Arbee
Youngster
- Pronouns
- he/him
"It was already late when the phone rang."
The fog. It blotted out everything. The distant searchlights of the docked ship, anchored by the empty shore, vanished. They hid behind gnarled tree crowns, rising from the ground like twisted fingers.
The branches tore his jacket as he ran through the copse towards the old fishery perched on the crumbling piers. Wet leaves slipped underfoot, turning each step into a gamble. Breaths scalded his lungs, too sharp, too shallow.
Something moved inside the haze. It made no sound. But one could feel its presence. That frigid touch upon his skin, sending a wave of goosebumps. Those chills that ran down his spine as if a pair of foul eyes were drilling in.
A stack of firewood slipped from under his arm. He didn't look back. He couldn't, even when the hum of a turbulent monsoon started sounding like footsteps. The white murk would not let him see further than a few yards. The mere thought of turning his head around felt worse than seeing whatever hid inside the bleached abyss. The world shrank into a small bubble, lost in the sea of blinding mist.
The sounds stopped. No birds. No echoes. Just loud tapping of heavy leather boots across the puddles and miserable wheezing pants, struggling for air. Even the cloudburst seemed to shut, droplets landing on the soil in dead silence.
His chest burned. A drenched jacket felt too bulky. His arms slipped out of the ripped sleeves, carelessly tossing the soaked piece of clothing onto the ground. A careless steel toe cap slid under a root, sending the young man flying face-first into the pool of dirt.
He turned around. Not out of curiosity, but grim anticipation of the pursuit catching up. Barely able to hold his own weight under the sway of crippling exhaustion, the trainer, pale as death, peered his eyes into the fog.
A plea for mercy turned into a whimper. His hand reached out for a flare gun, stripped to his thigh, thumb fumbling to cork the improvised weapon. The hammer finally clicked as the tip of his nail snapped against it.
The barrel aimed ahead, quivering and unsteady. Blue cracked lips murmured under the man's breath, <Leave me alone.>
<Please,> his voice was barely above the sound of a whisper, less of a plea and more of a prayer to whoever was there to listen.
The clouds seemed to respond. Not in voice, but in movement. The white murk shifted, parting for just a split second to reveal a formless black shape within. For long enough to see it blur before the forest drowned in the mist again.
He kept on backing down the crumbling porch until his shoulders hit the door, fist desperately knocking on the soaked wood to call for a rescue, <Let me in!>
There was no reply. The only answer was the drum of rain against the rusty canopy above, a cold shower spilling over the rotten, decrepit planks.
<Open the fuck up!> he screamed, voice rabid and high-pitched.
His fingers reached for the handle, frantically ripping the corroded metal back and forth. He struggled to recall which direction it was supposed to be turned to.
The fog moved again, white strands coiling around a blank spot in the thicket as if enveloping something that eyes couldn't see. The flare gun fired, freeing a flickering red star that left a trail through the mist and filled the air with a sharp scent of chemical smoke and burnt plastic. A flash vanished as quickly as it appeared. The smog swallowed it whole, consuming the light deep in its bowels.
The young man lingered for just a second too long, trying to make out anything.
It's here, he thought, and that realization felt much worse than the pursuit. He let out a strained exhale that turned into a cloud of steam and tossed the emptied pistol over the rails.
His back slammed against the latch, breaking through the bars and finally cracking it open. Despite his thin frame, fear gave him much more strength than he had any right to possess.
The forerunner flew in without thinking, flopping on the drenched floor and toppling a dresser into the yawning hole at the entrance. Cold shaking hands tore shelves, cases, and cabinets off the wall, piling them up to block the shattered remains of the door.
The explorer leaned against it with his whole weight, whispering silent prayers under his breath. His eyes frantically raked through the house. The camp was as he left it. Coals, cracking in a circle of stones, pots, already covered in soot, quietly simmering on the faintly hot embers. But the bedrolls were empty, all cutlery scattered on the cell foam mat. Backpacks were laid in a heap, foldable chairs stood vacant, gathered around the fire. A couple of notebooks were waiting for him on the armrest pinned to a cartography set.
<Hello?> he murmured, trying to make sense of it.
The image of their little bivouac didn't bring any relief. It left a bitter taste on his tongue and filled his mind with questions. It seemed as if everyone simply stood up and left.
<Professor?> the trainer called out into the stale semi-dark. White motes of dust swirled around the smoldering coals. The air was stale, almost choking with cold moisture and mold.
A thunderous knock on the door broke the dead silence, launching the young man into the air. His knees almost gave way.
<Shit...> he whimpered, darting towards the campfire. <Get away from me!>
There was no response. Whatever hounded him outside was awfully patient. The only sound that pierced through the hum of rain was faint grinding. Like bone dragging across the damp wood. Not scratching. Not trying to break in, but rather playing with it. Letting him know that it's here.
He lunged towards the knapsacks, turning the bags upside down, eyes hectically searching for a familiar tinge of red paint. His shaking fingers pulled out a sphere, feverishly seeking the button. But the device was empty. The lower lid detached, helplessly flopping as his hands shook.
<Damn it!> the trainer threw the ball onto the floor, shattering it out of frustration.
His palms pressed into his head, tearing blond hair out. He almost folded. Until he caught something in the dark.
A blue shape that drew a sigh of relief.
<How did...> the young man stared at the orb, then back at the figure standing by the farthest window of the derelict shack.
It took a couple of seconds to recognize his Pokémon peering into the glass and watching the white clouds thicken behind the building. A bipedal duck stuck in deep thought, her fingers slowly smothering the pearls of dew that covered the dusty surface. Almost his height. She stayed so quiet that he didn't see her all the way until then.
He pulled his soaked beanie, tossed it aside, and stumbled towards the familiar creature.
<Riptide?> his voice broke and paused, interrupted by frantic pants and wheezes. <We have a problem.>
<Something...> he shuffled a little closer, seeking protection from an old friend. <Something came for us from the woods.>
<It took Connor. And it followed me home,> the young man looked around, left with more questions than answers. <Where... Where is everyone?>
He didn't expect a straightforward reply, voicing the last part to himself. But the silence from someone he raised caught him off guard. No chitters or trills that her trainer was used to. And so he quietly pleaded, <Riptide?>
His hand reached out for Golduck's shoulder, stopping a couple of inches away, <What's going on?>
She didn't budge, still staring into the mist outside. It coiled and danced. It congealed and swirled, teasing both of them as the thick milky clouds circled the house, turning everything behind the walls into a bleached abyss. Even dead trees disappeared from their view.
The trainer took a step closer, trying to see what got his Pokémon's attention. But all he could make out was a matt chalky palette beyond the musty old glass. It felt wrong. Something about that mist filled him with animalistic dread. But the duck's presence brought comfort. Somewhat.
He stared at the murk before finally facing the trusty old protégé. His mouth opened up to check on her. But words died on his tongue.
Red eyes he was used to were watching the fog, unmoving, unblinking. Or rather, what remained of them. Both milky white, devoid of any kind of color. She didn't move, simply gawking outside. That stare lacked purpose, vacant and hollow.
<What?> the young man recoiled, backing towards the campfire.
She flinched. A seizure ran through her arms. Her neck turned slowly. As if reacting to the noise rather than acknowledging it.
Her shoulder shuddered, muscles neurotically twitching. A horrible tic wracked through the bird's body. Her head idly tilted to the side in wild curiosity. Pink foam drizzled out of the side of her beak.
The trainer pressed himself against the wall, hand tapping on the knife's handle in quiet confusion, but unable to pull.
<What happened to you?> his voice trailed off into a whisper.
No response. The only sound that escaped her throat was a trill of clicks as the yellow bill creaked open. She simply stood there, motionless. Her whole body froze.
<Riptide?> he pleaded, hyperventilating. <It's me. I mean no harm.>
Another knock echoed from the door. The frame gave way with a dull crack. The fog went in, washing over the young man like a wave of cold. He didn't turn to face it even as a trail of goosebumps ran down his spine. He couldn't.
Time stretched out. Golduck stayed still, mouth wide open, her murky eyes staring at the human.
<Baby girl?> his voice sounded parental, his arms sprang up, showing that he bore no ill intent.
Blue Pokémon replied. But not with trills of affection.
She lunged.
***
The researcher was halfway through her second cup of coffee when the phone rang, pulling her out of a sleep-deprived stupor. A brown splash washed over the unfinished paper, drizzling on the red carpet that a work desk nestled on.
A gray bunny cuddled up beside her, flinched, and pulled out of deep slumber with a snore. He squeezed into a furry pretzel, paws sliding in a pocket on his stomach as he desperately tried to nap for just a little longer. His head rested on the rubber ball he fell asleep on, waiting for his trainer's break that never came.
<Shit...> she wiped the drink off her notebook, finding no better option than using the corner of her own shirt.
The woman let out a sigh, looking over the ruined work, then closed her chestnut eyes. Her finger tapped a pair of thick turtle glasses, shoving them back onto her thin, freckled nose and swiping a greasy brown flock of waving hair off. She peeked at the varnished clock ticking on the corner of the table. Six in the morning.
A bulky rotary dial shook as the screaming device produced a sound so loud that it gave its owner a throbbing headache. Worst way to start the morning. But after a moment of reluctance, she slid the handset off the hook.
<Hazel speaking...> her voice didn't sound enthusiastic, still half-asleep.
A curious short snout peeked over the table. A pair of red dozy peepers looked the phone up and down, awoken by the ring. Long floppy ears flattened as Raboot hopped from the ottoman bench, a string of drool staining the fold of red fur around his neck.
He jazzed up as he'd been through an explosion. Gray strands of hair pointing in different directions. A speck of discolored fuzz on his right cheek looked like an ink spot rather than a birthmark. One eye was opened wide, the other almost closed, both looking in different directions in a daze.
<It's fine,> the researcher yawned, blinking to push the drowsiness away. <I wasn't sleeping anyway.>
That is exactly the problem, the coney thought, rubbing his nose.
A chuckle escaped her lips as she gently stroked her Pokémon's head, encouraging him to go back to bed.
He thumped his foot into the floor, squinting at the damnable device that kept on stealing rest from both of them for days now.
<Yup. The usual,> she sighed, taking a sip from the mug, still warm since she nodded off. Which wasn't long.
The bunny stood on his tiptoes, trying to reach closer to the receiver and eavesdrop on who conspired to steal his trainer.
<Ma'am, I understand you're busy with the project, but there is a rather delicate matter that I wish to discuss,> the voice on the other side wasn't familiar. But then again, it rarely was those days.
He recognized the manner, however. That fancy mawkish way the eggheads spoke was unmistakable. That only meant one thing. More work. Again.
I hate this thing.
Frustrated Pokémon glared daggers at the cursed machine, impatiently tapping his sole against the floor, each little smack raising clouds of dust.
Hazel tried to push Raboot down, softly patting his shoulder, <Garnet... Not now.>
He folded up his arms, taking a peek into her notebook. It all looked like senseless scribbles to his eyes.
<My apologies,> the researcher spluttered, trying to get the busybody out of the way and make him settle down for a moment. <Please continue.>
<Hm...> she kicked back into the chair as the bunny climbed on her lap to hear the conversation, but the trainer's hand stopped him. <I see.>
<The whole expedition?> his trainer's voice trailed off into a whisper. <That is... Concerning. Perhaps the storm cut off communications.>
<Ah...> she paused, fixing her glasses. <Well, if it has been days, then it does change things. What's the last known location?>
The researcher threw her head back, already anticipating what was to come, <Sir...>
A deep languid sigh took off, <I understand. But I'm afraid I simply can't afford to do field work anymore, given the circumstances.>
Raboot rolled his eyes. Of course, they'd give her something else to fill the time. As if it hasn't been packed already.
She sat there for a couple of seconds, listening to the professor yap over the line, <Look, even if the trip was fully covered, I have a dissertation to defend next month. And I would prefer...>
<Yes, my Pokémon are quite capable. But I can't keep doing tasks that should be outsourced...> Her eyes widened as she bargained with the colleague. <Wait, you already...>
Hazel propped her chin, staring at the wall in vexed surrender, <So... I assume the exam is postponed, then?>
<Alright. Okay,> she drawled. <When do you want me to depart again?>
<That's... Great...> the researcher groaned, clearly taken aback. <Absolutely marvelous. I'll see what I can do.>
<Don't mention it,> the trainer intoned with obvious sarcasm and hovered the handset over the hook without waiting for goodbyes.
Her fingers finally let go when faint beeps echoed from the other side of the line. She slumped her head, almost smacking it into the table, specs dropping with a thud. The bunny sprang to action, snatching them off the wood and pedantically wiping the lenses clean with his gray fur.
He stood there in silence, waiting for his owner as she rubbed frustration out of her temples.
<Yes, just because I used to be in the league means you can assign me all the field duties like no one else can handle touching grass,> she sighed, crumpling the coffee-stained paper and tossing it into the garbage. <I can't with these people...>
Hazel's slippers tapped the desk, kicking the creaky office chair for a spin as she peered into the dusty ceiling. Raboot stood on his tiptoes, shoving the glasses back onto her nose.
Her hand reached out for the mug, finishing the bitter drink in one go, <Well...>
A pair of tired brown eyes stared at the little buddy, <I promised you a walk, didn't I?>
You did. For about two weeks now, he thought to himself, responding with a soft chirp.
<Might as well get two birds with one stone. Seems like we'll be going out of town for a bit,> she let out a drained chuckle. <A bunch of freshmen missed their daily check-up. A few of them, actually. The storm probably screwed up their radios. That, or students got drunk again and forgot that field trips aren't picnics. You know how it is sometimes.>
<Nothing we can't handle...> her voice trailed off into an awkward pause.
The bunny's ears flattered. His scarlet gemstones for eyes widened in quiet disappointment.
Why does it always take yet another assignment to step out of the house for a breather, her friend thought, responding with a needy growl of complaint.
The researcher looked at him, as if reading his thoughts off the expression, <Look. I know that things aren't what they used to be. But... Tuition won't pay for itself.>
<And I'm really, REALLY trying for that doctorate,> her head shook.
Tuition, doctorate. It all sounded like white noise to her Pokémon. Words without meanings. Things that people came up with for no other reason than to overcomplicate their lives.
Raboot pulled a smile. As if to say that he forgives her even if he'd never comprehend all of those fancy meanings.
His paws reached the floor, picking the old rubber ball up and pedantically dusting it off. The coney slapped it onto his owner's knees. The latter still wore a pair of thick jeans, not bothered enough to change since the last time she came home.
<Alright,> Hazel let out a tired chuckle. <I might use a break.>
A relieved simper spread on the bunny's snout. He darted towards the door with barely kempt enthusiasm, dragging his trainer's shoes back to their owner. Soft morning sun drilled its way through the curtained windows. A faint trill of birds welcomed the light. Prime time for a breath of fresh air. Long overdue.
She slipped into a quilted bomber jacket, gathering her brown hair into a ponytail. Her hand reached for the toy. But as they were about to grab it, the carefree smirk was wiped clean from the coney's face.
That sound. That terrifyingly intrusive noise.
A high-pitched beeping from the researcher's belt. The one and only killer of all fun, more so than the thrice-cursed telephone, because at least the latter has the courtesy of staying home. Unlike the venomous culprit. A pager springs to life, producing an annoying tone that Raboot despised most of all.
<Who in the...> she huffed, looking at the device with a frustrated pout.
<Oh, shit,> her eyes widened. <I forgot about the meeting...>
<I have to go. We'll plan something for the evening, okay?> the trainer spluttered, frantically, searching for her bag. <I'll be home soon. Promise.>
And just like that, she disappeared again, flying out of the door.
He simply stood there, watching the keyhole turn. After a few seconds of silence, a sigh escaped his lips, "Bye..."
"Next time, I guess," Raboot's voice sounded like a trill, which only held a meaning to his kind. Red eyes fell on the rubber ball. He softly kicked it, sending it for an aimless roll through the hallway.
The bunny took a step towards the table, staring it down with a melancholic smile. All of the dressers were left unjarred, as always. Cups stood in rows, never really earning a brief moment to be cleaned or carried back to the kitchen, each one bearing a dark halo of strong tea or coffee. A stack of takeout boxes was high enough to make a little tower reaching all the way up to the desk lamp. The latter stayed on, no matter the time of day. The lethargic glow fell on the countless notebooks and journals, shedding light colored in tired gold.
The coney climbed the chair, blankly staring at the heaps of papers, some slightly yellow at the corners. His shoulders pressed into a sweater hanging off the backrest, left there by his owner not for comfort, but out of habit. The desk was always her first and last pitstop.
Gray paws shoved the monographs aside. Scribbles, charts, and diagrams with scripts incomprehensible to Pokémon's eyes. It took an awfully long time to dig through the piles of scrawls and squiggles. Some of them already started to collect dust. He almost gave up, quickly growing frustrated with all the crumbled maculature and blueprints. Until something glassy turned up at the bottom.
His fingers scooped a picture frame lost deep within. A blow of air cleaned white motes off the old mahogany.
Raboot stared at the old photo with a deep sigh, pedantically wiping it up until his own face could peer back at him from the polished surface.
Some six years ago. But it felt like a whole lifetime. Their trainer was in her early twenties with a wide, happy smile painted on her face. No wrinkles on her eyelids from staying up all night. No gaunt posture from spending days in and days out over books and reports. A golden medal clenched in her hand and raised high for everyone to see.
Crackers, confetti. Champagne foam spilling over the bottles. And himself, captured midjump, one paw reaching up. One happy Scorbunny with a dumb smile, despite all the scrapes and bruises on his messy white fur. Even Sprigatito, usually the last member of the team to flaunt, peeked from between their trainer's legs, pink eyes half-closed from the bright flash of a camera. A curious mug peered over Hazel's shoulder. Their Sobble, as unamused as always. Less gleeful and more weary of all the incessant cheers and noises, the saccharine echo of that uproar still rang inside Garnet's head. And last, but not least. Riolu, posing in the front, arms tucked into his waist. He tried so hard to look good on this one, but that expression of confusion mixed with the flush of violet gave it all out.
The picture wasn't perfect. Quite the opposite, in fact. Whoever took the shot was horrible at it. Wrong angle and worse timing still, leaving countless blurs and faults. But sometimes value wasn't in excellence. It was in a moment by itself.
The coney's paws moved up and down as if Raboot was weighing it. His wrist wiped the shelf clean, dusting it off with sentimental reverence and finding a proper place for the forgotten frame.
He hopped off the chair that looked comically large for him and took a step back, admiring the image. But somehow it drew another wistful chuckle. Looking at it did more damage than keeping it hidden underneath. The more he stared, the lower his lips curled. Until the bunny turned away and stomped towards the bedroom.
Another day of doing nothing. His foot hit the ball again, sending it for a flight to bounce off the wall and leave a little blemish on the cover. Another one of many that made it look as spotted as a ladybug.
Garnet spilled into the dorm, trying to be quiet so as not to disturb his friend.
The coney stepped over his pet bed, nestled on the floor, and looked around. The second one was empty, still covered in green fur and filled with chewy little toys. The third and largest cot was vacant, as expected. Strict and humble as a monastic cell. The only sign that it had an owner was traces of blue scales. The fourth one... He made an effort not to look at it. A framed photo of a pup stared back at him from an unused pillow.
Despite the early hours, Floragato was wide awake, nestled on the backrest of the sofa, tail neatly coiled around his legs. His verdant apron, stylishly perched on one shoulder, hung wrapped like a scarf. He held a little wooden tablet, claws tracing lines on the bark. His ears twitched when the door creaked open, both falling sideways. A little flinch. A force of habit.
The feline bore countless scars on the perfectly-groomed pelt, splotches of old marks peeking from underneath the wool across his chest and shoulders. His scut instinctively moved, concealing a wide brand shaped like a letter R on his right thigh.
"Jasper?" Raboot called out to him, voice barely above a whisper. "You're up early."
"I couldn't sleep," he replied, pink eyes focused on the plaque. His talon chiseled smooth shapes onto the shell, carving an intricately complex pattern.
"Bad dreams?" Garnet asked the question he already knew the answer to.
"Yeah," the cat stammered, trying to stay focused. The dry and to-the-point tone gave it away. "Something like that."
The coney folded up his arms, staring him down, "You want to talk about it?"
"It's over now," a sheepish smile spread on Floragato's snout. He didn't like prying, but the gesture was always something that he treasured. "I think I'll be okay. But thank you."
"Well then..." the bunny's words made Jasper pause and brace, clutching the edge of the backrest. Like he knew exactly what was about to unfold.
"Incoming!" rambunctious Pokémon took off, finding no better way to cheer him up than a distraction.
He leaped across the floor, each hop gaining momentum. The last one launched him up into the air and sent him plunging onto the sofa with an unnecessarily dramatic spin.
Raboot landed on his back, his paws still folded. As if he showed off even when he wasn't trying to. The couch shook, raising a cloud of dust and bits of padding out from all the little holes and scratches left on the fabric by an unknown culprit.
"Whatcha doing?" he trilled, bugging the cat.
The latter pulled a pout, claws buried deep in the soft piece of furniture for just a little longer to wait out the earthquake. The feline turned the tablet, presenting his latest art piece. A half-finished rosette, one part of it already done, the other still a mere sketch. The ornament looked like a piped icing made to resemble a corsage surrounded by spinning tongues of flames. All perfectly even and done with nothing more than the tip of a sharp claw.
"Damn..." the bunny shoved his paws under his head, his foot tapping against the fabric, unable to stay still. "I don't know how you do it."
"It's not as hard as it looks. Just takes a lot of time and patience," he jabbered, putting the bark away and meticulously grooming his arms to wash the wood dust off.
"Pfft. Patience," Raboot cackled, pulling a dumb grin. "Sounds like a curse word."
"Careful," the cat's tongue flicked, licking the fur clean as he brushed himself. His muzzle bore a sneaky smirk, taking a sting out of it. "If you hear it too often, it might stick."
Despite the web of scars, his pelt looked mint and pristine, almost sparkling from obsessive care. Marks peeked from under the fuzz, not fully on the display, yet not fully hidden either. All shapes and sizes, each one a little story hidden underneath the glaze that never truly faded.
"Duh. That'd be the day I die of boredom," red eyes squinted, looking the feline up and down. As if in search of things to poke at.
The latter's ear twitched. He stopped his washing session, giving Garnet a curious stare, "What?"
"If you curry any harder, you'll strip yourself bald like a cat-shaped pebble," restless Pokémon jabbed.
"I like it neat and tidy," the cat tittered, looking at his counterpart. The latter didn't touch his fur at all since he woke up, flocks sticking out as if he's been throwing punches. "You, on the other hand... Look like you've fought a tumble dryer. And the dryer won."
"Oh, WOW!" the bunny crossed his arms, glaring at the feline. "You just woke up and chose violence, huh?"
"I chose honesty," Floragato joshed, shaking his head at the bedraggled state of the coney's coat. "You might use some grooming."
"See, this is what I'm talking about," he prattled on, foot stimming and tapping on the sofa. "Everyone thinks that you're all quiet and polite and then BOOM. Verbal Quick Attack!"
"You're overdramatizing," the cat rolled around on the backrest and stood on all four to stretch. His back arched up, tail curling like a pretzel. "I'm just making a suggestion."
A soft yawn escaped his lips. Long claws tore at the couch already bearing the marks of months-worth of scratching. His cheek casually rubbed against the fabric, affirming territory.
"And because I like it when you get all fussy," the feline slipped off, landing on the cushion. Unlike his loud friend, he perched without making any ruckus, as silent as a leaf.
"Oh no, how dare you?" Raboot's paw pressed against his chest as if he were dealing with a heartache, theatrical as always. "Making fun of me at my expense!"
"How come you never comment on any of my suggestions whenever Hazel takes us out to one of those Poké Marts?" Garnet glared daggers at him. But even a stern gaze couldn't hide a dumb, playful grin.
"Because I value our friendship," the cat pressed his fingers up against his lips to muffle up a laugh.
"Ouch," the coney rolled his eyes. This time it was his turn to pout.
"Too much?" the feline stopped for just a second, batting his pink eyes.
"Nah," his buddy's snout softened. "Deserved. I usually point at random stuff that looks all nice and flashy. I hate shopping with a burning passion."
Jasper crawled a little closer, sniffing the bunny with a suspicious squint, "Don't tell me you asked our trainer to buy that soap again..."
"Why do you hate it so much?" he sighed, getting childishly defensive. "It's cinnamon!"
"It's AGGRESSIVELY cinnamon," Floragato hissed at the sharp scent still clinging to his friend's coat.
"Well, and I'm AGGRESSIVELY Raboot," his friend's ears flattened, a short gray cotton-tail twitched. "It fits, no?"
The feline took a breath. Slowly and deliberately. As if taking a long pause on purpose, "You're aggressively something, that's for sure. A walking bakery that learned how to fight."
"You don't have to smell like New Year flavored arson if you want to be intimidating," he clicked his lips, nose twitching from the intense fragrance. What was a faint trace of spice for humans hit him ten times stronger. Too much. Too intense.
"It's not that!" the bunny finally sat up. "It kind of reminds me of Yule. And gingerbread. The best thing that people ever made! Right next to football. Probably."
"Next time," Floragato shook his head again, letting out a lighthearted chortle. "I'll ask our trainer to get me something that smells aggressively of peppermint. We'll see which one of us can clear the room first."
"That sounds like a plan," the bunny sank into the soft padding of the sofa, eyes aimlessly darting around in search of things to do.
"Ugh, I'm BORED!" he complained with a deep sigh. "You want to spar or something?"
"Not in the house, goof," the feline tittered. "Last time you burned the curtains."
"Buzzkill," Raboot monotoned. "It was the curtain's fault, just so you know. The way it was just hanging there, all vain and proud."
"Maybe if someone didn't trip trying to show off..." the cat kicked back, stretching his paws and lying down like a loaf of bread.
"I never trip!" Garnet defended himself, arms tucked into his waist. "I stride heroically into injustice!"
"That's one way to say that you stepped on a wet tile," the feline prattled, inching a little closer, back-to-back, paws kneading the quilt.
"Oh, SHUSH!" both of the coney's legs thumped against the armrest in defiance.
He slipped off the sofa, trudging towards the old wooden box for a TV with its antennas drooping.
Jasper's tail flicked at the sudden loss of warmth. A displeased meow escaped his lips. As if to say that he just started to get comfortable.
Raboot's paws tapped on the control panel, his digits way too thick and awfully unwieldy to press the buttons made for human hands. Too small. Too intricately placed. After a couple of failed attempts, he slammed his snout into it. What sausage fingers couldn't achieve, his nose did.
The screen buzzed into life, flashing with a dozen brown shades of sepia. The speakers let out white noise before the oversized device snapped to a random channel, showing an annoying advertisement. An all-too-familiar bag with smiling Skwovet as a mascot. The mere sight of it made the bunny gag and stare daggers at the leftovers on the table, still untouched since yesterday. The unnecessarily colorful packaging hid a bland taste beneath.
That catchy yet irritating jingle trailed off into a no less stupid song.
<...Helps your little buddy to grow strong, stay loyal, and battle all day long!>
<Every picky eater loves it!> the announcer declared. The frame switched to Pikachu showing thumbs up.
<POKÉ-KIBBLE!> the words were followed by an overly dramatic drumroll. <Crunch your way to victory!>
A bag rotated in a volcano's throat with an excited child pointing at it and Charizard roaring in the background for no reason.
<Now with an exciting new flavor! Fire roast Deluxe->
"I'd rather chew floorboards," the bunny groaned, trying to switch channels. His teeth clicked on the button that his paws couldn't press. "It tastes like ass."
It brings the device to some documentary narrated by a nasal monotone voice. A sloppily slowed frame of a butterfly perched on a flower breaks the deafening noise of interference.
<Milkweed. Common tiger. Or more widely known as Monarch,> the speaker sounded so irksomely bookish that it drew a sigh out of Raboot.
A shot of one of those gorgeous creatures flying off into the sunset made a somewhat stomachable cut, contrasting with the storyteller whose commentary sapped all the will to live, <In many cultures, they are closely tied to fate and often seen as omens. Little wings that carry echoes of the hereafter->
"Boring," the coney bit the knob again to change it to something tolerable. "Get out of here, nerd."
The TV broadcast changed, bringing a sharply dressed anchor sitting in front of the camera with a stack of papers clutched tightly in his hands. His black-and-white suit completed the reddish-brown haze of the transmission, giving it the unmistakably classy look.
<Good morning, Galar! This just in!> he rattled on, smacking the script into the table to align the sheets. <The presiding council has formally issued a letter of protest to the Minister of Kanto, who, on the contrary, continues to deny all allegations.>
The bunny deadpanned, one ear falling sideways. Nothing put him off more than human drama. Sometimes it felt like when the world was out of problems, they never failed to create some.
<As tensions escalate between the two regions, Kanto politicians reject any suggestion of responsibility for the recent surge of organized crime,> the host glanced at his note, then back at the screen, fixing his tie. <The reports linking most notorious felons now active in our homeland to the expansion of so-called Team Rocket were dismissed->
Garnet switched the channels without a single word. A dry cough escaped his throat. He didn't turn around, just looked at the reflection of the feline on the sofa. Jasper continued his grooming routine, trying his hardest to pretend that he hadn't heard a thing. But his stiff tail told a different story.
From one narration to the next. Another broadcast. A stiff-smiled anchor with a square jaw and glossy parted hair with too much spray on it flickered into view, screen rippling and grainy. The speaker, dressed in a suit with a starched collar, folded his hands, <Coming up next, the city council debates whether those pernicious lifestyles should be kept out of schools as priest-led boycotts draw record support.>
<We remind the viewers that inappropriate behavior is neither welcome nor accepted in decent neighborhoods->
The bunny bit the button yet again, quickly growing frustrated. His foot thumped against the floor. But the chime that came next made his ears spring up in an instant. That unmistakable tune of an old show.
"Oh no..." Floragato rolled his eyes.
"OH YES!" Raboot yelped, excited to have something to distract himself from overwhelming boredom. "My favorite episode too!"
He darted back, plunging to the sofa and pulling a quilt up, eyes sparkling like two gemstones.
"Aren't we a little... Old for this?" the feline let out a snicker.
"You're never too old for a good story!" the bunny violently shook his head. "What are you, Ground Pokémon?"
"What does the ground have to-"
"Because... You're grumbling all the time," his elbow gently poked the feline. "Get it?"
Floragato sighed, then looked at the coney with a flabbergasted pout, "I'm going to bite you."
"Oh no! Bitten for my crimes against comedy," Raboot dramatically threw his paws into the air. "Woe is me. If only I had someone to watch the show with and cheer myself up."
"If you promise you won't be running circles across the house after..." the cat rolled his eyes, inching a little closer so both of them could fit under one woolen blanket. His voice turned monotone in surrender. "Make space then, bum."
Another chime rang from the old TV as two friends huddled up, capriciously fidgeting to sink a little deeper into the soft padding. For a moment, even Garnet's constant shuffling ceased.
A booming, overwrought narrator's voice rustled through the flashy logo that neither of them could read. And yet it was so recognizable. The shape of it paired up with that unmistakably climactic chime. It sounded so over the top in its grandeur.
<From the shimmering spires of Hammerlocke to the tenebrous alleys of Hulbury, where wickedness lurks like a bad taste comes the most astonishing hero of old Galar!> the storyteller announced as comically crooked Houndoom sneaked up on an old lady to knock a handbag out of her hands. <Who do you call when the evil plots twist tighter than the villain's moustache?>
<With the eyes full of compassion and the heart of a knight... BEHOLD!> The tune trailed off into a melodramatic drumroll as a sparkling flash struck the thieving dog and he tried to rob the poor grandma, <Medio the SYL-VE-ON!>
Triumphant brass fanfare led up to an opening title, <In today's episode... The ribbons of justice!>
<Oh no!> high-pitched screams roll from the speakers as peasants flee for their lives, tripping over each other. <The dragons! THE DRAGONS!>
A maniacal laughter echoed over the village choked with black smoke. A gigantic shape landed on one of the roofs, making the camera shake, <Tremble, Circhester! For it is I, Lord Terrific, who comes to take what's rightfully mine!>
<Muahaha! You are no match for dragonkind!> the three-headed serpent twirled a pair of tash, watching the hamlet smolder and burn. <Soon, the whole of Galar will be ours!>
<Not if I had something to say about it!> a figure slipped out of the clouds of soot, black dust staining white fur.
Jasper rolled his eyes, "That's not how the real story went..."
"You don't get it!" the bunny showed his tongue to the cat. "Just watch! This one's so cool!"
<You again!> the dragon snarled at Sylveon, stepping up to fight the invaders. <Prepare to face my new weapon, goody-two-shoes! Emotions erasing ray!>
A low hum of a laser rang from the speakers, followed by gasps of the terrified crowd.
<Sweet Arceus! I can't feel a thing!> one of the peasants monotoned.
<Eat that, Medio!> Lord Terrific laughed. <I will drain this city of joy, starting with you!>
<ZAP!> the narrator joined in.
"Oh my..." the feline let out a groan.
"Wait... Just watch!" the coney excitedly tore a leaf off a potted bonsai, merrily nibbling on it, eyes shining and wide.
An epic brass fanfare broke up the scene yet again, with Sylveon taking a heroic stance on the lamppost conveniently placed at the most cinematic of spots. Bows fluttered in the wind as the knight puffed up his chest.
<And so, as quick as his kindness, Medio leapt into action!> the speaker voiced over the battle as both clashed in a duel.
Raboot watched two characters fight with his mouth wide open. The cat, despite the burning sting of second-hand embarrassment, finally settled down, along for the ride. It was warm enough under the quilt not to care about what filled the noise in the background.
<Dazzling Gleam, GO!> the warrior announced, shooting a flash of magical light at the dragon.
<Ack!> the latter dramatically pressed his hand into his chest, shaken by the sparkling strike. <Curse you!>
The ribbons wrapped around his legs, making the lizard stumble and trip face-first into the mud. The hero huffed out, proudly announcing his victory, <Your reign of terror ends here!>
<You may have defeated me. But you'll never make these people be able to feel again. Muahaha!> Lord Terrific cackled, wiping a tear of bliss off his eye.
< That's where you're wrong!> his feelers spread out, glittering like confetti. <I'll share my emotions with them.>
<Witness the power of empathy!> the knight boldly proclaimed.
<NO!> the villain made a comically shocked expression.
"This is so bad..." the cat let out a chuckle, stretching his legs and sinking between two pillows. His favorite spot. The bunny projected heat like an oven.
"YOU'RE SO BAD!" Raboot complained, bucking against the armrest.
"This is my comfort show. Hazel would always bring home a tape whenever she had tests, so I'd have something to do in the meantime," he shared a sleepy smile, getting a little carried away.
"I loved to imagine that I'll be like Medio when I get older," a childishly disappointed exhale escaped him. "But here I am, a grown ass adult. Spending my days couch-surfing."
"Now-now. It's never too late," the feline softened his voice.
"We don't even fight in the league anymore. Let alone doing something of value," the coney kicked back, dreamily closing his eyes. "I wanna be out there, you know? Instead of kicking balls and crunching on kibble. I wanna be like him."
"It's a scary world out there. Things are rarely the same as they are in stories for kids," the feline shook his head.
"So?" Raboot yawned, tucking himself in. Waking up early started taking a toll on him. "Imagine. Garnet and Jasper, kicking ass and taking names. Maybe they'll make a show about us, too!"
"Picture it! Flames and Roses!" he came up with the first thing that sounded catchy enough.
"That's..." the cat took another theatrically long pause.
"Pretty cool, right?" his mouth spread out in a wide, drowsy smile.
"More like... Cheesy," Floragato let out a yawn of his own, quickly succumbing to the same old bug.
"Spoilsport," the bunny scoffed, one ear falling onto the feline, the other still standing up and listening to the credits. "I gave it my best shot. Dream a little. Wouldn't it be nice?"
"A bit," the feline's tail curled, and his paws kneaded the padding.
"Just a bit, huh?" his friend clicked his tongue like he was offended.
"Just keeping you on your toes," Jasper tittered, nudging his friend. His cheek stopped mere inches away from Garnet's shoulder as if asking for a wordless permission. He didn't shy away, letting him rest.
The cartoon became background noise as both of them spaced out, claimed by an early bird Sandman. Sleep fell like a blanket. Warm, heavy, and tempting.
Minutes stretched out until the bunny merrily snored, drooling onto the couch, his restless legs instinctively flinching and moving even in slumber. But comfort wasn't meant to last for too long.
A creak of the keyhole turning around pulled the cat from his nap like a bolt of painful static. That sound forced his eyes to pop open quicker than he could make any sound. He quickly took off, lunging on the other side of the sofa. Too quickly, heart pounding like a thunderous drum.
Floragato covered his eyes, paw searching for the lost plaque of bark. The bunny woke up, rubbing his nose and inching further away in silence, pretending to stare at the TV.
<Pumpkins,> Hazel budged in, wiping a string of sweat off her forehead. <We'll be out on a field run for a few days. Let's get some fresh air, shall we? It's long overdue.>
<Get some good sleep today. We'll be leaving tomorrow morning,> her words didn't seem to move either.
There was nothing exciting in yet another assignment. But even that was much better than sitting at home day in and day out.
Raboot shared a half-hearted nod, whispering under his nose in a language of growls and trills, "Just another case."
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