His cheeks start to glow a faint pink. "I'm not angry at anybody, 'kay? I just didn't know Volkner had any new friends. He doesn't put himself out there that much outside of his gym duties. I've… never seen you before… Have I? Do you have any relatives in Sunyshore?"
She shakes her head. "We've never met."
"Riiight. 'Kay, up we go," he says, awkwardly pulling her to her feet. And then some, as he hoists her into his arms and carries her effortlessly over the puddle and plops her onto a stool on the other side of the bar.
His shirt smells like smoke.
"So…" not-Zisu says, when the floor is mostly cleaned up and he's given her a pair of shorts that aren't soaked in beer. He slides her a glass of water so clear she can see her fingers through it. Then he smiles at her from the other side of the bar counter, his teeth a spotless, brilliant white.
"What," she says.
"Hoenn."
"What about Hoenn?"
"You from the land or the water?"
It takes her a minute to understand when all she can see is Zisu Perilla, breathing and grinning and not in a quarter-life crisis before her. The choker cinched around his neck is glinting, made of the same black stone as his bangles.
"Fall Harbor," she answers.
Flint brightens. "Oh! Fallarbor Town! I've been there. Kinna quaint."
"How did you know?"
He shrugs. "Lucky guess. I'm full o' those. And your name is?"
She takes a sip, and the water doesn't taste like dust or sweat. It's plain and cool and beautiful, and she wonders how much of it she's allowed, and where Volkner's gone, and if he's coming back to explain any of this.
"I'm Cyllene."
"Cyllene?" He crosses his arms and almost smirks at her. "But I could've sworn you were starstruck."
She stares for a long moment. Now the gray eyes seem alien. He's not the woman who bought her a sword and hugged her. He's a stranger. He's a man wearing her best friend's skin. He might not even be Zisu's descendant after all. Just a coincidence. A mirage. A vision. A shapeshifter, to use Volkner's words. Zisu shouldn't have chin hair, or chest hair, or hair beneath the navel. She's tired.
She wants to know who Volkner really is, if not just a shapeshifter himself.
"I don't follow," she says. "My surname is Selenelion. That should prove to you I'm Hoennese. Many names there take after nature."
"I gotcha. Like Steven Stone. You should know him. He's an old pal o' mine. Comin' up here for the weekend, in fact."
Flint winks as he tells her this. He takes the empty glass and refills it. Water streams out of a spout in the front of the silver box.
"I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable," he continues. "Just thought, well, you looked so stunned when you saw me. I'm as real as it gets! Maybe I look skinnier in person. I've been trying to build more muscle lately. Everybody says I'm a Sudowoodo."
He flexes his biceps in front of her — those eyebrows arching inhumanly high.
"Ah." She gulps down the second glass. The wired feeling still hasn't settled, and she still doesn't know what he wants her to tell him.
Flint's stifling a laugh as he pushes himself up to sit on the counter. He straightens his back and gazes out at the grand ocean vista.
"How many other Elites have you met before me? A poker face at Steven Stone? Seriously? Where did Volkner find you? You're not like other women he's dated, and I really mean that in, like, the least superficial way possible."
"We met earlier in the summer," she says, trying it out. "He saved me when I got hit with a Night Shade, and then I asked him out to breakfast."
Flint shakes his head. "And he agreed to go out with you? There's no frickin' way. Where is that asshole? I'm gonna roast his ass."
He bounces down and heads toward the closed door again, but Cyllene races to stop him from pounding on it.
"I apologize," she says, as politely as she can. "I suppose I didn't realize it earlier. You must be the King of Burning Sand. This is your city. That's really all I've heard about you. Volkner didn't tell me much about where he's from before we came here. If we're intruding, you can tell us to leave, and we will."
The King of Burning Sand, she realizes. Zisu's children actually became royalty!
"Uh…"
Flint's face twists in confusion. Cyllene strengthens her glare. She's sincere… she thinks. Unless Volkner's a liar, which he could be. He didn't want to tell her about the future. He couldn't tell her he was best friends with Zisu's great-something-grandson in a city of silver stairs and cold brew and so much near-nudity.
"I'm sorry," Flint says, "but are you high right now? What else did you have today besides that coffee?"
"I've never had coffee before. Volkner said it might make me sick."
He gazes into her eyes, almost trying to find something she can't see for herself. She's sick of things and people doing that. Fine if Volkner's too sick to talk. She wasn't meant to follow him anyway. She doesn't know how she got to his time, or why she already has the King of Burning Sand thinking she's weird.
"I didn't know he was famous when I met him," she offers.
Flint blinks in disbelief. "When you first meet Volkner, you should know right away that he's… Volkner," he tries to explain. "Did he have his blue jacket on?"
She nods slowly. "He had it with him."
"And did you see the way he battles? He's electrifying."
"I know he's a Gym Leader."
"Pssh, yeah, he's the strongest Gym Leader in the whole frickin' Sinnoh region! He's so strong sometimes he bores himself battling! Dude's team is so supercharged they can make me break a sweat, and I main Fire!"
"Right. You're… Flint."
Cyllene feels like an idiot. Ginter warned her his reputation as a young man was startling. And now here she is, knowing none of it in front of the man who probably knows it best.
"But you don't seem to know I'm one of Sinnoh's Elite Four. 'King of Burning Sand.' Usually people just call me the Hooligan King! Was Volkner trying to convince you he was an average mortal? God, I feel bad if I ruined something. But then why'd he bring you all the way to Sunyshore this weekend? It just doesn't make any sense at all. Especially with those punches he tried throwing yesterday."
"I don't want to talk about this," she says.
"It's fine if you don't. I get that it's not my business. I'm just trying to figure out—"
"There's nothing you need to figure out. Whatever you did, you made Volkner sick to his stomach. He's done things with me I didn't like either. I'm only here because he was… he was in bad shape, and I wanted to bring him home safely."
Flint is trying to piece things together with his own wits and judgment. She wishes he wouldn't. She doesn't want to know what he's assuming, because as far as she knows, none of it involves magic powers or serpentine demons or time-travel, and if a male Zisu greets his friends with a word as dreadful-sounding as "jackass," then she doesn't want to get on his bad side.
"How do you even know he's in there?" she asks, looking toward the door. There's no snoring within, though with Volkner's de-aged body it's likely he's sleeping the deepest he has in weeks.
"My brother told me, and I found the spare key missing. Volkner's taking one of his naps. He's got a superpower where if he gets comfy only a pitch-black crack o' thunder can wake him, and that's only 'cause he can smell ozone at ground level. He's like a human radar. It's crazy, but I guess that's what his regimen does to a guy."
Cyllene assumes "Radar" is an Electric-type Pokémon Laventon never managed to find and Ginter was never crazy enough to chase.
And all at once, she's even more embarrassed. He's tired. Just like you, you ignoramus. He probably saw a bed and gave up on escaping.
Flint sighs, trying to wave her aside, but she refuses to move. She's staring down at his feet. The tall man crosses his arms, a bit indignant, and cocks his head for the next question.
"How long do you think you'll be staying in town, Cyllene?"
She can't stop trembling. Why is this room in the sky so cold? She's never drinking coffee again. No amount of "what the hell" or "let the current course through your body" will convince her.
"I haven't thought about it," she answers. "I just got here this morning. Volkner was showing me around."
"Well," Flint says with a bit of an edge and a sneer, "How about this? Since I don't know who you are or what you're doing in my penthouse breaking shit around Volkner's fragile heart, I say we do each other some favors."
Now her head jerks up. It's profound hearing that word again. Whether he likes it or not, Flint's playing with fire. He can't trust her with his life. She can barely trust him with hers, knowing whose blood runs through his veins — knowing how wary a person with scarlet curls can be.
"I got some special training with my partners to do, so if Volkner really needs his rest, I'll let him stay in there for as long as he needs. He can sleep for one hour or ten. I'll make sure nobody disturbs him. Not even the girl who bagged up all his clothes and wants him to sleep on the street."
Cyllene takes a shaking breath. "That sounds good. Let him sleep."
"And… in return, I need you to do something very important for me. Ya see, this Saturday I'm marrying my soulmate, Candice. And for whatever reason, she just realized our wedding party isn't gonna be symmetrical like she wanted. So if you're okay filling in the gap and being a bridesmaid for a few days, I'll forget about the glass."
The same breath comes out shattered. Turning into a Wurmple wouldn't save her from this. She'd rather be a tumblestone. Or a medicinal leek. Poison. Eiffel. She'd rather have a thousand legs and the power to summon sleepwalkers and murder them with frenzied golden beasts.
But… you look just like Zisu…
"Your other option is winning a friendly battle against me, and since I'm one of the Elite Four — a Heavenly King o' the arena like you rightly guessed — you'd have to be some kind of crazy Pokémon master to quench my blaze. I've been around the world and never heard of you, so I'm guessing that's a no.
One of the bangled hands comes forward, expecting a firm shake this time.
"So, hotshot… Can I count on you?"
~N~
Okay, I try to be subtle with the fact Cyllene is a self-insert, but HOT DAMN, if FLINT of the FRICKIN ELITE FOUR was real and talking to you? ^^
Published by scrivenernoodz on FFN and AO3 July 25th, 2024. Thanks for reading! Don't repost.