Chapter 33: Canvassing

Fascamile's sky had been overcast for almost four years straight.

Whenever Demurke went outside to get some fresh air, she had to face the anomalous weather. Some days, the layer of clouds above her were thin and fluffy — others, they were thick and coated the town in darkness. But whether strong or weak, their shield from the sun was always there.

Most of Fascamile's population, even the ones oblivious to the Town Council's projects, had embraced the miracle. The constant shade made Fascamile more walkable, and their crops could always rely on the volatile rain that came and went. The murkrow could appreciate those things, but it was hard not to miss the days when bright sunlight shone down on her home.

Demurke stood in the center of Town Hall's lawn, taking in the cracking dawn censored with white. The damp ground squelched beneath her talons. Years of battle damage scarred the space — patches of bare earth were exposed everywhere, and fallen trees blocked the way forward. The chain link fence, a rushed guard against intruders that never came, had rusted from years of downpour.

When she was only a little girl, this field was dense with activity. Town Council defenders and OCEAN soldiers-to-be hustled, clashed, and ate together, making the most of every day in preparation to face the Legendary Court. Those days were gone now. OCEAN moved on to a more suitable base of operations, rendering her home little more than extra office space. Outside of the delinquents Dit put through the ringer, nobody used the field to practice or play anymore.

The moment in time now only existed in her imagination. That was where Demurke stored most of her good memories. So long as they stayed close to her heart, they were safe. Untaintable. Unrippable.

"Demoike!"

She gasped and whirled around. I-I can't be caught up in my own head! she reprimanded herself, and so she promptly filed away those thoughts.

There was her dad, casually strolling from Town Hall's doors to her. For some reason, he elected not to fly, keeping his wings firmly folded at his sides. His gaze never averted from her — to him, the yard of Town Hall was perfectly ordinary.

"Oh, h-hey Dad," Demurke mumbled. She only tilted her head up enough to make eye contact. "How's…the, um…the fight?" She knew the question was expected of her, but it still took effort to ask.

Dit scoffed. "Pretty slow. Dat frog and his posse's giving our boys trouble out dere!" When Demurke glanced away, he leaned into the edge of her vision with a reassuring expression. "Aww, don't worry your little hat about it. We's got dem covered — just give it some time."

Dit had mistaken her secluded look of relief for worry. She elected not to correct him. "Th-that's good."

"What we's actually gotta talk about is da other group."

Right. Dit had already explained to her that Jermy, Meowth, Minichino, the recruits, and the Swords of Justice were 'faffing about' in a tiny village next to Bylaide Forest. He complained up and down to her that Emily forbade them from just storming the place and taking them by force — 'too many uncontrolled variables,' or something like that. Last she heard, Emily had told him she was formulating a plan to silence them before they could publicize OCEAN's behavior to the Court.

"So…w-we have a plan now?"

"Well, here's da thing," Dit explained. "Emily and me got it mostly in motion already. But we's got just one more kink to deal with. Da plan involves somebody with a particular skillset ta carry out, and we haven't gotten one like that yet. Emily said we gots to pick fast!"

Dit didn't even have to say anything more. Demurke had been in dozens of conversations just like that. It was her dad's idea of giving her chores.

But this went far beyond any ordinary task. He was asking her to play a role in stopping their escape.

"Wait, n-no, you…you c-can't put me up to that!" Demurke protested. She meekly backed away.

Dit's peppy bravado dissolved instantly. He straightened up and glared down at her. "Demoike."

Demurke quivered under that all-too-familiar gaze. "We had a deal! You two s-said, if I told you where they were… That'd be a-all you'd make me do."

"Dat was before dey slipped out of our feathers," he spat. "You're lucky da plan doesn't involve any fighting anyway. Emily's soft like dat."

The murkrow wasn't stupid. She knew her argument was doomed the moment it left her beak. What she wanted had no say in the Fascamile Town Council — not until she superceded her parents, anyway. The only protest Demurke had left was to stand there, trying to hold her guard.

The blue pidgeot sighed. "I knew you'd be like dis. Well, if dat's how it's gonna be, maybe an 'incentive' is what you need…"

Finally, for the first time since he had arrived, her father pried his wing from his side. Concealed in it was—

Demurke's gasp was so loud that it came out more like a squeak. No. No, he couldn't have.

He carelessly tossed the thing into the grass in front of her, flinging it by its long strap. It landed with its lens pointed to the sky.

Then, and only then, the clouds broke. A pinpoint opening shone perfectly down onto the lens, making light shine into her eyes.

The murkrow's beak hung agape. A torrent of memories she had held back for years crashed over. They were blissful moments, once upon a time, but they had been soured by sorrow along the way. This was something she forced herself to leave behind — and now her father was throwing it right back in her face.

Demurke's talons trembled. She fell to her knees, catching herself with her red-dyed wings. It was a wonderful and unbelievably cruel gift.

Dit continued on like it was nothing. "Dis plan of ours involves photos. I wanted to use da remote cams, but David said they're too big and slow to haul out dere. We need somebody fast, small, and sneaky, with a good aim to boot!"

The clouds closed up. The camera still remained, mocking her with its very presence.

"T-This isn't fair…" Demurke choked.

Dit groaned, flicking the edge of his wing. "Really, what's all da blubbering for? I thought you liked dis."

"You… You know why!" Her voice cracked. She knew how embarrassing this looked, crying over a camera. But it was true that Dit should understand precisely what made her react this way.

Years ago, a part of her self-identity had been violently torn from her. That was Dit's deal — she could have it back only if she obeyed.

"Well?" her dad pressed. "You want the camera or not?"

What little resistance Demurke had was wiped away. Guilt was already flowing through her. What Dit and Emily were asking of her endangered all of the friends she had spent the past few days trying to protect. But now that Mr. Persian was gone, she had no outlets left. The Murkrow would give anything for a familiar reprieve.

She pulled the strap of the camera over her hat and let it weigh down her neck. Demurke found this freeing before, but now it felt more like a chain, binding her to her duty. "Okay," she responded softly.

"Dere we go!" A satisfied Dit turned around and beckoned her back into Town Hall. "Lemme fill you in on all da juicy details."

As Demurke trailed him, her vision glazed over. She no longer paid the wrecked field any mind. All that mattered was her responsibility at Fascamile's future — the distant promise that one day her life here might get better.

Even if it meant sacrificing one love for another.