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Hello hello! I have owed you this review for so long and am finally getting around to it!
First off, gotta say I internally squee'd when I saw Steven. I don't even know what his role is in this story or what his attitude will boy, but as a Hoenn fan I am very excited.
"Delorean, stay here." Technically, Steven knew he was supposed to recall it. But the metagross was almost as renowned as Steven himself, especially in this town. No one would mind. Delorean wouldn't bother anyone, and there was little anyone could do to bother it.
What's weird is that even people who are pretty familiar with the anime often have it red both ways! One of those Berenstein bears things. Such an odd little detail for people to have collectively latched onto.
Shockingly, this is one of few things I haven't over-researched at odd hours of the night. It might be? Blacklight and space rock felt like a good pairing. If it's real science, what a delightful happy accident! Haha.
Googling suggests it's probably not a real thing, but it definitely *feels* like a true detail!
Everybody in this fic has weird, specific naming conventions for their pokemon. It's a much more heavy-handed and meta way of characterizing these trainers than what I think you manage in Salvage, but I really delight in it. So much fun.
Sounds like a reasonable way to go about things to me! Loads of people do themed naming for their teams in-game, so it doesn't seem odd to me that at least some trainers would go for it.
This is probably another place where I should use Steven's thought process to clarify. My thinking is that making a metagross trained by Steven Stone the main cybersecurity force means that, even if what you want is digital, you have to go in and take it physically, otherwise the meta is just going to shut you down and probably fry your computer/brain.
Ah, okay. Since Steven was thinking of the Aqua members as having gotten past the metagross and the entire security force, I thought that meant the metagross was acting as a physical barrier and not a digital one. If the network security is actually impenetrable, then going after the hardware makes more sense. Although I think the smarter move would still have been a social engineering attack rather than trying to literally run off with the servers, heh. But perhaps not so much Archie's style?
This is fair, but I feel a little stuck on how to thin some of that out. My intent was less "GASP LOOK HOW EVIL" and more ... Well, first of all, nothing they discuss doing is at all illegal. [...] How is DevCo going to deal with being attacked by these two? Answers: speed up pipelines and try to shut down their admittedly illegal shenanigans. It strikes me as pretty business-as-usual-for-big-business, but ... that says a lot about my biases, don't it? ;)
Well, it's all technically legal, but I think a lot of people would feel like it probably shouldn't be! For me it doesn't seem like any one thing discussed in the board meeting is out there for a big corporation; it's more that you have multiple shady things going on, and also that shady stuff is pretty much all that's getting discussed. (That we're privy to; obviously Steven zones out as much as he can.) But, like, I presume Devon is still a company that produces goods and services and doesn't spend 100% of its time bribing politicians and trying to crush protests, right? I'd tend to expect plenty of discussion relating to the actual "things that we make/sell" side of the business--discussing an upcoming product launch, dumb office politics, the planned IT upgrade, etc.
I don't think you want to focus a ton on that sort of stuff because, well, it's boring and not plot-relevant. But it would make Devon feel more real to me if it felt more like there was an actual bog-standard business under there, not just a dodgy agenda. I think it's also part of what makes corporate misconduct so insidious and why it seems it can creep up on organizations that at least appeared to begin with noble purpose in mind; at a certain point the corporation becomes so big and insular and removed from its origins that even really morally questionable stuff can kind of seem abstract and business-as-usual. Like, I could easily imagine the same meeting having a debate about picking a new supplier for office chairs because the previous one went out of business where people would get at least as het up about the outcome as they would about the pipeline stuff. Which is really messed up in its own right, pretty classic mundaneity of evil stuff.
So I might be projecting too much of my own interests/opinions on that scene, haha. Didn't ring true for me when I read it, that's all I can say.
Wow, I completely failed to make that connection. :P
I was leaning late-twenties-but-man-baby. I feel like spending a few years as a trainer can force you to grow up a lot ... and also let you avoid certain types of maturing.
Tough. I would say that the bit about where Mark comes from strikes me as something that could be condensed a bit. I like a lot of the little bits in there; Mark just letting Nat dig herself in deeper and deeper with her incorrect reasoning before bluntly coming out with the truth is a great character moment for both of them, and I like details like Nat figuring he must have come from a cold place because he's unflappable. But it goes on for a fairly long time and feels like the least consequential part of the conversation to me.
--Late reply is late, but thanks for reading two whole chapters! You've definitely flagged a couple of grammar errors I expect to fix in my end-of-summer edit--cheers! BTW, a hostel is a cheap place for travelers to stay, usually with communal sleeping areas and a shared kitchen. My setting uses these instead of trainers getting free loding at a pokecenter. Tough times in Hoenn. Glad the Mark and Natalie dynamic was working for you, even though human-centered stories aren't usually your jam. I did just write a pokemon-centered one-shot. That might be more up your alley.
--I dunno why I was thinking you'd already read this one! Thanks for stopping by again. ❤ There will definitely be more Steven content! I'm not sure yet how many of these chapters will feature him as the perspective character, but he's definitely not going away. And to address your question, yes, since I paint the pokemon in this world as animals, they're expected to be supervised if they're out of their pokeballs in the city. Especially since they can be more destructive than an IRL puppy dog. 🙃 But Steven Stone does what he wants.
That's probably where I picked it up, honestly. I've spent way more time reading pokefic than I have watching the anime. Good ol' echo chamber strikes again.
Although I think the smarter move would still have been a social engineering attack rather than trying to literally run off with the servers, heh. But perhaps not so much Archie's style?
Definitely not Archie's style. Or Aqua's. I think the people who that skillset would be more attracted to Montag/Maxie and his approach to doing things. More on that ... ugh, eventually.
I'd tend to expect plenty of discussion relating to the actual "things that we make/sell" side of the business--discussing an upcoming product launch, dumb office politics, the planned IT upgrade, etc.
That's very fair. I'll see what I can recalibrate. Maybe when I get more of the plotty business underway next chapter I won't feel so pressured to try to make this chapter explain so hard and it can flow a little more naturally.
I think that's okay. I wasn't being very direct about it ... and it's also not too important to make that connection. I am glancing at the games for reference, but I'm mostly ignoring them.
Cheers for all the insightful comments! Looking forward to finding some time to tackle the edits.
Night had already fallen when Natalie awoke, dry-mouthed, aching, and unsure of where she was. Blearily, she started to swing her feet to the floor, and instead her knees hit something solid. Then everything pitched sideways, forcing her to brace against the wall, and she remembered: she was aboard the Ultimatum, an ORCA ship.
Her brother's quarters consisted mostly of a twin bed squeezed between the wall and a desk. A skinny window showed stars, and beneath it a map of Hoenn had been hand-painted directly on the wall. The door was almost within arms' reach from where she sat. Natalie was used to sleeping on narrow hostel bunks (and carefully ignoring thoughts of who else might have lain there), but she was also used to having the freedom to explore the city or return to the wooded trails. For the next few days, she would only have a cubbyhole, the open ocean, and a group of confirmed criminals.
She could've stayed put. She could've continued on to Lavaridge—screw ORCA and the Rustboro gym, too. But that would've meant letting Archie slip away again. And if she'd let him go this time, she might've never seen him again.
Natalie sat up, more carefully this time. The effects of sleep powder had lasted longer than she'd expected, much to her frustration—she'd been swooning during the journey to the ship once the adrenaline had worn off—and she was still a little lightheaded. Or maybe it was because of the rolling of the ship now. All the same, she took a deep breath and stood, steadying herself against the edge of the desk. She didn't know what she was going to say yet, but it was time to find her brother.
Natalie pulled the door open and—nearly smacked into someone passing in the corridor. She yelped in surprise, too startled to apologize. A linoone wound between his feet, and if she didn't know better, she would've thought he was a regular trainer. It unsettled her more than it comforted her.
"Oh, you're ... You must be looking for Sinbad, right?" Before she could formulate her response to the unfamiliar name, he continued, "I think he's down in the strategy—you know, I'd better just show you." His linoone had already darted ahead, chittering impatiently from the bottom of the stairs.
Natalie didn't have any better ideas, so she allowed herself to be led down the narrow stairwell to another hallway nearly identical to the one they'd left. How many of these passages were there? Despite the cramped corridors, the Ultimatum felt vast and unknowable. As they passed, she slowed to peer through the doorways that were open: an infirmary, some kind of storage room, a cabin packed with bunk beds—Archie's cabin had been more generous than she'd realized. The thought made her uneasy in ways she didn't want to deal with yet.
And then she heard her brother's voice down the hallway. "So we go get another set of plans. No big deal."
"I guess so. But DevCo hurt, Sin. I lost my sealeo back there and nothing you say can unfuck that situation. We can't keep—"
Natalie's guide rapped on the open doorframe. "Sorry to interrupt, but I've got your sister here."
She leaned to see in. Newspaper clippings and maps had been taped along the walls, and a wireless transmitter chattered to itself in a corner. Natalie smiled hesitantly at the sight of Archie, but he was turned away, frowning in concentration. He leaned over a table with the woman from the parking lot, the blood cleaned from her face. Another woman Natalie didn't recognize stood to one side, her hair a massive cloud of orange curls and her face a mask of sorrow.
The woman from the parking lot caught Natalie's gaze and jumped up with a snarl. "Fucksake, Jax—you can't bring her in here. She's not one of us."
But Archie silenced her with a hand on her arm. "It's alright, Scarlet. We might as well wrap up for now." He turned to Natalie and said, "I bet you're hungry, right?"
She smelled a distraction, but she also hadn't eaten since—oh—the bagel at the hostel that morning. No wonder she felt so weak and unsteady. "Yeah, kind of."
"I bet it's not too late to talk to Chef." He started forward, but Scarlet caught him by the arm.
"Sin."
The two of them exchanged a look that Natalie couldn't read, and then he broke into a grin. "You worry too much." Then he gave in to her pull and bent for a swift kiss.
Natalie looked away. She wasn't usually a prude—when hostel talk devolved into never-have-I-ever, she was the one who would send the others into scandalized laughter, determinedly unafraid of laying the personal bare. But this was Bubba. She squirmed thinking of all the people who'd managed to seize some piece of him, who had shared meals and plans and more with him, while Natalie and her parents were left wondering whether he was even alive. He'd built an entire life without them.
"Come on. Galley's this way."
As they made their way further down the hallway, Natalie couldn't help noticing how people always stepped aside to let Archie through, but he never stepped aside for anyone. That uneasy feeling spread in her stomach like creeping vines. "How many people are on this ship anyway?"
"Right now, I think only about twenty-four. Plus however many pokemon."
"Twenty-four?"
As a child, Natalie had occasionally been allowed to tour the dry-docked ships her father helped build. He'd shown her the bare stretches that would soon be stacked with cargo crates, the engine room, and the bridge. The company's boats were always big ticket industry contracts, built for crews of twenty to thirty. Twenty-four was a full-blown, serious operation.
Archie shrugged. "People come and go," he said, misunderstanding her dismay. "Oh good, looks like she's still here. Hey, Chef!"
The chef looked up, gripping a saucepan in one hand and in the other a metal bar that hung from the ceiling. "Oh, hi. New recruit?"
"Natalie, this is Chef Raina."
"Ray. I'd shake your hand, but ... prepping for tomorrow. And that's Mash." She nodded towards a machamp who ignored them, chopping vegetables with two knives at once. Then Chef Ray turned to squint at Archie. "You scrounging for scraps already? I wish you would learn to eat at a normal time."
"Cut me some slack, Chef. Gotta feed the kid. She overslept."
The kid. Still. Natalie hadn't minded it in his emails—she had been a kid ten years ago. And she appreciated him taking care of her, finding her a bed and a meal—a ride home, even. But the word made her feel smaller each time he said it.
He continued, "I was just gonna plate some leftovers, but I don't want to get in the way ..." The galley was a single, tight pathway, already blocked by Ray and Mash.
Ray rolled her eyes but smiled. "I'll heat something up and get Jonas to bring it out."
Archie clapped her on the shoulder. "Backbone of the movement."
With that, Archie pulled Natalie away to what was clearly a mess hall, though it was currently unoccupied. He sat at one of the benches, his back to the wall, and gestured for Natalie to sit opposite him. "So how did you sleep?"
"Fine, I guess." Natalie shifted in her seat. How were they tangled in small talk? This was her brother. But she didn't know how to put words to her feelings—they were too big. She tried, "Is this where you've been the entire time?"
He shrugged, stretching his arms across the back of his bench. "I've been lots of places. You know me—restless feet." His smile didn't meet his eyes, and she didn't smile at all.
"I mean … with ORCA?"
"It's a little more complicated than that, but … more or less, yeah."
She blurted, "But why, Archie?"
He made a face. "No one calls me that anymore. It's Sinbad now."
Natalie lost some of her momentum at that, stumbling over her words. "Okay, fine, but … what happened?" She glanced around and lowered her voice. "Are they threatening you? Are you being blackmailed?"
Archie laughed. "I want to be here. They couldn't keep me away if they tried."
She opened her mouth and quickly shut it again. The ship creaked as it tipped to one side and then the other.
"Whatever you think you know about us," he said, "you don't. Listen, kid, people like to say—"
"Stop calling me that," she snapped. "I'm not a kid anymore."
He frowned, and Natalie braced herself to argue against whatever he was about to say. But all he said was, "I guess you're not."
She set her jaw and pushed ahead in a loud voice, "And it's not about what people say. It's about what I know and what I've seen. Like the shipyard."
Natalie hadn't been at the shipyard, of course—she'd been ten years old. But she'd been called out of school early to sit on the couch with Mom and watch the local news with the solemnity of prayer, waiting for news of Dad. Channel 10 looped the same footage over and over: the fires stretching into the sky, the ships with water cannons and pokemon dousing the flames. And, after, the blackened remnants of the seven ships that had burned. The skull and crossbones slashed across the warehouse doors had left no doubt about who had been responsible.
"Did you know that ORCA attacked our shipyard a couple years ago?" She raised her chin in challenge, but he only stared back.
"I did."
She spluttered, "That's it? Bubba—" But she stopped short. Her childhood nickname for him no longer seemed to fit, but she couldn't quite bring herself to use the new name. "What about Dad? I begged him not to go to work. Every day. For weeks. And you don't have anything to say about it?"
"I didn't want him to go into work either." A dark look crossed his face as he leaned forward across the table. "If you wanna talk about home, let's talk about Devon Horizon. You remember that?"
Natalie folded her arms. "Of course."
"And do you know what happened to the ship after?"
She only hesitated a second. "I mean, it crashed. It's scrap metal."
But by the expression on her brother's face, she was clearly wrong.
"Did you know," he said slowly, "that it was returned to service?"
"No …."
That seemed—well, it wasn't good that the tanker responsible for the worst oil spill in Hoenn history was back on the water.
"It's in Unovan waters now. It says Devon Hudson on the hull, but it's the same tanker doing the same job." He let that sink in for a moment before he added, "Would you like to guess the name of the company that repaired it?"
Natalie closed her eyes.
As a welder, Dad might've even personally laid hands on the ship. Did he know? Natalie started to wonder—but, no, it wouldn't have mattered.
She pictured him leaning against the counter after work, letting out a sigh as he cracked a beer. "Another day another dollar," he would say, but he would smile, too. He wasn't the type to talk about his work—he simply did it and came home—but she could see how proud he was when he pointed out a boat he'd built. It could be a garbage freighter and he'd still be proud.
Good, honest work. Each word sat in her stomach like a brick.
"So what?" Natalie said, ignoring heaviness in her gut. "Gods, what if he'd been hurt? If anyone had!"
"We made sure that wouldn't happen. It's not about hurting people—it's about preventing harm." He eased back in his seat again. "Think about it. Now those tankers will never sail. Less oil burned, less oil spilled."
His tone was so relaxed it struck Natalie speechless. We. So he'd been involved … and he wasn't apologizing.
"Of course, it wasn't much better than stalling for time before DevCo commissions another set of ships. Still better than letting it happen, but ... that's not how we do things these days."
Pointing out that it was also a crime seemed useless. She tried a different tactic. "You can't pretend it didn't hurt people. How many people lost their jobs—"
"Do you hear yourself? Is that what you really think?" he said, voice rising. "Which is worse, losing money or suffocating to death under crude oil?"
"I'm not saying—"
"That shit lingers for decades, killing pokemon, making people sick all down the coast. And it never stops. If it's not DevCo, it's ocean acidification. Fifty years ago, Hoenn had some of the most biodiverse marine ecosystems in the world, and now half those species are completely gone—in less than one human lifetime. Where do you think we go when we finally fuck it up so badly that humans can't survive our own cesspool?"
Natalie let out a long sigh. "Couldn't you talk to him?" she pleaded.
Archie—or, no, Sinbad—shot her a scathing look. "Sure. Real open-minded guy, our old man. Just loves sharing feelings and debating politics." He laughed. "ORCA's only the half of what he'd hate about me."
She grimaced, thinking of the emails. Don't make this political, Dad had written more than once. End of that conversation.
"Fair point," she admitted.
"It wasn't anything personal against you, Natalie," Archie added more gently. "None of this. But what was I supposed to say? Fuck you and your politics, but say hi to the kid for me?"
Natalie studied her brother's face. He used to look so much like Dad, but the full and curly beard changed the shape of his jaw. Already, a few grays were scattered throughout his dark hair. Maybe he was right—he wasn't Archie anymore.
Dad would be heartbroken if he knew.
She was saved from having to respond by the sound of someone whistling as they approached. A sailor carried two steaming bowls to their table. "Hey, Captain. Cook asked me to bring this over."
"Thanks, Jonas. You'd better help her finish cleaning up."
Captain.
The word hit like a bolt of lightning, but Natalie clamped her teeth shut until the sailor left. "This is your ship?" she hissed. She should've realized, but she hadn't wanted to.
"It's my team."
"Your—"
He gave her a meaningful look, hands spread wide to indicate beyond the confines of the ship.
Sinbad, the pirate king of ORCA.
Natalie felt suddenly sick to her stomach.
The ship lurched again, and he reached to catch Natalie's bowl before it slid off the table. "You should eat before it gets cold."
Dumbly, she took up the bowl and gave it a stir. Some kind of peanutty stir fry. She made herself take a bite, which went down like lead.
"I don't need you to understand, Natalie," said Sinbad. "I got you out of Rustboro and made sure you're safe from Magma along the way—I owe you that much. But if you want to part ways when we dock, so be it. That's not on me anymore." Then he took his own advice and began to eat.
"You're not going to try to convince me to join you?"
He took his time chewing before he answered. "If you're not willing to put your life on the line for this, it isn't for you. And we don't want anyone we have to babysit."
For a second, she was almost insulted.
"What if I tell what I know?" She raised her head high, heart pounding, but even she could hear the fear in her voice. "You gonna come after me?"
He snorted. "You know fuckall. You want to tell the cops my name, the name of my ship? Good for you. Ships don't stay in one place."
She forced herself to chew and swallow. Finally, she said, "I wouldn't anyway."
"Like I said, you can do what you want. You said it yourself—you're not a kid anymore, and I'm not responsible for what kind of person you are. Though if I were you," he said, gesturing with his fork, "I'd be careful leaving Slateport, if nothing else. You've made a nasty enemy."
She almost wanted to laugh. How many times had she told Dad not to worry about the headlines because, after all, Slateport had its own violent crime? But on at least this one point Dad and Sinbad still agreed: home was safe and the world beyond was full of enemies.
And if she'd done what Mark wanted and joined ranks with Magma ... would she have made an enemy of her brother instead?
"I don't get it," she said. "Aren't they basically the same as you?"
His laugh was so sharp and sudden she jumped. "Those jackasses are wasting their energy trying to fix a broken system. ORCA doesn't wait for permission or for the right moment," he said, air-quoting. "We do what needs to be done, what no government is ever going to do, no matter how the system changes."
Lip curling, he added, "And Montag can't stand not being in control of everything, so he has to stick his nose in it anyway." He clenched a fist, suddenly wound tight as a trip wire. "So, no. We're not the same. Not even close."
Natalie still felt ten years behind, sleep powder-heavy. "But I thought you wanted to be in politics. What changed?"
"Nothing did. That's the problem." He added almost wistfully, "I wanted to believe that if I learned to say the right words in the right way, I could make rivers flow uphill." For a moment, he looked like the old Archie, his eyes unfocused and dreamy. Then he flashed a steely smile. "But that's not how it works. The people who have money and power are very good at keeping it."
So you gave up? But she let him go on.
"I was still on the Harry Gordon campaign when Devon Horizon shat all over Slateport. And when I came back from the cleanup ... no one wanted to touch the issue." With an expression full of fire, he sneered, "Eyes on the prize, they said. Education reform first, and we'll tackle the rest when we win. Keep your head down. You can't attack the biggest employer in Rustboro if you want to win, even if they are casually destroying entire ecosystems. Fuck that."
Natalie stirred and stirred the contents of her bowl, unable to make herself eat and unable to tear her gaze from Sinbad's face as he reveled in his outrage.
"That's when I realized the slogans and promises and handshakes were just branding. Harry Gordon called himself progressive, but he didn't actually care what happened to people or pokemon—just his bottom line. Exactly like the other guy. And even after all of that, we lost anyway." He shook his head, chuckling. "So I guess the old man was sort of right. It's a seviper's game, and the skin's always shedding."
Sinbad sank into a stony silence. After a moment, he seemed to remember the bowl in his hands and returned to eating.
He did sound like Dad, who'd made no secret of his scorn for both candidates during the last local election. Natalie had been too young to vote then, and now ... she couldn't say who she would choose. They weren't wrong, Dad and Sinbad. Whoever won, nothing that really mattered seemed to change. But, gods, that didn't mean he could do whatever he—
A chime prompted Sinbad to fish his phone out of a pocket, and he grinned. "Yes! Perfect." He jumped to his feet and then, smile fading a little, glanced at Natalie. "I gotta head up. I'll ask Jonas to show you a bunk when you're done—"
She stood too. "It's fine. I'm done anyway."
He shrugged. "Alright. Then come if you want."
The ship had been quiet before, but now the hall filled with excited chatter, and footsteps clanged up the stairs. Natalie followed Sinbad up until the night air and sea spray touched her face. The deck was crowded with both people and pokemon, many more than when she'd first boarded. Zubats and golbats swooped overhead, an odd sight on the ocean. She tottered, disoriented by the dark and the constant rocking—she didn't think she was imagining that it had gotten worse in the past few minutes—but her brother strode smoothly to the guardrails. So she trailed after.
They'd come to a stop, and a pair of catamarans had joined them. Neither was quite as large or sleek as their ship but, like the Ultimatum, the prow of each had been painted with sharpedo teeth. One also bore a black rose decal, the other a cartoon cannon.
Natalie eyed the water churning around them. It didn't look like the wake of a motor, but she couldn't figure out why it looked strange until she saw a figure lean over the rails of one catamaran with a bucket; when they tipped out its contents, triangular fins jutted from the water. There had to be dozens of them, sharpedo and carvanha both. She had never heard of both schooling together or of sharpedo schooling at all, but if they were feeding them ... Seriously, what was wrong with these people?
Sinbad paid no mind to any of it, squinting into the dark distance and turning from side to side. He froze then leaned forward. "There she is," he said, so low Natalie almost didn't hear him.
She followed his gaze and then gasped. Even from a distance, she could tell the freighter was a monster, at least six times the size of their ship. It held no cargo she could see, and a new name had been superimposed on whatever had been there before, dim but just visible in the moonlight: The Motherfucker. And from across the black expanse of water, she could just make out cheers.
Answering yells rang out all around the deck of the Ultimatum and from the two catamarans, and the noise set the pokemon off, too. Sinbad threw his head back and joined in with a long howl.
Natalie held on tight to the guardrails.
"Sinbad!"
They turned to face another sailor—another pirate—Natalie hadn't seen before. He held up a wine bottle, a questioning look on his face.
Her brother hesitated before he broke into a grin, too. "Fuck it. Let's do it." He took the bottle and raised it over his head in a wordless cheer to the crew. There was another burst of cheers and applause.
A chant broke out: "Speech! Speech! Speech!"
"Alright!" He raised a hand until the crowd settled down and drew close enough to hear, some of them pressing between him and Natalie. The sudden quiet was astonishing—Natalie could hear the waves slapping the ship's hull.
"I'd like to make a toast," he said, "to our generous benefactors."
The crowd chuckled, and it made the hair on Natalie's arms stand on end.
"Here's to Macro Cosmos in honor of their sizable donation to our cause!"
More laughter and applause. Sinbad seemed to grow taller and fiercer with each swell of cheers, and Natalie felt herself shrinking beside him.
"And here's to all of you. You guys have some fucking balls!" He waited for the cheers to die back down. "Really—I'm impressed by you guys every single day. Nobody else fights like you. And it's a good thing because the fight is far from over. Tomorrow it's back to business … but tonight is yours."
With that, he unscrewed the cap, took a swig directly from the bottle, and then passed it into the crowd.
Natalie moved away from the ORCA festivities, holding tight to the railing. As she passed, someone offered her a bottle, but she waved it away. She wanted to get her head right.
When she found a quiet corner, she dropped her head onto her arms and let the events of the long, long day crash over her. The protest—had that been only this morning?
And Mark. Gods, she'd been wrong about him. His knee on her back. His eyes burning with murderous contempt. Natalie shivered and straightened up to wrap her arms around herself instead.
A nasty enemy, her brother had said. Probably he'd meant Magma in general, and that was worrying, too. There must be people out there, she realized, who already hated her even though she had no idea they existed. She didn't even have to be involved with ORCA—if any of them knew who her brother was, they would know about her and—gods, Archie—her parents, too.
But Mark was something else—a personal demon. Natalie had told him things about herself, about her family, that she hadn't admitted to anyone, and he'd …. Well. She wouldn't be so quick to trust again. She should be angry, and maybe in the morning she would be. Right now, she mostly hoped she never crossed paths with him again.
Natalie gazed over the railing at the black ocean, almost indistinguishable from the black sky, and felt very small.
Turning back to face the deck, she was relieved to see the crew settling down. She didn't like the idea of being aboard a ship under the control of drunken sailors. A few of the pirates stood together in small groups, passing bottles around, but others were simply talking or returning below deck. Natalie's gaze caught on a skinny, androgynous figure who stood against the wall, wearing all black except for their blue and white kerchief. They looked half-familiar. For a moment, she couldn't figure out what seemed strange about them, though her eye kept returning to something gauzy and fluttery draped over one shoulder—until she recognized a banette's smile gleaming out from their sweater hood.
Without thinking, Natalie started to rise and reach for Luna's pokeball, but a hand caught her arm.
"Woah, slow down." She tried to pull away, but they didn't loosen their grip, and then someone else laid a hand on her shoulder. "Be chill."
In a strangled voice, she squeezed out, "They're following me!"
"I asked them to."
She hadn't noticed Sinbad approach, and his voice stopped her cold. The strangers let her go, and she turned to face him, this man who was both her brother and someone else entirely.
"Why?" She punctuated it with a shove.
The crowd gathering around them gave out a hiss, but Sinbad hardly reacted. "I wasn't sure it was you," he said with a shrug. "And then … I wanted to make sure you were okay."
She crossed her arms to stop them from shaking, painfully aware of all the eyes on her. "Why couldn't you just talk to me?" To her horror, a single, hot tear slipped out. She quickly swiped it away, but her mouth kept quivering.
"I'm sorry, Small Fry."
At that, her tears started flowing in earnest.
"I really am sorry," he repeated.
Natalie wanted to hit him. She wanted to scream at him and at each one of the silently staring crew. Instead, she crumpled against him. After a moment he patted her on the back.
She clung to him with desperate force, feeling every bit the kid she'd been when he vanished. But he even smelled wrong, like unfamiliar detergent and alcohol. No matter how tightly she squeezed, she couldn't seem to bridge the gap between the words he'd written ten years ago and the person he'd become—or maybe always had been.
When at last she calmed her breath, he pulled away first.
Oof, Natalie. Well, this one is about ships in the night in both the literal and figurative sense. Natalie and Sinbad are passing each other by in every conversation they have. I like how much this chapter centers on Natalie and her reaction and her working through her feelings about her brother and her dad. Mark really takes a backseat to that, and it feels appropriate. She's only known him a few days, whereas her brother's disappearance has shaped her life. I enjoyed the comraderie and rhythms of the ORCA ship, and how out of place Natalie feels. Love the hints at the Sinbad Montag backstory, as well as the origin story we get for Archie Armstrong becoming Sinbad the Pirate King. Natalie's dad feels like a third, ever-present interlocutor in this chapter. In so many moments, it feels like Natalie's not necessarily saying what she feels, but rather trying to say something that reflects what her dad might feel. Sinbad is a stranger to her in so many different ways and the slow breakdown of her idealized version of him is a painful ride.
She could've stayed put. She could've continued on to Lavaridge—screw ORCA and the Rustboro gym, too. But that would've meant letting him slip away again. And if she'd let him go this time, she might've never seen him again.
Natalie sat up, more carefully this time. The effects of sleep spore had lasted longer than she'd expected, much to her frustration—she'd been swooning during the journey to the ship once the adrenaline had worn off—and she was still a little lightheaded. Or maybe it was because of the rolling of the ship now. All the same, she took a deep breath and stood, steadying herself against the edge of the desk. She didn't know what she was going to say yet, but it was time to find her brother.
Skipping the flash back definitely works. I think you've got all the relevant information here, and it gives the chapter a lot more momentum to not get bogged down with the flashback. I also like that we get to explore the ship with Natalie.
She squirmed thinking of all the people who'd managed to seize some piece of him, who had shared meals and plans and more with him, while Natalie and her parents were left wondering whether he was even alive. He'd built an entire life without them.
The kid. Still. Natalie hadn't minded it in his emails—she had been a kid ten years ago. And she appreciated him taking care of her, finding her a bed and a meal—a ride home, even. But the word made her feel smaller each time he said it.
She set her jaw and pushed ahead in a loud voice, "And it's not about what people say. It's about what I know and what I've seen. Like the shipyard."
Natalie hadn't been at the shipyard, of course—she'd been ten years old. But she'd been called out of school early to sit on the couch with Mom and watch the local news with the solemnity of prayer, waiting for news of Dad. Channel 10 looped the same footage over and over: the fires stretching into the sky, the ships with water cannons and pokemon dousing the flames. And, after, the blackened remnants of the seven ships that had burned. The skull and crossbones slashed across the warehouse doors had left no doubt as to who had been responsible.
"Did you know that ORCA attacked our shipyard a couple years ago?" She raised her chin in challenge, but he only stared back.
"I did."
She spluttered, "That's it? Arch—" She stopped herself but couldn't quite bring herself to use the new name. "What about Dad? I begged him not to go to work. Every day. For weeks. And you don't have anything to say about it?"
"I didn't want him to go into work either." A dark look crossed his face as he leaned forward across the table.
As a welder, Dad might've even personally laid hands on the ship. Did he know? Natalie started to wonder—but, no, it wouldn't have mattered.
She pictured him leaning against the counter after work, letting out a sigh as he cracked a beer. "Another day another dollar," he would say, but he would smile, too. He wasn't the type to talk about his work—he simply did it and came home—but she could see how proud he was when he pointed out a boat he'd built. It could be a garbage freighter and he'd still be proud.
Good, honest work. Each word sat in her stomach like a brick.
"We made sure that wouldn't happen. It's not about hurting people—it's about preventing harm." He eased back in his seat again. "Think about it. Now those tankers will never sail. Less oil burned, less oil spilled."
His tone was so relaxed it struck Natalie speechless.
She tried a different tactic. "You can't pretend it didn't hurt people. How many people lost their jobs—"
"Do you hear yourself? Is that what you really think?" he said, voice rising. "Which is worse, losing money or suffocating to death under crude oil?"
"I'm not saying—"
"That shit lingers for decades, killing pokemon, making people sick all down the coast. And it never stops. If it's not DevCo, it's ocean acidification. Fifty years ago, Hoenn had some of the most biodiverse marine ecosystems in the world, and now half those species are completely gone—in less than one human lifetime. Where do you think we go when we finally fuck it up so bad that humans can't survive our own cesspool?"
Natalie let out a long sigh. "Couldn't you talk to him?" she pleaded.
Archie—or, no, Sinbad—shot her a scathing look. "Sure. Real open-minded guy, our old man. Just loves sharing feelings and debating politics." He laughed. "ORCA's only the half of what he'd hate about me."
She grimaced, thinking of the emails. Don't make this political, Dad had written more than once. End of that conversation.
"Fair point," she admitted.
"It wasn't anything personal against you, Natalie," Archie added more gently. "None of this. But what was I supposed to say? Fuck you and your politics, but say hi to the kid for me?"
Natalie studied her brother's face. He used to look so much like Dad, but the full and curly beard changed the shape of his jaw. Already, a few grays were scattered throughout his dark hair. Maybe he was right—he wasn't Archie anymore.
Again, love the talking past each other. If this were an improv exercise, Archie's motive is to preach about ORCA, Natalie's is to try and reconcile Archie and Dad.
Lip curling, he added, "And Montag can't stand not being in control of everything, so he has to stick his nose in it anyway." He clenched a fist, suddenly wound tight as a trip wire. "So, no. We're not the same. Not even close."
"That's when I realized the slogans and promises and handshakes were just branding. Harry Gordon called himself progressive, but he didn't actually care what happened to people or pokemon—just his bottom line. Exactly like the other guy. And even after all of that, we lost anyway." He shook his head, chuckling. "So I guess the old man was sort of right. It's a seviper's game, and the skin's always shedding."
Sinbad sank into a stony silence. After a moment, he seemed to remember the bowl in his hands and returned to eating.
He did sound like Dad, who'd made no secret of his scorn for both candidates during the last local election. Natalie had been too young to vote then, and now ... she couldn't say who she would chose. They weren't wrong, Dad and Sinbad. Whoever won, nothing that really mattered seemed to change. But, gods, that didn't mean he could do whatever he—
I like these repeated parallels Natalie is finding between Archie and her dad. Archie's maybe more like Dad than he'd ever admit, but also, Natalie's probably clinging to any common ground she can find between them, no matter how thin.
She tottered, disoriented by the dark and the constant rocking—she didn't think she'd imagined that it had gotten worse in the past few minutes—but her brother strode smoothly to the guardrails. So she trailed after.
Sinbad threw his head back and joined in with a long howl.
Natalie held on tight to the guardrails.
"Sinbad!"
They turned to face another sailor—another pirate—Natalie hadn't seen before. He held up a wine bottle, a questioning look on his face.
Natalie saw her brother hesitate before he broke into a grin, too. "Fuck it. Let's do it." He took the bottle and raised it over his head in a wordless cheers to the crew. There was another burst of cheers and applause.
A chant broke out: "Speech! Speech! Speech!"
"Alright!" He raised a hand until the crowd settled down and drew close enough to hear, some of them pressing between him and Natalie. The sudden quiet was astonishing—Natalie could hear the waves slapping the ship's hull.
"I'd like to make a toast," he said, "to our generous benefactors."
The crowd chuckled, and it made the hair on Natalie's arms stand on end.
But Mark was something else—it was personal. Natalie had told him things about herself, about her family, that she hadn't admitted to anyone, and he'd …. Well. She wouldn't be so quick to trust again. She should be angry, and maybe in the morning she would be. Right now, she mostly hoped she never crossed paths with him again.
Appreciate the muted reaction here. It hammers home just how disoriented and exhausted Natalie feels, because we know that if she were feeling at all herself, she'd be fuming.
This bit slots in a little awkwardly into the ending segment. I think you may want to change her reaction to suit the tone of the ending more. This made sense when it's her first encountering ORCA and the ship, but by this point "fury and panic" seems like a lot for her to muster.
Natalie wanted to hit him. She wanted to scream at him not to touch her. Instead, she crumpled against him. After a moment he patted her on the back.
She clung to him with desperate force, feeling every bit the kid she'd been when he vanished. But he even smelled wrong, like unfamiliar detergent and alcohol. No matter how tightly she squeezed, she couldn't seem to bridge the gap between the words he'd written ten years ago and the person he'd become—or maybe always had been.
When at last she calmed her breath, he pulled away first.
I always appreciate your big picture summaries of what's happening in a given chapter--very, very useful temperature read. I think you're right about those lingering, small recalibrations (never--not--editing!!) but otherwise ... I'm glad it sounds like I managed the thing I set out to do!
She absolutely does. But I think in the same way she's pulling a lot of her responses from Dad, she's justifying her feelings by referring to Dad again here. Poor baby has been thrown for a loop (or two) and doesn't really know what to make of "what do *I* do from here?" Especially since at the start of Ch 1, her status was "IDK what I want except maybe to be like my brother??"
Appreciate the muted reaction here. It hammers home just how disoriented and exhausted Natalie feels, because we know that if she were feeling at all herself, she'd be fuming.
I think what she's actually feeling here and is unwilling to admit to herself in so many words is ... he's scary. She can only puff up and bulldoze her way through so much at once, and clearly it did not serve her well re: Mark. Anger is like fear but with energy behind it. Right now, no energy, so she just feels small.
Glad to see this updating again! I went back and reread the first couple chapters, and I like how you streamlined them; the fic does feel like more of a sprint out of the gate now, but I didn't feel like I was missing anything with the way you'd slimmed things down. We definitely jump into the meat of the story sooner.
But now, on to the actual new chapter! Nice to start learning about the Aqua side of things, and also to get the much-anticipated reunion between Natalie and Archie! Which went dramatically worse than it could have, really. It's obvious how much Archie's changed from Natalie's memory of him, and how much trouble he has relating to her as well. I also enjoyed the glimpse into Aqua culture here, with the repainted ships and the exuberant celebrations, as well as Archie's personableness with the people working under him. You definitely get a sense of that wild, carefree piratical energy. I thought his backstory here was a nice touch, too; it feels like a reasonable enough way for someone to end up going down the path that Archie has. I do also enjoy the dramatic irony here; I had to go back and reread the end of the last chapter to double-check, but realizing that Natalie doesn't realize he's literally the LEADER of Team Aqua lent a great air of "oh NO" to the events in the early part of the chapter.
One possible misfortune of slimming down the earlier chapters is I don't feel like I have that clear of a picture of what Natalie's relationship with Archie is. I certainly get her desire to find him, to at least figure out what might have happened, but I don't think I get as good a sense of what he really means to her, personally. There are nice anectodes about the pelipper and the way he taught her to battle, but I guess I got the impression of someone she'd looked up to in a kind of generic sibling half-remembered way. If the idea is she admired his politics specifically and is here having her image of him as a noble and tireless activist, that didn't really come through for me. Her impression of him here is obviously different than what she remembers, and regardless of their relationship I think it's understandable she'd be horrified about the shipyard thing, but I'm not totally sure what her image of him was that's getting shattered here, besides "generally not a criminal."
I also don't get a clear picture of Archie here, which is intriguing but maybe not what you're going for. He acts pretty cold towards Natalie here (especially at the end, ouch!), but at the same time he must have had some real interest in Natalie, and hope that she'd be interested in joining up with him, or he wouldn't have brought her along to the boat, right? But he never seriously seems to pitch Aqua to her here. Perhaps he simply considered bringing Natalie to his ship to be the best way to keep her safe after the encounter with Mark, or he's acting weird because of his own conflicted feelings, but if you weren't intending for that to be kind of unclear, it might be worth considering how to clarify his motivations.
I enjoyed the little moment of Aqua/Magma rivalry here. It's nice to get some elaboration on why they despise each other so much despite their superficially similar goals, and it was fun to see how worked up discussing Magma made Archie, even compared to discussing his dad. (Which, hoo, I'm sure there would be loads there for a therapist to unpack.) I can only assume that the grudge against Montag is more than a little personal in nature, and I look forward to learning more about that--and seeing them clash--later in the story.
Very curious to see how Natalie's going to end up on Team Aqua after this. This chapter was obviously a huge disillusionment for her, in terms of her brother, and she's obviously deeply uncomfortable with their methods. It'll be interesting to see what ultimately motivates her to take the step to join up with the team.
All in all a solid chapter, and one that keeps me excited to read more! Lots of questions answered here, but many raised as well. There's a lot of potential in Nat and Archie's relationship and how it's going to shift over the course of the story, and it should be a lot of fun to see how that plays out! Only one thing left to say here, really... WHERE. IS. GIBS???? :O
It held no cargo she could see, and a new name had been superimposed on whatever had been there before, dim but just visible in the moonlight: The Motherfucker.
I'm so glad to see this being updated again! And we get to see Team Aqua's ship, to boot!! It's like an early Christmas!
"That shit lingers for decades, killing pokemon, making people sick all down the coast. And it never stops. If it's not DevCo, it's ocean acidification. Fifty years ago, Hoenn had some of the most biodiverse marine ecosystems in the world, and now half those species are completely gone—in less than one human lifetime. Where do you think we go when we finally fuck it up so bad that humans can't survive our own cesspool?"
Ah, I hear these words almost every day. Well, not exactly these words, but stuff along these lines. It's always interesting looking at these arguments and the counterarguments to them, to say the least.
Big oof on the family dynamic and the politics. I feel that. Especially with Natalie trying to be the peacemaker in all of it.
Also, is Archie short for Archibald here? Because that's how it is for me as well, haha. I haven't found any spot to include it in yet tho ._.
I really don't have anything to say that others haven't already said, haha. I was a bit confused as to the scene on the boat and what exactly was happening--though that might just be me in the moment and I may need to go back and reread when I'm not as sleepy as right now. I was so excited when Nat glimpsed the Sharpedo and Carvanha! Though I do wish this chapter could have included the Pokemon a bit more; I feel like they tend to be more on the side in this fic and not as focused on. That's not a criticism, just an observation and personal opinion.
Loved the bit about Team Aqua culture on their ship. Nice to see drunken sailors all buddying up.
Glad to see this back! It'll be neat to see where Nat ends up and what she decides to do. Always excited to read about my favorite teams :)
but realizing that Natalie doesn't realize he's literally the LEADER of Team Aqua lent a great air of "oh NO" to the events in the early part of the chapter.
This is right though! When he vanished, she was 8 and he was at least 18 (but probably closer to 21 or 22), already coming home only on visits from his travels. She grew up with him as an absence more than as a presence, which was like a blank check she could write herself. I think there was certainly some mutual affection, but ... no, they don’t know each other super well. 🙃
I also don't get a clear picture of Archie here, which is intriguing but maybe not what you're going for. He acts pretty cold towards Natalie here (especially at the end, ouch!), but at the same time he must have had some real interest in Natalie, and hope that she'd be interested in joining up with him, or he wouldn't have brought her along to the boat, right? But he never seriously seems to pitch Aqua to her here. Perhaps he simply considered bringing Natalie to his ship to be the best way to keep her safe after the encounter with Mark, or he's acting weird because of his own conflicted feelings, but if you weren't intending for that to be kind of unclear, it might be worth considering how to clarify his motivations.
I guess I’ll see how these points feel after the next chapter! I always can and will go back in to tweak. I see this chapter as, uh, the beginning of their new relationship. Lots more to explore there as we continue in the story. But, long story short, I definitely did intend him to be cold.
From his perspective, he’s on his way back from a mission when—his team stops. When he catches up to them, what does he see but one of Maxie’s darlings with his knee on baby sister’s back. Can’t have that. So, scoop her up. But also, he’s not looking for another project and he’s pretty ready to cut and run from her again—he’s already cut Dad out and doesn’t actually even call him Dad anymore (🙃). He’s basically putting a bandaid on her skinned knee, no kisses for that booboo, and sending her back into the yard to play.
I can only assume that the grudge against Montag is more than a little personal in nature, and I look forward to learning more about that--and seeing them clash--later in the story.
Ugh, I know! I have a very clear idea of where he is, but it didn’t really fit here—Natalie isn’t thinking about Mark, certainly not about his cat, and she isn’t pals with these people enough to inquire lol. I have thoughts about it that I’ll slot in first opportunity I get. Next chapter is
M E S S Y,
both from the characters’ perspectives and how it gels together in my head right now, or doesn’t, so there are some opportunities there but also a lot of other balls in the air.
So much boat research. Sea Shepherd actually has a 360 tour of one of their boats on YouTube—you can pause and turn your phone to see more—which was amazingly helpful.
Ah, I hear these words almost every day. Well, not exactly these words, but stuff along these lines. It's always interesting looking at these arguments and the counterarguments to them, to say the least.
Yeah it’s ... super real. Mans isn’t wrong about the state of things. Devon Horizon is my unholy union between the abandoned ship in RSE + Deepwater Horizon + Exxon Valdez. Deepwater Horizon in particular was about ten years ago now and I still found recent news articles talking about how the ecosystem is being affected. Mutant crabs (not in the fun Pokémon way), sludge on the sea floor .... Ocean acidification is, IMHO, more insidious, but there’s no singular obvious bad guy to punch for that one. Oil spills are easy to hate.
It very well could be! I, uh, bolted away from the name as hard as I could and paved it over with my own. Archie and Maxie are such goofy names! Archie in particular makes me think Archie and Jughead, lol, not the leader of a band of pirates.
I was a bit confused as to the scene on the boat and what exactly was happening--though that might just be me in the moment and I may need to go back and reread when I'm not as sleepy as right now.
Ah, fair enough! I do see this as Natalie’s first, bewildering pass at Boat Stuff, and there’s going to be more later when she knows more. But if you’ve got specifics about what was unclear do let me know! Never not editing. ;)
Though I do wish this chapter could have included the Pokemon a bit more; I feel like they tend to be more on the side in this fic and not as focused on. That's not a criticism, just an observation and personal opinion.
No no, you’re not wrong! It’s a repeated weakness in my stories that the Pokémon very much come second. And some of that is just sheer volume of characters! There are a lot of humans I’d love to get to know better on this boat, too, but it’ll have to be another time. We’ll definitely see more of them around, though. I’ve got a big pokemon team feels moment I’m hoping to pull together next chapter.
Here for Catnipo! My first OSJ fic... I was afraid to read this one slightly due to it IIRC having an aspect that I'm not sure I should mention because it might be a spoiler but makes me go :/ , but despite this I like what I've read so far! Some bullet points.
-Nice establishment of your protag and how she thinks and feels right away
-Luna is a good hyena-puby
-Bannete! Nice to see one show up
-Mark is the cocky "no worty opponents" type i see
-the disappearing brother is... ominous
-i love the story about and the description of the pelippers
-i read "the armstrong family" and think Fullmetal Alchemist
-I love the Breloom drinking the beer
-I wish my name was Erica Spitfire
-Getting that badge is certain to go HORRIBLY WRONG
But very intriguing fic! Lots of cool concepts flying around. Magma - Aqua drama is always a good thing to write Pokefic about. Keep at it!
A character gets someone's pronouns wrong. They course correct, but they're still salty and petty about it.
Archie wasn't at breakfast on Natalie's first full day on the ship, but he must've put out the word to keep an eye on her; the instant she stepped into the mess hall, a table of sailors waved her over and pulled her down onto their bench. Maybe it had nothing to do with Archie at all. Maybe they were simply being kind. Certainly, they didn't say anything important or incriminating in front of her, but she got the impression that it was because what they needed most was to joke and complain, not because they were being careful.
Even wedged between two of them, she still remained on the edges of their conversation. She observed the crew the way she might watch a flock of wingull: as a distant, shifting mass. So she noticed the ripple of movement around the room even before someone passed the pokeball to their table. Her companions quieted, each one examining it in turn, snickering as they handed it around—until Natalie was next in line. There came a pause and then, "Oh, let her see it. What's she gonna do?"
It was an ordinary pokeball, if well-worn. Like each of the others before her, she turned it to read the text crawl at the seam between the red and white halves. The text was corrupted—she hoped it wasn't a sign of something wrong with the pokemon inside—so it took her several moments to parse: reg1sTEred tr4iner MÅ18x0ÑSTAn—li3paRd.
Liepard. That was a surprise. Not many of those in—
With a wash of revulsion, she remembered: she'd met Mark's liepard, Gibs. And they'd taken one of his pokeballs back in the parking lot.
"So what do you think I should do with it?"
Scarlet appeared at Natalie's elbow, her dark hair in a French braid and a cold smile on her lips. She made no move to take the pokeball back, but Natalie sensed Scarlet had approached to better supervise her with it.
When Natalie didn't respond, Scarlet offered airily, "I thought about tossing the thing overboard."
She remembered the ripple of muscles as the liepard tensed to lunge at her, and she could hardly believe he was now curled powerless in the palm of her hand. It would take so little to send the pokeball flying over the rail: a short walk and a flick of the wrist. Over in less than a minute. Pokeballs were supposed to be waterproof, but …. She shivered, imagining Luna's pokeball bobbing in the ship's wake instead.
"Please don't."
"You're right—enough trash in the ocean already." Scarlet cast Natalie a sly look. "Or you think I should give it back?"
Aha. A test. Well, Natalie didn't want anything to do with it. Wordlessly, she shoved the liepard's pokeball back at Scarlet.
"How loyal is a cat, d'you think?" She held the pokeball up like a jeweler inspecting the cut of a gem. "A dog will wait 'til death for its trainer's return—almost impossible to retrain. That's why cops love them. But a cat … harder to say. Hard to tell with people, too." And she shot Natalie a pointed look.
Don't lecture me about loyalty, Natalie wanted to fire back. I'm the one who was left behind. But she had no friends or allies aboard the Ultimatum, so she kept her mouth shut.
Scarlet pocketed the pokeball with a shrug. "Probably better to sell it off, right? We could use a new welding torch." With that, she sauntered back to her own table.
Natalie couldn't wait to get back to shore.
—
Five of them gathered around a table towards the back. Mark had arrived first, bone-tired and full of venom for every overwatered lawn in Mauville City. Sierra and River had arrived together—possibly siblings and possibly a couple but definitely a unit—both cheerful but guarded. Eben had arrived next, to Mark's relief. He'd also traveled from Rustboro, though as a precaution he'd taken a different route. Mark trusted Eben as much as he trusted anyone: he showed up when asked and didn't panic under fire. Last to arrive was Zig, short for Zigzagoon, who nattered away as he stealthily nibbled from the others' plates. Like his namesake, he never held still.
Tabitha had yet to arrive, and Mark had no doubt her timing was purposeful, more of her usual psychological bullshit.
Over drinks, they idly compared notes on the situations in Rustboro, Mauville, and Fortree. They examined recent headlines on each other's phones, sharing a dark laugh at what had been left out. Someone mentioned the anti-mask bill, and they hissed and fumed together. All the while, each of them caught the others' eyes in turn. Probing. Making silent contracts.
Like before his very first action and like every other since, Mark began to love these near-strangers a little, even sketchy Zig. They were going to spike trees until the logging stopped. They were going to hit DevCo in the teeth with its own infrastructure. They were going to save the world—because no one else would.
Zig checked his watch with a flourish and asked, "Is anyone, like, keeping tabs on Tabs?"
"Don't let her catch you calling her that," Mark said dryly. "She doesn't like nicknames."
River and Sierra exchanged a look.
"What?"
"I'm pretty sure—"
And then there was Tabitha, stepping suddenly out of the crowd as if materializing from the ether. Her hair was shaved shorter than even Mark's, her scalp gleaming with blue light from the TV screens. As she offered a curt wave and slipped into the remaining seat, Mark mustered a smile.
"Well, there she is," he said.
Tabitha scowled in greeting.
Seriously?
Mark let his smile fall. Yeah, hello to you, too.
"My pronouns," Tabitha said coolly, "are he-him-they-them."
Heat crawled up Mark's neck. Tear me right the fuck in half. Since when?
He shoved down his indignation and took a breath. "Sorry. I genuinely didn't mean to—"
Tabitha cut in, "Let's just go around and share names and pronouns. I'll start. You all know who I am, and we already talked about my pronouns … but this is Cipher. They, them."
What Mark had at first taken to be a backpack crawled up and over Tabitha's shoulder, flicked out its wings, and flitted onto the table to investigate a sticky patch where something had spilled. Oh yeah, Mark remembered that ninjask. Fast, persistent, and always watching both enemies and friends alike.
After the others dutifully recited their names and pronouns, Tabitha leaned forward and pushed aside her—fuck—his drink. "I'm glad you all made it. No one had any trouble? No incidents or encounters?"
They shook their heads.
"Good." Tabitha nodded slowly. "Since some of you haven't worked under me before, let me tell you how this is going to be: if I give an order, you do it. No questions."
He was imitating Montag's speaking style, Mark thought, but missing the point. Montag didn't make demands—he offered invitations.
Tabitha continued, "We only get one shot at this. There's no room for screwups or showboating." He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze lingering on Mark, who folded his arms but didn't interrupt. "If anyone has a problem with that, any doubts at all ... go home."
No one spoke.
When he was satisfied with their silence, Tabitha withdrew a pen and paper from his pocket. He shooed Cipher out of the way and—wonderful—the ninjask buzzed to the back of Mark's chair instead. Tabitha smoothed the paper flat and then, with careful attention to each bend, drew a zigzag down the page. "This is the Route 110 overpass." He added a second line, in some places parallel to the first and in others arcing away to hug an invisible coast. "And this is Ridge Access."
Just like that, a piece of paper became the world. They all leaned closer to watch the ink move across the page.
"There will be lookouts here and here." Tabitha indicated each spot with an X. "Zig, you and your murkrow will be here."
"Eyes in the sky," Zig said with an exaggerated grin.
"And ... Mark. You've got a liepard and a swoobat, right?"
Mark couldn't stop himself from wincing. "I don't have my liepard right now." He cleared his throat. "But I have a golbat."
Tabitha shrugged, no hint of sympathy in his face. "Golbat works. You're on watch on this side." Then he looked up and raised an eyebrow at Mark, waiting for an objection.
Is that what it was about, elevating himself above Mark? Fuck off, Tabitha. I don't work for you. If Montag wanted him to follow Tabitha's orders this time, he would—out of respect for Montag, not Tabitha's ego. But let Tabitha think whatever he needed to.
"Can do," Mark answered evenly.
Cipher's claws scraped along the back of his chair. Little creep.
Tabitha returned his attention to the page, circling a segment of the pipeline. "The rest of you will be with me, somewhere around here. We're looking for a place where the surface has already been damaged. That's where we'll apply heat. Camerupt, magcargo, whoever you have. Then … who's got a reliable digger?"
Mark counted off in his head—everyone on his belt except for Octavia the golbat. But Tabitha wasn't asking him, so he kept it to himself.
Eben spoke up. "I've got a graveler."
"Good. Then you'll make the trench to flush the pipeline with water. It has to be fast. Intense heat, then—" He snapped his fingers. "—sudden cold. After that, one or two good hits should crack it."
"I thought the point was to keep it away from the water, control the damage."
Tabitha shot Mark a nasty look, and he returned one of his own. "The point," Tabitha snapped, "is the overpass. If Hoenn cared about water, they wouldn't have approved the pipeline in the first place."
Mark closed his eyes and imagined standing up, letting his chair topple to the floor, and walking out—fuck Tabitha and fuck this entire plan. But Montag's words held him in place: those in power will wait until the worst has already happened before they do a single thing, both a warning and a promise. And Mark believed it because he'd seen it.
He'd gone to his first protest against the Virbank refinery—his first ever—when he was sixteen. The noise and spectacle had made him feel hopeful, angry, and alive ... but nothing had come of it. When the protests had grown larger and louder, the only change had been for the police to become more aggressive. When Mark had come of age two years later and left home, those two plumes of smoke had still squatted on the horizon at his back. Even after he'd left Unova entirely, Mark had kept an eye on the news at home, so he knew the half-hearted protests had continued, as had the refinery.
Last year, the refinery had finally closed for good—but only because it had self-combusted. A corroded pipe, the reports had explained almost sheepishly, as if it could've happened to anyone. The explosion had launched a drum the size of a gigalith clear across the river to Liberty Garden, and it had also released five thousand pounds of hydrofluoric acid into the air. Benzine in the groundwater. Lead in the soil.
By then, Kathy had already started at Castelia Academy of Music, thank gods. But by then, she'd also already lost half her childhood to hospital visits and countless days when the air quality had been so bad she'd had to stay inside.
"Do we have a problem?" Tabitha demanded.
"No." Mark forced himself to lean back in his chair. "I get it."
Tabitha eyed him warily for a long moment. Finally, he turned back to the map to indicate their exit route, west through a wooded stretch to a pickup point. "We'll teleport back to Mauville, separately, to make us harder to track. Oh, River, you'll be fine. It's only a short distance."
He sat back. "Any other questions? Okay, good." Then he drummed his fingers and called, "Cy, come."
The ninjask shot onto the tabletop, nearly toppling several drinks.
"If the cops or ORCA show up," Tabitha said, tearing a long strip from his hand-drawn map, "we don't engage. We're not here to fight with them. We do the job quickly and get out. Everyone got it?"
The five of them made sounds of assent while Tabitha continued shredding the map. They all watched him feed the pieces of paper to Cipher, demolishing both evidence and pipeline one strip at a time.
—
The ship continued relentlessly forward, carrying Natalie closer both to her point of origin and to a fathomless future. All she could do was wait to arrive.
At first bewildered by the constant activity both above and below deck, Natalie quickly learned the Ultimatum's mess hall hours. She had no tasks and nowhere to be, so mealtimes provided the only structure in her days. The rest of her time she spent above deck, watching the crew tease each other as they worked, the sharpedo that knifed alongside the ship. She still saw Archie little; entire days passed without her glimpsing him once.
She was grateful the deck was large enough that she could give her team some air. Cramped as the ship was for her, she imagined it was worse to be cooped up inside a pokeball for days on end. Predictably, Luna hated being on the ship. She'd been on the ocean before—starting with childhood day trips on the family Bowrider and most recently during the journey to Dewford—but she never seemed to acclimate. Natalie let her out a few times anyway, just to try. Each time, the mightyena swayed, claws scrabbling with an increasing frenzy until she all but knocked herself over; then she lay belly-down, whimpering and waiting for Natalie to recall her.
She'd expected Gus, the whismur, to start screaming immediately upon release—but, to her surprise, he seemed to like the Ultimatum. The deck was loud, but it was a wash of constant sound that drowned out the sudden noises that would've normally set him off. The ship's rolling wasn't unlike Natalie rocking him to calm him down from a crying fit.
A few times, she convinced one of the crew to spar with her, wanting as much to exercise her pokemon as to break the monotony. She lost each match. Over and over, a sudden pitch would send Natalie's pokemon sprawling or unbalance them enough for the opponent to knock them down instead. Samson and Gus didn't have enough experience to roll with the motion of the ship, and she didn't have enough experience to help them compensate for what they didn't know.
Only Amelia was untroubled by the rolling of the deck, but she was much more interested in chasing and amicably squabbling with the other wingull and pelipper that followed the ship. Some definitely belonged to the crew—occasionally swooping down to beg their human for treats or to give an affectionate nip—but others seemed to be wild, coming and going at will. When Amelia first flew up to join them, Natalie's heart clenched in momentary panic that she wouldn't be able to find her again. But only Amelia had speckles along the edges of her wings, and only Amelia came when Natalie whistled.
Was Amelia glad to be heading home? Surely she could sense that Slateport was close. Had she missed her family, Natalie wondered, or would she be disappointed to return to familiar shores and find them smaller than she'd remembered?
With Gus in the crook of her arm, eating a nabab berry she'd saved from lunch, Natalie stood at the guardrails to watch Amelia drift and dive between the pelipper. Her wingull's calls almost sounded like laughter. Natalie heard the footsteps behind her but, accustomed to being mostly ignored on the ship, didn't turn her head.
"In the wild, they actually eat wingull sometimes."
It took Natalie a moment to realize the woman was talking to her. She had seen the woman around the ship—her mane of gingery curls was hard to miss. Most often she was in conversation with Sinbad, her brows drawn together. But she was half-smiling now as she leaned against the railing next to Natalie.
Without waiting for her to respond, the woman continued, "They cooperate more often, though. When a pelipper dives, it also stuns the fish—easy pickings for the wingull. And then, eventually, the wingull become pelipper and pay it back to the next generation."
Squinting against the wind, Natalie swept her hair from her face with her free hand; it was too short to pull up, so all she could do was hold it back. "I thought pelipper did the hunting for the wingull. Mouth-feeding and all that."
"Only the young. Adolescents and unevolved adults are on their own." She paused to point out a pelipper overhead. "That's my girl Alba with the pinkish beak. And yours is the little speckled one, right?"
"Yeah, that's Amelia. And I'm Natalie."
"I know."
Right. Of course.
But the woman smiled and said, "I'm Shelly. Captain of Rosie the Riveter—when I'm not here."
She pointed again, though she didn't need to. The catamaran with the rose painted on its side was still sailing alongside them, but the other had split off along with the freighter some time ago.
"I've been missing her. Excited to get back behind the wheel."
Gus began to fidget, so Natalie switched him to her other arm, bouncing him gently. She was getting ready to ask if there had been a reason for the biology lesson when Shelly spoke up again.
"I know this probably isn't easy for you. Sinbad can be …." She paused. "Easily distracted. He means well, though."
"Sure." Natalie turned back to the water, scowling and swiping her hair from her mouth.
"I just wanted to make sure you're okay. See if you need anything."
"It's fine." For the hundredth time, Natalie checked her watch—still no signal. "Though I kind of thought I might get service back as we got closer to Slateport. I left my backpack at the hostel. Have to ask them to forward it to the pokecenter."
"Oh. No one told you."
Natalie shot her a wordless glare. No, no one had told her much of anything.
In a kind voice, Shelly explained, "Zinfandel blocks all outgoing signals except for the ones we authorize. You won't be able to make any calls while you're in her range."
"Oh," said Natalie, not fully understanding.
Shelly smiled, the low sun shining golden through her halo of hair. "I could help you put a call through if you want."
"What's the catch?"
"There's no catch. Something like that isn't a big deal. We just have to do it from the bridge. Come on—I'll show you."
The bridge was full of boxy panels of lights and machinery, long windows lining the front and rear walls. It was mostly as Natalie expected—aside from the porygon-Z perched atop one of the consoles like a dashboard bobblehead. Zinfandel, she guessed. When Shelly and Natalie came through the door, the porygon swiveled its head to look at them without moving its body.
Sinbad, who leaned against one of the panels, didn't react to their entrance at all. "You're sure?" he was saying. The throbbing vein in his neck belied his relaxed air.
"You're really asking if I'm sure?"
Standing opposite were Scarlet and a woman with close-cropped hair and a woolen traveling cloak.
Shelly sucked in a breath. "Shit, Sin—you weren't gonna call me?"
"Relax. She just got here."
Shelly did soften somewhat, and then all four pairs of eyes turned to Natalie, the interloper.
She caught the gaze of the woman in the cloak. A frown flickered across the woman's face—but then she smiled so fiercely it was like the frown had never existed. Her canines were slightly crooked, creating the illusion of fangs. "Cute pokemon," she said.
Natalie held Gus closer, not caring that he'd reached up to pull a handful of her hair.
Shelly turned to Sinbad. "I was going to help her make a call. I didn't know things were happening in here." Then to Natalie she added, "Sorry. I'll come find you later if I can."
Sinbad dismissively waved a hand. "It doesn't matter. She can stay if she wants." He paused only briefly before charging ahead. "Tell them, Zinnia."
The woman in the cloak suddenly sobered. "Magma has been hanging around near Slateport the past few days," she said. "They're planning to target the Ridge Access Pipeline."
Natalie stared. Target? As in ...? She glanced at Shelly, whose face had gone to stone. The silence in the tiny room confirmed her worst suspicions, but she couldn't make herself believe it.
"There you go, Small Fry," Archie said, baring a grin that was all teeth and no joy. "You wanted to know the difference between us and them? There it is. We fight to keep oil out of the ocean, and Magma spills it to make a fucking point."
She thought bitterly of Mark's words in the parking lot: It's killing us and nobody cares. Had he even believed himself? Or had he simply not known?
"But that's horrible," Natalie said.
Scarlet laughed. "No shit."
Natalie turned to the woman in the cloak—Zinnia. "How do you know?"
With another flash of crooked teeth, Zinnia brought her hands to the top of her head and mimed tuning them like satellites. "Supersonic hearing." Then she let the smile fall, tucking her hands behind her back.
Natalie fought back a grimace, unsettled by her jerky movements, the stop and start smile.
Sinbad cut in, "Do you know when?"
There was no hint of a smile when Zinnia answered, "I don't think they'll wait much longer. They might even make their move tonight."
"God fucking damn it." He turned to look out the window at the sun, which sank slowly through a bank of clouds red as flame. "We're cutting it close, then."
Sinbad's silence seemed to radiate a heat of its own, and no one dared speak. He picked at his beard where a bare patch was beginning to show—then he snapped up to look at Zinnia. "Go follow them. I want you to tell us every time one of them so much as scratches his ass. Alright? Every little movement."
That smile again, a twist of her mouth, quick and sharp as a dagger. "You got it, boss." For a second, she almost sounded teasing, but then her expression turned grave again. She started for the door, her skinny arms vanishing into the folds of her cloak.
Sinbad called after her, "Spook should be there too. Can you take them?"
Zinnia paused and seemed to sink deeper into her cloak. But then she said, "Lycoris can carry us both, yes."
"Good."
This time no one stopped her from sweeping past Natalie onto the deck.
As the door shut, Natalie blurted, "Where is there a pipeline near Slateport?"
Sinbad shot her an irritated look but answered, "North. Ridge Access runs from the desert down the coast into the city. And the stretch that feeds into Slateport crosses an estuary. It's the breeding ground for half the local species."
She remembered the journey to Mauville: the smell of grass and saltwater. Home at her back and, ahead, electric bursts arcing between the bushes where a pokemon had startled from its hiding place. She'd stopped in the shade of the overpass to watch a distant pod of wailmer. And across the water to the west, there was the occasional glint of metal. She'd assumed it was an electrical line.
Shelly sighed. "So, what is this? Revenge?"
Sinbad slowly shook his head, jaw clenched. "No. As far as Montag is concerned, we're just collateral damage."
"Not if we damage his collateral," Scarlet said, followed by a metallic snap. With a pit in her stomach, Natalie watched Scarlet click her switchblade shut and open and shut again to an imagined beat.
Shelly snapped, "Stop that."
While Scarlet closed the blade and tucked it back into her boot, Shelly fired a glare at Sinbad.
He stood abruptly. "Alright. This is what we're doing," he announced. "Scar—when we dock, I want you to go with Natalie and make sure she gets home safe."
"What? Why me?"
At almost the same instant, Natalie drew herself up and protested, "I don't need a bodyguard."
Then Gus took a couple of fast breaths, the first indication of an impending fit. She scrambled to recall him.
Sinbad ignored Natalie and said to Scarlet, "Because I don't want any kamikaze shit from you tonight." Then he added more softly, "And because I want someone I can trust to keep her safe. We don't know what the fuck is going down in Slateport."
Scarlet made a momentary show of pouting before she uncrossed her arms and went to Sinbad's side, laying a hand on his chest. "And who's going to keep you safe?" she asked, her tone teasing but her eyes serious.
A good question, Natalie thought. "Why don't you just call the cops?" she said, hating the pleading in her own voice. But even as she spoke, she thought of Rustboro, how effectively Magma had broken through the police line and then slipped away again.
Sinbad leveled a stern stare at her. His eyes, so like her own, had gone dark with rage. "Because this is home."
—
Even after four years, each mission carried with it some of the fear of that first night.
Mark had been eighteen when he'd abandoned his half-finished badge quest, agreeing instead to join Magma in disabling diggers and excavators in Twist Mountain. It wasn't a mountain anymore but a pit, and on that moonless night, it had also been endlessly black. The darkness itself wasn't what had scared him but the very real possibility of blindly putting his foot over a ledge and tumbling to his death. The thought left no room to worry about hypotheticals like being arrested. But Gibs had been there, invisible yet solid and steady. Mark had crept along with his palms turned out to feel for a nudge from the liepard, listening for a growl warning him to stop or a cat-chirrup urging him ahead.
Hoenn Route 110 was neither as dark nor as perilous as Twist Mountain. The path was flat grass, silver in the moonlight, here and there sinking into marshy pools. Even in the dark, the lapping of the water told him how far before he hit the edge. But without Gibs, Mark moved haltingly. Octavia flew circles around him, which should've been comforting but instead was disorientating. Her wingbeats first from one direction and then another created the nauseating illusion that he was the one changing directions even when standing still.
There was little to see but pinpricks of light: Slateport was a line of glitter to the south. To the north, Mauville was dark, hidden in the foothills. In between, the grass rippled with intermittent sparks of hunting electrike, like a blanket full of static. He watched the drifting lights of distant ships, but those weren't the ones to worry about; ORCA would travel under cover of darkness, just like Magma.
A few hundred feet behind him, his teammates were hazy outlines among spouts of flame from three different pokemon. He smelled the burning grass, but it was almost comforting, evoking memories of battles during his early days on the road. Mark imagined Tabitha was squinting through the heat, waiting for a section of pipe to glow white-hot before he gave the order to stop and introduce the water. But from where Mark stood, it was one big fiery whorl. A signal fire. Tabitha's crobat swept clouds of shadow back and forth, but they only softened the effect, far from hiding the flames completely. Mark felt exposed, aware that he, too, would be visible as a silhouette from the water. Not much he could do about that except to stay alert.
The waiting was the worst part—nothing to distract him from his worries and doubts. He'd already come this far, and he would hold to his word. But he felt nearly sick with being there. Uselessly and foolishly, he found himself for the first time in years wanting a cigarette. Something to occupy his hands.
In his early days with Magma, lookout duty had meant crouching with the older trainers, sharing cigarettes and quiet jokes while they burned through hours of waiting for something to begin. They all smoked Blue Rings, a Hoenn brand named as a nod to the wild camerupt herds. He'd only ever smoked socially, but for months he'd carried a pack of Blue Rings in his breast pocket like a memento from a lover. An internal combustion all his own. The tobacco was probably grown in Kanto or Johto, but the pack in his pocket had felt like his passport, proof he belonged.
He didn't carry cigarettes anymore. Even if he did, he wouldn't be stupid enough to light one so close to a pipeline about to blow its highly flammable load. But he thought about it all the same. His own fault—he shouldn't have indulged with Cora.
Focus, he scolded himself.
He swept his gaze across the darkness, searching for change in the movement of the grass. Listening for a boat motor or footsteps or the call of Zig's murkrow. But there were only crickets. Even the overpass was silent, thanks to their carefully placed traffic cones and construction signs. For a little while longer, it was a beautiful night.
Then, off to one side, he heard two sharp clicks from Octavia and a jumbled flapping. First he spotted the dustox, its pale body luminous in the dark, and then Octavia diving. For a split second, he thought she was preying on it—hard to train out that behavior when what he called a lookout seemed to her like a hunt. But, no, the dustox was far too large to be wild. Mark hadn't seen its trainer yet, but he could just make out the powder flaking from its wings: sleep powder.
Even as Mark's pulse quickened, two goals crystallized in his mind: he had to raise the alarm, and he had to keep Octavia away from the sleep powder. Whether this was ORCA or police, he couldn't afford to be down a pokemon. He started to reach for his belt, calling, "Octavia, pull ba—"
Breathtaking cold swept through his chest. Before he'd even realized he'd fallen, Mark was on his knees. I'm having a heart-attack. But even as he coughed and gasped for breaths that would not come, he watched the ghost waft out through his shirt and materialize before him, baring a grin made of zipper teeth.
Mark strained to lift his hand and grab a pokeball, but his arm was as numb and unresponsive as if it had fallen asleep. He tried to shout but only managed a wheeze.
The banette's smile stretched until its face puckered, and it raised an arm, claws glowing a sickly green.
With a screech that made Mark's ears throb, Octavia swooped and caught the banette's arm in her teeth. It swung the other arm and raked its claws across her face. As she backpedaled, there was a sound of fabric tearing.
Then he saw the human figure shambling towards him along the water line, bent low over the grass. The banette must've been keeping the trainer hidden before.
Not police then.
Murkrow caws burst out from the other side of the overpass—and then cut short. Zig.
The feeling began to return to Mark's limbs, a prickling of pins and needles spreading out from his chest. He reached again for his belt, but an icy stab through his shoulder brought him up short with a grunt of pain. For a moment, he thought something else had hit him, but as he twisted to look and cold sliced across his back again, he realized his mistake. The banette must've cut him.
Octavia dove for the banette, fangs flashing. Like fog in the wind, the banette split down the center, ghostly fabric flowing to either side to let the golbat pass. When she'd gone, the banette reassembled itself with the sound of a zipper closing.
Better to slow it down. "Toxic," he rasped, but he knew Octavia hadn't heard. She wheeled for another attempt to take a bite out of the banette, and this time the dustox was on her tail.
And the trainer was almost on Mark.
He gritted his teeth against the aching cold that lanced through his back, and he seized a pokeball, fumbling with half-numb fingers and nearly dropping it. But Mark held on long enough to hit the release, and moments later, Orwell's purple light shield dropped over him like a loving embrace. "Ore," he croaked. "The dustox."
Mark didn't turn to watch how it played out—he trusted his pokemon. And he had to stand up. Hissing curses, he climbed to his feet with jerky motions that took every bit of his effort and concentration. By the time he was upright, tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and he was out of breath again. What the fuck had the banette done to him? The numbness had passed, but every motion brought a stab of fresh pain. He couldn't tell whether he was bleeding—all he felt was preternatural cold.
He turned in time to see the dustox vanish in red light. The trainer clipped the pokeball back to their belt and took off running towards the pipeline, the banette whisking behind them in a streak of smoke. And the pipeline, he realized, had gone dark.
Mark didn't know if it mattered anymore, but he still had to try to warn the others. "Ore, flash the signal!"
The solrock whirred behind him and, in bursts, cast the scene in stark light and shadow: two of his teammates still stood beside the pipeline, their pokemon fluttering overhead, and the others had moved to intercept the ORCA onslaught rushing up from the southwest. Mark counted ten of them but couldn't be quite sure. And then darkness again.
That was it, then. They'd failed … but maybe, just this once, it was for the best.
Then another thought hit him: They knew we'd be here. There was no other way they could've gathered so fast.
But he'd have to deal with that later. If he didn't act quickly, the team would be cut off from their exit. And behind him, he heard more running footsteps. "Octavia, go!" He gestured toward the approaching silhouettes, grimacing at the pain the movement shot down his arm. "Confuse them. Slow them down." Then he started forward, Ore hovering alongside him. The best he could manage was a jog, each step another burst of icy pain.
Mark was under the shadow of the overpass when two blasts rang out. He didn't know whether it had been an attack from his side or theirs. But then a breeze carrying oil fumes hit his face, and he slowed to a stop.
On the other side of the overpass, maybe fifty feet ahead of him, a camerupt barreled through the jostling people and pokemon, and some of the crowd drew away behind it. Light shields in various colors flickered on, forming a haphazard wall against ORCA. A command carried across the field: "Light it up!"
Lines of red light crackled up the camerupt's back, the brightest thing in sight. A blast of water arced toward the camerupt but instead splatted harmlessly against a glowing shield. The camerupt drew in a breath, sides heaving, and opened its mouth to show a throat full of molten yellow.
Mark scrambled back. "Ore—!"
Everything happened between one breath and the next: a blue light flashed across the surface of the pipeline, cutting between the metal pipe and the torrent of flames, which poured like water to either side of the light shield. Sparks hit the grass, blooms of flame shooting up where they landed. The blue light shield buckled, swelling with heat and pressurized air—
And then, for an instant, there was only white silence.
Mark felt the explosion instead of hearing it, but his ears rang in the aftermath. Concrete and pulverized rock rained down from the overpass, hitting Orwell's light shield like hailstones. Drops of oil rained down, too.
All around, the marsh was on fire.
—
Wedged between two benches, Natalie sat on the floor of the little motorboat with her arms wrapped around herself. Scarlet perched at the back to steer, and her starmie clung to the prow, casting red light onto the water ahead. Natalie turned away from them both, watching the city lights on the water and replaying the conversation with Archie in her mind.
So is this it? she'd asked. Goodbye forever?
I think that's up to you.
They'd moored the Ultimatum in a cove off the coast of Slateport. Her brother had briskly hugged her, then Scarlet. Then he and a handful of his loyal crew had piled into motorboats and sped off to dispense justice, while she and Scarlet crawled up the eastern waterfront in stiff silence. They would dock at Sedge Park, which was a fifteen-minute walk from Natalie's childhood home. Door-to-door delivery.
She should be relieved, she knew. Certainly, she was happy to be off the Ultimatum, and she would be glad to part ways with Scarlet. But mostly, Natalie felt awful.
What was she going to tell her parents? What could she tell them? If anything, she should probably say something to the police, but … despite everything, she didn't want Archie to get in trouble.
She didn't know what she wanted.
Natalie let the view of her city fill the empty spaces inside her. She'd never seen it from the water at night before and was comforted by the game of picking out landmarks by their lights. The lighthouse and the shipyard were easy. The museum she recognized by the pillars. She kept expecting to see the contest hall, whose lights changed colors at night, but that was on the other side of the city. Then she spotted Sedge Park: a stretch of trees where hammocks hung in the summer, the grassy hill topped with the city flag, and the iron railing where the Slateport wave had been recreated in neon lights. And their motorboat shot past all of it.
Natalie sat up. "That was the park!" she yelled over the motor and the wind.
"What?"
"The! Park!"
At last, Scarlet cut the engine. "What?" she shouted again.
"Back there. That's Sedge Park."
Scarlet squinted in the direction Natalie pointed. For a moment, they drifted on the current. "Are you sure?"
Natalie puffed herself up to deliver a cutting retort—but she was interrupted by a distant thunderclap that wholly captured Scarlet's attention, her mouth falling open. When Natalie looked over her shoulder, her jaw dropped too. A fiery plume spiked into the night sky. The entire horizon had gone crimson.
Scarlet growled a string of curses. "If he thinks I'm going to just stand by and—" She revved the motor, and their little boat plunged ahead into the darkness, leaving the lights of Slateport behind. "We're taking a detour!"
As they drew closer, Natalie smelled the smoke and chemical fumes. She couldn't look away from the towering, flaming spectacle. She gripped the sides of the boat until her hands ached.
When the buildings along the shore had given way to trees and sand, all lit a hellish red, Scarlet and her starmie guided the boat into the shallows. She leapt out to drag it the rest of the way onto the shore, heedless of the water sloshing up her legs.
Up the slope, a line of flames cut across the long stretch of fields. The route beyond was swallowed by smoke. Through the haze, Natalie could barely pick out the outline of the overpass, a chunk missing from the left side as if a giant creature had taken a bite from it. Fire geysered higher than the overpass, marking the source of the destruction. Wild pokemon scattered away from the flames, but on the other side, silhouettes of larger pokemon and people collided and fell and rose again, flashing in and out of view.
Scarlet reached into the boat for a bundle of rope, then changed her mind and tossed it down again. She started away, pausing only to whip out a blue bandana and tie it over her face. "Stay here," she commanded Natalie. Then, as an afterthought, she pulled a second bandana from a pocket and tossed it to her. "Better cover your nose and mouth." Before Natalie could protest, Scarlet took off running down the path, her starmie gliding behind her, until she vanished from sight.
Part of Natalie had to admire her for diving in, though she wondered what Scarlet intended to do. What could anyone do in the face of that?
She clambered out of the boat, suddenly unsteady on solid ground. She edged closer, stopping at the invisible line she decided marked the point of no return. I'll bear witness, she told herself. Never taking her eyes off the scene before her, she heeded Scarlet's advice and doubled the bandana over her nose and mouth.
How could they do this?
Not far from where Scarlet had entered the fray, another figure burst into the open air at a halting run, moving west. A half-shell of light hung around him like a mantle, melting globs of it dropping off. She watched in horrified fascination as a solrock spun out of the haze to join him.
Mark of Rustboro. Mark of the MGMA.
At the sight of him, she began to tremble. He'd ranted about the world's problems like he had the answers, then come to her home to pollute and destroy. And for what? What gave him the right?
Without planning to, Natalie unhooked a ball from her belt. His voice burned inside her, taunting: You could make a difference. Her anger swelled, lifting her along with it and carrying her forward, first at a walk, and then a run.
I want to say one thing about this first and foremost--even though it wasa bit of a slow start, this chapter reminded me of how effective exposition writing can be to get a lot of interpersonal and character details covered at once. Yes, it slows things down, and yes, it's a bit of an information dump at times, but it also very quickly immersed me in how Natalie felt. She's also a character that very quickly got a voice in my head upon reading, which, for me, was something a little high-pitched but mature. The sort of voice that suggests strength behind faux vulnerability. Idk how correct that interpretation is going forward, but it's what jumped out to me while reading.
There were a lot of little events here that I feel are either small details to set something up in the future (the needle from the random attack in the dark) as well as clear setups for the net chapter, as well as, I think, introducing the main characters? Still, it's going to be a 40-chapter work, so I imagine we're only seeing the core cast here with how he was introduced, rather than the entire main cast... A lot of this is predictive, but I also don't have a whole lot of criticism to offer in terms of the direction, and I've never been much of a copy-editor.
The last thing I wanted to comment on is that despite the fact that you went out of your way to say how this is an AU with a few societal differences, and a different premise to normalize or otherwise gray-color the antagonists of Hoenn, I feel like that wasn't actually necessary to point out. You do very well in this first chapter to establish that things are different in this story. Though, the heads-up was still appreciated.
And as a final note, while re-reading and looking through the first chapter again for this review, I noticed that you might have doubled up a few scenes during editing. ctrl+f "Emergency at the gym?"
Anyway, thanks for the read! Once my reading backlog is taken care of a more, I think I'll return to this for some leisurely reading.
Glad you feel like you got a strong sense of Natalie's character. :) And, yup! It's definitely a story with bursts of action supported by quieter character moments. I think you'll find it ramps up significantly if you stick with it, but I know how those long to-read lists go. :)
There were a lot of little events here that I feel are either small details to set something up in the future (the needle from the random attack in the dark) as well as clear setups for the net chapter, as well as, I think, introducing the main characters? Still, it's going to be a 40-chapter work, so I imagine we're only seeing the core cast here with how he was introduced, rather than the entire main cast...
There are plenty of supporting characters we'll be seeing, yes, but this is definitely a film "starring Natalie and Mark, guest performances by Steven Stone and others." It's not an ensemble cast. I'm into the setup where our frame of reference starts narrow and then slowly widens as the protagonists learn more about the world. ✅
The last thing I wanted to comment on is that despite the fact that you went out of your way to say how this is an AU with a few societal differences, and a different premise to normalize or otherwise gray-color the antagonists of Hoenn, I feel like that wasn't actually necessary to point out. You do very well in this first chapter to establish that things are different in this story. Though, the heads-up was still appreciated.
It's true--my world-building makes it pretty clear what I'm about. Also, I think every pokefic has to do a significant amount of world-building. I rarely see two fics by different authors that follow the same set of rules. Buuuut I do make some pretty major deviations from the canon--from small things like names to large things like what Magma and Aqua are trying to achieve--and I don't want anyone pitching a fit at me over it. People have strong feelings about their babies. So, a note on what to expect.
And as a final note, while re-reading and looking through the first chapter again for this review, I noticed that you might have doubled up a few scenes during editing. ctrl+f "Emergency at the gym?"
This was a gorgeous, dynamic read from beginning to end. Where to start? I thought your choice to switch between Natalie and Mark's POVs was really effective. It moved the chapter in this complimentary way that always gave a sense of forward momentum. Their situations are parallel--both moving towards the pipeline, in the company of an organization they're feeling at least slightly ambivalent about. Both make an eventual choice to go forward, an internal choice. Both are thinking about their homes when they make that choice, their desire to protect them. And yet their choices are going to place them in direct opposition.
Reading this chapter, I couldn't fail to notice the impact of Le Carre and Little Drummer Girl on your writing. What really stood out to me was your prose. This chapter builds on a lot on your past strengths with place-setting and physicality to show character, but you're doing a lot that's new in this chapter prose-wise, and it really works. I feel like you've drawn from Le Carre a new sense of narrative confidence to tell us what's happening in the characters' heads without feeling the need to justify it through external actions--the externality is there, but it compliments the internal insights. The narration has a sense of assurance that sweeps me up as a reader. My analytical brain switched off; I just wanted to read it.
The characterization also really stood out to me in this chapter. Tabitha and his ninjask are a stand-out, but more so is the way you characterized ensembles--Mark's Magma cohort, the mass of ORCA sailors. It's a thing Le Carre does a lot of, and you really pulled off here. The scene where Mark talks with the other Magma members and they make their "silent contracts" was excellent. But if I'm just going to start quoting bits I liked, it may be time to refer you to my line-by-lines.
Great chapter. Excited to see the fallout, and if you choose to stick with this new prose voice.
Archie was absent from meals as often as not, but he must've put out the word to keep an eye on her; Natalie always remained on the outside edge of the conversation, but she never ate alone. Or maybe the ORCA sailors were simply being kind. Certainly, they never said anything important or incriminating in front of her, but she got the impression that it was because what they needed most was to joke and complain, not because they were being careful.
She observed the crew the way she might watch a flock of wingulls: as a distant, shifting mass. So during breakfast her first full day on the ship, she noticed the ripple of movement around the room even before someone passed the pokeball to their table.
Scarlet pocketed the pokeball with a shrug. "Probably better to sell it off, right? We could use a new welding torch." With that, she sauntered back to her own table.
Sierra and River had arrived together—possibly siblings and possibly a couple but definitely a unit—both cheerful but guarded. Eben had arrived next, to Mark's relief. He'd also traveled from Rustboro, though as a precaution he'd taken a different route. Mark trusted Eben as much as he trusted anyone: he showed up when asked and didn't panic under fire. Last to arrive was a Zig, short for Zigzagoon, who nattered away as he stealthily nibbled from the others' plates. Like his namesake, he never held still.
Tabitha had yet to arrive, and Mark had no doubt her timing was purposeful, more of her usual psychological bullshit.
Like before his very first action and like every other since, Mark began to love these near-strangers a little, even sketchy Zig. They were going to spike trees until the logging stopped. They were going to hit DevCo in the teeth with its own infrastructure. They were going to save the world—because no one else would.
And then there was Tabitha, stepping out of the crowd like an apparition. Her hair was shaved shorter than even Mark's, her scalp gleaming with blue light from the TV screens.
What Mark had at first taken to be a backpack crawled up and over Tabitha's shoulder, flicked out its wings, and flitted onto the table to investigate a sticky patch where something had spilled. Oh yeah, Mark remembered that ninjask. Fast, persistent, and always watching both enemies and friends alike.
Tabitha smoothed the paper flat and then, with careful attention to each bend, drew a zigzag down the page. "This is the Route 110 overpass." He added a second line, in some places parallel to the first and in others arcing away to hug an invisible coast. "And this is Ridge Access."
Just like that, a piece of paper became the world. They all leaned closer to watch the ink move across the page.
Mark closed his eyes and imagined standing up, letting his chair topple to the floor, and walking out—fuck Tabitha and fuck this entire plan. But Montag's words held him in place: those in power will wait until the worst has already happened before they do a single thing, both a warning and a promise.
A corroded pipe, the reports had explained almost sheepishly, as if it could've happened to anyone. The explosion had launched a drum the size of a gigalith clear across the river to Liberty Garden, and it had also released five thousand pounds of hydrofluoric acid into the air. Benzine in the groundwater. Lead in the soil.
The ship continued relentlessly forward, carrying Natalie closer both to her point of origin and to a fathomless future. All she could do was wait to arrive.
But she was half-smiling now as she leaned against the railing next to Natalie.
Without waiting for her to respond, the woman continued, "They cooperate more often, though. When a pelipper dives, it also stuns the fish—easy pickings for the wingulls. And then, eventually, the wingulls become pelippers and pay it back to the next generation."
Shelley seems so nice! Part of me is glad, because I've always liked Shelley and it's nice to see someone nice. But a cynical part of me wonders if she's going to do something horrible or shocking at some point, and this is there to make the contrast striking.
"There you go, Small Fry," Archie said, baring a grin that was all teeth and no joy. "You wanted to know the difference between us and them? There it is. We fight to keep oil out of the ocean, and Magma spills it to make a fucking point."
With another flash of crooked teeth, Zinnia brought her hands to the top of her head and mimed tuning them like satellites. "Supersonic hearing." Then she let the smile fall, tucking her hands behind her back.
Natalie fought back a grimace, unsettled by her jerky movements, the stop and start smile.
For some reason this tripped me up, I wanted something like, "He turned to look out the window at the sun, which sank slowly through the bank of clouds like a flame."
She remembered the journey to Mauville: the smell of grass and saltwater. Home at her back and, ahead, electric bursts arcing between the bushes where a pokemon had startled from its hiding place. She'd stopped in the shade of the overpass to watch a distant pod of wailmers. And across the water to the west, the occasional glint of metal. She'd assumed it was an electrical line.
Beautiful, almost restful paragraph. It lulls me into a deceptive sense of serenity and then bam, pipeline.
I would convert "And across the water to the west, the occasional glint of metal." into a full sentence. Feel like the fragment breaks flow in the wrong place.
Even after four years, each mission carried with it some of the fear of that first night.
Mark had been eighteen when he'd abandoned his half-finished badge quest, agreeing instead to join Magma in disabling diggers and excavators in Twist Mountain. It wasn't a mountain anymore but a pit, and on that moonless night, it had also been endlessly black. The darkness itself wasn't what had scared him but the very real possibility of blindly putting his foot over a ledge and tumbling to his death. The thought left no room to worry about hypotheticals like being arrested. But Gibs had been there, invisible yet solid and steady. Mark had crept along with his palms turned out to feel for a nudge from the liepard, listening for a growl warning him to stop or a cat-chirrup urging him ahead.
Hoenn Route 110 was neither as dark nor as perilous as Twist Mountain. The path was flat grass, silver in the moonlight, here and there sinking into marshy pools. Even in the dark, the lapping of the water told him how far before he hit the edge. But without Gibs, Mark moved haltingly. Octavia flew circles around him, which should've been comforting but instead was disorientating. Her wingbeats first from one direction and then another created the nauseating illusion that he was the one changing directions even when standing still.
The backstory flows in really smoothly here and I like the subtle drawing of contrasts between mark then and Mark now. He's moving haltingly because Gibs is gone sure, but also perhaps because he's not sure about what they're doing. The physical disorientation reflects a mental one.
A few hundred feet behind him, his teammates were hazy outlines among spouts of flame from three different pokemon. He imagined Tabitha was squinting through the heat, waiting for a section of pipe to glow white-hot before he gave the order to stop and introduce the water. But from where Mark stood, it was one big fiery whorl. A signal fire. Tabitha's crobat swept clouds of shadow back and forth, but they only softened the effect, far from hiding the flames completely. Mark felt exposed, aware that he, too, would be visible as a silhouette from the water. Not much he could do about that except to stay alert.
But, gods, this entire thing sucked. He felt nearly sick with it. Uselessly and foolishly, he found himself for the first time in years wanting a cigarette. Something to occupy his hands.
Even the overpass was silent, thanks to their carefully placed traffic cones and construction signs. For a little while longer, it was a beautiful night.
But even as he coughed and gasped for breaths that would not come, he watched the ghost waft out through his shirt and materialize before him, baring a grin made of zipper teeth.
I think "it" would be better here--"them" made me have to recheck to confirm it's just one person. Since you say "human figure" I think impersonal pronoun works fine.
Like fog in the wind, the banette split down the center, ghostly fabric flowing to either side to let the golbat pass. When she'd gone, the banette reassembled itself with the sound of a zipper closing.
Mark was under the shadow of the overpass when two blasts rang out. He didn't know whether it had been an attack from his side or theirs. But then a breeze carrying oil fumes hit his face, and he slowed to a stop.
Ahead, a camerupt barreled through the jostling people and pokemon, and some of the crowd drew away behind it.
Everything happened between one breath and the next: a blue light flashed across the surface of the pipeline, cutting between the metal pipe and the torrent of flames, which poured like water to either side of the light shield. Sparks hit the grass, blooms of flame shooting up where they landed. The blue light shield buckled, swelling with heat and pressurized air—
And then, for an instant, there was only white silence.
Mark felt the explosion instead of hearing it, but his ears rang in the aftermath. Concrete and pulverized rock rained down from the overpass, hitting Orwell's light shield like hailstones. Plops of oil rained down, too.
Not far from where Scarlet had entered the fray, another figure burst into the open air at a halting run, moving west. A half-shell of light hung around him like a mantle, melting globs of it dropping off. She watched in horrified fascination as a solrock spun out of the haze to join him.
Mark of Rustboro. Mark of the MGMA.
At the sight of him, she began to tremble. He'd ranted about the world's problems like he had the answers, then come to her home to pollute and destroy. And for what? What gave him the right?
Without planning to, Natalie unhooked a ball from her belt. His voice burned inside her, taunting: You could make a difference. Her anger swelled, lifting her along with it and carrying her forward, first at a walk, and then a run.
the way you characterized ensembles--Mark's Magma cohort, the mass of ORCA sailors. It's a thing Le Carre does a lot of, and you really pulled off here.
Le Carre came to me at exactly the right narrative moment, honestly! This is when our perspective on this world is starting to widen, so I need more secondary and tertiary characters ... but they can't steal the spotlight. Le Carre is so excellent with this, and I took literal notes!
Pokemon offers some really cool opportunities for metonymy! They obviously have practical plot applications, too, but the pokemon that a character chooses says a lot about who they are. Mark's team is intentionally designed to reflect his guardedness. In game-verse, this is mostly a stall set! Set up some status conditions with Gibs and golbat, firespin-protect stall with Ore (which is not how solrock is normally used, but I really want to build out and try myself). Bastiodon is almost all defense. His only real hard-hitter is the darmanitan--which, admittedly, hits real hard. Natalie's team is more of a mixed bag, but she's definitely got strong puppy dog energy, so mightyena is a good fit for her, too. And, of course, she does have a bird for puffing up.
I struggled with Tabitha because Mark in many ways occupies the same emotional space that canon Tabitha might normally. (Ditto Courtney/Cora, oops. But Cora is more interesting to me. Maybe Courtney will still show up eventually, maybe not. Like, Matt has been off-screen the entire time, even though I know where he is. Not everyone gets a speaking role in this play, lol.) I ended up taking some cues from the Annihilation sequel, I think, which has a fixation on bugs ... of several kinds. If your organization is out to break and reform the government, you need both brute force and a lock pick.
Yeah, someone needed to step in and give us all a breather, haha. In-fiction, it's happening organically rather than intentionally, but Natalie is getting good cop/bad cop'd real hard.
I figure there are two ways to hide what you have going on under the surface. You either keep the surface utterly calm (see: LDG's Joseph) or keep the water constantly churning and muddy!
I am rediscovering my irrational childhood love of banette. I hadn't even planned to use it here, but having that piece on the board provides some really interesting opportunities!
Mom got a very, very brief mention in Chapter 1. She used to have a phone call scene in the old Chapter 2, but alas. Natalie's mom is not his mom, but she's also known him since he was in middle or high school and would definitely care what's become of him. I expect her to get some screen time before we leave Slateport, so hopefully there will be some opportunities to explore than more.
I've made some adjustments based on your comments. Otherwise ... thanks for the incredibly kind words! I'm always a little nervous every time I put out a Mark chapter, haha, and the split POV felt both completely necessary and also very scary. Really glad to know that so many of the choices I made here paid off!
Alright, per your mention to me in DMs, you said that stuff picks up a lot in chapter 3, so I decided to make this Catnip review a twofer! And I'll definitely agree that the third chapter of this story was a lot faster than the first two, though it wasn't quite what I was expecting when you said it'd pick up. Then again I probably have been overexposed to what excitement usually translates to for Pokemon stories.
When I was first reading through the second chapter, I didn't quite put it together that this story would be immediately throwing us into the 'evil' team of canon (gray here) and was merely guessing that Mark was going to be part of Team Magma. I feel silly for thinking that twist would come at any point that wasn't immediately part of the premise.
Also in chapter 2, I felt like it dragged on for longer than it really needed to. I feel like I learned very little new information compared to the first chapter when introductions to the world were more warranted, and I don't know if dragging along the battles that took place were all that necessary. Perhaps later this will be an echo for a future fight and it will pay off?
--
Chapter 3 is definitely when things picked up, like you said. The timing is certainly... topical, isn't it, regarding the subject matter? Most of this struck me as a basic depiction of a civilly disobedient protest from the perspectives of someone that's about to become radicalized for one reason or another, or at least going along that path, though some of that color might be from the fact that it's with Magma. I dunno if I'm all that interested in reading about real-life parallel protesting in a fantasy land of fighting monsters, but for what it's worth, I thought you depicted the actual scene content-wise very well, and the Pokemon used as parallels for police weaponry in real life was creative and made sense.
Related to that, though, a few things did catch my eye as odd. This seems like something that is established in your settings, but Master Balls that behave like Orre Snag Balls is a weird take; does that mean anybody can use a Poke Ball to Snag anybody else's Pokemon as needed? Could that be done in counter? There were a lot of little questions about this small detail that made me wonder why this seemingly intrinsic property of Pokemon ownership was changed.
Second: The presence of rifles and such when all other police weaponry was replaced by Pokemon in some way or another made me tilt my head a little, but that one was a matter of personal taste. Also personal taste, but also one that really took me out of the scene, was the descriptor of a person wearing a "Guy Fawkes" mask. I feel that form of description was sort of too strongly real-life tied for what I was reading, broke almost all immersion right at the end of the chapter.
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Regardless, however, you definitely delivered on your promise of excitement right off. Just three chapters in and the paradigm has already shifted!
Also in chapter 2, I felt like it dragged on for longer than it really needed to. I feel like I learned very little new information compared to the first chapter when introductions to the world were more warranted, and I don't know if dragging along the battles that took place were all that necessary. Perhaps later this will be an echo for a future fight and it will pay off?
I don’t disagree! Now that I’ve fixed Chapter 1 and what-was-once-Chapter-2-and-now-is-gone, this one is definitely the weak link. I think most battles in fic are skippable, and this is me not following my own advice. Definitely, this sequence should be condensed, though I think sooooome of it should stay. It does foreshadow a future fight, and we’re learning a few things about him from what he learns about her. Maybe after I finish my current chapter I’ll have a better idea of what I can cut!
Either way, I appreciate you flagging that section.
Yes and no! I started the first four chapters in 2018, and the scene in Chapter 3 is based on some experiences I had in 2015 .... This kind of stuff is always happening. It’s been going on for a long time. And I think it’s a dynamic that’s terribly relevant to a couple of “evil” teams warring for the hearts, minds, and ??? of Hoenn.
That’s totally fair! I strongly prefer fiction that has something to say about the world I know, and I’m very interested in how the fantasy elements reshape familiar conflicts—but it’s not everyone’s cup o’ tea. I commend and appreciate you getting this far.
Related to that, though, a few things did catch my eye as odd. This seems like something that is established in your settings, but Master Balls that behave like Orre Snag Balls is a weird take; does that mean anybody can use a Poke Ball to Snag anybody else's Pokemon as needed? Could that be done in counter? There were a lot of little questions about this small detail that made me wonder why this seemingly intrinsic property of Pokemon ownership was changed.
I never played any of the Orre games, so I know almost nothing about them. But! I do have a setting where cops are in a position of potentially getting hurt by, like, dragons and monster wolves, and I can’t imagine the state wouldn’t give them a way to nullify those dangers. Plus cops and property seizure often go together. 🙃And you’re right: it would be super bad if just anyone with a pokeball could recapture someone else’s pokémon, which is why only responsible people like cops have access to master balls. (Also to guns. If anyone can have a dragon, the average citizen does not also need a gun, right??) Catch rate stuff doesn’t really apply in my settings—there’s no area where there are “higher level” Pokémon that couldn’t be caught in a pokeball—so I choose to instead handle masterballs like a military technology.
Also personal taste, but also one that really took me out of the scene, was the descriptor of a person wearing a "Guy Fawkes" mask. I feel that form of description was sort of too strongly real-life tied for what I was reading, broke almost all immersion right at the end of the chapter.
Definitely personal taste, because I’m the opposite: I find it really jarring when I encounter something trying to be an in-universe name that comes off as super try-hard and cheesy. Like, a pokemon name pun here would strike me as super, super tonnally dissonant. Plus! A Guy Fawkes mask is a very specific symbol that evokes a set of ideas—there’s not substitute for that one. I’m doing more of a super hero-level of fantasy, not elves and dwarves high fantasy; there’s a lot of intentional overlap with our world.
But thanks again for your thoughts! Temperature read appreciated.
I just finished chapter 3. One thing that stood out to me---partly because I've been working a lot on dealing with it in my own writing---is the use of filter verbs. As zion of arcadia says here:
Another common error is the needless filtering of an image through some observing conscious. Phrases such as “she saw” and “she noticed” should be suppressed in favor of direct presentation.
Example: “I watched the torterra approach.” vs “The torterra approached.”
Or
“He saw trees stretch in every direction.” vs “Trees stretched in every direction.”
Could be changed to "Someone knocked on the hood of a car as he passed."
There were a lot of other instances of this in the chapter, and I think that revising said instances would be beneficial for an intense scene like this.
I don't care how advanced the technology is, how minimal the risks are.
This read a little bit weirdly to me, coming across as an admission that their position was weak. Something like "I don't care how minimal they think the risks are" or "I don't care how hard they try to dismiss the risks" might have been a little better.
they looked different from the middle of the street, as if she were seeing them from underwater.
I think this missed the mark for me a little bit, but I'm not really sure how I would fix it. Maybe just "they looked different from the middle of the street, foreign." or something like that.
Anyway, I like that Natalie uses her wingull to clear the air, and I think in general the way that pokemon were used in the scene was creative. There is, of course, a certain tragedy in the fact that these creatures have to serve as proxies for human-induced conflict...
Also, I've never personally attended a protest this big, but from what little I do know it seems like a reasonable portrayal of how this kind of event might unfold.
I think there is potential for this story's concept... In theory, the strong integration of pokemon into human lives in this story (compared to the integration of irl animals into human lives) means that the harm caused to pokemon species by environmental damage could seem more immediate/urgent than the harm we cause to animals irl. So on an emotional level, the case for protection of the environment could be particularly strong here.
I also appreciate the ambiguity. Is Magma good or evil? Hard to say right now.
You are so right! This is definitely a thing I point out when I'm reading others' work sometimes, but it looks like I haven't been as vigilant as I should in my own. Next time I edit and update (probably in a couple of weeks when I post the next chapter), I'll be sure to do a sweep to correct this kind of verb-fuzzing. (Also, I bet Zion would be pleased as punch to know folks are reading and linking that resource.)
I know. I'm sorry to tell you that I don't have a ton of good news for you on that front. Like, we could imagine that Natalie could pause and ask Luna, "Hey, are you okay with this?" I'm sure her answer, if she had language and if Natalie could understand it, would be something like, "Woof, woof, I love you and I'd do anything for you! Tail wag, tail wag." And, like ... yeah, that's some enthusiastic consent! But does it count as a real yes if our sweet doggo is that way by default and can't help being that way? Prrrrrobably not. As much as I admire fics that do try to deconstruct that relationship a little better ... I don't think I have a ton of room for it here. But! Sadly, I think it's probably an accurate portrayal of how most humans would treat their pokemon, so it stays as yet another regrettable reality of this setting.
I've never personally attended a protest this big, but from what little I do know it seems like a reasonable portrayal of how this kind of event might unfold.
In theory, the strong integration of pokemon into human lives in this story (compared to the integration of irl animals into human lives) means that the harm caused to pokemon species by environmental damage could seem more immediate/urgent than the harm we cause to animals irl.
Ugh, maybe? I mean, it's easier than ever to make that case, but ... I suspect it's still seen as a bunch of bleeding hearts and crazies standing in the way of progress. My assumption is that something has gone wrong in Hoenn--something is being ignored--otherwise why would Aqua and Magma form up in the first place? Even the canon versions, whose goals are a little more "out there" than what I have planned, have to be genuinely upset about something. So, yes! Some people do care an awful lot. But is it enough to just do something, or ...?
Okay, it's me, playing catchup for a ton of things, starting from like chapter 2 I guess since somehow I never actually got around to writing reviews and just shitposted in DM's instead. Most of my thoughts have been said over DM but here are a few general ones that somehow escaped? I think?
Overall the rewrites are really nice--combining down the chapters into the revised ch1 was a really good call. I think in general the polishing across the rest of the chapters has helped clean things up and give a stronger idea of what characters are going where, who wants what, etc. The one misfit chapter for me feels like Blue, actually--Mark actually has time to think about things and process things for a bit; it feels a lot quieter, and in a way, it makes me wish we had some better grounding for Natalie emotionally as well, since she mostly just puff-puffs her way into trouble and hasn't yet had time to dwell on the consequences. But overall I think this draft really hits the ground running and I'm glad that it does.
(Steven Stone Chapter--maybe could've come pre-protest? Dunno. The protest arc is a really nice exercise in things falling to shit, while the Joseph Jr chapter feels more like backstory that has yet to pay off--although, writing this out, I dunno if it really should go in the beginning since apparently two chapters is also too slow and I don't imagine board meetings would really help with that any; maybe just later, then? Kind of hard to tell without knowing what smonald is planning/what his relevance to the story is going to be; it just felt kind of out of place on a reread now that I know where the next few chapters are leading.)
Prose really hits its stride in the last two chapters I think; Pen already said it, but the buildup through the pipeline chapter was really smooth and everything flowed. Fewer long conversations, more people acting on the setup that had been laid in place for them. I think the actual prose itself gets stronger too--things are more direct and you're less bogged down in trying to set up characters/places. I don't know the exact layout of Route 110 compared to say the sand pits in Roxanne's gym, but I know what it means to the people involved, which is a lot more important.
Stories with no real heroes are always fascinating to me--like yeah, these guys are horrible to pokemon! but they are horrible to everyone! in fact, everyone is horrible to everyone lol. But for the most part they're doing it because they want to protect someone/some thing, so they at least feel grounded and sympathetic in that regard. It's an interesting reimagining of the pokemon world, where usually small problems are the important ones and friendship is possible even between small children and beeg dragons; this is thematically a pretty hard turn but it's really well-executed and hits the spot. Sad protest vibes all the way, wooh.
Dunno! I spent six months trying to come up with smart things to say about this and drew a moka pot in a cape instead. So it goes. It's a really good read so far.
It wore a power-limiter collar, almost like a pet's, except she knew the limiter on this one could be turned off completely with a clicker in the officer's pocket. The manectric could still hurt her, if the cop wanted it to. Or it might only stun. Its hackles were up and it stared hard at her.
haha this is a really dumb nitpick but the cadence feels off here--no way/not today being 2/3 syllables makes it sound like it'd be hard to chant. Plus the "no pipeline / no way" to me conveys that there's no way they'll do this thing without a pipeline, which is the exact opposite of what they'd want. Maybe "A pipeline / No way / No pipelines / Today" but also crowd chants are really stupid and i watched someone try to lead a fucking poem and was really upset when no one could keep up with the words so like it's pretty reasonable to have weird phrasings here
The crowd's frustration was Natalie's frustration. They were demonstrating peacefully—why shouldn't they be allowed in front of the gym? What was the point if they weren't allowed? She followed the crowd forward.
This line felt very progressive for Natalie haha. I get it, sort of; it's puffbird on a big scale so if course she'd dislike it, and it sets up for how she really doesn't know what's coming.
I sorta wanted more from both of them here--he's supposed to be a good recruiter after all, and I do think Natalie was almost convinced! In later chapters she has some dialogue that suggests that she almost joined, except ORCA showed up, but here it really just seems like she's confused and not super leaning down that path.
But it would be a challenge to explain why all of his pokeballs were registered to trainer IDs that were scrambled strings of letters and numbers instead of his own name.
I was wondering how he was allowed to register for a gym trainer position with a scrambled roster like that? Seems like that'd be something they'd check, akin to a background check or a drug test, even if it's just for stolen pokemon or whatever.
He'd run into ORCA enough times over the years to know they were a threat precisely because their leader was the kind of madman who would name himself for a folk hero.
that's right! mark doesn't follow fictional heroes who drown things; he follows real leaders, who name themselves after fictional heroes who burn things down!
Best nickname; sad it's wasted on someone who isn't gonna come back. I also liked how his face sours when he hears about the torchic--something I didn't pick up on the first time through.
Steven accepted the cup, then paused to peel a few ones from his billfold and slip them into the jar on the counter, indulgent smile back in place. "Here's a tip: Don't ever listen to anyone who says you can't get what you want. Show them you can."
what a lovely piece of advice that's super applicable for everyone, even the powerless!
I sort of wanted him to say "here's another tip", just to really rub it in?
The work was likely no worse for them than training, and that would be Mauville Electric's obvious rebuttal. But the winner of that fight would not be determined by who was more correct.
Delorean alone had taken him three years—he'd had to procure not one but four shiny beldum and then train them in perfect tandem—to say nothing of the rest of his team.
Snowpoint Temple, once again. In his dream, unlike in life, the alcoves below each idol were lit with candles, wax oozing down the stone. The air smelled of dust and the smoke of long ago fires.
But this was Bubba. She squirmed thinking of all the people who'd managed to seize some piece of him, who had shared meals and plans and more with him, while Natalie and her parents were left wondering whether he was even alive. He'd built an entire life without them.
This response didn't really seem to follow from Archie's statement (angry human-caused cesspool sounds), but I'm torn! I recently read an article about how realistic dialogue is characterized by people not really listening to the other person, so it makes sense that Natalie is fixated on Daddy-o while Archie is spinning circles about humans slowly choking themselves to death--maybe just change it to like "Dad (probably rip lmao jk oof lots to unpack there) misses you even though he's too stubborn to say it. Couldn't you talk to him?"
"I don't get it," she said. "Aren't they basically the same as you?"
His laugh was so sharp and sudden she jumped. "Those jackasses are wasting their energy trying to fix a broken system. ORCA doesn't wait for permission or for the right moment," he said, air-quoting. "We do what needs to be done, what no government is ever going to do, no matter how the system changes."
This one feels like the core of the argument going forward, but then in the pipeline chapter it really gets walked back and turned into "they'll poison the water just to prove a point"--which feels very contradictory to the idea presented here of wasting energy by trying to work within the system. Also true that there's a lot of fundamental misunderstandings going on here, and I could see the idea that he's just throwing mud at the wall to see what will stick, but I guess from someone who doesn't really know why they're feuding at this moment, it feels weird to get this nugget of misinformation.
Dunno of those patch changes got pushed through! Take a quick ctrl+F for crobat; I think there are references to him having ones in the earlier chapters.
"How loyal is a cat, d'you think?" She held the pokeball up like a jeweler inspecting the cut of a gem. "A dog will wait 'til death for its trainer's return—almost impossible to retrain. That's why cops love them. But a cat … harder to say. Hard to tell with people, too." And she shot Natalie a pointed look.
Tabitha shot Mark a nasty look, and he returned one of his own. "The point," Tabitha snapped, "is the overpass. If Hoenn cared about water, they wouldn't have approved the pipeline in the first place."
I really hate alternating POV mid-chapter but I think you've made a compelling case for it here--there's such a trainwreck happening and we get to see the parallels play out on both sides, where they both get the chance to walk it back and then don't.
The five of them made sounds of assent while Tabitha continued shredding the map. They watched him feed the pieces of paper to Cipher, demolishing both evidence and pipeline one strip at a time.
She caught the gaze of the woman in the cloak. A frown flickered across the woman's face—but then she smiled so fiercely it was like the frown had never existed. Her canines were slightly crooked, creating the illusion of fangs. "Cute pokemon," she said.
I admittedly haven't played ORAS and I mostly just have an understanding based on Persephone's hottake summaries (which mostly surround encouraging magma/aqua to summon deathgods so that she can ultimately get Rayquaza's attention)--so it's interesting to see her so definitively on a side here, unless she's playing both? Big eyes. Also, lol whismur.
Not far from where Scarlet had entered the fray, another figure burst into the open air at a halting run, moving west. A half-shell of light hung around him like a mantle, melting globs of it dropping off. She watched in horrified fascination as a solrock spun out of the haze to join him.
Without planning to, Natalie unhooked a ball from her belt. His voice burned inside her, taunting: You could make a difference. Her anger swelled, lifting her along with it and carrying her forward, first at a walk, and then a run.
Nah, it’s fine. Everything is great.
