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this chapter by itself may be the greatest piece of fanfiction ever written. hear me out.
in the span of just 1,166 words, this chapter completes a full hero's journey, not only that, but the characters are portrayed perfectly—steven is true to his canon self while also fitting the setting to a T. let's break it down.
call to adventure - mark is summoned to gracidea park by montag's beckoning.
supernatural aid/threshold guardians - claydol alerts mark to "montag's" (actually steven's) presence. the claydol is also prepared to defend steven from harm.
threshold - steven initially appears to be the threshold himself. mark views him as the primary barrier to his goals, and prepares to engage with him in battle.
challenges and temptations - mark and steven do a hot steamy makeout of tongues.... with the enemy!
revelation/abyss - mark is gay now, and he's hot for steven of all people. he must juggle his newfound passions with his political convictions.
transformation - mark has transformed into a gay steven stan.
atonement - mark manages to balance his political agenda with his new relationship simply by diverting steven's attention long enough for magma to do the rest of the work. here he finds his strength in doing nothing at all, except for what makes him feel good. in embracing the grillpill, mark finds peace, and the world does too.
the return - we see glimpse a vision of the world at peace. mark and steven's romance has led to self-realization for natalie as well. all is right.
not only is this chapter a perfectly self-contained epic of its own, but it is also masterfully seeded with religious allusions. let's take a look at a few:
Mauville looked pretty from up here, actually. The soft path lights were set among the flower beds, turning both the strolling couples and the trees into silhouettes, the high rises luminous beyond them. Improbable pillars of glass speared up through the foliage, pulsing pink and then blue. Below the walkway, traffic still hissed and honked, but Gracidea Park felt removed, sheltered. Mark couldn’t resist pausing at the railing to take in the cool air and the scent of night-blooming jasmine—but only for a moment. Time was short.
we open with mark's gentle reflection in a natural paradise removed from the tumult and pollution of the world which mark has dedicated his life to fighting against. this setting hearkens back to the garden of eden, a perfect paradise free of sin, and indeed a place separated from the concept of sin. here mark is not a member of magma, and steven is not the heir to devco—they are both simply men, guided by their passions, uninformed by the vulgar goings-on of the sin-ridden world beyond their pocket of paradise.
The longer her walked, the more disenchanted he became. All he could think about was the amount of water it must take to maintain such a lush space in the middle of the high fucking desert. Mauville was the opposite of Nimbasa in that way, actually: Mauville was pumping water into the desert, but Unova’s desert had spread as the cotton boom sucked water out of the grasslands. He wondered what withered so that Mauville could flourish.
this section further connects the setting to the idyllic garden of eden. most modern scholars place the garden of eden somewhere in iraq, a land known for its unforgiving climate and harsh deserts. but iraq was not always this way—the desertification of the region is geologically recent, and in fact the area was quite verdant in ancient times, referred to as "the fertile crescent" and "a cradle of civilization." the desertification of iraq is due in large part to unsustainable agriculture and, in short, human activities—an interesting and clear parallel to the situation in hoenn. so here we have a symbolic "garden of eden," a paradise of natural production reminiscent and symbolic of a time before the incursion of humankind, juxtaposed on a ruined landscape of humankind's own creation. not only this, but the existence of the garden itself is actively degrading the surrounding environment. this touches not only on the themes of environmental justice/injustice with which the story deals, but also issues of class disparity suggested by the conflict between devco and the populist magma/orca movements. still, within this idyllic garden, these issues seem to disappear—it is artificially perfect, sheltered from the issues of the world outside.
“I’m counting on it.” Stone showed his straight, white teeth. He was too close. There was hardly room to release a pokemon between them “I came here expecting a battle—”
He stepped forward, Mark dropped hand to his belt, but Stone was already grabbing then front of his t-shirt.
we could interpret this battle of tongues as a literal one—it is shown that they are indeed kissing. but we could also read a little further into the language here. we could also interpret the "battle of tongues" as evoking religious imagery, specifically "speaking in tongues" or glossolalia. here, through their passionate kiss, steven and mark are also engaging in a transcendental, unspoken argument—one carried out in a language unknown to either of them, yet still fierce and pointed and implicit. this kiss is a battle of ideology as much as it is one of dominance and passion. when they pull away, steven declares them evenly matched. examining this through the religious lens, we might conclude that their head-on-clash has revealed that the path to progress will be found only by the union of radical populist politics and support from the bourgeoisie in steven.
Meanwhile, in a back room of the Sootopolis Museum of History, Brandon Harrison jolted awake, knocking his mug off the desk. Cold coffee splashed his jeans and a lot of priceless, irreplaceable documents, but he didn’t care. He’d figured it out. He’d figured out the entire thing. Gods, how had it taken him so long to see what was right in front of him?
He ran a finger across the stone tablet, grinning as his years as a starraptor scout came flooding back. The engravings weren’t constellations at all. Not ancient letters, not braille … It was morse code.
Harrison sounded the words out as he went, “We … hereby … submit … these … orders ….”
Yes, yes, of course! They were proclamations! By the gods, he’d solved the Arcean mysteries at least.
Breathlessly, he continued reading. “These orders: one large pepperoni, one large half-olive half- mushroom, and one pineapple and ham ….”
overall, you've crafted a beautiful narrative here—so concisely, you speak volumes about the complicated , multi-faceted class relationships that embody this conflict, as well as the subtle environmental complexities that face the setting and characters. you do this all via a masterfully executed hero's arc, rife with deep, hard-hitting religious allusion that simply causes the mind to swirl.
you've really set the bar high with your conclusion here... i'm uncertain how you'll be able to top this masterpiece of masterpieces in your other works, but i'm intrigued, and will be taking my time with your remaining works, eager to drink in your profound literary genius. thank you for taking me on this humbling ride.
I was going to make a shitpost about how every word in this shitpost must be perfect but it occurs to me that the beginning might actually be used in the real chapter 14
But actually, I figured any actual typos would be caught in beta + sentences are likely to shuffle around still anyway. But, yes, thank! I will fix that in my doc.
I love how half of the things you pointed out are actual CD content, haha. YES, this is actually a segment of a rant I cut several chapters ago and have been trying to find a spot for ever since. I head canon the Unovan desert as sort of an Aral Sea scenario, and that's definitely something Mark would have feelings about.
we could interpret this battle of tongues as a literal one—it is shown that they are indeed kissing. but we could also read a little further into the language here. we could also interpret the "battle of tongues" as evoking religious imagery, specifically "speaking in tongues" or glossolalia. here, through their passionate kiss, steven and mark are also engaging in a transcendental, unspoken argument—one carried out in a language unknown to either of them, yet still fierce and pointed and implicit. this kiss is a battle of ideology as much as it is one of dominance and passion. when they pull away, steven declares them evenly matched. examining this through the religious lens, we might conclude that their head-on-clash has revealed that the path to progress will be found only by the union of radical populist politics and support from the bourgeoisie in steven.
Wow, Q, I'm so glad you understood the deep spiritual message I was trying to get across. Truly, there is just something so beautiful about seeing two people learn to understand each other without actually talking about anything!
I may not be caught up, and I was a little wary of spoilers, but after everything I'd heard from you about this chapter, I had to take a little peek. And let me tell you, this was NOT how I was expecting my Mark/Tabitha ship to get sunk. I mean, that was out of nowhere! Steven always just takes whatever he wants and assumes he's entitled to it, doesn't he? Does that guy ruin literally everything he touches? Ugh. Stupid sexy Steven.
On the other hand, I loved that Brendan was able to figure out the writing on the tablet at last. Real verisimilitude here; I know that if I was going to inscribe anything for future generations, it would definitely be my food order. Am I just supposed to survive on whatever bland pizza they serve in the afterlife? And Natalie gets to have a happy ending as well--honestly, this all came together much neater than I was expecting. Legitimately heartwarming! What a find end to the story.
Except for that ONE thing. >_> Mark/Tabitha 4EVA, I am writing my fix-it fanfic right now. >:|
lol surprise the real joke was that I'm actually posting reviews tonight
Some lovely action here, and my favorite, consequences, or at least the beginnings of them.
Very solid battle scene here. I thought you did a great job of illustrating the gulf in experience between Mark and Natalie and how very differently things play out than they did in their last match, when they were constrained by the rules of the arena and Mark wasn't shooting to kill, as it were. The shift in tactics from clever strategies revolving around pokémon to a substantial portion of the heat getting directed at the trainers was an effective way to show how much more serious pokémon battles are outside the arena of friendly sport, and once again emphasized Mark's advantage. I liked how the environment was an ever-present element of the battle; all that fire and rubble and smoke really upped the urgency of the fight and let you do some nice things with Natalie really feeling the battle. It was maybe a little weird that Mark and Natalie were able to fight uninterrupted for as long as they did--Natalie later says it was probably only a minute or two, although my impression from reading the scene was more ~five minutes maybe--but I think it works well enough to handwave that Mark was a ways away from the main action and people were understandably distracted by the whole pipeline being on fire thing.
But my favorite scene in this chapter was the one with Mark at the end. Poor man's just trying to have a good solitary mope and then his sister has to go and call. :P (Oh no, my favorite scenes so far have pretty solidly been Mark scenes, haven't they? Oh no.) It was a delight to see him interacting with somebody he actually likes for a change. I feel like I get a great sense of his relationship with his sister just from this conversation--a lot of exasperated fondness on both sides, and they each worry about the other, if for extremely different reasons. A very poignant scene. She misses him so much! (And how tough would it be to have Mark as a brother, wow.) And yet he can't, both for some legitimate reasons and also because he's a huge dumbass. :( Let these two be happy, plz.
Natalie's return home was a wonderful introspective scene. It gives a great feeling of how far Natalie's been thrown out of her comfortable life and into the fire, and how recently, even if her time in the Rustboro hostel feels so far away already. I'm really curious to see how the inevitable confrontation with her parents is going to play out--and anxious, too! It seems like she has a good relationship with them, but they're so far out of the loop of what she's been going through recently that I could easily see them driving her away just by accidentally stepping in it if they try to probe her about what's up. And one way or another I know she's got to end up back out there on the front lines of the Aqua/Magma conflict, so... Oof. :(
I'm not sure how I feel about the structure of this one! It's half action and half aftermath, more or less. I almost might be inclined to move the fight with Mark into the previous chapter and have this one pick up with Natalie in the aftermath, retrieving her pokémon before she returns to Rustboro. That would move the climax of the fight into eight and give nine a more straightforward downward motion as things cool off. Not sure what that would do to the wordcount of eight, though--but if you needed to, you could also probably trim the fight scene a little.
Some minor notes:
Her expression was difficult to read at the distance, but her shock and alarm showed in the way she slowly straightened and stared at him for a long moment before flinging down the pokeball.
*a distance. "Slowly straightening while staring" sounds fairly calm to me, actually, and perhaps even a challenge--showing that you're under control and not shaken by the attack. "Shock and alarm" wasn't what I was getting from the body language here!
Ore spun to face it, and Natalie's gurdurr froze mid-swing.
I was surprised by this! Assuming Natalie was correct that Mark softened up for a moment there. In the moment I thought he'd be just too pissed at her to have even a moment of hesitation.
The trainer caught him by the arm, their faces close, and Natalie wondered if she was saved.
I found it hard to follow this segment, I think perhaps just because of the pronouns. "...a crobat flying at their side. The trainer caught Mark by the shoulder..." would have cleared it up for me, I think.
Natalie pulled off her filthy sneakers, and padded through the house like a thief.
omg, do people do this??? This sounds like such a bad idea! At least I would 100% always forget the danged thing in there.
I know you aren't a huge fan of this chapter, but I enjoyed it quite a bit! Solid scenes for all the characters, and a good cool-down after the frantic action of the previous chapter (slash beginning of this one). I think it also gives you a good opportunity to transition into Steven's plot for a bit (I've already read that chapter too, heh) without making it awkward to pick things up with Mark and Natalie later. I was definitely eager to read ahead after this one. And so... I did!
Ah, at last! A direct look at some of that mysterious archaeology business. I'm super intrigued by this thread of the plot, and I enjoyed getting to properly meet Brendan for the first time! All in all, I thought this was a really fun chapter, with some great Indiana Jones vibes. I'm a total sucker for ancient ruins and doomed expeditions and booby traps that don't really make sense but are super cool, so who cares. The trapinch/vibrava/flygon guardian progression here in particular was neat. As far as implausible booby traps set by ancient people, it felt fairly grounded, and gives a neat look at how long people have had access to capture technology, and what they've chosen to do with it. Similar vibe to that one anime episode with the giant alakazam and gengar.
You did a masterful job of controlling the tension in this chapter, where even from the beginning it's like "well this is a bad idea" up to people casually ignoring LITERAL SKELETONS and, like, digging around them to get the super cursed doors open. You ramp up slowly but unrelentingly to the final discovery of Regirock, and that itself is an excellent scene. So much "oh nooooo what is going to happen NO don't try to wake it up!!" The bit with the blood, in particular, was super anxiety-inducing. Although, to be honest, I totally wanted Regirock to wake up just to see what would happen. I have perhaps a bit too much Steven in me. :P All in all the atmosphere was excellent; you captured both the intrigue and the unsettling danger of the temple, and it was a delight to join Brendan's exploration of it.
Brendan's POV is so painful to be in here. I'm sorry, Brendan, Steven is really not that into you and you need to go find what brings you joy instead of desperately trying to get senpai's attention. I thought you did a great job both of Brendan's star-struck admiration for Steven (and Harrison a bit as well) and how obviously it isn't reciprocated. I also enjoyed that our POV character is the straight man to play off Steven's super reckless Indiana Jones schtick. (Steven: "Oooh, a mysterious dark passage! What fun!" Brendan: "Oh god I'm in a horror movie, oh shit, oh fuck, but I have to go or Steven won't liiiiike meeeeee :(") Brendan seems like a decent enough guy, if maybe a bit oblivious and clearly a doormat, and I just want him to realize his obsession is unhealthy and go hang out with somebody who appreciates him.
I was a little surprised that, assuming Steven/Brendan have been in the archaeology hobby for at least a few months, they don't have some specific "archaeology pokémon" in addition to their main teams to help them out in situations like the long, dark tunnel--pokémon that are small enough to fit into into narrow areas and who could provide light, grabbing things humans wouldn't be able to reach, or perhaps even be able to stop/mitigate cave-ins through psychic force or earth manipulation or something. I was also surprised that Steven hadn't brought any pokéballs with him. Like, for capturing the regirock they're hoping is there if nothing else! For some characters I could see it as a "Regirock is too holy/important to just capture for oneself, I wouldn't dream of it," but Steven strikes me as more entitled and the type to simply take something that catches his eye, whether he has any right to it or not.
If Harrison had come this way, he would be trying to figure out what this room had been for, making Brendan his whetstone while answering none of his questions.
Making him his whetstone? (I can see the idea behind this expression, but I've never encountered it before!)
Brendan hadn't forgotten what an honor it was just to be here with both Brandon Harrison, the world-famous archaeologist and frontier brain; and Steven Stone, former champion of the Hoenn League and Trainer Today's Man of the Year, the very image of class and power.
Aww. :( I'm really curious if we'll get to see May later on! She definitely looms large in both Brendan and Steven's memory (and now I'm picturing Brendan unthinkingly saying something positive about May and Steven getting abruptly icy and snappish, yikes). I'm curious what Brendan and May's relationship was like. I'm guessing that Brendan kind of has a recurring problem with putting people he likes on pedestals and following them around like a lost puppy--wondering how May views him.
At last, one of those guesses brought Brendan to the cliffs bordering the Hoenn desert. Behind a stone slab that didn't match the surrounding rock, he uncovered both the entrance, set into the cliff and framed by intricately carved pillars, and another puzzle.
"Easily a story tall" sounds better to me here--"at least" is implied, I think.
All in all, this was a super fun chapter! I do dearly love our Magma/Aqua idiots, but to be honest I would totally read a fic just about our ronk idiots over here, too. Still very intrigued by where this plotline might be going and how it's going to intersect with the main story and make everything worse. On we go!
Patch notes: I've finally pushed through all the updates I've been sitting on since February. I kept telling myself I'd just update when I posted a new chapter, but it keeps taking longer than I expect. 😅 So I decided to just go for it. Most of these changes are minor except for the addition of a background character, Sonia, Natalie's Friend From Home ™️ . She's name-dropped in the latest version of Chapter 1 and gets a few reflections in Chapter 11. If you've already read those chapters, you probably don't need to reread--the overall arc is still the same! But if you're reading Chapter 11 for the first time and you're wondering where Sonia came from, that's the answer. I also adjusted the titles of chapters 3 and 4 because I realized I have a bunch of titles with the word "red" in them that I'd like to use, hehe. These chapters are otherwise little changed, though.
And now ... yet more replies! (I think this thread is more reviews and replies than chapters--sorry about that! Again, thank you all for your patience! Your feedback really motivates me to keep working and to make sure I'm putting forward the best chapter I can. 💪 )
You say this, but apparently stupid sexy Mark is the one everyone wants to see make out with literally any other male character who holds still long enough. And--
I do have a head canon that I sadly don't think fits in the text since it would disrupt the current flow, but ... Mark and Cora are hardly an exclusive thing, and I have to imagine that odds are high he's already banged Tabitha by proxy, lol. I have a clear mental image of Mark trying to pull Cora aside except, oops, she's already going off with Tabitha; he's less jealous than he's feeling, yuck, I have seriously got to stop hooking up with her. No more.
Which is still pretty cursed, honestly. Lots of bad decisions being made all around, all the time. Which is so weird because isn't human decision-making around sex and romance some of the smartest and safest always?????
although my impression from reading the scene was more ~five minutes maybe--but I think it works well enough to handwave that Mark was a ways away from the main action and people were understandably distracted by the whole pipeline being on fire thing.
But, yeah, I love making fun of how difficult Mark is to like, but he's much less confused and directionless than Natalie is, which I think makes him more interesting from a reader perspective. It's tough because I still think she's necessary as a reader proxy--there's a lot of stuff that needs explaining. And, who knows, maybe he would be less pleasant by comparison if he were also less active by comparison. Hard to say. I'd still love to give early-game Natalie a bit more agency if I can think of a way ... but she does start to take a more active and less reactive stance starting in Chapter 11.
Yeah, he's not an easy person to love, but I do think he's doing his best. It's hard when you live far away from your family! I talk to my sister about as often as he talks to his, and there's only a two hour time difference between us. He definitely wants to do the right thing, but he's struggling to figure out what that means.
Yeah, I hear you! From this point on, the average chapter size doubles, and there's a lot more stuff being crammed in all the time. I've struggling with length and scene order in every single chapter since 7! Lol. In this one, it's tough because I really like where 8 ends. I suppose I could let the battle + Natalie noping out of the scene be one short chapter and the aftermath another ... but then what the hell do I title them so they gel thematically? Sigh. I think it stays for now, but I'll keep thinking about it. We know I'm not afraid to gut and restructure when I'm good and ready.
I was surprised by this! Assuming Natalie was correct that Mark softened up for a moment there. In the moment I thought he'd be just too pissed at her to have even a moment of hesitation.
I see what you're saying here! He's definitely pissed, you're right--that's how we even got from "I'm gonna scare her and teach her a lesson" to "Orwell, use rockslide." But I do think this paragraph needs some kind of beat as they lock eyes. Open to other suggestions!
I answered this in DMs, but for posterity/in case anyone else had wondered: this is something I noticed Israeli soldiers doing when we were in holy sites, like a military cemetery or the Yad Vashem grounds. It really stuck with me.
But, omg, I love the idea that he might try to tuck a butt into his laces and, whoops, he's already got one in there from earlier. A nice way to let him be startled by how his little crutch is starting to take him over. This was the scene where I was surprised pika face because I too had thought he'd quit, but clearly not. Ugh, it's such a gross habit. But it's a really nice symbol for Magma and how very healthy for him it is.
Steven: "Oooh, a mysterious dark passage! What fun!" Brendan: "Oh god I'm in a horror movie, oh shit, oh fuck, but I have to go or Steven won't liiiiike meeeeee :("
I was a little surprised that, assuming Steven/Brendan have been in the archaeology hobby for at least a few months, they don't have some specific "archaeology pokémon" in addition to their main teams to help them out in situations like the long, dark tunnel--
They've mostly been doing museum/textbook-y things, I think! They didn't really know what they'd find in here. If the space had been bigger, claydol would be a perfect exploration friend, but I wanted a way to separate them from their pokemon to raise the stakes. Next time we pay a visit to the temple, though, I think we'll have some little beldum friends zipping around to help. It's not like Steven would have trouble getting anything they might need--with a little preparation and foresight.
I was also surprised that Steven hadn't brought any pokéballs with him. Like, for capturing the regirock they're hoping is there if nothing else! For some characters I could see it as a "Regirock is too holy/important to just capture for oneself, I wouldn't dream of it," but Steven strikes me as more entitled and the type to simply take something that catches his eye, whether he has any right to it or not.
This is the one thing I haven't fixed yet because I need to think it through a little. Like, Steven can't just catch it here, or I don't get to ... do some other stuff later. (I think the quick answer is going to be to add a line where Steven tries and the pokeball simple does not work.) But, yeah, Steven definitely wants to own Regirock, and surely he had some idea of how he planned to get it and keep it going into this.
I KNOW. But, yup, if you play as the female character in Emerald, you can definitely encounter them both. This is the kind of thing I probably wouldn't torture readers with if this were original fiction, but it's really fun to poke canon for. Two characters with frustratingly similar names? Better stick em in all the same scenes!! That and I genuinely think they both make sense as characters for Steven to pull into his orbit: May's old pal/the son of a researcher + the guy who canonically has no pokemon that aren't either the regis or (I think) the Kantoan bird trio.
Aww. :( I'm really curious if we'll get to see May later on! She definitely looms large in both Brendan and Steven's memory (and now I'm picturing Brendan unthinkingly saying something positive about May and Steven getting abruptly icy and snappish, yikes). I'm curious what Brendan and May's relationship was like. I'm guessing that Brendan kind of has a recurring problem with putting people he likes on pedestals and following them around like a lost puppy--wondering how May views him.
I hadn't originally planned to give May a voice, but lately I've been thinking about a place where she might come in to share some thoughts.
You're absolutely right about Brendan! He's a bit of an idealist in that way. I also think it's why he's so doormat-y--on some level, he thinks he's unworthy because golly gee he can't seem to hold the attention of the people he'd like to. But, like ... Brendan. You're comparing yourself to the children of fossil fuel moguls and gym leaders, both national champions. You are not less-than for not being a champion, lol. He'll figure it out eventually. Probably.
This is a good question! She makes an appearance in my other chaptered fic, and she very much comes off as someone who is nice but very used to getting her way, and she's willing to put pressure on people around her to get to the heart of an interesting myth. (Who does that sound like??) Not sure if she's the same Cynthia or a parallel one. I'm inclined to believe she'd have a more preservationist attitude compared to Steven's trophy-hunting, but ... hard to say for sure. Perhaps the May chapter will have room for a Cynthia cameo, too, if it seems like she'd have something to add.
I do dearly love our Magma/Aqua idiots, but to be honest I would totally read a fic just about our ronk idiots over here, too. Still very intrigued by where this plotline might be going and how it's going to intersect with the main story and make everything worse. On we go!
Wow, so much success in this sentence. So lovely to hear. Dearly love, omg my heart.
Worse??? What ever do you mean??? They're helping to make the world a better place!!!!!!
Yeah, it is taking a little while for these two lines to fully cross over, but I promise they will sooner than later. A little more Aqua/Magma slap-fighting and then some other shit will start popping off real nicely.
Thanks for all those grammar catches! Those slippery little commas!! The "and" rule came to me oddly late in life (like, a month or two ago), but hopefully I'll have a better eye on those ones going forward. :)
Whereas stories about politics aren't my cup of tea, your opening chapter for this story certainly had me hooked at several points. I'm really curious as to who that shady character was stalking Natalie, and Mark is a very likable character. Not to mention your opening line here is just perfect! It really hooks you in!
I'm a sucker for descriptions, and it's very easy to picture the settings you're creating with this story. The characters pop, too. Distinct personalities, and very believable. The interaction between Natalie and Mark flowed very well, and I've been told many times that dialogue isn't easy to write! Using that to slide in some of Natalie's history worked great, as her brother, mentioned earlier on, we find out has actually vanished! You've caught me with the intrigue there!
The pokemon interactions are cute. I love the little mention that Luna had done the dog thing of eating Natalie's shoes. The breloom drinking a beer was just adorable (I hope it was a safe one for pokemon!)
I'm assuming with the acronym that Team Magma have a different presence in this story? But I know I'll need to read on more to find out about that! Perhaps they've had something to do with Bubba's disappearance?
A banette. That explained the disappearing act but gave little comfort—they were nasty, living bundles of junk fabric held together by needles and malice. Natalie struggled to imagine what kind of person would want to raise one.
Argh I really love it when people throw their own lore into this! I know banette is meant to be a doll, but to have it made up of pins and cloth (and malice)? I don't think I've ever come across that idea before!
Yeah, I like to joke that Spring is my tea story and Divides is my coffee story. It's definitely not everyone's cup of tea for so many reasons, and I totally get that! (And for you specifically, I've also flagged chapters 7 and 10 in the detailed CWs on the cover page because of one small moment in each that might ping as occult. If you ever get that far, let me know and I'd be happy to let you know what happens so you can either skip it or so I can get you a modified version. Again, I get that that's not for everyone.) My goal is definitely to tell a good story above all else, though, so I'm glad to hear that my plot hooks did their job!!
The pokemon interactions are cute. I love the little mention that Luna had done the dog thing of eating Natalie's shoes. The breloom drinking a beer was just adorable (I hope it was a safe one for pokemon!)
Yeah, I'm a sucker for pokemon doing cute things in the background of a serious moment. I definitely think baby breloom can have a beer, but I don't think it would necessarily have the same effect on it that it does on humans. A fermented drink struck me as something that a fungus creature would enjoy. Probably a big fan of kombucha, too.
I'm assuming with the acronym that Team Magma have a different presence in this story? But I know I'll need to read on more to find out about that! Perhaps they've had something to do with Bubba's disappearance?
You would be correct! There's some overlap--they're still lead by Maxie, they hate Aqua, and they're kinda (um) fiery--but their goals here aren't necessarily what they are in canon. A lot of what brought me here is that "awaken weather god because reasons" is really hard for me to believe as something a person would sincerely choose to do on purpose.
Bubba miiiiiight be related to some of what's happening with Magma! 🤐
Haha, I was thinking how funny it was that you of all people landed this chapter! I haven't gotten to Enigma yet in your fic, but I'll be curious to see how you handle him.
I also don't think Natalie is a completely reliable viewpoint here re: banette. Sure, sneer at the scary puppet monster, but like ... Natalie, you're hanging out with a literal shadow wolf. Who are you to talk?
HEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY WILDBOOTS, BACK FOR MORE REVIEWING! Got two chapters out of the way, and wow, just as I thought, everything went to shit very fast! Chapter 3 was an absolute wild ride, and I loved it a lot. Chaotic scenes like that are my lifeblood.
The locker room muffled the bellowing and crashing of sparring pokemon, but Mark's head throbbed with each vibration through the floor. It's gonna be a long day. The door opened as he was tossing down a couple of ibuprofen.
"By the way ... Did you decide if you're coming to the new member meeting? "
"Oh." Hilary looked down, twisting and untwisting her handkerchief. "I get why you're disappointed with Roxanne. And I know you're not the only one either. But she's still a good person. Like, think about all the time and effort she's put into our schools alone."
Casey and his opponent had finished, and the gym had quieted somewhat. But on the main stage, Roxanne and her probopass faced off against a kid with a grovyle, each command and roar amplified by the big screens on either side.
His ratio of wins to losses had been too high this month, according to Roxanne. Higher than hers. So if a challenger demonstrated any kind of basic knowledge … he'd let them continue on and become her problem.
She's gotta be young, Mark thought, watching her swagger into the sandbox. He guessed eighteen, nineteen—not a huge gap between them, in the grand scheme of things, but enough to make a difference.
Most trainers stared through Mark. To them, he was one more obstacle on their way into the spotlight. Natalie seemed to be actually paying attention. Alert. Curious.
In a voice too low to be heard up on the main level, she said, "Looks like you had quite a night."
"You should see the other guy." He played it for a laugh, pleased when she did. But the look in her eyes made it clear she intended to try to get the rest of the story out of him later.
He'd been ready for her to choose a grass- or water-type like most of the rookie trainers did. Sometimes the particularly aspiring ones, like the kid with the lotad, got creative and tried to cover both bases simultaneously.
But Natalie called, "Bite, Luna!" and her mightyena turned directly into it. Its pupils quickly expanded and then shrank. The mightyena shook its head, started forward, swooned, and turned to snap its teeth at an imaginary foe. It staggered into the rim of the fiery ring and then reeled back whining, the reaction delayed
This might be because I have a Kindergarten reading level, but I had a particularly hard time visualizing what was going on in this paragraph. The repetitive use of "it" made it a little hard for me to keep track of which "it" was what, if that makes sense, and as a result, I was just a little bit lost.
I loved this little interaction here. Mark trying not to fuel Natalie's somewhat naïve headstrong-ness, and Natalie being...well, somewhat naïve and headstrong. Good setup to what I think is going to be an absolute shitshow, WOO!!
He was a recent trade from a tourist she'd met in Dewford, so she wasn't entirely sure yet if he was agitated by the crowd … or if moodiness was simply his baseline.
Ohhhhhhh power limiter collar? Very interesting that it seems just the cops have them, and my head is buzzing with observations. I feel like random civilians would be the ones with power-limiter collars on their mons, so I'm shocked the cops do. Then again, maybe pokemon on the police force are more powerful than the average mon? Or maybe there was a history of police brutality with their fully powered mons so they were all required to wear power-limiters? I'm intrigued!
Being that I went to a protest or two after the George Floyd murder, this is completely accurate LOL. People were DECKED in long sleeves and shit to cover their faces...and I live in Florida!
So when Spitfire cried, "Do you trust DevCo to keep our water clean?"—Natalie thought of the pelippers in the guest bathroom. She thought of her brother. She thought of Mark telling her to stay home where it was safe, and she didn't hesitate to join the cacophony.
Lights blinked in and out as the red bloc recalled their own pokemon rather than lose them to a police masterball—only to send them back out in a new spot.
Less than a few yards away, a manectric exploded out of the smog to tackle a protester—a skinny girl with a knee brace. The manectric stood on the girl's back, growling and fizzing with electricity.
And they left destruction in their wake: overturned cars smoldered, filling the air with the stink of burning rubber. Someone in a Guy Fawkes mask galloped past on a rapidash, brandishing a burning Hoenn flag. Broken glass scattered the street. Iron Avenue looked like it had been bombed. How had it happened so fast?
All I can think of is Childish Gambino's video for "This Is America" and that dude riding by on the white horse. The chaos captured here is unbelievably accurate, way to go.
This chapter has a lot more alcohol in it than previous ones. If you're sensitive to substance abuse and would rather skip this one, DM me and I'd be happy to give you the Cliff Notes instead.
Chapter 14: Liquid Courage
The Motherfucker stretched the length of several city blocks, and tonight it was ORCA's playground. All five of their ships had anchored alongside the stolen freighter and pooled their crews into one heaving throng: at the center of the deck, a knot of dancers thrashed around. The pack thinned at the edges, sailors drifting in and out with drinks. Off to one side, a few trainers paired off to spar, the matches dissolving into laughter long before either side was out for the count. Natalie leaned against the guardrail on the far end of the deck, where it was quiet enough to hear the cursing of the nearby poker players who'd gathered around an overturned crate. Somewhere among the whirling bodies was Pearl, boatswain of Rosie the Riveter and Natalie's assigned mentor. She'd stuck to Pearl's side for most of the party … until Natalie had lost her in the crowd.
Pearl probably didn't want to babysit, and Natalie didn't blame her. Normally, she'd be fine on her own: she'd steel herself with a drink and dive into the crowd, letting herself get swept up in the music. If she didn't have friends, she'd make some.
But being alone at an ORCA party was different. She couldn't just melt into this crowd, not when she felt eyes on her back all the time—and sometimes they didn't look away when she turned around. Like two of the poker spectators. Natalie set her jaw and stared fiercely back at the two sailors until they returned their attention to the card game.
Good. Great.
She could handle this—she just needed a drink. With a deep breath, she pushed away from the rail and strode to the nearest person holding a beer. "Where you'd get that?" He pointed her towards a cooler shoved against some crates, and away she went.
Another sailor reached the cooler an instant before she did. He popped the lid to reveal the last two cans nestled among the ice, then flashed her a grin. "Perfect timing. Hope you like Red River."
She accepted the can gratefully and started, "Thanks—" But even though she recognized his single sharpedo tooth earring, his name wouldn't come to her. "Nice to see you again, stranger."
His face lit up. "I didn't think you'd remember me."
Too late, she realized he might've taken her fumbling for coyness. Unsure what else to say, she drank.
Sharpedo Tooth started to shut the cooler when a sealeo sprang up beside him. It thrust its head into the ice, knocking him onto his butt. He held his can straight up in the air, miraculously managing not to spill. He and Natalie exchanged looks of surprise and then burst out laughing.
She helped him to his feet. "I guess that's his now."
"I'm sure not gonna argue."
They edged away, leaving the sealeo to snuffle and crunch in the ice.
Sharpedo Tooth pointed toward the poker game. "You gonna cut in?"
"No way. Those guys would clean me out for sure."
The sailor grinned. "I would've thought Sinbad's sister would be a card shark." Natalie's smile tilted into a grimace, but he seemed not to notice. He tipped his head the opposite direction, back toward the rail. "Let's chill over there, then."
Natalie hesitated. Was she locking herself into a weird, clammy hookup later? No, if he tried anything, she could just leave. "Yeah, sure."
And then she was up against the rail again, this time near the prow, beyond the reach of the poker players' voices. The crowd was far enough away that it felt like TV. In the thick of it all, Zinfandel perched atop a speaker, bobbing her head in time to the music. Now and again, a sailor cupped their hands around their mouth to shout up at the porygon, and then the song switched. The bass line vibrated through the guardrail at Natalie's back. She couldn't tell if the boat's rocking was because of the choppy waters or the crew's furious dancing.
Salt water and alcohol wafted on the chilly air, a hint of diesel underneath. She had started to take the french fry smell of the Riveter for granted; Pearl had explained that the engine was modified to run on recycled cooking oil, collected every few weeks from Slateport restaurants who were happy to support an "environmental nonprofit." Now the smell of diesel on the Motherfucker was jarring.
Sharpedo Tooth lounged next to her. "So how do you like it?"
She squinted. What, the beer?
He smiled knowingly. "I bet Shelly's working you pretty hard."
"Not really," Natalie said, stiffening. "She's nice. All of the Roses are."
Everyone seemed to be asking her what she thought of ORCA tonight. Maybe some of them were genuinely interested, but mostly it felt like the latest test—like they were hoping for signs she was about to crack. Either way, there wasn't much for her to tell.
She'd spent her time repainting the deck of the Riveter, scrubbing the floors, tracking inventory, and learning safety procedures. Her biggest excitement so far had been helping lay out a floating rig to trap and collect ocean plastic. Instead of televising another woeful reminder to think of the lapras and choose reusable bags, ORCA whipped out their rig and did something about the problem. But the magic had evaporated somewhat when Shelly had tasked her with loading the trash bags into one of the small power boats and lugging them to the landfill.
Later that evening in the mess hall, she'd learned that while she'd been hauling trash, two of her crewmates had taken the other power boat to LiquiTek. Local papers had outed the chemical company for its toxic runoff years ago, but LiquiTek had found it cheaper to pay the Slateport Clean Water Commission's fines than to change their equipment. So the Roses had dumped grimer at the corporate office.
The rest of the table had whooped. Natalie watched open-mouthed, caught between horror and glee. "Was that the plan for the grimer all along?"
"I dunno about a plan," Pearl had answered, shrugging. "We just do what needs doing. It seemed like a good idea, so Shelly told them to go for it."
At first, Natalie had been relieved by the mundane work. Nobody had asked her to steal anything or go head-to-head with police manectric again. But she hadn't joined ORCA to scrub floors and take out the trash. She wanted to do something useful.
It's only been a week, she reminded herself. Still, it had been a week.
When Natalie glanced over, she realized Sharpedo Tooth was staring at her. For a flash, she wondered if she'd somehow said or done something she wasn't supposed to. "What?" she demanded, face coloring.
"Nothing." He wore a dopey smile. Was he that drunk already? "It's just … you look a little like him. The nose. Kinda wild."
She resisted the urge to touch her face. "Why wild?"
"Because he's the big bad boss, but you're little and cute."
Natalie couldn't help her scowl. Cute was for children and pets.
"Aww, don't be mad. I didn't mean anything by it."
She was saved from having to answer when something banged against the rail. Several yards away, a sailor had climbed onto the railing, grinning-drunk. He brought one hand to his mouth and let out an ear-splitting whistle.
Natalie straightened. "Gods, he's going to fall off if he's not—"
The climber saluted, then—quick as a blink—pushed off.
She didn't even have time to scream. As she spun to look over the rail, a sudden wind hit the back of her neck. Something white gusted overhead, opening wings wide as sails, and caught him out of the air. They fell together, slowing, and then began to rise again. For a moment, bird and man were one silhouette. Then the pelipper landed below them on the deck of the Rum Runner, and the drunk trainer stumbled off. His pelipper lingered long enough for a head scratch and then took to the air again.
At Natalie's elbow, Sharpedo Tooth laughed.
She felt sick at the thought of that terrible drop, the sharpedo waiting below. "He could've died!" she spluttered, pressing a hand to her fast-beating heart.
"Lighten up! He's fine."
Begrudgingly, she tucked herself back against the rail—and then she spotted Archie. He moved through the crowd, pausing to bump fists and crack jokes; when he saw Natalie watching, he tipped his chin up in acknowledgement.
She hadn't seen him in a week: when they'd pulled out of Slateport, the Ultimatum had gone one way and the Riveter another. She probably should've expected that when she'd agreed to join Shelly's crew, but she hadn't.
Sharpedo Tooth had his back to the rest of the party. He didn't notice Archie's approach until he clapped a hand on his shoulder and boomed out a cheery, "Jonas!"
"Hey, Captain!" he choked out, paling. "Congrats, again."
"Congrats yourself. We all got a reason to celebrate tonight." He kept grinning, but he didn't let go of Jonas' shoulder. "I think Trent and his boys were looking for you."
Natalie took another drink to hide her smile.
"Sure, sure, sure." Jonas bobbed his head. "I probably should go check on them."
Archie gave him a couple hard thumps on the back. "Good idea." He took over Jonas' place next to Natalie, stretching his arms along the railing.
Shuffling away, Jonas raised his beer can to her. "See you around, Beebee."
Beebee? Wondering if she'd misheard him, Natalie squinted but returned his air-cheer. When he was out of earshot, she said, "I had it under control, you know." But she smiled anyway, pleased.
Archie shrugged. "His buddy's fuckin' blowing chunks. Somebody's gotta take care of him, and it's not gonna be me. Not tonight."
She smirked into her beer. Whatever you say.
They nursed their drinks without speaking, and for once Natalie felt no pressure to fill the space between them with words. Gods, how long had it been since they'd passed time in comfortable silence? Ten years, at least.
He smacked his lips and sighed contentedly. His smile was so easy tonight, more like the Archie who'd taught her how to play checkers than the one who'd scolded her and tried to send her home. "So. You havin' a good time, Small Fry?"
She wasn't having a bad time. "Sure!" she said. "I'm just … getting used to all this."
"Good," he said almost sternly. "You know, we're celebrating partly because of you."
"Me? I thought it was about …." She waved a hand to indicate the entirety of the Motherfucker. She vaguely understood only that ORCA had finally managed to fix something that hadn't been working right.
"Why do you think I sent you to the shipyard?"
She forced lightness into her voice. "I thought you were testing me."
He shrugged again. "We needed those plans, too. You got 'em."
"Oh." So he had trusted her?
Shaking her head, she pushed the question away. "I still don't really get what all of this is."
Natalie was ready for him to sigh and roll his eyes, to tell her she wasn't ready or allowed to know yet … but his smile widened. "We're gonna bring the ocean back to life."
She would've laughed if not for the dark intensity in his eyes. "What does that mean?"
"I mean," he said, "we're cleaning up decades of bullshit—spills, greenhouse gases, overfishing … All of it. All at once." He patted his pockets as he spoke, switching his cup from one hand to the other and back again. "It's so simple. It's the simplest fucking …. Aha, there we go." He pulled a piece of sea glass from his pocket, holding it up so it caught the fading light. No, sea glass was frosted and smooth. The rock in Archie's hand had sharp, clear facets, the inside glowing neon-bright.
She blinked, not sure what turn the conversation had taken. "Is that … a piece of a leaf stone?"
His laugh was so sharp that Natalie jumped. The wind pushed his boozy breath into her face. "You're killin' me, Small Fry," he said, and this time she caught slurring in his speech. "You think we'd have rager for a fucking leaf stone?"
"I think you're drunk."
"Course I am," Archie said cheerfully. He held out the gleaming green hunk. "Here."
She half-expected it to give off heat, but the stone was cool in her palm. "Alright. So what is it then?"
He took a leisurely drink before he answered. "It's an energy gem, the shit leaf stones come from. Before pressure under the earth mashes 'em into junk. Can't get much from a leaf stone, unless you're an eevee or whateverthefuck. Just pretty rocks. But that"—he pointed—"is raw energy, free for the taking."
Energy gems sounded half-familiar, but Natalie's last science class had been more than a year ago. She frowned, rolling the gem in her hand. A pretty rock was exactly what it looked like to her.
Archie didn't pause for breath. "And what do those miracle science motherfuckers at DevCo do with it? Show off. And then charge an arm and a leg for it, because they only care about life when it's a goddamn product." He gestured wildly, sloshing his drink onto the deck. "They're too busy fucking with shit that died millions of years ago to save what's dying right now."
Natalie had hardly sipped her beer, but listening to her brother was making her feel drunk. "You're talking about fossil pokemon, right?"
"Damn right I am!"
He paused to gulp his drink, and when he began to speak again, his voice was softer. "And they can fuckin' go ahead. No skin off my back. They're not the only ones with the power anymore. They can pussyfoot around with fossils while we do some actual fucking good. Restore the balance. Imagine if—"
"Wait, wait," Natalie cut in. "Are you saying ORCA has access to fossil tech?"
Everyone knew that DevCo guarded the secrets of its fossil reanimation project like holy relics. When the Safari Zone had tried to breed their pair of purchased aurorus without permission, DevCo had sued and won. After that, the company made sure to modify their fossils' genes: buyers could specify any color they wanted, but the pokemon would always be sterile. So she had to be misunderstanding him. ORCA was—well, they were scrappy and brave, but at the end of the day, they were a bunch of pirates on stolen ships. No way could ORCA just—
"Fuck yeah we do," Archie said with a ferocious grin.
She sputtered a laugh. "How?"
"Stole it," he said and then belched.
"You're crazy," Natalie said, shaking her head. "Actually fucking crazy." But she couldn't help mirroring his grin.
"Cheers to fuckin' crazy!"
As they knocked their drinks together, she laughed again, dumbfounded and giddy. ORCA might be crazy, but she had never felt more sure that she was on the right side. Who else could pull a heist on DevCo?
Remembering his armaldo, she burst out, "And you already have one."
"'S right. Vengeance," he said tapping a pokeball at his left hip. Natalie wasn't sure if that was its name or an explanation.
"So, we're … reviving ocean fossils?" She still didn't understand the point of that or what glowing rocks had to do with it, but she pressed on, "And that's how you got your armaldo?"
Archie's expression soured. "No." He knocked back the rest of his drink. Then, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he snarled, "You know what? Fuck Max, too. Fuck him."
Natalie flinched at his sudden jump in volume, even though his glare was aimed somewhere out over the water. She tried, "Who's—?"
But he charged past her. "I was right. All along. From the very beginning. Don't need to hear him say it." He moved to take a drink, only to realize he'd already drained his cup. "Doesn't matter. We're doing what we want. It's ours now, and we've got the balls to use it for the right fucking reasons."
Despite his bravado, Archie scrunched his shoulders and sank into himself, scowling. Natalie didn't know the full story, but she'd seen enough despairingly drunk trainers during her hostel stays to have an idea of how to help. She nudged him and asked, "You want water?"
"Bah." He straightened up. "'S all good, Small Fry."
"You sure? I could—"
"What was I sayin'? I was making a point."
"Uhhh … fossils?"
He swatted a hand as if batting the word out of the air. "I told you. 'S not about fossils—it's about what's alive right now." Pointing, he demanded, "Lemme see that."
Natalie had forgotten she was still clutching the energy gem, its color even brighter in the deepening twilight. As she passed it back to Archie, his grin returned.
"This. This is the shit." He held up the gem, excitedly shaking his fist. "Fuck a fossil. Life depends on the simple shit at the bottom. You know, fidoplankton. Cyto—cynano—" Archie let out a guffaw. "Fuck. Sinobacteria."
"All the green shit of the ocean. Those little fuckers fix atmospheric carbon three times more effishi … better than plants. There's bacteria that fuckin' eat oil. You know? Unfuck the climate. Bring the dead patches back to life." He waved the gem around some more. "A lil' boost and life can start fixing isself."
"Oh!" She saw it then, what a sober Archie might've explained more clearly: if DevCo's tech could bring ancient fossils to life, couldn't it revitalize the living ecosystems they'd carelessly poisoned? Start with the plants and build the rest back up from there. The rocks still confused her, but she suspected that had more to do with Archie than with her. It couldn't be as simple as dumping rocks into the water, right? DevCo would hardly be able to patent that. But maybe their fossil project involved extracting something from energy gems? Or grinding them into some kind of weird paste? It didn't matter. The rest made sense enough. "That's actually kind of smart."
Archie laughed. "Course it is! I've been workin' on this shit for years, Small Fry. Years." He jostled her with his elbow. "This is what everything else rests on. Wild gastrodon might even come back. Finneon. Alolomomo—You know what I mean."
"Slateport's clamperl," she offered.
"Ezactly. Wouldn't be the first. You know they found relicanth by Sootopolis? After five hunerd years of spills and all the other shit, they're fucking stillalive." He tried again to drink from his empty cup and grumbled, "Damn it."
She loved that he knew things like that, how even drunk, his mind returned to the relicanth. "All that from a little rock, huh?"
As he pocketed the energy gem, his smile faded slightly. "Well, we need a lot more'n one. Unova's only place to get 'em." He paused, and then his grin returned in full force, a touch mischievous. "But I got ideas. And we got enough to last us tonight!"
Natalie brought her drink halfway to her mouth and stopped short. "Tonight?"
"It's now or never. That's the whole fucking point." Anger flashed across his face. "While those guy are out playing politics, DevCo's gonna keep doing its shit. We could waste time debating lawyers n' senators … or we do something right fucking now."
She considered that for a moment, then lifted her chin. "You're right."
But Archie wasn't looking at her, instead glancing over his shoulder at the water below. He hooked a thumb behind him. "There you go. Check it out."
The sky had faded to a rosy purple, the water dark beneath it—except where brilliant green bobbed just below the surface, inching farther and farther out. The same green as the energy gem she'd held in her hand.
"Woah." Natalie squeezed the rail with her free hand. "That's all bacteria?"
"Yup."
Natalie turned back to the deck with fresh eyes. So, ORCA hadn't been making repairs, not exactly. She didn't know the specifics of what Zinfandel taken from the shipyard, but she could imagine they designed all kinds of ship-mounted rigs and underwater turbines—or whatever ORCA had needed to run DevCo's machinery in the middle of the ocean. Her tiny, fumbling efforts had mattered, and here was the proof.
She peered down at the water again. The green spread out around the freighter like a skirt, a striking color against the neon pink horizon and black water. Even a single-celled organism could light up the ocean. And this was the beginning of something much bigger than all of them.
"It's incredible, Ar—"
"Sin!"
Natalie swiveled back around just as Scarlet latched onto Archie's arm, nuzzling her head against his shoulder. "Were you gonna leave me on my own all night?" She lifted her head and—surprise, surprise—cast Natalie a cold look. "Oh. Beebee. Hey."
Beebee definitely didn't mean anything good, then.
Natalie squared her shoulders. "Hey." She knew that not everyone here fully trusted her, but the only person who actively had it out for her was Scarlet. Since day one. Well, don't worry, she thought. The feeling's mutual.
"Scar," Archie said warningly, "No drama tonight. It's a fucking party."
Natalie's heart lifted. She held her breath, hoping he'd remind Scarlet that Natalie's contribution was why there even was a party.
But Archie's attention was fixed on Scarlet now.
"You 'spect me to stay in one place all night?" he said to her. Then, the corners of his mouth quirking up, he snatched the bottle from Scarlet's hand and took a pull from it. She rolled her eyes but didn't try to stop him. "I'm trying to have some goddamn fun." His grin belied any scolding in his tone.
Scarlet tugged on his arm, "Then be fun and come dance with me."
"Yeah, alright. I could dance." Slipping an arm around her waist, he let her pull him from the rail. He took a few not-quite-steady steps before he seemed to remember Natalie. "You coming?"
Scarlet looked back too. Her mouth tightened, her eyes like chips of ice.
Come? And do what, exactly? Watch Scarlet eat her brother's face? "I'll catch up later," Natalie said coldly.
He shrugged, like it didn't matter. "Alright. See you, Small Fry."
Scarlet smirked and tossed her braid over her shoulder. "Bye, Beebee."
When they'd gone, Natalie sighed and eased back against the railing. For another moment, she watched the crowd, drumming her fingers on the empty can. Was she really going to sit against this stupid railing all night? She gave her drink a swirl, slugged it back, and pushed into the crowd.
Scanning for a friendly face, she wove between bodies. She started toward a group of girls she'd shared a table with once on her brother's ship—but changed her mind when she realized they were talking about him. Then she nearly tripped over a couple who had tangled together so fiercely they looked like one body with four arms; for one dazzlingly horrifying moment, she thought one of them was Archie. She was almost ready to find a new place to sit by herself when she spotted a familiar broad-shouldered frame turned away in conversation. "Pearl!"
Sure enough, she turned to look. For an instant, Natalie regretted it—if Pearl wanted to hang out with her, surely she would've already come looking for her.
But Pearl broke out in a grin and cried, "There you are! I was starting to wonder if you fell overboard." Natalie began to relax as Pearl signaled just one minute to her companion and started toward her. She shouldn't have doubted Pearl.
They first time they'd met, Natalie had been nervous; Pearl was the only member of Rosie the Riveter's all-girl crew with an Adam's apple and five o'clock shadow, and Natalie hadn't trusted herself not to repeat some stupid thing Dad had said. But she'd put Natalie at ease right away: she was patient, showing her around and answering all her stupid questions. She'd even gotten Luna meds for her sea-sickness.
Pearl planted her free hand on her hip. "Where've you been? Getting into trouble, I hope."
"I was … people watching, I guess." She tried for a nonchalant smile. "I was about to go get another drink."
"Yeah, you're way too sober right now," Pearl agreed. "The Roses are playing Flip Cup. You should join."
That sounded like the kind of game Natalie could handle right now: no strategy or thinking required. She started to smile for real, but something made her hesitate. "Hey, Pearl … do you know why everyone keeps calling me Beebee?"
Pearl waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. You don't want to know what they called me when I first joined."
She did know, then.
"Would you just tell me, please?"
Pearl shrugged. Her expression said, suit yourself. "I think it's short for Baby Boss."
Oh. BB.
Gods, would she ever stop being the kid trailing her brother to the scrapyard, stuck sitting at a safe distance? For a moment she'd imagined that ORCA had actually seen her, but all they were seeing was her brother's shadow.
She slouched, folding her arms around herself. "I really hate that."
"Don't let it get to you. Nicknames come and go." Pearl bumped her bony hip into Natalie. "Hey. You know what'll help? Booze."
"Yeah, probably." Natalie held up her empty can and gave it a shake. "So what are we doing with—?"
The music cut out. The crew muttered in confusion as they turned toward Zinfandel. Her head rolled in the air independently of her body, spinning completely upside-down. "What the hell, man?" a distant voice rang out.
Then the intercom squealed, making the pirates flinch and stagger. "Heyyy, everyone," a voice crackled over the PA, "breaking news! The Devon data center just fucking blew up!"
There was a long silence as the drunk sailors struggled to process this information. Then, as one, they burst out with laughter and celebratory howls. Goosebumps rose along Natalie's arms.
The cheering was so loud, it partially drowned out the voice on the PA "—smoke and fire and shit! Good thing we got what we needed first, huh? So cheers to those crazy fucks, and cheers to all of you! I love you guys!"
"Love you too!" someone yelled back.
Natalie whirled to face Pearl. "What does that even—?"
Pearl shouted something unintelligible and smashed her cup into Natalie's empty can, sending up a splash of green.
Then Zinfandel whooped, and the music kicked back on, louder and faster than before; her head spun to the beat, a pink and blue blur. The crowd threw up their arms, wrapping their neighbors in wild, stumbling hugs. A sailor knocked into Natalie as he danced past, sending the empty beer can flying from her hand. She felt guilty, imagining it tumbling into the water, but she wasn't about to dive after it—that would be a good way to get trampled.
Natalie pressed closer to Pearl, shouting over the music, "Who do you think did it?" The burning overpass leapt to her mind, and her stomach clenched. "What if it was Magma?"
"Who cares?" she laughed. "As long as DevCo gets fucked, I'm happy! Come on, we need a refill."
They wound through the crowd. Pearl ignored the ice coolers and went straight for a drink dispenser where slices of citrus fruit and berries sloshed in punch colored a violent green. Had the color been planned, Natalie wondered, or was it just a happy coincidence? As Pearl pressed a cup into her hands, Natalie said laughingly, "I don't want to know what's in this, do I?"
"Cheer-up juice!" Pearl touched her cup to Natalie's again and shouted, "Fuck DevCo!" She met Natalie's eyes, waiting for her to say it, too.
Natalie rose up on her tiptoes, little good though it did her, and shouted back, "And fuck Magma!"
"Fuck em all!" Pearl howled, throwing her head back.
"Fuck em all!" echoed a nearby sailor. Someone Natalie didn't know reached to clink cups with Pearl and then her. The toasting continued as she turned, the crowd around her a sea of smiles and hands and cups. Something was drying stickily down Natalie's arm, but she grinned and took a big drink of green punch, the taste sharp and sweet. When Pearl tugged her by the elbow, she followed, laughing.
Suddenly, a group of familiar, grinning faces emerged from the crowd. "There she is!" Cries for Pearl rang out, but Natalie thought she heard her own name, too. Hands pulled and pushed her in among the Roses, spilling more of her drink along the way. "Now we're all here!"
Someone handed Natalie a second cup with an inch of clear liquor at the bottom. When she turned, she realized it had been Shelly, who was pressed against her shoulder-to-shoulder. "Just in time. We're doing a round of shots together, just us Roses," she explained with a wink. Then she raised her cup and cried out, "To Rosie!"
The Roses held their cups high and shouted it back. Natalie watched their faces. Did they really want her here? How could she tell for sure?
As if reading her mind, Shelly fixed her eyes on Natalie. "To our newest Rose!"
Her face went hot, but she beamed as the Roses screamed her name.
Shelly cried out one last time, "And to ORCA!"
The Roses whooped and threw back their shots; Natalie did, too, half a second behind the others. It ripped down her throat, leaving her coughing. "I'm good, I'm good!" she choked out.
Then someone grabbed her free hand, tugging her toward the dance floor. As the bodies pressed in around her, Natalie closed her eyes and let the beat swallow her whole.
—
"What the hell is wrong with her?"
Good question, Natalie thought, glad that someone had finally said it; every time she looked up, Scarlet's eyes were burning into her from across the deck. She spun to see who had her back, who was seeing what she was seeing. Just as she realized the words had come from her own mouth, her foot caught on something and she pitched forward.
A firm hand yanked her upright before she fell. "Watch out for the twistlocks."
Oh, right. Those.
All across the deck, metal knobs jutted half a foot from the floor. They were spaced several feet apart, where the corners of shipping containers would have been bolted down, but that hadn't stopped sailors from tripping over them all night. Her turn now. She turned her entire body to glance down at the twistlock, giggling. Her head felt like Zinfandel's, loose and ready to drift off on its own. Still laughing, she swung around the other direction and fixed her gaze on Shelly, who still had a hand on her arm.
"You should switch to water for a while, huh?"
"I'm fine. Great," Natalie insisted, raising her voice over the music. "She's the one with the problem, not me."
Following Natalie's jabbing finger, Shelly sighed. "Don't worry about Scarlet, okay?" She pulled Natalie into a side-hug and steered the two of them away. "She's just an insecure person, and Sinbad doesn't make it easy for her to be chill when he—" Shelly came to a sudden stop, wobbling along with Natalie. "Never mind."
Half-formed questions burbled and died in Natalie's mind before she managed, "What does that have to do with me?"
"It doesn't. Forget I said it."
More secrets. Again. Natalie pulled free from Shelly's grip, but drew up short as another thought came to her. "Is it about Max?"
Shelly's eyes went wide. That was a yes. "Where did you hear that?" But she held up her hands, preempting a response. "It doesn't matter. Look, nobody gets along with everybody, but we're all on the same side here. We don't gossip about each other."
She'd taken up her captain voice again, so Natalie hung her head. Still, she mumbled, "She's the one being mean."
Shelly squeezed Natalie's arm. "I'll talk to her." She nodded, apparently deciding. "Yeah, I'll do that." Then she rolled her shoulders back and pushed past Natalie into the crowd.
Untethered, Natalie swayed in place. The music didn't make sense anymore. She felt its rhythm in her gut, like she'd swallowed something overlarge and slimy-cold. Why wasn't she having fun?
An arm dropped over her shoulders. Pearl. "Hey, you okay, Natalie?"
Pearl's weight pressed down on her, and the thing Natalie had swallowed was suddenly fighting to get free.
"I'm great!" She slithered out from under Pearl's arm. "Be right back," she said brightly, equally certain both that she was going to be sick and that no one could know—they'd think she was a dumb kid who couldn't handle a couple of drinks.
Natalie made her way below deck without bumping into that many people or tripping on a twistlock. She floated through the hallways, up some stairs and around a corner—and was half-surprised when she found herself suddenly in a bathroom, flopping back against the door as it shut behind her. The second she bent towards the toilet bowl, the contents of her stomach came back up neon green. Then she might've napped there for a minute or two. But when she sat up, she felt much better.
On trembling legs, she rose, turned to face the sink, and splashed water on her face. The hand towel had gone missing, so she wadded up some toilet paper and patted her face dry with that. When she met her reflection's eyes, she giggled. She was doing okay. Nobody had needed to babysit her—nobody even knew!—and now she was feeling totally fine. All she needed to do was find the Roses again.
Back in the hallway, nothing looked familiar, but she moved toward the music, trailing a hand along the wall. Outside was dark, the crowd illuminated only by string lights and a few scattered pokemon. Natalie blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted. The bass rolled over her, punchy, soulful, and right. For a moment, she simply stood with her eyes closed and rocked to the beat. When she looked up, gods, the stars were clear and perfect.
She wanted to dance.
Natalie glided towards the tight-packed center of the dance floor, letting her unsteady steps become part of the rhythm—
Someone cut in front of her, hip and shoulders connecting hard. She staggered and nearly fell, arms windmilling. Cold soaked her shirt, and she smelled alcohol. Natalie rolled her head back to lock eyes with Scarlet, who stood with her hips cocked and an empty cup in her hand.
"Goodness, BB!" She widened her eyes in mock surprise. "You've really got to build up your sea legs."
Anger pushed the words out of Natalie's mouth hot and fast. "The fuck is your problem? I haven't done anything to you."
Scarlet snorted. "You haven't done much of anything around here, period."
Natalie's heart clenched like a fist. "What?"
Scarlet held up the backs of her hands; Natalie jerked her head back, thinking for a moment that she was going to hit her. "I've still got grease under my nails from reworking the pump all week. What did you do today?"
Natalie drew herself up, hand to her chest, and crowed, "I'm the one who got the plans from the shipyard." Even Archie had said.
"Well, woop-dee-fucking-do." Scarlet rolled her eyes so hard she swiveled her entire head. "Whaddya think woulda happened if you hadn't? We'd all go home and cry about it? The only thing you've done is shit anyone here could do." She punctuated her words with a jabbing finger, coming dangerously close to connecting with Natalie's nose.
"So, what, you wanna fight me?" She smacked Scarlet's hand away. A low ooh rang out, and from another direction came a titter and a hiss. A crowd was gathering around them.
Wobbling on her feet, Scarlet took a look around, too. Then she threw her head back and let out a loud, ugly laugh. "Sure. I'll fight … if we make it worth something. Loser gets a—no, wait." She flicked her braid behind her. "Winner takes a pokemon from the loser."
The crowd murmured again in excited disapproval. They pressed in close—Natalie had no room to back away even if she wanted to. Across the circle from her, Shelly caught Natalie with a reproachful glare. Archie stood at her side, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. Then she spotted the banette trainer, the one who'd followed her in Rustboro. At her brother's orders, but still. Their smile made her feel vaguely sick again.
Natalie turned in time to see Pearl shove her way to the front. "She's fuckin' drunk, Scarlet."
"I can fight!" Natalie snapped. Then she tipped her chin up towards Scarlet and set her jaw. "You're on."
A nasty grin overtook Scarlet's face.
Shelly spun toward Archie and demanded, "You're just gonna let them?"
Scarlet's eyebrows shot up, then a snarl overtook her face instead as she turned over her shoulder to meet his eyes. Natalie had no concept of what her own face might look like. All she knew was the thudding of her heart and the urge to hit something.
He shrugged. "Don't make a mess."
The crowd began to draw back, leaving two of them on display in the center of a wide circle. The music had stopped—when had that happened? Over the low chatter, someone called out in a warning voice, "Scarlet," and Shelly stepped forward, one hand outstretched.
Natalie clenched her fists. If Shelly intervened now, this would never, ever end. She took a step towards them, but Pearl yanked her back with a hand on her arm. "I have to do this!" Natalie hissed, pulling against Pearl's grip.
"I know." Pearl held on tight and leaned closer. "Don't let her control the pace. You gotta make her react to you." Only then did she let go and step back, adding, "You got this, Lil Red."
Scarlet dropped to a sudden crouch, prompting Natalie to look over. At first, she thought Scarlet was lacing her boot, but she came up with something gleaming in her hand; with another dramatic eye roll, she stood and dropped her switchblade into Shelly's outstretched palm. Natalie's stomach did a little flip. It hadn't even occurred to her to worry about that.
Come, on. Focus, she scolded herself. She counted three pokeballs on Scarlet's belt, plus a fourth fitted with an electronic lock across the—oh, gods, the liepard. She still had it. Taking trophies was her thing. Was this her goal all along, to goad Natalie into a fight so she'd have an excuse? What had Natalie just done?
One of the floodlights kicked on, and she raised a hand to shield her eyes. For a moment, Scarlet was only a silhouette reaching to her belt, saying, "Let's fucking do this."
A few beats behind, Natalie fumbled for her own pokeball. She'd only seen one of Scarlet's pokemon before, the starmie. An easy win for Luna.
Her throw was sloppy, but whatever. She grinned as Luna materialized—except, oh, there were two flashes of red on Scarlet's side. Two pokemon. She wobbled as she reached to her belt again, but Luna was exactly the right height for Natalie to lay a hand on her back to steady herself. Digging a hand into the mightyena's mane, she whistled for Amelia. Not so long ago, Luna had been the one struggling to keep her balance on the ship's deck. Now Luna was the one holding her up.
Natalie's eyes were adjusting to the light now, and she'd been right: the starmie spun in place beside Scarlet, its jeweled center flashing in a complicated, distracting pattern. But another dark shape hurtled across the deck at them, too fast for Natalie to make out. And then she was on the floor.
Nearby, Luna yelped. By the time Natalie managed to roll into a crouch and turn to look, her mightyena was already kicking the seviper away. The snake hissed, head snapping back. Its bladed tail swept mere inches from Natalie's shins; she recoiled, but it was already gone. A meter away, Luna scrambled to her feet and then leapt back to avoid a second strike.
Before Natalie could form her mouth around a command, she felt a familiar prickle down her arms and pressure mounting behind her eyes. Reflexively, she brought her hands to her temples, but she knew it wouldn't do any good. Across the way, Scarlet's mouth moved, but Natalie couldn't hear. The starmie glowed brighter and brighter as the pressure built in Natalie's head—
Then a glassy blue light shield bloomed around her, and the pressure dropped off. Amelia landed in front of her with a triumphant trill, wings thrown wide. The light screen held just long enough for Natalie to climb shakily to her feet, and then it dissolved into the floodlight.
That confirmed it. This fight was't about knocking out pokemon—it was about forcing the other trainer to back down. Well, this time she'd keep Luna close. Her fight with Mark had taught her that much.
"Amelia, the seviper!" She pointed where she thought it had been, but it was already whipping back around towards Luna. Amelia drove it away with a blast of water and then took to the air, the wind slapping Natalie's hair across her face.
Natalie's arms began to prickle with goosebumps again. "Luna, here!"
She turned toward Natalie without hesitation. The seviper struck again, but Luna evaporated mid-leap, leaving it with a mouthful of black mist. She reappeared in front of Natalie a moment later, growling and raising her hackles. The prickling sensation immediately stopped.
Natalie grinned fiercely in Scarlet's direction and threw her arms around Luna's neck. But—oh. A pair of puncture wounds at Luna's shoulder, already swollen and bruise-dark, seeped purple fluid. Natalie squeezed Luna tighter. Every time she got into trouble, Luna got the worst of it.
This entire thing was stupid and awful. Shelly had said they were on the same side, but—
"You know," Scarlet said loudly, flashing the crowd a conspiratorial grin. "Pelipper are useful, but I think I want the mightyena." With that, she dropped her final pokeball.
Not on your life.
Natalie made her throw blindly. On Scarlet's side, a sealeo materialized with a growl and a gust of cold. And a moment later—"Sam!" Natalie burst out, beaming. What a perfect matchup. And Scarlet was out of pokemon.
With a grunt, Samson aimed a questioning look over his shoulder.
Oh, right. "Go for the sealeo!" she cried, swinging her arm around to point.
As he lurched to the right, a gust of air made her turn the other way. Amelia swooped towards the coiled seviper. It was about to strike, Natalie realized, but there wasn't enough time to warn—the seviper sprang like a trap, catching the edge of Amelia's wing. She squawked, trailing feathers as she spun away.
"Stay back!" Natalie called. "Air sl—"
Something smacked into the deck—the crowd oohed—and she spun her head the other way. Sam was pushing himself up from the floor, shaking his head furiously. How had—? No sooner than the gurdurr was back on his feet, an invisible force swept his legs out from under him again. He hit the deck with a slap and a roar of frustration. Behind him, the sealeo chortled, unharmed.
"Shit, the starmie."
Luna tensed against her leg, ready to lunge. "No, stay." With a steadying hand on Luna's back, she whirled to find her pelipper circling the seviper and dodging spurts of venom. "Forget it, Amelia! Air slash the starmie!"
As Amelia banked away, Scarlet shouted, "Nava, poison fang!"
Too late, Natalie realized nothing was keeping the seviper from coming for her and Luna. Fluid and fast, it doubled back on itself and lashed toward them, fangs gleaming red.
"Sam!" Natalie squeaked, grabbing a fistful of Luna's mane and stumbling back.
Luna bared her teeth, her shadow twitching beneath her. But before the seviper could complete the arc of its strike, it jerked back. Sam had caught it by the tail, chuffing with glee. The snake thrashed in his hands until it caught his arm with its bladed tail and he dropped it with a howl of rage.
Across the way, there was a sharp clap and a pelipper's cry. Natalie spun and realized she didn't see Scarlet or her starmie anywhere; Amelia circled, but there was nothing there. With another clap, they reappeared off to one side, behind the sealeo and well away from Amelia. The pelipper trumpeted as she swiveled in the air to try again, but nearly collided with a wall of blue ice that sprang from the floor. She flew up at a sharp angle, sharp chunks of ice chasing her.
"Come on, Natalie, you can figure this out," she mumbled to herself. Three on three. It should make sense … but it was all tangled. Her mind spun through matchups, going nowhere. All around, the crowd was a formless wash of noise and blurred faces.
Sam had caught the seviper again, and with a huff he flung it at Scarlet and the starmie. The crowd scrambled back, but Scarlet just teleported again.
Natalie licked her lips. "Luna, don't go anywhere," she said, tightening her fingers in her fur. "Use crunch from here." When the mightyena drew in a breath, Natalie breathed with her.
Luna barked, and the shadows of each pokemon under the floodlight leapt up. She barked again, fur standing on end, and the shadows twisted together to form one enormous, toothy mouth. Natalie grinned as it swept towards Scarlet and her starmie.
"Zero!" Scarlet cried.
The sealeo answered with a yip, and a blue shell of light flashed up around Scarlet, frost crusting its edges. An instant later, Luna's shadow-mouth smashed against the light shield, gnashing and writhing uselessly.
Where was Sam? Couldn't he—? Oh, the seviper.
Then, "Amel—" The pelipper swooped to avoid a beam of green ice.
Luna's shadows began to curl away into smoke. She growled and took a few steps forward. Then Natalie blinked, and the shadows she'd summoned had already scattered and jumped back where they belonged. The mightyena panted, her head drooping. She might not have another one of those in her tonight, or not right away; she fought best with teeth and muscle, up close.
Meanwhile, as the light shield fell away around it, the starmie fired a beam of red light. Amelia squawked, twisting in the air to avoid it—and caught an ice beam to the face. She thumped to the deck. While Amelia lay half-stunned and shaking out her wings, the seviper and the sealeo advanced on Sam together. Natalie cursed, prompting a growl from Luna.
Scarlet was driving her team in circles, and it was only a matter of time before she wore them down. If even one of them fainted, Natalie would be exposed. Game over. And she had no path to force Scarlet to yield. She still had Gus … but was that a good idea? His powerful voice might take Scarlet by surprise, but it would hurt her other pokemon, too. And she could barely keep track of the pokemon she already had.
She reached for his ball anyway, swaying as she weighed her options. When she took a step, preparing to throw, her foot slid. Beneath her, ice spread in rings. She scrambled for balance and stepped onto another patch of ice. Her legs went out from under her. She grabbed for Luna to steady herself—pulling the mightyena down on top of her.
Scarlet's laughter cut the air. "Not getting much of a prize, am I?"
Groaning, Natalie tried to stand, slipped, and tried again.
"But maybe that mightyena would do better in my hands."
The starmie spun lazily in front of Scarlet, its light pulsing dim, bright, dim, bright. Luna was the only one who could hit it, but she'd have to face it head-on … and leave Natalie on her own. The starmie would attack her—there was no question about it. But if she didn't do it, she'd lose. And then she'd lose Luna.
The crowd murmured. The seviper hissed and spat. Scarlet called out an order.
Natalie planted her feet, clenched her fists, and called, "Sam!"
Directly ahead, the sealeo peppered his back with ice while he snatched at the seviper, trying to catch it by the neck. He paused only long enough to grunt over his shoulder at Natalie. Then he turned and swung at the sealeo, driving it back. But from a safe distance, it spat ice in his face again. The seviper took the opportunity to snap at his leg. He whirled and made another grab for it, but the attack was clumsy; the snake darted out of reach.
"Forget the seviper!" she shouted.
Heedlessly, he snatched at the snake again. Had he even heard her?
"Sam!"
With a roar, he spun to face her.
"When I say go, charge straight ahead and grab!"
Another blast of ice prompted him to take another sloppy swing at the sealeo. Gods, he wasn't going to last much longer. On the opposite side of the circle, Amelia began to rise again, but sluggishly. Natalie gritted her teeth. It was now or never—there was no plan B.
"Go after the starmie, Luna," she whispered, nudging her.
Luna lowered her head, snarling. Then she stepped through Natalie's shadow and disappeared.
As Natalie turned toward Sam, she caught sight of Scarlet. There was a clear line of sight between them now. Scarlet grinned and cried out, "Vega—"
Natalie was already screaming, "Sam, go!"
She didn't see what happened after.
Pressure and sound and impossible colors ripped though her head. She tasted fire alarms as she dropped to her knees. Then, as suddenly as it began, the pressure in her head eased off. Through the red fog of her mind, someone was shouting, "Stop!" Was it her?
As the ringing in her ears faded, Natalie opened her eyes (she hadn't realized she'd closed them). She spotted Luna first, the starmie pinned beneath her. Nearby, the seviper coiled around Amelia. And several yards away, Sam had hoisted Scarlet off the ground, pinning her arms to her sides. Her sealeo hung back warily, whimpering in concern.
"Stop! Stop," Scarlet wheezed, her voice fading with each word. "You win!" She hung in Sam's grip like a wet rag.
"That's enough!" someone cried out from the crowd.
"Sam, let her go," Natalie said, her own voice trembling.
He grunted and then unceremoniously dumped Scarlet onto the deck. She remained where she landed, moaning and holding her side. For a moment, the only sounds were the thumping of Amelia's wings and the seviper hissing. Then Scarlet slowly sat up and met Natalie's gaze. She gave a single nod, her mouth turning down sharply. One by one, she recalled her pokemon. Natalie did the same, lightheaded with relief.
Scarlet stood gingerly, legs buckling. A sailor stepped out of the crowd and extended a hand, but she shoved him away. "So," she said, still out of breath. "Who are you taking?" Her eyes were on the floor, poison dripping from her voice.
The crowd went so quiet Natalie could hear the waves against the ship's sides.
She'd wanted to win but hadn't considered what would happen when she did. She tried to imagine claiming one of the pokemon she'd fought, but her thoughts kept drifting back to her own team, the swollen bite on Luna's shoulder. Natalie didn't think she could ever trust that seviper—Scarlet could keep it.
Scarlet's words from the first morning on the Ultimatum came back to Natalie: a dog is almost impossible to retrain. The only reason she'd wanted Luna was to hurt Natalie. Well, two could play at that game.
The starmie. People talked about the unique bond between a trainer and a psychic-type—what was closer than a voice in your head? This was Natalie's chance to get even. She rolled her shoulders back and opened her mouth—
Scarlet wasn't looking at her. She was on her feet but hunched over as if resisting a strong wind. With one hand, she felt along her ribs and shoulders, wincing, and the other arm was tucked around her.
Natalie flashed back to the burning overpass. She remembered how small she'd felt as Mark stood over her. How helpless.
Maybe Scarlet was a bully, but Natalie wasn't.
"I want the liepard," she said.
Scarlet's mouth went slack. "What?"
"The locked ball." Natalie pointed, as if there were any question which one she meant. "It's a liepard, right?"
Scarlet unclipped the ball and then hesitated, eyes narrowing as if searching for a trap. "You sure?"
Natalie stepped forward and put out her hand. "Deal's a deal."
Scarlet snorted but dropped the ball into Natalie's palm. Then, tossing her hair behind her, she shoved her way out through the crowd without looking back.
Natalie rolled the ball in her hand, rubbing a thumb over the lock. She didn't know what she'd do with it, but that would be a problem for later. For now, Scarlet would have to leave her alone, but it had been close—too close. If she'd lost Luna …. The thought made her shudder. The ocean air suddenly felt freezing. All she wanted to do now was curl up and sleep.
Then Pearl's unmistakable voice rang out, "Let's hear it for Little Red!"
She jerked her head up as the crowd rushed in around her with a celebratory howl. Hands patted her back, her arms—whatever they could reach. Before the jostling crowd could accidentally knock it out of her hand, Natalie clipped the liepard to her belt.
A jumble of voices called, "Hell yeah, Lil Red! Good job!"
"Li-ttle Red! Li-ttle Red!"
Was Archie among them? She swept her eyes across the crowd, then stopped herself. No, this was hers. And Little Red, she decided, was better than BB.
I post a bunch of extra CD content on Tumblr, including art and chapter discussions. Sometime in the next few days, I'll be adding a post about geo-engineering to go with this chapter. If you're interested in learning some actual science as explained by a sober person, come say hi @ WildBootsAppeared.
Hey hey! So this is a brief little review of what I've read up through Chapter 5!
- You've done an incredible job of giving your world a very distinct "flavor." It's gritty, a little grim, dark, but all without being overwhelmingly so. It's incredibly real, and very poignant to the problems we're facing today.
- Speaking of real, your characters all feel very grounded, very gritty, or both. I envy your ability to write the "shades of gray" sort-of people that you've portrayed here.
- I'm enamored with each and every person introduced so far. Everyone's fun! Even the very serious ones.
- Your worldbuilding is straight-up *chef's kiss*. It's exactly what the reader needs, which keeps them searching for what they want as you sprinkle that in.
Anyways, I wanted to drop something so you weren't left dangling! Sorry it's not as impressive or intensive as what you gave me, but I wanna devour as much of this as I can, and I'll apply a fine-toothed comb to later chapters! Incredibly well done!
The initial protest before MGMA came into play was neat! It was interesting seeing a lot of the people of Rustboro coming together to protest the pipeline, and it all felt very realistic! Nice work! I also quite liked a few of the sayings of the protestors.
Then MGMA joins the protests, and things get really interesting. It was quite surprising seeing them start using the original protesters' sayings after that bit of tense back and forth.
I could really feel Natalie's nervous excitement during this section. Great job!
And then the rock is thrown, and things get crazy. You really capture how chaotic things get here! It was hard to follow, but in a way that benefited the narrative.
Also, very interesting how Natalie doesn't take that opening to escape! Really shows how much she cares about the protests' cause.
Then Mark takes Natalie away, and just like that, it's all over. The short time it took for the protest to collapse shows just how powerful the law enforcement here is, and Mark doing this shows a new, really interesting side to him. Very well done!
Overall, I quite liked this, and I'm intrigued to see where this goes next!
Hi, hello. Most of my thoughts went through on the beta but I still want to leave them here? Seems unfair that you only get to hear my shitposting in private.
Chapter 13 is Very Good. The battle scene is really chaotic but I love how you portray how dangerous pokemon could be, while also making it clear that there are general strategies and ways to get around things that don't just involve hitting people with big dragons or having more numbers on your side. Which sort of happens anyway, but it's set up in a way that when Zinnia shows up she's winning despite their strategies, not because their strategies didn't exist. There's a really clever shifting of the fight tension for Mark--from trying to hold out for as long as possible to trying to get away to getting his pokemon back--that makes the fight feel really fluid despite the chaos. The battlefield is shifting but this translates directly into shifting goals for Mark, so it's buttery smooth to follow.
It's a nice detail, and obviously I'm not a legal expert but--would they actually give the pokemon back? In this setting pokemon seem akin to weaponry, and even if you're out on bail for assaulting LEO I don't know if they'd just give the weapons back? But also I see the case that in Hoenn, pokemon ownership would be a pretty enshrined right and it's possible that there are laws preventing them from being confiscated from you even if those laws aren't likely to be followed so! idk! kind of just curious worldbuilding questions here; nothing that ruined the immersion
Zinnia continues to be excellent. Not just because of the dragons and the cap and she just runs around with a hunting knife because she is literally a storybook character plopped in from the games while everyone else here is changing their names and trying their best to be realistic--which are all great things--but I like what she represents to the story. There isn't a crowd of helpless civilians here to swarm out and thank the protagonists for doing a good job; her struggles exist well before and after MGMA decides to fuck around and find out. It's 20201 and I'm kind of sick of the trope where you save the villagers and they all come back out to shower you in praise for doing such a great job and fixing all their problems forever while you yeet off into the sunset, because you are indisputably the good guy here and your interference could in no way actually make things worse than they are, because that's not what good guys do.
But that's a messy realization that Mark probably didn't consider in full. I feel like every time Zinnia's name comes up for him I want to ask what he actually thinks about her/the Draconids/MetFalls/etc, but that's sort of the point--Mark is rapidly realizing that things aren't going to end cleanly, and he's also realizing that when he's the one left in the mess it's a lot less fun than when he's the one shrugging his shoulders and saying it's for the greater good. But defining things by what they can't be isn't giving him a clear route forward--it's just showing him what isn't working.
dank chapter. steven stone in an assault vest, also great.
---
Chapter 14 is good drunk shenanigans, and by my count this is the first time that a protagonist has actually had a major victory that feels like it wasn't fully pyrrhic. I say this fully expecting Scarlet to hate Natalie even more now because "defeat equals friendship" doesn't really seem like your flavor, but hey, there was nothing messy about that dynamic before and there certainly won't be anything messy about it afterward, I am very sure.
Plus, Gibbs drama. Everyone loves Gibbs drama. Three cheers for cats who just want to go home. I am sure that this won't be wildly misinterpreted by Mark and won't send him into a bloodrage and will instead be peacefully resolved and will involve everyone making only good decisions. I am not at all remotely nervous.
Honestly, getting all your characters egregiously drunk to let them make realistically awful decisions and explain important bits of their plans is pretty big-brained. The party vibe is nice, I like the dueling threads of Natalie's self-doubt and the Rose's just being genuinely happy that she's around, and I think you've got a better handle on the drunk sequencing.
"All the green shit of the ocean. Those little fuckers fix atmospheric carbon three times more effishi … better than plants. There's bacteria that fuckin' eat oil. You know? Unfuck the climate. Bring the dead patches back to life." He waved the gem around some more. "A lil' boost and life can start fixing isself."
yeah I don't really see this going disastrously wrong, At All.
(This is not a jab at geoengineering and I do look forward to your writeup on it. But I also recognize that 1) the plot and 2) the large gap between geoengineering and what drunk Sinbad have described will probably conspire to make this a Bad Decision)
This might be because I have a Kindergarten reading level, but I had a particularly hard time visualizing what was going on in this paragraph. The repetitive use of "it" made it a little hard for me to keep track of which "it" was what, if that makes sense, and as a result, I was just a little bit lost.
Yes and! I wanted to emphasize sense of place. There are some non-Hoenn pokemon floating around, but I wanted to make sure there's a reason for it and/or it's an exception, not a rule.
Ohhhhhhh power limiter collar? Very interesting that it seems just the cops have them, and my head is buzzing with observations. I feel like random civilians would be the ones with power-limiter collars on their mons, so I'm shocked the cops do. Then again, maybe pokemon on the police force are more powerful than the average mon? Or maybe there was a history of police brutality with their fully powered mons so they were all required to wear power-limiters? I'm intrigued!
Being that I went to a protest or two after the George Floyd murder, this is completely accurate LOL. People were DECKED in long sleeves and shit to cover their faces...and I live in Florida!
Thanks so much for the review--two chapters at once, what a treat! It'll be fun to see how you react to what's up next. Chapter 4 ... uh sets a lot of other stuff into motion. And Chapter 5 has a character I think you'll vibe with a lot.
This is so nice to hear! This is definitely a character-driven story, so if the characters don't work ... nothing does! Glad to hear the setting and the pacing of the exposition are working for you so far, too!
Thanks for the small fixes you sent my way, too. I think I updated em all now.
Looking forward to hearing your more detailed thoughts when you get to it. :)
I could really feel Natalie's nervous excitement during this section. Great job!
And then the rock is thrown, and things get crazy. You really capture how chaotic things get here! It was hard to follow, but in a way that benefited the narrative.
I think it's more that she's upset at how the protesters are being treated, and if Magma's gonna help then she will, too. I think right now she's a little more caught up in the idea of fighting more a cause than she is ... actually knowledgeable about the cause in much depth. She's doing her best, sigh.
Thanks so much for your thoughts, Bench! Always helpful to hear what's landing!
Kint, I'm gonna preserve your shitposts in needlepoint and hang them above my bed. "Mark plays roblox" with little flowers.
But actually, thank you! Always a treat. I always appreciate your input in beta--you always catch things Pen doesn't--and I always appreciate you taking the time to give Actual Thoughts, too. The temperature read is always terribly valuable and I covet this shit.
It's a nice detail, and obviously I'm not a legal expert but--would they actually give the pokemon back? In this setting pokemon seem akin to weaponry, and even if you're out on bail for assaulting LEO I don't know if they'd just give the weapons back? But also I see the case that in Hoenn, pokemon ownership would be a pretty enshrined right and it's possible that there are laws preventing them from being confiscated from you even if those laws aren't likely to be followed so! idk! kind of just curious worldbuilding questions here; nothing that ruined the immersion
LOLLLLL so
I'm sure soooometimes they do give them back. Pokemon are basically weapons, but the social pressure is really powerful. I have to imagine this world is even more precious about pokemon than the US is about guns, and those laws are already pretty uhhhhhh. That said, yeah, you're probably right! A Hoenn court could probably deny the return of a dangerous pokemon as easily as it could deny bail if there was good reason.
I've also been thinking that it's very likely that Magma's usual strategy when their pokemon get snagged is to file a police report, lol. "My pokemon just happens to have been stolen on the day of this protest! I sure hope no one nefarious brought it to the protest and used it!!" But it probably doesn't always work, and it definitely doesn't work if you also get arrested, lol. Tough fucking luck, Mark.
It's 20201 and I'm kind of sick of the trope where you save the villagers and they all come back out to shower you in praise for doing such a great job and fixing all their problems forever while you yeet off into the sunset, because you are indisputably the good guy here and your interference could in no way actually make things worse than they are, because that's not what good guys do.
Yoooo, yes. When Mark does good shit, I'll be all for him being treated like a good guy! When he's fucking up ... the narrative needs to treat him like he is. (Copy-paste @ everyone in Hoenn ... except for golden boi silver spoon Steven lol.)
a) Great word! b) Correct! This is one of few actual good decisions that have been made here. Most of the story so far has been preoccupied with establishing ... all the shit that's happening in Hoenn, because there's a lot. But there's going to have to be a lot of interplay between revenge/kindness, acting/listening, burning shit down/making the world a little brighter where you can as we move forward. This won't be the last time. It's still theoretically a love story. People have to start being nice eventually.
yeah I don't really see this going disastrously wrong, At All.
(This is not a jab at geoengineering and I do look forward to your writeup on it. But I also recognize that 1) the plot and 2) the large gap between geoengineering and what drunk Sinbad have described will probably conspire to make this a Bad Decision)
Lol, you might not be jabbing at geo-engineering yet, but I 100% am. It's a bad idea. I'm just using pokemon to speed it up and take it to its worst possible conclusion. But IRL I definitely don't advocate for it either.
I'm quite glad I picked this chapter to pivot towards one-at-a-time reviews, seems like a huge tonal shift! I'm excited to see how these explorations thread into the 'main' story (though I admit that, even after reading this chapter, I am much more invested in ORCA and Magma).
I love the general direction and spin you've given to Regirock's chamber, and the atmosphere it holds. Showing 'mons using 'Flash' and trainers coping with the dark and exploration were both really exquisitely done. Though there were some occasional moments that made me go "Wait, why doesn't [character] have [item] if they're exploring a tomb?" Most specifically, Brendan not having a spade or folding shovel to move sand from the penultimate door. A passing reference to an O2 meter, or a reference to an interpretation of an escape rope would have been awesome to see as well.
As usual, your depiction of battles and the necessity of trainers within them is awesome! I also really, really dig ancient 'Pokéballs,' and your application thereof. They immediately gave me the impression of the ancient Egyptian rope-locks sealed with clay and inscribed with curses.
All in all, awesome work! Let's jump into the line-by-line!
Harrison and Steven were somewhere nearby, but they'd split up to cover ground more quickly. Brendan couldn't think of a time he'd been so completely alone: even after May had gone her own way, he'd always had his pokemon at his side. He would've liked their company, but he could too easily imagine any one of them trampling delicate artifacts underfoot. Indie in particular could be a menace with that tail. Time had done damage enough here already.
Now, I'll be the first to admit this is a personal opinion (and a crime I commit), but I don't think your use of contractions within prose is helping you in this chapter. To me, it gave a very relaxed spin to an awe-inspiring moment. I think a few would be fine (esp. more common ones like "he'd").
The first part sets up this confusing air of mystery, then the next solves the problem in an instant. I would have liked to see some guesswork or speculation here.
Something about the phrase 'Secret tunnels' makes Steven feel like an excited little kid, and if that was your intent it totally works. If it wasn't, you might wanna consider something slightly different.
Even kneeling in thousands of years of dust, Steven looked like a clothing ad. He'd traded his usual suit and tie for more practical attire, but all of it was sharply creased, and the Stone family crest glinted green and silver at his breast pocket.
As always, Brendan felt shabby next to him. The nicest things he wore, his boots, had actually come from Steven. I bought the wrong size by mistake. You don't happen to want them do you? Brendan hadn't believed him for a second—Steven Stone didn't make mistakes. But he recognized the kindness, and he also saw Steven's point; he'd worn the same pair of shoes from one end of Hoenn to the other, and it showed. The soles had begun to peel away from the canvas uppers.
But he'd loved those shoes and their mismatched laces, one red and one black, from when he and May had swapped. He'd tried threading the new boots with the old laces, but they'd looked even worse against the shiny, dark leather. The colors had become almost unrecognizable with sun bleaching and grass stains. In the end, they were just ratty old laces, and he wasn't so sentimental he couldn't throw them away. Now his boots were as scuffed and dusty as everything else.
This entire aside - while an interesting peek at Brendan and his relationships with Steven and May - felt entirely unnecessary to the moment. I think you could have sprinkled in more Brendan- and Steven-specific descriptions throughout to play up that "scruffy trainer feels bad around Richy rich" vibe.
Just finding the place had taken them months, with Harrison translating (and re-translating) the tablets and Brendan scouting out the locations Harrison identified—guesswork as much as anything else. At last, one of those guesses had brought Brendan to the cliffs bordering the Hoenn desert. Behind a stone slab that didn't match the surrounding rock, he'd uncovered both the entrance, set into the cliff and framed by intricately carved pillars, and another puzzle.
The sudden jump back in time here could have benefited from a line break, and another when we return to the present. I got really lost and had to re-read it to understand what was going on.
I looked up the definition and, while that word checks out, it also made me think immediately of a cheese grater. I think 'ground' or 'groaned' might work a little better here.
Brendan turned in the direction Harrison pointed, and—skeleton. He'd been so focused on Steven and Harrison when he entered that he hadn't seen it against the wall. It lay on its side, one arm reaching toward the only door. The skeleton still wore wireframe glasses and a few strips of frayed cloth, but sand spilled from between the exposed ribs and grinning jaws. Brendan jolted, and Harrison clapped a steadying hand on his shoulder.
I think you could move Brendan's reaction up to where "skeleton" is, and maybe shift that word to the end of the reaction? It felt a little weird to read.
My knee-jerk reaction was "holy shit, this dude has an amazing sense of direction." But:
A: I worked on a tall ship for a while doing historical reenactments, and after about a month I could spit out which direction I was facing without thinking about it. So an explorer would absolutely develop that sort of skill. B: He could also just have a compass. Honestly, I'd rather this lmao. Fewer questions for the reader. It ties in with my "why doesn't X have Y" general thought.
Then I asked myself how short Steven is, and how tall Brendan is. Then I think you say later that they both stand up straight in the next chamber. Quick fix though!
Repetition, but in a more bouncy and fun way. I do stuff like this a lot, but I also write sillier stuff, and I think this moment at least isn't helped by this repetition.
This chapter was fun! Tense, interesting, and felt both genuinely high stakes and "I am 18 years old and these are high stakes" high stakes, which is a compliment! In prior chapters Nat's age felt a little ambiguous-but-young; here it feels real and relevant.
Not entirely sure how I feel about "aquatic roombas." I noticed a few IRL brand-names in this chapter (Kraft being the other), but, idk, 'roombas' feels like it belongs in a more lighthearted fic, I guess?
Closer to the water, the oil fumes intensified, mixed with the grimer brew of twice-baked garbage and sewage. Every time Natalie thought she'd acclimated, a wave of new odors hit her, a richer putrefaction. The grimer rolled across the water, endlessly pinching apart like taffy and and melding with other grimer globs.
Second, pulling up that sweet-ass old game lore of aquatic grimer? Hell yes. That was a Gen 1 exclusive thing, wasn't it? Nvm, just looked it up, it happens outside of Gen 2 (and the remakes thereof), but only in the Castelia City sewers. Still! I saw that and was like "now THAT is a dope canonical addition."
Snorting and frowning, Sam made a grab for Natalie's watch hand, and she jerked it away. "Right, gotcha," she said, holding him off with her other hand.
Maybe it's just me, but not specifying that they were metal detecting on a beach made the clamperl imagery weird for me. My dad loves to metal detect, but he did it at playgrounds or in fields (or anywhere really), so I imagined him pulling a clamperl out from under a swing set and was very confused.
Wow, @Homestar!, you're really ripping through these! I'm impressed. I'm still working my way through The Loser, if more slowly. </👵 hobbling through the crosswalk>
I've got a lot of "well akshually" in here and I'm aware of it. Please don't take it as ingratitude. I might not take you up on all of these, but I'll definitely revisit the passages you've flagged, and I definitely appreciate the time you put into sharing your thoughts!
Mmm yes and no. The Steven stuff strikes a different tone just because the gods-and-myths scale of things is different (the second half of chapter 7 is similar), but this isn't the norm going forward or anything.
Though there were some occasional moments that made me go "Wait, why doesn't [character] have [item] if they're exploring a tomb?" Most specifically, Brendan not having a spade or folding shovel to move sand from the penultimate door. A passing reference to an O2 meter, or a reference to an interpretation of an escape rope would have been awesome to see as well.
I'll consider the shovels. If anything, Brendan might suggest going back for shovels, but Steven waves it off, too impatient to double back. But overall I think a big theme here is that they didn't really know what they'd find in this tomb. They didn't know what this would be like or how long this tunnel would be. They've been doing research for a while ... but, like, in a back room of the Sootopolis Museum of History. They're a little underprepared, in part because they expected to be able to have their pokemon do the heavy lifting. That and Steven is breezing ahead without a ton of thought.
Escape rope is a hard no--this setting doesn't really work like that. (And it's hardly the first canon item I've skipped past.) They do have a rope ladder to get in and out of this tunnel, so I guess that's your escape rope.
The first part sets up this confusing air of mystery, then the next solves the problem in an instant. I would have liked to see some guesswork or speculation here.
Ahhhh I don't think so. "Where is Steven" isn't a big or important mystery, especially given the rest of the weird shit going on in this temple. I definitely wouldn't want to overemphasize this moment.
Something about the phrase 'Secret tunnels' makes Steven feel like an excited little kid, and if that was your intent it totally works. If it wasn't, you might wanna consider something slightly different.
Now, I'll be the first to admit this is a personal opinion (and a crime I commit), but I don't think your use of contractions within prose is helping you in this chapter. To me, it gave a very relaxed spin to an awe-inspiring moment.
The only time I avoid contractions are
a) when it's to emphasize something, like to show shock (oh, so he had trusted her) or
b) when the character is meant to sound weird and stilted. (Examples: Una in Spring, who's a time-traveller, and the child in Salvage, who is bad at talking like a Regular Human). I write close third person POV, so the narration and exposition is all suffused with the voice of the POV character. Like, Mark's chapters are full of fucks, in and out of dialogue, and the sentences are more terse. Etc. So, yeah, most of these characters (except for maybe Steven) are quite relaxed. I also wouldn't say the exact moment you quoted is one that strikes me as a moment of awe, though the moment they see Regirock might qualify.
This entire aside - while an interesting peek at Brendan and his relationships with Steven and May - felt entirely unnecessary to the moment. I think you could have sprinkled in more Brendan- and Steven-specific descriptions throughout to play up that "scruffy trainer feels bad around Richy rich" vibe.
I'm gonna have to disagree here. This is pretty important because, although there's lots of plot-y things happening, this chapter's arc is Brendan's character arc, his decision to either pull away because his gut is telling him that this archaeology stuff is bad news ... or to continue to follow Steven. It's not about Brendan feeling shabby, it's about him idolizing Steven and conforming himself (imperfectly) to what Steven wants. I also think it's important to get a glimpse of this other side of Steven. For Aqua and Magma, he's the face of the status quo and of the fossil fuel industry. For Mark specifically, we'll see that Steven is an antagonist. But for Brendan, he's a generous guy, wealthy but more than happy to share what he has with others. And that matters because it's also how Steven sees himself. He wouldn't persist in ... messing with shit that shouldn't be messed with ... if he didn't believe himself to be a Good Guy.
That said, I can reevaluate the length of this passage. But the content is 100% staying.
The sudden jump back in time here could have benefited from a line break, and another when we return to the present. I got really lost and had to re-read it to understand what was going on.
Hm, I can revisit the transitions and see if I can make things clearer, but I'm definitely not going to do a hard scene break here, especially since this isn't really a scene--a lot of it is summarized. This is Brendan staring off into space while his mind is busy, but we're still crouched beside the tunnel in real time.
I looked up the definition and, while that word checks out, it also made me think immediately of a cheese grater. I think 'ground' or 'groaned' might work a little better here.
I think you could move Brendan's reaction up to where "skeleton" is, and maybe shift that word to the end of the reaction? It felt a little weird to read.
Looking at this paragraph again, I can see how the cause and effect is a little muddled. I'm not 100% sure what you're suggesting, but I have some ideas for small tweaks of my own.
Sure, but the point here is that, for Brendan, both the wink and Steven's vanishing into the dark are big and Full of Feels. I've dragged it out to reflect Brendan being a little twitterpated and anxious about it all.
But torkoal doesn't sound like turtle.
That's fair, but we've got plenty of non-local idioms and sayings, too. Like the parable of the group of blind men and the elephant. Pokemon populations are definitely localized, but knowledge of other regions' pokemon isn't; they have the Discovery Channel and the internet.
Yeah, but in this instance there are no synonyms for dust devil or dust that don't change the meaning of what's happening. This chapter has a lot of dust and a lot of sand, and that's just how it is.
Repetition, but in a more bouncy and fun way. I do stuff like this a lot, but I also write sillier stuff, and I think this moment at least isn't helped by this repetition.
It's unnaturally round and smooth, so the double perfectly was intentional, and I still stand by it. If someone else takes issue with it, I might consider changing it, but no one else has so far.
Again, there aren't any synonyms for concrete that don't change the literal meaning here. The only other viable option I see is to change the second instance to "chunks of the overpass," which I think is a little strange and less clear.
Not entirely sure how I feel about "aquatic roombas." I noticed a few IRL brand-names in this chapter (Kraft being the other), but, idk, 'roombas' feels like it belongs in a more lighthearted fic, I guess?
A roomba is just a small, motorized vaccum cleaner, and I think it gives a clearer mental image of this real-life technology than if I described it more literally as ... a small, motorized vaccuum. That brings up a different mental image. That and I definitely think roomba is in Natalie's vocabulary; she'd compare this to something she recognizes.
Second, pulling up that sweet-ass old game lore of aquatic grimer? Hell yes. That was a Gen 1 exclusive thing, wasn't it? Nvm, just looked it up, it happens outside of Gen 2 (and the remakes thereof), but only in the Castelia City sewers. Still! I saw that and was like "now THAT is a dope canonical addition."
You're giving me too much credit, haha. In this house, we eat the canon. I wanted to make a point about eutrophication and positive feedback loops of bad things getting worse, so I made the pokemon that were available to me ... do that.
Yup! Again, in close third, word choices even outside of dialogue should definitely reflect the character's POV, biases, and values. You might also notice that how she refers to her brother shifts around, too. He's Bubba when she's thinking about how she interacted with him as a kid, Archie when she's seeing him as her brother, and Sinbad when he feels alien and authoritative. Or, like, Brendan calls him Steven because they're pals, but in Mark's narration he's never anything but Stone (or maybe Steven fucking Stone).
I guess it's technically optional, but I do feel like it forces a harder pause and reflects the strain of her switching gears for her parents. I'll reevaluate, but I'm inclined to leave it alone.
Again, you're giving me too much credit. I guess there's some research in here, kinda, but probably not like you think. I took inspiration from zebra mussels, which I learned about in undergrad (almost a decade ago now), but the water temperature thing I invented to suit ice-type shellder. I don't think it's especially true for IRL invasive mussels.
Mauville offered endless distractions. The downtown strip was choked with bars, casinos, and sketchy battle halls, their exteriors modeled after other cities' landmarks: there was a replica of Prism Tower, a hotel shaped like an Alolan exeggutor, and a sprawling, Johtonese-style palace with a sign that read Live Girls.
None of it was Mark's kind of poison. He could hold his liquor, but he'd already learned the hard way that it wasn't an escape—drinking dragged him deeper into himself.
All the same, he hadn't been able to deal with the hostel for more than an hour. The hallways bustled with young trainers bragging loudly about all the stupid shit they thought mattered. A few had been discussing the DevCo explosion, and so Mark had slouched against a wall, pretending not to eavesdrop. One trainer denounced it as terrorism. The other sounded less sure; she brought up the idea of fossil fuels and climate change, but then trailed off, perhaps wondering what the data center fire might be releasing into the atmosphere. Twenty-four hours ago, he would have cut in, engaged her, tried to bring her into the fold. Now, though … he'd stepped out into the sticky night air instead.
What he really wanted was a fight, something simple and all-consuming. Quick cash he could send home. In Mauville, someone was always looking for a battle no matter the time of day or night … but Mark's team needed a break after getting dragged across MetFalls, and honestly so did he.
He settled for the next best option: a book. At a secondhand shop with dingy red carpet, he grabbed a paperback from the dollar shelf without checking the title. Then he walked until he came to a slouchy hole-in-the-wall called Ray's Tavern.
It was the right kind of place: sticky floors, a pool table. Busy enough to fill the room with a formless buzz of conversation, empty enough that no one would care if he took an entire booth for himself. The inevitable slot machine in the corner made him curl his lip, but the wary-eyed patrons lounging at the bar reminded him of Virbank in a way he didn't mind.
He ignored the draft list and instead perused the fridges that lined one wall, stopping short when he spotted a can with a familiar blue and white braviary logo. How about that. Mistralton Pale Ale was an utterly adequate beer, but not one he saw outside of Unova very often. Why not? Adequate was enough tonight.
Beer in one hand and book in the other, he sank into a peeling booth and propped a foot up on the opposite seat. The book opened on a city ravaged by an aggressive strain of pokerus. Right away, he could tell that it was his kind of story, hard-hitting and real, but not his reality. A lucky grab. But by the time he was halfway through his beer, he was still on the first page. His eyes kept sliding past the words.
Finally, he gave in and checked the burner phone again. Montag still hadn't replied—of course he hadn't. Mark was embarrassed by his own disappointment, a crawling burn through his chest.
Another part of him was calculating; it was morning in Unova, early but maybe not too early. He thumbed the beer can tab, considering. Finally, he dialed.
The line rang once, twice. Mark imagined the look on his sister's face when she saw his name on her screen for once, then he winced. He really fucking needed to do this more often. But this was good. A start.
Mark stared into space as the line continued to ring, then jumped at his sister's sudden, bright, "Hi!"
He smiled. "Hey, Kath—"
"I'm not available right now, but leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."
Damn it.
At the beep, he cleared his throat. "Hey. It's me. Uh … I dunno. I don't really have anything to say. Just wanted to see how you're holding up …." He twanged the beer can tab again. "Anyway. We'll talk when we talk. Take care of yourself, Kath."
He ended the call and let out a sigh.
Mornings had always been hard for Kathy. At home, Mark had always known when she woke up because her coughing carried through the wall, even on her best days. Sometimes, on bad days, she coughed until it made her throw up. He hoped she was okay now. She could still be sleeping, he guessed. Or in class already? Mark realized he had no idea what her class schedule was anymore. He should know that stuff.
Mom's schedule hadn't changed in years, though, so he tried her next.
She answered on the third ring. "Mark, hi!"
Gods, he hadn't heard her voice in so long. Too long. Guilt writhed in him, but he managed to keep his tone light. "Hey, morning."
"And good evening to you! Isn't it late where you are?"
"Nah, it's only nine." He finally shut his book, giving up on pretending, and settled back in the booth. "Is now a bad time?"
"I'm just having my coffee," she said, as he'd known she would. Before he'd left home, they used to drink a pot together before they left for school and work respectively. A comforting constant. "Something going on?"
"Just wanted to see how you're doing."
"Oh," she sighed, "business as usual here. I've got to weed most of popular fiction today."
The books she culled were usually either donated or sold to pad the library's budget, but when Mark had still been living at home, she'd occasionally left a few battered volumes on the kitchen table for him and Kathy to look through. He'd gotten a lot of his books that way—all of them back home now.
"I can't complain," she concluded.
"That's good." He paused, taking up his drink. "Talked to Kathy lately?"
"Oh, sure. I think Monday? Sounds like she's mostly getting ready for her mid-semester concert."
Something loosened in his chest. Of course she was fine. She usually was. "I tried to get ahold of her earlier, but …." He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Glad everything's okay."
For a moment, the only sound on Mom's end was the metallic scrape of her spoon going around and around her cup. "She mentioned you quit the gym."
Damn it, Kath. Of course she'd told Mom.
Warily, he admitted, "Yeah, I did."
She stirred her coffee around some more, and Mark held back a sigh. Finally, she said, "Should I be worried?"
"No, Mom. I'm just focusing on training and traveling for a while."
"I get that, Mark, but …. You know your twenties won't last forever. Eventually, you'll need a plan that doesn't involve sleeping in a tent."
"Ma, I've got things under control," he said, more harshly than he'd meant. He took a slow breath and then continued more evenly, "Seriously. The gym was always going to be temporary."
"I just don't want you to get stuck somewhere you don't want to be."
It was the same thing she'd said when he started getting into trouble with Virbank PD. "There's an entire world beyond Virbank, Mark. Don't give them an excuse to take it from you."
Mark softened. "I know. I'm not."
He understood that stuck had never only been about Virbank but about the cold war between his parents. It was the reason she'd made sure there'd been a box of condoms in his bedside drawer long before he started dating. It was the reason Dad had sent the package from Driftveil with a note that read, This is your ticket to go anywhere you want. You can even visit me sometime! And under that, a pokeball for each of them. Kathy had taken the lillipup and Mark had taken—
The loss crashed over him again, still as fresh as the moment Mark had first realized his pokeball was missing. Gibs hadn't intended to leave. But that didn't change that now he was—not gone, Mark decided. Stuck. He couldn't let himself imagine beyond that.
Mom's voice interrupted Mark's thoughts. "You'd tell me if you were in some kind of trouble, right?"
"What do you mean?" he said, sitting up straighter.
He knew, though.
The first time he'd been arrested, he'd been sixteen, which meant she'd had to pick him up from the police station. He'd expected her to yell at him once they were in the car or, worse, to invoke I'm not angry, just disappointed. Instead, she'd been quiet for a long moment, then she'd said, "You wanna get ice cream?"
Over Castelia Cones, she'd explained what she knew about protests and police: how to avoid being kettled, what to do if he breathed in sleep powder, why he should never ever fight a cop, whether with a pokemon or his own fists. "You're a minor, so your record will be wiped when you come of age. But it'll be different when you're an adult. You need to understand that."
She wasn't stupid.
Now, on the other end of the phone, Mom offered cautiously, "It sounds like the political situation has been intense there lately."
He wondered if the data center attack had hit international news outlets or if she only meant the protests.
"Yeah. Well." Mark forced himself to relax into the seat again. "People are the same everywhere. There's always something messed-up going on."
"Maybe especially in Rustboro?"
"Maybe." Route 110 had been the ugliest of it, but he wasn't going to be the one to bring that up. "If it makes you feel better, I'm not even there right now. I'm on the other side of the mountains."
Mom sighed. "I'm sorry. I'll stop nagging."
"It's okay, Ma."
"I know you're busy, but …."
Mark winced. "Sorry. It's usually late there when I think to call," he said, hating his own excuse. He owed her better. Kathy, too.
"No, I know. The time difference doesn't make it easy. And I'm glad you have your own life …." She trailed off. "I just worry about you, that's all."
He wished he knew what to say to ease her mind. The last thing he wanted was to make her worry. But he didn't think he'd ever once gotten away with outright lying to her, and he wasn't about to try to explain Magma.
Before he could think of anything to say, she piped up, "I didn't mean to ruin the mood—I'm happy you called. We miss you, you know."
"I miss you, too." He leaned his forehead against his fist. At last he said, "I've been thinking about coming home soon, at least for a little while."
"Oh, Mark, that would be great!" Her voice transformed completely, sounding ten years younger. "I think your sister would really like it if you were home for her Solstice concert."
Unova was prettiest around Solstice, when the snow lay smoothly over the streets like the trash and potholes underneath had never been there at all. Nothing back home would have changed, not in the ways that mattered. But maybe for once that wouldn't be the worst thing. Mark imagined Kathy playing onstage, Mom reading aloud from a book of poetry, the three of them squeezing past each other to get around the tiny kitchen …. His chest ached, but he smiled.
"Yeah, I'd like that, too," he said.
"I think there are usually cheap flights on—"
But he didn't hear the rest. In his pocket, the burner started buzzing. A sickening pulse of adrenaline went through him as he scrambled for the phone. The call could only be from one person, but Mark still sucked in a breath when a glance at the screen confirmed it was Montag.
"—probably makes the most sense to fly into Castelia, and then—"
"Mom," he said too sharply. "I gotta go."
"Oh. Okay."
Her disappointment was a knife twisting in him, but Montag wasn't going to call a second time. "Sorry, something just came up, but I'll call you back. I love you."
Mark didn't wait for her to repeat it. He was already bringing the burner to his ear.
—
From up here, Mauville was pretty, actually. The soft path lights were set among the flower beds, turning both the strolling couples and the trees into silhouettes, the high rises luminous beyond them. Improbable glass sculptures speared up through the foliage, pulsing pink and then blue. Below the walkway, traffic still hissed and honked, but Gracidea Park felt removed and sheltered. Mark couldn't resist pausing at the railing to take in the cool air and the scent of night-blooming jasmine—but only for a moment. Time was short.
Montag hadn't named a specific meeting point, just Gracidea Park, thirty minutes. It was safer that way, of course, but it was also inconvenient: the park was over a mile long, changing elevation to skim the roofs of buildings or to dip for street-level access. Mark had little choice but to start at one end and continue down, Ore bobbing alongside him. He walked unhurriedly but not too slowly, trying not to look like he was looking for someone.
The longer he walked, the more disenchanted he became. All he could think about was the amount of water it must take to maintain such a lush space in the middle of the high fucking desert. Mauville was the opposite of Nimbasa in that way, actually: Mauville was pumping water into the desert, but Unova's desert had spread as the cotton boom sucked water out of the grasslands. He wondered what withered so Mauville could flourish.
Mark jolted as his phone started ringing. Idiot—he should've killed it already, but he'd forgotten in his rush to get to the park. He reached into his pocket … and then his stomach turned over. Kathy was returning his call. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and sent it to voicemail. Phone off. Battery out. Keep walking.
Near the midway point of the park was a space almost like an amphitheater, where the paving stones dropped away to low, wide steps that faced a glass wall. The steps offered a view of the intersection below; even at this time of night, the street was thick with tourists, trainers, rhinestoned street performers, fortunetellers, and drunks.
The steps themselves were empty, but a man stood at the top with his hands folded behind him. Mark would recognize the rigid posture and fitted jacket anywhere. Montag. His back was turned toward the walkway and to Mark, but with Kropotkin the claydol spinning slowly at his side, he didn't need to look to be aware of his surroundings. On either side of the lookout point, stairs led down to the street—two exit routes. And teleporting away with the claydol was a third. Montag was always prepared.
Reminded of Stone's claydol, Mark gave an involuntary shake of his head. Whether in response to Mark's revulsion or just the presence of his solrock, Kropotkin gave a whir, and Montag glanced over his shoulder.
"Good evening, Mark."
"Evening," Mark answered. He added stiffly, "Sir."
"Would you like to sit?" He gestured.
Mark did as he was told and took a seat on one of the steps, forearms resting on his knees; Montag settled himself straight-backed on the step above him. His claydol hovered behind and slightly above, watching in all directions.
"I'm glad to see you're unharmed."
Mark reached for outrage, for an accusation, but came up empty. He was so fucking tired. "Me too," he said.
A thin smile reached Montag's lips but not his eyes. "I hear there was some trouble this morning."
Of course he'd already talked to Cora. If MetFalls had gone as planned, they would've left together and then debriefed with Montag together … but they hadn't. Whatever she'd said couldn't have been flattering—she'd been pissed. Maybe she had a right to be.
"It could've gone better," Mark agreed, grimacing. Then Ore bumped his shoulder, and he reminded himself, It was almost so much worse.
Montag nodded slowly, as if digesting new information. "You were supposed to make sure your teams teleported out safely when the fight became untenable."
When, not if. Was that how he'd worded it before?
It didn't matter now.
"Yes, sir."
"Why didn't you?"
Mark sifted through the morning's events, trying to pinpoint when everything had unraveled. He should've prepared an answer—he'd known this was coming. Finally, he said, "Stone's metagross. Blew out the radios and screwed with Ore, too."
The only reply was silence. When Mark raised his head, Montag was still staring at him impassively, waiting.
Mark let his eyes fall briefly closed. "We should've held our formation better. That was my fault." Then he took a sharp breath and added, "Why didn't you tell me we were letting MetFalls go?"
"I assumed you knew," Montag answered coolly.
Mark clenched his teeth. With a burst of fire in his voice, he said, "We should've fought harder for it. We could've …."
But he trailed off with one glance at Montag: his face was a mask that invited nothing. As Kropotkin slowly rotated behind him, red light outlined one side of his face and then the other, off and on, over and over.
After a moment, Montag said, "I value your insight, Mark. How do you imagine things might have gone differently?"
Mark couldn't tell if it was a taunt or if it only felt like one because he didn't have an answer. How long could they have held off the construction crews, a few hours? Days? Magma would've had to go home eventually, just like Root Revolution, and then the dozers would've returned anyway.
He looked away. "I just …." For a few moments, he watched the street below. The top-down view of the pedestrians gave him a small kind of power: Mark could follow which direction they walked from, where they were going, and even what was on some of their phone screens. But he didn't have the power to change any of their paths. "It feels like we let DevCo have what they wanted."
"And what is that?"
Caught off guard, Mark stammered, "Th-the pipeline, sir."
"And why do they want a pipeline?"
Mark shrugged, scoffed. "Money."
"Money," Montag repeated thoughtfully. Then, as if it had just occurred to him, he said, "Devon stock isn't looking very good lately, not since Ridge Access. Today's events came at an inconvenient time for them. Bad luck."
He raised an eyebrow, silently offering Mark space to cut in. When he made no move to speak, Montag began again. "Now, the data center. That's an expensive problem. Surely there are some built-in redundancies—maybe their Unova and Kanto offices have backups. Maybe Jimmy in Public Relations has some of it on his hard drive. Maybe some of it is even in a filing cabinet somewhere. With time, they could likely recover most of their data. However, their more … sensitive projects …." He shook his head and clucked his tongue. "More copies mean more risk of theft or exposure. I imagine their fossil research was quite centralized."
His tone invited Mark to share the victory. DevCo's plummeting stock was quantifiable proof that the plan was already working. Mark couldn't argue with numbers … but they didn't ease the knot in his stomach. Maybe DevCo only saw things in terms of money, but Magma stood for more than that. Mark stood for more than that.
Zinnia's face flashed in his mind, her eyes hard and glittering. "What about the Draconids?" Whatever happened to DevCo, the Draconids still weren't getting their pokemon or their land back.
Montag smirked. "Mm, that won't be very good press for Devon either, will it?"
Was it that simple for him? For a moment, Mark saw it the way Montag might, how it would play out onscreen: the protesters crying out as the bulldozers rolled on their camp, the helicopters swooping to drop a load of voltorb, and Magma, the brave protectors, stepping in to shield them. In that story, the rest didn't matter.
"They didn't want us there," Mark said. Beside him, Ore bristled with static.
Only a faint twitch of Montag's mouth betrayed his irritation. "Maybe not. But this isn't a popularity contest. It's about results."
Mark bobbed his head without meeting Montag's gaze. He was right, of course. Thrive had been popular. Comfortable suburbanites had thrown them money to soothe their consciences. But no matter how Thrive had fundraised and waved their fists, nothing got better—not Virbank, not Clay, and not DevCo.
Magma was making a difference … but everything had a cost.
Montag spoke up suddenly, "I know things haven't been easy for you lately, Mark. I'm sorry about your liepard."
The unexpected kindness staggered him. Mark swallowed hard before he managed to choke out, "Thank you, sir."
"But we all have so much more to lose. I don't think I need to remind you what's at stake."
Sea level rise. Desertification. Forest fires. Storms. Oil spills. Air pollution. A girl with a big heart and bad lungs.
Mark set his jaw. "Everything."
Montag repeated softly, "Everything."
For a moment, they sat in silence and watched the pedestrians pass below. Then Montag tossed out, "I'd like your opinion on something."
Mark lifted his head drowsily. It was an opportunity to make up for his performance at MetFalls … but it was also a test, one he didn't feel quick enough to rise to tonight. Still, he said, "Of course."
"Do you think Zinnia is trustworthy?"
She sure as shit didn't trust him. But that was a different question.
Mark took his time. Montag wouldn't appreciate a thoughtless answer. "She had my back today. If not for her, I'd be in jail."
Montag said nothing.
Whirring nervously, Ore pressed so close to Mark that he'd knock his head if he turned too suddenly.
When Mark couldn't stand the silence any longer, he asked, "Why? Did something happen?"
"She came forward with some interesting intel about ORCA."
"Huh. So she's been spying on them?"
Montag nodded. "They're not evil, but they are reckless and sloppy. Unfortunately, good intentions don't guarantee good outcomes." He smiled wryly. "Apparently, they've got the plans for Devon's fossil resurrection system."
If anyone other than Montag had said it, Mark might've laughed. "Why the hell would they even want that?"
"Well, why do you think Devon wants it?"
"Money," Mark said again. Wasn't that always the answer? "Rich assholes profiting off other rich assholes."
Montag fixed him in the unblinking stare that told him he'd misstepped. "I think you can do better than that. The fossil resurrection project hasn't turned a profit a single year since its inception. Why, then, does Devon persist?"
Mark tried to make his foggy brain work. "Reputation?" he tried. "Drawing more investors?"
Montag looked almost amused by Mark's attempts. He shook his head slowly. "Devon has been aware of climate change for decades. They know what they're doing to the planet. So how does Devon secure its future?"
Ore's hum built in Mark's mind, suddenly oppressive. "I don't know, sir."
"They turn it into an opportunity." He gave that a moment to sink in before continuing, "They'll carry on with business as usual for as long as it's profitable. Ecosystems will crumble and countless pokemon will die, but why should that matter to them? Devon will see to it that no species goes extinct … so long as someone is willing to pay the right price."
Every time Mark thought he'd gotten a handle on the depths of DevCo's cruelty, they pulled the bottom out from under him. "That's … deeply fucked."
With a humorless smile, Montag said, "And now ORCA wants their turn. They don't actually understand the technology or the harm they could cause, but that's never stopped them before."
"What the fuck do they think they're gonna do, build a fossil army?"
"I suspect their plan is less sophisticated than that," Montag answered dryly. "My guess is that they plan to pump their emulsion directly into the ocean."
Mark could only squint.
"He thinks he's going to bring the ocean back to life. Idiot." The vein at Montag's temple pulsed, the claydol's lights bringing it out in sharp relief. "I told him it would be grossly irresponsible, but he never learned to listen to reason."
For a long moment, Montag didn't speak, and this time Mark didn't dare interrupt. He'd never seen Montag quite like this before.
At last, Montag started again, "It's completely untested. There's no telling how it'll affect ocean chemistry. It might do nothing at all … or it could accelerate ocean acidification and decrease carbon uptake. It could even cause toxic algae blooms and poison the entire ocean."
Yeah, that sounded like an ORCA plan.
"There's no oversight," Montag continued grimly. "No one to flip the switch but them. They could pollute hundreds of miles of ocean before any news outlet or research institute catches word of it."
Hold on. Now Montag cared about water pollution? Why had Ridge Access been different? Grimer were still spreading inland. The spill's publicity hadn't stopped that.
Mark shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He'd called Montag to get answers—about MetFalls, about the pipeline—but somehow now they were talking about ORCA. It was always like that, Mark realized in a sudden, cynical flash. A conversation with Montag wasn't an exchange; he steered it where he wanted. He always had to be in control.
But with ORCA's plan, he wouldn't be.
Was that the only difference?
Mark held his face very still, but he couldn't keep Ore from humming louder and wobbling at his distress. "What are you asking me to do?" he said levelly.
Montag arched his eyebrow. "Isn't it obvious? We can't allow them to treat the ocean like their personal science fair project."
Mark let out a slow breath, rubbing his hands over his face. He couldn't keep doing this shit. He couldn't keep putting off going home. Mom probably had twenty tabs open on her clunky, old computer, trying to find him the best deals for the flight. And he probably had a voicemail from Kathy waiting in his pocket right now.
"It's your choice, as always," said Montag.
Mark wasn't sure he trusted his own choices anymore. The pipeline had been a mistake. He was sure of that now. It had cost too much, and Montag wasn't the one who had to pay that price. No matter what he said to justify—
Gods, maybe ORCA was reassuring itself in the exact same way right now.
What might happen if Mark just packed up and left when he knew ORCA was playing mad scientist with DevCo shit? Choosing to do nothing was still doing something, and it wouldn't absolve him of anything. If he knew, he was responsible.
Somebody needed to save ORCA from themselves.
He felt Montag's pointed stare, but instead of meeting it, he craned his neck to stare up at the sky. Airplanes drifted past, but there were no stars; the sky was purple-gray with light pollution. Just like home.
"I'm in," he said at last. But not for you—for Hoenn.
Sharpedo Tooth started to shut the cooler when a sealeo sprang up beside him. It thrust its head into the ice, knocking him onto his butt. He held his can straight up in the air, miraculously managing not to spill. He and Natalie exchanged looks of surprise and then burst out laughing.
!!! This! This is what I love so much about pokefic. Sure, you got humans and some of the same shenanigans you see irl, but then you have...super-powered animals just chilling everywhere! With minds and personalities of their own! LOVE.
And then she was up against the rail again, this time near the prow, beyond the reach of the poker players' voices. The crowd was far enough away that it felt like TV. In the thick of it all, Zinfandel perched atop a speaker, bobbing her head in time to the music. Now and again, a sailor cupped their hands around their mouth to shout up at the porygon, and the song switched. The bass line vibrated through the guardrail at Natalie's back. She couldn't tell if the boat's rocking was because of the choppy waters or the crew's furious dancing. Salt water and alcohol wafted on the chilly air, a hint of diesel underneath. She had started to take the french fry smell of the Riveter for granted; Pearl had explained that the engine was modified to run on recycled cooking oil, collected every few weeks from Slateport restaurants who were happy to support an "environmental nonprofit." Now the smell of diesel on the Motherfucker was jarring.
*furiously scribbles notes*
Okay. It’s fine. It’s not like I’m INSANELY IN LOVE with your scene-setting skills or anything. Not at all.
*scribbles more notes*
Instead of televising another woeful reminder to think of the lapras and choose reusable bags, ORCA whipped out their rig and did something about the problem.
Local papers had outed the chemical company for its toxic runoff years ago, but LiquiTek had found it cheaper to pay the Slateport Clean Water Commission's fines than to change their equipment. So the Roses had dumped grimer at the corporate office.
Hahaha YES. GOOD.
Side note, but it seems like your hc is that toxic pokemon like Grimer contribute to pollution, correct? As opposed to other hcs I’ve seen where grimer can be used to clean up pollution. Tbh, your version makes more sense, but boy would it be convenient if it worked the other way, lol.
Natalie was ready for him to sigh and roll his eyes, to tell her she wasn't ready or allowed to know yet … but his smile widened. "We're gonna bring the ocean back to life."
Everyone knew that DevCo guarded the secrets of its fossil reanimation project like holy relics. When the Safari Zone had tried to breed their pair of purchased aurorus without permission, DevCo had sued and won. After that, the company made sure to modify their fossils' genes: buyers could specify any color they wanted, but the pokemon would always be sterile.
Uh, yikes. DevCo is shady in multiple multiple ways, it seems. This reminds me of when Steven saw Mark’s Bastiodon and was like “that’s copyright infringement.” Like EXCUSE ME SIR but that’s a living breathing creature??
Also I feel incredibly dumb for just realizing that the plans Natalie stole from the shipyard...they’re for the submarine, aren’t they? I’m slow, lol.
A sailor knocked into Natalie as he danced past, sending the empty beer can flying from her hand. She felt guilty, imagining it tumbling into the water, but she wasn't about to dive after it—that would be a good way to get trampled.
Oooh. I can’t help but feel like this is...symbolical, in some way. ORCA spends every day trying to clean up the oceans, but get so caught up in their celebration, nobody notices the little can that falls into the sea and becomes the very pollution they seek to destroy. Symbolic of their plans backfiring and causing more harm than healing to the environment, perhaps?
Come, on. Focus, she scolded herself. She counted three pokeballs on Scarlet's belt, plus a fourth fitted with an electronic lock across the—oh, gods, the liepard. She still had it. Taking trophies was her thing. Was this her goal all along, to goad Natalie into a fight so she'd have an excuse?
Oh gosh, oh frick, oh HECC. Natalie’s gonna win and she’s gonna end up with GIBBS, ISN’T SHE
Luna barked, and the shadows of each pokemon under the floodlight leapt up. She barked again, fur standing on end, and the shadows twisted together to form one enormous, toothy mouth. Natalie grinned as it swept towards Scarlet and her starmie.
Oooh! I really really like this description of Crunch! Quite different from anything I’ve read before.
Cue ALL THE MISUNDERSTANDINGS once she and Mark meet up again. As if they didn’t already have enough of those between them
Man, I’m really loving the way you’re tying this all together. Archie and Maxie in canon look like total buffoons with their plans, but you’re writing them in a way that makes it seem so much more believable. Still crazy, mind you, but at least I can believe why they’re so passionate about it and why they think it will actually help the world.
