Hastur saw all and knew all.
Hastur was also practically blind in his shell of a Mareep disguise and could barely remember his own friends’ names at the best of times.
Hastur was a strange thing, with odd powers and awkward quirks. Perhaps strangest of their…abilities were the Intellectus. A little voice, or perhaps more accurately an errant collection of thoughts, that had unlimited knowledge of all aspects of all physical things. But it was not Omniscience. For the price of knowing everything was not always knowing what you knew, or how that knowledge could be practically applied. The Intellectus knew all things, but not their significance.
Hence why every morning, Hastur spent hours asking himself very specific, very carefully worded questions, and then allowing the Intellectus to find them the answer. It sounds easy enough. Want to know if it will rain today? Just ask “will it rain today” But then the answer would always be yes, because somewhere in the world or even on other worlds it is raining. It’s raining hydrochloric acid on Venus, for example. Not that that knowledge was of any use to anybody.
So perhaps Hastur should ask “Will it rain within three miles of here today?” Except now they got no answer at all! Because a “mile” is not a physical object or even an aspect inherent to an object; A mile is an arbitrarily concept commonly shared and understood between some humans and pokémon. They would be better asking if there would be rain today within sixteen-thousand lengths of a ruler he had found in an office of ‘here’. Except then they still won’t get an answer because they failed to define ‘here’. Is ‘here’ their current position, the room they are in? The building? The City? The whole country? What even was a country? The Intellectus could not distinguish.
Perhaps there was a better method somewhere out there, but Hastur had already developed their own: in order to determine if it would rain today, Hastur would ask themself ‘If I were to move at this exact pace in any given direction from where I am currently standing for an entire day, would I come into contact with condensing particles of water falling from a height greater than that of the highest leaf that one could find by walking in any direction from my current position until nightfall.’ at which point he would learn ‘…no’
It was clunky, imperfect, and even then it didn’t always work. And on top of all that the Intellectus had one massive blind spot no amount of careful wording would ever be able to cover: themself. Anything they did, or rather planned to do with the knowledge they gained from the Intellectus, would affect the future, which would change the answers of the Intellectus and thus change what they did that day. They could use themself as a living measurement but wondering about the direct consequences of their own actions before they did them was pointless. It was a paradox which broke the system, and it meant even at the best of times they were still never quite sure if what they were doing was the right thing.
They were getting pretty good at predicting the weather, though! Shame that wasn’t what they were concerned about right now. No, what they were concerned about was the safety of their friends.
‘Will the clock on the wall strike midnight? …yes.’
‘Will Pepper die between now and the next time the clock on the wall struck midnight? …No.’
‘Will Mary die between now and the next time the clock on the wall struck midnight? …No.
Will Cinnamon die between now and the next time the clock on the wall struck midnight? …No.
Will Sugar die between now and the next time the clock on the wall struck midnight? …No.’
They had to be careful to envision each of their friends during these questions and avoid using their actual names lest some other soul named Mary or Pepper or Cinnamon ruin the results. The most important questions had been answered. Now for the second most important question:
‘Will Pepper lose any blood between now and the next time the clock on the wall struck midnight? …no.’
Will Mary lose any blood between now and the next time the clock on the wall struck midnight? …yes.’
“not good.” the Mimikyu said aloud. They quickly looked around to check if anyone heard him. Beside them, Cinnamon snored undisturbed. Sometimes Hastur wished they could sleep. It must be so pleasant not having to think eight hours per day.
‘Will the majority of the bleeding Mary suffers between now and the next time the clock on the wall struck midnight be leaked through the skin? …yes.’
‘Will Mary’s limbs, fingers, or toes become separated from her body between now and the next time the clock on the wall struck midnight? …no.’
‘Will any dimension of any of Mary’s wounds suffered between now and the next time the clock on the wall struck midnight exceed the distance between the tips of my fingers?’
Hastur held their hand up in front of themself. They couldn’t see their fingers in the darkness under their disguise, but that was a relatively arbitrary length anyways.
‘…no.
What item or items will contact Mary’s skin when Mary starts losing blood between now and the next time the clock on the wall struck midnight? …Paper.’
Hastur breathed a sigh of relief; it was just a papercut.
‘…will Cinnamon lose any blood between now and the next time the clock on the wall struck midnight? …Yes. Will the majority of the bleeding Cinnamon suffers between now and the next time the clock on the wall struck midnight escape through the skin? …no.’
Hastur had done this enough to remember that Cinnamon and Internal Bleeding was indicative of a crash. He quickly formulated another series of questions and started pacing back and forth across the room.
‘How many times faster than I am currently moving will Cinnamon be moving when he suffers internal bleeding between now and the next time the clock on the wall struck midnight? …Twenty!’
It was definitely a crash. Questions and answers begin racing through their lonely eldritch mind.
‘…Yes.’
‘…One rib.’
‘…No.’
‘…No.’
‘…No.’
‘…Yes.’
‘…Yes.’
Hastur once again sagged in relief. But something nagged them. ‘Didn’t Cinnamon mention another of his kind would be showing him the area yesterday?’ Intellectus didn’t answer, of course; it didn’t understand ‘Yesterday’. Hastur quickly composed another series of questions, this time for the stranger.
‘...Yes.’
‘…Yes.’
‘…Yes!’
‘…YES!’
‘…Multiple sources.’
‘…teeth, glass, asphalt, claws.’
‘…two-hundred and thirteen thousand, seven hundred and sixty-four of his own heartbeats would occur between now and the incident.’
That was not good. The Mimikyu knew from experience that fleshlings could suffer mental trauma from witnessing the misfortune of others, even if they had minimal emotional connections. And knowing Sugar this could lead to serious emotional harm for their clique as a whole!
…and also, Cinnamon’s friend would die which they supposed they should be concerned about. With that in mind, Hastur started formulating a plan.
* * *
The garden was a mess, even more so than the previous evening. For sometimes when you wish to clean a mess you must first make it even bigger. On top of the crushed flowers, the damaged trees, the scattered stones and the distorted bushes, the ground was now host to piles upon piles of construction materials and growing heaps of detritus. Everywhere, Plaisir cleaners and maintenance workers had set about getting in each other’s way in an effort to do everything at once. Pouncer surveyed the work with a deep frown. This was exactly the sort of thing he and his overbusied shift didn’t need right now.
He turned his attention to the source of this whole mess. Pepper hung upside-down from her vines, carefully patrolling the perimeter of the courtyard picking up stones, glass, and shrapnel from yesterday’s fight. It actually looked kind of silly: the serious, concentrated look on her face and careful gait as she plucked shards off the ground contrasted with her rear end raised in the air with limbs flopping about uncontrollably with each stride. More than once a coworker would watch her march past and struggle to stifle a giggle, but if Pepper noticed she paid them no mind. She was far too busy talking the ear-limbs off her assistant/guard/unwitting audience, Wraith.
“…and with reach like mine they’re not just projectiles but maces, which totally overcome the plant type disadvantage. Plus, there’s nothing on Earth as cathartic as beaning some arrogant asshole in the stomach with a six-pound stone!”
“But you missed her and hit everything else!” The exasperated Froslass swept an arm across the devastated scene.
Pepper shrugged upside down. “Elegance is really good at dodging. I’m used to fighting big opponents, never someone so agile.” She said. “Besides, the damage isn’t that bad! Besides the glass I mean, and the walls and that one TV.”
“That’s like saying a cruise ship is fine but for the fact it’s upside down and underwater!” And what do you mean ‘not that bad’? You turned the bushes into…into postmodern art sculptures! The tree’s lost nearly a third of its branches! The flowers…” Wraith’s voice failed her, so she just gestured down at the massive scores in the flower beds.
Pepper rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine! I was gunna save this trick for after we’d cleaned up the debris. But if you’re really so hung up on bushes and flowers…”
The Chikorita stomped all eight of her vines into the dirt, one at a time, and began tensing her neck muscles and gritting her teeth. For the second time in as many days, the garden grounds began to shift and shake. Workers and gardeners shouted in surprise as Pepper gave a long, low grunt of exertion that steadily rose in pitch. Then, with a shout of triumph, Pepper pulled herself free and every plant large and small came to life. Roots retracted into the ground, bushes shrunk and molded themselves down into neat little cubes, unbloomed flowers that sat crushed carefully righted themselves and pushed what roots they still had into the soft soil beneath the scars. In a matter of moments, much of the damage to the garden’s plants had been, if not undone, at least mitigated.
Pepper stumbled slightly before carefully lowering herself into the dirt, exhausted. “There!” She huffed. “Happy?”
“It’s…better.” Wraith admitted. “But there’s still the glass and the debris! No to mention at least one widescreen television and how many windows?”
“Whatever,” Pepper muttered. “That trick of mine used a lot of the plants’ energy reserves. We should probably get them some fertilizer and see if anyone knows ‘Sunny Day’.”
“You know Pepper,” Pouncer said, choosing that moment to intervene. “skills like that, properly refined, you could make a really good landscaper.”
“No thanks.” Pepper muttered, “I’m a fighter, not a gardener. Plus, isn’t that blueboy’s job?” She poked a vine towards Nature, who was crouched nearby relaying stones around the flower beds. He was studiously ignoring Pepper, which had to be the closest Pouncer had ever seen to genuine hostility from the Lucario.
“Nature is a waiter; he merely assists in the maintenance of the garden as a hobby. Besides, we’re always looking for extra help on the morning shift.” The Grovyle crouched down so he could look her in the eye without looking down at her. “You know, if you were to apologize…”
He trailed off as Pepper started shaking her head, “Clarice is never going to hire me. Firenze had to pull rank with her just to let me back in the complex! And frankly even if she did, there’s no way in hell I’m coming back.” She rolled onto her back and unsheathed her vines, slowly rising back into the air. “The only reason I’m still here is because Firenze wants his Garden back in order. After that, I’m done.”
She started walking off, plucking debris out of the soil as she went. Pouncer frowned at being blown off and stood to follow.
“You seemed to enjoy your work yesterday!” Pouncer said. “Don’t you want to make some money for your team? Help your trainer?”
“I can help Mary in other ways. Better ways. From better people who respect me!”
“Respect?” Pouncer’s frown deepened, “I don’t think Elegance meant to show disrespect.”
”’Invalid,’” Pepper spat.
“Pardon?”
“Invalid. Not Valid. That’s what she called me. That fighting me was ‘entertaining my delusions’. She thinks just because I have a disability I shouldn’t be allowed to battle. Patronizing bitch!” Pepper punctuated the mini tirade by spiking a river stone into the pile at the center of the Garden. Several nearby waiters flinched at the resulting crack of stone-on-stone.
Pouncer sighed. “She was only concerned for your safety, Pepper.”
“And who gave her the authority to decide what’s ‘safe’ for me?” She shot back.
“Nobody,” Pouncer conceded, “but she doesn’t owe you a battle, either. You didn’t need to hurt her, and you certainly didn’t need to destroy the Garden to prove your capability!”
Pepper didn’t look up from her work. “You may not have experienced it before, but I know these attitudes far too well.” She muttered. “You can’t explain to them how hard you’ve worked. You can’t convince them through anecdotes or promises or boasts. They’ll never believe you.”
“Why does it matter if other people don’t believe you?” Pouncer turned away for a moment to watch a human and a Hitmonlee work together to glue a new window in place.
“Because if they don’t believe me, they won’t battle. And if they don’t battle me, I can’t prove them wrong.” Pepper growled at the ground, “I have to fight for my right to fight!”
“Excellent work, then!” Wraith said, sarcastically, “Now everyone thinks you're crazy, instead of just weak!”
“Maybe I am! I’d prefer to be feared than pitied anyways. Save that pity shit for Cinnamon or Honey and give me the credit I deserve.” Pepper finished plucking the glass behind the bush she hung over and scuttled away. Pouncer just shook his head and left her to her work.
* * *
Mary stared at the bottle in shock. It simply wasn’t logical.
True, it made sense that in a world where pokémon and humans were considered equals that the former would be expected to keep themselves as clean as the latter. And sure, it made perfect sense that since quadrupeds only had their tongues to clean themselves, the shampoos would be made with taste in mind. And Mary knew firsthand that different pokémon had different tastes, and would thus desire different flavors of soap to wash themselves…
But the idea that there was a market for Grilled Cheese and Ketchup-flavored shampoo? No. That was going too far! Mary set the bottle back on the shelf and stood back to let a pair of Quilava step forward and have a look at the shampoo rack. It didn’t really matter: one pecha-flavored shampoo should be enough to cover the whole team’s tastes, and if it wasn’t, they were comfortable enough grooming each other. Mary shoved the soap into her bag and pressed on. Noting with some satisfaction that the Quilava were making the same disgusted faces at the soap as she had.
‘So that’s hygiene, what about food?’
Mary carefully navigated her way through the extra-wide hallways of the supermarket. Pokémon Food was only three isles down, but transit nonetheless took nearly ten minutes and she nearly trampled or was trampled by a dozen different pokémon. It wasn’t even very crowded; she simply couldn’t figure out how whatever arbitrary system this world operated by was supposed to work! On the surface it seemed obvious: Smaller creatures hugged the edges of the isles, larger creatures stayed near the center; almost like the relationship between the bikes, cars, and pedestrians outside.
But then she’d stop at an intersection and the Houndoom behind her would keep walking right into her backside, shoving her forward whereupon she would try to catch herself, inadvertently kicking an unfortunate Minncino clear across the thoroughfare in the process. Then she’d fall flat on her face in front of a pair of chatting Nidoqueen and nearly get crushed herself!
Then she’d have to apologize to a dozen angry, shouting Pokémon she couldn’t even understand before the commotion eventually forced an employee to escort Mary into another aisle like a naughty child. This had happened thrice now in two different stores. The only real respite she had from this alien world’s alien locomotion was the pet isles, which were nearly abandoned save for a few humans like herself.
Mary had just about decided which flavor of canned kibble would taste least awful when the rapid clattering of claws on ceramic hailed the first truly pleasant surprise Mary had had all day.
“Mary!” Cinnamon shouted as he ran down the hall.
“Cinnamon? Cinnamon! Sugar!” Mary knelt on one knee and held out her arms, Linoone and rider skidding into her hug with just enough force to elicit a grunt from the trainer. Behind the duo, another smaller Linoone jogged into view, keeping his distance, and giving her a curious look.
“How did you find me?” Mary asked, pulling out of the hug. Then she seemed to realize something. “Wait, hold on! I got something for this!”
Mary reached into her backpack and quickly set about tearing the packaging off a tiny plastic grey device. It was a hearing aid: irregularly shaped but roughly square, designed to fit in the palm of any number of bipedal’s hands. A screen on the front lit up at the press of the sole button near the top.
“Here,” She said, pointing the device at Cinnamon, “Try speaking into this!”
Cinnamon sniffed at the gadget and carefully spoke, “Hello?”
There was a brief pause, then the screen flashed and a line of text appeared on the screen.
‘HELLO’.
“It works! That’s amazing, I can understand you!” Mary cheered. Then in an instant her face fell, and she was worrying all over her Pokémon. “Why are you here? Did something happen? Did they hurt you? Where are the others? Is Pepper okay? What about Honey? Are you injured? Is something wrong with your capacitor?” As she spoke, the trainer started picking up and turning Sugar around, feeling for wounds, poking at his satchel, and generally fussing over their every imperfection.
’So this is Mary?’ Quippie watched the trainer work, nonplussed. She was nothing like the brave, headstrong human companion Cinnamon had described. Though Sugar’s description “obsessively compassionate” certainly rang true. He watched as she shifted her attentions from Sugar to Cinnamon, lifting the Linoone onto his hindlegs to check his legs and belly for cuts, ranting about infections or something. All the while her Pokémon continued to insist they were fine, though offering no resistance to her prodding.
Finally, Mary managed to notice the second Linoone standing a few feet away. She looked him in the face and Quippie got to learn firsthand what a person looked like when they went three days, possibly longer, without any sleep. He tried to ignore the frazzled hair, bloodshot eyes and pained look underneath the smile and returned her “hello.” She beckoned him closer and set the translator down between them, assuming a more comfortable sitting position on the floor.
“What’s your name?” She watched as the stranger spoke, then shouted into the translator.
MY NAME’S QUICKLY.
NO QUICK PEE.
NO QUIP KNEE.
NO.
CUE YOU EYE PEE PEE EYE EEK.
Mary laughed and cleared the screen. “Pleased to meet you…uh, Quippie?”
Quippie nodded his head and offered a paw to shake. Mary almost patted him on the head, before remembering herself and shaking his paw instead. “I take it you’re one of the Café’s employees?”
Quippie nodded eagerly.
Mary twitched slightly, then shook herself and asked, “How did you guys find me?”
“Quippie was showing us around town. Cinnamon caught your scent by the Library, and we followed it here.” Sugar explained. He quickly crawled his way up and onto her knee, While Cinnamon made a point to drape himself across her lap.
“I see,” she said. Quippie watched as Mary’s posture subtly relaxed, days of pent-up stress subtly melting away as she started absent mindedly scratching her Pokémon’s necks. “And how are things at the Café?”
She must have felt Cinnamon tensing beneath her. That or Sugar’s poker face was absolutely terrible. Mary’s tone swung from pleasant to serious in an instant. “What happened?” She asked.
Sugar took ahold of the translator and spoke quickly. “It was Honey, they had some trouble with the dishes is all. It was all sorted out, they just needed someone to show them how to do it.”
Mary saw right through him. “…and?” She prompted. Sugar winced
He continued, “…I may have accidentally clocked out a bit too early. But I apologized and they were fine with it! I-It was just a misunderstanding…”
Mary read out his explanations on the translator. “…and? Don’t lie to me, Sugar!”
Sugar smacked his face and groaned. “Pepper got into a fight.”
“Oh.” Mary briefly stared at the vaulted ceiling of the supermarket. All the exhaustion of half a week without good sleep rushed back to her and the trainer visibly deflated. “How bad was it?”
Quippie blurted something out, earning a glare from Sugar. Mary took a moment to massage her forehead, mentally preparing herself before looking down.
‘SHE TURNED THE GARDEN INTO A WARZONE.’
‘THEY HAD TO TAKE ELEGANCE TO THE CLINIC FOR TREATMENT’
Mary groaned and went back to massaging her head. “This is my fault,” She said “Should’ve known something like this would happen, ‘specially after that Glaceon!”
Cinnamon shifted in response to his trainer’s distress, quickly standing on his hindlegs and leaning up onto her shoulder. Mary quietly accepted the half-hug, and after another moment of thinking seemed to find her mental footing.
“Okay…alright.” Mary’s expression hardened and she reached around to drop her Pokémon in front of her. “I’ll be back at the Café tomorrow. I got almost everything we need together so we can get with the Ninetales and figure things out from there. Try not to get in any trouble until then, okay?”
Cinnamon and Sugar both barked an affirmative. Satisfied that the shoe had dropped, Mary turned her attention to Quippie. “Thank you for showing my Pokémon around. I know Cinnamon must’ve been going nuts at the chance to run outside again. This means the world to me!”
Quippie hesitantly murmured into the translator.
‘SURE.’
‘OF COURSE.’
Mary continued, frowning a bit. “It’s good to know at least one of your number is trustworthy.”
Quippie gave Mary a confused look.
Mary set her Pokémon on the floor. “Sugar, I’m going to go see about getting more insertion sets. You remember how many we still have?”
Sugar held up his hands with four digits raised.
“Crud. I better get going. Get back safe okay?” Mary said, quickly scooping her Pokémon into another hug. A long hug. An almost awkwardly long, tight embrace. “Tell Pepper to keep a lid on it until tomorrow. Make sure Hastur doesn’t stumble anywhere too busy. Please don’t approach any of the prostitutes alone!”
Quippie and Sugar’s eyes widened. Cinnamon flinched. Mary mistook their reactions for surprise.
“Sorry,” She said, “Just, be careful. I’m not sure I trust that place now that I know what it really is, and that they didn’t tell me so at the time!”
For the second time in under a minute she lowered Cinnamon and Sugar to ground level. When she released them, her hands shook slightly, before curling into fists. “See you soon, alright?” She asked.
The Pokémon bid their farewells and turned for the exit. Leaving Mary alone on the floor.
Again.
Mary took a deep, shuddering breath. She didn’t want to let them leave. She wanted to grab them and carry them away and find a nice shady hollow where they could all eat and groom and sleep together in relative peace. She wanted to go home…but what she wanted didn’t matter. She had responsibilities. She had a promise to keep.
Mary pulled the Masterball off her belt and spoke to it. “At this point I’m honestly even considering bringing you out of your ball. Even a cranky old grouch is better than no company at all…but you really wouldn’t care for that, would you?”
The Masterball provided no reply. Not even the customary twitch of the Pokémon inside acknowledging their master’s attentions. Mary set the Pokéball back on her hip. She took one last moment to steel herself, then stood and made for the pharmacy.
* * *
Quippie led the newcomers about a block away from the supermarket before he spoke, which given his behavior up to this point was enough to make Cinnamon nervous. A short tug on the reins and the beeping of a speaker telling him they had stopped at a crosswalk.
Quippie turned and asked the obvious, “You didn’t tell her about Rain Flower?”
Cinnamon shook his head. “I don’t want to cause a fuss.” He explained, “Firenze said he’d take care of it; I just want to move on.”
Sugar hummed in agreement. “And if Mary found out, she’d have us out of Plaisir before sundown. Probably have Honey rip us out again as well!”
“So that’s Mary, then.” Quippie said, thoughtfully.
“Yep!” Cinnamon replied, oblivious to his friend’s expression.
“Your…trainer? Owner?”
“Slash-Friend-Slash-Mother Figure-Slash-Seeing-Eye-Human-Slash-Animal Therapy Patient! It’s…kinda complicated, but also not.” Sugar slumped forward in his saddle to rest his head on Cinnamon’s neck. “Honestly, we’re whatever we need each other to be.”
“Huh,” Quippie studied the Emolga. “And what is she to you?”
“A Pharmacist,” Sugar said, scratching the copper insertion set on his cheek, “Also a friend, if that’s not evident.”
“What do you think of her?” Cinnamon asked.
“Well, she’s definitely different from other trainers.” Quippie said, in his usual hasty manner, “But not in a bad way! She seems…nice? A bit jittery though.”
Cinnamon frowned. “What do you mean?”
Quippie started to stammer as he realized he’d thrown himself into a verbal minefield. “W-well she’s very…emotional, I noticed. Seemed kinda…distressed? Anxious?” He braced himself for the worst.
Cinnamon sighed. “Yeah, her psyche’s…it’s like glass right now. With all that’s happened the past couple weeks…and even before that she had issues…I’m worried she’ll shatter someday if we’re not careful.” He perked up slightly, “But I think she’ll be okay as long as we’re here to support her!”
“But why though? And why become a trainer of all things if you can’t handle the stress?”
“Who knows!” Sugar threw up his arms, “Tradition? Ambition? Some stupid societal thing? Neither of us were there when it happened!”
“Was she always like this?”
Sugar rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “I think the issue started about a year-ish ago? When her Family’s pet Raichu died.”
Cinnamon’s head drooped as he spoke; more to Sugar than Quippie, “No, that just aggravated it. It happened between when she found me and when she started her journey. It destroyed her. All we’ve ever seen are the leftover pieces…”
“What?” Quippie’s eyes widened.
“Let’s talk about something else!” Cinnamon decided.
“Wait, hold on! What happened?” Quippies eyes flew back and forth between rider and mount, demanding explanation.
Cinnamon continued, “Hey Sugar, maybe we should show him our special sprint!”
“What happened to Mary? What do you mean something ‘destroyed’ her?”
“Hey Quippie, do you know anywhere really straight and smooth we could go running?”
“Yeah sure but what happened to turn your trainer into a crazy nervous wreck?”
“Quippie!” Sugar sprang up in his saddle.
“Yeah?”
“Drop it!”
Quippie frowned at Sugar only to immediately find himself cowed by a surprisingly powerful glare. That topic was apparently off-limits.
“So…what was it you said about sprinting?” He asked.
Sugar’s glare immediately turned into a grin. “Oh, hell yeah! Cinnamon and I are the fastest thing on six legs!”
“Oh really?” Quippie gave the pair a cocky smile, “Because last I checked you’ve been trailing me since lunchtime. Heck, I had to slow down a couple times just to let you catch up!”
Sugar’s eyes narrowed challengingly, “Oh, you think that little jog is our top speed? Mark my words, you’ll be choking on our dust before sundown!”
“Prove it!”
“We need to find a place flat and straight enough to race, first.” Cinnamon interjected.
Quippie’s smile widened, “I know just the place!”
* * *
Omen’s eyes snapped open. Something was wrong.
And it wasn’t so much the fact that something was wrong that concerned hir, as it was the fact shi didn’t know what or where the wrongness was. Omen was an Absol, a creature of and yet above the forest - and its guardian. Or so the more pretentious of hir species liked to say. In truth, shi mostly just used hir unity with the forest to check the weather and frolic about the woods unmolested. The forest was, for the most part, self-regulating. Shi rarely worried for it.
Not today. Nor for the past couple days if shi were honest. Something had changed and it was disrupting the natural order of things in subtle, yet disturbing ways. Wild Pokémon were waking up from hibernation only to remain dozing in their shelters for days. Predators were agitated, patrolling their borders more frequently yet going out of their way to avoid conflict with each other. Even the plants themselves were shifting and blooming in odd patterns: some growing their leaves on only one side, the moss shifting its growth from northward to a more easterly direction. It was that, and a million other little things that had Omen on edge. There was a tension in the air and it was worrying the locals on a subconscious level. Shi needed to find the source of the disruption.
Omen flipped upright and took a moment to stretch and survey hir room. Nearly pitch black, but a glow behind hir curtains promised an eye-piercingly bright afternoon sun. Along the opposite wall from her bed was the unlit fireplace, and between them a collection of furniture, rugs, pictures, gifts, and keepsakes from a lifetime of adventures with friends.
All in the past now.
Shi considered hir options. Shi could search out the source of hir troubles personally, or shi could find some of the other Absols to help. Or maybe some of the psychics may have noticed something? Not many were as attuned to nature as shi was, but even a frame of reference or a second pair of eyes would be a boon to hir search.
‘Eyes…’
Omen closed hir eyes and began to focus. When they reopened, hir gaze was sharper, more focused. Hir pitch-black room was suddenly awash with the colorful emotions of the hundred-odd creatures inhabiting Plaisir. Joy and Lust and exhaustion and excitement and anger and hit her from every direction (save the latter two pouring from the courtyard). A lesser mind might have been overwhelmed, but Omen was more than used to it. For her, this was true sight; what she experienced when she woke up in the morning was but a groggy half-consciousness compared to vibrant shifting colors of aura vision.
She looked up, checking the roof. Nothing but a couple birds overhead, their emotions washed out by boredom. She looked around at the top floor, then down at the floors below. There were brighter colors here: many a coworker hard at work, many a customer enjoying their services. She recognized maybe a third of them, slightly less. But so far none of the strangers exhibited unusual characteristics. She checked the courtyard. There was certainly a disruptive presence there, but it was conventionally disruptive: no different from any number of vindictive individuals, save maybe the strength and immensity of her will, and the sheer bulk of malevolent energy she had managed to draw from nearby souls. Still, entirely mundane.
Whatever the issue was, Omen was not going to find it from the confines of hir room. Shi indulged in another stretch, yawned, and made for the door. Shi opened it into the hall.
Omen froze. That sense of wrongness had intensified. What was once a general feeling of nervousness had intensified into dread. Shi looked left down the hall, then right. Nothing. The nearest living creatures were a pair of guests in one of the group bedrooms, or perhaps the one guest sleeping in a private room directly below hir depending on one’s perspective. The hallways were quiet. Shi was entirely alone. Omen carefully made hir way towards the stairs. Whatever was disturbing her beloved forest was here. Shi could feel it! Even if hir eyes and ears were telling a different story.
Shi quickened her pace, despite hirself.
Middle floor. Far busier than the Penthouse floor. More waiters, more customers, none of them seemed to show any sign of discomfort. At least, until they looked hir in the eye.
One of them, Geoffrey, known here as ‘Blue’, was carefully guiding along a frazzled-looking Human woman back towards the bar. They were speaking amicably about fishing and had been ever since they had started courting. A fact that annoyed Blue to no end, as being a water type had no bearing on his opinion of fish, which was to say none. But he had been at this for years and concealed his disdain as easily as one ignored a hangnail.
Omen recalled all this the instant shi laid eyes on him. Shi had also barely spoken a word to him since his arrival, theirs being different professions and very different interests.
But when the Vaporeon looked up and met hir eyes all that was forgotten. He smiled. He waved. Then he took a sudden keen interest in the last thing his customer said and quickly asked her to clarify, causing her to launch into an incredibly long and in-depth lecture about the effects of fracking on magikarp spawn. Which Blue pretended extra hard to care about.
Omen smiled back briefly before turning to survey the rest of the occupants. The scene repeated itself a dozen times - people with nothing to do giving her a glance and suddenly finding their attention occupied elsewhere. Names and recent events rushed through Omen’s mind just to disappear as soon as shi’d verified no, they weren’t the source. Shi turned the corner and proceeded into the next of the bedroom block’s four halls.
Half a dozen eyes followed hir around the corner.
Middle Floor was clear. So was the Ground. Hir meandering was drawing more and more confused looks from waiters and staff alike. But the tension in the air was only getting thicker. Omen’s pace quickened and hir breath shortened. The sense of danger intensified at the central stairwell. Shi took a deep breath, and advanced down the stairs into the basement.
And just like that, the feeling abated.
‘What?’
Omen ran back up the stairs, giving chase without knowing what shi was chasing or where shi was chasing it. Shi burst out the door into the hall between the bar and the bedrooms. Shi sniffed the floor, listened, scanned the area with both spectral and mundane vision and found…nothing! The atmosphere had cleared. Whatever it was had either left the building or hidden itself away. Leaving the lonely Absol confused in the hall.
* * *
“Here we are!” Quippie paused as a tractor trailer roared passed, “...The Interstate!”
Cinnamon, and for once even Sugar, cautiously approached their friend-turned-tour guide sitting at the edge of the asphalt - only for a speeding sedan to send them leaping backwards in surprise. Quippie sniggered at their timidity. “What’s wrong? Scared of a few cars?”
“What?!” Cinnamon called back.
“Are you scared!?” Quippie yelled.
“A little!” Sugar replied. Another line of cars in the outside lane halted any conversation for a moment. He continued, “Quippie?! Don’t you think standing there’s a bit dangerous?!”
“It’s fine! The cars never even leave the road!”
Almost as if to specifically prove him wrong, a pickup truck with flashing blinkers nearly clipped the Linoone’s back as it veered off the road. Quippie didn’t even flinch; he simply turned his head and watched the reckless driver coast to a stop a hundred meters away.
“Okay, almost never leave the road!”
“What the hell was that!?” Sugar cried.
“Flat tire?” Quippie shrugged. “Don’t the people in your land need to get around fast? What do they do?”
“What?!” Cinnamon called.
Quippie sighed and scampered down the slope to where Cinnamon and Sugar crouched shrouded in the safety of the underbrush.
“Don’t you guys have highways at home?” He asked.
“Most people use the train.” Sugar explained. “There are roads, but nothing like this!”
Quippie hummed and looked back at the interstate. He supposed from an outsider’s view, hundreds of cars running faster than a diving Fearow in close proximity might look a bit dangerous. He asked, “You wanted to run at full speed, right? Well the interstate is built for it. Look! Lots of long straight lines and long gentle curves and perfect visibility for miles!”
“And a million speedy metal monsters ready to crush you flat!” Cinnamon hugged the ground as another semi-truck rumbled past not twenty feet away.
“Well, do you want to race or not?” Quippie asked, half annoyed.
Cinnamon’s nostrils flared. He shuttered. “Quippie? This road stinks of death. How often are Pokémon killed trying to cross that thing?”
Quippie huffed and conceded. “Well what do you want to do instead? Next leg of the tour is one exit down from here.”
Sugar looked back at the farmlands surrounding the arterial and settled on the dirt roads running along the back of each farm. “What about those?”
Quippie followed his gaze. “The service roads?”
Sugar nodded.
“They’re not as straight or even,” Quippie explained, “and there are fences and barriers and ditches we’d need to avoid.-“
“And no giant metal death machines threatening to crush us flat!” Sugar finished. He steered Cinnamon around towards the farms. After some hesitation, Quippie followed.
Cinnamon visibly relaxed as they jogged further into the farm. This was far more his pace: No cacophony of roaring engines to deafen him, no oil spills and stinky exhaust to disorient him. Just the rustle of leaves and wind, soft dirt under his feet, and the not unpleasant smell of Pecha.
They were safe here.
Quippie wasn’t so sure. “We’re trespassing. State law gives farmers the right to shoot Pokémon stealing their crops.”
Cinnamon perked his ears reflexively, listening for trouble.
“Yea, but these are corporate farms! I bet they have maybe one guy watching 30 acres at a time! And they’re not even in season!” Sugar retorted. He demonstrated by reaching up from the saddle and plucking a still-budding flower off the tree. “As long as we’re just running, I doubt they’ll even care enough to yell.”
“Just be aware this place isn’t always as safe as it looks.” Quippie replied.
“We’ll be fiiiine! And anywhere's better than that death trap of a highway. Ah, perfect!” They emerged from between the trees onto a long, dusty service path; one almost perfectly straight and composed entirely of dry dirt and encroaching weeds stomped flat by tractors.
“Is it long enough?” Cinnamon asked.
“Oh yea, this is more than enough!” Sugar hopped off the saddle and set about adjusting various straps across the saddle.
“Not too many roots? Bumps?”
“We’ll be fine.”
Quippie watched nonplussed as Cinnamon started carefully performing long, slow, awkward-looking stretches while his friend busied himself with the buckles of the saddle.
“What we’re about to do requires a bit of preparation.” Cinnamon explained. “At this speed, stiff joints can kill!”
‘Kill?’ Quippie circled the duo as they worked. “Why are you adjusting the straps?” he asked.
Sugar rolled onto his back and crawled beneath Cinnamon as he spoke. “Some of these straps are left loose because they chafe on long runs. They need to be tightened or I’ll go flying off during the sprint. Others...” He reached around and tapped a couple buckles along the flank, “Are tight to keep the saddle from sliding around during our jog, but we’ll need the extra range of movement for the sprint.”
Quippie looked on, intrigued. Something had changed in his friends’ tones. What had sounded like idle bragging back in town had segued into a lecture. Their matter-of-fact tones making their hyperbolic boasts suddenly sound plausible...and dangerous.
After a minute of preparation, Cinnamon finished his stretches. “You ready?” He asked.
“Hold on...” came the reply.
Quippie smirked. There was only one buckle down there and there was no way Sugar needed this much time to adjust it. Somebody was enjoying the view!
“Alright, got it!”
’I’m sure you did!’ Quippie thought.
Cinnamon started taking long, deep breaths and Sugar quickly clambered back into position atop the saddle. Sugar turned to Quippie, “I recommend you start running now, or we’ll outpace you way too quickly!”
Quippie gave the two a look of disbelief.
“Trust...me,” Cinnamon sighed between his breathing exercises, “We’ll catch up...real quick.”
Quippie shrugged, rolled his shoulders, then started to run.
And run.
And run.
And RUN!
Many people, Pokémon and Human alike, were familiar with a runner’s high: The endorphins produced in response to the stress and suffocation of exerted muscles. They could make you feel light as a feather as you pounded against the ground and gave you pleasure even as your neurons screamed for rest.
But for a Pokémon built to sprint, there was more to it than that. It was the release of energy that sat accumulating in your very veins; building inside you like a pressure you never noticed until it was so great, you’d almost explode! It tingled in the tips of your toes and demanded release. And when it was released it was at once a relief and an exhilarating rush!
But for a Pokémon sitting dead center in the food chain, it was even more than that! For the body would sense the stress and the fear of falling and it would dump a massive adrenaline surge into your bloodstream to push you ever faster, ever further, to escape that predator or catch that prey. It was a rush of ecstasy borne straight from the need to survive!
Linoone were all three. They were the rushing Pokémon! Predator and Prey! The ultimate runner’s build! For a Linoone, a good long sprint was an expression of life itself.
Quippie ran and ran until he reached his limit and pushed on regardless. He felt the wind stinging his eyes and heard the roar of the blood in his ears. His brain became at once focused and dulled from dopamine and he tunnel visioned on the road ahead.
So he didn’t even notice at first when Cinnamon overtook him...at twice his speed!
CRACK!
The sound of air rushing into vacuum cut through Quippie’s focus like butter and he found himself stumbling in the wake of the larger Linoone. All at once he became aware of the world around him once again: He saw the roots he had been dodging by instinct and was forced to jump and twist about to prevent tripping and crashing. He heard Sugar whooping and yelling as he clung to Cinnamon’s back. He choked on the dust kicked up by his friend and started to wheeze. He felt the wind from their passing and was buffeted off course. He was forced to slow down to catch himself, nearly colliding with a Pecha tree in the process, and when he recovered Quippie found himself left in the dust.
Huh. They were fast!
It took him nearly ten minutes of running to catch up, and during that time he couldn’t help but wonder at how he should feel about his friends’ little stunt. They had overshadowed him on his own tour and left him alone in the dust for crying out loud! He didn’t know if he should feel impressed, or annoyed, or awed, or humbled, or angry, or jealous!
Ultimately, he settled on none of these and instead found himself concerned. He found Cinnamon lying on his side near the interstate exit with saddle removed, taking quick, deep breaths and occasionally twitching. Sugar sat next to him, trying to uncork a jellied hyper potion with his teeth.
“Are you alright?” Quippie did his best not to sound too worried.
Cinnamon didn’t answer, but Sugar took his attention off the potion to wave. “He’s fine! Just exhausted.” He held out the top of the glass bottle, “Help me with this?”
Quippie took the cork in his mouth and twisted the top clean off. Sugar quickly stuffed an arm into the goop and rubbed it into his hands. “Going that fast for more than a minute or so does a number on you,” he explained. He leaned over and started working the potion into Cinnamon’s legs, starting with the pads of his feet, and paying close attention to the joints. “Going twice as fast means losing quadruple the energy. So his blood is, like, completely deoxygenated! Or something. I’m not a nurse. He’s basically out cold for the next minute or so.”
Quippie sniffed at the pink goop.
“-That’s just in case he pulls a ligament or gets a friction burn or something.” Sugar explained.
“I see…” Quippie looked back at Cinnamon, who was gasping and shuddering like a half-drowned child, “Is all this really safe?”
“Nope!” Sugar grinned. He quickly finished caking the potion over Cinnamon’s front legs right as the winded Linoone’s breaths segued from exaggerated gulping to long, ragged gasps. “Hell, the first time we hit extreme speed was in the middle of a race. Completely unexpectedly too! I rammed the both of us through a wooden wall because I didn’t know the safe stopping distance. All our winnings from that race? Boom! Gone! Right into medical expenses! Mary very nearly had a heart attack!”
“And you still do it?”
Sugar nodded, grabbing another handful of jelly. “Cinnamon says there’s nothing like it, and riding on his back at that speed? It's nuts!”
Quippie listened and observed his fellow Linoone, who despite slowly regaining his breath, still hadn’t responded to outside stimuli. “Do you think you can teach me to...do...”
Sugar was already shaking his head. “Cinnamon’s the one with the power. I’m just here to steer. And make sure he doesn’t run himself into a coma!” He finished with Cinnamon’s hindpaws and lifted his hindleg up to cake the joints. Lifted a bit too high, if Quippie were to judge.
“Enjoying the view?”
Sugar turned to see the smaller Linoone giving him a knowing smile. “…what?” he asked with feigned confusion.
“Oh, Nothing!” Quippie said with a tone that indicated otherwise. He leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “You told him yet?”
“Told him what?” Sugar looked away to focus on Cinnamon’s thigh, which did absolutely nothing but encourage Quippie’s probing.
“Told him…” Quippie hung a paw on his shoulder, “that you want him!”
Sugar’s eyes widened. “It’s not like that!” he protested, “We’re just friends!”
Quippie set his paw down, but continued undeterred. “Yeah, but at Plaisir even friends come with benefits…”
“I can’t!” Sugar bent down and took Cinnamon’s other hindleg, further obscuring himself from Quippie.
“Why not?” came the inevitable rhetorical.
Sugar looked back up at Quippie. The façade had cracked, his eyes watered. “…He’s straight.”
‘Ouch!’ Quippie winced. “…sorry.”
“It is what it is.” Sugar said, waving him off. The Emolga took a moment to reaffix his mask of casual indifference. “He’s mentioned wanting to find a girl and have a family of his own someday. I’m just glad to have him as a friend.”
“That sucks, man.” Quippie replied. “…and if you ever need to talk about it—”
Cinnamon interrupted them with a sudden, extended yawn. Sugar quickly shushed Quippie and leaned over to shake Cinnamon’s shoulder. “Wakey, wakey, Speedfreak!”
“Water!” Cinnamon croaked. Sugar quickly complied, pulling the water bag off the saddle and offering it to the Linoone. The bottle was nearly empty when he finished.
“Ah! Thank you!” Cinnamon rolled upright and turned to face Quippie. “What’d you think? Pretty quick, huh?”
“Oh, I’ve seen faster…” Quippie grinned, “From freaking jet planes! How’d you do that?”
“I don’t know! It just came to me during a race and-”
“How fast do you think you were going? It must’ve been a mil-”
“Ohmanwedon’tevenknowbutwe’veracedtheJohto-KantoLin-”
“Andwhenyoupassedmetherewasthishugecrackingsoun-”
Sugar rolled his eyes and smiled, and set about repacking the saddle.
* * *
There were downsides to being as large as Prometheus. Sometimes - actually many times - he would get customers who had come looking for him on a dare, or as a challenge, or they simply overestimated themselves and thought they could take him. Then they’d get a good look at him, or more accurately certain parts of him, and politely excuse themselves at the earliest opportunity. Those were the worst days, because no matter how much money he earned or how well his customers rated him afterwards, he would always feel like he had failed them, somehow. Also, blue balls. That sucked too.
Last night was not one of those times. His partner had known exactly what he wanted and exactly what he’d get, and Prometheus had been all too happy to provide. They’d had to go slowly, and carefully, but Prometheus was nothing if not patient. And afterwards, he had surprised Prometheus with his knowledgeability in one of his favorite subjects: Mythology. They had spent hours swapping stories and stories of the stories and comparing those stories to other stories and their stories from other places. And after all that he had slept like a log snuggled against Prometheus’s fluffy chest, earning him nearly four hours of very satisfying overtime.
But that was over, and now Prometheus was ready for some proper R&R, in his own bed on his own terms, if only for a couple hours before his next shift. The massive Arcanine turned the corner—
—and tripped.
“Oomph!” The massive dog stumbled awkwardly onto his chest. How had that happened? He was normally so careful! No matter, there were greater concerns, namely the health of whomever he just trampled. Prometheus rolled over and looked down.
A pair of glowing red dots behind solid black lenses stared back.
“please help. trouble.”
Prometheus blinked. He had heard of Mimikyu before: enigmatic little ghost types that dressed as other Pokémon; There were some…unflattering myths about them. But he’d never met one in the flesh…that he knew of. This one had apparently decided to imitate a Mareep, if the blue-painted gasmask and cotton-covered bowl were any indication.
“I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” Prometheus asked.
“need you. urgent.”
“I’m sorry?” Prometheus raised an eyebrow.
The Mimikyu responded by producing a ribbonlike arm and wrapping it around his foreleg. He or She - the voice was unclear - spoke in flat, toneless short sentences. “friends endangered. need help.”
Prometheus’s mind exploded with questions, “What’s wrong? Who’s in danger? Where?”
“predator. hurt friends. come now.” The ribbon tugged Prometheus towards the nearest exit.
“Predator? There’s been an attack? Hold on!” Prometheus pulled himself into a stand, though he made no move to follow. “If someone’s hurt, we should talk to security. The security team is just over her-”
The rattling of metal on metal cut him off. The little ghost type’s costume was vibrating with…desperation? Impatience? It was hard to say for sure. They said, “no. must go. time critical. They continued to tug.
“Listen, friend, I want to help, but I’m not qualified for this. We have security for exactly this kind of thing. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to them and you can explain what’s happening.”
“no. too slow. too far. need speed. follow please.” Their grip tightened on Prometheus’s leg as they spoke. They started pulling with considerably more force, almost dragging the Arcanine away. Prometheus responded by shaking his paw free.
“I’m going to go let security know there’s an issue, okay? Please be patient, I promise we can help if you just explain to everyone what’s going on!” Prometheus turned and started for the security station.
“WAIT.”
Prometheus felt the word more than heard it. It was their voice, still devoid of emotion, but louder and yet strangely left no echo. ‘Was that a psychic attack?’ Prometheus wondered. He watched as the ghost’s disguise rose a couple inches into the air and started to vibrate. Bits and pieces of metal rattled as the Mimikyu carefully parsed out his next words. When they spoke next, the words came slowly, as if each took the Mimikyu’s full effort to articulate.
“if. you. do. not. come. now…Quippie…dies.” the disguised settled back to the ground, leaving the hallway dead silent.
Prometheus’s eyes widened. “…What?”
“must go. go now.”
“Where’s Quippie?! What happened?! How do you know all this?” Prometheus asked with increasing alarm.
“explain later. friends distant. run fast. please come.”
That was all Prometheus needed to hear. In one swift movement the Mimikyu was scooped up and deposited onto the Arcanine’s back. They fled through the east exit, all thoughts towards summoning security well and truly gone.
* * *
Riding a Linoone was a lot like riding a Motorcycle, if a little less smooth and far closer to the ground. There was a sort of mundane insanity to the experience: casually pushing bone-shattering speeds with little more than a leather helmet for protection, leaning into curves that brought you inches away from asphalt that threatened to rip the flesh from your bones at the slightest loss of balance, wind and dust slapping your face and stinging the eyes forcing you to drop your guard and wipe away tears even knowing that a single ill-timed lapse in concentration could leave you splattered across the road or crushed under a passing car. And Sugar was just so used to it!.
He wished he could play music, or spice things up with a race, but he needed his voice to shout orders in Cinnamon’s ear, and Cinnamon himself was too tired from his earlier sprint to give it his all now. The end result was a (for Linoone) relatively breezy ride home through the forests.
Quippie had been right though, the twisting road back to Plaisir from the lookout was perfect practice for sudden maneuvering. Tall pines and thick undergrowth formed a natural barrier that weaved back and forth alongside the road. Sometimes the shoulder would be wide enough that Cinnamon and Quippie could comfortably run side-by-side on the grass, then a moment later the two would be forced onto the asphalt by the steadily constricting foliage. But the ground itself was smooth and gently sloped. Perhaps tomorrow they could try—
A glint on the road caught Sugar’s eye.
“JUMP!” Sugar yelled, almost without thinking.
Cinnamon didn’t hesitate. He launched himself blindly upwards and trusted Sugar to see a safe landing. Behind them, Sugar could hear Quippie scream in surprise and pain. There was no time to think about that; the ground was fast approaching.
Sugar shouted a second command, “GO LIMP!” and threw himself clear of his mount. He felt his Satchel — previously tied to the saddle — rip itself away from his face. Sugar squeezed his eyes shut, spread his wings, and prayed.
A blow to the head knocked him senseless.
His limbs twisted.
He felt his membranes rupture.
His back erupted in pain.
He flopped gracelessly into the dirt, and for a moment everything was still.
“...Sugar?”
Sugar lay on his back, dazed but alive. Slowly he came to his senses and started taking note of his faculties.
“Sugar?!”
‘Arms? Hands?’ Sugar clinched and relaxed his fists.
‘Legs? Tail?’ He wiggled his toes and whipped his tail in front of his face.
‘...Back?’ He braced himself, then writhed on the ground, twisting his neck and spine and praying he wouldn’t feel any pain.
He didn’t. He was okay. Bleeding from a dozen cuts, bruises all over, and some nasty rips in his wings, but otherwise unharmed.
”Sugar?!”
“I’m good!” He called back. “You?”
“I’m okay!” The Cinnamon replied, then, “Where’s Quippie?”
Sugar recalled the scream from before. “Shit!”
He would’ve loved to lay there on the ground for a few minutes and regain his senses, but a crash at that speed could easily break necks. Time was critical.
Groaning, and ignoring his protesting limbs, Sugar pushed himself out of the dirt and looked around. He had tumbled to a stop just a few feet short of a very solid looking tree. Or maybe he bounced off it? He couldn’t remember. His satchel and the capacitor inside had been torn free of his face in-flight and lay a couple yards away, entangled in some thorny-looking bushes. Cinnamon lay recovering on his side near the road looking disheveled and bruised with a nasty bloody nose, and Quippie...
Oh shit! Quippie lay near the center of the road, unmoving. There was blood...
“C’! C’, get up!” Sugar stumbled over and shook his friend’s shoulder. Cinnamon obliged, shrugging off his injuries surprisingly quickly. Normal Types were tough like that. The more fragile flyer leaned onto his shoulder for support.
“Quippie’s hurt! We need to get him off the road before-”
“I can’t believe that worked.”
Cinnamon and Sugar froze as a shadow detached itself from the woods. Its voice was hoarse and low, almost a growl, but without a trace of anger. Plenty of contempt, though.
“But then your sort always was predictable...”
What emerged from the treeline was something out of Sugar’s nightmares: A massive, feral-looking canine covered in long, wild, oily fur with an angular black head and a single, bloodshot yellow eye. His coat was patchy and ragged, with so much old mud and grass stains and dried blood staining his fur that one could barely find an inch of original color. Scars crisscrossed his face and limbs indicating an untold number of fights. The canine was so emaciated that even from across the road Sugar could count every one of his ribs. But muscle still bulged beneath those patches of skin wherever his ungroomed hide parted, and he moved with the smooth confidence of an apex predator. This Mightyena had faced a truly merciless winter, and somehow had come out all the stronger for it.
He followed Sugar’s gaze to the wounded Linoone on the road. “You should run along, little prey. He’s already dead.”
“Get back! Get! Back!” Cinnamon’s screams were accompained by the crackle of electricity as he launched a volley of lightning bolts blindly across the road. The Mightyena watched, unimpressed, as electricity arced every which-way: into the trees, the asphalt, across his hide and even into the prone Linoone between them. Suddenly, Quippie yelped and started to thrash about in alarm.
The Mightyena ignored Cinnamon’s pathetic attack and stared down at Quippie in surprise. “Awake already? After a fall like that?”
“Quippie! Run!” Cinnamon called. But Quippie was in no shape to run. He was barely in any shape to move.
Quippie moaned and groggily opened his eyes. “…ow…what the hell?”
“Quippie! Behind you!” Cinnamon started shuffling in place; the instincts of his species at war with a caution born of blindness.
Quippie finally registered the horrified faces staring in front of him, looked back, and screamed. The Mightyena looming just out of reach, giving him an eager, hungry look. The Linoone scrambled to get his footing only to immediately fall over and scream again in pain. Blood was pouring from all four of his feet.
The Mightyena chuckled, “Oh, I wouldn’t do that…”
Sugar looked back down at the pavement. Dozens of old beer bottles had been smashed into the asphalt and subsequently pulverized by passing traffic. The effect was a minefield of broken shards and powdered glass that stretched across the road and some twenty feet down the curb. Only by sheer luck had Sugar noticed the gleam of glass in time to avoid Quippie’s fate.
‘Quippie…his momentum had carried him just a couple feet short of the edge. If I could just…’
Sugar ran up to the glass and started to tip-toe his way through the debris. Ahead of him he could see the Mightyena dragging an old chunk of plywood out of the bushes. But if he could just get a little closer…
Sugar leaned closer. “Cinnamon, grab my tail! I think I can-”
The Mightyena shoved the wooden board in front of him and jumped. Crossing the board with practiced ease, he came to a halt right on top of his squirming prey, pressing Quippie right back into the glass with his left claw. When he leaned forward, Sugar could smell the scent of blood on his breath.
“No.” He growled, “You can’t”
Sugar scrambled away from the dark type in a panic. Quippie moaned pitifully from beneath the creature’s claws. “Please...don’t...”
“Shut up and die.” Their assailant bent down and closed his jaws around Quippie’s neck.
“ECLIPSE!?” Another voice, this one even deeper, but richer and with a strange accent. The Mightyena lifted his head and snapped towards the source of the sound.
Sugar tore his eyes away from the Mightyena and nearly whooped with joy when he saw the impressive form of an Arcanine striding towards them. Honey rode on his back, the Mimikyu’s ribbon-arms awkwardly wound around his torso and their own disguise. Sugar turned back to see the Mightyena’s leaning back to sit on his haunches, nonplussed.
“Do I know you?” The Mightyena looked down at Quippie, “…Yes! The Greek! This runt was one of yours, right?”
“Prometheushe’scrazyhelp-AAAIIEEEE!” ‘Eclipse’ glared at his hostage, digging his claws into the Linoone’s back and grinding him into the glass.
“Get away from him!” The Arcanine - Prometheus, Quippie had said - strode directly towards the Mightyena, trying to bluff him into backing down. It didn’t work. The Mightyena stood his ground, surrounded as he was by shards of razor-sharp glass.
“I remember now! You went on walks with him sometimes…” Eclipse said, his expression unyielding.
Sugar’s gaze swept back and forth from the Mightyena to the approaching canine. He could feel Cinnamon trembling as he spoke. “Sugar? What’s going on?”
“It’s Honey, he brought help.” Sugar whispered. He watched the Mimikyu half-climb, half tumble off Prometheus’s back. Sugar grabbed Cinnamon’s scruff and guided him around the glass. The four Pokémon met at the center of the road.
“foresaw trouble. brought help.” Hastur muttered.
“Thank you!” Cinnamon said, circling around and throwing himself on top of Hastur’s colander, giving them full-body pseudo-hug. “You came just in time!”
“yes. sorry.”
Prometheus didn’t seem to notice their little reunion: his eyes were fixed solely on the Mightyena. “What are you doing here? Why did you come back?”
The hunter returned the glare with a manic, tooth-filled smile. “Hunting!” He said, far too happily.
“You shouldn’t have returned.”
“I never left.” Eclipse replied. His smile widened. “Never will.”
“When the Authorities hear about this, they’ll have every trainer in the state gunning for you!”
“They are clumsy. I will evade them.”
“You can’t evade justice forever, Eclipse!”
The Mightyena briefly gave Prometheus a confused look, before shrugging it off. “Whatever. Eat now, evade later!”
Prometheus lunged forward only for Quippie to scream as Eclipse leaned forward and dug a claw into his back. “Don’t!” He warned.
“Prometheus…” Quippie started to sob. The great canine was forced to back down.
“I can’t believe you’d sink this low!” The great canine turned and paced desperately at the edge of the glass. “You’re hungry, I understand, but killing your fellow pokemon? How could you?!”
“Easy words for an oversized lapdog. First thing you learn in the forest: Food is food. Meat...” the Mightyena bared his teeth, “...is meat!”
Unnoticed, the smaller pokémon deliberated. “too long. time critical.” Honey told Sugar. “plan b[/i]”
Cinnamon gasped. Sugar immediately stammering. “Here? N-now? A-are you sure? What about Quippie?”
“am careful” they replied. Honey started walking into the glass, unfazed by the shards. “eyes shut” they warned. They steadily shifted around, towards the Mightyena’s flank, such that they were just out of Quippie’s view.
Eclipse immediately noticed the approaching Mimikyu. “Back!” He growled.
Honey threw up a pair of hands and stopped. “wait please. no hurt. I promise.”
Eclipse briefly glanced back at Prometheus to ensure he wasn’t getting any closer, then eyed the Mimikyu. “Come any closer and he dies!”
“wait please. no hurt. just show”
“Get back-”
“AAAIEE!”
“Quippie! Hastur, don’t provoke him!”
“just...” Honey reached forward and pushed up on his mask, “...show.”
There was a pause. Honey pulled down his mask before anyone else could look.
Then Eclipse let out a piercing, animalistic screech. He shoved himself backwards, onto his back, away from the Mimikyu, flipped over and leapt away into the bushes, still screaming in terror. In a moment, his shape was lost in the bushes. A minute later, his horrified wails faded into silence.
Prometheus blinked. Then shook himself and started yelling. “Quippie! Hang on I’m…coming…” The Arcanine paused as he tried to figure out a way around the glass.
“here.” Honey wrapped a ribbon around Quippie’s torso and carefully lifted him off the pavement. The wounded Linoone said nothing, but shivered in fear as he felt the weightless limb tighten around his stomach. When his body left the pavement, Sugar got a good look at his feet. He gagged. He never thought he’d use the word “torn ribbons” to describe limbs other than Honey’s.
“Arceus,” Sugar took a step back as Honey inched by. “Did you just...you know...kill him?”
“no.” Honey deposited Quippie on Prometheus’s back, “dark type. strong will. will live.”
Prometheus eyed the ghost type warily. Then Quippie started to moan and any doubts were quickly forgotten. “We need to go. Now!” He said.
“agreed.” Honey paused. “you alright.”
Sugar realized he was talking to him. He looked down and realized he was still bleeding in several places, most notably the tears on his wings. “I’ll be fine! I can still ride.” He decided out loud.
“good.” Honey crawled up and onto Prometheus’s back. “must hurry. go.”
* * *
Clarice was abusing her keyboard more than usual; her whacks on each key were loud enough to echo through the room. Firenze watched, concerned. He tried not to shiver.
In front of them, staring across the desk looking one part nervous and two parts annoyed, was Rain Flower. The portly, asymmetrical Vaporeon was covered head-to-tail in peeling medical bandages, each covering most, but not all of the electrical burns she had suffered thanks to the previous day’s ill-fated encounter.
With a final whack at the ‘Enter’ key, the printer behind Firenze sputtered to life.
“That list,” Clarice flicked an ear at the printer, “compiles every complaint, official and otherwise, from every source that I’ve ever received about Rain Flower.”
Firenze glanced at the printer. It was using continuous feed paper and was already four pages thick. And it just kept printing...
“Rain Flower,” Firenze said, his voice dead serious, “Do you know why you are here?”
Rain Flower’s face contorted in indignation, “You’re here because that new guy told you I raped him.”
“Not Rape,” Firenze countered, “Sexual assault.”
“And you believed him?!” Rain Flower yelled.
“Are you denying the charges?” Clarice spoke more into her computer’s microphone than towards Rain Flower, more interested in proper recordkeeping than Rain Flower’s response. As usual.
“Of course I’m denying the charges! I’m not a rapist, you know I’m not!”
“But you do have a history of harassment.” Firenze pointed out. He glanced at the printer for emphasis. It was still printing. “A very…eventful history.”
Rain Flower’s eyes widened. “Those were just messing around! Those aren’t…most of those aren’t even formal complaints!”
“The fact there are complaints at all is reason for concern, Rain Flower!” Firenze’s tone steadily dropped from ‘disapproval’ to genuine anger. A smart Pokémon might have tried to placate him, or show remorse.
Rain Flower…wasn’t very smart.
“Well if it’s such a problem, why haven’t you said anything before?”
Clarice spoke first. Almost hastily, “Because until now, your prospective partners have been merely annoyed by your behavior. This is the first time someone has gone on record as being afraid of you.”
“Well how was I supposed to know that? He didn’t even say ‘No’ until right before he tazed me!”
Firenze cocked his head questioningly, “What did he say to you?”
“Pfft! I don’t know, some dumb boy gibberish? I wasn’t listening.” To her credit, Rain Flower seemed to realize how bad that sounded out loud. That, or the horrified expression on her face was the result of Firenze’s own, furious look.
“Rain Flower...” Firenze growled, “You are a waiter. It’s your JOB to listen! Your most important job, more than anything else, more than sex, is to listen to your partners!”
“...I was off duty?” Rain Flower said, weakly.
There was a very pregnant pause. Even the extra-strength AC unit shut down for a moment. Clarice watched Firenze warily.
When he spoke, it was barely a whisper. “Rain Flower. I do not care what or when or how. If you are making your coworkers uncomfortable, you are wrong! If you are ignoring their protests you are wrong! If you touch them without their permission, you are committing a crime! You are going to find Cinnamon, and you are going to apologize. Then you will never approach him again.”
Rain Flower shrunk back into her seat as the Ninetales leaned forward to loom over her. Overhead, the AC detected his rising body temperature and kicked back into gear.
“Consider this your formal reprimand. We are NOT having this conversation again. Got it?” Angry red eyes bored into Rain Flower’s.
“Got it.” She whispered.
“Now get out!”
Rain Flower slunk to the floor and made for the door, picking up speed as she went until she was out the door and sprinting down the halls.
Firenze sighed and allowed his posture to sag. He allowed a minute to pass before he spoke again, “All this...and right after the debacle with Eclipse…”
Clarice peaked around the computer monitor, “Are you okay, sir?”
“Just...concerned.” He replied. “I thought we were creating a paradise. A place of Universal pleasure. Not a safe haven for predators.”
Clarice felt compelled to speak, “It’s only two bad actors. A coincidence.”
“Which is just one short of a pattern.” Firenze replied. Suddenly he turned and gave her a calculating look. A long look.
The silence began to drag.
“...If this is a formal reprimand,” Clarice said nervously, “shouldn’t we have an action plan? A formal summons, corrective actions...” She trailed off as Firenze returned an exhausted look.
“No need.” He said, “Rain Flower isn't the smartest, but I think she'll understand. She knows what she needs to do to make things better.”
“And what if she doesn’t?” Clarice asked. It wasn’t rhetorical.
Firenze ignored the question. For him, the alternative was unthinkable. “She said he didn’t say ‘no’ until the last second…” He mused.
“Does that conflict with Cinnamon’s testimony?” Clarice asked, sounding oddly hopeful.
“No, from what I remember that checks out.” Firenze paused. Then looked over at Clarice. “When were they due to receive their Orientation?”
“Next Wednesday. All Orientations are held at the beginning of the first full pay period of the month. It’s easier that way; lets us talk to all the new hires at once.”
“So, they would have worked here for over a week without any formal orientation.” Firenze realized.
“Their jobs were ‘Dishwasher’, ‘Janitor’, and ‘Litter Patrol’. They shouldn’t need special instruction for basic chores.” Now it was Clarice who was on the defensive.
“And yet…” Firenze let the clause hang in the air.
“And yet they managed completely fuck it up.” Clarice finished.
“We made the mistake, here, Clarice.” Firenze corrected. “We made assumptions about their qualifications, and we sent them to work uninformed and underprepared. And then we were surprised when things went poorly. They didn’t even know the nature of our business until Pouncer told them!”
“Not with Pepper-” Clarice pointed out.
“But especially with Cinnamon.” Firenze started to pace around the desk. “This is bad. This is really bad. We not only created an environment where Rain Flower has been allowed to casually harass her coworkers for years, but we threw four pokémon into that environment without warning them. We’re lucky it was only one incident!”
“You were the one who wanted to foster ‘familial ties’ to ‘improve camaraderie and morale’, not me.” Clarice said, defensively.
“And it worked, for the most part! …But I think our orientation and employee training procedures are in need of an upgrade. Again. Or at least an adjustment…” Firenze’s voice dropped to a mutter. Clarice looked on, concerned.
Then Firenze suddenly changed direction and made for the door. “I need to think on this alone. Then you and I are going to have a chat about your role in all this.” He said.
Clarice jerked in surprise. “What?”
“Until then,” He continued, “forward any employee issues or questions directly to me or Coco.” Firenze opened the door and slipped outside. “With any luck, I’d like to see the rest of this week go as smoothly as possible.”
* * *
“AAAIEEEE!” Quippie screamed as Prometheus stumbled over the remains of an old tire, nearly tossing his passengers onto the road. “He’s back! He’s back! He’s back and he’s killing Pokémon ! He almost killed me holy shit!”
“I know, Quippie!” Prometheus grunted.
“He’s back! Why is he back? Is he here for revenge? Is he here for-oh shit! Sinister! Her Kid!”
“Quippie-”
“I can’t feel my legs anymore can’t you go any faste-ARGH SLOW DOWN THAT HURTS!”
“Hermes, Please! You're acting hysterical!”
“Hysterical? HYSTERICAL!? There’s glass in my feet, Plasir is in danger, I’m bleeding out, there’s a serial rapist on the loose, I may never walk again, there’s glass in my feet, and I ALMOST DIED BACK THERE IHAVETHERIGHTTOBEHYSTERICAL!”
Cinnamon winced. They’d been running for nearly fifteen minutes now, and there was still no indication they were close. His whole world right now was little more than the screaming and yelling of his friends and the scent of blood in his nostrils. It was terrifying.
“Quippie! Please! You’re going to be fine!” Prometheus assured his friend for the umpteenth time.
“What if I’m not!?”
“We’re almost to the Café, Boora will take good care of you! You’ll be back on your feet in no time, I promise!”
“actually no.”
All conversation stopped. The Mimikyu continued, “too slow. infected forleg. possible amputation.”
“…”
“…”
“faster plea-”
“YESPLEASEFASTERTHANKYOU!”
“Hey *huff* Cinnamon, right?” Prometheus asked.
“What is it?” Sugar responded, allowing Cinnamon to focus on breathing.
“Could you…*Huff* could you run ahead and let them know we’re *Huff* coming? Tell them *huff* what happened?” The Arcanine panted.
Cinnamon tried. He really did. He poured all his remaining energy reserves into pushing himself against the wind in an effort to pull ahead of the massive dog. But he had been running all day. Between litter duty, ferrying supplies, their tour of the town, that stunt by the intern-state thing, and then the crash and the subsequent panic with Eclipse he was just plain out of energy. His limbs ached from several nasty bruises and scrapes, his breath was short, and his heart was hammering so hard it was starting to drown out Sugar’s commands. He tried to push through it and open up a lead.
He failed.
His legs started to give out and he was forced to slow down, stumbling until Prometheus overtook him and suddenly it was Cinnamon chasing the Arcanine. Sugar summed his thoughts up perfectly, if vulgarly.
“Fuck!”
“Are you alright?” Prometheus called.
“Keep going! We’ll catch up-ack!” Sugar called back. The reigns tugged awkwardly to one side as Sugar reflexively clutched at one of his wounds. “Ignore that, C’!”
The rhythmic thumping of the Arcanine slowed as he drew level with the wounded duo. From his back Honey protested, “no. too slow. faster.”
“And leave them alone exhausted in the woods with Eclipse around?” Prometheus yelled, still panting hard from the exertion.
“Yes! Trust him, Prometheus! We’ll be alright!” Sugar shifted his weight slightly to steer one-handed.
“I’m not leaving you!”
Sugar moaned and briefly smacked his wound-gripping hand up to his head. “You’re gunna cost Quippie his leg!” he yelled, “Trust me, Honey just gets like this sometimes. When he does, it’s best to just do what he says and trust in his judgement. We’ll be fine! Now hurry the hell up!”
Prometheus didn’t answer.
“GO!”
The pounding of dog paws against asphalt increased…then started to fade away. Cinnamon sighed and slowed to light jog. He felt Sugar sagging in the saddle to rest against Cinnamon’s neck.
Cinnamon finally found the breath to speak. “Do you think they’ll be alright?” He asked.
“Of course!” Sugar said immediately, “Honey wouldn’t tell us Quippie was going to lose a leg if there wasn’t a chance that he wouldn’t lose a leg if we sped up, right?”
“I…don’t know.” Cinnamon admitted. “Would he? He says the strangest things whenever we get into trouble.”
“…Maybe?” Sugar reached forward and gave his companion a scratch behind the ears. “I’m sure everything will turn out okay. Honey’s never let us down before!”
“Yea…” Cinnamon relaxed slightly. If there was one thing he could always be asked to do, it was trusting his friends.
They jogged in silence. Sugar divided his attention between tending his own wounds (that is, shoving the few remaining drops of the disgusting potion goop they had left all over himself) and keeping an eye out for the Mightyena. Cinnamon kept his ears at attention, listening. The forest was dead silent, its occupants still reluctantly waking up from hibernation, and most of the trees still devoid of any leaves to rustle.
“…Sugar?”
“Yea?”
“Honey exposed *huff* himself again.”
“Yea.” Sugar paused, “but he did it to save us. I don’t think he’s gone kill happy or anything.”
Cinnamon shook his head, huffing “Not that. The last time he *huff* did that we had *huff* to run here. Do you think…*huff* maybe this place isn’t safe *huff* after all?”
“Save your breath,” Sugar advised. “We’re like living predator magnets right now. I don’t want to have to stop.”
Cinnamon didn’t reply.
“No…I don’t think this place is safe.” Sugar thought aloud, “But…do you remember the trip here? When Honey pushed us through the tear?”
“The drums…” Cinnamon shuttered.
“I thought it sounded more like heartbeats... And then after that, Mary was trekking through the forest for days. I don’t think Honey thinks this place is safe so much as ‘safer than the alternatives.’”
“…if there even are alternatives.”
“Exactly. Go straight for a second.” Sugar shifted and turned around, so he was facing backwards in the saddle, better to pack away the empty potion bottle. “…I think we’re stuck here for the time being.”
Cinnamon shivered, suddenly antsy even in spite of his exhaustion. “I didn’t think it was possible to feel claustrophobic being confined to an entire world.”
Sugar grunted in agreement and turned back around to slump in the seat, exhausted by stress, wounds, and fear.
Sugar grunted in agreement. Then, something caught his eye. A shiny grey square peaking just over the trees. Café Plaisir’s Solar Mirror. They’d made it!
Rider and steed turned the corner just in time to see an orange blur careen through the parking lot and barge through the front entrance, bowling over a shrieking green blob on the other side. The bouncer on duty had turned to follow Prometheus inside, leaving the entrance open for Cinnamon to skid through a minute later.
Sugar shook his head in surprise, “Pepper?!”
The Chikorita had already rolled upright and yelled several choice expletives in the direction of the retreating Arcanine by the time they’d caught up. “Pepper, you alright?”
Pepper twisted around on the floor to glare at them, only to gasp as she saw the state of them, “Cinnamon? Sugar? Holy hell you look awful! Did you get in a fight? Did you win? Tell me everything!”
Sugar paused in confusion as Pepper’s tone flashed from concern to horror to eager to excited in short order. “Uh, we were ambushed. This big Mightyena dude with an all-black face threw a bunch of glass on the road and forced a crash.” He said.
“And you escaped? AWESOME!”
“Uh, no. Honey came and bailed us out.”
“And the Arcanine who ran me over?” Pepper frowned.
“He was carrying Quippie and Honey on his back. Quippie ran into the trap and got glass in his feet-”
“And now they’re trying to get him to a doctor! Gotcha!” Pepper looked back through the ruined double-door entrance to the bar. “Shit. And all this fun, just as I was leaving.”
“Waitwaitwait!”
Pepper paused, and the entire team turned to look at the Lopunny leaning over the front desk. “What did you say about a Mightyena?”
“We were ambushed by a Mightyena on the road! Freaking huge, too!” Sugar dropped the rains and raised his arms to demonstrate, displaying his injured wings in the process. “And he almost ate Quippie!”
“My goodness!” The Lopunny gasped.
Encouraged, Sugar continued, “He had a bunch of scars and was super scruffy, with this all-black face and head and one eye and-”
“Eclipse?!” The receptionist yelled in recognition. A chorus of whispers suddenly alerted the duo to the presence of a crowd.
“I think that big Arcanine called him that, yea.” Suddenly the duo was under a barrage of questions from a dozen voices. Sugar seemed only too happy to answer until—
“HEY!” The cracks of a dozen vines whacking the floor silenced the crowd. “My friend’s fucking bleeding all over the floor! Can you please clear a path to the Nurse’s office?”
The rapid shuffling of a dozen feet later, Pepper escorted Cinnamon and Sugar to the Nurse’s office. Sugar whistled as they walked through the bar into the hall. “Looks like a typhoon passed through here!”
Cinnamon cocked his head questioningly.
Sugar explained., “…Promethean? The Arcanine guy; he just tore through this place. Knocked over tables, plates everywhere, curtains ripped, dents in the drywall…aw crap! We’re gunna have to clean all this up tomorrow, aren’t we? Watch your step, he freaking ripped this door down by running through it!”
Sure enough, Cinnamon felt his dulled claws knock against a wooden door lying on the floor of the service hall. Pepper carefully stepped over him and pulled open another door on his left. He felt a pleasant rush of cool air coupled with the significantly less pleasant odor of crushed herbs, antibiotics and rubbing alcohol. It was strong enough he could smell it through his bloodied nose, and it was accompanied by the even less pleasing sound of a badger hyperventilating on a table.
The room must’ve been small, because the newcomers had to compete for space with Prometheus, Wraith, and one other pokémon Cinnamon didn’t know, plus Quippie on the table and something else that smelled like a giant mollusk marching about on no more than two legs. ‘The nurse?’
“Now can you start?” Prometheus asked impatiently.
“no worry” Hastur spoke from the corner of the room “on schedule”
The big-mollusk-thing rummaged through a cabinet before stomping its way over to the team. It spoke quickly, with a sweet, feminine voice strained by stress. “More injuries? Oh dear…” The slug-thing slapped its way across the room and Cinnamon felt the things slimy indistinct limbs manhandle a protesting Sugar and then himself. “…Oh dear, these wings are definitely going to need stitching.”
“Stitching?!” Sugar groaned. He hated stitches.
The nurse hummed indecisively, “…Minka, please contact one of the off-duty Nurses and tell them we need assistance. I can’t handle this many cases at once!”
There was no reply that Cinnamon could hear, but something must’ve been done because the issue wasn’t readdressed.
“Sugar, right? Would you be okay waiting for the backup Nurse?”
“Ah, it’s fine! Ms…”
“Boora.”
“Nurse Boora! Yea, no I don’t mind waiting. I can’t even fly, anyways!” Sugar fell back to the floor with a *thump*.
“I’m okay, too,” Cinnamon added.
“Thank you!” The nurse stood and picked something up from a nearby table. “Take this. You’re going to help me with the rear feet. Wraith here is on the front.” She said, then raised her voice “Everyone out except Minka and Wraith!”
“Prometheus?” Quippie called, worriedly.
“Don’t worry, Quippie, I’m staying right-”
“No. I’m sorry but I need room to work. Please wait in the hall with everyone else.”
“But-“
“No.” The Nurse’s voice hardened.
“Nurse Boora I must-”
“Minka!” Boora barked.
A gentile, yet persistent psychic force pushed Cinnamon, Sugar, Pepper, Honey, and even Prometheus back out the door. As they left, Cinnamon could hear the clinic descending into a controlled chaos: Quippie calling for his friend, the nurse shouting instructions, and the psychics alternating between trying to calm and restrain the Linoone and asking very unhelpful questions of what to do. Then the door slammed shut behind them and muffled the noise.
For a moment, the group sat in silence, nobody quite sure what to say or what to do. Then Cinnamon heard Prometheus’s claws click-clacking around and back to the Clinic door, where the great canine settled with a thump. He couldn’t see it, but Cinnamon could envision the Arcanine lying still with an ear against the door, trying to discern the progress of the operation from the nature of the muffled speech. It’s what he would do, were Sugar or Pepper or Honey or Mary ever hurt.
The Adrenaline surge that had driven Cinnamon the last few hours started to wane, and the day’s events all hit the Linoone at once. Every bruise, every pulled muscle, the cracked rib he’d been ignoring since the crash, all the excitement of the sprint and of course the last thirty-odd minutes of panic and fear all registered at once. The next thing he knew he was sprawled out on the floor and half conscious. He could feel Sugar working to unbuckle the Saddle when the reserve nurse arrived.
He couldn’t smell her, what with the blood gumming up most of his nose, but from her gait Cinnamon deduced it was a quadruped. When the nurse spoke, it was with a feminine voice. “Hello? I got a page from Minka asking for assistance?”
“Yo!” Sugar yelled.
“Oh dear, your wings! Are you okay?” The mystery voice came closer.
“Yea just took a bad — FALL!” Sugar yelped as the air started crackling with electricity. The Nurse likewise cried out and backpedaled as the Emolga briefly transformed into a one-mon’ fireworks display.
Sugar brought his hands to his face and felt his cheeks. His face went pale. “Aww shit, my capacitor! I left it back on the road!” His eyes locked onto Prometheus. “Prometheus, I’m sorry but I really need you to-”
Sugar cut himself off as Honey produced a familiar satchel from under their colander. “i remembered. here.”
“Honey? You’re a freaking lifesaver!” Sugar snatched the bag out of their hand and started pulling out medical supplies.
Cinnamon’s attention was broken by the sudden scraping of nails on ceramic.
“You…” Prometheus growled accusatorially. “You knew this would happen…”
“yes.” Honey confirmed.
“Why did you wait until after they left?” Prometheus asked, “If you had told everyone all this this morning Quippie wouldn’t’ve been hurt to begin with!”
Hastur didn’t answer.
“Well? Why didn’t you warn me earlier? Why did my friend have to get hurt?” Anger crept into his voice. Hastur’s colander began to vibrate against the floor.
‘Uh oh!’ They had all seen this same behavior before in Mary. Anger born of worry. Irrational conclusions drawn from fear and helplessness. The team instinctively moved to form a phalanx in front of the Mimikyu.
“not him. not today. others die. other days.” Honey explained.
But Prometheus wasn’t listening or didn’t understand. Or didn’t care. “Did you know it was Eclipse? If you knew he was out there, why didn’t you tell anyone else? We could have avoided all this!”
“What are you on about? He saved your friend’s life!” Pepper shouted.
“He knew! And he deliberately waited to tell anyone.” Prometheus’s voice rose in anger. “Did you plan this? That Quippie would get into trouble and then you would race to save the day and be the hero? Is that why you waited to find me?”
“does not…impossible.” the Mimikyu muttered.
“We could have called the police!” Prometheus continued, “He could have led us right to him, and instead he waited until the last possible minute. Why?”
“How do you know?” Sugar moved to further obscure Hastur’s lenses from the Arcanine. “Are you a psychic-ghost-thing, now? Maybe doing that would’ve made things worse! Or, I don’t know, caused a time paradox? Or something? Maybe he didn’t foresee this whole mess until after we left!”
“You’re making excuses.” Prometheus growled. “You don’t know how he works either!”
“not…work.” Honey started to back away towards the door.
“We could have avoided all this!” Prometheus repeated, “He could have avoided this!”
“am sorry.”
Prometheus roared, “Quippie’s injured and its all your fault!”
“FAILURE!” Everyone present jumped as a psychic scream tore through their brains. While they were disoriented, Honey turned and fled down the hall, around a corner and out of sight.
Pepper recovered first. “Arrgh! Fucking Asshole!” She quickly catapulted herself after the fleeing ghost. Cinnamon surged to his feet to follow, only for another wave of exhaustion and dizziness to pull him back to the floor. Sugar and the Nurse just watched, concerned.
“…we…need to get you cleaned up.” The Nurse finally said. “Follow me, we’ll find somewhere sanitary to close those wings of yours.”
“Yea, Sure.” Sugar quickly stuffed his gear back in the satchel and padded away, leaving Cinnamon alone with Prometheus. The target of his misbegotten ire now gone, the great canine slumped down onto the floor, exhausted.
“You really love him, don’t you?” Cinnamon asked.
Prometheus didn’t reply.
“I can tell. You’re just like my trainer whenever one of us gets hurt. You’re worried sick and angry and you lashed out because you can’t do anything about it.”
Prometheus sighed, “I’m... sorry about that. I shouldn’t blame your friend for what Eclipse did to Quippie…But why did he wait?”
Cinnamon half-dragged himself to the Arcanine’s side. “Honey’s brain…it just works differently. We’re not sure if it’s their nature as a ghost, or if they have a condition or what. But it doesn’t matter. They mean well, and they try. You can’t ask for more than that.”
“But why?”
“I’m sure he had a good reason. It might not make sense to you or me, but he always has a reason.”
Prometheus huffed, not entirely convinced. But he didn’t argue the point any further. He was too distracted by the noises coming through the door.
It started as a low groan. Then it grew to a series of panicked yelps accompanied by muffled yelling. The hair on Cinnamon’s neck started to stand. They heard pleading. They heard arguments. Then came a long, loud, bloodcurdling scream.
“Quippie!” Cinnamon jumped in alarm as Prometheus launched himself at the door, only to bounce off a psychic barrier and crash into the opposite wall.
The scream continued into a wail, Wraith shouting over the distressed Linoone, “Do not come in! Everything’s under control, we promise!”
Prometheus pulled himself off the floor and ran back to the door. “Quippie?! Quippie, hang in there!”
The wailing trailed off into moans that were quickly drowned out by the Goodra’s orders. Cinnamon winced. This was nothing like his own surgery; he had been so weak at the time and lost so much blood that the anesthetic had knocked him cold instantly. And the whole experience had been so…dreamlike…between when Mary had found him and when they’d put him under that he’d had no strength to worry about his future. Poor Quippie was still lucid; still afraid. They’d probably only given him a local in the interest of time.
“He’ll be okay!” Cinnamon said, almost reflexively.
“How do you know?” Prometheus slumped against the door.
“Because Honey said we made it here in time, and I trust him.” Cinnamon said, “You’re his best friend, right? He’s going to need you after this.”
“He needs me now!” The Arcanine’s voice grew hoarse.
“He’ll need you more after they’re done in there. I imagine Quippie won’t be walking for weeks at least. He’ll need your support.”
“He’ll have it.” Prometheus declared.
Cinnamon hummed thoughtfully, “I hope so, because he’ll be asking a lot from you these next few weeks. It’ll be…frustrating.”
“You speak from experience?” Prometheus asked.
Cinnamon nodded. He squinted and pointed at his face to emphasize the depth of his empty eye sockets. “There was a long time between when I went blind and when I met Sugar.” He explained.
Cinnamon peeled away from the door, hoping to distract Prometheus from the surgery. “Those early days were a special kind of awful. Imagine being trapped in a space so small you couldn’t stretch your legs, for months, where every attempt at comfort or release just made the space feel more cramped. Except we’re Linoone, so we were made to run! So it’s a thousand times worse!”
“We’ll get through it.” Prometheus replied.
Cinnamon nodded cautiously. “I’m warning you now, a Linoone that cannot run is going to be difficult. He’s going to be impatient, argumentative, constantly frustrated…” His ears perked up and he turned towards the door. “Someone’s coming.”
Prometheus shuffled away from the door just as a stressed-out Minka and a tired looking Wraith floated out into the hall. “Well?” he asked.
Minka shot him a sympathetic look before continuing around the corner. Wraith just shrugged. “Nurse’s just about finished wrapping him up. Ask her.”
“Alright…” Prometheus took a moment to steel himself before carefully shouldering his way through the door, Cinnamon following at his heels. “Quippie? Nurse Boora?”
“Shh!” The Goodra walked around the privacy screen, wiping an ominous mixture of slime and blood off her hands. She sounded exhausted, but triumphant. “We got all the glass out, but the wounds are too deep and too severe for potions. Quippie’s going to need to stay off his feet for a little while.”
“Can I talk to him?” Prometheus asked.
Boora shook her head, “Not right now. He fainted after the…extraction of the glass.”
“Can I see him?” He insisted.
Boora nodded and beckoned him over to one of the curtained off beds. She pulled the curtain back and Prometheus immediately let out a whine.
“How is he?” Cinnamon whispered.
“There’s so much blood…” Prometheus whispered back. He sat in silence after that.
“You should let him rest. He’s had a rough day.” Boora advised. She crouched down in front of Cinnamon. “Here, let’s clean you up and get you a potion."
Cinnamon nodded, but instead of moving he turned to address the Arcanine. “Hey Prometheus?”
He didn’t answer.
“Don’t worry too much, alright? He’s here, he’s safe, the worst part is behind us.” And with that, Cinnamon turned and moved to catch up with the Nurse, lest he lose track of her.
He was lying.
Their ordeal hadn’t even begun.
