Forbidden Waters - 25

…Formless, stripped of somatic sensation…

…Mindless, lost to the meaningless moment…

…Empty, unburdened by desire or detest…

Ace wiped his brow and tied his bushy hair up in a messy knot. "Thaz it, lolos, pack 'em up an' clean ah good." Then he peeked over at Opal, and smiled. "Love ya, Opala. G'luck up they'a."

Tiny, ivory whiskers whipped the air at the sound of barbell weights striking steel.

…All the sagest masters know...

…the fragile bridge to nirvana awaits you there…

…passable only when you're naked, alone, and unafraid…

Sleepy Mienfoo failed to out-reflect Opal, long since leaning against puffy pink pillows on a bed of pecan fur.

…But as any small child can attest…

…it's hard to leave your stuff behind…

…especially when it's stuck in the past…

Rowlett settled down to roost on a head of heavy ears left wrapping napping Skittys in her lap.

Then the lights went out.

…born tangled by the silver strings of suffering, woven at the dawn of time…

…feeding of fantasy… pacification of pain… denial of death…

…the three, unquenchable mortal thirsts…

The gymnasium rocked with the geologic activity of the match taking place above her, and restless muscles shook her spine between powerful, spasming shoulders.

…so many times she'd walked those tender ropes with hollow hands…

…one with nothing, standing upon the great ephemeral edge…

…refused entry at the gates of enlightenment, reaching for a missing key…

Hours passed. In time, men and 'mon slowly filled the halls again, buzzing with electric, post-match banter.

Downy cheeks twitched as deep, practiced lungs slowly, methodically, filled to capacity.

…there she would stand, as long as her anxious soul could bear….

Out went the thoughts, the feelings, all the aching, corporeal crap in one long, autonomous breath.

…trying to solve the riddle of the lock named 'Opal Slate'…

Like the humble fountain, liquid crystal veins threaded chiseled stone, still as a statue once again.

…the name loomed above in murky clouds of déjà vu that rolled across the horizon…

A riot of impatient footsteps rumbled through the halls, Rowlett ruffled awake, and a hallway light kicked on.

…memories flickered in the sky, lighting her eyes with a thunder that bounced around her cavitated brain…

Incineroar kicked the steel double doors in a single, lumbering stride, startling the lights awake. Rowlett hooted in a panic and held his little chest, soothing a sudden heart palpitation.

A tiny chip buried under the fur of Opal's skull lit with a red, blinking LED.

…Chains of lightning struck the gate and wound around her waist. That whispering, Shuppet swarm transformed to a howling, Banette horde, digging grave lacerations on their faces, torn to ragged, malevolent smiles…

Richard's 'Mon tilted a swollen head wrapped in Pokemed patches watching Opal sat with her legs crossed. "{Hey, Lopunny… um, sorry, uh, you had a nickname, right? Shoot.}" When she didn't respond, Incineroar stomped towards her. "{Ey, uh. Hello? Yo! Can't you hear me?}"

"Can you hear it?" She clutched at her ears, wincing, staring into a glaring pair of ruby-jade jewels set in the wrought-iron doors of that great, gilded-marble arch.

Incineroar turned her head sideways again, slowing to a creeping pace. "Hey, uh. You ok?"

The chip in her head blinked faster, brighter, with a whine that slowly rose in volume and pitch.

"No…" she whispered, feeling the rush of consciousness flooding the forefront of her mind.

The glistening eyes of god shattered open, and a pair of black holes poked through the door.

"Look… listen…."

"Ah, ok… um, can I help?" Incineroar knelt before her with a bushy brow raised at the sleepover she'd started. "Hey," she waved a flaming claw in front of Opal's face. "Hello?"

She lost control and peered into eternity. Memories blinded her in bolts of living nightmare, forcing her to re-see, re-hear, re-imagine some old, horrible moment chiseled upon the sandstone steles of time.

"It's what awaits you on the other side."

Opal's ears twitched, her jaw slacked open, and her eyes snapped awake, gawking in horror. The metal stud in her brain openly squealed like a fire alarm, glowing bright, solid red.

Feline ears flopped against Incineroar's head and she backed away. "Hey, what's–"

Her claws scraped long furrows in the iron door as she saw what lay beyond heaven's gates.

No peaceful fields of green, nor infinite soul soothing light… Lifeless, timeless, nothingness…

Oblivion.

Opal's leg shuddered and she clutched it in agony, startling Mienfoo and the Skitty kittens awake.

Incineroar caught a glimpse of the barely obscured scars marring the flesh beneath Opal's immaculately groomed fur. "Whoa, Lopunny! Chill, chill!"

Opal clenched her teeth, the slits of her eyes shocked wide as fat, terrified tears rolled down her cheeks.

Opal had returned to the killing fields, quivering beneath the inevitable end bearing down upon her.

Braced at the edge of mortality, pressed with the weight of her Ohana's fate, Opala looked into the divine lights of death, ready to trade herself in so they could have a few more precious moments of life.

"No Lopunny of mine."

Incineroar grabbed Opal's shoulders and felt a wave of some unfamiliar sensation crash against her own soul as Ace's 'Mon shrieked in terror. "{Holy crap, wake up, Lady!}"

Mienfoo and the two baby Skitty curled up, watching paralyzed in fear as Rowlett left a few stray feathers on their way out an open window.

Opal knocked Incineroar's arms out of the way and shook her face, rubbed her eyes with her palms, and finally realized where she was. She breathed in and out, slowing her heart rate, and forced out a pathetic chuckle. "{Aaah, haha. Sorry, I startle easily. Looks like I fell asleep meditating again. Silly old me.}" She smiled at Mienfoo. "{Thanks for practicing with me, ah…}"

The little fighting type picked his two shaking, Skitty sisters up in his arms as he backed away bowing, shivering with respect. "{I'm sorry for bothering you. Thank you for your gracious, infinite generosity!}" he said, like he'd just woken up atop a pile of gold in a dragon's den.

She knew it was too late, but Opal still couldn't help herself but try. "{You can come back any time! I enjoyed your company!}"

Mienfoo stumbled over his own voice. "{N-no, we couldn't possibly intrude on you again. We should contemplate what you've taught us. Skybound blessings to you both!}" Not long after he was far enough away he felt brave enough to bolt out the doors at full-tilt.

Incineroar scoffed, blowing an x-shaped smoke ring. "{Cowards.}"

Opal stood herself up, brushing the dusty floor from her training dress. "{It's not their fault. I didn't… Ah, it's nothing.}" She pushed all her despondence down, like a million times before, and perked up, folding both paws into her tummy. "{It's very late. What're you doing here?}"

Incineroar smirked. "{Could as you the same thing.}"

"{Oh, I suppose that's fair. It's easier to turn myself inward when it's quiet, so I do deep meditations when nobody is around.}"

"{Turn yourself 'inside out'?}" She looked Opal up and down. "{You look alright to me.}"

Opal giggled and waved her paw. "{No, no, it's a mental exercise.}"

Incineroar nodded. "{Oh, like all that silly stuff Emilio makes Rhydon do because he's an idiot.}"

She screwed up her face. "{I… guess? You must be exhausted from the fight today, look at all those bandages! Shouldn't you be sleeping at the center until morning?}"

Smoke billowed around her ears and she frowned, looking down. "{Can't sleep. Don't wanna go on ice, not yet anyway.}"

Opal nodded with understanding. "{Well, that's ok. It's nice seeing you again! How'd your fight go?}"

Incineroar just couldn't force herself to look Opal in the face. "{That's what I'm here for, actually.}"

"{Oh? What can I–}" Her nervous mouth stopped in its tracks as Incineroar fell to one knee.

She glared down to Distortion, crying at the humiliation of what she was about to do as she rested a fractured arm against her thigh and pressed her fist into the floor. "{Please, train me.}"

Opala Slate stood in complete silence for a few moments as the words slapped her nose. "{You… Want me to teach you?}"

Incineroar nodded with eyes still averted. "{Yes, you said you could show me how to control my energy. I'm sorry for my smart ass mouth this morning. If you're still willing, I want to learn.}"

Opal looked around, stunned, wondering if she was still asleep. "{There's so little time, you're all torn up, and your next match is tomorrow!}"

She clenched her jaw, ready to accept rejection with grace. "{I understand, if it's too much right now then any words of guidance and some direction on where to go would help; I'd be grateful still.}"

Opal hid a smile, holding back a snickering laugh behind her paws. "{It'll be hard. Probably some of the toughest things you've ever had to do.}"

"{I can take it!}" Incineroar squeezed her eyes shut and little,with sizzling tears striking the floor. "{I promise: I'll do whatever you say, I won't falter, I won't complain, I'll exceed your expectations and more.}"

Standing tall with paws behind her straightened back. "{Very well. Are you ready to begin?}"

Incineroar breathed a sigh of relief. "{Yes, Master!}"

Opal knelt down and wrapped both their palms together. "{Your first lesson is this.}"

Incineroar was gently pulled up to her feet, staring into Opal's eyes shining with fat tears and a huge smile on her face. Then she felt her spine cracking, trapped in an overly emotional hug.

"{This is how we do things in Alola.}" Opal realized Incineroar was yowling and fighting for air, so she let her new friend slip free, giggling nervously. "{Sorry, I'm just really excited.}"

Incineroar brushed her fur smooth again. "{Ah, right, me too. What now, Master?}"

Opal shook her head. "{I'm no Sifu, just call me Opal, ok?}"

"{Ah, sure ma– ah, Opal… What should I do now?}"

"{Wait here!}" The pink and brown furred mystery, peak specimen of olympic athleticism, bounced around like a barely hatched Buneary picking flowers for a sunday basket. "{I've got just the thing!}"

\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/

Spinel had forgotten about the absolute deluge of preparations piled onto your paws working the kitchen of private nobility, especially during some grand, dick waving event. It started with him being expressly told that he was only back there to make the gumbo. But that takes time! He wasn't about to stand around the closely knit clan of kitchen working men and 'Mon and not pull his weight.

It started with him chopping shallots for Bisharp, who was needed mincing meat, then he had a ribbon clear while he was stirring and slicing meat, so he rinsed and dried dishes on the side. Pretty soon he was just left managing the flavor of his own dish, so he claimed one quarter of the kitchen, instructing people to place this here and that there so they wouldn't get smacked silly by a flurry of working ribbons.

As he took raw ingredients in and passed them out in various shapes, sizes, and textures he dreamily glanced back at Richard through clouds of cooking steam, who was busy introducing his Pokemon to the rest of the palace guests. It was one of the highest layers of society he'd ever looked into, even as a 'Mon who'd served royal tables in a past life, and so he was glad he wasn't responsible for filling in the spotlight. He didn't fight after all, and he was happy to help from the shadows if it meant he could feel wanted and not get plunged into a wormhole or tied into a fluffy, pink pretzel.

"Ahem." The voice was synthetic and fuzzy, accompanying the sound of tapping, white loafers.

Spinel whipped around and shrunk when he spotted a head full of retracting lenses and blinking sensor lights, clustered atop a fresh, perfectly cut, white dinner jacket. "{Aaah, ha ha ha. Hiii, Carlisle, Sir!}"

"Dinner is about to start, young 'Mon. I've set a place for you beside Master Stone, enjoy."

Spinel waved his ribbons while wearing a wry smile. "{Oh, I've got to finish this up, go ahead and start without me.}"

Carlisle made some unsettling noises, reminiscent of grumbling. "I left my olfactory suite back on the arena floor, but Mr. Collins informs me your pot smells positively divine," he said, reading the timepiece chained to his pocket. "It would be absolutely remiss of me to allow your absence after Master Stone has concerned himself with your whereabouts."

His ribbons stopped with utensils hovering all around the air. "{He did?}"

"Indeed, he insisted the man and 'Mon tables come together when he heard you'd be sitting apart from him, in fact."

Moments later, a Combuskin walked into a stationary tendril, smashing piles of empty dishes.

Spinel blushed, ruffled his face, and groaned. "{Oh, aaaah! Sorry, sorry, sorry! I, um… I have to go, everyone,}" he said, practically prostrating himself before the cookroom staff as he swept broken shards of ceramic up.

Carlisle's protracting arm reached out and snagged a squeaking Sylveon. "Come along, please."

Everyone in the stone and stainless steel kitchen waved goodbye, shouting with animated 'goodbyes', 'thank you!'s', and a few 'wait, he doesn't work here?'s.

House Bourbon's chief attendant stopped in his tracks just before rounding the corner of the ballroom floor and placed Spinel up on a polished, silver end table. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, you truly were always a working 'Mon at heart," he buzzed, brushing loops of green onion from a loc of fluff on his head. "Something's missing…"

Spinel rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. "{Sorry I look like tall grass… the valet took my bags. All my nice stuff is in there.}"

"Ah yes, very good." Carlisle reached into his pocket and Spinel heard the familiar jingle of his personal things rummaging around.

"{What the f–}"

"Language, mon ami," he said, silencing Spinel with a finger against his lips.

After a minute or so, Carlisle's bright, white glove slid a long, hand-embroidered, baby-blue sash out along with a ruddy brown sack. "This seems to be dearly prized, but left in such a sorry state. I do hope you'll forgive the intrusion, but I've taken the liberty of restoring it for you."

As the sash was laid across his paws, like a bolt of silk brought out for inspection by a discerning merchant, he smiled and coughed, openly crying as he read the words, "Un coup de foudre," once torn to pieces with his own teeth and claws.

"Are you quite alright? I didn't overstep, did I?"

Spinel shoved his leaking face into the sash, able to smell the rustic kitchen scents still locked within its fibers. "{No, you've stepped just the right way, Milord. Thank you!}"

Carlisle bobbed his head in approval, helping to tie it around his little neck, and then reached into an impossibly deep breast pocket. He retrieved a brilliant, platinum emblem between his fingertips, and pinned the sash together into a handsome bun.

Spinel lifted it up to his nose with wide eyes admiring the marquis cut spinels set into a platinum relief of a filigreed, three-petaled flower. "{M-milord, this is too much!}"

"Nonsense!" His distorted, deranged laughing made Spinel regret opening his mouth for a moment. "I couldn't possibly set a wayward cousin beside Master Stone looking anything less than ravishing."

That made his head tilt, brushing the pesky hock of hair from his eyes, which prompted Carlisle to comb it back with a spritz of mousse he summoned out of thin air. Spinel wanted to press him on the strange turn of phrase, but he caught a glimpse of a pair of milky, white eyes down a dark, abandoned hallway. "{Isn't that–}"

He was pulled away from his inspection by a plop to the floor and a sharp smack on the rear end. "Chop chop, now, it's unbecoming to keep a man waiting at the table."

It was like walking into a dream, in that way where you only half-remember every detail, no matter how hastily you scrawled details down the moment you woke up. The ballroom looked hundreds of times bigger when you belonged there, slowly approaching an island of people waving, welcoming you to a party floating amidst a hundred other parties in the banquet sea.

He recognized only a handful of the gilded faces eyeing him from the fleet of tables all around, and the fact each was connected to a thousand others through long berry vines raised a looming fear for his safety.

Richard plucked him up, hugged him in front of everyone, and set him atop a cushy pillow in his seat. He wanted to shrivel up and die like a Tympole left under a heat lamp at all the attention. Never before had anyone of any real social standing taken interest in him, and he knew more than anyone else that the honest details of his life would make hairs stand on end.

They wanted to know where he came from, so he lied, saying he was born on the coast. He'd answer them with his little cards, and they asked him where he learned to write, so he fibbed again, saying that the captain taught him late in life. Questions about his background cropped back up when he called his Gumbo on the itinerary an 'old family recipe,' and he lied about that too, saying he was an old Baker's 'Mon. Again and again he stained his heart black with dishonesty. It went against everything he was, but this was Richard's soiree; all his puffy ass wanted to do was crawl away and bask in his Man's shadow as soon as possible so Richard could take his rightful place up front.

As their first course was set before them, he noticed the dark lenses of Carlisle's face seem to follow him as he spoke. Considering what the old knight was capable of, it gave him chills.

Everything placed before him was exquisite, beyond exquisite, truly, unexaggerated magnificence. Tiny course after tiny course passed his lips, stunning his senses with the immaculate preparation of such incredible arrays of interesting, exotic fare; some crafted with traditional techniques, others with molecular modification, with the most notable hors d'oeuvres having been seasoned with natural pokemon-produced compounds right on site.

The whole thing turned ridiculous, however, when he realized that they'd chosen to make his dish the main course. His humble little heart was crushed beneath the weight of a great, undeserved pride as hundreds of esteemed guests lauded some scrappy, low-class, riverway stew with unbridled, critical acclaim; a recipe he'd learned watching an old widow make do with the scraps of a massive dinner exactly like that one. A number of influential folks walked over to ask who his trainer was and it was then he simply couldn't hold back the urge to care for others.

He left them with notes on where to find 'her' and how amazing her food has always been. Boy was he glad to finally get the opportunity to pay Mrs. Suker back for letting him stay in the attic all those months rent free. He'd sooner die than live with stolen valor, so he made sure credit went where it was due. Vaporeon glanced awkwardly at him as he giggled, thinking about the tsunami of attention about to flood the poor little old lady's shop, praying she wouldn't mind that he lied about being the family pet.

Wasn't it over, though? Of course it wasn't. After all, Richard just beat royalty at their own game, and they were wining and dining him for the privilege. People wanted to know who he was, what his plans were, how they could climb behind him on their ceaseless journey to find the cure for their portfolios simply not being fat enough. Thankfully, the time for him to waste away center stage was over, and he found a moment to 'go look for the little pokemon's room' and put his evening plans into action.

He snuck back around to the kitchen and pulled his old friends aside. Collins, an old human chef from Galar, and his Bisharp were associates of his from a number of jobs all around Lumiose. He was glad he had the hours before Carlisle egg-napped him to catch up. He would have been tempted to gab and gab and gab with two of the coolest people on the planet, who'd served in the Northfront, studied as a physicist after that with his war survivor fund, then had a stint as a private investigator before ending up as a chef…

No! Spinel was on a mission! He had put in a request for a cart of refreshments to be delivered to their suite. He asked for it to be a dry evening in Richard's room; the time for liquid encouragement had passed. They were partners, Richard said so himself; all they needed was each other. That thought alone left him flushing with a paw pressed against his cheek.

He also asked the crazy Rotom if it was possible to arrange for Richard to have no service interruptions for the entire evening, and was again pleasantly surprised to discover his professional skill matched his lack of sanity.

"Oh, not to worry, ma cousine. Prince Meyer has insisted that the north wing be totally reserved for Master Mallison and Master Stone."

Spinel would have rubbed his whole body across the hem of Carlile's pants, but the titanium white finish would have been totally ruined. "{Goodnight, Milord. Thank you so much!}" he said, reaching for the emblem pinned to his sash.

Carlisle hunched down and jumped towards him, hand out, and Spinel almost leapt out of his skin. "No, no. Please, keep it. It's the least I can do. Just promise not to be a stranger, yes?" He swore he could see the tiniest hint of concern in the glass and metal face. "And, please, just Carlisle. I'm no lord to you."

Spinel lowered his head, then raised it, and then hunched down in confusion. "{Ahhhhhhhh, ok. If you insist. Not sure what I did but I'm really grateful for everything. I'm just reminding myself I might wake up and realize it's all been a dream.}"

The old warrior chuckled as he turned around and strode off. "Well, if you are, do remember to take notes when you wake; what a life changing vision this would be."

Spinel felt some fluffy thing brushing against his back and he snapped his head around, back down the hall. Nothing was there, but he smelled some familiar musk he couldn't place in the moment. "{Wouldn't be a real palace without a few ghost types made from centuries of regicide. Hah.}"

Royal tournaments, noble knights, haunted corridors, extravagant dinners, the only thing missing was a dreamy ballroom dance. It crossed his mind as he peered around the archway wall and witnessed Richard doing a slow waltz with Bonnie, who naively giggled in a disgustingly cute hallmark moment.

Oh, how he envied those silky, untempered hands, contemplating the moments he might have stowed within the locket chained around his heart. What fantastical memories he could have had gazing into those emerald eyes, moving in time to the professional orchestra playing the sonnet he'd remember forever as their first dancing song?

Alas, some things were simply never meant to be. He'd taken too many risks, won a jackpot or two already, and he'd be an idiot to do anything other than play it safe and cash out while the getting was good. But… what was one last hail-mary for something so spiritually, unforgettably amorous? It took every ounce of inhibition he had to keep from galloping into the spotlight, beckoning his beloved's hand center stage to learn which of the many beautiful, Kalosian ballads would become 'their first song.'

Straight pins skewered his heart watching those unforgettable could-be's happening without him and Spinel just couldn't help but scrunch his shoulders up, gazing at the floor on sombre haunches, wiping mourner's tears from his eyes.

"What's wrong, bud?"

Spinel jumped at the sound of his lover's voice hitting him like a faceful of icy water, then he sniffled and waved a couple ribbon's with a dismissive shake of the head. "Ee-sylee, non velon…"

Richard nodded. "Yeah, it's been a crazy day, hasn't it?"

His partner gave him a tired nod. "Syl, Syl."

"Seriously, though, I'm all hoity-toity'd out; It's alright if you wanna fancy-schmancy s'more but I'm gonna get a look at our royal digs."

Spinel's ribbons constricted his entire arm without a moment's hesitation. "Ooon, see vee leyon vee." He gestured to the ominous, torchlit hallway leading on to the north wing of Palais Prisme.

"Kinda spooky, they sure this isn't for the dead guests?" Richard said in jest but with a clear hint of concern in his voice.

Spinel giggled and pinched his cheeks. "On nono, vee vee neeeee!" he said, babying his man in a reassuring, infantile tone.

Richard scraped the tendrils off his face. "Gaaah! I'm just fine, left my fear of the dark back at mom's–"

"Yo."

Richard squealed as he failed around to discover Emil and Vaporeon managed to sneak up on him again, leaving Spinel in stitches as Richard bopped him across the side with his foot.

Emil smirked, rubbing behind Vaporeon's flaps. "Aaaanyway, I'm gonna die if I don't find a dark corner to curl up in. Where we staying, anyway?" he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Allow me." Everyone felt their hackles raise as Carlisle appeared from a tiny, shadowy corner, and he continued after clearing his nonexistent throat. "Down the corridor there you'll find an elevator. Take it to the seventh floor. The first two suites on your left will be yours for the duration of your stay," he said and tossed a key to each of the men in charge.

"Whoah, comin' in clutch, Jarvis. Thanks for everything. Breakfast in the same place?"

Carlisle walked along with them a short distance. "No no, your favored morning dishes shall be delivered at oh-five-hundred, as you have scheduled previously."

Richard smirked. "That's real awesome, dang, but how you gonna–" he turned around and Carlisle was gone. "Aaah, guess he asked around."

They came upon a vintage cage-door elevator, sectioned off with floral, wrought iron bars. They pressed the call button, and Richard gasped as house Bourbon's best slowly lowered down to meet them.

Vaporeon clapped her paws together, giggling with delight at the mysterious trickery as they stepped into the elevator.

"Something like that, yes. Suffice it to say, we're privy to all your preferences. We're especially aware of your desire for uninterrupted privacy… Master Clemont informed us it is of the utmost importance."

Vaporeon and Spinel nodded. "Eeeeon!" they replied in perfect unison.

"Very good, now…" the elevator chimed and he released them into a warmly lit hall walled in medieval masonry and two doors around a central plaza. Delightfully furnished with polished silver seating amid wondrous beams of moonlight, a generation's old family of Roserade gardeners in tiny white robes carefully cultivated rows of cobalt-blue rose vines. Flickering lamps glowed from the tables, dwarfed by the brilliant, argent glow of a moon lamp above.

"Damn, that's something else," Emil mumbled, marveling at a fluffy bundle of azure petals blooming in the moonlight as his lover inhaled a fresh blossom against her nose.

"Indeed, discovered deep in Guyana's depths, brought to us at great sacrifice by a ranger who's name graces these suites." He gestured to a silver sign reading 'Keanan's Glade.' "Found only within a mysterious valley, whereupon only moonlight shines, painstakingly reproduced here so a healthy population is always ready to dazzle the eyes and inspire the soul." He chuckled. "Rest assured, there is plenty of lighting past the doors of your rooms."

Spinel couldn't keep his eyes away from the radiant floral painting brought to life, pulling him away, even from Richard's finely sculpted biceps, for a long, marvelous minute. Vaporeon reached the tip of her tail beneath his chin and pushed his gaping maw closed, giggling.

"I bid you adieu and a glorious victory tomorrow, may the lights of Lake Valor shine upon you."

The room darkened for a second, as if the moon flickered with a power surge, and he was gone.

Emil and Richard looked at each other at the center of the courtyard, where the white-jade stone paths split, leading to their respective rooms.

"Hey, uh. Nice job," Rich mumbled, trying to make some sort of small talk before saying goodbye.

Emil smiled. "Thanks, you too, man." Then he looked down at Spinel, tilting his head. "Nice having company every night, innit?"

Rich's spine froze up, straight as a two by four. "Aaah, haha. Well, Spinel here's got me thinking I might not coop all the team members in their balls every night. They're trustworthy, right?"

"Well, not exactly what I meant, but that's nice too."

Spinel could feel his lover's skin going clammy and cold, sensing a powerful fear that some horrible secret would be discovered through his tendrils. "Syl, syl, vonala lon. Eyvonla eevera la."

Richard glanced up at Emil and a painful five seconds passed before his friend rolled his eyes and turned towards his luxurious abode. "He said the couch is his."

That feeling of horror faded, and Richard's grip loosened up.

Rich nudged Spinel with his sneaker. "Thanks, don't wanna make it weird, right?"

"Syl, Syl." Spinel winked. "Ah verla, oneevee la!" he responded, puffing his chest in declaration.

They walked along a luna-lit path, side by side, until they reached a beautifully carved, ashen wood door. Richard stabbed the old style key into a massive, hand forged lock and shoved the thing open with no insignificant amount of force.

The great, wooden portal creaked open to reveal…

Oh lords, he wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't pinched himself and stayed put. The floors were a solid, uninterrupted sea of marble swirling with strands of gray-blue silicate gem and carefully captured, natural deposits of gold running along the floor in lightning-shaped cracks. The air glistened with some mysterious particulate that surely must have been purposely-placed freckles of snowlight falling from a chandelier of Lunala's Jewels shining down from the heavens through a crystal-glass dome.

The place wasn't furnished with tired, recycled antiques. No, instead there were perfectly color-matched, plush, oversized seats singing siren calls to anyone with a hint of fatigue in their hearts. A massive jacuzzi tub glowed blue and pink (an excellent touch) already warmed and bubbling with a peculiar mix of woody, floral oils tickling the senses. On a massive enclosed balcony sat docked a Kalosian King galleon of a bed with massive silken sails, ready to embark upon a sea of satin sheets against a bay-window horizon flickering with the city starlight down below.

The door slammed, even with the gentlest of shuts, and Richard booked it for the bathroom as his partner wrapped his entire body up and violently shook, absolutely gushing with an explosion of joy.

"{Ooooh Spinellll. you spoiled little biiiitch!}" he squeaked, dancing on the tips of his paws as he inspected the arsenal of sundries in a glowing cabinet around the base of the tub, plotting up a score of insidious assaults that he wished to deploy upon Richard's unsuspecting flesh.

Ok, universe, this totally makes up for that stupid little slow dance. He thought between storms in his mind, racing with sundry plans, toppling bottles over with jittery excitement.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He turned around, expecting a nosy servant he'd shoo away without a single welcome, but instead was treated to the long-awaited cart of goodies he'd selected for the evening, hearing the barest jingle of an Eeveelution-esque cry in the air.

"{Perfection,}" he whispered, and casually placed a filigreed "Do Not Disturb" sign, onto the iron-loop handle outside the door.

Richard left the lavatory with a relieved sigh. "Ohh, ohhh man. Whew! Rolycolies, look at this place, Spinel!"

"Eeeeee!" Spinel squealed, leaping up into Richard's arms. He nuzzled into his neck, bringing a pink tinge to his man's cheeks.

"Hahaaa, well, let's chill out and see what's on the…" He gawked as he realized the television was made into an old-fashioned silver screen, played by a swanky, commercial-grade projector. "The… theatre?"

Spinel nuzzled his chin, grabbing at his hand to nibble on his thumb with a kiddy smile. "Syl!"

Richard swiped the remote, kicked his sneakers off spinning into the wild blue yonder, and plunged them both into the cloudy cushions of the sectional, placed center-stage. "Giving me ideas for my own castle back home."

Spinel quietly sucked on Richard's thumb, brushing the fur of his temple against his chest. He closed his eyes as he was squeezed tight and lost himself in the sweet, intoxicating scent of his lover after a long day experiencing the entire spectrum of emotion. Yea, a clean body was nice too, but when you could smell the day on a guy, you wanted to take it all in, even if you were right there in the trenches with him for every heartstopping moment.

Sir Rich held it aloft like a lance atop a mighty steed, turning on the first channel that would grace his–

Brrz. "It's another magical, romantic evening, dear Laeden and Landed of Lumiose!"

Both boys gagged, looking away from the two-faced mannequin they both despised.

"Nope!" Richard coughed, flicking the channel arrows fast as his saliva soaked thumb was able.

Brrz. "D'une femme laide, on dit: Quels beaux cheveux, quels beaux yeux!"

Richard rolled his eyes. "What's this, some kinda opera?"

Spinel wagged his paw, looking away, gesturing to move on. "Syl. Ve leleon."

Brrz. "Burn your man's cheeks with Scarlet's Secret line of lingerie! Dexmessage 'Stunned Stiff' to–"

Spinel looked up with a cheeky smile, wiggling his bum into Richard's lap, and gestured with a raised, quizzical brow, as if to say, 'You like?'

Richard's cheeks did, in fact, burn as he coughed, cleared his throat, and tried to forget the image of his buddy's cute, peaches-and-cream body accented with gorgeous, black lace. How the hell would that even work? He thought, flicking the button.

Spinel could feel the rush of allure through his wrists as they wrapped around him, and he just knew he needed to ask Vaporeon for help ordering a custom-fit set.

Brrz.

Quel plaisir

Le soir après l'école

D'aller rire

Chanter des chansons folles

Venez tous nous retrouver rue Sésame

The easily-distracted child piloting Richard's brain was transfixed by a cast of grotesque, uncanny, Pokemon muppets dancing on screen, singing with the tops of their heads one single tiny thread away from flopping free.

Spinel looked up at him with concern, still happy, continuing to sink into the quicksand cushions of the couch. "Eh lele one…"

After a while he shook his head and pointed the remote. "Distortion! Why wouldn't they just get pokemon to do it?!"

Brrz. "Speranza! My mind wants you gone, but my heart calls you home!"

Richard's eyes lit up. "Aaaay, Commontongue!"

Spinel's eyes shifted around as Richard finally relaxed, sneaking a bottle of massage oil from around the tub with a slithering ribbon. He pulled Richard's socks off and squeezed his tootsies, snuggling between his pecs.

"Eeee?" he asked, running a claw up his neck, ending at the chin.

Richard smirked and batted his paw away. "Dawww, jeez. Yeah, that sounds amazing, bud. On one condition; you let me return the favor. Only fair."

He drew a devious smile with his ribbons rubbing creamy spread along the soles of his feet and between his toes. "Ee ee eee, Aeooon."

"Oh Ricardo, if only you'd let your heart take the wheel, you'd make it all up to me."

"Ah man…" Richard sighed, feeling that warm, loving tingle now prickling his feet as Spinel's wrapping worked their magic, releasing weeks of tension loose. A great deal of it the little pink bastard was responsible for himself. "Really, it's nice of ya…"

"Just a little touch between friends, Speranza. We can't go back to the rose-tinted days, back in Unova." Overemotional Drama Organ noises!

Spinel hugged Richard's arm, nuzzled into the tension of his muscles, and worked there too, smooshing his face into Richard's powerful palms, imagining them gripping his waist, holding him down against the floor, refusing to let go as he... "Haaaa. Eeeeeeon…."

Oh, he could only imagine what his tender-minded boy might do, given the chance.

Scoffing. "Says the man who's bloody hips ran my garden through! Hold me now and say it again!"

Richard felt those tendrils starting to snake up his pant legs, rolling his muscular knots like crusty dough, as his homie applied just the right amount of sweet stuff to relax it for a good, long, hot baking in the oven. His arms went lax, feeling some strange sensation of appreciation, of relief, a hint of hope for the future buzzing in the back of his mind as Spinel's mouth suckled his fingers with heavy, excited breaths.

"I'd make a dirty liar of myself if I said your skin didn't make me yearn for that special nectar of yours…" A suspenseful, keyboard drone.

Spinel turned around as he saw his lover's neck rolling around the hill of throw pillows supporting his back, and then gently clawed his dress-shirt buttons loose as a rogue ribbon stealthily unbuckled his belt and the two working his man's legs quietly slid his pants away.

Then he spotted the hoppip polka dot boxers guarding the evening's grand prize, and simply couldn't suppress the amused fit of giggling that ensued.

"Whaaat?" Richard said, flushing. "They're fun!"

"So be an honest man, Ricardo. I see you forgot your undershirt today… Was that an accident too?" A prerecorded audience gasping.

Richard wanted to protest, realizing things had already gotten way out of hand, but he just couldn't deny that if his whole body felt the same as his feet they'd need to call a hex to wake him from the dead the morning after. But was that really the reason Spinel wrapped his heart up with a bow? No, he had to admit it was some deeper, stranger thing dwelling below the surface; something that said everything would be alright as long as they could stay in each other's arms.

Aaaaah! No! Spinel was a Pokemon for fucks sake! A wiggly-dicked, four-legged tentacle monster, no less! How in the hell could his national guard betray him like that, slowly saluting some fluffy, pink despot? He told himself again and again that he needed to cut the cord, clearly Spinel couldn't overcome those feelings for him and he had too much to lose if there was even the slightest hint of 'Monfuckery afoot.

Richard's mouth opened to talk his partner down, but was stoppered by a sugary cork of fried banana dumpling.

The post production sound of smacking lips. "Is this what it's come to, Speranza? Base seduction?"

The moment an opening appeared, he pressed his face into the firm, cushy wall of his Lover's abs, massaging tension riddled shoulders with twin attentive tendrils. Another one plucked smoked cherry cordials and candied dates from the cart, popping them into that sculpted jaw as it was slacking open. Spinel slithered up, tracing abdominal shapes with his nose as his hind quarters cradled Richard's stiffy, and dared to tease his Man's tender nipples with wily tickles of the tongue.

He fumbled at the remote with a hind paw, satisfied as his scratchy beanmashing successfully muted the movie. Now was the time… he needed to ask him, straight from the heart, without his mouth getting in the way. Tendrils tingled between them both as he was ready to hear his Man's deepest intentions, no matter what they might be in the end.

"You had every right to throw me out in the cold, but you kept me close instead."

Richard shuddered as Spinel nursed at his pecks, writhing around at the sensation of his sensitive foreskin warming between the cheeks of a sexy, white tush.

He swallowed the delectable gag and went for the ears with his gift wrapped arms. Rolling his head around, Richard yanked at his friend's head in a desperate ploy to pry the 'Mon's voracious lips off his titties. "Aaah. Ssss. Sstaaahhh."

"Wouldn't ditch my homie over one drunken bro-job. Gah, I just… We really oughta…"

Spinel rolled with the punches, cackling up a puckish smile as his lover pulled him chinwards. Plush posterior paws pampered the shifting lump in Richard's shorts. Eagerly lapping up Richard's neck, he lost his 'little pink dratini' in a maze of chiseled abs..

He chuckled with gratified eyes, nipping at his Lover's chin, convinced he was the luckiest 'Mon alive.

"Oooh, you're an ear-puller, huh? Color me consenting."

There the maybe-master pokemon trainer was, reduced to a muttering prey item presenting his jugular to an oh-so dangerous beast who'd developed a taste for the flesh of Man, swept up in some powerful, irreverent desire washing away his will to fight that all-powerful wanting he simply couldn't explain.

"Ah… I don't want to let you go… Bud… Buddy we gotta stop."

The plump, effeminate curves of his body were the perfect fit to Richard's all-consuming grip. His cool, assuring presence knocked dread out cold. That woody aroma, reminiscent of the worn out boards of a gym room floor, revived his withering pride. Merely glancing upon his lighthearted, cherri-berry smile turned the skittish cowardice away. But he could still sense an anxiety looming through the ribbons wrapped around his shoulders.

"Why for, honey?"

Richard hissed with steamy gouts of carnal repression.

"What if someone catches us like this?"

Spinel scanned the room with a silly ear perched above his brow.

"Nobody here but us Hoppip, Richie."

A perfectly manicured claw ran down Richard's stomach and he gasped as his sensitive bits throbbed between squeezing, rose-colored beans.

"Just say the word, and…"

He closed his eyes and brought his nose up to Richard's face, preparing to struggle with his pathetic, muddy puddle of energy. More than anything, he didn't mean to force his man to stay, just to let him know everything was going to be ok.

"I know… but this is so fucked, isn't it? What is wrong with me?"

An awkward, impotent silence fell over them as Spinel failed to get his energies up. Charms were hot, giddy, flushing affairs and he found that the tiny candle inside him just wasn't up to the task.

Then, despite his wavering heart, he climbed up and nuzzled his lover's cheek, granting himself the courage to leap from the highest branches in a list ditch, now-or-nothing, do-or-die attempt to fly.

"You're perfect, baby. So absolutely, unbelievably perfect."

He'd hoped for a rush of runaway fairy force, but some strange, unbelievably intuitive technique sallied forth to serve him instead. His spine tingled, his muscles relaxed, his eyes softened up so much they glowed with affection as misty clouds of breath escaped his loose, barely parted lips. His veins crept along like an icy woodland creek and then every one of his adorable, disarming features fluffed up with glistening, frosty sparkles.

Spinel smiled, billowing misty breaths against his man's neck as a muscular arm hooked around the small of his back and another pressed against his fuzzy wuzzy cheek. Sensing the snowy peak of his unknown miracle move, he gazed upon his soul mate.

"I can make you happy, Richie… if you'll give me the chance."

Richard's heart plunged into a hyperborean bath, baptized with tanzanite eyes, cleansed in an icy fire.

"I just… I wanna…"

The bubbling, ineffable feelings in his gut swelled to bursting and broke their container wide open. It was so much, so fast that, for a brief moment, he forgot how to breathe. Submerged in a soothing, springwater bath, the aches and pains of the day faded and his worries went away in kind.

"I… Aaaaah… All I want is…you."

It was a full minute before Richard realized he'd pressed their faces together in a gentle lover's kiss. They danced that way in fantastical silence, interrupted only by the whispering slip of their lips, gone from the world for a glorious, imperceptible moment.

It wasn't exciting, totally unlike the nights spent trashing his pad with one of the hundreds of promiscuous payday-gals he tracked in like mud on his shoes. It certainly wasn't annoying or inconvenient, not like the clusters of starstruck, binacle-bitches busy colonizing his Razzberry feed. Not least of all, to his complete surprise, it didn't feel disgusting; weeks obligating some cynical, nepo-baby date that his dad planted on him, hoping to grow miracles made of money… Now that was nauseating.

But this?

No, it was a medicine he never knew he needed: normal as a mid-morning yawn, invigorating as a glass of espresso on the rocks, a panacea that revealed a chronic exhaustion that was hiding in plain sight.

He was all alone with someone left knocking at the door.

He craved companionship; real, honest to Arceus intimacy, totally detached from life's wicked demands. He knew why he pushed himself to exhaustion with his 'Mon every day, trying to drown life's quiet moments out in an endless runner's high. When you walked a life lined in silver webs, connection always came with deadly strings attached.

For the first time in his life he had someone reaching for him, no matter how far he might fall, ready to put his broken pieces together, ugly parts and all.

"Ok, buddy… Spinel… Let… Let's see where this crazy road goes."

They pulled themselves apart, lost in each other's eyes, drunk with adoration.

"I love you so much."

Richard touched noses with his Partner, grinning like a stooge.

"I lo–"

He gasped and leapt up from the couch with Spinel hanging from his chest, babbling incoherently. "H-how? What? What was that?!"

A cheery giggle came with a paw pressed against his muzzle. "Kissing. You're very good at it too."

Spinel huffed in frustration as Richard clutched his fuzzy skull in both hands.

"No, that! Have you been able to hear my thoughts the whole time?!" he sputtered, totally oblivious to their hungry cocks still drooling for a long overdue happily-ever-after.

"Syl, Syl." Blushing cheeks on white finally managed to pry themselves free and Spinel smirked, wrapping himself around his collar like a fluffy, pink livery, and huffed against his ear. "From the moment our lips touched..."

He suckled Richard's lip, bridling him back onto the couch. "...and I know you'd loooove to see this ass in pink and black."

"Yeahyoubetbuddy. How are you doing th–" His mouth was stopped shut with a shaking, flustered ribbon end, and his head was forcibly turned towards the bed.

"You really wanna know?" Spinel rattled with frustrated chirping, but made a patient smile and leapt down from his chest, leading his beautiful Woobat boy by the hand. "C'mon, I'll show you, over there!"

Richard galoped over in a gullible rush. "The bed?"

He chortled and nudged his butt against Rich's thighs. "Mhmmm. Walk riiight up there."

He stepped onto the balcony, wracking his brain. "Ok, ok."

"See the pillow? The blue one? Look at it, stare really close. It sounds crazy, I know, but trust me!" Spinel thought as his ribbons encroached on Richard's legs, snaking around in Sharpedo figure-eights.

Richard acted as instructed, focusing with an incredible intensity. "Ok, now wha–"

The trap was set, the prey in position, and Spinel's snare snapped around his ankles, sweeping him up off his feet.

Spinel leapt onto his back, shoving his beloved onto the bed.

"Oof. Mrrrfff." Richard rolled around atop the sheets, gasping for air as his boxers were snapped down his legs and across the room. "Haaaaa! What the–"

[THIS SECTION HAS BEEN REMOVED FROM THIS VERSION OF THE STORY SEE A03 OR INKBUNNY FOR UNCENSORED]

Then he turned onto his side, clumsily sliding the ribbons loose. "Yeah, guess I'm pay'n for these sheets. Ain't no way I'm explaining this to Alfred, or whatever his name is, no-way, no-how."

They both remarked at the red stripes all around his naked body, and then Richie snuggled Spinel's limp, gibbering, carcass up into his chest. "Damn, man, you're a fucking mess. Let's hit the showers."

Spinel groaned and erected an awkward, pawsy thumbs-up. "Yeah!"

\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/

Plop!

Incineroar looked down at a beige, gummy ball of gluten, carefully dusted in flour.

"{Lesson two!}" Opal chirped, patting a cloud of white from her hands, and tied a pretty, pink, doily-trimmed apron around her student's waist. "{Getting to know your core!}"

Her fiery cheeks tightened with embarrassment. "{Are we even supposed to be in here?}"

Opal chuckled and wagged her paws with a harmless smile. "{Not to worry. As long as we bake a couple hundred loaves for the staff tomorrow,}" she said, tying a big, black apron reading 'Baker Bitch' in flowy, kalosian calligraphy, "{Fidough said the kitchens' all ours!}"

"{A couple hundred?!}" Incineroar brought her hand up to her face and clumsily counted baked goods on her claw-bacus. "{I can't even count that high!}"

Opal scratched her chin and tilted her head. "{But didn't your trainer tell you to do two hundred situps this morning? Or, well, something like that, but it sounded like a lot.}"

She groaned. "{If Richard calls that many reps we just do it until he gets distracted or something!}"

"{Well, that explains a lot… Aaaanyway, not to worry. My Sifu had me doing this for weeks before I got it down, but I've got a little trick up my sleeve.}"

Cinny poked at the glutenous blob, flopping it around with a nervous finger, like she was examining some domestic, extraterrestrial corpse. "{Sooo, do I just?...}" She started roiling flames in her throat.

Opal swiped the dough up just before it was immolated to cinders and then flopped it back into the kitty's arms. "{No no no, you need to learn how it feels, silly!}"

"{Oooh… kay…}" she croaked a little in confusion. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea…

Opal-Sensei reached into a massive mixing bowl and slapped a heaping mound of unworked goop down. "{Here, let me show you where to start.}"

Her paws pushed the yeasty mass against the wooden surface, and it was evident, even to a 'Mon as empathically dense as Incineroar, that the process projected pleasant memories onto her smiling cheeks. "{Every living thing, since the first shell broke, has a soul, and with a soul comes a connection to the energy flowing through their body.}"

Incineroar followed her every move, down to the tiny pip-pap of her paws being coated in flour. "{You keep calling it a… what was it, a 'core'?}" she asked, flapping her claws around as a patch of yeasty gum stuck to her paw.

Opal's eyes closed as she kneaded, swaying her shoulders back and forth in a long-practiced culinary kata. "{The soul resides in the center of the body; where that may be is a secret unique to each species. No 'Mon, no 'Man, no Legendary God is exempt. The Lord Arceus' design is universal, after all; perfect, so we should work with his plans, not against them.}"

Her claws kept getting in the way as she squeezed the mash, chopping it into multiple, frustrating clusters of mush. "{Aaah, nnng, ok. Um… Where's mine?}"

Opal reached her paw over and held her student's wrists. "{I have an idea, in fact I know for sure, but that is not how we learn the secrets of the soul. That is the purpose of the dough, Nymble-san.}" She rocked her wrists, gently guiding her digits, showing her the right approach to work the wheat and water and other assorted stuff into the life-sustaining fruit of Man.

Incineroar nodded, jumping a bit at her tender touch, but was starting to learn that Alola must have tempered their flashy warrior spirits in fluffy marshmallow roasts or something. "{Ah, kay. Yeah.}"

Opal nodded, humming with approval, returning to her own side of the counter. "{Now, once you feel like you can, close your eyes. You want to feel it, know the sensation like you can see every bend and fold in your mind's eye, even if you were to get a whole new piece tossed your way.}"

The lesson continued after minutes of silent practice.

"{The energy of your body, down to the tiniest, indivisible speck, pools around your center, concentrating around your soul in a shape just like this. Watch.}"

Her teacher lifted it up and rolled it around in her paws in the air with smooth, meditative swirls of her wrists, and Incineroar was impressed at how she somehow kept it in a perfect spherical shape. "Now you try."

Incineroar didn't know the motions, but she tried to keep the blob in the shape of those kicking-balls Richard knocked around the yard from time to time. "{Aaaa!}" It slipped from her grasp, squeezing between her thumb and wrist in a column of sludge. "{How-}"

Opal giggled and slapped the ball down onto a prepared baking sheet, and scooped up the next load. "{Not so easy, is it?}"

Incineroar blew smoke, looking away. "{What's that even matter, anyway?}"

Opal gestured for Incineroar's eyes to close again and they both returned to rowing the dough. "{Human souls are not as connected to the energy in their bodies, stained black by Giratina's Gift, a dear price ancient men paid for their place of power over 'Mon.}"

She hummed again, waiting for Incineroar to get back into a comfortable, rolling motion. "{Breaking the natural order of their spirits is difficult; these are the chains that bind their hearts to Arceus' will, for the shackles we've taken on in their service.}" She whistled a haunting, echoing noise that made Incineroar's spine shudder. "{Every man should live a righteous master's life, of course; each deemed unfit to return to Arceus in death is doomed to walk the earth as a 'Mon themselves, until the penance for a life lead yanking the leash is paid.}"

Incineroar gasped. "{Wait, that's true?! Ghosts are dead trainers?!}"

Opal shrugged. "{That's what the Sages and the Hexes say. Anyway, our souls are untainted, pure, they interact with the world in line with Arceus' intention. We collect the energy, but it's messy, easily distorted and shunted around by our will. This is what people call 'moves' now.}"

"{Toss me that, you're ready for another.}"

Incineroar, keeping her eyes closed as instructed, lobbed it towards the Loppuny's sweet little voice and it was bean-bag bounced onto the tray. Then something nasty, ragged, and gravely was smacked between her paws. "{What the…}"

Opal worked more and more dough. "{Feel that? That's unworked, rough, falling apart even though all the right stuff is there to make something beautiful. No matter how dense, or tasty, or perfect the ingredients are, if they aren't worked right, again and again, into the right shape, you'll lose pieces as you try to move it around and make it work for you.}"

Despondent feline paws raised the chunky lump, wincing with her eyes wide shut. "{Oh… I… I understand now…}"

Opal reached around Incineroar's back and hugged her. "{But it's never too late to master your core, Incineroar. Nothing can destroy the perfect design!}" She pressed a claw into Incineroar's chest, to a precise spot behind her sternum, beyond her lungs, between her throat and heart. "{And you're further on your path than I was at this stage, so let's kick things up a bit.}"

Then Incineroar yowled herself silent as a white hot spark of power blasted from Opals paws, right into her torn-up core. It filled to the brim and burst at the weakest points with some force so unbelievably atavistic it made her feel the desire to bite down, tear, and barbeque Opal's throat. For an impossible eternity she wanted nothing more than to cook on a sandy beach, surrounded by the nest full of whoever she'd won by her side, raising a clan of warriors that cried foul to the setting ocean sun at dusk.

"{Fight it, feel it out, all those places your energies run free. You know where your center is now, and that's the ball of dough. Work it, not with your hands or your claws, but with yourself. Soft, but firm.}"

Incineroar struggled with Opal to get free, absolutely unable to budge, and so she searched inside herself and attacked the bleeding lacerations gushing around her soul instead. Flames licked across the floor, stringing around like invisible trails of pop-powder burning in search of a pile to explode.

Opal humph'd and a circle of flame disappeared around their feet with her own concentrated force, protecting herself from the worst of the burns. "{One does not fight a wound with a tooth and claw. We soothe, we lick our injuries clean, we wrap them in the love of another.}"

She stopped gnashing inside, hearing her master's words, and instead grabbed at the wound to stitch it shut with her razor tipped soul, threading it through with strings of bloody spite.

The gushing slowed to a trickle. It wasn't perfect, but sure as the tides came and went, the flames around the floor went out and the inferno blasting from her mouth settled back to smoldering coals.

"{You did it on your first try!}" Opal snuggled into her shoulders. "{Definitely not the way I did, but the result is the same. The more your core is in control, the better. This is the control you need to succeed.}"

"{I'm so proud of you, Incineroar!}"

She heaved in and out, burning Opal's nostrils with curtains of inky smoke, and wrapped a massive hand around Opal's paws. "{Haa…. Haa…. Thank you… Master…}"

Opal was about to chastise the girl, but she bent over as a shrill horn blared above their heads.

The whole event woke the fire alarm; a startled old Daschbun in a pink nighty-cap leading a gang of squirtle in wicked shades and red hats. They kicked the two-way flap doors of the kitchen in a sentai pose they'd been waiting years to put into action, and were utterly devastated to find that the fire had already taken care of itself.

"{Awwww, man!}" they sobbed in unison.

Daschbun leapt up and pawed the alarm-off switch. "{Sorry boys, maybe next time,}" she barked at the Squirtle kicking invisible piles of sand in dismay, and then she glared up at her moonlight interns with beady, brown eyes. "{You bake with the ovens, Girls! Gods!}"

Opal let go and saluted. "{Right, I remember now, 350 for 20 minutes, triple for seven sheets.}"

Granny Biscuit waddled off, grumbling, practically damning them both to Distortion with the spells she slung under her breath.

Incineroar looked at the sea of empty, stainless steel trays. "{Oh, uh… We're gonna be here a while…}"

Opal smiled. "{Think of it as exercise, because it is. Meditate on what you've learned as we work. When we're done, I'm confident you'll be ready for tomorrow morning.}"

"{I hope I get to see just how far you can go!}"

\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/-\|/

Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz… Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz…

Peering through a commercial-grade, telescope camera that poked out the window of the top floor suite of Ooh Là Lumiose Hotel, Jean-Henri sat in a plush office chair for ten minutes, slowly nursing a cigar with the smoke alarm dismantled on the floor.

Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz…

"So whaz you gonna want me fer when House Borbon gez thu boot? Said ye had sumtin fer meh, right?" he murmured as he heard Margot exit a steamy, marble bathroom with a towel barely covering her porcelain pussy.

Iris Margot, in the flesh, swayed her hips as she snuck behind him. "Director of Kalos Bureau of Investigations. Seems fitting."

He coughed, spitting a cloud of putrid exhaust at that. "Ain't no saint, Icy!"

Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz…

She grinned and planted a long, wet kiss on his neck. "Perfect."

He smiled and flicked his stogie's ashes loose over a brand new shag-carpet floor, refusing the temptation to yank his eye away from the glass. "Nas try, but I know iz business 'fore pleasure, Mam."

She smirked with eyes full of satisfaction. "You're hired."

Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz…

"Oh fuck, oh oh oooh!"

Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz… Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz…

"Mmmm." Margot raised a pencil-thin brow. "My sexy eidetic mining gold?"

Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz…

"Gottit angle right, M'am."

Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz…

"Ah, fuk'n hell. Right on the…"

Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz…

"Gahds… Oh gahd!"

Margot's face made curly-q's.

"Yah gattah be faggin kidd'n. Augh. It's…" He ranted, suppressing a little puke.

Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz…

"That Emil fellows' cooked, I take it?" Margot asked.

Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz… Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz… Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz…

"Both."

Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz…

Her head tilted. "Both?"

Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz…

He shuddered. "Team Lead iz wi'tha Sylveon and… Gaaaah iz like'a fugg'n bowl'a carbanara!"

Margot clapped her hands together in brusque, full-throated laughter.. "Two-for-one! Ha haaa!"

Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz… Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz… Snap! Krzrzrzrzrzrzrz…

"I can't think'a ahnu-ting worse, Icy. Damn. Kill'n babies, maybe."

She put her perfectly manicured, obsidian claws around his shoulder, dragging his housecoat down. "C'mere, director. Take a load off that ol' mind of yours. We've got a lot of work to do, you and I."

Jean-Henri stamped his pollutant vice down onto the vintage, hardwood table beside him. "Dun mind if'a do."

The two of them partook in a conspirator's feast between the sheets, unaware that they were not the only ones keeping tabs on the enemy.

A pair of amethyst eyes pried upon them from the peak of Palais Prisme, peering into the window of their high-brow hotel suite, taking a long, hard look at their rotten, human faces. The moonlight worked its awful wonders, resuscitating all those years spent taking on the shade of her Father's shadow.

Ha, they can't all be my Emmi, can they? Sad.

She'd almost washed the taste of murder out of her mouth too…

C'est la vie.