Fighting 3.16: Expert Opinion

Genesis

The guard leads you to a room lit by a pyroar and starmie. Mother and Father are sitting on a couch, staring at a large television mounted on the wall. Cuicatl’s on it. She’s in what looks like a Pokémon Center lounge. The chyron at the bottom reads “’They needed a home’ – ‘Butterfree Whisperer’ on her remarkable capture.”

What? You didn’t even think she liked butterfree? Sure, she seemed weirdly fond of her paras but those are different.

“I have long had my suspicions about her,” Father says. His low voices rumbles through the room. “But this seems akin to confirmation. I’d thought she was a witch, but I may have made a grave mistake and allowed my daughter to associate with a psychic.” The starmie’s light turns a deep shade of a pink. He grimaces. “That certainly complicates things.”

Complicates things? “Are you going to hurt her?” You regret the question as soon as you ask it. Makes you sound loyal to her.

“That depends,” Mother answers. “Did she hurt you first?”

“No! She was almost always nice. Not, um, too nice. But she wouldn’t hurt me.”

“If she had, would you know?”

Could she, what, wipe all your memories? No. She’d never shown anything like… your mind latches on to something else.

“I’ve only seen her talk to pokémon. Even that gives her migraines sometimes. I don’t think she could do anything like that.”

“Perhaps,” Father concedes. “You will still need to be examined. We’ll call in an expert as soon as we can. Make sure that nothing is dug in too deep. We will make sure that justice is served if they find something.”

If there is anything buried it means that Cuicatl lied to you and invaded your mind. A shiver runs through your body. She… wouldn’t. Maybe she’s a demon worshipper, but that doesn’t match your perception of her at all. You remember Lyra venting about how psychics were dangerous. She’d been furious and you were more concerned about making her not furious than actually listening to her arguments. Maybe if Cuicatl had told you about her powers off the bat you would’ve been scared, but since you only found out after you learned she was good for a pagan…

Father turns off the television and Cuicatl’s face disappears from the edges in.

*

It only takes a day for Father to bring in his expert.

The man himself is unremarkable for someone who pries into minds to look for damage. He’s older. His hair is all gray but still there. He’s wearing slacks and a button up shirt. The buttons are off. You can’t imagine your parents are pleased with it. You would’ve been torn apart if you made that mistake in public.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Brinner.” He gestures at his pokémon, a hypno staring at you with empty eyes. “This is Andrew. He will be examining you today.”

“A pleasure to meet you.”

Mother nods in your peripheral vision. Got the greeting right.

“Uh, likewise.” He pulls out a clipboard with a piece of paper on it. A pen expands with a satisfying ‘click.’ “Before we begin, what do you know about the psychic she interacted with? Displayed abilities, partner pokémon, the type of damage you’re expecting.”

Mother flinches at the word damage. A small sign that she cares.

The question wasn’t really directed to you but you’re the only one who can answer it.

“She’s a telepath, I think. Translates things. She can understand people and pokémon and make them understand her. She can mask her accent if she wants.”

Dr. Brinner frowns. “Definitely a telepath of sorts. The accent trick suggests that she can alter either the stream of consciousness or sensory inputs. Probably the former. Anything else you observed? Other applications?”

You remember her curled up in bed near Brooklet Hill. “She made it so her pokémon could understand each other. Gave her a migraine for days.”

“Some limits, then.” He finished scribbling down notes. “Whether in technique or power I cannot say. Any other abilities? Sensing or changing emotions, seeing things before they happen, moving things with her mind, teleportation, barrier creation?”

You do your best to remember but can’t come up with anything. Maybe she’s a little stronger than her frame would suggest? Is that worth mentioning. You see Mother’s glower out of the corner of your eye. It would be a sin to lie to her, even on accident.

“She might be able to lift things she normally couldn’t. Not so much that anything ever seemed off. And I think I was still stronger than her unless she was holding back.”

“Alright. What pokémon did she have? If she was working with a psychic-type then she might be able to do more than she otherwise could.”

“A holy vulpix, tyrunt, and beldum.”

He blinks. “Holy vulpix?”

“The Alolan one,” Father answers.

“Hmm. Spoke with one once. I’d hardly call them holy.”

“Please stay on topic,” Mother chides.

“Fine, fine.” Dr. Brinner turns back to you. “I’ve heard rumors out of Japan of someone creating a telepathic bond with their ninetales. Quite a powerful one, too, if the stories are to be believed. There were unusual circumstances there since both the trainer and pokémon seem to be fallers. Might’ve been mutations involved as well. Hard to know what’s fact and what was made up to sell tabloids. Common problem in this profession.”

“I must ask you again to stay on topic, Doctor.”

“The point is that the vulpix giving her a power boost is possible but unlikely. Same for the beldum. Even metang are only passable telepaths. Metagross, uh, no one really knows. Not how they usually fuck people up—”

“Do not swear in front of my daughter.” Mother crosses her arms and glares. “She’s impressionable.”

Dr. Brinner exhales. He seems almost as annoyed with your parents as they seem with him. It’s weird. You’ve almost never seen anyone cross with your family. Sometimes you see Skull graffiti or newscasts covering some crude statement about your family, but you’d always figured that no one would dare disrespect them in person.

“She the butterfree whisperer? Fits the description of a translator-telepath and the cover didn’t really make sense to me.”

“Is it that obvious?” There are people who really don’t like psychics. Like Lyra. If they met it could be disastrous. No. There are four islands, none of them small. They probably won’t cross paths. Thanks be to Xerneas.

“Only if you know what you’re looking for. She said in the interview that she’s been blind since birth. Is that right?”

“She says that, yes. But most blind people aren’t born that way.”

At least you learn from your mistakes.

“I’m aware. Do you know if she has any relation to Unovan royalty?”

“Reshiram spoke to her and she’s from Unova. She didn’t know N or anything, but they’re probably related somehow.” Like your second or third or whatever cousins back in Galar that you go to visit on occasion.

Dr. Brinner gives you a slightly fearful look. “Reshiram has another hero, right? I’m not sure I want to poke into this if she’s the high priestess of a goddess.”

“There’s only one god,” Mother insists. “One surrounded by a plethora of demons.”

The doctor ignores her. You’ve never seen anyone do that. Not without consequences. He doesn’t seem to care.

“Reshiram left with someone else. They just talked when they met. I think.”

He relaxes. “Good, good. It seems like she is royalty, then. The Unovan royal line is old and there’s a lot of historical study of them. The translation ability is common. Some scholars think they were also tactile telekinetics since the royal blade was massive and the epics say they could move quickly even in plate armor. One proposed that they could influence minds but there’s no real evidence in my opinion. His theory rested on a few lines in a poorly preserved epic and the assumption that no one could rule a kingdom with only boosted strength, the ability to speak the language of every clan, and the backing of a powerful dragon. I have no idea how that dreck got out of peer review.”

He almost sounds like Cuicatl going on a rant about dinosaurs. Is he psychic himself? Is that a common psychic trait?

“The point is that she might have been able to disrupt more than surface thoughts but it’s unlikely she could make structural changes. Unless there are any other abilities you can think of…?”

“She could read surface thoughts. Like if I thought too loud or something was on the tip of my tongue. Or if I wanted her to get the message.”

“Hmm.” Dr. Brinner closes his eyes. “That’s consistent with the theory that the royals read and influence the Broca’s area. Tell me, could she answer you in your own mind?”

“Yes.”

Mother looks furious. You don’t know why. It was just a way to have private conversations.

“That’s not alarming in and of itself. Most telepaths can, even if their specialization isn’t in language. There’s some debate as to why that is. Two theories are popular but I think at least three more are worth investigating—"

Father clears his throat. “Is this going anywhere?”

“No. I suppose not.” Dr. Brinner turns back to you. “Any more questions before we begin?”

“No.” Mother says. “Go ahead.”

Oh. The question wasn’t directed at you.

“What about you, Miss Gage?”

Mother already gave her permission. In truth there are a lot of questions you have: What is about to happen? Will it hurt? How long will it take? Should I try to clear my mind or think about her or something else? But Mother gave her answer. She might tolerate this man challenging her, even if you aren’t sure why. You won’t defy her. Can’t. Not if you want to get better.

“I don’t have any questions, no.” It’s a sin to lie. It’s also a sin to disobey your parents. What if your parents order you to lie? The temple never prepared you for that.

“Alright. I’ll need you to look into Andrew’s pendulum, miss.”

Your eyes move towards the strange creature. It’s unsettling on a gut level. Maybe because it looks vaguely human but it’s also definitely not. The pendulum is much easier to look at than the thing’s face. As you watch it swings once, twice, three times—

—the room is different. You’re sitting down at the table for one thing. The Hypno is nowhere to be seen and the doctor is seated, talking to your parents in hushed tones. Is that it? Is it over? You didn’t even notice it beginning.

Father glances at you. He gives you a curt nod and turns back to the doctor. “Your full report, please.”

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“She’s definitely been around a psychic. A telepath. There were a lot of signs of psychic activity near the Broca’s area—” Mother tilts her head. “The part where language happens. The activity was almost entirely consistent with the description proffered by Miss Gage.”

“Almost?” Mother asks. “That’s more than a little ominous.”

“It’s nothing serious. No apparent alterations to memory, emotions, or motor skills. Curiously, there was a little bit of activity near the occipital lobe. My working theory is that it’s related to the psychic’s blindness in some way. It doesn’t appear that anything was actually altered there. The activity was faint enough that it might not have been intentional.” He shrugs. “Seems like everything is in order.”

“Sexuality?” Mother asks. “Any changes there?”

“No. Were you, uh, expecting anything?”

Cuicatl didn’t do anything untoward. This is all… you. Mixed feelings on that. You were right and your parents were wrong and you aren’t a horrible judge of character. But it’s harder to demonize and forget her now. And all of your shortcomings? Those are all on you.

“Would a psychic with those abilities exist?” Father asks.

“Making people fall in and out of love? It’s a possible application of a few different variants of telepathy, but it is very much illegal under both internal codes and commonwealth and federal law. I doubt anyone specializes in that sort of thing as it almost certainly would have been discovered by now. Maybe a single psychic could hide it from others and the law, but not the bloodlines. Especially not one as well documented as the Unovan royal family.”

Mother leans back and crosses her arms. It’s unladylike. She must be deep in thought if she doesn’t notice.

“I meant something more along the lines of altering sexual preferences,” Father says.

“It would only be possible via full reconstructive surgery, and unless that was done by a god—” He ignores Mother’s glare. “—Andrew would have noticed it. Even then something like that would have demonstrable side effects. Unless there has been a recent deterioration in your mental and physical health?” You shake your head. Your body is actually healthier than ever after hiking for so long. “Then that almost certainly was not the case.”

Mother noticeably frowns. “Something like that would be illegal?”

“Very.”

“Everywhere?”

“As far as I know, yes.”

“Even with parental consent?”

Dr. Brinner looks towards you and holds eye contact. You squirm under it but keep the gaze. It’s polite. And it keeps you from thinking about the question you must have misheard. “Ma’am, I am a mandatory reporter for child abuse.”

Wrong answer.

Mother bursts to her feet and throws a finger out towards the doctor. “You DARE come into my own home and accuse me of—of abusing my daughter?” She trails off into something more akin to a growl than anything.

“I think you should leave,” Father adds, more quietly but no less offended. “After you apologize.”

“Any alteration to a child’s sexuality would be sexual assault via preternatural ability under Alolan law. Legally speaking, child abuse.”

“I’m starting to wonder what they’re teaching at the Pokémon Studies department in Hau’oli. Would my money be better spent elsewhere?”

The doctor begins to study the table. “It used to be standard practice,” he says with his normal tone of careless untouchability wavering. “They abandoned it. Some patients died, some killed themselves, the remainder usually lived with debilitating migraines and esoteric mental health problems. It fell out of favor because no one with a conscience would agree to perform reconstructive surgery on anyone who still had a functioning mind. The people who remained willing, those without a conscience, were the ones who never should have been trusted to do the job. Don’t. Please.”

“You should leave my home.”

“I—yes.” He shakily gets to his feet. {If anything goes very wrong, scream out for Lila Takeda in your mind. They on the island and they’re strong enough that they’ll hear it.}

{I will.}

You aren’t sure if you will. Because. They wouldn’t actually? Right? They were… seeing if Cuicatl could. Or if Team Skull or someone could. If you’d been made this way by someone else. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. Because they’re good people. They wouldn’t do that. And if they did, it would be… good. It would make you better. Your gut still churns at the thought.

Once he’s out of the room Mother stands as well. “What a dreadful man,” she mutters.

Eventually you’re left alone with Father and two guards. Father’s already gone back to scowling at his tablet, scrolling through some report or another. “Nolan, take her back to her room, will you?”

“Yes, sir.”

And that’s the end of that.

*

You spend four meals with only your thoughts for company. Cuicatl didn’t do anything to you. It’s what you expected. There are layers of The Cocoon. Allana will end up somewhere in the middle for the sins of either perversion or wrath. Maybe both. Cuicatl is a noble pagan who gets to live at the edge. No torture beyond being able to look out into the light of Xerneas and know what she forfeited by rejecting it.

And you really need to stop thinking about her, despite everything. Whether she’s sinned or not is irrelevant if she’s part of your sin.

You still have questions. Is someone properly repentant if their brain was altered into being repentant? If they ask you to do it you have to say yes, right? Otherwise, you’re disobeying your parents. How you feel doesn’t matter, then, because you’ll say yes regardless. You shouldn’t think too much about a thing that doesn’t matter.

Mother finally visits you after about a day and a half spent alone. She has a vikavolt behind her instead of her usual starmie. Strange.

She walks over to your bed and stops in front of you. She doesn’t sit. Just stares down. Her face is cast in shadow since the pokémon is behind her. It takes all of your strength just to maintain eye contact.

“I apologize. We did not properly vet our expert. Further investigation has revealed him to be a thief and a drug user, information that will be sent on to the police and his employer. And he had terrible things to say about our redeemer. Thank Xerneas that such a man is no longer teaching the youth.”

“Good.” If that was easy to find, why didn’t she find it before letting him poke around in your mind. If it was hard, did she do it just because he disrespected her? Or because he threatened to tell lies and then backed down? Is it a sin to question her in your thoughts? Maybe not normally, but now you don’t know moral right from wrong so you probably shouldn’t.

She finally turns to sit down next to you. It’s only awkward for a moment before she pulls you into a hug. “You know I would never hurt you. I just wished there was an option for easing your suffering. That’s all, whatever that man said. We can still do things the normal way. Will do things the normal way. We just needed to take a break for a little bit to let you settle down from the bad influence.”

She sounds sincere. You relax and lean into the hug. Mother wouldn’t hurt you. Everything was a misunderstanding.

You ignore the unease that still lurks just beneath the surface.

*

Stefan takes you down the halls. Towards your pokémon? Or more therapy? You sigh in relief once you pass the conference room and keep going towards the place your team is. Good. You’d been afraid it would be a long time before you could see them again given the way Mother reacted before.

You’re surprised to see Father in the room, seated in an elegant chair you don’t remember being there before. Count. Err. Cloudy. Just Cloudy hovers nearby. There is a pool laid out but you can’t see Bubbles in it. Ferny isn’t here and his distinctive smell is weaker than usual. Is he in his ball?

Father closes his book and looks up. “Thank you, Stefan.” You see Stefan bow in your peripheral vision before leaving the room. Father stands up when the door closes. “Your mother is still looking into the naming scheme for your pokémon to figure out if there’s anything sinful in it. She is insistent that you not meet your leafeon and poliwag until her investigation’s over, but,” he gestures towards Cloudy with his head, “the castform is useful and low maintenance. You may keep it with you on the condition that you do not ruin your clothes by hugging the thing.” He grimaces. “Your mother insisted on that one. I think it should be fine if you’re wearing a swimsuit or raincoat.”

“Thank you.” You can have a pokémon back. Have someone with you. That will make everything more bearable.

“Hmph. I think you should at least have the leafeon, too. Yes, they have a smell that gets on your clothes. So what? That’s how it works for trainers. Sometimes you get pyroar fur over everything and that’s just a fact of life.

Mother is a trainer as well. Outside the starmie you’ve seen her with all of her pokémon live in the greenhouse or gardens. You’ve never seen her cuddle them. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like you hugging yours. Or pyroar shedding.

In fairness, pyroar shed a lot and then sometimes accidentally light that fur on fire. Father’s lost at least one chair that way.

Father smiles. “We should talk more about trainer life sometime. I never took you for one, but you went and won two trials and lived on the trail for three months.” He lays a hand on your shoulder and you start beaming because it’s been ages since he praised you. Before the rooftop, at least.

Eventually it ends. The hand pulls away and you take a step back to establish proper distance. And you try to stop grinning like an idiot because that’s unprofessional. “I don’t have time to talk about it now,” he admits. “Hard to keep the company going in the middle of this mess. Grand Hano bookings were solid at first since people thought it was a safe place to stay. Then the government let people leave and the tourists left. Not many replacing them, and those that are coming are mostly academics who prefer the cheaper ones in town. And the less said about the spider farms the better.”

“If you’re busy—”

“No, no. I haven’t even come around to what I wanted to talk about.” He clears his throat and glances at the empty pool. “I recently came into possession of a pokémon I thought you might like. They’re affectionate and can help against psychic assault if that witch tries to hurt you.” She isn’t a witch. Right before you correct him you realize that he was saying something and meaning something else. A word with a b, probably. But you’re impressionable and he can’t swear in front of you without risking Mother’s efforts. He sends out a psyduck. “This is Oliver. He’s your new pokémon.”

A psyduck. A male psyduck. This is a test. Has to be. Father is very involved with the Kappa Order, a civic organization with a lot of people who try to make Alola better. Their mascot is golduck. Male golduck. A pokémon that shits everywhere, tears things up, attacks people, and then demands more, more, more. Lyra almost ended up with one and she was apoplectic, spread out on your bed saying uncouth things at the roof.

She was definitely always bad for you now that you think about it.

Father must see your expression and know what you’re thinking. “He was raised by humans. He’s not like… that. Wild psyduck are a whole lot of fun, but you have to have a very particular personality to like them.”

That’s better, maybe. If he says so. Oliver doesn’t seem awful. Mostly he’s just stared up at you without blinking. You bend down and extend a hand like you’ve seen Cuicatl do with her pokémon. The psyduck cautiously approaches, leans forward and… clamps his bill around your hand. Softly. You can barely feel it. But it’s so, so weird. And endearing, kind of. After a few seconds he lets go and starts waddling off towards the pool.

Father pulls something wrapped in plastic out of his pocket and hands it to you. It seems to be a… pickle? What? “They love these things,” Father says. “Unwrap and offer it to him.”

Oliver glances at you when you start peeling back the plastic and then starts waddling a fast as his legs can take him when he realizes what it is. He snatches it from your outstretched hand and stuffs it into his bill. It’s all very uncoordinated. You find yourself giggling.

“How did you get him?” You should know your pokémon’s history, after all.

His expression darkens and the room temperature seems to pitch down ten degrees. “A fellow alum. He was supposed to be a girl’s starter, but she… didn’t make it to her journey.”

You gasp. “That’s horrible.” What must Oliver think about that? Does he know? Did he see it? Or does he think he just got shipped off to someone else for no reason?

“There’s a lot of unpleasantness in the Commonwealth these days. Thought I would help out where I could.”

“Very kind of you.” And smart. Getting you a pokémon and helping rehome one that suddenly doesn’t have a trainer.

He hands you the pokéball. It’s one of the ones with a ‘U’ on it. Ultimate ball or something.

“I’ll have Stefan take you and your pokémon up. I need to get back to work.”

“Wait.”

He turns towards you, a hint of annoyance in the curl of his lips.

“If Cloudy is with me, who will be giving sun to Fern?”

“Your mother bought some castform for her gardens. I expect one of those will take over.”

“Oh. Good.” You’re a little embarrassed to have asked a question with such a simple answer.

He walks ahead without further comment.

*

“This is your new room for now, Oliver.”

The psyduck stumbles forward. He was a little ungainly before but now he’s on the verge of tottering over with every step. Thankfully he’s… not slim. He would be cushioned if he fell. You’ll need to cut back his diet, probably. Maybe not immediately. It would be a bad first impression.

Not that it matters. You’ll feed him whatever food you’re provided in the amount you’re provided. You can’t exactly do your own shopping right now. Wouldn’t even know what to feed him if you could.

With actual light in your room you notice a thin layer of dust on some of the furniture. Cleanings must have stopped once you left and you came back so abruptly that one couldn’t be scheduled. Come to think of it you haven’t heard vacuuming since you got here. Maybe the cleaning staff isn’t coming in because of the darkness.

Oliver stumbles towards your closet and you set to work. Cloudy can simply float up to your bed if he wants to cuddle (although you’ll need to set some new rules on that to avoid unladylike behavior). Oliver will need a staircase. Thankfully you can’t read your books right now so you take some and start to make it. The books seem lighter than they did before. Have you gotten stronger?

You hear Oliver’s steps start to approach you again right as you finish. He stumbles out of the closet with a plush stufful held tight to his chest. You remember that one. You’d wanted a real stufful as a pet that year but Mother told you that it would break your ribs. She got you a really, really soft plush and some jewelry instead.

Kind of weird to think that you’ve actually been threatened by baby bears (and their mother) now. That experience almost doesn’t feel real looking back at it.

You kneel down to get closer to Oliver. “That’s a very cute friend you have there.” He steps back and pulls it closer as if afraid you’ll take it. Then he turns around and darts back into the closet, stufful in hand. You glance at Cloudy and beg for help with your eyes. He just spins around in midair. You have no idea what that means.

It’s probably a good idea to make sure he isn’t shredding your clothes in there. He’s hidden when you walk in. Your clothes seem to be in good condition, at least. You’ve missed having a proper wardrobe so much. Just seeing it almost brings you to tears. Psyduck forgotten, you absently stroke your favorite silk dress. Then something moves nearby so you have to step back and check on that.

You have a basket of old plushes tucked into the back corner of your closet. Mother calls them childish, but she let you keep them as long as they were well-hidden enough that she never saw any. The basket is in disarray. Some have spilled out and the usual order you keep them in, well arranged and looking out at you, is gone. You see the pile itself move and settle as if breathing. Oliver’s somewhere in the basket, surrounded by soft toys. Probably sees it as a bed.

All the work you put into that staircase and he found a bed of his own.

Not that you can blame him. If you had a pile of plushes so big you could use it as a bed you would definitely sleep in it. Maybe. Would it be good for your back? Waking up with a sore back is something you’ll never miss about the trail.

You turn away and find a raincoat. If Oliver won’t cuddle, that’s fine. You owe Cloudy a lot of hugs, anyway.

But Cloudy seems a lot more focused on something outside the window. You go to his side to look. There are flecks of white hitting the window before slipping off or melting. Snow? “Oh my. Is that. Are you doing this?” Cloudy shakes his head from side to side. Aw. He’s learning human behavior. Just the best widdle castform. You turn back to the snow. Natural snow. In Alola. Too late for the Solstice, but still its own miracle.

You wonder if Father will let you out to make snow angels.