Early morning, or something like it, I was lying awake under the table, too tired to stare at its underside, which I already knew was metal and chock-full of screws and bolts. Kieran and Micheal were whispering to each other at the watch spot, and I didn't need to get up until breakfast as my shift had passed.

My fingers pressed against the metal floor, absorbing its cold for a moment. I was deep in thought. To anyone, I probably looked asleep. It was a choice, rare moment where my mind was indeed racing, but my body was too low on energy for anxious fidgeting. The quiet let me focus on my sense of touch, and in turn, I could feel out my thoughts uninterrupted. When it came to my memories, that was the best way to unpack them.

I remembered that first day of my sophomore history class. It wasn't long ago, after all, just over three months. A girl with long purple streaks in her hair would twirl a pencil back and forth, staring at the chalkboard at the front of the class. It was my first year with Mrs. Isabelle, but not hers. Back then, yeah, I thought Lola was hot, and definitely out of my league. I still thought so, to an extent. She was confident, unabashed, stylish, tall, and funny. Meanwhile, I was a short and frumpy hoodie on legs!

There was no learning while sitting next to her. She would spin the heck out of the aforementioned pencil in her hands, and her distraction was contagious. How was I supposed to keep track of class when she kept looking out the window? Point is: if you wanted to focus on the lecture about Louis Riel, good luck. Well, I guessed the other main point was that our school didn't have proper ADHD accommodations. I myself would get lost in running my palm on the cold metal under my desk. Back and forth, back and forth. I remembered realizing that my go-to fidget stimming was more texture and temperature oriented. While I was with her, she was loose and untied my chains a little too.

Okay. Then, the bus. I cringed. It always came back to the bus.

I couldn't unpack everything about it right now. Not the loss of our driver (potentially meaning we would die in a fiery crash upon coming home), not the near-death experience that portal ride was (I'd now had worse since), not the fear of seeing everything be torn apart, and then your own body shrinking, growing fur and a tail and losing a finger on both hands, trying not to cry because of how loud everything was with those new heavy ears, even your tongue and teeth feeling foreign in your mouth, a muzzle filling the lower half of your vision, and you didn't notice it change gradually through hours until you were dropped on the floor— with the feeling of sore muscles and organs that weren't mine, and me not being me anymore and—

Erm, as I said, I couldn't unpack everything. So I wouldn't.

I'd spawned in the same room as Lola, though I hadn't known it was her yet. In one corner, I was just getting my bearings, by which of course I mean silently sobbing into my shoulder. Emolga were okay Pokémon, but why'd I have to turn into something smaller than my own rib cage?

I hate this I hate this I hate this

"Hey," Lola had greeted from her corner. Her eyes were wide from the surprise, but she seemed very calm about the situation, almost giddy. Those bright red irises and stark white pupils stood out against the blue-green glow of the mushrooms on the wall. Curiosity against fear.

Weirdo, I'd thought. Rattled as I'd been, I guess I was quick to judge.

Lola stumbled, moving one leg at a time. It was unusually methodical for her. Her head leaned toward the side her Absol horn was on. Must've been a heavy ornament. She put her weight on the wall, which prompted me to also try and get up. Emolga were light, but so was their muscle mass. Time to grab a wall for balance and put the hand-paws to use.

The hand-paws. The tail. This body. They weren't mine.

"Our little ballet recital," Lola laughed at our awkward stances. "Peter and the Wolf. I'm the wolf."

Wolf?

Pokémon! I'd thought, short-circuited. Of course, I'd assumed everyone recognized the hundreds of Pokémon out there by name, type, and evolution method. Like an idiot, I'd assumed things. However, I was nowhere near as dumb as an Absol who didn't know a Pikachu clone when she saw one.

I needed the absurd. There was no social protocol for it in my brain, thus no anxiety about accidentally breaking a rule. Grating as she'd been while I was recovering from the stress, Lola was a comfort to share a room with.

We'd leaned on the outer walls, but I knew we could lean against each other, fully letting go and relaxing, falling in perfect balance, both unstoppable force and immovable object.


I'd just conferred with myself about the relationship. Lola and I? That could work. We got along. But I had realized that wasn't the issue. I'd had to look back on my thinking for that. Analysis-ception, if you will.

From the moment I'd stepped into the Pokémon world, new senses pounded at my mind. The issue was that this body made me feel intensely dysphoric. I wanted to pick at it like a scab until it bled and bled and went away. Why would I give her that trash to hold?

I waited, with nervousness raising the fur on my tail. I didn't realize how bushy it could get. It seemed the more I noticed this body, the more it showed itself. At last, I heard Lola shift as she stretched and got up.

I gestured to her once I'd gotten her attention, just a slight nod of the head. I didn't want to make noise, and big movements defeated the purpose too. "Let's go for a stroll. We have to talk."

The Absol had to blink out the sleep in her eyes, but she got up without a fuss. As we got out from under the table,I was relieved to notice Micheal and Kieran weren't staring. They did shut up real fast when they noticed us, yet didn't ask any questions either. They weren't going to follow us. God, why was I still sweating, then?

Once we were far enough for Lola, she sat down against the wall. I would've liked to at least walk a few more halls, but this was out of earshot. It would do.

Lola's eyes were tired, and her voice was low. "What is it?" She asked.

"I'm, uh…" I was not prepared already. The conversation needed to happen, though. "I can't let you date me while I'm this. I'm sorry."

I expected her to get angry. But no. Her red irises darted around in confusion. "Wh-what did I do?"

"No! It's not you, it's—" I stammered, in disbelief that I was using that line, "it's me. Actually it's— I'm not me. This is wrong."

"You are you. I don't get it," she cocked her head to the side.

I winced. "I almos— I can't be comfortable dating you while I'm this. It feels like I'm lying to you. I'm sorry."

"… I understand," she mumbled after a long pause. "But, uh, is delaying it making you more comfortable?"

I shrugged. "Time'll tell." I sure couldn't. Was I going to faint? I thought so. My veins prickled with anxiety needlepoints. I sighed out a blast of hot air.

I wanted to cry.

"Hey! Hey," Lola stopped me. "Whatever we do, okay? You're my friend first, and if you need a hug, you get a hug."

She'd read my mind somehow and I gave in to the embrace. She'd put work into getting to know me, and I threw a rejection at her face. It felt awful to be the source of someone's shame. I didn't judge her for liking me! I just couldn't step up to the plate. Emolga couldn't hold baseball bats anyway. They were too heavy.

"Thanks," I squeaked through dense white fluff. "Wanna get a latte?"


The ice cubes jostled in my cup, creaking and cracking in the cold coffee. We had sugar, but the milk was sweet enough for my tastes. 2%, not skim. Fancy. I hesitated to drink more at the moment because the freezing paper cup felt great against my palms. I would've rubbed it against my forehead too if I wasn't worried of looking like a weirdo. I didn't have the energy to deflect embarrassment into jokes. I was still a mess. That conversation had to happen, but no one felt good about it. Even then, I was wondering if I really should've said anything. Who cared if I felt bad if I tried to solve it by making myself and someone else feel bad?

I wandered in the kitchen area, carrying a cup I knew felt too heavy. While peeking into the shelves, I looked for anything other than food which might be useful: containers, silverware, that kind of thing. I'd already set aside a mortar and pestle, but I wasn't sure anyone was willing or able to lug it around. Leaning in some more next to the sugar and flour, the cabinet door suddenly changed texture.

That wasn't… that wasn't wood. Sawdust? No, it was more granular, but still dry and compact. I tapped the surface. It was light and rough. I knocked on the first half of the door. Yup,that was wood. What was the other half? The texture was familiar, though I couldn't place it. I slid my hand between the two sections, feeling one texture ease out while the other took over. The floor was the same, and if I could reach the ceiling, I was sure I'd spot the pattern.

Something seemed to be corrupting the shelf in a gradient fashion. I suddenly thought of the level as a person. A person with an illness. I could see the energies from everyone around me, so why couldn't the electricity in the walls also have some form of conscience? Did that kind of aura indicate life? If so, that life was weak and sick. I racked my brain for reasons why this spot was different, and reached for a bag of brown sugar in the back to see if something was off. I couldn't move it, like someone had taped it down. I opened the cabinet door a bit more on a hunch.

Wait. Wait, that bag is fused to the floor.

Touching the bag, I straight up couldn't tell where it stopped against the wood floor. My tail tensed. The paper texture seeping into the floor was just eerie. Was the food doing something to the environment? Oh, I didn't like that one bit. I was drinking it! Before I could stop myself, I had another sip. Okay, it seemed I didn't care that much. We'd already run into so many things to make us run for the hills that the thought of refreshment numbed the fear. Concern was there, worry was dead.

"Gab, can you come over here?" Valérie asked from outside. "We need you for something."

Another coffee batch? I tensed. Well, it was better than ruminating on that mysterious cabinet. I should've come out from there anyway. The see-through wall, and then this? If we were in a video game, this level had massive, sloppy texture glitches.

"Yeah, what is it?" I closed the door behind me, latte in hand— in paws.

Everyone had been sat under the table again, empty paper cups stacked into precarious towers. When I'd emerged, they were in front of the fridge, Valérie pointing to the smart screen.

"You're the Electric type," she gestured.

There was the fridge clock again. This time, it also showed a date. It shouldn't have surprised me, as we'd all helped each other keep count of the days since the portal havoc. The more people on the dataset, the better and more accurate. However, it wasn't December 20th, or even 21st. I thought I'd given it enough looseness so that if we were wrong about a day or two, it wouldn't be that much of a big deal. But…

December 25th. Already? I thought, my heart shattering. Where the hell had five days gone? How much time did we lose? When?

"I…" I began, my mouth dry, "what? Is that correct? It's Christmas?"

Kieran jumped in. "I keep telling them that the hours change. For some reason, when someone gets closer, it swaps around."

Micheal cut him off. "Yeah, it's totally glitching," he affirmed.

"No, no. It did that before," I confessed. "I was on the door handle next to it, remember? I noticed it doing that."

I expected Chloe to pop up and add to my statement. Usually, she and I came to similar conclusions, so maybe she'd infer it was because of our different initial spawn times. The Swablu had her eyes boring into the ground. It was the first big holiday we were missing from home, after all. Her silence sent a chill up my spine.

"You sure it's not a glitch? We think it's that control panel," Micheal continued, nodding at Kieran. "It's got to be on the fritz."

"And it's like a whole hour away," Kieran grumbled.

I sighed. That was a hell of a way to ask me to walk alone to check for something I didn't even think was there. My fingertips dug into the coffee cup. "I'm— I'm not sure—"

"Kieran," Micheal shook his head. "You're going with her. Complainer." The Beedrill's eye twitched— or was that a wink?

"Bring the danger detector with you too," Valérie added. "We'll hold down the fort here. You said you wanted me to figure out the mortar?"

Oh! She did listen to me when I'd brought it up. "Yeah, if it's not too much trouble."

"Gotcha," the Meditite said. She set off to the cupboard.

As the rest dispersed, I went to place my cup next to the construction site under the table. Maybe eventually we could build a coffee cup castle. Kieran waited near the hallway and— Lola. She got up from her nap and smiled, ready to go, but my mood dropped. Yeah. If I did the right thing, my stomach hadn't gotten the memo. It ached and ached in grief whenever I looked at her. Chloe wasn't doing great either. She still wasn't looking at me.God. Being trapped away from home for Christmas was heavy.


"Um… what're we looking for?" Lola eyed the panel. If nothing was jumping out with her Absol sense, it was a good sign. Good because there wasn't a problem after all, I mean. Bad because we'd already walked all the way out here— at least we'd done a good job memorizing that map. This room was still empty, thank goodness. The storm brewed outside, but the fluorescent lights stayed roughly at the same brightness.

I cleared my throat. Man, the air had gotten dry. "Irregularities," I said. "The panel looks fine to me. As far as I can tell, everything's connecting. The circuits, or whatever they are."

Kieran squinted. "So, you're just playing it by ear? I thought you'd read up on robotics. Cause, like, you know a lot."

It really wasn't as complicated as he made it seem. If he was an Emolga or another Electric-type, he'd know how easy it was to see what was up. The panel was closed, that big lightning bolt emblem still plastered onto it. Through the electric sense, I noted a dense spark of power, jittering at moments but overall even. If I focused more, the circuit lines and current directions were distinguishable. All I did was pilot this weird, sinewy machine that could sense them.

"Uh… thanks?" I shrugged. "Nah, I'm winging it. Pun not intended."

"That's really cool," Lola whispered.

"Pfft, if you two need a room…" Kieran snorted. He'd started to pace back the way we came from. I coughed. He'd been smirking this time, so even though it was rude, I could tell it hadn't been malicious. Honestly, who cares? We might've had weird friction between the two of us, but he could be the first to know about Lola and I's decision.

"We… decided to take a break," I stated. Really, it was none of his business, but everyone would find out eventually.

"You did not," he balked. Then he tried his hardest not to laugh. Wait, what? "You did not."

"What's so funny?" Lola muttered, unable to look the Beedrill in the eye.

"Mm, mm," he shook his head mockingly, "nuh-uh. Nothing at all." It was only a few seconds of silence that did him in, and then the Beedrill howled a cackle out. His head was thrown back and everything.

Oh, he is not doing well, I thought. This was too weird for me to even be offended. I sent a shrug Lola's way, and she returned it. Our verdict: still rude as hell, but harmless. God, I couldn't wait to be home. I wanted normal, human problems again. Those came with school, and not being a rodent.

"It's a right, then a left, right? I mean—" I stammered, "Left, right,correct?"

Down the corridors we went again. I felt like I was gonna go insane too. Since discovering I could sense electricity, it had gotten more obvious. Everywhere I looked, faint flashes. It was like seeing an ant from the corner of your eye. Sometimes I forgot I wasn't seeing those sparks, but my brain must've tried to quantify it that way. So, were the sparks actually there physically, or was my mind making stuff up to fit in the gaps? The mix threatened to make me nauseous. We were rounding the corner to the kitchen—finally— when I started to lean on the wall for support. My palm felt the static as much as my sight. Oddly, it helped to balance it out, to feel like it was normal. I thought I was lagging behind, but an Absol silhouette stood still in the threshold.

"Oh," Lola mumbled. "Oh, woah. Bad vibes here."

"Yeah?" I asked. Kieran slowed his pace as well. Lola's sixth sense was also important to watch out for, but still new. We were all curious rather than afraid, but I wasn't sure if it was helping her work through it. We couldn't follow her into her nightmares, after all. I couldn't break down if my own magic angst was easy next to that.

"Um," she continued, "the skylight looks… breakable? Not immediately, but maybe. I know it makes no sense, but that's what I'm getting."

When I looked back down from that still grainy skylight (was it made of bad sand or something?) I was faced with something that should've triggered Lola's danger sense. The entire kitchen was a tripping hazard. There weren't any garbage bins, so eggshells, dough, and milk were spilled over a spot on the floor that had tried to contain the chaos. Somehow, there was flour all over the fridge door. Dirty bowls and spoons littered the counter so much I could see them from my one-foot viewpoint. Our piles of coffee cups had been repurposed into crude sculptures: a horse with ripped edges, a rose that could be a cabbage, two ugly angels holding hands— oh, that was a nativity scene and the not-cabbage-rose was actually Jesus. God damn, that was bad. All figures were off-white because of coffee stains. Thankfully, the backpack was spotless and safely stowed against the wall closest to the hallway.

What is this, Folklorama? I thought in disbelief.

But on the table, the real topper— cake topper, if you will— was a garish, horrible tower cake about as tall as Valérie, who was caught in our headlights with a piping bag in hand. Placed on the new tablecloth with Valérie and the cake was Micheal, using paws to grab random berries to put on the abhorrence. The Meditite finished the icing dollop she was working on, and gave us an awkward wave.

"Surpriiiiise," Valérie said. "Thought you guys would take more time."

Kieran groaned and flew lazily to her side. "Well, there was nothing wrong over there, like we planned," he clarified through gritted teeth. "What happened?" He tried to whisper.

"Well, uh," Valérie started, "my step-brother's the cook in my family."

"Uh-huh."

"But I remembered I have made a mug cake before. So I took a pitcher and put the mix in—"

"You put the plastic pitcher in the oven," Micheal grumbled. I hadn't seen him this haggard since— yeah. That. We've been over it.

"Yeah, but that became a cake stand. Like sorta-toxic Rice Krispies. That's how they do it, I've seen baking shows. I put the backup cake around it AFTER everything cooled down. I kind of, like, mashed it to cover the stand. I don't know much about Pokémon, but I'm assuming we can't eat plastic. So that's solved."

She was rambling. I knew her enough at this point to tell she was freaking out, but she wasn't ready to acknowledge it. We'd have to wait for the baking adrenaline to leave her before she'd quiet down. Or maybe it was the coffee.

"I didn't mess up the icing!" the Meditite affirmed, crossing her arms.

"That bag was already in the fridge when I left," Kieran hissed.

"Try to do this yourself without a recipe," she sneered back.

It got really quiet. I could never tell where Valérie and Kieran stood with each other, so a fight could lead anywhere from a shrug to a strangling. Chloe flew in to save the day, swooping in from somewhere on the counter. She looked better than when I'd left, but her feathers hadn't gone back to normal. They weren't slick again, just less ruffled. Crumpled.

"Merry Christmas!" The Swablu shouted, landing between Valérie and Kieran. Her wings pushed each away from the other. "We all tried our best," she stressed in a singsong tone. "Let's sit down."

"Merry Christmas, I guess!" Micheal announced after more absolute silence. He hopped down to a metal chair with a clang, Kieran following his example.

Lola and I were the only ones still outside and speechless. Why was everyone just staring at us from the table area? Us two barely made eye contact with each other as we walked toward the monster pastry. Lola gave me a boost to the table surface, but that was about it. The silence continued once we were sat down. It was the least noisy Christmas dinner I'd attended.

What are they even expecting?

"… should we say grace?" I whispered. My grandparents were particular about it, so every holiday dinner I'd experienced was laden with extra wait times disguised as prayer.

"After everything that's happened, I don't think there is a God," Kieran said, deadpan. His head lay on the tablecloth face first.

"Shut the hell up," Valérie said. "You got turned into a cool bee thing and expect nothing to be going on up there?"

"Aliens, not God."

"This is not the conversation I wanted to have," mumbled Micheal.

"Dearly beloved!" Chloe shouted, her voice cracking. The sheer volume silenced everyone else, and we turned to her.

Dearly beloved? She wasn't about to do that, was she? She was not—

"Do you, Gabrielle Powers, take Lola as your wife in illegal matrimony?"

Valérie cut off the ensuing silence. "Illegal matrimony?"

"I'm not an ordained minister." She shrunk under her feathers. Now, she wasn't afraid of looking me in the eye. Despite her mild embarrassment, she seemed giddy beyond belief.

Yeah,she had looked embarrassed. I looked mortified.

"We're on a break," Lola blurted out. She looked at me, as if to check if it was okay to say it. I gave her a quick nod, contrasting my bulging eyes. "Please stop. Jesus tap-dancing Christ," she reprised.

"Jesus. Exactly," Valérie fist-pumped. "Homeboy's birthday. Christmas!" She hollered. Kieran let out a sad, sarcastic laugh bordering on manic.

All right, no one was taking the Christmas news well. At all. Least of all me, but I'd been so distraught over everything that I'd flipped into workhorse mode once again. I thought everyone had. But… I guessed that maybe I was used to being scared and depressed in everyday life. I didn't have my meds here— God, sometimes I forgot that as a person sometimes I could feel normal thanks to them— but at least I'd lived with myself without chemical help before. Was this the first time it'd hit some of my classmates full force?

"No Christmas wedding, guys," Lola groaned in disbelief. I'd expected her to be less casual about it. But I did appreciate a blunt advocate for my opinion. It made things a lot easier. "So, uh, how's about that cake?"

Upon closer look, I realized I'd misjudged the tower cake. It was worse than I thought. There were icing-less bald spots due to haphazard technique, showing off a dry and crumbly interior. At least the berries shoved into the mass here and there gave it a Christmas tree look. There was a cluster of Chople berries at the very top, red and shiny against a single candle in the middle. Good job, Micheal!

The Litleo sneezed. "Sorry," he rubbed his muzzle after a couple of "bless you"s. "It's not the cake or the plastic, it's just the, uh, thing from before."

Lola cocked her head. "What do you even smell? Metal?"

"I— maybe," Micheal answered. "I guess that makes sense. I thought that it might've been pennies, or—"

"Blood," Kieran said bluntly. He held his left stinger high. "But we might not have any! I haven't seen a drop of blood from anyone. No worries, dude. Pokémon are amazing."

Lola shook her head, and her eyes grew distant. "Uh… we don't… have…" she stuttered.

Okay, our two quadrupeds' mental state was plummeting. I thought we'd been at rock bottom. This time, then, it was certain. I looked at Chloe, hopefully not too accusingly. She returned a sheepish smile, a considerate, quiet apology. I sighed. If we were having a group breakdown, there were worse ways for it to go. I reached for a plastic fork.

At that moment, the Chople berries exploded.

Shrieks pierced my ears, already aching from the blast sound. The explosion was thankfully contained to the cake, which I interpreted as being mercy-killed. The flames kept going steady and high, and their heat was as strong as a bonfire. Kieran had flown to the cupboards for safety while Micheal, fur on end, tried to pat out the smaller smoulders with his paws. I'd almost forgotten Valérie was a swear machine, but I'd just gotten a refresher.

But I was most concerned about who I didn't see. Lola had vanished and I heard frantic claws scratching at the hallway floor tiles. I connected the dots right there and my anger grew so fast I almost popped a vein.

"She just got through the whole danger sense thing!" I scolded, voice gruffer, more emotional than I'd intended. "Come on, guys."

"Go after her," Chloe pleaded, pushing the forks and napkins away from the blaze. "Valérie can put this out, all right? I'm so sorry about the trouble, I should've known that—that that would—"

Oh. So this was her idea. Somehow it made me less pissed off. But managing all my feelings about this could wait. Lola needed help, and that's what mattered most. I gave Chloe an affirmative nod, and ran as fast as I could down the hallway. I didn't need the energy sense to find Lola. She hadn't made it far before stopping. Her gaze caught mine when she turned her head around. She winced and sat down, resigned. I could tell it was hard for her to look at me. Must've been… guilt? Wait, no, she'd been jump-scared! Why be guilty?

"Hey!" I called. When I got an indecipherable mumble as an answer, I walked closer. I made sure she saw me before placing my hand on her front leg, just to make sure not to startle her. "Hey, hey. How are you doing?"

"Ugh!" She grunted. "Why do I always run? I'm so sorry."

"You stopped," I reassured. "And you're talking about it."

"I'm just— man, this sucks!" She snarled, though her voice shook. She lowered her head. I hugged her leg.

We stayed like that for a minute or two, then I broke the silence. "The others are handling the fire, all right? I don't smell a lot of smoke."

"Me neither," she sighed. She'd said this so earnestly, that I knew she'd snapped out of her panic for now. Maybe not completely, but I could always help. "Chople berries smell disgusting, though."

"They do," I smiled, "but they taste fine on a good day."

In the distance, the sound of a revving motor resounded. As I tried to recall what appliance could make that noise, the answer came in through screams from the kitchen. A boss it was. And it was crashing into something hard. The tables?

"The tables?" Lola asked no one.

"The tables," I answered.

There's no way the baking a cake theory was friggin' right.

"Why is it always when someone runs off that those guys show up?" Lola groaned.

I exhaled sharply. Not always, but too often.


A/N: Mario don't come to the castle