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HEY BITCH WHAT'S POPPIN'???? I read everything else that I didn't read before. However, I made some nitpicky line edits on my work laptop and now that I'm home, they're not showing up 🤡 Sooooo I'll post those tomorrow LOL
Also I am moderately stoned so if any part of this is incoherent I'm sorry and I will edit it tomorrow
Alright Bar Exam. I'll start with the obvious: Drake is a cunt. But we knew that!
I do kind of feel bad for him in this instance, though. He is so brainwashed it almost hurts to read. The way he has to convince himself that Athos won't kill him if he comes clean about becoming Marcel's informant. To give him credit, his ideas for spinning it as a positive weren't actually all that bad, and honestly kind of clever. But, based on what I know about Athos and what I've read, I know damn well bro is still gonna take it as a slight. Drake compromised us; into the tank with his ass! Drake is so deep into his trauma he doesn't even realize that he has trauma. I want to feel bad but also god he is such a fucking snot.
Knowing what I know about him, too, makes him getting drunk at a bar like he's some 40yo hardened biker just makes me laugh my ass off. He's such a tryhard of a fetus, I hate him
As is everything with you, I knew not to expect that he was going to have any semblance of downtime. You and your whump. And you delivered here; I can tell you had a good time with this. You have a way of describing the nitty gritty in a way that feels visceral. The feeling of the wind being knocked out of you, the feeling of getting smacked so hard you see stars. I felt that shit. For once I don't think bro really deserved it, but I felt it.
I almost went the whole story sympathizing with him, then bro goes on and DRIVES HOME DRUNK. That's the real crime of this chapter. Bad Drake. Marcel would have let him get gutted if he knew, smh my head
Real talk doe, yeah I'm impressed he made it home. Concussion and drunk? Bro is just a Florida driver.
I love when Athos is tender. Really brings out the "I can fix him." I also just love a deplorable asshole who actually cares; so my type.
Speaking of my type: Marcel is so hot. Can he talk to me like he talked to Ira???? /srs
I loved getting to see more of his internal thoughts; this was a great and welcome deviation from the fuckheadery of Drake. I particularly enjoyed getting to see both sides of him here. Acknowledging that Ira is awful but conceding that he didn't need to be tortured really fit my understanding as a big ol' law-abiding goody goody. Then I watched finesse the FUCK out of Drake like an absolute little shit. That just made him infinitely more hot, like oh my god. Bro could be a menace if he wanted to, mmmmmmmmm
I knew it was definitely not going to go as planned, but man, you really handed Marcel's ass to him. Choke on sand, THEN get shot in the chest???? Can you give a bitch a break??? Or a nice hot girlfriend to take care of him in his time of need
I know that's asking a lot of you. Suffice to say that it was also quite good whump. My notes remain. Also REALLY enjoyed the parallel of Drake saving Marcel's ass that time around; love this forbidden trade they have going on here.
I need to preface my thoughts on the beach episode with a tale of dumbassery: I somehow completely glazed over the video you linked, so I went the entire story thinking Drake was walking on like Hollywood Beach, with the waves kinda tickling his feet, and then suddenly a slightly bigger wave rolls in and knocks Drake over a little bit and suddenly he's literally dying. Like I was picturing them having this deep, near-death struggle in like less than a foot of water, on unmoving sand, and was like "what the fuck is going on in here on this day"
Then I saw the video and actually remembered what undertows are capable of and it suddenly made sense. Yeah if Drake can't swim AND has an innate fear of water (thanks Athos!), the way everything played out definitely makes more sense. Woops.
I will say, however, the first few descriptions of the waves kinda made it seem like the waves were pretty calm for the most part (like barely touching his boot and whatnot), so the sudden switch kinda caught me off guard. I feel like if a wave that intense is rolling in, its been building up for a bit, so I'd maybe try to be a little clearer that shit was swelling up and Drake was just like "well that sign can't stop me cuz i can't read"
I particularly enjoyed this snippet. I love the concept that Drake has already started to break away from the Swords and is being a little more domestic with Marcel but he's STILL acting like a fuck. I also enjoy that it didn't really end on a particularly good note. Not a horrible one per se, but one that definitely doesn't feel great. There wasn't really a resolution, just a kind of mutual defeat. It kinda makes it clear that Drake still has a lot of growing to do, even if he has started to break away from his bad influences. Tasty shit.
As for the last two shorties, I actually did read these--I believe you sent them over in a Google doc a while back. I still love them as much as I did when I read them back then. Athos is a psycho, yes, but the real villains of this fic are Drake's parents. Drake FOR SURE has some unchecked ADHD, borderline personality disorder, or at the very least, ODD, and instead of putting him in fucking therapy and trying to get to the root of his bullshit, they just ABANDON HIM. I mean, yeah, he was a dickhead even back then, but he was 11. He needed professional help then, and now he DEFINITELY needs help now. That neurospiciness is OUT👏OF👏CONTROL👏 and I do understand why he ended up where he did.
Like I said, I have line edits that aren't transferring over and any very very nitpicky crit I had is in there--it's mostly just wonky sentences and typos, tbh.
Keeping alert, Marcel carefully made his way down the dune. He trusted Scorch fully, but if someone was here, they could be hidden. Moving slowly, he slid down the dune and crossed to the ruins.
No no no- Scrambling madly he fumbled for his now submerged pokeballs. Scorch shrieked overhead. Thick sand sucked at him, pulling him deeper, the weight pressing in on his hands, around his pokeballs. They wouldn't work underground as a failsafe—he had to get to them or his team would be trapped and he would be trapped, alone.
He grabbed two pokeballs, heaving to pull his arms free, sand oozing up to his stomach, nearing his chest. With each breath, the sand sucked tighter around him. He yanked his arms free with a panicked grunt and threw the balls as far as he could manage. Loaf and Coda emerged, yards away at the edge of the pit, crying out in distress when they saw him.
Curiosity drew him ever forward, compelled to get a better look. He spotted a large sign just off to the side, text all in bold font and painted bright yellow and black. Shoving his chilly hands in his pockets, he ambled towards it, leaning closer and squinting.
He rolled his eyes after skimming the sign. Something about 'waves' and 'undertow' and DANGER except the water was clearly pretty tame this morning. Besides, he wanted to get a closer look. With a final glance behind him to see that Marcel was nowhere to be seen, he started forward again, towards the water.
Wait, how can he see the guy who's perched on his back while he's pinned to the ground face-down? Unsure if I'm picturing this weirdly or what.
Jolteon hissed. Its hackles rose and he could see it prepping another charge of electricity. Drake tensed reflexively, heart racing. It took another step towards him, fury in its gaze over its master being insulted. One step too close. On a wild impulse, Drake threw himself forward and kicked the Jolteon as hard as he could, sending it rolling across the cave floor before it could attack.
Ira leapt after his Jolteon, dropping to his knees by its side where it’d stopped. Drake’s breath caught in his throat. A slew of curses ran through his head. He’d bought himself a tiny reprieve, but at what cost? The blow wouldn’t actually hurt a pokemon, they were way too tough for any actual damage. All he’d done was incur Ira’s wrath.
A moment later the Jolteon’s eyes flicked open. It blinked once, then twice, and turned its gaze upon him. Ira held up a hand, and Jolteon relaxed slightly. Slowly, Ira rose and turned, cold eyes devoid of all his earlier amusement.
Really enjoy Ira, this fucked-up torturer, obviously loving his Pokémon, leaping to make sure it's not hurt, determined to get even nastier revenge afterwards. Bad people who still experience love and show the sorts of emotions we associate with heroes? Mmmm, give it to me.
The only thing Drake saw was the glint of the Zangoose’s claws. Then they were embedded in his left shoulder. He stared dumbly at the Zangoose, its claws, and the red splotch growing under his jacket. Sparks gathered around Zangoose’s paw. Somewhere in the haze of thoughts running through his mind, he remembered Zangoose could also learn Thunderbolt.
Absolutely loving the parallel you're doing with the rules of the streets that the human gangs live by and the rules of the desert Salandit lives by. 10/10, no notes.
Drake pressed his ear to the door and closed his eyes, listening. Nothing. Moving delicately, he crept over to the desk and slid the drawers open. Maybe they held a clue as to who'd rescued him... Or something he could snag on his way out. No sense returning home empty handed.
I enjoy how Drake casually thinks of how whoever saved him as having some decency because they didn't rob him... but also thinks they're a dummy for that, and one of his first thoughts is to rob the person who saved him, even before he learns they're a cop. It's a dog-eat-dog world and while it is kinda scummy to rob people, it's just what you do. Not a single hesitation in his mind.
Either this guy was super into minimalist loser or he was a terrible interior decorator.
It feels like there's something off with this sentence - super into minimalist loser?
This first chapter had exactly what I wanted from this: good character establishment for Drake, establishing of the layer of Situations he finds himself in, and of course lots of whump. I enjoyed the variety of different whump you got in here without it becoming contrived in the setting; there's tension and fear, physical bullying, getting beaten up by a rival gang, 'drugging' with Spore, two different varieties of electric torture, stumbling around bleeding, collapsing and delirium, imperfect magical healing, and parental figure abuse. Glorious! Indulge in that whump!
But there is more going on here too. Drake's relationship with Athos is deliciously fucked-up; the way that the sound of Athos's voice sends both relief and fear through him says a lot immediately upon his introduction. Calling the gang a family is insidious; he makes himself a father figure to all these troubled kids to control them better, make them fear disappointing him not just for his wrath but for their own perception that they're failing their own family. Athos alternately praising Drake, calling him son, and physically abusing him, all while Drake is convinced anything Athos does to him is his own fault, is truly painful. Immediately there's a strong sense of the toxicity of this dynamic, and we want Drake to get away from here, while we also know that he would only be dragged away from there kicking and screaming. It's uncomfortable in just the right way.
The way Athos tells Drake he did a good job with the stuff he stole and yet he still punishes him, just as a matter of principle - not even with some cursory slap, but by choking him, throwing him across the room, socking him in the jaw, kicking him, just an absolutely brutal unhinged beating - is so nasty; there's just no way for Drake to win here, no way to make up for the failure of having the bad luck to encounter a Crimson Zangoose and then be rescued by a cop while unconscious, even though he stood up under torture and collected new loot to compensate for what was lost. Man.
But also, I thought the Salandit POV was delightful! I don't think I was expecting that here, but it's xenofictiony while also building a distinct parallel to Drake and I love that. Salandit is used to having his food taken by Salazzle and hangs out in this cave to get away from all that, doesn't want to be concerned with humans and views the whole thing with a certain detachment, but can't help but empathize with this kid who's being tortured, think of how some humans were as mean as a Salazzle. Admiring Drake's defiance when he's losing the fight is great; he's used to getting out of a fight at all costs, and Drake's bluster is counterproductive but Salandit just sees a kind of bravery that he's always wished he had as a small Pokémon relentlessly bullied by others. His 'laws of the desert' echoing Drake's 'laws of the street' are a cherry on top.
(Also, I enjoy that Salandit knows the word stalagmite but Drake doesn't.)
All in all, I enjoyed reading this a lot. Marcel remains offscreen, but even then his presence is tangible in the kindness of not just taking Drake to a hospital but personally tending to him a bit, hanging up his jacket where he'll find it, etc. I'm looking forward to meeting him properly and how that will play out - obviously I doubt Marcel's actually getting him away from Athos any time soon, but I'm betting he's going to try.
The pokeball on his ankle clip twitched, and then burst open. The light faded and his Dachsbun, Loaf, appeared at his side, tense and ready to spring into action. Marcel leaned down to pat Loaf on the head. All his standard issue pokeballs were equipped with an emotion sensor, in case of danger and Loaf had always been the first to respond.
Loaf shot him a pointed look, and Marcel nodded, making a beeline for the bedroom and to his safe. With a sinking heart, he opened it to find it empty. All Marcel could manage was a long sigh as he slumped to the ground in front of it. His heart lurched and for a moment, he feared everything had been stolen, before he spotted the single photograph haphazardly jammed in the back.
With a sigh of relief, he slid it out. His heart twisted as it always did when he looked at it. It showed two grinning officers in training gear, arms around each other’s shoulders and an Alolan beach behind them. The picture had been taken a few years ago, at a training camp he’d attended with his partner. Swallowing, he put the photo back in the empty safe and shut it.
After thanking Coda again, she returned to her ball to rest, as did Loaf, leaving Marcel alone for the moment. Shaking his head, he sighed deeply, then looked around until he located his cuffs. How had the thief escaped them? He examined them closer, noting the tiny cuts around the lock. Picked? Marcel frowned. He’d searched the thief fairly thoroughly and checked all his pockets and his ankles and boots. Where had he hidden a pick?
Enjoy the dramatic irony of the shifting POVs in this story - lots that we know but Marcel doesn't, by now.
As he flopped onto his worn couch, which he’d gotten at a discount to avoid the hassle and fees of cross-region furniture transport, a beep from his phone drew his attention. He withdrew it to see Porygon bouncing excitedly between the 4 corners of the screen. “I got something!” It buzzed.
I just enjoy the portrayal of Porygon here as an actual virtual buddy living within the digital world of the phone. Bouncing between the corners of the screen is just a cute image.
I wasn't expecting Marcel POV here, but it was fun to get a different perspective - the dramatic irony of knowing a lot more about Drake than Marcel does, and just a different perspective on the world of Orre as you're portraying it here. I'm guessing Marcel's old partner Leo died tragically back in Paldea and that's possibly why he wound up in Orre (unless we got some indication otherwise somewhere in there, apologies if I miss anything because I my reading gets interrupted by Caterpie a lot). Definitely material for more angst on his side in the future (or a flashback chapter?).
This was obviously a much less whump-heavy chapter than the previous, but you still got some in here with Drake slashing Marcel with the poisoned blade. Poisoning for everyone! It's ambiguous where Salandit was during the arrest, but one way or another he's loyal enough to make sure to come save him from sticky situations, which is sweet. Also a fun detail how the poison on the blade is specifically nonlethal; Drake doesn't want to kill his enemies, no matter how tough of a facade he puts on.
I was sort of surprised Drake ended up accepting the deal, but I imagine he's planning to use it to stab Marcel in the back or mislead him rather than actually betray Athos, isn't he. There will be many more Situations resulting from this, I'm sure.
One thing I enjoyed a lot here was Marcel's Pokémon. They have cute names, for one (Loaf), but I'm also just enjoying how they're portrayed - coming out of the ball to help when Marcel is in distress, Scorch responding to discreet hand signals, waking up after being poisoned to his team close by, Loaf on his lap and Coda draping around his neck. They feel very tactile and present here and that's just fun to see. Knowing Coda would be pretty mad about having healed Drake only for him to rob them and leave was a nice touch, too. I hope Marcel's team continues to play a significant role.
Either way, looking forward to seeing more of Drake and Marcel. I'm going to check out the next installment too since it looks like it's a short one...
Bar Exam
Drake swallowed another gulp of the beer, savoring the buzz that came. He studied the lines on the countertop for what had to be the hundredth time, then took another long gulp, only to realize halfway through that the glass was empty.
Muttering empty curses under his breath, he fished out a handful of cash from his pocket, slid it across the bar, and grabbed the bottle the bartender gave him in return. He paused, glancing at the three empty bottles beside him, then shrugged it off.
Athos and the Swords were family. They'd understand. He nodded to himself. After all, he'd been in a tough spot after getting caught. It had been that deal or prison, and it wasn't like he'd rat on the Swords. Just other gangs. He nodded to himself again. "Yeah... not so bad."
Drake, honey, no. Athos will not understand any of this. He will beat you into a goddamn pulp.
"I'll spin this," he mumbled, the words feeling heavy in his mouth. "Yeah... use Marcel to get information." Athos would be proud. He smiled to himself. Maybe he'd even head back now and explain everything. As his thoughts looped, picturing Athos's proud smile and Victore seething about it, he sipped at his drink, enjoying the reprieve from his darker thoughts and anxieties.
"Mukin'" as a substitute for fucking is sending me
The grip on his arm tightened, and Drake resisted the urge to flinch. I'm safe. He tried to reassure himself. Most of the smaller gangs or angry thieves or criminals knew better than to harass a sword. A Seviper or a Zangoose you could get away with, but Athos protected his own, and anyone on the streets knew that.
Very fun to see Drake's fear here, reassuring himself that the gang is meant to make him safe from being assaulted at a bar, because Athos is protecting him - only, of course, it's actually making him a target, and Athos assaults him himself. You can see how he's turned this around in his head and believes the family protects him and gives him safety.
His thoughts muddled and he struggled to try and compose himself. Suddenly that fourth bottle seemed like a bad idea. Maybe on a good day he could handle them enough to escape. Stay... calm. Right. Watch their moves... Watch
The ringing in his ears was still going.
And then suddenly, Beardy made a snide comment he missed, Snealface smirked and replied, and then Beardy charged.
The portrayal of how out of it he is is very good here, I think. He's trying very hard to be alert and pay attention but he can't even register what they're saying.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted Marcel, still by the alley entrance, who spun to look at him. For a split second, their eyes met. He saw Dachsbun tense as if about to attack. And then he swore Marcel made a motion as if calling it off. Drake didn't bother waiting. Half-sprinting, half-stumbling, he crossed the last few yards to his bike. He threw his leg over the seat, gunned the engine, and didn't look back.
Yet somewhere inside he couldn't shake the feeling Marcel had let him go on purpose. He hadn't truly escaped. What if Marcel never came at all? The thought burned a hole in Drake's stomach.
Definitely not rescued by the cop again! Don't think about it!
Drake jumped at the voice then relaxed. From the shadows emerged Del, one of their scouts. Probably on guard duty. He was one of the younger Swords members, a half year older than Drake himself.
So Drake is one of the youngest, then, if even half a year older is one of the younger ones. Not too surprising.
"You look terrible," he remarked. He moved beside Drake to support him, and Drake gratefully leaned against him. With one arm around Drake, Del started into the base. "Athos was really worried about you," he added.
Instantly Drake's stomach twisted into knots and he felt like throwing up. "He was? Wh-why?"
Del gave him a puzzled look. "Well you didn't come home at the usual hour, obviously. What happened?"
"Oh right... ran into some 'friends'," he muttered. Just regular concern then. At least Athos hadn't somehow found out about Marcel yet.
Oh boy. That moment when the thought of your father figure worrying about you is actually terrifying! Normal ways to feel about good and non-toxic father figures!
His chest hurt too much and he didn't need to deal with an infection from the cut on his arm.
Not sure if I'm reading this wrong somehow; he didn't need to deal with the infection?
Through hazy vision, he watched Athos, who loomed behind Elias. Athos looked... worried? He felt bad, making Athos worry about him. But at the same time it felt oddly nice. Athos had always taken care of him. Maybe telling him about Marcel would be fine. Maybe he'll kill Marcel. The thought slithered into his mind and a prickle of unease sparked in him.
Ooof. This boy is so starved for affection, clings to Athos's unexpected concern and care. And even then he realizes Athos is a deeply violent man who is liable to murder people he'd rather not have murdered.
A heavy hand gently shaking his shoulder stirred him from his stupor. He looked over to see the room had changed. Athos had brought him to his own bunk at some point...? His voice was soft and gentle when he spoke. "Rest, Drake. I'll see you in the morning."
Drake managed a tired smile before he gave himself over fully to his exhaustion.
I enjoyed this installment a lot; short and sweet, but very effective whump writing, and some delicious issues about Athos and the Swords coloring it all. I'm always here for a guy with a lot of contradictory emotions going on getting drunk and suffering greatly. Drake's beginning to feel some kind of way about Marcel repeatedly trying to help him, and I'm sure this is only going to help him feel better about everything that will happen from here.
Athos is all concern and no violence here, but the way Drake reacts is so telling; he compulsively expects violence, punishment, something awful, especially when he himself believes there's something he's very guilty of. He's terrified Athos will punish him if he learns about Marcel, only then as soon as he's managed to find his way around to maybe he won't (everything will be fine19, he just realizes he might kill Marcel instead, and has to grapple with that thought not being great, either. I'm sure Drake is going to be extremely fine about this.
Lots of delicious suffering all in all! I'll be moving on to other things for the last bit of Blitz, I think, but this was a great time and I will definitely come back to it.
Admittedly, the Colosseum games are one of the few Pokemon I haven't really played story-wise, but I know some stuff about them. That won't deter me ( •̀ω•́ )✧
I fully blame yellow lol, her fic and passion for Orre got my brain activated to transplant these OCs into Orre and then I osmosised knowledge from her, eheheh
The Orre region and the Colosseum landscape is the perfect backdrop to explore a more gritty take on Pokemon mob violence. You do a really good job of intergrading and hinting at the clear ingrained trauma in Drake, and I'm very interested to see the root of all of that hopefully explored as the fic continues!
The biggest lingering question I have is why Drake is so willing to lose himself in the illusion he's constructed around the Swords. I'm really hoping that's addressed eventually. Obviously, the first answer is just "that's how certain abusive toxic relationships work," and fully understand the psychology of what's going on here in Drake's relationship with the Swords, but I mean from a specific character-driven perspective.
OH MY GOD!! WAIT I'M A HUGE IDIOT!!! I'M SCREAMING THIS IS TOO FUNNY!!
You need to understand that my dumbass brain saw the Salandit picture, read the summary + your overview, and went, "Oh yeah, cool, Drake is a Salandit."
"Why don't they use a Pokemon to force open the case? Why do they need the code?" Only because the torture tactics are making use of moves and abilities that totally could open the case, and I think the idea of why they can't do that and need Drake is a compelling beat that would be additive to the scene.
I think i mentioned this or one of Ira's grunts does, but the briefcase has a failsafe. Even if a pokemon forced it open the contents would be damaged. I have a mental idea that pokemon opening things is a know thing, so the briefcase would include a failsafe against any tampering including stuff like Strength or Ghosts or stuff like that.
Really seeing his drive for independence and personal agency shine through here, but also compelling that Drake desperately wants family, but doesn't want a relationship with the beings that would likely be the easiest for him to befriend and get that comfort from -- Pokemon.
[nods vigorously] Drake's very used to an enviroment of only relying on himself and also only seeing pokemon as tools (and outside people to an extent). He's absolutely got a thing about relying on anyone not the Swords. Only himself is epic and skilled enough to be trusted.
Proud of him for actually driving and getting somewhere while that loopy omg. Especially on a MOTORCYCLE!! My guy, your balance is insane to be able to do that while that under the influence. That's some god-tier resilience and baked-in GPS power. Easily the most impressive thing Drake has done so far. Also RIP my Salandit joining Drake dreams
Drake is incredibly stubborn, which is definitely a boon sometimes. Also probably the Orre hoverbikes are easier to ride than a motorcylcle, just a bit
I know you said that some of the world building/situations might be contrived, and sure, that's the easy answer to my question of how Salandit showed up, but, like, it's so much better to imagine Salandit essentially going on a personal odyssey off-screen.
There is an answer but I enjoy yours so much I don't want to spoil that glorious mental image eheheh.
Salandit tagged along on the bike! Snuck into one of the bags and hid, then followed Drake from the city back to base.
Thank you so much for the review, was delighted to read it! I'm glad on the details and characterizations were enjoyable to read. I hope you have a chance to check out the rest sometime! I have so much (whump) planned for these two and so many problems. Drake and his greatly compromsied mental state are such fun to write, as is Marcel, who you'll meet quite soon. Love me some horribly messed up dynamics.
I was aware that Drake was on the streets from a young age, but somehow I'd forgotten that his parents literally just left the region without him after he ran away from home??? That's absolutely wild. What did he DO??? Or did they just hate his face?
It's not elaborated on here extensively but Drake was a pretty bad child. Bratty, defiant, mouthy. Menace in every way really. Obviously what his parents did is inexcusable but yeah its a mix of stuff and Drake being nasty (but doubtlessly they were not super loving). I imagine his older sister was more a favored child and he was more accidental and again, a nightmare menace. Terrible brat.
Intrigued by the mention of an older sister, too. I wonder what she's up to now. It seems like she'd be old enough to remember this incident, and she got worried the last time Drake ran away, so I'm curious whether she'll ever feel some impulse to try and find out what happened to her younger brother that her parents just left behind in another region that one time. Very curious whether we'll ever hear/see any more out of her.
ohhohoh perhaps! I have a lot of very specific interesting ideas I am bouncing between for her so we'll see what I settle on but I'd honestly love to, it would bring some juicy drama
The times when he ended up being punished by Athos seem to be entirely accidental screw-ups on Drake's part, not instances of him intentionally being a little shit. Obviously Drake adores Athos and wouldn't want to mess with him, so maybe that's it, but I kind of wonder whether after that first abandonment Drake kind of instinctively doesn't want to pull that kind of test on Athos or anyone else, in case he finds out he doesn't like the results.
Athos [beats drake instead of abandoning him]
Drake: Is this love? Definitely some flavors of all of that. I think he may have once or twice pushed a boundary or mouthed off but he was definitely "better" wih Athos than his parents. But also he's also just so painfully loyal and doesn't want to jeopardize his relationship by trying to be a brat.
I also kind of get the sense that if Drake did do something similar to what he did with his parents, like took off and holed up somewhere for a week, Athos probably wouldn't come looking for him (slash send somebody else looking for him). He seems to end up at Marcel's place needing to recover often enough, and it doesn't seem like Athos is turning Orre upside-down trying to find out what happened to him at those times. Athos obviously does value Drake as a soldier to some extent, and I don't think he would abandon him the way Drake's parents did, but I do kind of wonder, if Drake went properly missing, how hard he's actually look.
Provided I get there we'll get a very spicy and specific answer to this question that I am incredibly hyped for so. . But it'll be fun.
Also while he didn't do much initially to retrieve Drake from Ira the first time he did revenge torture him. He doesn't like people messing with his tools- friends I mean. Yeah. friends.
Thanks for the review! I always enjoy hearing your thoughts on this and I'm glad these two little short tidbits gave some enjoyable context to Drake's very normal and happy and healthy childhood. I am definitely super hyped to get to the point where we dig into the idea you brought up - how much would Athos actually do to find Drake.
Knowing what I know about him, too, makes him getting drunk at a bar like he's some 40yo hardened biker just makes me laugh my ass off. He's such a tryhard of a fetus, I hate him
I almost went the whole story sympathizing with him, then bro goes on and DRIVES HOME DRUNK. That's the real crime of this chapter. Bad Drake. Marcel would have let him get gutted if he knew, smh my head
ahahaha yeahhhh he's not making any good judgements. Fun fact when I first wrote this I wasn't even directly thinking about drunk driving but yeah, he does and would do that.
Luckily the streets have less of a crazy nightlife in Orre
This was so important to me to write too. Athos is capable of being very kind and warm and tender, not just abusive and mean. I really wanted to (and plan to) keep showing more of this. Drake isn't just randomly attached to him bc he's a mean guy its because of all the nice parts (as you well know)
Then I watched finesse the FUCK out of Drake like an absolute little shit. That just made him infinitely more hot, like oh my god. Bro could be a menace if he wanted to, mmmmmmmmm
I knew it was definitely not going to go as planned, but man, you really handed Marcel's ass to him. Choke on sand, THEN get shot in the chest???? Can you give a bitch a break??? Or a nice hot girlfriend to take care of him in his time of need
I need to preface my thoughts on the beach episode with a tale of dumbassery: I somehow completely glazed over the video you linked, so I went the entire story thinking Drake was walking on like Hollywood Beach, with the waves kinda tickling his feet, and then suddenly a slightly bigger wave rolls in and knocks Drake over a little bit and suddenly he's literally dying. Like I was picturing them having this deep, near-death struggle in like less than a foot of water, on unmoving sand, and was like "what the fuck is going on in here on this day"
I will say, however, the first few descriptions of the waves kinda made it seem like the waves were pretty calm for the most part (like barely touching his boot and whatnot), so the sudden switch kinda caught me off guard. I feel like if a wave that intense is rolling in, its been building up for a bit, so I'd maybe try to be a little clearer that shit was swelling up and Drake was just like "well that sign can't stop me cuz i can't read"
This is actually just apparently legit how the beach works from what I glean! Thats why I ended up picking this beach because unlike florida beaches there is no real buildup, the surge can sweep up fast out of nowhere.
One day maybe I might readjust to clarify this aspect but it is meant to be extremely off guard and out of nowhere bc this beach is dangerous as heck and does this a lot.
(Unless perhaps, the articles I read at the time overexaggerated idk)
Athos is a psycho, yes, but the real villains of this fic are Drake's parents. Drake FOR SURE has some unchecked ADHD, borderline personality disorder, or at the very least, ODD, and instead of putting him in fucking therapy and trying to get to the root of his bullshit, they just ABANDON HIM. I mean, yeah, he was a dickhead even back then, but he was 11. He needed professional help then, and now he DEFINITELY needs help now. That neurospiciness is OUT👏OF👏CONTROL👏 and I do understand why he ended up where he did.
dang right they are. He got all dem alphabets lol. Its pretty awful actually bc if anyone had been able to find him and help him maybe it could be less worse.
thank you ahahah. Fun fact that has zero bearing on the story but tickles me greatly:
Charpotle is a low class knockoff cheap place like Taco bell, and WeepinBell is the more midrange place closer to our Chipotle. I don't know why this amuses me that they're swapped but it does.
Really enjoy Ira, this fucked-up torturer, obviously loving his Pokémon, leaping to make sure it's not hurt, determined to get even nastier revenge afterwards. Bad people who still experience love and show the sorts of emotions we associate with heroes? Mmmm, give it to me.
I wasn't expecting Marcel POV here, but it was fun to get a different perspective - the dramatic irony of knowing a lot more about Drake than Marcel does, and just a different perspective on the world of Orre as you're portraying it here.
There will be more Marcel POV to come! He's a lot of fun to write and bounce off Drake, esp cause Marcel is unfamiliar with some things but Drake isn't as sly as he sometimes thinks.
I'm guessing Marcel's old partner Leo died tragically back in Paldea and that's possibly why he wound up in Orre (unless we got some indication otherwise somewhere in there, apologies if I miss anything because I my reading gets interrupted by Caterpie a lot). Definitely material for more angst on his side in the future (or a flashback chapter?).
bingo! I don't think I ever super explicitly state this but it is very heavily implied and the correct read of the text.
As for the spicy exact circumstances, I have a few tidbits written that hopefully I can put into a proper chapter and write about, I am definitely excited. so much angst around that.
I was sort of surprised Drake ended up accepting the deal, but I imagine he's planning to use it to stab Marcel in the back or mislead him rather than actually betray Athos, isn't he.
They feel very tactile and present here and that's just fun to see. Knowing Coda would be pretty mad about having healed Drake only for him to rob them and leave was a nice touch, too. I hope Marcel's team continues to play a significant role.
Ooof. This boy is so starved for affection, clings to Athos's unexpected concern and care. And even then he realizes Athos is a deeply violent man who is liable to murder people he'd rather not have murdered.
Thank you very much for the review! I'm glad the whump and character bits hit for you and were enjoyable and even managed to come off as not contrived.
Thank you all for your lovely reviews! I'm glad everyone had fun with this. Much much (much) more whump to come, and fun dynamics. Have a chapter I've been poking at that hopefully I may post vaguely soonish.
If anyone has any other questions or comments I missed feel free to poke me, I did my best to cover everything but I might have missed stuff.
So this is an interesting one. I realized it would be fun to bring back a particular element from the first chapters. Took some minor contortions but I am fairly proud and I think this works. As usual ignore my contrivance to beat these guys up, heh, and enjoy the ride.
I hope the timeline isn't too confusing. Marcel's POV at the very beginning here is "present day". Drake's section covers from the day after Bar Exam and through Deep Breath, following his POV until "present day". I realized just how fun I find writing the dynamics and interplay between these two and I wanted to have some POV swapping this chapter.
I am reluctant to change the arrangement but open to ideas. But I do like endcapping with Marcel. More AN at the bottom. As always, feel free to point out spelling/grammar errors or minor prose inconsistences/confusions.
The usual fic wide warnings apply here as always, but nothing specific for this chapter I think.
A Brief Case
The loud digital quacking of Porygon playing substitute for Marcel's alarm shattered his sleep. Lurching upright, he blinked blearily as his eyes adjusted to the light.
"You snoozed your alarm twice!" Porygon chirped helpfully.
Marcel grunted a half-hearted thanks. It felt like he'd barely closed his eyes only minutes ago.
"Also your sleep time has gone down... 10%! I recorded several instances of you coughing during the night."
Marcel turned to look down at his phone, deadpan. "I hadn't noticed." Even as he spoke he stifled another cough and rubbed his chest reflexively. Stupid cough. Ever since choking down a gallon or so of sand a few weeks back he'd had an itch every now and then that cropped up when he pushed himself or the air got too dry. Which was all the time in Orre. The worst had passed at least, he was pretty sure, but the cough really seemed to be taking its time.
The phone screen flickered and it vibrated. Marcel could practically feel the slew of warnings and advice and data Porygon no doubt was about to assault him with. "Save it please," he mumbled. Today was a later shift, noon til night, which meant he'd been able to sleep in. But that didn't mean much when he'd spent half the night caught between wake and sleep, coughing incessantly.
Tomorrow is another day.
"It's tomorrow," he murmured out loud to the empty room.
Silence answered him followed by a beep from Porygon. "You also have a text from Drake."
Wonderful.
A pulsing lump of warmth drew Drake out of his haze. With immense effort, he forced his eyes open to see a scaly gray shape on his chest. "Hey." His words came out as a croak from his parched throat. Dragging one arm from under his blanket, he stroked the Salandit's head. The fire-type must have slipped inside during the night. Despite their sort of 'agreement', he'd yet to actually acquire a pokeball for it yet. Maybe he'd do that soon... would have come in handy last night to have around.
The memory of Marcel showing up to chase those mouthbreathers off hung heavy over his mind Stupid do gooder... Did Marcel think he needed help?
Just as he was getting ready to get out of bed, the headache set in. Some nebulous space behind his eyes and skull throbbed incessantly and made the world tilt a bit.
Groaning, he pressed his head back into his pillow and tried to will the pain away, to little avail. He licked his lips, only to find his tongue equally dry. Crap. Every ounce of him desperately wished to keep staying in bed. Except he was as thirsty as if he'd spent the afternoon napping in the desert.
Salandit cracked one eye open, looking him over, then stretched and yawned. He tipped his head to the right, and Drake followed the motion. A glass of water sat on the table by his bedside. Drake snatched it without hesitation, sitting up then drinking almost all of it in a few gulps. Athos must have left it for him.
Drake leaned back against the wall and rested his hand on Salandit's back. "What now?" he muttered aloud.
Salandit gave a low chitter, his tail twitching, which Drake took to mean he was worried.
He'd only signed the stupid CI agreement to avoid jail, but last night proved he couldn't avoid Marcel forever. And eventually, Athos would find out somehow. If he didn't already know, he considered with a shudder. How could he justify consorting with the enemy and endangering everyone here? How long before Athos found out and got angry, or worse, threw him out of the Swords? The thought alone made him shudder.
He'd seen once before what happened when a Sword was... excommunicated.
"How do I fix this?"
Salandit blinked at him uncomprehendingly.
He stared back. As he did, a thought occurred to him as he remembered how he met the lizard. That briefcase mess had started all this, hadn't it? Yes it'd been awhile since he lost it but... but Ira never got the code. And there'd been a failsafe. One that would destroy the rather valuable contents if forced open.
Was there a chance Ira hadn't unlocked it yet...? If Drake came back with it, brought it to Athos...
It was a long shot, but it was certainly better than nothing.
XXX
Getting information in Orre was easy if you knew who to talk to and how to talk to them. Untangling rumor from truth was a bit trickier, but not impossible. By the end of the day, Drake had poked, provoked and prodded enough people to get the information he needed.
One, Ira had been incapacitated not long after Drake's own "encounter" with him (he had a strong suspicion what happened to the enforcer and decided not to dwell on that. Just hearing that Ira had been hospitalized was enough to satisfy him).
Two, a few cheapskate underground hackers and codebreakers had been contacted about the briefcase in the last couple days.
Three, no rumors or truths about anyone breaking into a case; nor was there any evidence of the enhancing drugs within hitting the streets. Whatever lock was on the case was better quality than Drake first assumed.
All of that together was enough to convince Drake that Ira was out there, still trying to get into the case (if anything, knowing Ira, it was out of pure spite at this point). Which meant at some point, Ira would need to get the aid of a more skilled codebreaker than the cheap ones skulking around.
And Drake had a pretty good idea who that would be.
See, anytime anyone needed anything done with electronics or computers that was more advanced than a piece of Pokegear or a P*DA, there was only one person in Orre to go to.
Missingo "Miso" was an eccentric recluse who had set up shop in a PoryShack store in Phenac and was regarded as a wizard in electronics by the general public, and the best hacker around by the informed underground. Nobody knew her real name, just the handle she gave herself 'MissingNo', which most people were too lazy to pronounce and defaulted to 'Miso'.
She held no allegiance, no loyalty, and no interest in anything except her own curiosities and money to fund her tinkering. When all other options were exhausted, everyone ended up at her shack. Nobody wanted to be on her bad side, which led to the unspoken rule that no matter what kind of gang you were in or criminal you were, you didn't mess with her. And she wouldn't mess with you.
All Drake had to do was keep an eye on the PoryShack for the next few weeks, wait for Ira to show up and then follow him to see where the briefcase was being kept.
XXX
His gambit paid off. Not immediately, but in time. Time that also gave him a chance to screw over some Crimson Zangoose who were trying to acquire pokeball blocking tech (but also somehow ruined the Swords chance to get it, irritatingly) and get closer to Marcel. He still wasn't sure why he'd even bothered to save the dumb guy after he got himself shot in that alley.
Pragmatism, Drake told himself. The enemy you knew was better than one you didn't. Marcel was a goody two shoes, and those types of people were predictable and useful. Him dying wouldn't get rid of the wretched deal Drake'd made to stay out of jail.
And it was always nice to have a 'you owe me' card up one's sleeve.
It was also time he also used to start getting accustomed to the Salandit, who seemed determined to stick around. Salvo was a nice name, he decided, after skimming through a dictionary he'd pilfered. He told himself he was only allowing it to hang around because it was useful.
The idea of relying on a pokemon still didn't thrill him but it had come in handy more than once now. In that alley helping Marcel, and escaping from him the first time. Swords weren't forbidden from having pokemon but he'd never bothered to acquire one since it would mean having to be responsible for it. Easier to borrow one.
At one point, Drake worried his suspicion was wrong and the briefcase was a lost cause. But he held out. Ira was probably reluctant to shell out the money for Miso's services. He just had to be patient. Eventually, his patience was rewarded.
Ira did show himself at Miso's shop. Drake watched from afar as a discussion was had, an agreement reached, and a meeting set.
When Ira left, Drake was able to track him all the way back to what he identified as a stash house on the outskirts of Gateon. Made sense that the Zangoose had a spot out there, easier than trying to set up on Sword turf in Phenac.
Unfortunately his luck ended there.
Surveillance during the next couple days taught him a lot. The stash house, which was a warehouse tucked among several disused ones, was perpetually guarded by at least two or three stinking Crimson Zangoose at any time. Ira was an infrequent visitor, but the grunts were always around. Each had only one or two pokemon, but that was still more than he could handle alone. Salvo was untested in a proper battle too.
Asking the other Swords for help was out of the question. Even if there would have been a few willing to help, he didn't want word of his plan getting back to Athos yet. Which also meant no borrowing a mon, since he'd have to explain what he wanted it for. And while he could try for a heist the old fashioned way, maybe...
Maybe it was time to make his little arrangement with that idiot cop whose life he saved work for him.
XXX
If there was one thing Drake genuinely loved about people like Marcel, it was that they were such predictable goody two shoes. Give 'em a story about how you found a gang stash house and how the drugs and weapons and blah blah there could hurt pokemon and people, boohoo, and they were suddenly all ears, ready to help.
He shot a quick text to Marcel using the encrypted old-model pokegear Marcel had given him for this very reason.
[I have information you might be interested in].
Predictably, Marcel was quick to reply and they set a time to meet at an inconspicuous Wrecker's joint. Between Whimsi's, McMimey and Crabber King, Wrecker's was his favorite to get fast food. Might as well get a good meal while he was at it.
McMimey's had good fries, sure, but only if you got them hot and fresh. Crabber King had never once gotten his order right, even if their ocean rings were incredible. And Whimsi's... Well, Whimsi's was good (especially their burgers) but they couldn't hold a candle to the seasoned fries at Wrecker's.
A short time later, Marcel was seated across from him, relaxed and wearing that stupidly naive and faint friendly smile he always had. Idiot. "So, what did you want to tell me?" He delicately dipped one of his tenders into a barbecue container.
Drake shook his head, then scowled stubbornly. "First, something has to be in it for me." He didn't actually care about getting anything for his work as a CI, at least not this time. The briefcase was the real prize, and getting Athos to favor him. But he also knew that if he looked too eager, Marcel would figure out he was up to something.
Folding his arms, Marcel regarded him with an unamused look that somehow still came off as more 'friendly disappointment' than 'disgust'. "And here I thought you were helping out of the goodness of your heart."
"I'm not a gullible idiot," he replied snidely. He took a long sip of his soda, slurping the last few drops loudly just to watch the twitch of annoyance run through Marcel's clenched jaw.
"Right," Marcel replied, his tone irritatingly placid. He dipped a fry into his sauce and popped it into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed before continuing. "Like any CI, you get a convenience fee for your services. A percent of whatever we get off the streets. Better tip, better for you."
As he babbled on, Drake took the liberty of digging into his second burger. There were other benefits to this arrangement too, like goading Marcel into paying for the meals, as a prerequisite. As nice as Sword food could be, it was hard to beat a good Wrecker's Burger. Even if he could afford plenty on his own, making Marcel do it was just too fun.
"So?" Marcel asked expectantly, as Drake was still chewing.
Still chewing, Drake spoke between mouthfuls. "I may have stumbled across one of the Crimson Zangoose's stash houses." Eager, but still cautious, like he was in it for the CI rewards and nothing more.
He watched as Marcel studied him. Now he just had to add a little incentive... "The Zangoose have been trying to push their drugs and laced battle enhancement goods around Gateon and Phenac." The goody two shoes types never could resist some notion of helping make the world better or whatever. And it was true. While Athos and the Swords still controlled Phenac, the Zangoose were perpetually trying to creep into the outskirts whenever they could.
A light clicked on in Marcel's gaze. He leaned forward slightly. "Tell me more."
[I have information you might be interested in].
Porygon informed him of the text, and Marcel smiled.
If there was one thing Marcel had learned to count on in his time as a detective it was that a certain type of criminal could always be counted on to be selfish. Any way they could find to use someone for their own gain, they would jump on.
Having that reliability was always nice. The Ira's and Athos' and such of this world served only themselves. So if you handed them an opportunity to do so on a silver platter, they would eat right out of your hand.
Fast food wasn't Marcel's thing, but at least Wrecker's had good fries and didn't forget your order like Crabber King. He would have killed for some mozzarella sticks from Arboli's though... As far as inexpensive ones went, they really were unmatched.
When Marcel arrived, he paid for Drake's meal without complaint. Another thing he'd learned was that making someone feel superior was a good way to get them talking. Judging by Drake's smug smile after he "goaded" Marcel into paying, the play worked.
"So, what did you want to tell me?" He always made a point not to demand or strongarm Drake too much when he could avoid it. Not only was it ineffective but he preferred diplomacy first, fists second.
"First, something has to be in it for me."
Predictable. Drake was definitely up to something, that much was clear. But what? Not petty revenge, this felt too specific. No, it was something else, something that served Drake's goals. If Drake had gone to the effort of actually contacting Marcel though, it meant he wasn't relying on his own gang for whatever reason.
Trouble at home base? It was hard to say. The Sword's of Justice kept a clean profile, and it was hard to make things stick against them. What would make Drake not want to just ask them for help?
Drake probably genuinely needed his help for some reason. Interesting. He filed away the mental note for later.
He allowed himself just a touch of sarcasm. "And here I thought you were helping out of the goodness of your heart." Playing into Drake's request too eagerly could make him pull away.
"I'm not a gullible idiot," Drake replied snidely.
Marcel would have snorted his drink out of his nose if he had been drinking. As it was he had to hold himself back from pointing out the many many things inaccurate with that statement. Fortunately, Drake quickly gave him something else to focus on as he slurped his soda so loudly Marcel thought the entire restaurant could hear. Briefly, he allowed himself to entertain the mental image of cramming the straw down the kids throat. Obnoxious little brat.
Letting the anger fall away, he made a show of running through the motions of explaining the boons of being a CI. He did his best not to watch how Drake chewed with his mouth open like some kind of vagrant. His throat tickled and he stifled a cough behind a swig of his drink.
Finally, he did his best impatient expression. "So?"
"I may have stumbled across one of the Crimson Zangoose's stash houses."
Ruins below, now he was talking with his mouth full. Sometimes he felt pity for Drake. Today was not one of those days. Just be patient, he reminded himself.
Drake prattled on. "The Zangoose have been trying to push their drugs and laced enhancement vitamins around Gateon and Phenac."
Perfect. He leaned forwards eagerly. This was something. Whatever Drake's agenda may have been, Marcel also felt confident this information was legitimate. Hitting a stash house could do some real good.
"Tell me more."
Late afternoon sun scorched the dusty earth, classic Orre style. Marcel had concealed himself behind some crates a reasonable distance away from the target stashhouse, peering through binoculars. Drake took a sort of sadistic delight in watching sweat bead on Marcel's brow and seep into his clothes. Every time he wiped his forehead or aired out his shirt added a month to Drake's lifespan.
Drake's own light jacket, scuffed though it looked, was an incredibly expensive investment that did well to keep him decently warm in the cool evenings and plenty cool during hot days. That and his body was quite accustomed to Orre's climate. Marcel, not so much.
Following their meeting, Marcel had agreed to check out Drake's tip to make sure it was good. Drake had led Marcel to the stash house, located in the rundown industrial district on the northeast side of Gateon. Half the buildings were abandoned. Of the ones that weren't, half were legitimate warehouses and factories. The remaining quarter were fronts, illegal fighting rings or underground black market operations.
When he'd followed Ira, he'd found that their specific spot was masquerading as a furniture storage company, shipping and receiving furniture. On paper, that was. Great furniture if you liked some spiked Carbos supplements with your sofas or hallucinogenics packed your loveseat cushions.
From what Drake had observed, there was also a good amount of distilled Toxicitry venom being run through this location. Or 'battery acid' as it was known on the street.
He had a hazy memory of trying it once after one of the older Swords dragged him out to a party a couple years ago. Most of the night was a pulsating blur of light and sound in his memory, followed by feeling so jittery the next day he thought he would either crawl out of his skin or die of a heart attack. Followed by heaving his guts out for what seemed like an hour straight.
Why people enjoyed that stuff was beyond him. Parties were much better for plucking shiny valuables off drunk idiots.
None of that mattered much to Drake in the end. What did matter was that he had spotted Ira with the briefcase here. And it was somewhere inside. All he needed to do was get Marcel to act, so the grunts would be distracted and in the chaos, he could snatch the briefcase and make his getaway.
Now Marcel was watching the two grunts skulking around the outside, chattering away, while his Porygon was off discreetly trying to catch a glimpse inside. He coughed quietly into his hand and swallowed.
"You done?" Drake grumbled in a low voice. "Or are you gonna stand around and watch them all day?"
Marcel let his binoculars hang from his neck and leveled a withering glare at Drake. "By all means, go ahead of me." He gestured toward the warehouse.
Drake rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall, out of the sun. "All I'm saying is that if you want to do something about it, we should get a move on."
"As I recall, you called me, so I'm not sure you're qualified to tell me how to handle this." Marcel was frowning as he peered through the binoculars. "It'll take a few days to get everything together but-"
Choking back his outcry with a grunt, Drake turned to Marcel. "Days? You guys move slow, huh." Days? Ira would be moving the briefcase tomorrow! He sided-eyed Marcel, wondering how he could coerce him into moving right now. Stage some kind of event. Or... Or... he could just... A plan began to form. Surely it might not be that easy?
Casual and unconcerned. "Oh, just so you know, they're moving locations tonight. In case you were wondering." Would it really be that easy?
Marcel put the binoculars down again and studied him, and Drake met his gaze impassively. "Why should I believe you?"
Drake smirked and shrugged. "Oh no reason. Not like I'm your CI and you literally asked me to do this for you. I'm sure the poor pokemon and people who get dosed with these drugs will understand when you tell them how you wanted to be cautious and wait." Come on, take the bait, you stupid goody-goody.
Exhaling, Marcel turned his gaze back upon the warehouse. Drake could see him counting the grunts, sizing them up and making mental calculations. Two grunts, three pokemon between them, and Ira inside.
"Also now's your chance to catch Ira red-handed or whatever, since you lot are always so uptight about 'evidence'. He's rarely ever here." There. Surely that would convince him. And it wasn't even a lie!
The shift in Marcel's expression from skepticism to resigned annoyance told Drake that his ploy had succeeded. Perfect.
Marcel's Porygon returned a minute later, reporting on the locations of everyone inside, and confirmed that there was nobody else. Then Marcel had the Porygon place a request for backup.
Unfortunately for him and fortunately for Drake, there would be no waiting for said backup. Ira could choose to leave anytime and this was their best shot at catching him with enough evidence to make a real case.
A few minutes later, Drake found himself watching as Marcel slipped out of their hiding place and began to stalk his way toward the warehouse. Drake had to admit that Marcel was pretty good, for a smarmy detective, that was. He stepped light as any good thief, knew how to move in a way that didn't draw attention.
Marcel sidled his way all the way over to the first grunt by the outer edge of the warehouse. The woman had one ball on her belt. It took Marcel and his... windchime? - Drake really couldn't be bothered to remember the names of all those pokemon - all of two seconds to disable her and put her to sleep. He moved on towards the entrance, where the second grunt and Ira would be inside.
Drake waited until Marcel had slipped in through an open window with his dumb little windchime and Porygon before he followed. Anticipation made his pulse quicken and his focus tighten. He was so close to his goal he could almost taste it. He could bring back that briefcase, regain all his lost standing with Athos and deal a good blow to those muking Zangoose.
A moment later, commotion broke out from inside the warehouse and a grin across Drake's face.
Now it begins.
Step light, act as if you belong.
The first grunt was disabled in a few short minutes with Coda's help. Her skills at healing also translated to an unmatched skill at putting down an unsuspecting target. Steeling himself, Marcel crept around to an outer window of the warehouse and with a small psychic boost from Coda, pulled himself inside and dropped down behind a cluster of crates.
Quietly, she floated inside and tucked herself into the corner, following the instructions he'd given not to engage yet. He peered around crates to double-check the situation.
One grunt near the center of the warehouse, pacing about restlessly near an old sofa. The guy kept glancing toward the far side where Ira was, talking into a phone in a low voice. Just as Porygon had said.
Gesturing to Coda with a hand signal, he stepped out from behind the crates and quietly bounded across open space toward the grunt. At the last second, the guy turned around and spotted Marcel. His eyes widened, his mouth opened to shout a warning.
Too late.
Coda fired a shimmering wave of energy and he slumped backward onto a sofa into a dead sleep. All the while Ira continued to talk into his phone, none the wiser. Unfortunately his luck didn't last.
He'd made his way halfway across the room, avoiding Ira's line of sight, when rather suddenly, Ira swore and spun around as he hurled his phone at the ground. It cracked against the pavement and he made eye contact with Marcel.
Unlike the grunt, he reacted much faster, diving under Coda's Hypnosis and releasing his own pokemon.
A Jolteon, Zangoose and Mightyena emerged into the warehouse with snarls of fury. Dark energy cloaked Mightyena and it leapt across the room at Coda.
Marcel's own pokeballs rattled and then opened as Scorch and Loaf emerged. "Switch Fire!"
Coda pulsed and then vanished, replaced by Loaf. Mightyena crashed into Loaf midair, carrying them both to the floor in a vicious snarling pile of fangs and fur. Above, Scorch was already beginning to heat up, embers dancing across her feathers.
She bathed the writhing pair in flames, only to be interrupted by Ira's call for Thunderbolt narrowly missing. Loaf's body rippled as the fire bolstered him, hardening his body while it singed patches of the Mightyena's fur.
"Body Press-!"
He had just enough time to get off the command before Ira cleared the distance between them, vaulted over a crate and came out with a knife. His attack was vicious and aggressive, but far from sloppy. Not some untrained grunt that was for sure.
Marcel danced back, keeping his limbs close and weaving out of the way of the slashes and jabs. In his peripheral vision he tried to track his team, keep an eye on their backs. They were holding their own but Ira's pokemon were evidently tough as well. His Jolteon kept Scorch busy, harrying her with bolts of electricity, while Loaf engaged the Mightyena. Behind him, Coda kept out of the fight, ready with Heal Pulse if need be.
He winced as Ira's knife managed to nick his forearm, then brought his other arm up just in time to deflect a followup stab. More blows and blocks, counters to powerful slices. He could sense Ira growing angrier, sloppier. He earned another nick to his ar for his troubles, but it was nothing he couldn't bear.
Where was-
White moved in the corner of his vision, on his right. Then Zangoose stepped into view and hurled a slew of rocks at him. Marcel kicked out hard, catching Ira in the stomach and sending him stumbling back, then threw himself to the side. The impact from the rocks thundered down where he'd been a second before.
Another cluster came as he rolled to his feet, too fast-
With a dull clatter, they slammed into an opaque wall of concentric hexagons. A few slipped through, one grazing his cheek and another pinging off the opposite shoulder bu the rest broke apart harmlessly.
He gave a sharp nod of thanks to Porygon, watching from a distance.
Zangoose snarled, turning its sights on Porygon as Porygon did his best to defend itself with bursts of Tri-Attack
There was no more time for thought as Ira recovered, approaching again with the knife. With Porygon occupied, Marcel focused all his attention on Ira. He blocked, ducked and struck in every opening he could. Ira's knife meant he had to play defensive though, wait for openings and avoid getting cut up.
Around, he heard the clamor of battle raging. His team held their own and seemed to be taking ground.
He ducked a wide swipe from Ira that went sloppy and drove his fist into Ira's face, making him stagger and slam into a crate behind him. Anger flared in his eyes, his face contorting in annoyance that his opponent was still standing. Reaching out with his free hand, he grabbed a briefcase resting on the crate.
"Bury him!" he snarled.
A quack of alarm rang out from Porygon as Zangoose caught him with glowing claws and sent him spiraling into a wall. It whirled, and summoned a huge rock, then hurled it at Marcel.
Marcel ducked, the rock whizzing by, then whipped back, narrowly avoiding getting his chest slit open by Ira's knife. Which made it unfortunately hard to get out of the way of Ira swinging the large metal briefcase at his head with his other hand.
Red and white burst across his vision, along with a horrible crack! sound. His body crashed to the ground. Through spotted vision he saw a brown shape hurtle through the air, slamming into Ira's chest, snarling in rage. Somewhere in his throbbing thoughts, he distantly wondered if the crack had been his own skull.
Damp, sticky wetness oozed down the side of his face. The ground kept tilting as his vision pulsed in time with his throbbing skull. Sporadic bursts of sound came between heartbeats. Savage barking. Cries of pokemon and thuds of traded attacks.
An unfamiliar rattling hiss from somewhere. A pained yell, a curse, frantic footsteps... retreating?
He reached out clumsily, trying to push himself upright, only to collapse onto his side as everything around him spun hazily. Blackness swarmed in and he felt the ground digging into his back, his senses darkening. The battle faded, and he tasted coppery blood in the back of his throat. Everything swam, his thoughts fracturing and drifting. Past blurred into present, memory mixing with reality. Darkness blossomed, and he couldn't fight it.
"Cheer up!" An arm slung around Marcel's shoulder, the touch friendly after an exhausting day. "Tomorrow is another day."
With a sharp gasp, he opened his eyes. When had he closed them? How long had he been down? The sounds of fighting around him had petered out. Soft chiming filled his ears, and a gentle pink light cascaded over his vision. The throbbing eased a little, and his vision cleared.
Coda hung over him, frowning. He could see the exhaustion in Coda's eyes, the dullness of her bell and drawn expression from the toll of healing. Quickly, he grabbed Coda's pokeball then sat up. Mistake. The whole room spun and he barely avoided collapsing again, catching himself at the last second.
It faded quicker this time, and he quickly scoped out the situation. Ira, pinned down and unconscious a good distance away, a furious Loaf standing on his chest. Just behind and to his right, the other grunt, unconscious. Mightyena lay splayed in the remains of a shattered crate, down for the count, and he spotted both the Zangoose and Jolteon unconscious.
His team had managed to pull through then. The tightness of worry in his chest unwound slightly. Then he heard an unfamiliar chitter and turned fully around to see a scorched Spinarak and further away, near the exit-
Drake.
Hundreds of successful heists and thefts had hammered the lesson of patience into Drake. There was always an opportune moment if you just waited for it, bided your time, then struck. This was no different.
He watched as Marcel slipped inside. Watched as he incapacitated the second guard. Watched as he was spotted, as he engaged in battle, as his team sprang into action against Ira's. And watched as Marcel fought Ira.
The guy was good. Ira was a beastly fighter when he needed to be, but Marcel was better. Ira could hardly touch him. It was only when that wretched Zangoose stepped in that Marcel began to lose his edge.
Still, Drake waited. Everything was moving fast, and yet those seconds and moments felt much longer. Then he saw Ira grab it. The briefcase.
The blow that brought Marcel down made Drake wince. Marcel's team saw, and the brief shift in their attention gave their opponents an opening to redouble their assault. Lightning and rock and dark filled the air. Marcel's team was losing ground, Ira was distracted.
Now.
Ira raised a knife as he stood over Marcel's unconscious form.
Releasing Salvo, Drake darted around the debris and crates. "Ember!" he hissed. Salvo skittered forward, took aim, fired a stream of embers at Ira just as he was about to bring the knife down.
Salvo's accuracy was impressive. The embers peppered Ira's knife arm. He howled, dropping the knife and briefcase to clutch his arm. Drake was upon him then racing and driving his shoulder into Ira's chest. The blow carried Ira off his feet and into a sofa where the other grunt lay.
Heart hammering, Drake grabbed the briefcase off the floor. "Smog."
Salvo obeyed, spewing a concentrated stream of noxious gas toward Ira. The attack was fairly weak but it would hopefully be enough to slow Ira.
Drake turned, about to sprint away, then hesitated as he saw Marcel. Blood covered the side of his face and he wasn't moving. Around the warehouse, his team fought with reckless, vicious abandon, even the windchime, who was facing off with Ira's Zangoose. They were gaining ground now, pushing Ira's pokemon back.
He'd be fine.
The thought of Athos and how proud he'd be when Drake returned with the briefcase spurred him into motion. Salvo on his heels, he raced for the exit. Ira's enraged swears were music to his ears.
The sound of another pokeball opening was not.
He risked a glance back. A Spinarak - had to be the grunts. Drake ran faster. He just needed to get to the exit—
Thiwp.
Needles stabbed Drake's side and back. He stumbled and inhaled so sharply he almost choked on his own spit. Staggering forwards he opened his mouth again in a soundless exhale as his eyes bulged. The ground under him tilted and he grabbed at air before throwing out his hand and catching himself on the rough concrete as he fell to his hands and knees.
Somewhere, Salvo hissed angrily.
Static, burning buzzing sensations pulsed across his body, blurring everything else out. Between scattered thoughts in his mind he recognized what had happened. Spinarak must have hit him with a Poison Sting. A hiss slid out from his clenched teeth as his dizziness surged. His arm trembled and he managed to collapse on the opposite side he'd been stung, resisting the overpowering urge to slap his hand against his side from the pain. He'd made that mistake once before and only managed to make the pain worse and drive the stingers deeper
Drake swallowed a whimper. Everything burned and burned. What had that thing done? He couldn't remember it hurting so bad last time. The stingers, he had to get them out, that much he remembered. If he could just reach them, he could pull them out. He'd be fine. Writhing, he tried to twist around with one arm, but it was hard to move or think clearly for pinpoint where the stingers had lodged.
Poison Sting shouldn't be lethal on its own, but if he didn't get the stingers out it could be bad. How many had hit him? His fingers brushed one and he scrabbled weakly at it, managing to yank it out after several seconds. Touching it left his fingers tingling.
His stomach heaved as a fresh wave of pain rolled through him, enough to let another stifled cry escape him. Patches of color and fuzz distorted his vision. He gasped for breath, then cried out as the movement sent a thousand jabs of agony across his back.
Had the battle ended? Distantly between his fuzzy thoughts, he knew he should get up, that he needed to get away and his window was closing. But his body wouldn't obey. One thought managed to still stick. Get the stingers out. Sight and sound came in patches between nausea and burning acid through his veins.
Salvo, chattering anxiously. Growling. A voice, far off. Not Ira's. Someone else.
Marcel's, echoing from far away, but it was hard to focus beyond the throbbing in his side and back.
"Hey!"
Finally, his brain registered words.
"Hold still. Drake you need to hold still." Marcel's firm voice cut through the haze of pain. "I have to get the stingers out."
Drake sucked a sharp breath through gritted teeth, focusing on the words, realizing only then that he was curled almost fetal position, flinching and scrambling at the spot he couldn't reach. Hands gripped his own and pinned his body.
"Hold still!"
The sharp tone finally made Drake force himself to stop moving. Even so it was hard to fight the reflex to lash out as Marcel proceeded to yank out the first stinger. Sharp pain flooded Drake but he ground is teeth together and swallowed a cry.
"There's a lot. Just hold still."
That explained it. Two or three stingers an adult could sleep off in a couple days with a dose of antidote but the more there were, the worse it got. Each stinger didn't just add more poison, it compounded. While they might not kill you outright, the lasting effects were nasty and could be lethal without being removed.
Seconds passed as minutes, each spent in hazy flashes of pain as one by one, Marcel pulled out the stingers. Counting gave his mind a way to try to focus off the pain. Finally, the burning began to subside as the last couple were yanked free.
He'd lost count but he was pretty sure there'd been at least ten. Far too many, enough that it made him uneasy to realize how bad it had been.
When Marcel was done, Drake could finally think clearly enough to sit halfway up. He reached into the zipped pocket of his cargos and pulled out a small vial. Tearing the cap off with his teeth he downed the syrupy liquid of the antidote. It was a smaller dose than he probably needed, but it at least numbed the worst of the lingering poison. He'd taken to always carrying a few emergency vials for himself for the 'just in cases' like this.
"You good-"
"Fine," Drake snarled, shoving Marcel's half outstretched hand. He quickly stood, fighting a powerful wave of dizziness. He couldn't believe he'd let himself get hit so bad that some muk-licking cop had to step in.
He summoned a glare in Marcel's direction. The guy's face was even bloodier and he somehow looked worse than when he had been unconscious, like he could barely keep his eyes open. Ira had really gotten a good hit on him. Served him right, Drake told himself. The guy was was lucky he didn't have a knife embedded in his chest too.
Looking past Marcel, he noted that his team must have won, given how the half-baked mutt was standing on an unconscious Ira's chest. Good. Seeing Ira hurt brought a twisted relief to Drake, and he hoped that this would be the last he had to see of the enforcer. Overhead, some fiery-colored bird of Marcel's flew in slow loops, keeping a watchful eye.
Now, where was... Relief flowed through Drake as he spotted the briefcase a few feet away. Undamaged, save for a smear of blood on one corner. He strode over and picked it up.
"So that's what this was about."
Drake turned, scowling. Marcel's face was hard to read under all the blood. His grip on the briefcase tightened as he studied Marcel, then considered his team. They had to be tired. Too tired. "Go suck a muk. Did you think I give lick about who does what drugs? Chase me if you care so much," he sneered. There was no way Marcel was in any condition to do so.
Oddly, Marcel said nothing more as Drake returned Salvo and then turned and began walking away. The sooner he got away from the dumb cop and thinking about how much worse things could have gone without his presence, the better. His back still burned and he felt horribly nauseous. Whatever. He didn't need Marcel's help, he would have figured out something, it was just more convenient to have him there.
As he left the warehouse, he kept watch, half expecting one of Marcel's pokemon to try and follow, but none did. Was he home free? He didn't dare to hope, not until he was away from here. And yet... the weight of the briefcase in his hand felt like pure gold.
He lingered near the warehouse yard, a far distance away but close enough to watch through the open door as Marcel shakily stood and began to secure the grunts and Ira. As he lingered, he daydreamed, eagerly anticipating what it would be like when he returned, the pride in Athos' eyes and his warm smile.
Drake waited until the sirens of the backup drew close before he finally left.
A dull throb filled Marcel's skull and kept up the entire trip home. Night had long since fallen. It'd taken hours to clear everything up at the warehouse. Ira and two low ranking grunts had been arrested. Ira would probably do serious jail time, but the other two might get out on good behaviour. Eventually. Then there had been all the confiscated drugs to process, as well as some weapons they'd found, and a medic had to clear Marcel. A concussion, unsurprisingly. Coda healed the wounds from Ira's knife but he refused to allow her to expend all her energy on his head when he could just let the medics handle it.
The medical officer had tried to coax him into going to the hospital but Marcel made him back off and promised to rest. At least his Chief had given him tomorrow to recover. His team had to be checked out as well, but fortunately they were fine, save for the usual battle injuries. By the time he'd done everything he could to help, it was late and the Chief forced him to good home. Paperwork could be done later.
Marcel accepted gratefully, got a cab, then battled carsickness the entire ride back to his apartment. Nausea then gave way to a dull, persistent headache. It only increased as he ascended the agonizingly long three flights of stairs to his apartment. He unlocked the door, pushed it open and stepped into blissful darkness.
All was quiet. Normally he was grateful for silence, but now it lingered. He reached down and tapped the releases on his pokeballs. The presence of his team abated the unease of the quiet, at least somewhat. Coda floated off to the bedroom after checking on him and Loaf hopped onto the couch and tucked in for a nap.
Scorch greeted him before taking up a perch on the sole chair at the dining room table and adding another gouge to the wood. Her unused perch sat in the corner of the room. He'd tried endlessly to coax her into using the perch instead of his one chair, but she liked it too much and he eventually gave up.
He shuffled through what qualified as the "living room" and to his kitchen. Late as it was, he figured he should probably eat. Cutting board, knife, vegetables. His normally efficient movements in the kitchen felt spacey and slow and he forced himself through the steps.
Two minutes into cutting some leeks he somehow sliced deep into the flesh of his palm. Sucking in a sharp breath, he dropped the now bloody leek and clutched his hand. Great. It took several minutes to clean and bandage the wound and by that time, he felt too tired to make a complicated dinner.
Scraping the ruined mess into the trash he instead pulled out his soup pot, leftover bean sausage and kale. Soup was always easier, and left him feeling refreshed. Rotely, he moved through the motions, handling the knife more carefully this time. He seared the seasonings, made the roux, added the broth and then cream. Stifled the tickle in his throat that signaled a cough.
As it bubbled away, his gaze drifted up from the soup and around the silent room. At least Scorch and Loaf seemed content, dozing peacefully after the tiring day. When the soup had heated, he poured himself a bowl and took it to his chair, shooing Scorch away. He sipped an idle spoonful, blowing on it before he did. Not bad. But... less satisfying than he'd hoped. He stared down at the bowl, only then realizing how full it looked.
He sipped another mouthful, ignoring the burn on his tongue. Despite the apartment being smaller, it felt too big. Too much space. Nothing filling it. He found his thoughts turning towards the meals shared with Leo and his family. Or the times when they had had a rough day and the other would stop by with food.
Marcel had always been the more experienced cook between them but something about Leo's zuppa toscana soup always tasted better than Marcel's own after a long day. Whether they were celebrating a good day or lamenting a bad one, Leo would always bring him a container when he stopped by.
He managed one more mouthful before putting his spoon down, stomach churning. With a sigh, he picked up the bowl and dumped the rest in the trash. Ignoring Scorch and Loaf's concerned gazes, he dragged himself to his bedroom and sank into his bed, only bothering to take off his belt and his shoes, which he'd entirely forgotten about when he entered his apartment.
In quiet and dark, with nothing else to distract himself, the day's events replayed through his still throbbing head. The briefcase Drake had taken. How different working in Orre felt compared to Paldea. Only him and his pokemon, compared to the partner system Paldea had. The successful raid, putting a significant dent in the attempted foothold the Crimson Zangoose tried to make. Ira's arrest, depriving the Zangoose of their top enforcer.
A good day.
Leo's old catchphrase ran through his mind again. It was the same, whether they'd had a good day or a bad, but usually he said it more when it was bad. Ever the optimist, he always declared a bad day was actually a good one, since it meant tomorrow could only be better. A good day just meant a chance of another good one.
Shutting his eyes, he pressed his face into his pillow and swallowed. He muttered into his pillow, "tomorrow is another day."
The words felt hollow. He blinked, fighting down the lump in his throat and the ever present ache of his head.
Something warm and soft pressed against his arm. He cracked an eye open to see Loaf had hopped onto the bed. Swallowing again, he blinked then draped an arm over Loaf, inhaling the sweet bakery-like scent of the Dachsbun as he pulled him closer.
Loaf didn't often seek to sleep on the bed or engage in any sort of excessive cuddling but Marcel appreciated the exception tonight. His comforting scent kept the worst of Marcel's headache at bay, and sleep finally overtook him.
Well that wraps that! I bashed Marcel's skull in with a briefcase, poisoned Drake and made Marcel sad. I actually was just gonna end with the bit about 'the words felt hollow' but then I depressed myself so I thought maybe a bittersweet moment of comfort was better.
Also Drake got the briefcase back! I am sure Athos will be happy... I thought about including Drake bringing the briefcase back but it just didn't quite fit for me. There's still the elephant in the room Drake needs to address too, about his arrangement with Marcel.
I think that'll make a fun standalone Drake POV since it's pretty important.
I hope the end section is engaging. I wanted to write "Marcel is very sad and grieving" but without actually saying those words, heh. I hope that aspect comes through the text and welcome thoughts on that. I am making Leo haunt the narrative as much as I can and am enjoying it.
The dual POV at the Wrecker's was very fun. Can anyone guess what fast food joints those are parodies of? They're American ones (some of them at least).
My headcanon is that pokemon moves basically invoke the sensation of injury similar to the move/typing but aren't always lethal. But can be, under certain circumstances. But broadly speaking they invoke more pain. Pokemon can of course choose to maim/use natural weapons and thats often much more dangerous. But they won't default to that always. here I figure getting blasted with a large dose of full poison sting can mess you up pretty bad, especially if not removed. Good thing Marcel was there.
