Ying, the Zoroark

“And this is band-aid number six.” Trumbeak’s gasp sounds as distorted by pain as Domino’s whimper as she stabs the needle into her finger. “She’s massacring herself! Somebody get that needle away from her!” He slides up and down on the back of the chair. “If this goes on, she’ll hit a vital point and bleed to death!”

“It’s just ... her fingers,” I reply as I hand my trainer a handkerchief. Her apologetic smile warms my chest. The little girl has grown into a young woman and I love watching her grow every day.

“You’re clearly too relaxed!” Feathers fluffed up, Coro stares at me.

“I know her. And it’s ... just a few pinpricks.”

“That she keeps shoving into her fingers!”

“Coro, you’re too loud,” Domino rebukes him the next moment as she wraps another band-aid around a finger and turns her attention back to Mimikyu’s costume.

“She’s going to kill herself!” curses Trumbeak, and I can’t help but let out a sigh.

Luckily, Raya is curled up on the bed, sleeping off the fatigue of the last training session. Golduck has been hard on her, but the more we compete against the other trainers on this ship, the better we get. Domino is learning to trust us, and we are all focused on finding our own strategies and ways through hard battles. We are growing. Each and every one of us.

Next to her rests Lum – the newly named Eevee, whose sometimes rather silly ideas are met with Raya’s complete enthusiasm. He seems to be an unbalanced mix between Growlithe’s love of fighting and Coro’s terribly sharp tongue.

The only Pokémon sitting next to us at Domino’s side is Mirra. She has found a place on the desk and watches silently as our trainer does her best to create a presentable costume. She was already over the moon with the first attempt – a lopsided something with loose seams, so the head fell off the first time she wiggled it.

“Why doesn’t she just commission it?” Raising his wings hysterically, Trumbeak tilts his head back.

“She wants ... to do something for us,” I explain. “Domino ... likes to take things into her own hands when she can do them herself.”

“Has she already done the same for you?”

I nod. “A long time ago ... I once fell into some g-glue that Domino’s father ... kept in a bucket. I think ... it was for the walls.” My ears droop at the memory. “My fur was so ... stuck together, they had to shave me. Domino crocheted ... a ju-jumper for me.”

“She can crochet?”

“No.” I watch as she shakily drags her fingers through the fabric, trying to follow the tutorial Rotom keeps playing for her. “It was ... hideous ... and my pride and joy.”

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“At least she can’t hurt herself crocheting,” Coro snorts.

“She once ... pulled so hard on a thread ... she almost stabbed the crochet hook ... in the eye.”

Trumbeak’s eyes widen and the following shake of his head reflects all his irritation. I can understand it. Domino is bad at fine craftsmanship. She can build wonderful little houses for small Flying-type Pokémon, but she fails at the cooker. She’s as skilful as a Mankey at climbing, learns quickly and knows how to build a trap to catch a Pokémon. However, she likes to overestimate herself. She is clumsy when she has to show skill and some days she doesn’t know her right from her left. She is a loving mess. She’s been that way since she was little.

“It ... at least looks straight...” She holds up Mirra’s new costume, scrutinising it.

The dark grey fabric fits her body beautifully, and the head looks sturdy. The ears are probably a little big, but they stand. Even the face looks okay. The eyebrows and eyelids are red – as is the nose, but that’s probably what they call artistic freedom. I’m sure she’ll scribble over the problem later with a black marker.

“But somehow it looks ... empty.” Domino’s sigh weighs heavily as she puts her head down on the table for a moment. “I should buy some felt.”

Probably to mimic the fur I once wore much shorter.

“Mirra.” My ears twitch as I think she’s looking at me. “Would you like ... fur instead of f-felt? It would look ... more real.”

“Fur? But where from?”

I carefully put a paw on Domino’s shoulder. I don’t quite trust this body yet. It’s much bigger and chunkier than my old one and the claws are terribly sharp. I can’t retract them any more.

When my trainer looks at me, I reach for my mane and hold it under her nose before pointing at the costume. No matter how much she cuts off, fur grows back.

“Are you sure?” She frowns. “But what if Mimikyu ... ruins it in battle?”

There’s nothing you can’t fix with a bit of glue spray – the stuff girls sometimes spray in their hair to make it withstand strong winds – and a comb. Domino probably understands this too, which is why she reaches for the scissors.

She carefully removes hair from the end of my mane, matching the bobble I once wore on my head, and from the centre, where it looks especially black. Then she picks out a new tutorial to see how to work hair into fabric. She probably won’t get it right, which would mean she’s already ruined seven costumes, but I have faith she’ll get it right before there’s nothing left of my mane.

“You realise she could shear you straight away, considering how badly she performs?” Coro looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

“It will ... grow back,” I reply.

“And until then, you’ll have to wear an ugly jumper that she crochets for you, and she’ll probably poke her eye out!” His cawing gets louder. “Am I surrounded by lunatics who don’t realise how dangerous all this is?”

“Coro, don’t be so loud!” Domino clicks her tongue briefly before turning to him. “I can’t concentrate when you make such a noise.”

He looks at me in a flash. “Do something, Ying!”

Maybe I should. So I carefully take Trumbeak in my paws and put him in front of the door. When he looks at me with round eyes and tilts his head, I lean down low towards him.

“If you want ... Domino to stop hurting herself ... bring some of the ... p-powder that Amethio is carrying.” I look briefly at my trainer. “I-it will heal all ... her wounds.”

“Really?” His eyes narrow to slits. “You’re not just trying to be a mean little Zorua?”

I shake my head. “W-word of honour. But only you ... can get it. Mirra has to stay with the ... costume. The other two ... sleep. I’m too eye-catching. But you’re ... quick and fast.”

Trumbeak immediately fluffs his feathers. “If you beg me like that, I’ll take care of it and save our trainer with this miracle powder!”

In the next blink of an eye, he’s gone, and I close the door. Coro isn’t stupid enough to fall for a simple trick with no truth in it. The powder really exists, I’ve already received it. It’s also true that Amethio possesses it. However, Coro doesn’t need to know that the trainer in question is currently travelling – somewhere on Akala Island – and that he won’t just hand over his powder to a hasty Trumbeak.

I’m not a mean little Zorua.

I’m a clever Zoroark.