It should be illegal to be conscious this early. Nate's head felt full of sand, his eyes gritty, his limbs each a hundred pounds. Any merciful god would have let him sleep at least another half hour.
Rocky was not merciful, and he was also extremely insistent that they make it to the beach in time to watch Meringue's usual training session with Lugia. "When are you ever going to get to see a real lugia in action again?" he'd asked. "And the storm's so cool with all the clouds coming out of nowhere, and the lightning, and whoooosh! Don't you want to see it?" No, Nate had made very clear, he did not. "Well, I want to!" Somehow, with all the wheedling, getting up and going along with Rocky's stupid plan had been the less annoying option.
The streets were quiet this time of morning, naturally, because even here on Cibus people weren't that insane. Nate glanced dully at the gallade who went jogging past, thoughts a vague miasma of disdain for fitness, but then blinked, abruptly feeling more alert. Hang on. That scarf--he thought he knew--
"Hey!" Nate called. He actually took a couple steps out ahead of Rocky, waving at the gallade's retreating form. "Hey, you! You're that gardevoir, right? With the Miracle Matters?" Shit, what was his name? "Mergo?"