(A good brushing starts at the tips and works in)

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There was a man in the graveyard.

In his hands was a ratty old brush. By his side a dirty tub sloshed with clean water. A roll of toilet paper was the towels; the chair, his lap.

His clientele were the creatures that lurked in graveyards—ghosts. They primarily manifested as church grim—dogs with shaggy bone white fur and bearing candles of corpse wax. Which is probably why they accepted such shoddy tools.

Dogs typically like pettings over brushies. They certainly begged for petties hard enough; crowding around the man’s feet making it hard to keep the client in his lap. Wriggling paws and all.

There was a man approaching the graveyard, he had flowers in his hand, and a bird on his shoulder.

He pushed the aged, well-loved, gate open, and took the path on the right, before he paused, and shifted to approach the man on the bench. He hid his flowers behind his back. It wasn’t good to mix business with personal matters. And a man surrounded by wild Ghost Pokémon was likely business. He drew a Pokéball from his pocket and brandished it like a weapon.

"Sir," the man with the bird said, tone low and lifeless. As was his custom. "Is there any assistance needed?"

"Well, I really could do with a better brus-" The man with the dog in his lap looked up. "-Oh, am I in danger? No."

Both watched each other, waiting. It was only broken when the ghost dog leapt from the man’s lap, to allow another Greavard his place.

Satisfied, the man let his bouquet droop before him, and he left. To do what one normally does in graveyards. He came back with the sun much lower. He had only his bird, no flowers. He came back to more dogs around the groomer, and a few errant floaters. Shuppets, Gastly, Misdreavus. "Still here?"

The man hummed in response, he had a Misdreavus under his ministrations currently. And was seemingly trying to massage the ghost. Hands palm-together, thumbs pressing into the back of the neck, where the spine would meet skull on a creature that wasn’t all head.

A bone snapping crack, and the Misdreavus sighed, sinking so deeply in relaxation that she fell through the man’s legs, and onto the floor. Naturally, his lap was immediately re-occupied by another Pokémon. Another Greavard, demanding attention.

The other man nodded, and gestured to his side, a wordless ask to sit. Another gesture back, and both sat on the bench. One with a dog in his lap, the other with a bird on his shoulder.

"Wild Pokémon are often helped by many kind strangers. Outdoors, it is not uncommon for watering holes, wildlife corridors, and artificial shelters to be found." The other man began. "Aid is provided to certain types of Pokémon specifically, with stones being broken open for Rock Pokémon and charcoals left for Fire types. But a person volunteering for Ghost type Pokémon has never been heard of by me."

"I wouldn’t call it voluntarily." The groomer muttered.

"Are you being paid to groom and brush ghost Pokémon within this graveyard?"

The current Greavard being petted and washed was picked up, nose to nose, and the man asked her, "Am I being compensated for this?" The Greavard licked his nose. He turned, "She says no."

"Is there coercion, in some way, to make you complete this work?"

The man asked the dog again. "And am I forced to stay here?" The Greavard gently bit onto his sleeve, and refused to let go. "Unless you count puppy eyes as coercion, no."

A slight smile. "Then, per the terms and guidelines of the Paldean employment agency, this is volunteering. Still, I would like to ask a question. Why here? Why Ghost types?"

The man rolled the dog onto her back, and absently pushed her paws down as he thought of an answer. "’S like you said. Many go out of their way to help wild Pokémon. But you’ve never heard of someone going out to help Ghost’s specifically."

He waited a moment for a response, then continued. "That’s a sensible answer, isn’t it? A nice, good Samaritan answer, someone realising that there is a group who has ended up neglected, and going out of their way to help. It’s not my answer, however.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"The truth is, I’m lost. I’m alone. I don’t know how I got here or where I am, nor am I aware of where my next meal will come from. Or even where I’ll lay my head come nightfall."

The other man leaned closer. This man, who spent his time in the graveyard brushing down Greavards, did not wear a desperate expression. His hair was not overly greasy, his eyes were tired, not flinty. His clothes were only hiking-dirty. This was a man who found himself homeless recently. "Why then," he asked, "Are you here, grooming dogs, instead of looking for help?"

"Because it’s easier to help others then solve your own problems."

The other man leaned back, and thought heavy thoughts. He spoke dryly, with the sort of voice that reads stock prices out loud and finds it riveting. "That’s a lot of information that I didn’t have before." A lot of personal, never-admit, information, he didn’t say.

"I’ve poured my heart out to each one of these Ghosts. What’s spilling it to one more person? Better, even, because you can answer back."

"Still, I am a stranger to you-"

The man with the dog cut him off – not rudely, but with the kind of speed that comes from thinking faster than he could filter. "That’s easily changed," he stuck his hand out, "I’m Linh."

"It’s nice to meet you Linh, I’m Larry." Larry considered him with a dull gaze. He took Linh’s hand and shook it precisely twice, at a precise angle, with a precise pressure. Then he smiled warmly and gestured to the bird on his shoulder. "And this is Staraptor."

Linh blinked, then inhaled sharply as he recognised the dull gaze, the wind-swept grey hair, the understated yet tastefully tailored suit. Larry’s demeanour screamed business-man, just like any other power-walking down the street. He settled into the role as only the ideal could. "… Gym Leader Larry. Of Paldea? Elite Four Larry, of the Paldean league?"

Larry nodded once. "Yes. To all of those. But please, just call me Larry. It’s outside business hours."

They lapsed into silence, no conversation—no talk. Larry enjoyed the peace, and snuck his Staraptor seeds from his pocket. Linh fell back to half-brushing half-playing with the ghosts. The graveyard continued to be its grim place, with Ghosts drifting away and back. The number of Greavards lingering about Linh’s feet stayed the same, even if most of the faces changed.

Linh smiled. He pursed his lips and whistled Gotta catch ‘em all.

Larry responded with first confusion, then nostalgia, then a knowing smile. "Pokémon. The anime was overrated."

A jolt, a Greavard shook in his lap. Sheer surprise, then Linh gave back the same knowing smile. "The new series is good."

"Please, new region, new companions, same story."

"Oh, no, you didn’t hear? Ash made it to the top. We have a new protagonist now. With an original plot line and everything."

Larry considered this, then nodded.

"Given your… everything. I can probably guess." Linh continued. "But it’ll be nice to confirm, where you from?"

Larry didn’t answer directly, he whistled himself. Kimigayo. Japan. As expected, for someone who screamed ‘overworked salaryman’ with his every mannerism.

Linh nodded, then whistled his own national anthem. It was a song most people would know.

"American, mmh?"

Nevermind—he forgot My Country, Tis of Thee was the same tune. Linh gave the most disgusted ‘I can’t believe you’ve done this’ glare.

"A Brit, then." Larry noted, and Linh nodded happily. Then Larry gestured to Linh’s eyes, in particular, the double layers. "But then..."

Linh smiled, "It’s multicultural, innit? But my parents…" He started a bar of another country, an anthem less known. "Refugees. Kids when they ran."

Larry nodded sagely. "My grandparents had their honeymoon at Saigon. Nasty business, all told."

Both men leaned back, coats against the curved wood. Linh scowled, "Bah. I didn’t mean to make this dour." He reached forwards and scooped up an armful of Greavards. "Pokémon—cute, right? No reason to be sour."

Privately, Larry didn’t agree, but he did smile at the lapful of puppies. "Perhaps. But feeling good doesn’t help with your situation. How’d you get here?"

Linh started the verse of A Thousand Miles. "I was just heading back from a walk, then I… guess I took a wrong turn. All I know is between one streetlamp and the next, I stopped stepping on pavement and started walking on grass." He kicked the gravel under his shoes. "Grave grass. Think I crushed some poor flowers someone left out."

"Not the usual path. Usually it’s a big unmissable portal and a fall. And missing memories."

"Hm. This happen often enough to be usual?"

"No, single digits. How long have you been here?"

"This’ll be my second day. Was a bit useless by myself. But they," Linh gestured to the ghosts. "Were kind enough to provide some things. Food, blankets, stuff." He gestured to the brush and the forgotten basin of water. "This is just repayment."

Larry nodded. "I’ve decided. You can stay with me—I will help you get things together."

Linh paused, he spoke hesitatingly. "I can’t ask that of you."

"What, you’re acting shy now?" Larry stood up and adjusted his suit. "Just accept my charity."

Linh remained hesitant, pensive. "I suppose these dogs can’t follow, nor would they want too."

Larry looked down at the suddenly begging pack of Greavards, muddy paws pawing at the hem of Linh’s trousers. "I wouldn’t say that, but no. They should stay. Especially since they eat life force."

"They what now?"

"Greavards instinctively drain vital energies from those around them, they need to be trained to stop, do you not feel that tiredness? You must have a great affinity to still be awake after two days of exposure." Larry gestured to Linh’s hands, they were shaking. "But you should still shoo them off. Some time away to recover."

Linh furrowed his eyes, and held up one Greavard, meeting her eyes. "I… Okay I understand that you’re more experienced and know what’s probably best for me and them. But I’ll die a thousand deaths before I inconvenience one dog."

Larry sighed, Staraptor chirped a laugh. "And I’ll inconvenience a thousand dogs before I let you die. Dark Pulse."