Landon decides a test run is worth his time. The Libra’s supplies are not limitless, but its pockets are deep enough that he feels comfortable spending a couple of days traveling to the mountain range in the north. Even with the two weeks he’d spent in New Mexico a couple of years ago, his experience in any desert boils down to avoiding the desert or shooting old electronics with a shotgun and getting piss drunk.
Looking back on it, maybe not his best idea.
He shakes his head, clearing some of the early morning fogginess before checking his pack one final time. Knife? Check. Water bags? Yep, he sees those, too. Landon picks through the food he’d grabbed, the medical kit he’d made (along with some of the potions he’d found), and his general tools before nodding.
‘Yeah,’ he thinks while securing his compass to a strap on his bag. ‘That looks like everything.’
“You ready, Ziggy?” He asks, looking down at the pokemon. She stares back up at him, eyes sparkling. He can relate. A journey, a real bonafide adventure, is waiting for them, and they’re about to take their first steps.
There are a couple of things he wants to say: some assurances, an empty platitude or two, maybe even some grandiose declaration. He doesn’t. Instead, he grins, squats down and scratches her head.
“Careful,” he says, placing the ugly as-sin cowboy hat he’d found in a random footlocker on his head. “Leave your mouth open like that and bugs might fly in it.”
She looks at him like he’s stupid. And with the way he’s grinning, he just might be.
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When they leave, it’s still dark out. The sun has yet to rise, and the only light they have (outside of the soft glow of the ship) comes from the moon and the stars.
They’re beautiful. Landon had never been a star-gazer before, but there is something almost magical about looking out at the night sky with the silhouette of the mountain range in the distance. He knows that once dawn starts to break, he’ll have something truly special.
He rubs his hands together in the chilled morning air and takes a second to readjust his backpack straps. It’s cold, but nothing near as bad as he expects. It’s far above freezing, and the journey has started comfortably enough that he didn’t bring any extra clothes. A small blessing. At first, it had been a worry. He’d heard his entire life about how deserts have violent temperature swings, and while the cold crisp air contrasts the dry burning heat of his arrival, it isn’t anything that he can’t handle.
Whether or not it’ll always be that way remains to be seen.
He glances over to Ziggy who has her entire upper body submerged in the sand. He sighs, a smile tugging at his lips. Placing both his pointer fingers into his mouth, Landon whistles to catch her attention.
She jumps out of the sand, spins around a couple of times, and looks at him expectantly. Landon laughs and waves her over. Tossing her an orange slice from his pocket when she gets close, he goes down to one knee so he can scratch her back.
“Be careful, girl,” he says. “If you wanna have a look around, that’s okay. But you need to make sure you’re close enough to keep an eye on me.” Her brow furrows and she lets out a soft whine. “Listen, no harm, no foul. But we look after each other, yeah?”
He smiles, offering her half of his own orange slice after he bites it. “Now c’mon, we’ve got a long way to go and a short time to get there.”
They continue on. Their pace is worse than he’d have liked, but not so terrible that he wants to push harder. The duo walks for hours --until the sun peaks over the horizon, day breaks, and the early chill of the morning starts to give way to the heat he dreads.
It’s still beautiful, though. The sunrise. Even though they’re traveling north and can’t experience it in full, he takes the time to watch the way the desert comes to a quiet life. Orre is supposed to be barren. But he still sees a trapinch in the distance poke its head out of the sand to warm its body in the morning sun. He sees the way a cluster of rocks he’d assumed were just that move, and a group of dwebble emerges from their hiding spots. He sees a lone maractus in the distance, but none of the pokemon compare to the massive hippowdon that rises and kicks enough sand up to mimic a waterspout, as well as the small hippopotaus that are glued to her side.
There’s magic in the air. It’s accompanied by a metric ton of sand, dust, and a heat bordering on oppressive. But it’s there all the same.
‘It’s a shame,’ he thinks as he watches Ziggy run. ‘No show or game could ever capture something like this.’
Landon gives a soft whistle to get her attention. She trots over to him while he takes a knee and rummages through his bags for the Tupperware he’s using as a bowl. Pouring from their water bag, he offers it and takes a couple long swallows from his own container. He eyes the inside of his insulated bottle, sees that it’s still three-quarters full, and reconnects it to his backpack.
They’re doing well on water. He still has two full bags and another bottle that he hasn’t touched yet. He’s confident that they’ll last until they return.
Honestly, that’s half the problem.
He shifts his attention back to Ziggy. It takes her some time, but she sticks her tongue and face into the cool water and waits a minute before drinking. It’s a ritual that he’s watched twice now, and it’s one that he’s kept a close eye on.
She’s regulating her body temperature. It’d been a worry of his at first, that Ziggy was too much like a dog, and wouldn’t be able to make the trip out into the desert. For animals like that, heatstroke is a constant fear --especially in this kind of weather-- but he’s been pleasantly surprised by her hardiness and how little it seems to bother her.
He scoffs. “Pokemon are just fuckin’ built different,” he mumbles under his breath, though there’s no heat in his words.
Truth be told, it’d been one of the reasons for this test run. As much as he wants to dip town, get the hell out of dodge, and bum rush his way clean out of the Orre region, Ziggy’s health has been his greatest concern. Sam is right. They need each other. Landon does not want to even entertain the idea of having to do this without her.
The other reason rests on his shoulders. Literally. He watches Ziggy run off with an idle smile, adjusts the backpack, and puts Ziggy’s ‘bowl’ back into the top before reaffixing it. When they’d set out, he’d carried almost four gallons of water. A good amount. But just enough for a couple of days in heat like this.
Between the water, gear, and food, Landon’s total carry weight tallies almost forty pounds. He’s not out of shape, but he isn’t a paragon of fitness either. In the three? --‘Four hours,’ he thinks, glancing at his watch-- that they’ve been at this, he’s already fading fast. True exhaustion is still far enough away, but it doesn’t stop how everything digs into him, or the way muscles he didn’t even know he has ache in protest.
On top of that, the water they have is not enough.
Landon sighs, stands, and chews another orange slice that he pulls out of his pocket. Based on today’s pace, four gallons won’t last a week. Shit, he’s doubtful it’ll last five days. And with no easily available water sources, he’s going to need to carry more and he just can’t.
But that’s why they’re out here.
Landon focuses on Ziggy when she quits digging and runs back toward him. She stops, drops something out of her mouth, and stares at him. Her eyes shine, and Landon chuckles as he leans down and grabs the goggles she’d dropped at his feet. Reaching over, he pets her a few times before standing and placing the goggles around his neck. He won’t need them now, but if the wind picks up, they’ll certainly be useful.
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Until yesterday, pickup was an ability he’d never given any thought. From what he recalls, it’s borderline worthless: the game assigns values for a chance at obtaining an item from a predetermined list. He thinks levels are involved, or maybe locations, but it’s an ability that’s so niche, he’s never gone out of his way to use it.
Out here in the middle of nowhere, it’s a game changer.
Reaching into his pocket, Landon pulls out a pokeball --something that his partner had found the day before, tucked inside of a sock and pushed into the back corner of a drawer he wouldn’t have ever checked. Instead of the standard issue one that Sam had handed him for Ziggy, the outside is a stark white, accompanied by a thin red line that runs down the middle.
A premier ball. Promotional, and expensive purely for aesthetics. An errant thought comes to him, and he can’t help but wonder what sailor had this thing, and what they’d planned on using it for.
‘Not like it matters,’ he shrinks the ball back down, stuffs it into his pocket. ‘Doubt it’ll do ‘em much good now, anyways.’
And if he ever meets the asshole that lost it, he’ll pay them back tenfold.
He eyes a sandshrew that tries and fails to make a meal out of one of the dwebble. It scurries off as quick as it comes, whether to nurse its bruised ego or to find easier prey, Landon isn’t sure. It isn’t important. Both species are far from his radar.
At the moment, he has three criteria. A heavyweight is an auto-winner. A pokemon of decent size that can carry twice or more than he can makes weight management a solved problem. The second, and far least likely option, would be something that can control the weather. Raindance would be a godsend, but as nice as that idea is, the practicality of it leaves too much to be desired. His chances of finding something like that out here are so close to nil that he almost ignores the option completely. His bare minimum would be a species that can find water, which he assumes is most pokemon born in the desert. If he can’t find either of the other two, a pokemon like that would work, even if it wouldn’t be ideal.
Ryhorn and similar rock types had instantly come to mind when he’d hatched this hair-brained scheme. Something big, stupid, and loyal. Eating rocks for food is an immediate plus, but not a requirement. Numel and ponyta also come to mind. If the nights ever get colder, having a pokemon that can control fire and the temperature of the air around them is a massive boon.
‘They’re nice ideas,’ he thinks. Landon spits out a wad of crud and blows out his nose. But that’s all they are: ideas.
As far as he knows, he only has one shot.
There’s a worry that sits in the back of his mind. A constant. A gnawing rot that won’t go away. If attempting to catch a pokemon is anything like the games, and he fails, then his one chance goes up in smoke. It’s a sobering thought, but one that fills him with as much adrenaline as it does worry.
“All I have to do is not fail.”
He pushes forward, ignoring the dull ache in his back and sides, and continues towards the mountains in the distance.
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It takes too long for the sun to set. But it does, and Landon falls to his knees as he slings his pack onto the ground. If he hadn’t been exhausted earlier, he sure as hell is now, and all he wants to do is lay in the sand and wait for the cool chill of the evening to soothe his screaming muscles.
Too bad there’s still work to do.
“Fuck me,” he groans. “This place is worse than Albuquerque.” He rolls onto his side and looks at his partner. “Ziggy, girl, help me set up camp.”
She stares at him and wags her tail.
“Alright, alright,” he says. “I’m getting up.” It takes him a minute, but Landon rises. He rolls his shoulders, twists his back, and lets out a sigh after they pop. “Go ahead and start getting some pitch together. I’ll take care of the wood.”
Ziggy offers a bark before taking off, and Landon takes stock of the small acacia tree he’d settled on for their campground. It isn’t dead, but it isn’t thriving, either, and suffers from the typical halfway gone look that all things in hot, arid climates do when it hasn’t rained in too long. He’s careful with his knife, stripping away bark and only taking a limb that has no leaves on it.
Landon has just finished with the pit when Ziggy returns. She spits out a pile of grass she’s uprooted from somewhere, and he uses one of the matches from his kit to light it and get the fire going.
It’s small. But it’s enough for dinner. Adjusting his pack, he pulls out some canned meat and jimmies the lid off with his knife. With a sound like liquid shit, a cube of pink meat drops onto the small camp frying pan he’d brought.
“Ah, hell nah,” he says, grimacing. Landon looks over at Ziggy, and her expression screams ‘you’re not actually going to eat that, are you?’ with equal parts concern and nausea. But he is, and he slices the pink, spam-like substance into small squares before leaving it over the fire to fry.
“While that’s cooking, let’s get you something to eat.” Ziggy perks up at his comment, discomfort at his meal forgotten. He laughs, pulls out a berry that looks like a cocoa bean, and chops it in half. Instead of being filled with pods as he expects, the inside is a nice, almost creamy texture. He mixes it with some dried corn and nuts before placing it in a bowl next to her water.
“If you need more, let me know,” Landon says. He still hasn’t nailed down her ratios, but he’s trying to keep her diet varied. It’s not like she seems to mind pointing him in the right direction when he misses. “We’ll save the other half of the berry for breakfast. Go ahead, eat up.”
As Ziggy starts on her meal, Landon flips the spam over and admires the crisped texture. ‘Maybe this won’t be so bad after all,’ he thinks, afraid to say the words and give Ziggy any ‘I told you so’ fire. He pulls out a flatbread loaf, and tosses the meat on top of it when it’s finished. Propping up his backpack, Landon leans back, and stares at the cloudless sky up above.
The stars are just as mesmerizing now as they were before.
He takes a bite as Ziggy comes over and curls into his side. “You know,” he says. “It’s actually not that bad.” She ignores him. Shit, he’d probably ignore him too, but he still reaches out to pet her as he continues eating.
He finishes, after a while, and watches the fire fade away to smoldering embers. Staring back up at the stars one final time, Landon closes his eyes. And before he nods off, he has one final thought.
“I’m glad you’re here with me, girl.”
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Landon wakes to Ziggy’s growls. He’s sweating. Shivering. And as he rolls over and comes up into a crouch, he can feel a presence in the distance like a knife pointed at the nape of his neck.
He reaches out to Ziggy, places a hand on her back as her hackles rise and she lets out a snarl towards the night. Landon blinks. Once. Only then does he see the glowing, red eyes shrouded by darkness.
He breathes in. Counts to ten. Exhales.
Whatever it is starts to inch forward. It’s twenty feet away, and as it prowls toward them, its cloak fades. In the low light of the desert night, a houndoom over twice the size of any doberman he’s ever seen stares back at him with liquid fire dripping from its fangs.
Landon’s heart hammers in his chest. ‘Fuck,’ he thinks. “Fuck fuck fuck,” he repeats under his breath, frantic. The beast takes four steps forward before Landon throws his hand up and yells.
“Stop!”
It listens. ‘Thank god,’ he thinks, glancing down at Ziggy. She’s still wound tighter than a two-dollar watch, but when the houndoom listens, some of the stiffness of her shoulders eases up and fades away. She’s still half primed and ready to pounce, but her growls quiet and her posture screams weariness instead of open hostility.
“What do you want?” He asks. For a moment, it shifts its attention, and Landon follows its gaze to the other half of the berry he’d intended for Ziggy’s breakfast. It looks back at him, and if he wasn’t about to shit his pants, he would’ve laughed as the hellspawn licked its chops.
‘I’m so fuckin’ stupid,’ Landon thinks. He stands, slow as molasses, and makes his way over to the berry. ‘I left food out, and it attracted a predator.’
He picks it up, walks halfway, drops it on the ground.
‘I almost got us both killed.’
Without turning away, Landon keeps an eye on the houndoom and backs towards Ziggy. He crouches down, scratches at her back to ease his fraying nerves. “Don’t worry girl,” he whispers between breaths. “I know you didn’t like that flavor much anyways.”
The canine covers the distance in a single step and makes quick work of the berry. Lead settles in Landon’s gut. ‘That could’ve been Ziggy,’ he thinks.
‘That could’ve been me.’
But at the same time, he notices the way the houndoom’s ribs are showing, and he thinks of the way it didn’t attack. And suddenly, he has an idea. An awful idea. Landon reaches into his bag, pulls out a berry he brought on a whim. It’s red, with spikes jutting out of its soft flesh, and looks closer to a dragon fruit than what it’s named for.
He whistles. Ziggy looks at him like he’s grown a second head. And the houndoom’s focus shifts back to him in keen interest.
“You’re hungry,” Landon says. Shit, his hands are shaking. He wants to say more, but he thinks he might actually swallow his tongue if he tries, so instead he tosses the tamato berry at its feet. The dog pokemon watches him for a second, before picking the berry up into its mouth.
Without saying another word, it turns and walks away.
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Try as he might, Landon sleeps little after their encounter. When he wakes, he cleans up camp, cooks a light breakfast, and marches on with Ziggy toward their objective.
An uneasiness follows them. Just light enough to notice, but far enough away that it isn’t a bother.