SPENCER’S POV
I woke from the best natural sleep of my life, stretching my four limbs out on the bed in all directions. The mattress might not have been on par with a five-star hotel, but it didn’t need to be.
As soon as I opened my eyes, it was hard for me to remember why I felt so uneasy. Considering I was in a beautiful, rustic wooden cabin, why wasn’t I happier?
“How do you feel, Spencer?” Calvin asked me once he noticed I was awake.
I licked my lips and smiled. “Like I could run up Mount Coronet in an hour.”
That wasn’t hyperbole either. I felt convinced that if I had wanted to, I could sprint up the face of Sinnoh’s highest mountain. I could even take on Arceus if I so desired, not that this decision would likely end well for a lowly Litleo.
The point is, the sleep had rejuvenated me to no small degree, and a warm sensation filled my limbs and muscles. So why were Calvin and Enfield giving me such pitying glances?
“Come on, guys!” I exclaimed. “Why aren’t you two more excited? It’ll be an excellent day to burn off all our energy!”
Calvin sighed. “Enfield, will you remind him?”
“Remind me? Remind me of what?”
Enfield’s expression was much like that of a pet Lillipup who was about to be put down. The Emolga squirmed as he found the best way to deliver the news.
“We’re not going outside today,” he said sheepishly. “We’re grounded, remember?”
It was then that the memory of last night hit me right between the eyes. Suddenly I understood why I’d felt dismayed upon waking up with so much energy.
Because I wouldn’t be able to use it.
“Right,” I mumbled. “Stupid question.”
“I mean, we could try to appeal our punishment,” Calvin offered. “We could stare at her with those adorable Deerling eyes to charm ourselves out of it.”
“But do you think that’d work?” I enquired.
Calvin shook his head. “Odds are less than zero.”
“So that’s great” I muttered sarcastically. “Just great. What are we going to do today, then?”
“I guess we have to find the silver lining however we can,” Enfield said. “But the storm clouds are pretty thick; I’ll admit that.”
Eventually Frala called us in for breakfast. Just because we were isolated from the rest of Whitehall didn’t mean that we would be isolated from her. If anything, the lioness regarded us with what looked like extra scrutiny as she loaded up our plates with Kalos toast.
We sat around the table (I’d been allowed to ditch those floor pads), and for the longest time, none of us said a word. But it was impossibly awkward to just sit around and chew, so Frala eventually broke the silence.
“Why aren’t any of you talking?” the lioness enquired. “The point of mealtime is to have a conversation. That’s not happening right now.”
“And it’s not going to happen,” I blurted out, “because we don’t feel like talking.”
Calvin stared daggers at me, and Frala gasped. “Why don’t you want to talk, Spencer? Is it because I’m punishing the three of you?”
I didn’t even need to nod; somehow Frala could read my mind. Maybe that’s what all mothers are able to do - perhaps that’s an instinct they teach you at “parenting school” if such a thing exists.
“Well, I’m not going to tolerate that. This is your punishment for recklessly endangering your own lives and potentially others, and punishments can’t be altered to suit the convenience of the guilty party. I’m sorry.”
It’s better not to talk back to Frala. Yes, Pokémon might not like humans, but she’s treated me so well other than this punishment.
“So what are we supposed to do here?” Calvin enquired. “Entertain ourselves with what’s in the bedroom?”
Frala raised an eyebrow. “That is exactly what you are supposed to do.”
My eyes suddenly became moist as Frala’s words reminded me of my own mother’s. After all, whenever you were bored as a kid, admitting you were bored was a free ticket to the land of chores and reading a book that you weren’t interested in. After a while I’d learned not to do that.
“And how are we going to do that?” Calvin asked.
The lioness shrugged. “Find something in the room, I guess? You’re a team - why don’t you paint your team flag or whatever?”
“Yeah, good call,” Enfield said.
After breakfast, Frala allowed us to take a white bath towel from the laundry room and place it on the floor of our bedroom. She also handed us some paint and brushes. “Make sure you clean up after yourselves when you’re done, okay?”
I felt as though I’d been transported fifteen years back in time. Frala was treating us like kindergarteners who couldn’t be trusted to know the difference between right and wrong. For all I knew, she’d start singing one of the songs I’d been taught at nursery school when it was time to put away the painting supplies.
“Oh, I know,” she stated. “I’ll just put the pad on the floor for you all to work on. That’ll make the cleanup so much easier!”
None of us objected to that; it was a more appealing idea than scrubbing paint out of the carpet, or facing Frala’s wrath at our inability to do so. Yes, it was demeaning, but if it made things more pleasant I was hardly going to complain.
Much like we had with the song last night, we debated as to what our logo should be.
“We’re Team Earthlink,” I thought aloud, “so maybe we should put a chain there? Since chains have links and all that?”
“I mean,” Calvin shrugged, “that sounds like as good an idea as any.”
Enfield, on the other hand, objected. “I’m not bound to the Earth, guys. I don’t have any chains on me - at least, not when I’m not grounded.”
Oh, that’s right, I thought bitterly. He can fly.
I imagined soaring above the forests, fields, and mountains, with the wind in my face and a “lighter-than-air” sensation in my stomach, soaring so high Arceus would never forgive me for getting close to his realm. Of course, I didn’t let the fantasy go any further than that, not when my reality was more akin to the black chains Calvin had started finger-painting on the flag.
I joined in with the painting, and I realized that holding a fork was one thing as a quadruped; a paintbrush was quite something else. Especially when the task required dexterity, and this further reminded me of my kindergarten days: Six-year-old me had struggled with fine motor skills like this one.
“This is going to be messy,” I said with a grimace.
“Just put your paw in the black paint and run it in the chain pattern” Calvin suggested.
I snorted. “This is going to be very messy.”
“Hey, if it works, it works.”
I hadn’t participated in finger painting in quite some time. Needless to say, it’s an activity that is frowned upon once you’re in college. And yet there was something fun about it, something primal and satisfying.
After several hours (hey, it takes a while to paint with your paws), we had a towel with yellow borders containing black chain links, a lime green wheel much like the wheel on a ship, and the words TEAM EARTHLINK in giant, navy blue block letters. I stepped back, admiring our work. (Let’s be honest, it was “play” as well).
“Where are we going to hoist it?” Enfield enquired. “Do we have a pole lying around?”
Calvin cast his gaze around the room, then turned back to the Emolga. “I’m not sure that a metal rod would be strong enough to support a bath towel flag.”
“Right,” Enfield replied, his face falling.
To me, there was something childish about painting your team emblem on a bath towel, much like there is with finger painting as an adult. But at least we had work to take pride in, and hadn’t Enfield wanted something to differentiate Team Earthlink from others?
“We did it, guys” I said with a smile, taking a step back from the flag. It was then that I noticed the splotches of paint all over the pad we’d been standing on, all of which were shaped like paw prints. Because that’s exactly what they were.
Frala eventually checked on us. “Looks like you all had fun,” she muttered somewhat icily. “But it’s bath time now.”
The bathroom contained a tub on silver legs that was big enough to fit three adult humans, never mind three smaller Pokémon. We all climbed in together.
This was yet another ritual that reminded me of childhood. Pretty much no adult took baths as far as I knew, and yet here we were. Still, it felt nice to clean off my fur - the blue paint came off almost immediately, dyeing the bath water that exact color. It was like a bubble bath, except without the bubbles.
And then the black paint came off, mixing with the blue and turning the water a dark gray color, much like a mud volcano from pictures I’d seen.
The bath was uneventful, as odd as it was to be taking it like this. The process of drying off was a different story.
“The water stays in your fur like you wouldn’t believe,” Calvin told me. “There’s a special technique that’s involved in drying yourself - you don’t even need a towel for it.”
“Does it involve shaking yourself off like you’re on a dance floor?” I asked, trying for a joke.
“Not just that. You have to picture all of Earth’s geothermal energy conversing around your fur and drying your body. The water will basically evaporate and take its place back in the cycle.”
“The cycle?”
Enfield frowned. “Spencer, does Calvin need to explain the water cycle to you?”
“I mean, we talked about it in science class…” I began, trailing off seconds later. “I understand it. But why is the water cycle important?”
“It matters, Spencer, because we’re all interconnected in this world. We all came from Earth, and to Earth we shall return one day.”
“Wow, that’s deep.”
“No deeper than the chill you’ll experience if you don’t dry off” Calvin snapped in a playful manner. (Yes, that’s possible!)
I rolled my eyes. “Have it your way.”
So I tried to envision my connection to Earth. The planet’s blessing enveloped me, chasing away the discomfort of being wet on a freezing day, and soon it chased away the moisture from my fur. Soon, I felt as though I’d just sat in front of a crackling fire.
“Great job, Spencer!” Enfield exclaimed. “You know, for a former human, you’re sure taking to this whole being-a-Pokémon business quickly.”
I snorted. “Well, it’s not like you’ve got any other case studies to compare me to, is it?”
“Fair point. Man, I wish I could fly over to the kitchen for lunch.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Calvin muttered. “Mom will probably extend our punishment if you get caught. And let’s be real: You will get caught, because she’s not leaving the house today either.
“I know….”.
“Anyway, I bet my mom will have lunch ready soon,” Calvin predicted.
“Calvin! Lunchtime!”
The other Litleo chuckled. “Right on cue.”
It wasn’t until halfway through our midday meal that Frala had an idea that completed the “childhood experience.” You had grounding, finger painting, and bath time; no childhood would be complete without…
“A board game” the lioness murmured. “Let’s play a board game.” She said this in between bites of watercress salad. (Yes, it is just as disgusting as you’ve heard).
“Oh, really?” Calvin sneered, sticking his tongue out. “Do you really think we’re going to play a board game with you?”
“It’s not a question, Calvin,” Frala replied firmly. “I’m not asking; I’m demanding. You three will play a board game with me. As always, when you live in my household, you must live by my rules.”
“But…”.
“No buts, Calvin. I want to have some quality time with you all. This too shall pass; one day you’ll all be on an expedition, and that day isn’t far off. You’re only grounded until your badges get here…”.
“So don’t make it a living hell for us!” Calvin all but shouted. “We don’t have any good games!”
“There’s the Sinnoh edition of Monopoly” Frala suggested, pursing her lips. “It’s either that or Ravenous Ravenous Rhyhorns.”
Her son frowned. “The latter game is a lot quicker.”
“Then I’ll go with the former. We’re going to play Monopoly.”
“But that takes forever!”
“Which is why we’re going to play it.”
I’ll be honest: I was finding this exchange rather entertaining. At least, I would have found it entertaining if I hadn’t been at Frala’s mercy. My social stamina struggled enough when I was doing something voluntarily; a board game would push it to its absolute limits.
The lioness was silent for a few seconds. When she spoke again, her tone suggested that she was barely resisting the urge to raise her voice.
“Look, Calvin” Frala said eventually, “there will come a day when we can’t do this anymore. Let’s enjoy it while we can.”
Calvin looked ready to pout, but Enfield raised a paw in counterprotest. “Come on, Cal,” he said.
The Litleo swiveled in the Emolga’s direction. “What did I say about nicknames?”
“Not…not to use them?”
“Correct.”
“Whatever” I told the lioness. “We’ll play your board game.”
Frala looked eager to hide how she truly felt, but judging by the ever-so-slight smirk she emitted, I could tell that she was pleased.
So we sat around the table to play the Sinnoh edition of Monopoly. Setting up the game took forever, as it always does, but it took forever and a half when you weren’t used to having paws. More than once I thought it wasn’t worth it, but it took one glance at Frala to know she wouldn’t accept no as an answer.
The game began slowly, like most Monopoly games do. During the first hour or two, during which we scraped up whatever properties we landed on and could afford, I would occasionally look around at the other players. Yes, it wasn’t poker, but facial expressions could still tell a story here.
Calvin was constantly rolling his eyes. The whites of them had turned pink, and he was shaking his mouth in a rather peeved manner. As for Enfield, he looked on the verge of sleep, and would only rise from this stupor to roll the dice and move his token around the board.
Frala, on the other hand, was still wide awake, occasionally smiling or even giggling when she landed on something she wanted to buy. This was a frequent event, mind you; Lady Luck, or whatever force determined which sides the dice would land on, was on her side.
This got to a point where, in order to purchase the property she wanted (Jubilife Jumbo Stadium, one of the green title deeds), she would need to mortgage one she’d already bought. “I’m not going to do that” she stated.
“Okay, then it goes up for auction,” Calvin muttered.
Frala narrowed her eyes at her son. “We’ve never played that way,” she said coolly.
“But that’s how you’re supposed to play it. House rules often make the game take much longer than it needs to.”
“Well,” the lioness responded, staring at the ceiling, “that’s not how we’re going to play today. I’ll hand the dice over to Enfield.” She gave the dice to Enfield.
“But…” the Emolga complained.
“Nope, I’m not having it,” Frala insisted. “Roll the dice, Enfield.”
“But…”.
“Roll the damn dice, Enfield.”
Frala’s voice wasn’t particularly loud there, but it was firm enough to know that she meant business, and that there would be consequences if you disobeyed her command. The flying squirrel folded his cape inward and sighed. He then rolled the dice, getting Ekans eyes.
After moving his two spaces, Enfield realized he was in trouble. He’d landed on one of the Elite Four spaces (which were in the same positions as the railroads on other Monopoly boards), which was already owned by Calvin.
“That’ll be 100 P” Calvin muttered.
Enfield pursed his lips, then forked over the dough. Make no mistake: He seemed to be resisting the urge to spit in the other Litleo’s face.
That is the nature of a Monopoly game, I thought bitterly. It ruins friendships.
If I put my tinfoil hat on, I could convince myself that Frala deliberately chose this game so that we’d turn against one another and never go on a journey together. She doesn’t want us to be closer with one another than we are with her.
If that was her goal, it was working so far. We’d been around the table for almost two hours by this time, and very little progress had been made despite all but three properties having been scooped up.
In other words, trade would be necessary in order for anything interesting to happen.
On my next turn, I held up two of my orange title deeds to hand to Calvin. “I’ll give these to you,” I told him, “if you give me the Hall of Origin.”
“Why the hell would I give you the Hall of Origin?” the other Litleo snapped. “That’s a dark blue property worth 400 P!”
I decided to go on the charm offensive - you might even call it the “charmpocalypse”, for lack of a better word. I smiled broadly, then held up a wad of cash. “Why don’t I sweeten the deal?” I offered. “I’ll give you 300 P in addition to the orange properties.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Spencer,” Calvin replied, “but consider it done.”
We made the trade. In the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but be amazed at just how trivial this game was. Amidst everything happening in the outside world - my family likely worried beyond words about me, Pokémon trapped in mystery dungeons, our establishment as Team Earthlink - it was almost comical how we’d all been reduced to a couple of goblins sitting around the table, trolling one another over a round of Monopoly of all things.
Now I was the owner of the coveted dark blue properties (the Hall of Origin and the Coronet Range), but I only had about 300 P in cash to my name. My best hope was to pass Go a couple times, collect hundreds of dollars in salary, and hope I accrued enough of the green stuff to purchase Pokémon Gyms and Pokémon Colosseums (houses and hotels respectively for you normies).
And I had to accomplish that before one of my opponents bankrupted me, a reminder that only grew more stark once Calvin had erected two Pokémon Gyms on each of his orange properties. If I didn’t get some lucky dice rolls, the trade would not have been worth it.
The game continued. About fifteen minutes later, Enfield landed on the most expensive orange property (Lake Valor, part of a set with Lake Verity and Lake Acuity) and seethed. By this time the Emolga was flat broke, with very little cash to his name and most of his properties having been mortgaged. To make matters worse, there were four Gyms on the property, making the rent pretty high. (Part of me suspected that Calvin was deliberately avoiding buying a Colosseum so as to create a building shortage, a hypothesis supported by the fact that he had more than enough money to do so).
“That’ll be 800 P!” Calvin asserted proudly.
The Emolga frowned, then pouted.
“You must pay the rent!”
“But I can’t pay the rent!”
“But you must pay the rent!”
“But I can’t pay the rent!”
“Then mortgage some of your shit! You’ve got so many properties that you can’t collect rent on…”.
Enfield rolled his eyes. “That’s because they’re already mortgaged, you bozo.”
Frala clucked disapprovingly at Enfield’s word choice, but she did not comment any further.
Enfield groaned. “If I can’t mortgage anything more, then I have to find another way to pay…”.
“There’s another option,” Calvin proclaimed. “You can resign from the game and give me all your properties.”
“You know what? I guess I’ll do that” the Emolga replied, all of his resistance to this idea having seemingly evaporated. His drive to win had battled with his desire not to play a board game any longer than necessary, and the latter had won out.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
And just like that, Calvin Litleo, the ‘mon who’d been so resistant to the game in the first place, was now the undisputed frontrunner to win it. All he had to do was bankrupt Frala and I, and all of us knew it. Calvin smirked as he rolled the dice.
“I’m going to head back to the room” Enfield muttered, pushing his chair back from the table and leaping out of it.
“Don’t you dare!” Frala boomed.
The Emolga glared at the lioness. “You’re not the boss of me, Frala!”
“Maybe not, but how many times do I have to remind you? This is my house!”
Enfield climbed back into his chair and watched morosely as the other three of us played on. It was plain that Frala’s words had packed quite a punch. Not just her words, but the way in which those words had been delivered.
The game moved quickly after that. The way I see it, the progression of a Monopoly game is much like the process of falling asleep: It occurs slowly at first, and then all at once.
Naturally, Calvin won; again, this is what usually happens. The multicolored Litleo leaped out of his chair toward the couch, claws at the ready.
“Don’t!” Frala shouted.
“Don’t do what?” her son replied, landing gracefully on the floor without doing any damage to the furniture.
“Never mind. You know what I mean.”
The rest of the day was longer than I’d expected, but just as boring as I’d expected. Once we’d finished the board game, there wasn’t much to do besides vegetate and hope to slay the dragon known as Time. (Time is no longer valuable when you have so much of it.)
Paradoxically, the best way to slay this dragon was to lie down and sleep. An hour after the game ended, I excused myself into the bedroom with the request to my team to wake me up when dinner was ready.
Along the way to my bedroom, I caught a glimpse of the only room I had not yet entered: Frala’s. The lioness’ sleeping quarters were at the end of the short hallway, and the room appeared far more spacious than the others.
Should I go inside, just to check it out? Or…?
No, that’s a bad idea. Best not to invade Frala’s privacy when she’s been so kind to us all. Even if that kindness is qualified with that icy demeanor.
Despite my boredom (which fed off itself to become exhaustion), sleep was more elusive than I’d expected. Tossing and turning in the semidarkness, I kept my eyes welded shut with tears.
Yes, in a way, I’d found a new family. This family might be more dysfunctional than what I was previously used to; it might even be chaotic. But it was my family now, and I would cherish it.
But it was hard not to sob when I pictured my mother. She was, after all, the woman who’d given birth to me, given me a name, and given me so much else that I could never repay. If I could see her now, she’d probably tell me to pay it forward, but the operative words are if I could see her now.
Once my punishment from Frala was over, maybe I could escape back to Coronet City? That seemed like such a plausible prospect, and yet a quick glance outside at the snowstorm told me otherwise. (By now it was getting pretty dark, and the snow was still piling up against the window, so leaving the village alone would be unwise.)
Still, it wasn’t right to stay in the village without giving my parents any indication that I was alright. If they’d declared me legally dead, they might already be holding a funeral.
Oh Arceus, a funeral…
And then there was the “mother” I had here. (At least, if Calvin was my brother, then Frala was my new mother by way of analogy). Why was she so distant, so often?
I still remembered my days on the couch, when she was nursing me back to health. The lioness hadn’t treated me with the warmth that I’d have expected from my own mother. She seemed to regard me as other, maybe even alien.
But why?
Also, it seemed so odd that I’d suddenly turned into a Litleo when I’d arrived in Whitehall, and not a moment before or after. Of all the times for it to happen…why then?
Sleep was still far away when I realized something that was possibly even more chilling than the white stuff rapidly growing in quantity outside this log cabin.
Maybe it’s not just that I became a Litleo when I arrived in Whitehall. Maybe I became a Litleo because I arrived in Whitehall.
(Insert a horizontal line here)
MANUEL’S POV
Cell phones were not allowed in the courtroom, understandably so. That’s why Manuel swiped upward one last time before he entered the chamber where he’d be questioned.
Don’t panic, Hunter’s last text message read. If you do, you’ll only look more sus.
What about getting angry?
Hunter’s next text came about ten seconds later. Manuel could picture his friend’s fingers dancing rapidly around the keyboard like the legs of a spider.
Don’t do that either. At a minimum, don’t let them SEE it. If you have a fit of rage, they will think you did it.
Manuel swore under his breath. He had to be good at a lot of things as a pet cremator, but this trial was going to require different skills than comforting a grieving dog owner. Rather, he’d have to comfort the entire nation of Sinnoh.
Nonetheless, when his name was called, Manuel strode into the courtroom, was told to swear on the holy book, and did so. He assured Judge Bannock that he would tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. And then Manuel saw the creature at the judge’s feet, the tied-up Lucario, and he was unable to stifle a sad laugh.
“Excuse me?” Judge Bannock gasped.
“Huh?”
“Why would you laugh at a time like this? I’d think that would be the last thing you’d do - this is your friend we're looking for!”
The edges of Manuel’s vision tinged red. He clenched his teeth, maintaining an iron grip on the stand. The last thing he wanted was to yell at the judge, because he’d always been taught this lesson: If you have the facts on your side, you won’t need to shriek to make your case. The evidence should speak for itself.
“I wasn’t…laughing…about…that,” Manuel protested, breathing deeply in between words.
“You could have fooled me, Mr. Rook,” the judge replied curtly.
Manuel seethed, clenching his fist at the thought of confronting Arceus and cursing the King of Everything for having given him such a dumb last name. He couldn’t blame his parents; they’d hardly chosen to be named Rook.
“Mr. Rook,” Judge Bannock continued, tugging on a leash with his left hand, “would you please explain why you seem angry today?”
“Why shouldn’t I be angry, Your Honor?”
“Because we’re trying to help you, kid,” the judge replied. “A twenty-one-year-old, in the prime of his life, should not be snuffed out by a storm. When something like that happens, isn’t it only natural to want to make things right. This can still turn out okay, Manuel.”
Manuel. Not Mr. Rook. It was such a blatant act of attempted manipulation that Manuel almost had to admire the judge for being so brazen.
“Can it?”
“Yes, it can. You were skiing that day with the vanished - it is only natural that we question you.”
“I suppose it is.”
“Just know that you are not under arrest - you aren’t even considered a suspect.”
Manuel rolled his eyes. “Easy for you to say.”
“I mean it, Manuel” the judge all but snapped. “Just tell me the truth - it’s nothing to be afraid of. You were in the quartet skiing in the backcountry that day…did you notice Hunter Hawkeye behaving oddly?”
“No,” Manuel replied automatically. “I mean, if being a thrill-seeker is considered behaving oddly, then sure. But that’s not odd when Hunter does it.”
“How can it not be odd?”
“Because that’s what Hunter does all the time. Or at least, what he did all the time - he hasn’t been skiing since that day.”
Judge Bannock snorted without humor. “As any good friend would do. It’s only natural that he would be respectful to a fallen friend, even if foul play was the reason this friend had been lost to the elements.”
“There was no foul play!” Manuel bellowed, stomping his foot against the linoleum floor. “I promise you!”
“Promises mean everything when you’re a kid and you swear using your pinky fingers. They mean nothing during a deposition in a missing-person case. I’m afraid that your assurance that Hunter Hawkeye is innocent doesn’t matter one bit.
“So, back to the matter at hand. Was Hunter Hawkeye restless at any point, Manuel?”
“Well, I think reasonable people can disagree on what constitutes recklessness, Your Honor.”
Judge Bannock clicked his tongue. “But I’m not asking what other people think, Manuel. I’m asking what you think. Do you believe that Hunter Hawkeye was irresponsible that day?”
Manuel wanted to say no. He wanted to deny that any of Hunter’s decisions on that fateful ski day had made him uncomfortable, not least because of what might happen if he said yes.
But Manuel couldn’t say no. At a minimum, he needed to qualify that no with the acknowledgement that Hunter had seemed almost pushy on that mountain. Peer pressure is a powerful thing, after all.
“Well…” Manuel began.
“It’s a simple question, Manuel. Yes or no. I think a five-year-old could understand that.”
“But it isn’t!” Manuel exclaimed, kicking the stand lightly. It might have been a weak kick, done specifically so that it wouldn’t do any actual damage to the podium, but it was enough to provoke Judge Bannock.
The judge loosened the leash, allowing the tied-up Lucario to charge forward slightly. The Fighting-type wasn’t close enough to bite Manuel, but it was still enough to both raise the witness’ heart rate and tug at his heartstrings.
It’s not right that they have him there like that. Doesn’t Lucario have feelings of his own?
“Why isn’t it a simple question?” the judge repeated, sending Manuel back to Earth. Forced to respond quickly to avoid looking too nervous, the witness stated the following:
“Fine, I’ll tell you. Hunter asserted that the ski patrol, well, patrolled the backcountry zone behind the mountain. This is in fact not the case, and…”.
It was only later that Manuel realized just how much of a smoking gun this was. In fact, Manuel could not hardly have implicated Hunter more if he’d shown a video of his friend pulling the trigger.
The grand jury erupted in a round of hysterics, forcing Judge Bannock to bang his gavel against the desk. “Order in the court!” he exclaimed.
Once order had been restored, the judge continued, and this was when Manuel realized just how royally he’d fucked up. Hunter was not going to be happy, the witness realized, his stomach filling with lead.
“So let me get this straight,” Judge Bannock said. “Hunter Hawkeye stated that the ski patrol would find you in the backcountry if necessary, but you knew this wasn’t true.”
“Yes” Manuel whispered weakly, knowing he was committed to the truth now, no matter how painful.
“In that case, why didn’t you say anything? You could have saved a life by doing so, Manuel.”
With a week’s worth of hindsight, Manuel knew the judge was right. This fact made him want to vomit, then faint, and yet those actions wouldn’t do anything to fix his situation. If anything, they’d play into the narrative no doubt being constructed in the media about how he’d absolutely fail a polygraph test.
“Are you listening, Manuel?”
“Yes!” the witness shouted, banging his fist against the podium as though it were a gavel. This was his biggest mistake so far.
“You didn’t stand up to Hunter Hawkeye. You didn’t communicate that you were afraid to enter the backcountry. Why?”
“Because I didn’t think anything would go wrong!” Manuel exclaimed.
“That’s what they all say,” Judge Bannock replied, “but that doesn’t mean it’s true. The law of large numbers states that eventually something will happen if the conditions for it occur a sufficient number of times.”
Manuel grimaced, then lashed out at the judge. “I don’t think that’s what that law says!”
“Does it even matter?” the judge announced. “Listen, Manuel - these are your friends we’re talking about. One of them has vanished into the icy wilderness - maybe his life was lost, maybe it wasn’t. Another friend may become a suspect in this case. To pretend that this doesn’t matter to you is a whole load of Tauros excrement. Or, as they say in your generation, bullshit.”
“Whatever,” Manuel muttered. “Those are the stories we tell ourselves, aren’t they?”
Judge Bannock did not respond, but it’s not like he needed to either. Too late, Manuel understood that his question had contained the answer.
You see, everyone tells themselves that disasters like an avalanche or a murder are the sort of thing that happens to someone else. It’s so fantastically improbable that you’ll never be directly impacted, no matter how many times it occurs.
And yet, the obvious point to make is this: We’re all “someone else” to someone else.
(Insert a horizontal line here)
SPENCER’S POV
Two days and three nights.
That’s how long it had been since Frala had grounded us. That’s how much time had passed since I’d felt the cold, clean winter air on my face. Ever since then, I’d been stuck with the stale air of the log cabin.
Everything’s going to be alright, I told myself. Sooner or later, we’re going to get our supplies, and then our punishment will be lifted. That’s what Frala said, anyway. As clingy as she may be, I doubt even FRALA would keep us inside longer than she said she would.
With each morning that passed, my expectations got higher and higher before they fell. At a certain point, I began comparing myself to that boy from comic books who kept waiting for the Great Pumpkin to show up on Halloween night, and it never came. Perhaps that was the fate I’d be consigned to.
The third night after our penalty had been rendered, I found it very hard to sleep. Now, sleep had been elusive ever since the trip into the Piplup Playground, but tonight it was especially so.
You see, I’d grown convinced that if our badges were ever going to arrive, it would likely be the following morning. As such, I needed sleep desperately; if I didn’t get it, I would be stumbling through a dungeon like a sleep-deprived drunkard, which was a recipe for trouble. And as odd as it is, the harder you try to sleep when you’re not tired, the more difficult it will be to get that much-needed rest.
So I shifted around multiple times on that twin-sized mattress, trying to hit that magical position that would whisk me away into the land of dreams. The more I fought to achieve slumber, the less tired I was.
By the time morning came around, I wasn’t sure I’d slept a wink. My eyelids were crusted over, and my brain felt fuzzy (not in a good way). There’s nothing fun about a sleepless night, and I felt certain my life would be a living hell today.
Until I saw the box on the table.
Suddenly, the anguish of the last several days was all but forgotten. My tail wagged of its own accord, much like a Lillipup who sees its favorite bone. What was more, my mouth watered to no small extent.
“Guys!” I exclaimed. “The box is here!”
As my brain will sometimes do, however, I ran through other possibilities that were less attractive. Maybe there’s a bomb in there. But then, why would anyone want to kill us? Why would AGARTH want to kill us? He might not love Team Earthlink, but he’s got a reputation to uphold…
“That’s ridiculous,” I muttered.
Calvin had evidently heard me. “What’s ridiculous, Spencer?” he enquired. “It looks like we’ve got our supplies!”
“It’s not that - oh, whatever” I said sheepishly, feeling my face heat like a furnace. “I just…”.
Enfield waddled into the kitchen, staring at the box as though it were a Christmas present that he’d hardly been able to wait for. “Our stuff!”
“It might not be our stuff” I mumbled. That’s probably my anxiety talking. Who else would have ordered all this shit?
“It is,” Calvin asserted. “Look at the logo on it - that’s the WASP group. It came from them, no doubt about that.”
My tail, which was already shaking at a fever pitch, was now wagging so rapidly that I half-expected it to become a propeller and my body to levitate above the table.
Enfield was the one who levitated, oddly enough. He took a flying leap onto the table and opened the box. “There’s no bomb in here,” he said with a smile.
Can they read minds?
The box contained three green scarves. According to Calvin, all explorers wore these scarves during their adventures. Whether they served any practical purpose or were just for show was beyond me.
Calvin held up a mirror in front of my face. And I gotta say, I looked pretty snazzy in that scarf. That may, of course, have been due to the knowledge that…
“We don’t have to stay cooped up in here anymore!” Enfield announced, beaming from wing to wing.
Calvin cast a mocking gaze at the Emolga. “You just now realize this?”
“Guys,” I said, my heart feeling lighter than the air outside the cabin’s windows, “let’s see our badges!”
To an outsider, the badges would have been rather standard. Indeed, in terms of their color scheme, they were unremarkable; the logo was simply a map of Earth with black continents and dark blue oceans. But to us, they meant so much more. They were our ticket to freedom, to roaming the roads of remote lands.
After a few moments (maybe even a few minutes) of fanboying all over the badges, we tied the scarves around one another’s necks. For me, this took a bit of work, but luckily I had Calvin and Enfield to help.
And then there was the satchel. To me, it resembled an overgrown purse, but there was no buckle and the strap seemed far looser than that on a purse. The leather bag looked spacious enough to hold anything we might need for an expedition.
There was just one problem…
“We don’t have anything to put in the satchel,” I muttered. “We need three tents, a few Escape Orbs, some food…”.
“There’s a market in town,” Calvin uttered. “We’ll get whatever we need there.”
“But do we have any money?” I asked, to which Calvin shook his head. “How will we afford it, then?”
“Mom will finance our adventures” my fellow Litleo asserted, as confidently as a wealthy teenager would state that their parents were paying for college.
“Are you sure she’s okay with that?”
Calvin nodded vigorously. “She’d better be. And I’m sure she will be. It’s not like we have another option.”
In the end, Frala agreed to send us off with 206 P. An oddly specific number, to be sure, but a welcome one. “It should be enough to buy what you need for a couple trips” she promised.
And yet, as the coins settled into the bottom of the satchel, they looked like a pitiful sum. Maybe that’s just a function of the satchel’s depth, of course.
We left the cabin for the first time in a few days (not several), and Calvin led us into what passed for “downtown” here. The buildings were spaced more closely together, and just past the guild hall I saw a long, low structure adorned in a layer of snow.
“That’s the market,” Calvin muttered. “Now, I will warn you two that there can be…seedy characters there.”
I gulped. “You mean, criminals?”
“Not like that. They’ll swindle you in a way that’s perfectly legal. And if you fall for it, then you’ve got nobody to blame but yourself.”
On that happy note, we crossed the threshold into the market.
The building was the length of a small warehouse, but if that warehouse only had one floor. The ceiling was also relatively low, not that it made much difference to a creature my size. Additionally, fine layers of ice and dust covered the dark wooden floors. The scents of a million flavors of incense permeated the air.
“This way” Calvin stated. “The shop’s owned by the nicest guy. Trust me.”
“Uh…I’d hope that’s the case” Enfield muttered.
We reached a shop deep into the market. The cashier belonged to a species I didn’t recognize, one that resembled a cross between a lizard and an overgrown tropical tree frog.
“The customer is always right!” the cashier announced as a Riolu left the register. Then, the cashier turned to us. “Another customer?”
“Yeah,” Calvin said. Gesturing to us, he said, “Enfield, Spencer - this is Mallow. He’s the owner of the Explorer’s Den here at the market.”
“That’s right!” Mallow exclaimed, grinning to an excessive degree in both directions. I swear, his mouth was probably at risk of falling right off his face.
“Mallow,” I began.
The cashier’s eyelashes perked up. “Yes?”
“What, uh…what species are you?” My curiosity had gotten the better of me yet again, even if now was hardly the best time.
Despite a slight scratch from Calvin, Mallow didn’t seem to mind. He chuckled.
“I’m a Toxicroak,” he replied. “I’m a dual type; Poison and Fighting. Now, what would you three like?”
“Well,” Calvin began, “we’re Team Earthlink, and we’re preparing for our first journey. Do you have any great deals?”
“Yes!” the Toxicroak announced emphatically. “You can buy three tents for the price of…two tents!”
“And how much does a pair of tents cost normally?” Enfield piped up.
“It’s 200 P for the three tents” Mallow responded. “That’s not very much money, now, is it?”
“To us it’s a lot,” Calvin muttered. “That’s almost all of what Mom gave us!”
“Oh, shit, it is” I mouthed, my heart sinking faster than a stone in a freshwater pond. “We can’t buy three tents. Could we maybe buy two?” So that I can have a place to sleep in peace and quiet, just like my single room at GPU?
Mallow shook his head. “I’m sorry, but prices are non-negotiable.”
Enfield pouted. “Can’t you make an exception for us? We really need tents - you don’t want us to freeze to death, do you?”
“Unfortunately, I cannot” the Toxicroak responded, his bubbly demeanor having been disposed of. “I do not make the rules - I just enforce them. I should amend my saying: The customer is almost always right.”
“Well, that sucks!” Enfield exclaimed. “That really, really sucks!”
For a moment I feared we’d get a full-blown Emolga temper tantrum right there in the market, which wasn’t ideal with so many witnesses around.
But we got lucky. Eventually, Enfield calmed down without shouting anything more, and then Calvin sighed.
“Look. If we can only buy one tent - that’s still only 100 P, right?”
Mallow nodded. “That is correct.”
“We can share a tent. Maybe it’ll be bromantic in a way. It’ll certainly bring us closer together than if we had three tents.”
“What if you evolve, though? The tent’s barely large enough for one Pyroar, let alone three!”
“Then we’ll make do,” Calvin asserted. With a tearful sigh, he then said: “But I don’t expect that to happen. After eighteen years, I’ve just gotta accept it.”
In the end, we purchased a few Escape Orbs, some lightweight but high-calorie snacks so that we could energize ourselves without carrying around too much weight, a trio of flashlights and water bottles, and a single tent. Yes, it was meager, but in a pinch, it’d buy us some extra time to either get ourselves out of a dungeon or pray for rescue. Of course, as Mallow advised us, “Wishing for luck in a dungeon is a fool’s errand. You’re better off making your own luck.”
We had just finished paying for our items when I heard a watery, emotional noise make itself known behind me.
“We should get out of here,” Calvin stated. “Find a job to take on at the guild hall.”
“You there! Yes, you!”
I found the source of the voice (and sobs), a Pachirisu standing against the nearby wall. Her eyes shone like diamonds, but not in a happy way.
“What do you want, miss?” I asked, trying to thread the needle between firm and callous. I couldn’t sound like I didn’t care about this Pachirisu’s plight, but I also didn’t want my team to bite off more than we could chew for our first mission.
“I don’t want him!” the Pachirisu sobbed angrily. “I need him! Kaz is missing?”
“Who is this Kaz?” Enfield enquired. Although the Emolga had thrown a mini-tantrum only minutes before, he was now the voice of tranquility in the group. Sometimes you just can’t write this stuff.
“He’s my fiancé…” the Pachirisu sniffed. “We were supposed to marry in the spring once the snow melts, but that’s not going to happen if you don’t save him.”
“Well, we’re just starting out…” I began. “I don’t know if we’re qualified to.”
“That’s nonsense!”
I flinched at the Pachirisu’s cry, putting my front paws in the air as far as they’d go without me losing my balance. She’d literally shrieked like a banshee; didn’t I have a right to be startled?
Calvin nudged me. “Spencer, maybe be a bit more…”.
“Tactless!” the Pachirisu shrieked. “That’s totally tactless! How dare you insist that you can’t help? You sure as hell can!”
I glanced over at my teammates. They shifted awkwardly, and I knew this meant they had no answer. What were we supposed to do?
“We just got registered the other day” I stated. “I don’t see how…”.
“I’ll reward you handsomely!” the Pachirisu exclaimed. “All you have to do is find Kaz! He was climbing Mount Thunderhead and went missing!”
Mount Thunderhead? Oh, we’re dead meat. Literally.
“That’s a pretty tall mountain,” Enfield said. “He could be anywhere on that mountain, or maybe he’s already at the bottom.”
“He’ll be in the mansion,” the Pachirisu sobbed. “Oh, it’s obvious…but you still have to do it.”
“You make it sound like this is a trap” I said. “If it’s a trap, why would we do it?”
The Pachirisu looked as offended as she might have if I’d just used a slur against her. Her eyes turned redder than that of a Lucario. Speaking of which…
“That Lucario is the love of my life!” she yelled, which caused quite a commotion throughout this region of the market. (This was evidenced by the numerous glances and glares we received over the next few seconds).
“Be rational, okay?”
“Get real!” the Pachirisu screamed. “You need to know, Litleo, that love is not rational! If someone needs to save Kaz, someone needs to save him. He’s a pillar of this community, after all! I’m sure someone knew he’s going to be Mayor one day, and they wanted to do him in before that happened!”
Enfield’s wings stood on edge. “Arceus, chill out with those crazy pills, girl.”
“I’m hardly going to be rational when Kaz is missing! I don’t care how few supplies you’ve got -my beloved Kaz has even fewer!”
Once more, Team Earthlink glanced at one another. (Oddly enough, while nonverbal communication with humans was often difficult for me, this was no longer the case in my Litleo form. Who knew turning into a Pokémon was all it took to bring you to your peak performance socially?)
In that silent conversation, we reached an unspoken consensus: We would help this Pachirisu lady and her missing betrothed. Yes, it would be an ambitious task for a first official mission, but sometimes you just have to roll the dice.
“How do we sign up?” Calvin asked.
“You go to the guild,” the Pachirisu stated, “and then you head to the board. You find my name on the list of jobs, and then you take the job. Then you’re contractually obligated to complete that job or die trying.”
I shivered, my abundant fur coat insufficient to prevent this reflexive motion. “And if we quit early?” I asked, far from certain that I wanted the answer.
Sure enough, I didn’t. Because the Pachirisu shook her head here, I could tell she agreed with this.
“Right,” I said bluntly. “We’ll find Kaz for you. You think he’s on Mount Thunderhead?”
The Pachirisu nodded tearfully. “He’s so brazen, going on all these quests without any care about me. He respects my view on everything else, but he just won’t see sense here!”
I resisted the urge to point out that if Kaz insisted on being a daredevil without his fianceé’s approval, the relationship wasn’t likely to be a healthy one. But make no mistake: It took everything I had.
“Well, what are you all waiting for?” the Pachirisu all but shrieked. “Get to the guild hall and take on my request! I’m Hestia Pachirisu - they’re listed in alphabetical order according to the client’s first name!”
“I know,” I told her. “We’re just…getting our thoughts together.”
“Well, then you should get your thoughts together faster! It’s been seven days since Kaz should have come back, and yet he hasn’t! And I can’t wait any longer - nobody else has taken on this quest!”
Maybe because you’re being so snappish about it.
Or, and this is the more worrying scenario, it’s not a popular quest because Mount Thunderhead is so dangerous. Teams either know they don’t have enough experience or are experienced enough to know it’s suicide.
But we’re neither.
“We’ll get Kaz back” I promised the Pachirisu. “I swear it on…the Hall of Origin.”
The Pachirisu pursed her lips, but didn’t seem to object to my oath. “You’d better get going, then. Time waits for no ‘mon.”
It was only after we’d left the marketplace that I understood just how fervently I wanted to keep my promise.