~~~ Chapter 66 - Hugging Knives ~~~

Can you feel that excitement in the air? The air is heavy with mana, the pokemon, human society included, all bristle in anticipation! Their voices grow slightly louder. The spirits are fat with their blessed sustenance! Their beloved distortion!

I am filled with such dreams of delightful excited expectation!

— Wrenn, Leader of Unovan Covenant Commune of the Dead

~~~

"The Galarian hatenna moved about on stage in perfect harmony as the conductor barely had to guide them through the performance. See how their locks of blue twirled about with precision!"

The door to the hospital room clicked open.

"You're supposed to be sleeping, Burgh! Doctor's orders!" Lyra said, materializing out of the air, illusion overlapping with the real. He rolled over, away from her, glancing through the blackout curtains. The sky outside wasn't even light blue yet.

"Couldn't sleep," he mumbled, before his tired face turned into a smirk. "And I'm not supposed to have visitors," he said from his hospital bed, muting the television. He waved at Lyra and the… guests she had brought along.

Lyra's grin was wry. The medications for potential infections were not kind. She would know that as well as anyone else, and the doctors and nurses had all told him as much.

"Separation blues, eh?" she asked.

Art just turned his face to her.

"You look like complete shit," she said. "Get them to bring your leavanny in for a few hours. It's not even been 24 hours. You've had her for what, a month?"

"Two."

Lyra rocked back, before rolling her eyes. "Fuck, kid."

"I know," he said, shrugging. "She's from another world."

Lyra rolled her eyes.

"Get her into your hospital room, kid."

"They said I needed to be quarantined—"

She thought I was joking, he thought.

"Not from your own damned pokemon!" Lyra said. "Seriously! Have you seen yourself in the mirror?"

He waved her off with his operable left arm. "Fine, I'll ask the nurse to bring Fidget up."

"Leah not down there too?"

"No, she's not down there! She's just a magnet for trouble in hospital buildings…"

"You're not sleeping because you're thinking about her."

He looked back at Lyra, then at the clock. It was seven am. Restless and frustrated on the train, he had to put her into the pokeball, but when the power went out and the pokeball safety mechanisms kicked in and unlatched, and she was gone… he shook his head, then laid back in his hospital bed.

Lyra held up her hand, stepping a little closer into the room. "Burgh, you there?" She paused, watching his face until he nodded.

"Being a trainer is stressful. You've got living beings you're taking care of, more than anyone cares to admit."

"Whatever," he said, waving his good hand dismissively. If Jacob's kid was as big of a fan of Leah as the man had made her out to be, then he could at least take some hope that Leah would be fine.

"Seriously though, shit's weird, Burgh. You've only been separated for six hours,"

"Eight."

"Eight hours? Crap on a stick, that changes everything," she said, rolling her eyes. "No, it doesn't. This stuff shouldn't hit you for fucking days. You sure she's not a Mew pretending to be a Leavanny?"

"Uh, yeah," he managed to get out.

~~~

After Batty had flown off, I'd drifted off to sleep, sitting on the warming roof, soaking up the wonderful sun in my leaves. My vision had turned black. When it had returned, gobs of black boiled off, up into the air. I smelled smoke in the air, but no fire. Another nightmare.

"Lee leee leee aaaa vvveee" a voice said. My arm swung of its own accord— I yanked it back— "eeep!" the voice cried. I jerked my head to my right. The girl— Macie looked at me, her face sad. She cradled her hand, a black ooze coming from the palm.

Before us, stood a large, white building. The hospital. I was covered in sticky notes. Sparks of gold came from the girl's hand, spreading over her face. Sparks of fire spewed across the ground, as the girl turned to gold dust, reforming into a vengeful volcarona.

I was tired.

Tired of these dreams.

There were only so many nightmares where your loved ones died, or you were attacked by a flaming ho-oh or a vengeful spirit of a volcarona you had accidentally killed in what you thought had been a dream, before you stopped caring. At least, that was me.

The volcarona's six wings glowed white, and the nightmare world faded to pink.

The world tilted a bit, vibrations not quite in tune, the scent of the berry bush hit, and my swimming senses calmed. The faint hint of cherries. I was standing in the grass. My vision clicked into place. The bat-guy was standing over me. Batty. Macie's dad.

In his hand was my pokeball.

He had used it to get me while I was asleep on the roof. How much range? He hadn't flown up to the roof, nor used a ladder— on second thought, there were already enough persistent horrors in my life.

My leaves had immediately reactivated. Even mostly in the shade, the morning, beautiful morning sun was getting brighter, though the sun was only just barely peeking over the outline of the neighborhood's houses.

"I've gotta go to work, and your trainer hasn't called yet." The guy looked back at his Noivern, both with wings wrapped, though I could tell, with the vibrations in the air, and the slight scent behind them, their annoyance. Probably because of the hour of the day?

Though they weren't exactly hiding in a cave…

"He's probably high on drugs, or passed out. Unfortunately, I can't wait forever. I'll be back a little after noon. We can call him during lunch if he doesn't call me first. In the meantime, just in case…"

He held his phone out, pointed at me. A quick sha-shink sound, and it was back in his pocket.

"I'll send him a quick pic to tide him over. Seems like the anxious type, so this should help him feel better."

He looked back over at the purple, dragon-type bats, again, then back at the porch-door. Their ears blurred, vibrating on-cue with my own antennae. Where his daughter was ostensibly doing… something inside? If she never came out and played, I wouldn't begrudge her for it, but I had made a little toy for her.

The thought of her not getting the toy—the man looked back at me.

"Just. Stay safe. And keep her safe, all right?" He pled.

I nodded, my antennae and the leaves behind my head wobbling a bit back and forth in the cool morning air.

"Lets go," he said, then emitting a high pitched click-clock-click. Then, a second, slightly separate pitch, he did the same. Both hopped down from their spots on the trees.

"No going into the house," he said, pointing at a silhouette in the door. On the same cue, his phone started to ring. He pulled it back out of his pocket, looking at the screen. Half looking at me, half, looking at his phone, muttering.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Noivern and Noibat are fruit eaters," he sighed into the phone, "no reason to attack anyone." He mumbled, grabbing one of them around the neck, the trio flying off, the blast of wind of the wings pushing me and my leaves back.

Leaving me, standing there, just barely re-woke up, standing in the grass. So, this bat-man, whom I still didn't know his name, just… left me there? A total stranger pokemon? And left me in his backyard? To play with his daughter? Whom I still hadn't met, was inside?

I could have practiced a bit, some of the pokemana. I supposed. But what would I do? She was seven years old for Pete's sake. I wasn't in either a dream or suburban Green Bay. So it was probably best not to practice solar beaming random homes.

A quick skim of my surroundings and he'd even dropped my pokeball to the ground. The sun was out, over the treeline, and I could feel the world beginning to reduce in speed. At least, I could rely on the girl's shyness from earlier that morning. Judging by her earlier behavior.

At least, that's what I thought.

My blades, newly-repaired and reinforced yet again— leaving a kid alone with me felt like a terrible idea.

I thought she was going to be a bit awkward at first.

I thought she was going to be shy.

I thought she was going to be timid. I'd even made her a little present to show her I wasn't scary.

Then, the porch door burst open. My mouth fell, agape. All else forgotten. The seven-year old, moving ever-so slightly slower than realtime, stepped out onto the porch.

No, what greeted me. What greeted me was a pokemon attack. A walking purple polkadot A surprisingly-tan girl with purple hair, and occasional blurs of blonde, intermingled with sparkling, glittering purple.

"Leeeeeee" I let out, watching her do a twirl in front of me.

It wasn't the kind of purple you'd expect from a toddler, no. It was messy, and uneven that you'd get from a kid. But she clearly had been trying to think about her style, and just hadn't quite gotten a grasp of color patterns.

This girl rocked her purple. Each was a different shade. She did another twirl. Little flecks of purple flaking off her. Glittery sugar falling to the ground.

Purple of different colors and shades. Glitter in her hair with purple streamers. Her shirt? Purple. With purple beads embedded in it. A pair of jeans. But covered in purple glitter. In her hands? Purple shoes. On her feet? Purple flipflo—she had had my purple shoes in one of her hands.

She walked up to me and I just stood, eyes following the purple blob. Then, she stopped, looked around, back at the trees. Tears began to flow.

"He left!"

I wasn't really sure what to do, to be honest. Seven year olds… When I was seven, I was an emotional wreck. But I thought it had been because I couldn't ride a bike, or run, or go on a scooter, like the other kids my age. Not without being a heaving mess. She was a head taller than me, at least.

"N-No goodbye hug!" She cried, tears beginning to stream.

When you're cutting with a knife, you keep the blade angled away from your flesh. This girl had missed the "do not launch yourself at walking knives" lesson in school. At least I was in the sun, even if it was still medium-early in the morning.

My machete-like leaf-blades were down after her first step. Her second, I'd angled them away from her. Third step, she was airborne, a veritable blob of purple, glitter and sparkles diving at me.

My legs apart, I'd braced for impact. Macie's arms wrapped around my neck. There was no hope of safely staying upright without dodging. I had to tilt my head slightly so she wouldn't cut herself on either my headdress or hit her head on mine.

Leaf had taken that hit to the subway door and won. A kid's head meeting mine? I was either going down or she'd get a concussion. Crumple zones in cars were for safety. I kept my arms tilted away from her, but wrapped them around her. "Nneeee" I cried as we both tumbled to the ground.

She was squeezing me, and I wasn't sure what to do. I couldn't really close my eyes, it wasn't the best time for torpor or sleep.

Even without the sun, I was faster than any human I had met. Provided I was paying attention, I shouldn't have any problems, assuming I didn't get distracted.

We had never even met, and Macie already decided she was on a hugging basis with me. I just. I just tried not to turn her into mincemeat, staying as still as I could. The last thing I wanted was two hospitalized casualties in less than 24 hours.

When Macie's sobbing stopped and her tears finally slowed, I gently wiggled, trying to push her off me. There was a slight pause as the girl rolled off of me, and internally, myself and my instincts collectively sighed in relief. Humans, young and old, just shouldn't be hugging me.

When one of your defining features is literally having knives for arms, physical contact just wasn't very comfortable. Standing back up, relaxing, not needing to be quite so worried about ensuring that my blades always pointed away from her. I gathered my bearings a bit again, then reached down to my cuff-links.

Macie watched in silence, wiping her tears off her eyes. I had to remind myself that seven year olds were definitely volatile little buggers— that age where they had insight about the immediate world around them, soaking in every little thing with and without the appropriate context, but also as emotional and ready to cry at the drop of a hat. I pulled from my cuff-links, the little toy I'd made, her eyes going wide.

She stuffed her fingers in it, playing with the fortune teller- it was pretty stiff and still sticky from silk. You can't just fold leaves, like you can paper, and I doubted my ability to manipulate paper like the little origami shapes I learned as a kid. It was kind-of dumb—

"Thank you!" she cried, then ran to the backdoor of the house, dropping my pokeball on the ground, leaving it there with me, in the backyard. I stared at it. Then back at the open doorway. What was I supposed to do?

Lanky would probably be in trouble if it was lost, or stolen, I couldn't exactly just pick it up. When it was armed— which it was, I could feel it— I didn't need to touch the button to get sucked in.

Macie had left the door open, and I could hear her voice, but not her words. I mean, I wasn't exactly excited about leaving the sun. But I also didn't want to leave her on her own. Should a parent leave their kids alone with magical murdermonsters?

Well, I wouldn't leave her alone! I couldn't! Kids needed help and tending! But how?!? All my ideas included copious amounts of leaves, and the line adult said I wasn't allowed inside!

I was starting to rub—A light squeal followed by a series of crashes and bangs, and I was inside, staring at the girl, purple glinting glitter falling off her all over the floor, onto the pots, and now grinning at me.

"Haha, now you're safe!" she said, standing over a pile of pots and pans she'd pulled out, onto the kitchen floor. I just looked at her, eyes unblinking. Unfortunately I was still bad at reading more nuanced tones and facial expressions, but if I still had facial muscles or could move my eyes, I was sure that I would be giving the girl a look.

"Dad always says Arn and Orn aren't allowed inside the house, but he never got mad when they came in because I tip the pots over! Now he can't get mad at you!" She said, picking up a kettle and filling it with water and putting it up on the stove.

I opened my mouth and stared.

When I was a seven year old human kid, did I have thoughts like that?

Yes. When I was not a leavanny. Right, when I was a human instead. Seven? (ish?) years old I could maybe microwave ramen, though? Maybe? Mom had always followed me around, babying me and doting on me because of, my, well. Troubles.

"It's teatime!" Macie announced. She had pulled out a purple box, popping it open, pulling out not one, not two but three packets of tea and putting them into the kettle. I don't ever remember being a tea girl. In fact, I couldn't even remember making tea.

"Dad says you only need one, but I like three."

It wasn't a super sweet smell, not really, but I could tell those tea bags had something good. Reaching forward, I tried to scoop the box off the counter—

"No, we can't eat it until the tea is ready!" she said, slapping her arm down onto the counter, swiping all the bags and the box that had fallen out, out of my reach.

She saw me looking at the box of tea packers and the sugar bag and the spilled bits of sugar and possibly the little bit of bug-drool that I was DEFINITELY not drooling, before she let out a kid-like chuckle. Then, she looked back over at the pile of sugar. Climbed up onto the counter, took a bunch of sugar scooped with her bare hand.

"Sssshhhhhhh!" She said, "Don't tell. Dad!"

I nodded vigorously. No one would know. Then she held her hand over me, I opened my mouth and let the sweet sugar flow.

"NO MORE. Until Tea is ready!"

I followed her as she basically pranced around the kitchen, with that excitement that kids get when a new friend is over at their house. But even as she ran around the house under her pure adrenaline, she was stacking the pots. And leaving a healthy dose of purple glittery stuff all over. I wasn't exactly complaining, though the pile of sugar and the increasing smell of tea in the air was ever tempting.

Overall, the house from the inside was smaller than it seemed. A single floor. Though it was as tall as any other in the neighborhood, which all seemed to be at least two floors.

I did, eventually, get tired. Mentally, that is. As cute as she was, all my mental power was still going into trying not to accidentally remove a seven year old's limbs. If she decided to hug me again, without warning, and I wasn't ready. I clamped my mouth shut again, with a click.

I turned around, miss purple glitter violet was right behind me, the sparkles glinting. I'd lost track of her in my own thoughts.

"No no, not yet!" Macie said. "We hafta stay out here." She looked at me, who was holding my arm-blades together like they were glued.

Objectively, this was the safest spot to keep them when faced with a being that had no concept of self-preservation. Folded flat together.

"Were you gonna wash up for the cupcakes and tea?" she asked. Unceremoniously, yet slowly, she reached out to touch my blades, I moved extra slowly to drop one arm, proffering the other, holding the blade facing away from her, my entire concentration focused on keeping Macie from accidentally losing a chunk of skin.

Her voice dropped far too low, "Pokies don't need to wash with soap," she said, mimicking her father.

The dried white of my silk on a few seams of my leaf-blades that hadn't quite managed to fully dissolve/integrate from past patches looked like it could handle a quick rinse.

"Come here" she said, ripping off a piece of paper towel without regard for its seams. Then she dabbed it in water and reached out her arms. "You don't grab pokemon. They come to you!" She said, smiling.

Humans shouldn't grab pokemon without asking first. I offered her my leaf blades, and with her half-ripped paper towel, cherry-smelling tea and oven practically burning, purple glitter all over the floor, with surprising level of care, she wiped my leaf-blades off.

That's right. Don't grab pokemon without asking first.

"But hugs aren't grabbing!" she said when she wrapped up, an evil glint in her eyes as she threw herself at me.

Darkrai's "gifts" were less cruel. I was getting stronger, even if I hated them, and I hated fighting. Yes. Those dreams. The ones of nightmares, the ones with my nests burning at the behest of ravenous birds of fire and moths of lava and flame.

Those were less cruel.