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“Come on, now. None of that.” Landon squats, rubs Spinda’s head and smiles. “There are millions of things worth crying over. I’m certainly not one of them.”
Spinda ignores him. If anything, it sobs even louder. Landon bites his lip to stifle his laughs when the pokemon latches onto his leg. He disregards the huff from Mankey, reaches up under Spinda’s arms, and coaxes it away from him. With a gentle touch, he lifts Spinda up so that they can meet at eye level.
“You’re an ugly fuckin’ crier, you know?” His grin is all teeth. But as funny as he thinks he is, Spinda disagrees. It glares at him. Though it lacks heat --fire-- and seems even weaker when the little guy has to reach up and rub at its face to scrub away its tears.
Landon grunts as he puts Spinda down. He stands, pats it on the head a final time, and turns away. “Don’t think of it as goodbye,” he says, glancing back behind him. He gives a loose salute.
“I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”
Mankey has stars in his eyes, bright and passionate and burning; Ziggy has lead in hers, dull and bothered and begging to be anywhere else. Landon almost says something. But as much as he wants to tease his partner, this moment is important to Spinda. He doesn’t want to ruin that. So he stays silent, adjusts the hat atop his head, and takes his first tentative steps into the dark cave that led them here.
He feels the stares without seeing them. He knows one is from Spinda. A few are from the others in the treeline, hiding just out of sight. And the final pair comes from Xatu: its chest, its face, and whatever other ways it watches the world, the grove, and him. Landon ignores it. With one hand affixed to the wall, he pushes forward into the known unknown. The light slowly fades, and although he can still hear the soft footfalls of his companions, he focuses on what’s ahead.
Landon never looks back. He continues on. And when he no longer hears the drops of water fall, when the musty, stale smell of the passageway starts to give way to arid heat, he knows he’s close.
It’s bright. The rising sun of the morning forces Landon to tilt his hat low. There is no thick canopy here, no leaves or trees or branches to shield from the beaming and inescapable desert sun. The wind buffets his face, burns against his cheeks, and pelts him with small, loose rocks and sand. Landon pulls his gaiter mask up over his nose and steels himself. Taking his first steps forward, he hops down a small slope, stops and stares out at the badlands that await him.
“I’m back,” he says. And even with his team here, his words are wind.
“Let’s get this over with.”
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After two hours pass, he slings the bag from his back and hands it to Mankey. The thing weighs a full fifty pounds again, and even though Mankey offers to carry it, Landon insists that he shares the burden. It’s probably pride. Or a mix of pride and something else. Something soft. As easy as it is to say that he wants to help, to literally carry his own weight, it’s as much a self-admitted inadequacy.
If his pokemon do all the work for him, what does he do for them?
So he decided to share. He splits the weight with Mankey. He remembers the landmarks they pass so that Ziggy doesn’t have to. And he vows to himself that he will do the same for any new team member they get.
Landon breathes in. Counts to ten. Exhales.
“Mankey,” he says, eyes his newest companion out of the corner of his eye. Mankey glances back at him, shifting the bag balanced atop his head and using his tail and arms to keep its weight centered. “I haven’t asked you this yet, but did you want a nickname?”
It’s easier to speak without fifty pounds of shit stealing the breath from his lungs.
Mankey takes a second to think it over. If anything, he seems confused. “Well,” Landon says. “Ziggy came with one; I didn’t name her.” He stops, watches his steps for a second. “It’s up to you, of course. I’m not going to call you something you don’t want to hear.”
The unspoken implication hangs in the air. ‘You’ll be the first pokemon I’ve named.’ And Landon catches Mankey’s eyes go wide for a fraction of a second when he realizes it.
Mankey makes a sound. Landon takes it for an agreement between them.
He hums. Watching the sun disappear behind the shadow of a mountain, he thinks it over. “Bruce?” he asks. Mankey lets out a noise that’s more annoyed than not. “Okay, fair. Not that one, then.” He reaches up and scratches at the unshaved scruff on his chin.
“What about being named after a fighter? Back where I’m from, there’s gotta be at least ten different sports for it.” Landon pulls his goggles down to cover his eyes as the wind picks up. “People love beating the shit outta each other. I watched it a bit, and I remember a couple names, but it was never really my favorite pastime.”
When Mankey raises a brow, Landon continues. “Well, there’s McGreggor. He’s probably the most talked about UFC fighter of all time. There’s also people like Jon Jones and Adesanya.” He thinks for a second. “I guess I used to see people talk about names like Couture and Lesner, but they’re both retired.” Reaching up to pull his mask down, Landon covers his nose with his other hand and blows out some curd.
Mankey is less than enthused.
“I guess that’s the problem with the UFC, though.” He sighs and reafixes his mask. “It’s pretty new, and honestly, it was pretty niche until recent.”
Good thing there’s a lot more boxers. “What about Ali? It has to be a tossup between him and Tyson for the most famous boxer of all time.” Mankey doesn’t respond. “There’s more modern boxers like Mayweather. He’s currently fifty and zero; man has never lost a fight in his entire career. Though, he’s probably one of the most hated people to ever step into the ring.”
He goes through a couple more. “Pacquiao?” Mankey huffs. “Robinson?” Mankey puffs. “Okay, what about Rocky?” Mankey’s brow twitches, and Landon swears this little pig-monkey is about to blow his house down. The pokemon turns to him, glare on its face, and screeches while gesturing with one arm.
Landon blinks. He goes silent for a second and breathes in through his nose. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says. Well, he thinks that Mankey is right. He might not have gotten the word for word, but the general idea is a good enough statement on its own.
“None of those names are special. At least, not to me.”
Landon watches the way light catches on the rocks above them. “Well, when I was young, I used to watch this show about boxing. It was about this guy named Ippo, who was kind of a dork, but he took up the gloves and turned out to be really talented at it.” A small smile pulls at his lips when he catches Mankey glancing his way. “It’s what got me into the sport, even if I was just a casual viewer. The thing is, I never really cared much for Ippo. Sure, he had his cool moments, but he was a pretty mild dude.”
“But what I loved about the fights were his opponents.” Landon searches for Ziggy, spots her, and notices her picking through a rock formation in the distance. “You always felt like any of them could win: Miyata was the least interesting, at least to me. He was the rival archetype, but they never got to settle the score. But then he had Mashiba, Volg, Eiji, and every fight got better than the last.”
“Mashiba was a monster. He’s kinda like you, but instead of being hateful you’re just grumpy.” Mankey glares at him, but he keeps going. “Then there was Volg, the white fang. A great, almost tragic character, but still, not very much like you.”
He grins, tries not to laugh. “Date Eiji was an old man well past his prime, but he showed that experience and grit can trump the youth. He takes Ippo’s first loss, and oh boy, was it a big one. Man got planted so hard he took half a year for his comeback.” Landon pauses, taking note of the way Mankey hangs onto his words.
“But again, you’re not like that.”
Landon grins sharp as a shark. “But you? You’re like Sendo.”
Mankey’s full attention is on him, anger forgotten. “Sendo only loses to one man, and it’s Ippo -- and he’s the main character. But Sendo is strong as shit, and even though he gets piss mad from time to time, he’s got a heart of gold.” Mankey’s eyes shine like stars. “In his first loss to Ippo, he doesn’t even go down. Instead, he’s so mad he keeps swinging even when he’s out cold.” Landon looks ahead, to the rocks and sand and the horizon in the distance. “Despite their rivalry, they’re good friends, and Sendo goes on to challenge the world after Ippo retired.”
He clears his throat and the heat in his voice. “Sendo was always my favorite. As much as you’re supposed to root for the protagonist, when they rematched for the title fight in Japan, I really wanted to see Sendo clinch it.” Landon scratches at his cheek through his mask and gives Mankey his undivided attention. “So how about it? How about Sendo?”
Before focusing back on the bag he carries, Mankey offers a single nod.
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They make camp when the sun dips into the west, and they find a nice spot to bed down between three large rocks. It’s as good a place as any. Landon sighs, drops their bag into the sand, and rubs at his stiff shoulders.
Honestly, Sendo is a god send. Compared to the last time they set off at full weight, Landon only feels fatigued. There’s no bone deep exhaustion, no need to fall into the dirt just to breathe, and no voice whispering in his ear, telling him how doomed they are. He feels confident. Maybe it’s a misplaced feeling, maybe it isn’t -- but for the first time since stepping into the sand, he thinks their chances are higher than nil.
Landon twists his back and sighs when it pops. “You feeling alright, Sendo?” He asks. He gets a sharp nod in reply. “Well, let me know if you need anything. After we get the fire going, I’ll start working on dinner.” He gives a small smile. “You’ll need to help me with your diet; hell, I still haven’t gotten Ziggy’s anywhere close to figured out.”
He hands one of the water-bottles to Sendo, takes a swig from his own, and fills up Ziggy’s bowl. “Just let me know, okay?”
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Sendo grunts once before he turns to walk away.
“He’s on firewood duty, girl,” Landon says. He watches her finish what was left in the bowl. “You know what that means.”
Ziggy whines. Landon grins and laughs. “Yep, it means you’re on kindling duty.” He crouches down, gives her some scritches. “Hurry back, yeah? The sooner we get the fire rolling, the sooner we can eat.” She scampers off, and Landon stays behind to sort some things from their bag. He pulls out an almost large, yellow berry that looks like a pineapple (chances are, it’s probably named after one) and stabs his knife into it.
His knife sticks in halfway through. “Fuck, you’re a hard one, aren’t ya?” Landon whistles, pries the knife up, and grabs a nearby rock to smash the thing open. It drips with pulp and juice, and his theory about it just being a pineapple seems all the more reasonable.
For a second he wonders how it grew in the grove. ‘Do certain berries only grow in certain places or climates?’ He thinks, frowns, and wipes the fruit-juice off the edge of his blade. ‘I wonder if there’s more tropical variety in Hoenn, or maybe an interesting type of winter-only fruit that grows in the coldest parts of Sinnoh.’ Landon grimaces. As interesting of a line of thought as it is, he thinks it might not be the best one to go down right now.
‘Desert first. We only get to explore the world if we make it out of here alive.’
Ziggy returns with a mouthful of grass that she drops near the pit. She takes a sniff of the berry, but scampers off when Landon shoos her away. Sendo returns shortly after, a scowl on his face, and drops a long dried cactus limb before turning to stomp off. Landon sighs but doesn’t press the issue. If the pokemon wants help, he can ask, yet Landon has the distinct feeling that Sendo has more than likely yanked all the thorns out by now in the most aggressive way possible.
The cactus will burn well enough, anyway.
It takes a second, but Landon gets started on the fire. He takes a match between two fingers, holds it near the grass, and covers it while giving it a gentle blow. It takes a bit for it to ignite, but it easily catches onto the cactus and gets going. Even though the fire is far from large, Landon likes it well enough, and he grabs a rock that’s just long enough to push things around in the embers without having to worry about the heat.
“Ziggy, what are you holding?” Landon looks to his partner as he stokes the flames. “What do you have there, girl?”
Sendo stops what he’s doing, drops the sun-dried wood he got from… somewhere, and comes to join him next to the fire. Ziggy trots over. Without ceremony, she drops a rock from her mouth and leans back onto her haunches. Her self-satisfied smile makes her look as silly as it does cute.
Landon grunts. He drops his own stone he’d been using, reaches over, and picks Ziggy’s up.
‘Is this a fucking sun stone?’ He stares at the orange rock, takes note of the twisted spikes that come off the surface in a facsimile of the sun’s rays, and flips it over in his hands. “Ziggy, girl,” he says. “Where on earth did you get this?”
She doesn’t respond. She wags her tail a couple of times before she flops down onto the sand. Rolling over, she exposes her stomach, and she barks once when he reaches over to scratch her chest. “You’re fucking rotten,” he says, laughing when she purrs. “I don’t know where the hell you found this, I don’t know what the hell we can even use it for, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Mankey tosses the wood he’d found atop the flame before sitting on the tallest rock their camp is nestled between to stare out at the setting sun. Landon pokes Ziggy once on the nose and stands. He goes back to the fire, opens a can of beef, and pours its contents into his pan after he sets it over the flame. Setting aside some more water for both pokemon, he mixes the two halves of the berry into separate containers with some seeds, nuts, and dried cranberries.
“Sendo, is there anything you need me to add to this?” the mankey looks into his bag and points to a banana Landon had grabbed from the grove. He’d intended it for himself, and he almost laughs at the hard stare Sendo gives him, but he winks instead and splits it between the two of them.
Dinner goes by without much problem. The beef from the can cooks well in the salty broth it’d been packed with, and Landon enjoys the other half of the banana. It’s nice to eat something warm. After two days of cold beans, beef jerky, and unmixed trail-mix, the slow burning heat in his stomach puts an easygoing smile on his face. He picks up another piece of beef, blows on it, and tosses it into his mouth.
“Did y’all want me to tell a story?”
Silence. Both his companions stare at him with thinly veiled curiosity. “What, you don’t think I can?” Okay, maybe his voice is a bit defensive, but he still keeps his grin. “Well, when we were talking about names, Sendo, I mentioned Rocky. There’s more than one man with that name, but there were a bunch of movies about Rocky Balboa.” He picks something away from the corner of his nose and flicks it away.
“So, you wanna hear it? You wanna hear his story?”
The campfire crackles. Landon spins his yarn and tells the tale of Philly’s greatest son. The Italian Stallion. He talks a bit about Adriane, Mickey, and the fated dance with death -- Apollo Creed. He stops after a while, and while Sendo has too much pride to ask for more -- instead, he adjusts himself back onto his rock and lays down for the night -- Ziggy wiggles up into his side and whines.
“None of that now, girl. I’ll tell more of the story the next time we’re gathered around the fire.” He presses a soft kiss to her forehead. “For now, focus on getting some sleep.”
Landon pulls her close as he watches the sky turn from a glowing orange, to a soft purple, and then into a deep blue.
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They set out in the morning, when the sun first peaks out over the dunes.
The wind whistles through the air. It’s been rough all day, and Landon adjusts the mask on his face one more time. They keep going. Sendo stays at his side, and Ziggy runs out a bit ahead to look for shiny trinkets, helpful tools, or anything else she can find. Landon checks his compass once and sighs. He knows they’re on the right track. The Libra isn’t as large as any mountain, but Landon keeps his eyes peeled for landmarks he remembers.
There’s only so many acacia trees in the desert, afterall.
But it’s still rough. When they made their way to the mountains, there was a goal. Something tangible. It felt easy, maybe even organic. It wasn’t, but the idea of ‘hey, there’s a big rock in the distance; walk to those big rocks’ gave him a standard, a way to see how far they needed to go.
Now? Now he just hopes his memory works well enough to get them back.
Landon reaches into his pocket, pulls his mask down for a second, and tosses in the last of his roasted peanuts. He turns his head from left to right, watches the desert, and frowns when he still sees nothing. Outside of a Vibrava that had jumped from the sand and flown away earlier, they’re alone.
It’s just him, his team, and the sand. He spots nothing else for miles.
“Sendo,” he whispers. Why is he whispering? They’re not in a library. “Is there something wrong?” He takes a second to check one more time, and even steals a quick look behind them.
“Am I missing something?”
Sendo doesn’t respond. He follows Landon’s lead, glances left and right, yet offers nothing even as his brows crease. Landon accepts the silence for what it is, eyes Ziggy at the top of a nearby dune, and whistles. She stops, turns and waits.
It takes a bit to get to her, and when they do, he goes through their usual routine. Water first. That’s always his first priority. Then, after they’ve had something to drink, he squats down next to Ziggy. “Girl, have you seen anything out there?” She tilts her head to the side. Landon huffs. “I think something’s wrong.”
“Stick with us for a bit, okay?”
She’s annoyed. It shows in her stride, in the way she doesn’t whine but still refuses to look at him. But that’s okay. Landon knows she trusts him. Or, at least, trusts his gut, and he can tell that something bothers her as much as it does him. So she agrees to stay with them. Landon chews the inside of his cheeks, removes the bag from his back, and passes it to Sendo who takes it without complaint.
They keep going. The only change comes from their slightly faster pace.
Until the wind howls.
It’s not a change that comes from nowhere. It begins with a dance. The wind plays games with the sand and the sand plays along. Landon watches it catch in the air like motes of snow, and despite the lead that settles in his stomach, he thinks they’re okay. ‘The wind blew all morning,’ he wants to say. ‘The mask was fine. The goggles are fine. We can handle this.’
But it keeps picking up. The light from the sun hazes and dulls. ‘No, that’s not it,’ Landon thinks. He realizes that it’s the sky, brown instead of blue and filled to the brim with dust and dirt and everything in between.
It gets worse.
The controlled chaos gives way. The winds scream. Their fury gives birth to something new, something worse -- something foul. The sky, already dark, blackens to two shades light of pitch.
Landon can’t see a damn thing. He fumbles Ziggy’s ball from his pocket, and for the first time since they’ve met, he recalls her. With one hand, he grabs hold of the bag to keep track of Sendo; with the other, he points to the only thing he can see -- a large shape he hopes is a rock.
“Move over there!” He yells. “Take shelter behind that rock. We’ll wait this shit out!” They shuffle over as fast as they can. Debris pelts Landon’s skin, and something strikes his head hard enough to make his vision blur. Yet they still stumble into the shadow of the stone.
It offers little protection. But it's better than nothing, and Landon presses his back against the hard surface.“Sendo!” He shouts. “I’m going to recall you.” Sendo makes a noise, but Landon isn’t listening. He slaps his companion on the back with everything he has. “You can get out of the ball, yeah? I need you and Ziggy at your best when this is done.” He spits some sand out of his mouth, leans over, and tucks the bottom of his mask into his shirt’s collar.
“You might have to drag me back to the Libra!”
Sendo doesn’t respond. Landon can’t see shit, and he isn’t sure if the pokemon agrees or not. There’s a small twitch that he takes for a tight nod, and in a flash of red, Sendo disappears. He wants to say more. He wants to say something, anything at all, but he swallows his words with more sand.
He can’t tell if his pride makes it down.
Landon grabs his bag, pulls it up in front of him, and lays still. In the shadow of this storm, he feels more like a slug than a man. He can’t move, he can’t see, he can’t taste, smell, or feel anything that isn’t sand or wind.
So he listens.
what he hears terrifies him.
Between the screeching squalls, the loud, raw gales, he hears a roar: loud enough to shake the earth. Close enough to shake him. His heart hammers and his hands shake and --‘Fuck,’ he thinks. ‘Fuck fuck fuck!’ He wants to scream.
Landon peeks out from behind his bag. He wishes he hadn’t. Out in the sand, stomping between the dunes, he makes out the shadow of… something taller than a small house. It looks like a kaiju -- ‘a Tyrannitar?’ he thinks -- and it slams its tail down hard enough to shake the earth as it shouts to the sky.
It never turns his way. Never stops to pay him mind. ‘Why would it?’ a small part of him thinks. Right here, right now, he’s nothing. To this Tyrannitar, he might as well be a bug on the wall. An unlucky, little bug who got squished for being in the way.
So he stays silent. He chews on the inside of his lip and watches the Tyrannitar lumber its way past him. One step. Landon pulls his bag back up. He holds onto it, prays to anything listening. Two steps. He has an idle thought. ‘Is this thing always so slow? Or only when it doesn’t have anywhere to be.’ Three steps. He breathes in through his nose, and starts to count in pace with its movements. ‘Four, five, six…’
He keeps going. Even when the beast is well out of sight, Landon continues to count. He makes it to well over five-hundred before the storm fades, and as he lies on the ground, stares up at the sky, he brings a hand up wipe at his face. Landon has a funny thought.
The color blue sure is beautiful.