Dex Entry
ah, yikes
Hello! While most of the nuzlockes I’ve read have been comics, I’ve been digging into Written Stories as well and they’ve inspired me to maybe stop lurking now that winter break is here.
Like the tags say, it’s a bit meta for the games, but also for nuzlockes. It’s around 2.500 words. The art was commissioned by an irl friend of mine.
This also contains spoilers for Sword/Shield and X/Y.
tw: drinking, kissing, drinking and kissing, dead animals, people say fuck three times, mild armchair diagnosis of mental illness.
1. If a Pokémon faints, it is considered “dead” and must be immediately released.
2. Only the first Pokémon encountered in each area may be caught.
2a. No dupes clause - Double Rattata Power Hour.
2b. Shiny clause - All shiny Pokémon may be caught and used.
3. Area distinction is done by name alone
4. Each Pokémon must be nicknamed.
5. This run will be completed upon beating the Rival after the Elite Four.
2. Only the first Pokémon encountered in each area may be caught.
2a. No dupes clause - Double Rattata Power Hour.
2b. Shiny clause - All shiny Pokémon may be caught and used.
3. Area distinction is done by name alone
4. Each Pokémon must be nicknamed.
5. This run will be completed upon beating the Rival after the Elite Four.
Broke to the bone: Hugely embarrassed
Catch yourself on: “Don’t be so ridiculous”
Craic: Fun, but also news e.g. “Tell us your craic?” From the English ‘crack’ meaning a good time. The English word entered Irish English from Scots in the mid 20th century, and assumed an Irish Gaelic form.
Critter: Someone who evokes sympathy e.g. “You poor Critter”
Dead-On: Good, decent e.g “I like him, he’s dead-on”
Lurred: Absolutely delighted
Ride (v): To have sex
So it is/so I am: A phrase used for emphasis e.g. “I’m delighted, so I am”
Wain: A child or young person
Wile: Very or terrible. Informal Northern Irish adjective of late 19th century origin, meaning very or wild. It represents a pronunciation of wild, probably influenced by earlier Scots use of wile as an alteration of vile.
Wise up: “Don’t be so stupid and/or immature”
Catch yourself on: “Don’t be so ridiculous”
Craic: Fun, but also news e.g. “Tell us your craic?” From the English ‘crack’ meaning a good time. The English word entered Irish English from Scots in the mid 20th century, and assumed an Irish Gaelic form.
Critter: Someone who evokes sympathy e.g. “You poor Critter”
Dead-On: Good, decent e.g “I like him, he’s dead-on”
Lurred: Absolutely delighted
Ride (v): To have sex
So it is/so I am: A phrase used for emphasis e.g. “I’m delighted, so I am”
Wain: A child or young person
Wile: Very or terrible. Informal Northern Irish adjective of late 19th century origin, meaning very or wild. It represents a pronunciation of wild, probably influenced by earlier Scots use of wile as an alteration of vile.
Wise up: “Don’t be so stupid and/or immature”
People only ever visit Kanto for one reason, and it’s not a bad thing. It never is, so this time won’t be either.
The region’s a land of comfort and reliability, the crown jewel capital that people keep falling back on time after time, region after region, day after day. (Bastardization after bastardization, regional form after regional form.)
It’s not the perfect region, none are, but she’d take all sun over all moon. It lets the vegetables grow just fine if you keep the mind to pull the tarps over when the clocks say so, and she’s never been all that fond of warmer fabrics. Visibility is nice, and she’s sure that there’s a study somewhere about crime rate reductions, like they almost matter during these times.
Pity the poor Umbreon who have to wait for the next resolution, they say. (Bless the Espeon, they wish to say. If only the Psychic-type was smart enough to show up during that first generation. The region could use the variety.)
Pity the Sunny Day teams, their trainers say, and complain that it isn’t actually bright enough to do much with all the sunlight. They all end up drifting to Unova soon enough anyway.
Still, constant sun is still more than enough to burn a problem, and the ecosystem needs a bit of rest, even if some suggest Kanto gets periods of constant sunlight for a reason. Like it isn’t a chicken and egg scenario until someone figures out who messed up where, and if it matters, and etcetera.
She just thinks that it makes sense that the oldest region needs the extra bit of elbowing to keep up with the times. It just comes with the territory. Literally.
Gloria laughs when she says that last bit.
This bookend meeting is a part of the proceedings, too. The latest one in the cycle passing the baton, giving a pat on the shoulder and being living proof that it’s all alright. While there’s some pomp and circumstance, it’s hard to complain about Saffron shōchū on the League’s dollar.
Likewise, in regards to the meeting arranged with Galar’s champion going beyond the official minutes, beyond the official meet up location to a more cozy bar.
When she speaks with Gloria, morning glory, gentle things like petals and bourbon in the dim, she can’t help but be a little mean when the conversation drifts. “You’re not even given the courtesy of a proper conflict. Even Johto got to deal with more of Rocket than a five minute rogue cell and an elevator ride.”
“Aye,” the girl says, “but comparin’ ta you, at leas’ our giants shown up on th’ news longer and got me a fatter paycheck. My boys got more dev at tha end than yours, tae. Both a’ them. Right proper future laid in the immediate, didn’ have to rely on Alola to boost their arcs.”
She huffs out a laugh. “I’ll have you know,” she starts, “I’ll have you know, we got our follow up a bit earlier than Alola. And we did just fine without any sort of aftermath. Didn’t need any sort of assurance of the future that people didn’t want in the first place.
“And what of the girl, hm?” she continues. “Amazing fashion taste, but what’d she do that she wasn’t already anticipating? She never had too much angst about kicking her brother out of his literal alleyway of a city.”
“Catch yourself on, I won’ have you badmouth Marnie where y’can even think it,” Gloria says.
“What, you gonna go full Trainspotting on me?” she leers, and Gloria squints a sec longer before she bursts into laughter.
“Wise up, Trainspotting is set in Scots. And I’d go e’en harder, skip Porno and go all tae way to Dead Men’s Trousers, wile dastardly.” The Galarian waves it off. “Annhow, ye dunnae once ‘fore, haven’t ye? They treat ya right last time?”
“Oh, no, I missed the first round.” She swirls her glass, thinks of one poem or another. Flower, sun, wind, reach for the moon (immortal smoke. (Fall off the boat. (Drown.)))
“It was two boys that time, but there wasn’t anything bad to say according to the interviews. Of course, who knows?” she says. “At least you had that whole corrupted CEO bit.”
“For allae he did that wae fun fore he near crashed the econ. Yae wan yours to be quiet or yae want that whole fuss?”
“I mean…”
“Violet,” she says. Like the city in Johto, and then like the flower, and never like the color. “You’re just all craic aren’ yea? But I can sae it. I think yae can do anything if yae want.”
She bats her eyelashes, just in case Gloria has an eye for newbies. She has to have some respect for beginnings if she agreed to visit Kanto, after all. “I just figure the point of the journeys are to stop and smell the roses, spice it up a bit.”
Gloria’s nose crinkles all cute. “Can onlae be broke to the bone about roses anymore. Tae cloy. But, yannae, I can get it. Just watch yourself, aye? Heard some things about Rocket. It’s all fun an’ games ‘til off the path means off the path. Ya knae, like Kalos.”
“There’s some decent conspiracies about that, actually. Kalos’s run,” she half-says, because Gloria looks a touch serious and very cute, but maybe she’s not cute enough to match and shouldn’t push her luck too much even if she can’t stop herself completely.
“Actually, aye?”
“Yeah, something like Lysandre was planning on sacrificing Flare the entire time, and that he’s had this whole thing with the regional professor planned out. Guy’s supposedly just hiding out somewhere now that they dug him out. Might even be at Sycamore’s place.”
Gloria hums thoughtfully. She orders another round of something whose name is lost in the tide of the crowd. “Aye, really?”
And then, “Aye, I can see it. Especially with Malva all tangled up in the League. Could’ve smoothed Diantha all up innit so easy. Poor critters, the lot of them. Little wains especially.”
“Given how their arcs were handled, god, yeah.”
“Shut your bake!” Gloria cries, but she’s still smiling as she salts her hand, then tilts the container her way. “Serena’s dead-on.”
She accepts. “So long as you don’t view her as the rival.”
“O’ course, protag one an’ onlae.”
She raises her glass. Tequila isn’t all that fitting for your stereotype, she wants to say.
“To all the character arcs,” is what she says.
“Tae all we may see,” the other girl says, and they click their glasses together before they lick their hands, down the shots, take their limes.
Gloria sighs in wonder and punch drunk warmth, looks around the bar, to the sunbeam peeking behind a curtain. “A land where thae sun don’t drop makes it slight awkward to drink, yannae. It was a wee bit skewed durin’ mine, but not this strict.”
“We weren’t supposed to be here in the first place. Drinking, that is,” she says, just to be fair. “Although I think this is a bit more fun than the restaurant.”
Gloria tilts her head kindly. Maybe another adjective she can’t think of too, because there’s something sharp through the buzz, and the feeling of fingers brushing against her thigh before it goes back up to tuck hair behind her ear. “Full craic, so it is. Once more with feelin’.”
“If Hoenn and Johto can do it, so can we,” she wants to say, but she’s already distracted because Gloria takes her wrist and gently kisses the inside, goes even further.
The Pidgey dies tragic, dies mundane because if it was anything else she’d be in such incredibly deep shit with the law, instead stuck with the implications of no law. Sometimes it’s the Pidgey, and sometimes it’s the Geodude, or the Voltorb, or fuck else all this region spreads out before the next grinding montage.
So, there.
“That’s some sociopathic shit, doll,” Green says, hands in his pockets like he isn’t a childhood friendship too late to still be cool to her. “One of the most consistent signs of serial killers is that they fuck up animals, you know. It’s an eventual escalation.”
“Yeah, but that’s what everyone is here for.” She blinks idly, cheek propped up on a fist. It won’t go back in the ball. She’ll have to dangle it by the feet or carry it like a rugby ball. “There’s other places if they don’t want that bit of tragedy. They get bored if it doesn’t happen.”
“They don’t get bored of well done convention. Not everything has to be subversion, y’know that?” He tilts his head. “Just means you can’t rely on surprise as a crutch. I know you have it in you.”
“Death’s still the standard for all of them,” she says. “You can’t deny it. They just want the romanticism to go a little harder, wine and dine them first so the gut punch is stronger.”
“There’s nothing wrong with caring. Tragedies are classic.”
“There are only seven types of stories in the world,” she agrees, and sighs. “Just. I dunno. Feels dirty, cashing in more than we have to.”
“It’s why we’re here,” he says.
“Beyond that,” she pushes, because she knows. He inclines his head, expression idly smug. She’s fairly sure his face has just been stuck like that since the sun stopped dipping again.
“Or maybe because of it. We just have to be careful, that’s all.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but he sighs and rubs his neck. She eyes the bite marks there. How childish. (Who could’ve done it? How’d he fly under the filter when she didn’t?)
He finally finds the words. “Pokémon get hurt all the time.”
“But there’s a big difference in risk between a Rapidash breaking its leg in a race and in a battle, objectively,” she says. “It’d be uncommon still, I know they’re tough, but aye, it’s higher.”
He laughs and crosses his arms. “Seems you really did land a ride with Gloria.”
“Just a wee lass lured, who wouldn’t?” She’s so deadpan he can’t help but snort. “But, really.”
“But, really,” he agrees. “It’s not like your team didn’t agree to it once they stayed in that ball. Just be mindful of them. Respect them and don’t take the arc for granted.“
“I’d manage with or without,” she says, and plucks a pinion just because she can. She can do anything. She clicks her tongue. “I should’ve built up to it. This one won’t count.”
“Oh?”
“It doesn’t have a name. They don’t even know what to feel bad about,” she says. “My quota’s still at zero out of three. Not much of an arc if you miss the juicy bits that make it up.”
He barks out a laugh and he sounds almost mad, mostly stupefied. “Already racking up your bones, babydoll?”
“Studies suggest up to every badge or so, I’m thinking it could be managed with a rule of three.” She rubs the bridge of her nose. “Minimum three, maximum six. They can’t remember all the mons after enough are out of commission, and death’s an expectation in its own right by that point so no one wants to be emotionally invested.”
“They might still care,” he tries, and she cuts him off quicker because she can do anything, she can have anything. She has a headache coming on. Her sinuses don’t feel clear now either.
“I know, I know. I’m just saying that it’s easier to care once you know it exists,” she says. “That’s Marketing 101. Humans are just like that, we care once we know it exists at all. But they never saw it fly. They didn’t see the catch. They didn’t know the name. They don’t.”
“What was it, anyway?”
She sends him a look, thunderous and red rimmed, and he shrugs back.
She deflates and combs a hand through her hair.
Fuck.
“I’m still happier than I should be,” she says to the ground, then looks up to meet him again, back to clinical. “It might count, now that it’s here. They won’t be able to take it back, then.”
“Vio.” She can’t tell if it's admonishment.
“It’s not a bad thing,” she says, just to be clear, a touch chagrined. “All of this isn’t inherently a bad thing. And there’s nothing wrong with comfort food, or that they enjoy it, or that we’ve been given an arc. But living it is always a different story.”
“It is,” he sighs. “But reality won’t let us have dev so safe. A story makes things so much cleaner because it has to be condensed. There’s a happy ending and a healthier region on the other side of this.
“You might not even make the quota either,” he offers, hope tinging words that she didn’t even expect. She should’ve, since she knows he knows she knows he cares. A hand wraps around her heart.
“Hopefully it’s enough, then.”
“It will be. We’re already this far.”
Silence hums in the summer air. It’d buzz, if they had any Nincada. Might’ve been interesting this cycle, but.
Violet sighs. She can do anything. “So. Maybe, after.”
“After.”
“Yeah. We could ask Lance nicely to make some laws since we’re going to knock out Rocket for him again.” She’s unimpressed at his doubtful hum. “I mean, who else is it going to be, realistically? Hoenn and Johto didn’t drift that much from the story arc.
“But,” she continues, casual and cautious, “you can’t have a story like this without any mons.”
And then she falters. “Or recruits, or something. Humans in a team, oh, god...”
“It won’t, the biggest follow tradition and this is the land for it.” Green shakes his head, isn’t just humoring her. “But how’re you gonna accomplish all that, doll? The circumstances come with the territory. Ask Red and Blue for help?”
“Unova could manage if they just did it right.”
“You already know that Team Plasma bullshit ain’t gonna work,” he says. She can’t tell if he’s joking or if he’s sad over the summer hum. Maybe spring. (Bugs are most fun caught in the summer, though, considering the origin. It’s not like she can check anymore.)
“Are you saying I’m as bad as Ghetsis?” she jokes, and he rolls his eyes, and she blows a raspberry back.
She knows he’s right, so she moves on. The feathers ruffle on the corpse as she gets to her feet. There’s dirt sticking to her knees.
She knows he’s right, so she waits, standing there with a dead and nameless bird in her arms. He sighs and gets an arm around her shoulders, and pecks her temple so she feels better. He smells like grass and cinnamon and Daisy’s before-sleep tea.
Violet can do anything.
There are five deaths.
The moon winks.
The region’s a land of comfort and reliability, the crown jewel capital that people keep falling back on time after time, region after region, day after day. (Bastardization after bastardization, regional form after regional form.)
It’s not the perfect region, none are, but she’d take all sun over all moon. It lets the vegetables grow just fine if you keep the mind to pull the tarps over when the clocks say so, and she’s never been all that fond of warmer fabrics. Visibility is nice, and she’s sure that there’s a study somewhere about crime rate reductions, like they almost matter during these times.
Pity the poor Umbreon who have to wait for the next resolution, they say. (Bless the Espeon, they wish to say. If only the Psychic-type was smart enough to show up during that first generation. The region could use the variety.)
Pity the Sunny Day teams, their trainers say, and complain that it isn’t actually bright enough to do much with all the sunlight. They all end up drifting to Unova soon enough anyway.
Still, constant sun is still more than enough to burn a problem, and the ecosystem needs a bit of rest, even if some suggest Kanto gets periods of constant sunlight for a reason. Like it isn’t a chicken and egg scenario until someone figures out who messed up where, and if it matters, and etcetera.
She just thinks that it makes sense that the oldest region needs the extra bit of elbowing to keep up with the times. It just comes with the territory. Literally.
Gloria laughs when she says that last bit.
This bookend meeting is a part of the proceedings, too. The latest one in the cycle passing the baton, giving a pat on the shoulder and being living proof that it’s all alright. While there’s some pomp and circumstance, it’s hard to complain about Saffron shōchū on the League’s dollar.
Likewise, in regards to the meeting arranged with Galar’s champion going beyond the official minutes, beyond the official meet up location to a more cozy bar.
When she speaks with Gloria, morning glory, gentle things like petals and bourbon in the dim, she can’t help but be a little mean when the conversation drifts. “You’re not even given the courtesy of a proper conflict. Even Johto got to deal with more of Rocket than a five minute rogue cell and an elevator ride.”
“Aye,” the girl says, “but comparin’ ta you, at leas’ our giants shown up on th’ news longer and got me a fatter paycheck. My boys got more dev at tha end than yours, tae. Both a’ them. Right proper future laid in the immediate, didn’ have to rely on Alola to boost their arcs.”
She huffs out a laugh. “I’ll have you know,” she starts, “I’ll have you know, we got our follow up a bit earlier than Alola. And we did just fine without any sort of aftermath. Didn’t need any sort of assurance of the future that people didn’t want in the first place.
“And what of the girl, hm?” she continues. “Amazing fashion taste, but what’d she do that she wasn’t already anticipating? She never had too much angst about kicking her brother out of his literal alleyway of a city.”
“Catch yourself on, I won’ have you badmouth Marnie where y’can even think it,” Gloria says.
“What, you gonna go full Trainspotting on me?” she leers, and Gloria squints a sec longer before she bursts into laughter.
“Wise up, Trainspotting is set in Scots. And I’d go e’en harder, skip Porno and go all tae way to Dead Men’s Trousers, wile dastardly.” The Galarian waves it off. “Annhow, ye dunnae once ‘fore, haven’t ye? They treat ya right last time?”
“Oh, no, I missed the first round.” She swirls her glass, thinks of one poem or another. Flower, sun, wind, reach for the moon (immortal smoke. (Fall off the boat. (Drown.)))
“It was two boys that time, but there wasn’t anything bad to say according to the interviews. Of course, who knows?” she says. “At least you had that whole corrupted CEO bit.”
“For allae he did that wae fun fore he near crashed the econ. Yae wan yours to be quiet or yae want that whole fuss?”
“I mean…”
“Violet,” she says. Like the city in Johto, and then like the flower, and never like the color. “You’re just all craic aren’ yea? But I can sae it. I think yae can do anything if yae want.”
She bats her eyelashes, just in case Gloria has an eye for newbies. She has to have some respect for beginnings if she agreed to visit Kanto, after all. “I just figure the point of the journeys are to stop and smell the roses, spice it up a bit.”
Gloria’s nose crinkles all cute. “Can onlae be broke to the bone about roses anymore. Tae cloy. But, yannae, I can get it. Just watch yourself, aye? Heard some things about Rocket. It’s all fun an’ games ‘til off the path means off the path. Ya knae, like Kalos.”
“There’s some decent conspiracies about that, actually. Kalos’s run,” she half-says, because Gloria looks a touch serious and very cute, but maybe she’s not cute enough to match and shouldn’t push her luck too much even if she can’t stop herself completely.
“Actually, aye?”
“Yeah, something like Lysandre was planning on sacrificing Flare the entire time, and that he’s had this whole thing with the regional professor planned out. Guy’s supposedly just hiding out somewhere now that they dug him out. Might even be at Sycamore’s place.”
Gloria hums thoughtfully. She orders another round of something whose name is lost in the tide of the crowd. “Aye, really?”
And then, “Aye, I can see it. Especially with Malva all tangled up in the League. Could’ve smoothed Diantha all up innit so easy. Poor critters, the lot of them. Little wains especially.”
“Given how their arcs were handled, god, yeah.”
“Shut your bake!” Gloria cries, but she’s still smiling as she salts her hand, then tilts the container her way. “Serena’s dead-on.”
She accepts. “So long as you don’t view her as the rival.”
“O’ course, protag one an’ onlae.”
She raises her glass. Tequila isn’t all that fitting for your stereotype, she wants to say.
“To all the character arcs,” is what she says.
“Tae all we may see,” the other girl says, and they click their glasses together before they lick their hands, down the shots, take their limes.
Gloria sighs in wonder and punch drunk warmth, looks around the bar, to the sunbeam peeking behind a curtain. “A land where thae sun don’t drop makes it slight awkward to drink, yannae. It was a wee bit skewed durin’ mine, but not this strict.”
“We weren’t supposed to be here in the first place. Drinking, that is,” she says, just to be fair. “Although I think this is a bit more fun than the restaurant.”
Gloria tilts her head kindly. Maybe another adjective she can’t think of too, because there’s something sharp through the buzz, and the feeling of fingers brushing against her thigh before it goes back up to tuck hair behind her ear. “Full craic, so it is. Once more with feelin’.”
“If Hoenn and Johto can do it, so can we,” she wants to say, but she’s already distracted because Gloria takes her wrist and gently kisses the inside, goes even further.
The Pidgey dies tragic, dies mundane because if it was anything else she’d be in such incredibly deep shit with the law, instead stuck with the implications of no law. Sometimes it’s the Pidgey, and sometimes it’s the Geodude, or the Voltorb, or fuck else all this region spreads out before the next grinding montage.
So, there.
“That’s some sociopathic shit, doll,” Green says, hands in his pockets like he isn’t a childhood friendship too late to still be cool to her. “One of the most consistent signs of serial killers is that they fuck up animals, you know. It’s an eventual escalation.”
“Yeah, but that’s what everyone is here for.” She blinks idly, cheek propped up on a fist. It won’t go back in the ball. She’ll have to dangle it by the feet or carry it like a rugby ball. “There’s other places if they don’t want that bit of tragedy. They get bored if it doesn’t happen.”
“They don’t get bored of well done convention. Not everything has to be subversion, y’know that?” He tilts his head. “Just means you can’t rely on surprise as a crutch. I know you have it in you.”
“Death’s still the standard for all of them,” she says. “You can’t deny it. They just want the romanticism to go a little harder, wine and dine them first so the gut punch is stronger.”
“There’s nothing wrong with caring. Tragedies are classic.”
“There are only seven types of stories in the world,” she agrees, and sighs. “Just. I dunno. Feels dirty, cashing in more than we have to.”
“It’s why we’re here,” he says.
“Beyond that,” she pushes, because she knows. He inclines his head, expression idly smug. She’s fairly sure his face has just been stuck like that since the sun stopped dipping again.
“Or maybe because of it. We just have to be careful, that’s all.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but he sighs and rubs his neck. She eyes the bite marks there. How childish. (Who could’ve done it? How’d he fly under the filter when she didn’t?)
He finally finds the words. “Pokémon get hurt all the time.”
“But there’s a big difference in risk between a Rapidash breaking its leg in a race and in a battle, objectively,” she says. “It’d be uncommon still, I know they’re tough, but aye, it’s higher.”
He laughs and crosses his arms. “Seems you really did land a ride with Gloria.”
“Just a wee lass lured, who wouldn’t?” She’s so deadpan he can’t help but snort. “But, really.”
“But, really,” he agrees. “It’s not like your team didn’t agree to it once they stayed in that ball. Just be mindful of them. Respect them and don’t take the arc for granted.“
“I’d manage with or without,” she says, and plucks a pinion just because she can. She can do anything. She clicks her tongue. “I should’ve built up to it. This one won’t count.”
“Oh?”
“It doesn’t have a name. They don’t even know what to feel bad about,” she says. “My quota’s still at zero out of three. Not much of an arc if you miss the juicy bits that make it up.”
He barks out a laugh and he sounds almost mad, mostly stupefied. “Already racking up your bones, babydoll?”
“Studies suggest up to every badge or so, I’m thinking it could be managed with a rule of three.” She rubs the bridge of her nose. “Minimum three, maximum six. They can’t remember all the mons after enough are out of commission, and death’s an expectation in its own right by that point so no one wants to be emotionally invested.”
“They might still care,” he tries, and she cuts him off quicker because she can do anything, she can have anything. She has a headache coming on. Her sinuses don’t feel clear now either.
“I know, I know. I’m just saying that it’s easier to care once you know it exists,” she says. “That’s Marketing 101. Humans are just like that, we care once we know it exists at all. But they never saw it fly. They didn’t see the catch. They didn’t know the name. They don’t.”
“What was it, anyway?”
She sends him a look, thunderous and red rimmed, and he shrugs back.
She deflates and combs a hand through her hair.
Fuck.
“I’m still happier than I should be,” she says to the ground, then looks up to meet him again, back to clinical. “It might count, now that it’s here. They won’t be able to take it back, then.”
“Vio.” She can’t tell if it's admonishment.
“It’s not a bad thing,” she says, just to be clear, a touch chagrined. “All of this isn’t inherently a bad thing. And there’s nothing wrong with comfort food, or that they enjoy it, or that we’ve been given an arc. But living it is always a different story.”
“It is,” he sighs. “But reality won’t let us have dev so safe. A story makes things so much cleaner because it has to be condensed. There’s a happy ending and a healthier region on the other side of this.
“You might not even make the quota either,” he offers, hope tinging words that she didn’t even expect. She should’ve, since she knows he knows she knows he cares. A hand wraps around her heart.
“Hopefully it’s enough, then.”
“It will be. We’re already this far.”
Silence hums in the summer air. It’d buzz, if they had any Nincada. Might’ve been interesting this cycle, but.
Violet sighs. She can do anything. “So. Maybe, after.”
“After.”
“Yeah. We could ask Lance nicely to make some laws since we’re going to knock out Rocket for him again.” She’s unimpressed at his doubtful hum. “I mean, who else is it going to be, realistically? Hoenn and Johto didn’t drift that much from the story arc.
“But,” she continues, casual and cautious, “you can’t have a story like this without any mons.”
And then she falters. “Or recruits, or something. Humans in a team, oh, god...”
“It won’t, the biggest follow tradition and this is the land for it.” Green shakes his head, isn’t just humoring her. “But how’re you gonna accomplish all that, doll? The circumstances come with the territory. Ask Red and Blue for help?”
“Unova could manage if they just did it right.”
“You already know that Team Plasma bullshit ain’t gonna work,” he says. She can’t tell if he’s joking or if he’s sad over the summer hum. Maybe spring. (Bugs are most fun caught in the summer, though, considering the origin. It’s not like she can check anymore.)
“Are you saying I’m as bad as Ghetsis?” she jokes, and he rolls his eyes, and she blows a raspberry back.
She knows he’s right, so she moves on. The feathers ruffle on the corpse as she gets to her feet. There’s dirt sticking to her knees.
She knows he’s right, so she waits, standing there with a dead and nameless bird in her arms. He sighs and gets an arm around her shoulders, and pecks her temple so she feels better. He smells like grass and cinnamon and Daisy’s before-sleep tea.
Violet can do anything.
There are five deaths.
The moon winks.
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