Persephone
Infinite Screms
- Pronouns
- her/hers
- Partners
-
CN: Child Abuse, Eating Disorder, Borderline Suicidal Thought Patterns. I'll include a summary of this chapter at the start of the next one.
Electric 2.5: Life Goes On
Cuicatl Ichtaca
The air feels like rain again. You’d hoped that being in the States would bring a real winter and summer and not just wet and dry seasons. Of course, you weren’t so lucky.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but pokémon aren’t allowed in the library.”
You stop and turn towards the voice. An employee? You gesture towards your cataracts. “I need her to get around.”
The wind picks up. For the time being it doesn’t carry water with it. The woman is silent far longer than she needs to be. “Do you have her service pokémon documents on you?” She sounds unimpressed. Almost aggressive. Coco would’ve growled at her already. Pix is probably considering it.
You don’t have the papers. They don’t exist. “She’s not registered.” You plow through to keep Pix from taking it personally. “But she’s smart. Won’t cause trouble.” Last bit might be a lie. She’s been behaving well recently. Well enough to gamble on.
“I’m sorry but we only allow registered service pokémon. An assistant can help you around if you need it.”
Right. Because being jerked around by a stranger with no training is better than letting your (somewhat) trusted helper do it. Your heart rate’s up and your shoulders are tensed. Pix flicks a tail to your ankle. Probably asking if she should fight. You make an effort to relax your shoulders and take a deep breath. You don’t win this fight. This woman has the power and she’s made up her mind. Experience tells you that all the facts and logic in the world won’t change that. “Fine,” you concede with a huff. “You good going in your ball, Pix?”
“Yes.”
You withdraw her and clip the ball to the second spot in your belt. Before you take your cane out you slide your hands back down to your skirt’s pockets (making your own clothing has its advantages). “Well, now what?”
She hesitates. Figures she didn’t have an actual procedure. Just saw a rule she could enforce on some kid and decided to be cruel. You could take out your cane and save her but a little bit of your own cruelty bubbles up and you let her solve the problem she made. “One second,” she finally says. “Let me get someone to help you.”
It takes a lot longer than a second. By the time it starts to drizzle you’re starting to doubt that she’s coming back at all. When it starts to pour, you’re certain that she isn’t. With a sigh you pull out your cane and walk into the building itself. You consider letting Pix out and walking in anyway. If the same woman is still there you doubt she’d complain again.
She doesn’t speak up when you step inside. You’d half expected that she’d just darted through the door and spent a half hour staring at you through the glass. “Excuse me,” another woman calls out. “Can I help you?”
There’s no way to be sure she’s talking to you. She probably is. You nod and turn in the voice’s direction. “Yes. Where are the computers?” In an ideal world you’d ask for journals and in-depth guides in Nahuatl braille. Or at least American Braille. You doubt such things even exist.
“Certainly. They’re just down… actually, let me take you there.” You hear her approach and you feel her slip her hand into yours before she immediately starts moving. Not the best way to do it. It makes keeping pace awful. And you would have liked it if she asked you first. Or given you time to collapse the cane. Still, you do eventually find yourself in front of a computer. Then she power walks away before you can figure out how to log in, turn the screen reader on, access the internet… anything.
After many days and even more arguments on the trail you’d wanted time alone. At least time away from other people. And you need to have a talk with Pix. So far you’ve managed to bring Kekoa around in two talks and tag-teamed Genesis in three. Hopefully this one’s as easy. But you need information. Everything you can get on vulpix thought. Make some guesses on how she sees the world. That brought you here. You’re still no closer to the information.
Even if you wanted to call Genesis or Kekoa there’s another obstacle. You’d have to talk in the library. You really aren’t supposed to do that. Sure, you could find a bathroom or a door outside. But because Pix isn’t here you’d have to ask someone. Talk to someone. Aloud.
You slump forward in the seat and cross your arms, letting the cane clack to the floor.
Why does this always happen?
The gate creaks shut beneath you and you take a few steps forward. Your cane is out because Achcauhtli won’t coddle you when you don’t need it. No, not won’t. Can’t.
Your mind is half gone and even the remaining half feels so empty these days. There’s nothing to say. Your godmother has taken over your chores for the time being. It’s more kindness than you deserve but it also deprives you of a simple, routine task to get lost in.
Maybe you do deserve it, then.
You hadn’t told anyone about your brother’s headache and neck pains. His meningitis. If you’d forced him to seek care right then he wouldn’t have died. You’re sure of it.
You killed him.
You still haven’t fully grasped what that means.
Maybe you never will.
With more care than your body deserves you lower it to the ground. Silence. Nothing approaches. Alice had been hanging around the house for a few days but apparently ellas needed to eat. Searah’s probably exhausted all the ants in the area after staying put for so long. Renfield’s mourning and you can’t judge him for wanting distance. And Spike…
“Hey, Spike.”
Spike doesn’t answer. He wrapped you in a vine when you told him. It was the most affection he’d ever shown you. Or your mother, from what memories of hers you have. Seems he’s back to normal now.
Great. Just great.
The wind is surprisingly chilly for the height of the summer. You take your arms out of your poncho to hug yourself underneath it. The sleeves whip around uselessly in the wind. There’s homework to do. You should go inside. Should. You won’t. You were failing anyway. Again. And he can’t read your books to you anymore. What’s even the point?
If you ran off right now who would care? You could take Searah, Alice, and Renfield with you. Live in the woods. Escape cactus spikes and worksheets for good. Your godmother would understand. Father would have to step up around the house. Surely he could handle it. Someone had to be cooking and cleaning before you were old enough to do it.
When Alice comes, back you’ll go.
There’s nothing here for you anymore. Nothing but ghosts.
You’ve seen enough American films to know about their vengeful ghosts that haunt the living. Try to solve their own murders. All that stuff. It’s not like there aren’t ghosts in Anahuac but they’re… different. Forgetful. Destructive. Apocalyptic, even. You really want to believe in the American ghosts right now. He’d come back and torment you for killing him but at least he would be around. And if he punished you then you wouldn’t need to do it yourself. It would be perfectly just.
The back door creaks opens and you hug yourself a little tighter. Speaking of punishments. Father’s heavy footsteps come closer until he settles down beside you, probably staring off at… whatever’s in the distance.
“He was supposed to do so much more,” he says with terrible resignation. You let the words wash over you and turn your head in his direction. It sounded like he had more to say. Maybe he doesn’t. You certainly don’t. “He had Danielle’s powers and pokémon. He could have taken so many captives. Brought honor and resources to the village that I never could have.” You can almost feel the frown. “But he never took to the pokémon.”
You shake your head. “He did. Searah and Renfield saw him as a brother. He even talked sense into ‘chovsky once in a while.” All those years and you never figured out how. Knowing the swanna you never will. “He just cared about humans, too.” You leave the ‘I didn’t’ unspoken.
“Hmm. Doesn’t matter anymore.” The wind picks up a bit more. This time you slip your arms back through the sleeves. Can’t look like a child in front of Father. “And you… I had a plan for you.” A hint of passion bleeds through despair. “Achcauhtli would gain money and status. You could care for his home and pokémon. But now,” he takes a deep breath. You get a twinge of pain through your powers for some reason. “Now that won’t work.” And the passion is drowned as quickly as it came. “I had to find a new plan. You aren’t smart. Or strong. You would get captured on the battlefield in seconds. Your gifts could make you appealing to a noble family, but they would not want your deformities in their bloodline.”
And there you were thinking you would escape punishment today. At least this is only verbal. Even if words can hurt more than cactus spines or chili fumes. “You are decent at housework but unattractive. And high-class men want smart wives. Good marriage would be difficult.” You get it. You’re a total failure. “But… between Danielle’s gift and your blindness you might be able to convince a temple that you’re close to the gods.” He doesn’t scoff. That’s left to your imagination. “That would require sending you to a school for your kind so that you might learn something. Then tutoring on manners and religion before you could ever apply to an apprenticeship.”
You like to think that you’re good at astrology. Can’t say you’re an expert on the entire religion. More importantly… “Can I bring Searah and Renfield with me?” Alice is far too big an ask. But Renfield could help you mask your powers by having a translator pokémon and Searah’s not too high maintenance.
“No.” Before you can argue he cuts you off. “They would only distract you. Besides, I needed money for the school’s tuition.” No. He can’t— “I sold Nari’s pokémon this morning.”
You—
He—
You—
You never got to say goodbye.
Again.
“You’ll depart to Tenochtitlan tomorrow at—” You swing a fist at his face. And miss, falling to the ground in the process. He stands up in an instant and pins your back to the ground with his boot. “Cuicatl. Ichtaca.” Disappointment drips from his lips like venom from a snake’s fangs. “Your one virtue was obedience.” He presses down harder and you can feel the pressure on your spine and the metal tip on your back. “Danielle’s pokémon were never yours. They were mine. I did this to help you.”
You scream. He’ll have to back off if
No.
Alice isn’t coming.
Achcauhtli can’t drag him off if he goes too far.
But you scream anyw—something hard strikes you on the cheek. Your jaw snaps down on your tongue. Not hard enough to break clean through but enough to hurt and bleed. He takes a few steps away as you spit out blood.
“You will apologize,” Father finally says as you start to pull yourself together. You will not. Not to him. Not after what he did. The pressure reappears on your back. “You will apologize now.” No.
“Was it for tuition or Patolli debts?” you hiss. Blood sputters out of your mouth with the saliva.
“You will apologize for that remark, too.’ He presses harder. Much harder. Your chest, such that it is, presses painfully against the ground. It’s. It’s fine. You’ve dealt with worse. He presses the metal tip of his boot down and steps off. He starts walking away and the door opens. “I’m almost glad Danielle died when she did,” Father says. “She would’ve hated to see what became of her daughter.”
The door slams shut and you slowly press yourself up to all fours. A simple flex of your spine brings pain but shows that nothing’s broken. A quick stroke of your tongue shows the same for your mouth. No. Not quite. You spit out a shard of tooth. It was at the back. No one will notice. Doesn’t hurt when your tongue touches it.
Good. You’re running away. You’ll find your way to America and make good, valuable dollars. Then you’ll buy back at least Alice, Renfield, and Searah.
Before that… Father is stronger than you but he must sleep. Even you could smother him and run away in the dark.
No.
It would be killing your own blood; the Eagle Warriors would hunt you down. And. And. No. You don’t deserve to. You already killed his son and wife. He did everything he could for Achcauhtli and the village. Thought he was doing everything he could for you. He does care for you. Loves you. And Mom loved him. Gods, you killed your mother’s son. If she ever would have liked you she hates you now. If you killed Father, too…
You bow your head in shame for ever considering it. If anything you owe enough to your mother and brother that you need to come back to him once this wrong is righted.
You can face Father again with a hydreigon at your side.
You know that you’re slipping to a bad place. Maybe as bad as the day by the water in Hau’oli. Miss Bell pulled you out then. She’s not here to do that again. Should you call her later? She hasn’t messaged you since you saw her between missions. No leads on Alice, apparently. Not that you could even act on any right now. Cheapest you’ve seen one auctioned for was $781,500. Then you’d need a little more money for Searah and Renfield. Neither species seems that expensive but if their new owner realizes you’re attached they might drive the price way up.
Nothing is happening in here. You should go outside. You bought an audiobook rental account earlier. So long as you don’t buy the books it’s cheap to read them for a few days. Plus, you can make notes on the big stuff. At the very least you can sit outside under the overhang and listen. It’s probably not the most up-to-date stuff but it will do.
Your phone buzzes. “Voice Message from Vana Iosua (Plant Girl). Read it: Yes or No?”
You don’t know why she’s so interested in talking to you. Aside from Spike, who wasn’t a typical plant, you don’t have much experience with grass-types. Even your cooking advice doesn’t always translate well to sighted people. But you should reply. It would be rude not to. And you can’t do that in the library. Once your cane is in your grasp you extend it and start trying to map out your earlier steps.
After accidentally hitting your cane against a wall enough times someone comes to help you out.
You have to pee.
Truth be told you’ve had to be for over an hour, but now you’re at a chapter break and someone just disturbed you by going out the door so it’s time to take care of that. You put your phone back into your bag, stand up and whoa. You stand stock still as the wave of vertigo washes over you. When it leaves your legs are still weak. How long has it been since you ate a proper meal? You didn’t eat breakfast and dinner was early yesterday so… a long time. Pokémon Center’s lunch is closed. You can either wait a few hours or eat out.
The latter takes money. And it’ll have so many calories. Even if you give Pixie some it’ll still make you fatter. Focus. Pee. Now. You slowly pivot and reenter the library.
It’s only misting outside. Pixie still wouldn’t like being out in it. Her fur would get wet and even if she held on for your sake she would be upset. You could send Coco out but she’s not good on a leash. Runs into your cane a lot. Sometimes tries to jerk you around even though you’re much bigger (for now). Makes navigation hard. You elected not to eat out. No. Not quite. You elected to let fate decide. If there’s something on the way to the park that smells too good to resist, well, then you can stuff your face and regret it later.
You have to ask for directions a few times on the way but you steadily get closer to your destination. Supposedly a bunch of Japanese people came to live in Malie. They built a park themed around Johto. You’ve never been to Asia. Probably never will. This might be as close as you ever get and you might as well enjoy it. Even if you can’t really appreciate the theming.
When you’re maybe a block or two away your stomach finally makes you do something stupid. Something smells like dough. Kind of fresh dough. And fruit. Maybe meat? A sweetness to it. A lot of scents mixed together but it’s not unpleasant. Smells close. You pull out Pixie’s ball and let her out. The fox shakes herself off, hisses, and shoots out a wave of cold. Probably trying to freeze the water droplets in the air. Good girl. You bend down a little bit to get her attention. “Can you take me to the food?”
Food isn’t far. Close enough that she just opts to tell you where to go and trail behind. “A few steps forward. A few more. Thought your legs were longer.”
“Thanks for rubbing it in, Pix.”
“Hmm?”
You force a smile and shake imaginary dirt off your top. “Nothing. How much further?”
When the food truck approaches you can vaguely sense it. Something ahead of you to the right. Hard to say how you know it’s there but you do. Echoes, maybe? Like a dolphin. Once you get close you slow down and start drifting towards the edge of the sidewalk.
The window opens up and a man’s voice comes out. “Hello. Do you want to order?”
With another forced smile you turn towards him and brush a few stray locks of hair out of your face. “Yes. What do you sell?”
“Crêpes.”
Your power can’t translate it. That’s just the name of the thing. At least, there’s not a Nahuatl word for it that you know. The meaning in his mind can’t match one in yours. Whatever they are they smell good. “What do you recommend?” You don’t want him to read the entire menu to you. It’s a little embarrassing and you’re out in the mist with an impatient fox.
“Sweet or savory?”
Hmm. Ordinarily you’d be mad that you asked for an opinion and you got a question. You’re exhausted and thinking about food just wears you down more. But this is a decent question. Savory probably has more calories. More cost. Closer to a real meal. Sweet is immature. Childish. Irresponsible. It’ll last for an hour or two at most.
“Sweet,” your stomach says before your brain can make a decision.
“Rawst, then.”
He gives a price. Higher than you’d like. Of course, you don’t even know how much food you’re getting. You don’t want to ask. You might just walk away altogether. And you can afford it, even if it isn’t wise. There’s someone in line behind you and they don’t object to the price so it’s probably what’s on the menu. You almost want to haggle it even if you know Americans hate it. In the end you just turn over a few bills and get some coins back in return.
After a few minutes of waiting you finally get your order. It’s big but thin. Kind of light. Still a reasonable price by American standards. You pivot and step further back onto the sidewalk. Pix follows by your side, a tail flick marking her location. “You smell grass? Trees?” She yips. “Can you lead me there?”
She wordlessly passes by you, making sure to rub against your leg so that you know where she is. She occasionally grunts as you walk behind her, sweeping with your cane with one hand and trying to balance a kind of unwieldy crêpe in the other. You don’t really know if it’s sloppy or not but so far the shape seems to have held. By the time the faint whiff of gasoline and dull roar of humanity starts to get replaced by wet grass and birdsong your stomach’s started to growl again. “Food is here,” it says. “Human is in eating mood. Must remind her she is hungry.” Bad stomach. You already knew all of that.
Once you’re into the park for real and feel the pavement shift from asphalt to gravel under your sandals you give Pix new orders: “Can you find a shelter? Some place to sit out of the rain.” You’re pretty sure she knows what a shelter is. Can’t hurt to clarify. A puff of cool air hits your ankles and you can faintly hear her moving through the grass. The rain starts to pick up a little and you hear an angry yap in front of you when the first real raindrop hits Pix. You retract your cane and step off the path. The blades of grass reach through the sandals to tickle your feet and you know that you’re going to have to wash off all the clippings stuck in your shoes later but for now you welcome it. Soft. Good length. Not like the dry, long grass by Blush Mountain. Once your shoes hit concrete again you almost trip. The shelter has a floor about two centimeters off the ground. Thankfully you don’t faceplant. The crêpe doesn’t even fall from your hands. You extend the cane again and find your way to a picnic table. Above you the rain picks up some more but strikes the roof instead of you.
When your cane strikes something hard you feel it out and discover a picnic table. You gently lower yourself down to sit and hear Pix jump—twice—to get on top of the table. Your free hand slaps down beside you. “Pix, please sit here.” She complies with a meaningless grumble.
Crêpe time. You unwrap the aluminum foil and feel around the edges. Doesn’t seem like too much got out. Just a little… cream? You bring the tip of your finger to your mouth and taste it. Probably. Sweet. A little thick. Further fingertip inspection shows that it’s a tortilla folded on itself with some filing in the middle. You gently hold it level and bring it up to bite.
It’s good. The cream(?) flows just enough that what you bit off flows a little inside your mouth while staying in the part of the tortilla you didn’t eat. Kind of cold. Contrasts with the warm tortilla. Another bite brings the rawst berries in. Sweetened. Probably in a syrup of some kind. Do they even grow rawst here? It changes the texture. Not in a bad way.
The filling and berries are sweet but feel like they have substance. Easy to eat. You smile despite yourself. You need to learn how to make these. What culture is it from anyway? Asia? Ugh. You’ve done a lot of cooking but almost all of it was traditional. A few things from your mother’s memories. Sometimes. Father never seemed to like that.
Father. Mother. The cream turns sour in your mouth and your smile fades. So little of the crêpe left. You let yourself go. Enjoy sweets like you have any right to after what you’ve done. You put the rest down next to Pix and stew in your feelings while she devours it. How dare you? Your brother is dead by your hand and you let yourself act like nothing happened.
Father is cruel. Blunt. Not always the best at business. Loses much on his games and keeps playing anyway. But he wasn’t wrong about you.
There’s a content mewling beside you before Pixie stretches out, her front paws pressing into the side of your leg before she curls up and her tail casually rests on you. “Where’s Eggbreath?”
Right. It’s not about you. There’s a call from deep inside to just be quiet and take the punishment. Throw up as penance. Whatever must be done. Maybe you will. Not now. You had a purpose.
“She’s in her ball. I wanted to talk to you without your sister.”
Her tail is very pointedly moved off your lap. “Not my sister,” she growls.
You shrug. Just keep raising it. Eventually she’ll stop arguing. Maybe even accept it. Doesn’t have to be now. “I still want to talk.” No verbal answer. No flick of the tail. She’s waiting on you to speak. Why can’t you pull words from the pit in your stomach? Just. Try. You had a prepared speech and everything. Deep breath. You’ve got this. Just get through this and then you can fall apart. “Two moons ago I asked you what you wanted and if I could help.” A pause for dramatic effect. You really wish you could gauge her reaction. “I want to ask it again. What do you want?”
She doesn’t answer for a long time. It takes everything you have to not spiral deeper in the silence.
“Everyone leaves,” she finally says. “Parents. Humans. Everyone. You’ll leave.”
That’s a lot more than you were expecting. You’d been prepared, well, you’d been planning to slowly drag the truth from her. Didn’t think she’d be that self-aware.
“And what do you want from me?”
You hear her shift next to you. Still doesn’t touch you. “You’ll leave.”
Didn’t answer your question. Doubt you’ll get an answer if you ask again. Okay. Different track.
“If I say I won’t you’ll say that I’m lying, right?” She doesn’t answer. That’s a yes. “I get it. Words don’t mean much. Someone else tell you that they wouldn’t leave you and they did?”
“Yes.”
Thought as much. One human lies about one thing, all humans lie about everything. It’s a lonely thought but not all wrong.
“Well,” you take a deep breath and prepare to rip open some wounds for her sake. “I already left Ce for you. Hated doing that. Tolerated a lot of nighttime screams. Let you move my cane over and over again. Watched you goad your sister into misbehaving a lot. And you told Ce to sleep on my face one night, right?” And, you, Pixie, are ugly, stupid, helpless, unmarriable, and a kin-killer. You swallow the thought and press on. You have to you’re just like him. “A-and you know what? I haven’t left you. Didn’t go through all of that to leave you now.”
No. That wasn’t right. It’s still wrong. Tearing her down and saying that you’ll sink down and stay with her. There’s another part. One that your family never quite taught you. Deep breath. Stop crying. You can do this.
“And I still love you, okay? You’re very soft and pretty and you have a lot of personality. Just…” Fine. You can’t stop yourself from crying. You at least turn away so she can’t see the tears. “But this isn’t working for either of us and we need to talk about where we go from here.”
You’ll cry but you won’t sob. This is about her, not you.
“Damn it, Pix, say something.”
A paw presses into your leg. “You’re sad?”
Say something that isn’t about that, damn it.
“I… yes. Sometimes.” There are good hours. Days, even. Maybe. Right now you can’t remember what they feel like or if they ever existed at all. “It’s not important.”
Another paw joins the first. “Because of me?”
“No. I-I killed my brother and I don’t…” know how to feel. A lie. You do. You’re feeling it right now and you very well should.
“Were there seven?”
“What?”
The paws withdraw and you can faintly feel her weight shift through the bench. Standing up? “There were seven. Six would be kept. You killed one.” She says it like it’s simple. Justifiable, even. Common sense.
“Is that… what happens when there are three vulpix?”
“I should have.”
She’s deadly serious. What the fuck? “when there are three, even two pokémon, you try and…” You struggle to say the words that you know finishes the sentence. …kill them.
Pixie figures it out anyway. “Sometimes.” Gods above, what do you even say to that? “I don’t like being left alone,” she says with a low, almost inaudible hiss. Shame, maybe. Or weakness. Rolling over and letting you take a shot at her organs. Metaphorically. “Then why’d you kill your brother?”
And there she returns the shot in kind. A bullet straight to the heart.
“I…” You have to do this now. If you don’t she might get scared and leave on her own. Doesn’t make it easier. “He was sick. I knew he was sick. Didn’t think it was bad. He asked me not to tell. I went hunting. When I came back he was dead.”
The rain continues to pound on the roof. Condemnation. The heavens themselves judging you for what you did.
“You didn’t kill him?”
Your scowl deepens and you growl from years of dragon bonding instincts. “If I’d told someone he could have been treated with… potions and stuff. Wouldn’t have died.”
She shakes herself off and starts pacing on the narrow bench, the sounds of little footsteps barely audible over the pounding of the rain and your heart. “Did you poison him?”
“No.” Gods, no. You never could have.
“Hurt him? The wound got infected?”
As if you could even hurt him if you wanted to. “No.”
“Then you didn’t kill him?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Humans,” the word is loaded with disdain. “Mistakes happen. Weavile attack. Sisters die. Life goes on.”
Cold. Brutal. Draconic, even.
And you thought you were a predator.
Her pacing stops and she walks back towards you. “Is that why you were kicked off your mountain?”
“It’s related to that.” You don’t dare explain your mission to her. Not now. You’ll need more than three teammates and you don’t know how you could convince her if she knew. Before she asks for more information you need to move on. “Details don’t matter. I’m going to stay with you, Pix. Promise. But I need you to at least try to be nice to other pokémon. Don’t give me too much stress. A few games and pranks are fine but, this,” you spread our your arms. Not really sure what this shows to her. “This needs to stop.”
That didn’t go at all how you planned it to. This was supposed to be a negotiation, not an ultimatum.
She’s silent for long enough that you begin to think you’ve pushed her too far and made a terrible mistake. You love Coco. As long as she’s toothless your team can’t do anything. Both can be true.
“No eevee. No ice-types.”
Nothing that could replace her.
“Deal.” You lower a hand to her and she tepidly sniffs it before slowly raising a paw onto your fingers.
Your stomach roars and ruins the moment. She slips her paw off and backs away. Above you the rain’s a little bit weaker. You could probably walk in it if you had to. And you have to. Eat now or you’ll keep spiraling for at least another twelve hours. “You don’t have to walk in this weather if you don’t want to. That’s my part of the deal. I won’t make you fight or work unless you agree.”
“I’m walking you.”
Maybe she doesn’t believe you. Took the wrong message. Thinks she has to earn your love. Maybe. Right now you don’t really care. Just a sad, pathetic child who wants to stuff her face.
Focus. There will be more food at the Center if you can wait.
You slowly bend your face muscles into a smile while you take out Pix’s harness. Calm your breathing. All you have to do for now.
The rain will wash away the tears.
Electric 2.5: Life Goes On
Cuicatl Ichtaca
[-15:03:11]
The air feels like rain again. You’d hoped that being in the States would bring a real winter and summer and not just wet and dry seasons. Of course, you weren’t so lucky.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but pokémon aren’t allowed in the library.”
You stop and turn towards the voice. An employee? You gesture towards your cataracts. “I need her to get around.”
The wind picks up. For the time being it doesn’t carry water with it. The woman is silent far longer than she needs to be. “Do you have her service pokémon documents on you?” She sounds unimpressed. Almost aggressive. Coco would’ve growled at her already. Pix is probably considering it.
You don’t have the papers. They don’t exist. “She’s not registered.” You plow through to keep Pix from taking it personally. “But she’s smart. Won’t cause trouble.” Last bit might be a lie. She’s been behaving well recently. Well enough to gamble on.
“I’m sorry but we only allow registered service pokémon. An assistant can help you around if you need it.”
Right. Because being jerked around by a stranger with no training is better than letting your (somewhat) trusted helper do it. Your heart rate’s up and your shoulders are tensed. Pix flicks a tail to your ankle. Probably asking if she should fight. You make an effort to relax your shoulders and take a deep breath. You don’t win this fight. This woman has the power and she’s made up her mind. Experience tells you that all the facts and logic in the world won’t change that. “Fine,” you concede with a huff. “You good going in your ball, Pix?”
“Yes.”
You withdraw her and clip the ball to the second spot in your belt. Before you take your cane out you slide your hands back down to your skirt’s pockets (making your own clothing has its advantages). “Well, now what?”
She hesitates. Figures she didn’t have an actual procedure. Just saw a rule she could enforce on some kid and decided to be cruel. You could take out your cane and save her but a little bit of your own cruelty bubbles up and you let her solve the problem she made. “One second,” she finally says. “Let me get someone to help you.”
It takes a lot longer than a second. By the time it starts to drizzle you’re starting to doubt that she’s coming back at all. When it starts to pour, you’re certain that she isn’t. With a sigh you pull out your cane and walk into the building itself. You consider letting Pix out and walking in anyway. If the same woman is still there you doubt she’d complain again.
She doesn’t speak up when you step inside. You’d half expected that she’d just darted through the door and spent a half hour staring at you through the glass. “Excuse me,” another woman calls out. “Can I help you?”
There’s no way to be sure she’s talking to you. She probably is. You nod and turn in the voice’s direction. “Yes. Where are the computers?” In an ideal world you’d ask for journals and in-depth guides in Nahuatl braille. Or at least American Braille. You doubt such things even exist.
“Certainly. They’re just down… actually, let me take you there.” You hear her approach and you feel her slip her hand into yours before she immediately starts moving. Not the best way to do it. It makes keeping pace awful. And you would have liked it if she asked you first. Or given you time to collapse the cane. Still, you do eventually find yourself in front of a computer. Then she power walks away before you can figure out how to log in, turn the screen reader on, access the internet… anything.
After many days and even more arguments on the trail you’d wanted time alone. At least time away from other people. And you need to have a talk with Pix. So far you’ve managed to bring Kekoa around in two talks and tag-teamed Genesis in three. Hopefully this one’s as easy. But you need information. Everything you can get on vulpix thought. Make some guesses on how she sees the world. That brought you here. You’re still no closer to the information.
Even if you wanted to call Genesis or Kekoa there’s another obstacle. You’d have to talk in the library. You really aren’t supposed to do that. Sure, you could find a bathroom or a door outside. But because Pix isn’t here you’d have to ask someone. Talk to someone. Aloud.
You slump forward in the seat and cross your arms, letting the cane clack to the floor.
Why does this always happen?
July 2019
The gate creaks shut beneath you and you take a few steps forward. Your cane is out because Achcauhtli won’t coddle you when you don’t need it. No, not won’t. Can’t.
Your mind is half gone and even the remaining half feels so empty these days. There’s nothing to say. Your godmother has taken over your chores for the time being. It’s more kindness than you deserve but it also deprives you of a simple, routine task to get lost in.
Maybe you do deserve it, then.
You hadn’t told anyone about your brother’s headache and neck pains. His meningitis. If you’d forced him to seek care right then he wouldn’t have died. You’re sure of it.
You killed him.
You still haven’t fully grasped what that means.
Maybe you never will.
With more care than your body deserves you lower it to the ground. Silence. Nothing approaches. Alice had been hanging around the house for a few days but apparently ellas needed to eat. Searah’s probably exhausted all the ants in the area after staying put for so long. Renfield’s mourning and you can’t judge him for wanting distance. And Spike…
“Hey, Spike.”
Spike doesn’t answer. He wrapped you in a vine when you told him. It was the most affection he’d ever shown you. Or your mother, from what memories of hers you have. Seems he’s back to normal now.
Great. Just great.
The wind is surprisingly chilly for the height of the summer. You take your arms out of your poncho to hug yourself underneath it. The sleeves whip around uselessly in the wind. There’s homework to do. You should go inside. Should. You won’t. You were failing anyway. Again. And he can’t read your books to you anymore. What’s even the point?
If you ran off right now who would care? You could take Searah, Alice, and Renfield with you. Live in the woods. Escape cactus spikes and worksheets for good. Your godmother would understand. Father would have to step up around the house. Surely he could handle it. Someone had to be cooking and cleaning before you were old enough to do it.
When Alice comes, back you’ll go.
There’s nothing here for you anymore. Nothing but ghosts.
You’ve seen enough American films to know about their vengeful ghosts that haunt the living. Try to solve their own murders. All that stuff. It’s not like there aren’t ghosts in Anahuac but they’re… different. Forgetful. Destructive. Apocalyptic, even. You really want to believe in the American ghosts right now. He’d come back and torment you for killing him but at least he would be around. And if he punished you then you wouldn’t need to do it yourself. It would be perfectly just.
The back door creaks opens and you hug yourself a little tighter. Speaking of punishments. Father’s heavy footsteps come closer until he settles down beside you, probably staring off at… whatever’s in the distance.
“He was supposed to do so much more,” he says with terrible resignation. You let the words wash over you and turn your head in his direction. It sounded like he had more to say. Maybe he doesn’t. You certainly don’t. “He had Danielle’s powers and pokémon. He could have taken so many captives. Brought honor and resources to the village that I never could have.” You can almost feel the frown. “But he never took to the pokémon.”
You shake your head. “He did. Searah and Renfield saw him as a brother. He even talked sense into ‘chovsky once in a while.” All those years and you never figured out how. Knowing the swanna you never will. “He just cared about humans, too.” You leave the ‘I didn’t’ unspoken.
“Hmm. Doesn’t matter anymore.” The wind picks up a bit more. This time you slip your arms back through the sleeves. Can’t look like a child in front of Father. “And you… I had a plan for you.” A hint of passion bleeds through despair. “Achcauhtli would gain money and status. You could care for his home and pokémon. But now,” he takes a deep breath. You get a twinge of pain through your powers for some reason. “Now that won’t work.” And the passion is drowned as quickly as it came. “I had to find a new plan. You aren’t smart. Or strong. You would get captured on the battlefield in seconds. Your gifts could make you appealing to a noble family, but they would not want your deformities in their bloodline.”
And there you were thinking you would escape punishment today. At least this is only verbal. Even if words can hurt more than cactus spines or chili fumes. “You are decent at housework but unattractive. And high-class men want smart wives. Good marriage would be difficult.” You get it. You’re a total failure. “But… between Danielle’s gift and your blindness you might be able to convince a temple that you’re close to the gods.” He doesn’t scoff. That’s left to your imagination. “That would require sending you to a school for your kind so that you might learn something. Then tutoring on manners and religion before you could ever apply to an apprenticeship.”
You like to think that you’re good at astrology. Can’t say you’re an expert on the entire religion. More importantly… “Can I bring Searah and Renfield with me?” Alice is far too big an ask. But Renfield could help you mask your powers by having a translator pokémon and Searah’s not too high maintenance.
“No.” Before you can argue he cuts you off. “They would only distract you. Besides, I needed money for the school’s tuition.” No. He can’t— “I sold Nari’s pokémon this morning.”
You—
He—
You—
You never got to say goodbye.
Again.
“You’ll depart to Tenochtitlan tomorrow at—” You swing a fist at his face. And miss, falling to the ground in the process. He stands up in an instant and pins your back to the ground with his boot. “Cuicatl. Ichtaca.” Disappointment drips from his lips like venom from a snake’s fangs. “Your one virtue was obedience.” He presses down harder and you can feel the pressure on your spine and the metal tip on your back. “Danielle’s pokémon were never yours. They were mine. I did this to help you.”
You scream. He’ll have to back off if
No.
Alice isn’t coming.
Achcauhtli can’t drag him off if he goes too far.
But you scream anyw—something hard strikes you on the cheek. Your jaw snaps down on your tongue. Not hard enough to break clean through but enough to hurt and bleed. He takes a few steps away as you spit out blood.
“You will apologize,” Father finally says as you start to pull yourself together. You will not. Not to him. Not after what he did. The pressure reappears on your back. “You will apologize now.” No.
“Was it for tuition or Patolli debts?” you hiss. Blood sputters out of your mouth with the saliva.
“You will apologize for that remark, too.’ He presses harder. Much harder. Your chest, such that it is, presses painfully against the ground. It’s. It’s fine. You’ve dealt with worse. He presses the metal tip of his boot down and steps off. He starts walking away and the door opens. “I’m almost glad Danielle died when she did,” Father says. “She would’ve hated to see what became of her daughter.”
The door slams shut and you slowly press yourself up to all fours. A simple flex of your spine brings pain but shows that nothing’s broken. A quick stroke of your tongue shows the same for your mouth. No. Not quite. You spit out a shard of tooth. It was at the back. No one will notice. Doesn’t hurt when your tongue touches it.
Good. You’re running away. You’ll find your way to America and make good, valuable dollars. Then you’ll buy back at least Alice, Renfield, and Searah.
Before that… Father is stronger than you but he must sleep. Even you could smother him and run away in the dark.
No.
It would be killing your own blood; the Eagle Warriors would hunt you down. And. And. No. You don’t deserve to. You already killed his son and wife. He did everything he could for Achcauhtli and the village. Thought he was doing everything he could for you. He does care for you. Loves you. And Mom loved him. Gods, you killed your mother’s son. If she ever would have liked you she hates you now. If you killed Father, too…
You bow your head in shame for ever considering it. If anything you owe enough to your mother and brother that you need to come back to him once this wrong is righted.
You can face Father again with a hydreigon at your side.
[-15:02:28]
You know that you’re slipping to a bad place. Maybe as bad as the day by the water in Hau’oli. Miss Bell pulled you out then. She’s not here to do that again. Should you call her later? She hasn’t messaged you since you saw her between missions. No leads on Alice, apparently. Not that you could even act on any right now. Cheapest you’ve seen one auctioned for was $781,500. Then you’d need a little more money for Searah and Renfield. Neither species seems that expensive but if their new owner realizes you’re attached they might drive the price way up.
Nothing is happening in here. You should go outside. You bought an audiobook rental account earlier. So long as you don’t buy the books it’s cheap to read them for a few days. Plus, you can make notes on the big stuff. At the very least you can sit outside under the overhang and listen. It’s probably not the most up-to-date stuff but it will do.
Your phone buzzes. “Voice Message from Vana Iosua (Plant Girl). Read it: Yes or No?”
You don’t know why she’s so interested in talking to you. Aside from Spike, who wasn’t a typical plant, you don’t have much experience with grass-types. Even your cooking advice doesn’t always translate well to sighted people. But you should reply. It would be rude not to. And you can’t do that in the library. Once your cane is in your grasp you extend it and start trying to map out your earlier steps.
After accidentally hitting your cane against a wall enough times someone comes to help you out.
[-14:22:59]
You have to pee.
Truth be told you’ve had to be for over an hour, but now you’re at a chapter break and someone just disturbed you by going out the door so it’s time to take care of that. You put your phone back into your bag, stand up and whoa. You stand stock still as the wave of vertigo washes over you. When it leaves your legs are still weak. How long has it been since you ate a proper meal? You didn’t eat breakfast and dinner was early yesterday so… a long time. Pokémon Center’s lunch is closed. You can either wait a few hours or eat out.
The latter takes money. And it’ll have so many calories. Even if you give Pixie some it’ll still make you fatter. Focus. Pee. Now. You slowly pivot and reenter the library.
[-14:22:41]
It’s only misting outside. Pixie still wouldn’t like being out in it. Her fur would get wet and even if she held on for your sake she would be upset. You could send Coco out but she’s not good on a leash. Runs into your cane a lot. Sometimes tries to jerk you around even though you’re much bigger (for now). Makes navigation hard. You elected not to eat out. No. Not quite. You elected to let fate decide. If there’s something on the way to the park that smells too good to resist, well, then you can stuff your face and regret it later.
You have to ask for directions a few times on the way but you steadily get closer to your destination. Supposedly a bunch of Japanese people came to live in Malie. They built a park themed around Johto. You’ve never been to Asia. Probably never will. This might be as close as you ever get and you might as well enjoy it. Even if you can’t really appreciate the theming.
When you’re maybe a block or two away your stomach finally makes you do something stupid. Something smells like dough. Kind of fresh dough. And fruit. Maybe meat? A sweetness to it. A lot of scents mixed together but it’s not unpleasant. Smells close. You pull out Pixie’s ball and let her out. The fox shakes herself off, hisses, and shoots out a wave of cold. Probably trying to freeze the water droplets in the air. Good girl. You bend down a little bit to get her attention. “Can you take me to the food?”
Food isn’t far. Close enough that she just opts to tell you where to go and trail behind. “A few steps forward. A few more. Thought your legs were longer.”
“Thanks for rubbing it in, Pix.”
“Hmm?”
You force a smile and shake imaginary dirt off your top. “Nothing. How much further?”
When the food truck approaches you can vaguely sense it. Something ahead of you to the right. Hard to say how you know it’s there but you do. Echoes, maybe? Like a dolphin. Once you get close you slow down and start drifting towards the edge of the sidewalk.
The window opens up and a man’s voice comes out. “Hello. Do you want to order?”
With another forced smile you turn towards him and brush a few stray locks of hair out of your face. “Yes. What do you sell?”
“Crêpes.”
Your power can’t translate it. That’s just the name of the thing. At least, there’s not a Nahuatl word for it that you know. The meaning in his mind can’t match one in yours. Whatever they are they smell good. “What do you recommend?” You don’t want him to read the entire menu to you. It’s a little embarrassing and you’re out in the mist with an impatient fox.
“Sweet or savory?”
Hmm. Ordinarily you’d be mad that you asked for an opinion and you got a question. You’re exhausted and thinking about food just wears you down more. But this is a decent question. Savory probably has more calories. More cost. Closer to a real meal. Sweet is immature. Childish. Irresponsible. It’ll last for an hour or two at most.
“Sweet,” your stomach says before your brain can make a decision.
“Rawst, then.”
He gives a price. Higher than you’d like. Of course, you don’t even know how much food you’re getting. You don’t want to ask. You might just walk away altogether. And you can afford it, even if it isn’t wise. There’s someone in line behind you and they don’t object to the price so it’s probably what’s on the menu. You almost want to haggle it even if you know Americans hate it. In the end you just turn over a few bills and get some coins back in return.
After a few minutes of waiting you finally get your order. It’s big but thin. Kind of light. Still a reasonable price by American standards. You pivot and step further back onto the sidewalk. Pix follows by your side, a tail flick marking her location. “You smell grass? Trees?” She yips. “Can you lead me there?”
She wordlessly passes by you, making sure to rub against your leg so that you know where she is. She occasionally grunts as you walk behind her, sweeping with your cane with one hand and trying to balance a kind of unwieldy crêpe in the other. You don’t really know if it’s sloppy or not but so far the shape seems to have held. By the time the faint whiff of gasoline and dull roar of humanity starts to get replaced by wet grass and birdsong your stomach’s started to growl again. “Food is here,” it says. “Human is in eating mood. Must remind her she is hungry.” Bad stomach. You already knew all of that.
Once you’re into the park for real and feel the pavement shift from asphalt to gravel under your sandals you give Pix new orders: “Can you find a shelter? Some place to sit out of the rain.” You’re pretty sure she knows what a shelter is. Can’t hurt to clarify. A puff of cool air hits your ankles and you can faintly hear her moving through the grass. The rain starts to pick up a little and you hear an angry yap in front of you when the first real raindrop hits Pix. You retract your cane and step off the path. The blades of grass reach through the sandals to tickle your feet and you know that you’re going to have to wash off all the clippings stuck in your shoes later but for now you welcome it. Soft. Good length. Not like the dry, long grass by Blush Mountain. Once your shoes hit concrete again you almost trip. The shelter has a floor about two centimeters off the ground. Thankfully you don’t faceplant. The crêpe doesn’t even fall from your hands. You extend the cane again and find your way to a picnic table. Above you the rain picks up some more but strikes the roof instead of you.
When your cane strikes something hard you feel it out and discover a picnic table. You gently lower yourself down to sit and hear Pix jump—twice—to get on top of the table. Your free hand slaps down beside you. “Pix, please sit here.” She complies with a meaningless grumble.
Crêpe time. You unwrap the aluminum foil and feel around the edges. Doesn’t seem like too much got out. Just a little… cream? You bring the tip of your finger to your mouth and taste it. Probably. Sweet. A little thick. Further fingertip inspection shows that it’s a tortilla folded on itself with some filing in the middle. You gently hold it level and bring it up to bite.
It’s good. The cream(?) flows just enough that what you bit off flows a little inside your mouth while staying in the part of the tortilla you didn’t eat. Kind of cold. Contrasts with the warm tortilla. Another bite brings the rawst berries in. Sweetened. Probably in a syrup of some kind. Do they even grow rawst here? It changes the texture. Not in a bad way.
The filling and berries are sweet but feel like they have substance. Easy to eat. You smile despite yourself. You need to learn how to make these. What culture is it from anyway? Asia? Ugh. You’ve done a lot of cooking but almost all of it was traditional. A few things from your mother’s memories. Sometimes. Father never seemed to like that.
Father. Mother. The cream turns sour in your mouth and your smile fades. So little of the crêpe left. You let yourself go. Enjoy sweets like you have any right to after what you’ve done. You put the rest down next to Pix and stew in your feelings while she devours it. How dare you? Your brother is dead by your hand and you let yourself act like nothing happened.
Father is cruel. Blunt. Not always the best at business. Loses much on his games and keeps playing anyway. But he wasn’t wrong about you.
There’s a content mewling beside you before Pixie stretches out, her front paws pressing into the side of your leg before she curls up and her tail casually rests on you. “Where’s Eggbreath?”
Right. It’s not about you. There’s a call from deep inside to just be quiet and take the punishment. Throw up as penance. Whatever must be done. Maybe you will. Not now. You had a purpose.
“She’s in her ball. I wanted to talk to you without your sister.”
Her tail is very pointedly moved off your lap. “Not my sister,” she growls.
You shrug. Just keep raising it. Eventually she’ll stop arguing. Maybe even accept it. Doesn’t have to be now. “I still want to talk.” No verbal answer. No flick of the tail. She’s waiting on you to speak. Why can’t you pull words from the pit in your stomach? Just. Try. You had a prepared speech and everything. Deep breath. You’ve got this. Just get through this and then you can fall apart. “Two moons ago I asked you what you wanted and if I could help.” A pause for dramatic effect. You really wish you could gauge her reaction. “I want to ask it again. What do you want?”
She doesn’t answer for a long time. It takes everything you have to not spiral deeper in the silence.
“Everyone leaves,” she finally says. “Parents. Humans. Everyone. You’ll leave.”
That’s a lot more than you were expecting. You’d been prepared, well, you’d been planning to slowly drag the truth from her. Didn’t think she’d be that self-aware.
“And what do you want from me?”
You hear her shift next to you. Still doesn’t touch you. “You’ll leave.”
Didn’t answer your question. Doubt you’ll get an answer if you ask again. Okay. Different track.
“If I say I won’t you’ll say that I’m lying, right?” She doesn’t answer. That’s a yes. “I get it. Words don’t mean much. Someone else tell you that they wouldn’t leave you and they did?”
“Yes.”
Thought as much. One human lies about one thing, all humans lie about everything. It’s a lonely thought but not all wrong.
“Well,” you take a deep breath and prepare to rip open some wounds for her sake. “I already left Ce for you. Hated doing that. Tolerated a lot of nighttime screams. Let you move my cane over and over again. Watched you goad your sister into misbehaving a lot. And you told Ce to sleep on my face one night, right?” And, you, Pixie, are ugly, stupid, helpless, unmarriable, and a kin-killer. You swallow the thought and press on. You have to you’re just like him. “A-and you know what? I haven’t left you. Didn’t go through all of that to leave you now.”
No. That wasn’t right. It’s still wrong. Tearing her down and saying that you’ll sink down and stay with her. There’s another part. One that your family never quite taught you. Deep breath. Stop crying. You can do this.
“And I still love you, okay? You’re very soft and pretty and you have a lot of personality. Just…” Fine. You can’t stop yourself from crying. You at least turn away so she can’t see the tears. “But this isn’t working for either of us and we need to talk about where we go from here.”
You’ll cry but you won’t sob. This is about her, not you.
“Damn it, Pix, say something.”
A paw presses into your leg. “You’re sad?”
Say something that isn’t about that, damn it.
“I… yes. Sometimes.” There are good hours. Days, even. Maybe. Right now you can’t remember what they feel like or if they ever existed at all. “It’s not important.”
Another paw joins the first. “Because of me?”
“No. I-I killed my brother and I don’t…” know how to feel. A lie. You do. You’re feeling it right now and you very well should.
“Were there seven?”
“What?”
The paws withdraw and you can faintly feel her weight shift through the bench. Standing up? “There were seven. Six would be kept. You killed one.” She says it like it’s simple. Justifiable, even. Common sense.
“Is that… what happens when there are three vulpix?”
“I should have.”
She’s deadly serious. What the fuck? “when there are three, even two pokémon, you try and…” You struggle to say the words that you know finishes the sentence. …kill them.
Pixie figures it out anyway. “Sometimes.” Gods above, what do you even say to that? “I don’t like being left alone,” she says with a low, almost inaudible hiss. Shame, maybe. Or weakness. Rolling over and letting you take a shot at her organs. Metaphorically. “Then why’d you kill your brother?”
And there she returns the shot in kind. A bullet straight to the heart.
“I…” You have to do this now. If you don’t she might get scared and leave on her own. Doesn’t make it easier. “He was sick. I knew he was sick. Didn’t think it was bad. He asked me not to tell. I went hunting. When I came back he was dead.”
The rain continues to pound on the roof. Condemnation. The heavens themselves judging you for what you did.
“You didn’t kill him?”
Your scowl deepens and you growl from years of dragon bonding instincts. “If I’d told someone he could have been treated with… potions and stuff. Wouldn’t have died.”
She shakes herself off and starts pacing on the narrow bench, the sounds of little footsteps barely audible over the pounding of the rain and your heart. “Did you poison him?”
“No.” Gods, no. You never could have.
“Hurt him? The wound got infected?”
As if you could even hurt him if you wanted to. “No.”
“Then you didn’t kill him?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Humans,” the word is loaded with disdain. “Mistakes happen. Weavile attack. Sisters die. Life goes on.”
Cold. Brutal. Draconic, even.
And you thought you were a predator.
Her pacing stops and she walks back towards you. “Is that why you were kicked off your mountain?”
“It’s related to that.” You don’t dare explain your mission to her. Not now. You’ll need more than three teammates and you don’t know how you could convince her if she knew. Before she asks for more information you need to move on. “Details don’t matter. I’m going to stay with you, Pix. Promise. But I need you to at least try to be nice to other pokémon. Don’t give me too much stress. A few games and pranks are fine but, this,” you spread our your arms. Not really sure what this shows to her. “This needs to stop.”
That didn’t go at all how you planned it to. This was supposed to be a negotiation, not an ultimatum.
She’s silent for long enough that you begin to think you’ve pushed her too far and made a terrible mistake. You love Coco. As long as she’s toothless your team can’t do anything. Both can be true.
“No eevee. No ice-types.”
Nothing that could replace her.
“Deal.” You lower a hand to her and she tepidly sniffs it before slowly raising a paw onto your fingers.
Your stomach roars and ruins the moment. She slips her paw off and backs away. Above you the rain’s a little bit weaker. You could probably walk in it if you had to. And you have to. Eat now or you’ll keep spiraling for at least another twelve hours. “You don’t have to walk in this weather if you don’t want to. That’s my part of the deal. I won’t make you fight or work unless you agree.”
“I’m walking you.”
Maybe she doesn’t believe you. Took the wrong message. Thinks she has to earn your love. Maybe. Right now you don’t really care. Just a sad, pathetic child who wants to stuff her face.
Focus. There will be more food at the Center if you can wait.
You slowly bend your face muscles into a smile while you take out Pix’s harness. Calm your breathing. All you have to do for now.
The rain will wash away the tears.
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