Darkness…
Wild waters…
A rocking boat, splintering wood, flapping sails…
Harsh winds blew past my ears and in just a split second I found myself whisked into the sky, screaming for help…
I struggled against the unknown force only to fall into the ocean below…
The taste of seawater fills my mouth and lungs, and I fight to stay floating on the surface…
I was in pain, terrified. My only family far away, lost in the raging ocean…
Lightning crashed, blinding me as the thunder boomed all around, seeming to vibrate the entire ocean…
"Dad! Where are you!" I cried.
No response.
There's never been a response.
And there never will be…
XXXX
"Denté!"
The small creature begins to stir. Slowly, he blinks himself awake. Crisp spring air greeted him as he took in his surroundings. The sun outside the window was barely creeping above the horizon. He rubbed his eyes with both paws and sat up in the creaky wooden bed.
Where am I?
He took a look around him, noted the bedside table, mirror, and a small stepladder in the small room. Looking in the mirror, he noticed a familiar white and blue face with disheveled fur looking right back at him.
"Right. We're in the Oranville hotel." He muttered to himself.
"Denté! Are you up yet?" The voice called out once more.
A knock at the door followed, and the oshawott whipped his head over to the door. He slid out of bed and landed on the floor with a plop, then pushed the stepladder closer to the door to reach the handle. Not quite enough. After reaching as far as he could, he jumped for it, latched onto the doorknob, and swung it open .
"The door's opened by itself? Perhaps this inn really is haunted like Hilda and George say." The voice mused.
"Wenstrel, It was me! I opened the door!" Denté explained, giving a small chuckle.
Greeting him at the door was a large quagsire, wearing a red bandanna around his neck, and a battered chef's hat atop his head. The quagsire looked down at the oshawott, smiling.
"Are you sure it wasn't the ghost of Ophelia? Imagine what other tricks she might be up to? Next thing we know she'll be in the kitchen making wiki cake with chople icing!" A look of mock horror appeared on his face.
Denté looked back at his father; his face scrunched up with a grimace. "I hope not. Wiki and chople taste gross together!"
"That it does!" He stated, with a laugh. "Now that you're up, I'd say we should start getting our things together and prep for the breakfast rush. We've got a special going on for our Pecha tarts and Oran Juice!" he looked around before he settled his eyes on Denté's shaggy headfur. "Might be a good idea to wash up before starting the day though, eh?" Then the Quagsire began to descend the stairs.
Denté crossed his eyes, trying to see the fur atop his head, then started to head to the mirror. He then hefted the stepladder into place and pulled open the top drawer. He spotted a large bowl, folded towel and comb. He sat the bowl atop the table, sat still for a moment, and began concentrating. After a second or two a small stream of water shot from his mouth into the bowl, then stopped once it overfilled, splashing some over the sides.
"Oops. Too much this time. I gotta more be careful." Denté mumbled to himself.
He looked at the water, contemplating for a moment before he dunked his head in face first. Then, when his head popped out of the bowl, he shook off all the remaining water to the surrounding area. After blowing the water out of his nostrils, he grabbed the comb and straightened his fur, back to its natural look. Satisfied with his work, he then hopped off the stepladder and began to fish for something under the bed.
With a couple grunts, he yanked a satchel out and began to rummage inside. He slid out a white chef's hat, similar to his father's, and a navy blue bandana, which he quickly fastened around his neck. Finally, placing the hat atop his head, he placed the satchel over his shoulder and dashed out into the hallway.
Denté soon realized he and his dad aren't the only ones awake this early, as he ran face first into a Kecleon climbing up the stairs.
"Whoa! Careful there laddie!" The chameleon exclaimed, " Anudder push like that, and I'll be sent ovar the rails!"
"Ow, sorry Mr. George sir. I didn't see you." Denté apologized
"I would t'ink yeh didn't. Yeh looked like a raging Bouffalant. Be careful, mind, and try not to knock over anyone else on youer way."
"Yessir Mr. George sir!" Denté gave a quick bow then sped off to find his dad once more.
"I hope he doesn't start without me!" He thought. "Where did he park the restaurant?"
At the bottom of the stairs, he looked both ways before he came to a stop at the reception desk. A swanna clutching a cup of cheri tea is sat staring at a book on the counter in front of her. At Denté's appearance, she looked up and sat her mug down to address the young mon.
"You seem to be in a rush sweetie, what's the matter?" The swanna inquired.
"I'm just looking for Wenstrel, do you know where he went?" Dente said, hurriedly.
"I think I saw him head out the back door." She pointed behind him to the open doorway. "He mentioned something about Ophelia's ghost. What happened this time? Did she unlock the windows and blow out the candles?"
"Not this time Hilda, it's just a false alarm. I opened the door, and he didn't see me." Denté explained.
"Well, shoot. Let me know if you have any other problems with Ophelia!" She waved a wing at Denté, and took a sip of her tea.
Denté waved back and turned around to head out the open door. A slight wind brushed past his fur the moment he stepped outside, the morning dew on the grass felt refreshing at the bottom of his flippers. Breathing deeply, he filled his lungs with the crisp morning air and turned his head to find Wenstrel.
"Let's check the river." Denté thought.
Then he ran as fast as his little flippers could to said river, at the edge of the town of Oranville. The town was quaint, with paths marked by cobblestone streets and buildings fashioned of clay bricks, mortar and logs. Along the streets are alternating lamp posts, lighting them up with a soft glow. The occasional cart of hay or vegetables off to the sides. Not many Pokémon were up at this hour, but those who were awake were busy at work.
After a short while, Denté heard a loud splash to his right, and followed it to find his father straining to reach for something in the water.
"Oh, there's the restaurant!" Dente thought.
Wenstrel was leaning off of the railing of a somewhat large boat. On it, you would find the kitchen out in the open air for every mon to see. One of Wenstrel's marketing tactics, Pokémon love to see food being made right before their eyes. After all, who doesn't want dinner and a show? It's painted many different colors, primarily red and blue, with golden trim. Denté started to reminisce when his dad first got the boat.
"You know Denté, I believe this glorified tugboat needs a good splash of color! We need it to grab everyone's attention! How about you give me a paw?"
Denté cringed when he glanced at the back of the ship where a crudely drawn quagsire and oshawott could be seen.
"That's not gonna fade for a while. Knowing Wenstrel, he'll restore it when it does." He thought.
At Denté's appearance, Wenstrel looked up and called out to him
"Ah, Denté! Perfect timing, I dropped something important into the river, could you help me find it?"
"Sure thing! What is it?"
"It's the wonderful flowerpot Miss Gertrude gave me a couple nights ago!"
Denté stifled a groan. "Wenstrel holds onto every present his friends give him. We could have so much more room for ingredients if he got rid of a few things!" He thought.
At the river's edge, Denté hopped into the water and began feeling for the flowerpot. After a few seconds, he's holding a white flowerpot with lilacs all over. He had to agree, it was a wonderful pot, but they didn't have any flowers to put in it yet. Not to mention it didn't match the rest of the ship's decorations. Come to think of it, most of the furniture was gifted to his dad too. None of the chairs matched any of the tables, nor the chairs to chairs or the tables to tables. It bothered him, but he didn't want to point it out to his dad.
"Found it!" he exclaimed.
"Great job Denté! You sure are brave jumping right into the murky river."
" I'm not five anymore! I can handle a tiny river." Dente replied, annoyed.
"Right right, er… how old are you now?" A puzzled look appeared on the quagsire's face as he grabbed hold of the pot.
Denté crossed his arms over his chest, "I'm twelve, how could you forget that?"
"Er, sorry Denté you know that happens from time to time." He turned to set the pot on the floor next to him. "Not too long now before you evolve, eh? You'd no longer be my little oshawott, but I think you'd make a fine dewott!" Wenstrel remarked.
"Yeah, I know," Denté's arms fell to his sides, "but that's still kinda far away. Shouldn't we be preparing for breakfast?"
"Oh goodness, you're right! That reminds me, I was going to ask if you would go to the farmer's market and pick up my order for today? It's got the flour we need for the tarts this morning."
"Of course, I'll get it."
"You remember the way?"
"I think I know it better than you will."
"Yes yes, I believe you're right about that one. Just be careful now, there's lots of twists and turns here."
"Don't worry Wenstrel, I've got this." Denté assured him.
Then with a quick high-paw, he climbed out of the riverbank, and ran towards the farmer's market.
XXXX
It wasn't too far to the farmer's market, just a couple of lefts, go straight for a bit and turn right. But even at the early hour, the stalls were lined with fresh produce that all manner of Pokémon were supplying. There were paras' wild mushroom foraging, a vespiquen selling honey made from the pollen of sweet flowers, and a tropius selling the fruits from their orchard, but Denté brushed past them all to a small stand with a variety of baking goods strewn over crates and barrels. A Linoone monned the counter, he perked up when he noticed the oshawott waddle to the register.
"Howdy there Denté!" The linoone chirped. "Pickin' up Wenstrel's order, eh? Let's fetch it for ya." He turned and nodded to a nearby audino, who presumably went off to grab the order.
"Thanks Mr. Thomas, sir!" Denté declared.
"Ah, no need for the formalities, your dad is a great friend of mine. Just call me Tom, or Thomas if you prefer." The linoone stated. "By the by, what has the quagsire got on the docket for this fine morning?"
Denté smiled. "Pecha tarts today, sir. With Oran juice."
The linoone looked skyward for a few seconds, then looked back down at him. "There's always room in my stomach for some of Wenstrel's cookin'. Especially those Pecha tarts. Must be grand livin' with him, eh? Get to eat those every day if you want."
"Not really, we usually cook what's in season, or what we have a bunch of. I think we're going to be doing Nanab parfaits soon, but we'll be in the next town for that." The oshawott remarked.
"I do fancy a good parfait, but everyone has to get their fair share of the restaurant, eh?" Thomas said, knowingly.
The audino from before appeared behind Thomas, then tapped his shoulder, to which he abruptly turned around and thanked her.
"Alrighty then, there you are." Thomas handed the bag to Denté. "I have a few more orders that need picked up before breakfast, could you remind Wenstrel to save me a portion?"
"Sure thing Mr. Thomas." Denté reached up and tipped his chef's hat, then started waddling back to the boat.
"Heh, Cecilia? I think that little oshawott reminds me of a certain wooper from way back when." Thomas reminisced. He reached over and grabbed her paw. "Glad to see Wenstrel's legacy going strong."
XXXX
"Alright Denté, the trick is to blanch the Pecha berries in boiling water before peeling them. The skin just glides right off. Now, we take the peeled berries and slice them up thin and arrange them like so into our baked tart shells." Wenstrel says, while placing the sliced Pecha berries in a swirl-like shape on the tart shell.
"Then the whipped cream right?" Denté piped up.
"Ah ah, hold on a moment! We sprinkle on a bit of cinnamon and nutmeg, then bake until warm." Wenstrel took the tray and slid them into the large mud-brick oven.
A few minutes go by, when Denté noticed the air began to fill with notes of sweet Pecha and spicy cinnamon. He was in the middle of preparing more tart shells when his dad pulled the tarts out of the oven.
"Now do we put the whipped cream on?" Denté said once more.
"Yes, after a few moments to let them rest, we place a dollop of whipped cream in the center of each one, along with a fresh mint leaf for garnish." Wenstrel finalized.
Wenstrel held up the finished Pecha Tart. Denté just stared in hunger and amazement. Sure enough, Wenstrel Quagsire has done it again. While he may be as forgetful as most of his species, he never seems to forget a recipe. Most of the time, Wenstrel has to rely on physical objects to remember friends and acquaintances by, and he's met a bunch of Pokémon already.
"I know that look Denté, but you know the one rule we follow." Wenstrel gazed into his son's eyes knowingly.
Denté reached a paw up to scratch his head. "Never swim on an empty stomach?"
Wenstrel laughed for a moment, then placed a flipper on his lips to muffle out the rest.
"Close, my boy, close. A chef samples his work and seasons to perfection, but each guest Pokémon must come first, before the chef gets their portion."
"I thought you only said that so you wouldn't eat other customers' orders?" Denté replied, stone-faced.
"Just another added bonus! When our customers leave happy and full, they are bound to come back again. Even if we don't have any of our special left over, we usually have something else to nibble on." Wenstrel looked at the tart wistfully before placing it back on the tray. "Let's make a couple more trays, then we can ring the bell."
"Alright, I'll start juicing the Oran berries."
XXXX
Ring-a-ding! Ring-a-ding!
Ring-a-ding! Ring-a-ding!
It didn't take more than a minute for the first customer to show up. A Semisear by the name of Maurice. He started up some idle chatter with Wenstrel before holding up a finger, and grabbing his breakfast tart. Denté watched as the Semisear placed three silver coins into the cashbox on the counter.
"He overpaid a bit. I'll grab him a cinnamon bun in a moment, he's sure to love that." Denté thought to himself. He then wiped his paws onto his apron, and rinsed them off in a nearby pot of cold water. He waddled up to the rack of tarts and other baked treats and grabbed one of the cinnamon buns. He placed the bun on a plate and stuck it on top of the oven to warm up as he grabbed the icing, piping a generous amount onto the just-warmed treat. Then, grabbing the plate with a small clean towel, he walked through the swinging door to greet Sir Maurice.
"Hi Sir, I noticed you overpaid for your breakfast today and I wanted to bring you a cinnamon bun, on the house." He placed the plate on the table next to the half-eaten tart.
"Oh, Denté! How nice to see you again! Yes, I know I overpaid, but I didn't want to interrupt you or Wenstrel while you were baking, so that I could get exact change. This is a nice compromise though." He stared at the bun for a moment before addressing Dente again. "Every time I show up, I receive some of the best service I've ever had. Most other eateries assume the extra payment is, well, extra. But you always seem to bring me something special."
"Thank you, Mr. Maurice! I'll be sure to let Wenstrel know your great experience here!" Denté gave a slight bow and slipped away to the kitchen again.
"I like it when Maurice shows up, he always has something nice to say!"
Right at that moment, a large group of Pokémon rushed aboard the boat. Orders were being taken by Denté while Wenstrel got to work preparing the rest of the tarts. It didn't take too long for the supply of tarts to run dry, and the customers were lined up to snatch them off of the trays fresh out of the oven.
After twenty minutes of baking and selling tarts, the line started to die down, and a stray Pokémon or two would show up to get their first meal of the day. The air was rich with the smell of sweet Pecha berries, and the citrusy zing of fresh squeezed Oran juice. Finally, after a short time without customers, Wenstrel turned to his son, wiping his head with a cool rag.
"I believe that may be the last of them today, and good timing too, we seem to be out of tarts."
Denté was relieved, but disheartened. He really wanted one for breakfast today.
Noticing his change of expression, Wenstrel quickly added, " Well, there's still a portion of pastry dough left, you might be able to make a tart of your own if you're willing to wait a few more minutes."
Denté smiled weakly, "Guess the baking isn't done yet…"
He waddled slowly into the kitchen and noticed the small portion of dough left over. It wasn't quite enough to fit in the tart pan, but Dente had another plan. He pulled out his trusty scalchop, and traced over it by a decent margin, carefully braided the edges of the resulting pastry shell and brushed it with sweet cream. With the pastry still in his scalchop, he placed it onto a freshly washed baking sheet and slid it into the cinder-filled oven. Meanwhile, he searched for the filling. Unfortunately, it seemed like all the Pecha berries were used during the rush, but he did find a couple of squishy Cheri berries. He placed the berries into a small bowl, and mixed it with the zest of some discarded Oran skins, and some sugar.
"Hmm… it still needs something." Denté thought idly. Suddenly he remembered something. During his last birthday, Wenstrel had gifted him a small bottle of vanilla. It's highly prized as a flavor enhancer, but is extremely hard to cultivate, resulting in a steep price. Dente rushed off to the storage room to find it. After a short while, he clasped the small vial in his paws.
"I've said it many times, Wenstrel really needs to sort the storage room this year."
He proceeded to add a splash of the vanilla to the berry mixture, and gave it a good stir. After a few seconds he began to smell burning pastry, and with a start, he ran to the oven and quickly pulled out the tray. It didn't look too bad, definitely a darker brown on the edges, but should taste fine. Denté allowed himself to breathe normally again, then began scooping the Cheri mix into the crust. After removing the pastry from the scalchop, he returned the pan to the oven again, further away from the heat this time, and closed the slat.
After a few minutes, the Cheri Tart was finished. Denté set it on a large plate atop the small kitchen table. He scraped the last bits of whipped cream from the large bowl, and placed the resulting small dollop onto his tart. He didn't bother with the mint leaf. He took a deep breath, savoring the rich tartness of the Cheri, the zingy addition of the Oran zest, and subtle notes of vanilla mixed with the crispy buttery crust of the tart shell. It felt great, knowing he made it himself. He couldn't replace this with anything.
Finally, his stomach couldn't savor it any longer, as he began to wolf down the tart in front of him with great vigor. The tart was sweet, tangy, and was just the right size for an oshawott like him. Content, Denté licked the Cheri syrup off of his paws, then leaned back in his chair to relish the moment.
"That was delicious! I could probably eat two or three more of those." Denté sat upright, placing a paw on his stomach, satisfied. "Maybe I'll make another one, but I'm going to save it for someone."
XXXX
Wenstrel was busy wiping off one of his tables when a familiar linoone pandered up to the side of the river.
"Ho there, Wenstrel!"
The quagsire perked up at the mention of his name, then turned to the direction of the voice.
"Aha! Tommy! You old fiend. Great to see you once again. How's your wife doing? Well, I hope?" Wenstrel inquired.
The linoone nodded, "Yes 'Celia's doing quite well. She managed to heal herself to standing upright soon after the last attack."
Wenstrel nodded solemnly, "Ah yes, the theives. We seem to be seeing more of them as of late. Only one thing to do at the time being, gather more defenses, hmm?"
"I believe that is right, friend. We could use your help fending them off, you know? Just like you used to?" Thomas said, hopeful.
Wenstrel's eyes darkened, staring at something behind the linoone's face. Thomas paled slightly. "I've put that life behind me Thomas, I want to live a life of peace, content and gratitude. I also need to be here to protect Denté. He's only recently learned how to guard himself against basic attacks. He still needs me here."
"I understand that Wenstrel, but each passing day we end up with more and more-"
Wenstrel laid a flipper on Thomas' shoulder, "I understand, Tommy, I do. But it's not my choice anymore."
Thomas looked down for a moment, then looked back up at the quagsire, now with a slight smile.
"While I can't help on the field, I will do my best to spread hope to each town I visit." Wenstrel said, cooly. "We're going to Kippor island next, but until then please join me for breakfast. It's on the house today, but we're sold out on today's special I'm afraid. Come on, join me in the kitchen."
Wenstrel led the worn out Pokémon into the kitchen, where Dente was wiping off the last countertop, facing away from the pair. A fresh Cheri tart sat on the table, wafting notes of vanilla and Oran zest into the air. The elder Pokémon stopped for a moment to savor the air, when Denté spoke.
"I've got some breakfast waiting for you, Wenstrel." He turned around, tucking the damp cloth into his apron pocket. "Oh, hello Mr. Tom sir. What are you doing back here?" Dente tried to catch his the quagsire's eye.
Wenstrel spoke up. "Mr. Thomas here was just hoping to get some breakfast today, he had missed the special, so I brought him in to get comfortable while I fix something up for him."
Denté gave a slow nod, then glanced at the Cheri tart on the table. "Well, I made that for you, but you can share it with Mr. Tom if you'd like."
Wenstrel smiled, "You know Denté, that sounds splendid. I'll grab each of us a cinnamon bun as well. What would you like to drink Tom?"
The linoone was staring at the tart, not aware that he was drooling out of the corner of his mouth. Snapping out of his haze, he hastily replied, "Er, Watmel juice would be wonderful, if you have any, but a cold glass of milk could hit the spot too." He wiped his mouth.
"Hmm, check the cold storage, Denté. I do believe we have a bottle or two of Watmel juice left." Wenstrel said, with a flipper to his chin.
"You got it." Denté quipped, then dashed towards the corner of the room, hefted up the trapdoor, and climbed down the ladder to the storage room below.
"This smells wonderful, Wenstrel!" Thomas praised, sitting down at the small table.
Wenstrel carried three plates, each holding a warm frosted cinnamon bun, and set them down at the table. As he went to gather the glasses, he remarked, "You should be telling that to Denté. He's the one who made that tart."
"And the pastry shell, it's so unique! It actually looks like a seashell." Said the impressed Linoone.
Wenstrel took a gander at the pastry, and sure enough, it did look like a seashell. "Looks like he used his scalchop to make the crust! So resourceful! And what is that smell in the air do you think? It's a Cheri filling, But I smell Oran zest and… Vanilla? What a wonderful pairing!" Wenstrel belly laughed for a moment, and then set the glasses in front of each plate.
"He hasn't been baking very long by himself, right? Didn't he just start at the beginning of the year?" the Linoone prodded.
"Yes. He built up his confidence for so long, and mastered the basics fairly quickly. Soon enough, I'm going run out of things to teach him." Wenstrel proudly replied.
At that moment, Denté hoisted himself through the opened trapdoor, with a bottle of Watmel juice in tow. "Found it, Wenstrel!"
"Ooh, I knew we had some left over from last Summer's Eve. That should pair well with the meal. You have good taste Tommy." Wenstrel complimented.
Wenstrel popped the cork out of the bottle and poured everyone a tall glass of juice. "Watmel berries are out of season right now, which makes this a special treat." he continued.
Denté took a sip from his glass, watery sweet, light, crisp, and slightly fizzy.
"I love your Watmel juice more than 'Celia's, but don't tell her I said that. How do you make it fizzy? There isn't any alcohol, right?" Thomas inquired.
"Not a speck of the stuff, but you'd hardly believe I'd tell you such a secret, right Thomas?" Wenstrel said with a sly look in his eyes.
"Worth a shot." He simply replied.
Everyone then resigned themselves to finish their meal, the elder two relishing the tart, while Denté just grinned, enjoying his cinnamon bun. It was a bit tough, being made the night before, but when warmed by the oven and drenched in a sticky frosting, it was still quite the delicacy.
"Now Denté, after you're washed up, we should finish your training." Wenstrel stated.
Dente paused, mid-bite, and groaned. "This is going to be a long day."