Credit: @c3p-0h
Droplets pounded against the forest floor. The sloshing of mud and wind in the leaves deafened shouts and cries. Thunder pounded out sounds made by wild Pokemon and the sounds of the earth. The chaos of the chase was just the slightest murmur in the growing wrath of the skies. Despite the cacophony, the scent of life and of water and of earth filled the air. The edges of the grass and reeds sharp, the shell of trees coarse and jagged, the soil soft and a vacuum, nothing could release the grip of focus to play savior of a helpless egg or the greed of wanting what others possessed.
"Fury Cutter!" a sharp voice called through another crash of thunder.
A Scyther whizzed through the trees to the left of the man and Weepinbell. Its razored limbs sliced down at the vines gripping the man, blades cutting almost entirely through. A pained cry came from Blink and the vines released immediately.
"Blink!" Haven shouted, two pokeballs already in hand. Blink wasn't meant for battle.
"Head Charge!"
In the next moment, a Tauros stampeded from the left and directly toward the Weepinbell. Blackened dirt splashed up from under the beast's hooves. It kept its target despite the unreliable surface on which it trampled. Haven's heart was in her throat as she watched the Tauros charge at Blink. That attack would end him.
With a desperate arm outstretched, and the other holding the egg, she clicked the center buttons on both pokeballs. He returned to her in a flash of light. At the same time, Lace materialized a scant foot in front of the rampaging Tauros.
"Iron Defense!" The Corsola was small, but she was tough – she could take the knock. Lace immediately did as commanded, trusting Haven. She hunkered down on her little stub legs and braced herself, rocky body ready to act as a landmine.
The Tauros acted as if his target hadn't changed. His legs rammed into the ground, crashing all around the coral and then past. Paces away, it stumbled and slammed into the mud, picking up what small patches of grass and leaves were around the tree it collided with. Its legs were torn up from the Corsola's pink branches. Combining that with the collision meant it wasn't getting back up.
The clumsy beast was the perfect distraction for the Scyther to then descend upon Haven directly. If its trainer couldn't have the egg, the Scyther would destroy it so that none could possess the apparent treasure. Its arm swung like a guillotine down upon the girl.
"Yes!" the voice without a body cried out in some kind of sick pleasure.
Haven barely had enough time to turn away from the blow asthe Scyther appeared before her in a blur of green and a lightning flash of blades. The egg was pulled tight to her chest as she tried to shield it. Her eyes were slammed shut, bracing for the blow. But any attempt to ready herself couldn't possibly prepare her for the lines of fire that seared across her back. Her eyes snapped open wide and her lips parted in a silent scream. A halting, strangled sound was all that could escape.
The Scyther's blades had cut an X through the filthy robe and into her back. Haven's blood poured out of her, hot and slick, mixing with the rain and mud. Haven was blind to everything save for the pain, the blind panic of being sliced open. She could feel herself falling forward. She was going to collapse. But suddenly she heard something over the sound of the storm: an angry, pained hiss as the Scyther turned from her to look at Lace. She'd begun pelting it with rocks, furiously trying to defend her trainer. Haven chanced a look over her shoulder to see the Scyther trying to glare and hiss but flinching when it was interrupted by a rock beamed at its face. Lace was unrelenting.
Just when the Scyther seemed ready to charge at Lace, Haven grabbed another pokeball from the robe's pocket and Dagger was back in the fray. The Granbull didn't even look at Haven before she pounced onto the Scyther, climbing on its back and attempting to maul it. Pink electricity once again began crackling from Dagger's jaw. She barely flinched when a stray rock from Lace hit her instead of the Scyther. Haven turned so her sliced back was no longer exposed, and took a few shaky steps back from the battle. She wanted to fall, she wanted to rest, she wanted to cry at the agony etched into her very flesh. But adrenaline forced her through. She tried to look beyond them to see the man.
He now stood facing her with a grin cartoonish and vile. Something about his smile made her blood numb in her veins – or maybe she was just going into shock. His hand held a Pokeball that he rolled off his hand and allowed to release when it touched the ground. The beam of energy slithered out of the ball, turned a sickening devil-purple, and transformed into a terror of an Arbok. Its eyes straight at the girl and its body low, it prepared to lunge its fangs at the girl, or the egg, if she was smart.
Another rumbling started to pound in sync with her thundering heart. The Rhyhorn from before had made its way out of the swamped stream. It pointed its long and sharp horn toward the ground, looking to impale the Corsola that was attempting to fend off the thieves. It wouldn't be tricked so easily this time.
There was too much to keep track of. The frenzied brawl between Dagger and the Scyther, the man's sickening smile, the viper lunging, Lace – Lace. Terror gripped her throat as she watched the Rhyhorn, furious and soaking loom above the little Corsola. Lace hadn't even noticed, so focused on pelting rocks at the Scyther as she was.
"Lace, Endure!" Snapped to attention by Haven's voice, Lace followed the command and stealed herself – just in time for the Rhyhorn to descend. Haven couldn't see beyond the explosion of mud and rain that erupted at the impact. At the same time, two different sets of fangs flashed in the storm.
The first was Dagger's, fairy energy finally fully charged as she bit into the Scyther's back, just where its two sets of wings attached. It let out a pained, angry cry, a horrible shrieking noise that pierced even the cacaphony of the storm. Dagger roared between her teeth as her wicked electricity popped and crackled. Enraged, she ripped her head from side to side. The Scyther's wings tore away, a shredded mess lost in the mud below.

The second set of fangs was the Arbok's. Haven had given up her time to defend herself. As the serpent attacked, unhinged jaws wide with razor teeth glinting at her, Haven could only raise an arm to defend herself. The Arbok clamped down on it, fangs sinking into her flesh, venom thick in her blood. This time she did scream.
The Arbok's momentum pushed her backwards and she toppled over the snake still attached to her arm that looked like a toothpick in its massive jaws. The egg was finally dislodged from her grasp and rolled pitifully in the mud. The movement of the fall jostled the Arbok's teeth in her arm and she cried out again.
Haven lay in the mud, her slim – fragile, she thought distantly – arm still in the hissing pokemon above her. It took a strength Haven didn't think she still had to hold it a mere inches away from her face. Its eyes glared down at her and she found herself frozen in them.
Suddenly the Arbok released her in a pained hiss and reared back, her blood oozing from the holes it'd left in her arm. Even exhausted as she was, she knew her blood shouldn't have moved that slowly.
Apparently Dagger was done tearing into the Scyther. The Granbull was climbing on the Arbok, scratching and snarling. Haven tried to push herself up, but could barely manage to support herself on her uninjured arm. Her vision was beginning to haze. She could feel her heart, once loud and frantic in her chest, begin to slow.
Her fingers crept to her pocket to fumble with her two remaining pokeballs. It took her an eternity to find the center buttons and call out Cloak and Blink. Her Weepinbell looked alarmed at the state she was in and immediately moved to fret over her.
"Get Lace," she mumbled to him. She didn't have the energy for further explanation.
For Cloak's part, the Scrafty had already sprung into action, pouncing to join Dagger in attacking the Arbok after giving Haven a startled once-over. He'd taken in the situation and evaluated who needed hurting.
Haven forced her head to turn towards where the egg lay on the ground. She dragged her arm towards it, stretching her fingers out to just barely brush its shell.

Then the ground began to tremble with her frozen and blood-drained fingers. Further away, where the Rhyhorn had managed to stop itself, stony hooves dug into the earth below and made it ebb and flow into a violent quake. None in the area weren't affected. Perhaps the Tauros and the Scyther couldn't feel as much as they were already unconscious.
Arbok lashed itself at the Granbull and Scrafty, though the two worked with a cooperation that wouldn't allow an upper hand to be reached. When the giant asp began to decline rapidly in stamina, a piercing crow struck through the roll of a distant thunder. A Fearow descended in a frenzy of talon and beak at the Scrafty, knowing it'd have the upper-hand. Cloak was thrown from the Arbok, splashing down in the mud. He scrambled to pick himself up and face his new opponent to see a Fearow circling back for another attack. He tried in vain to hit it or fend it off, but it was too evasive in the air, too quick and razor sharp. It grabbed him by the scruff and threw him at a nearby tree. Cloak slid to the ground, unconscious.
Meanwhile, the Arbok splashed all the venom it could at Dagger, now that she, too, had been thrown from its bloodied back. She roared as the venom seeped through her fur, burning her. A sizable portion had found her eyes. She shut them tight, trying to claw or rub or find any way to stop the burning sensation. The Arbok took the advantage at last and wrapped its thick body around her, squeezing. She tried to roar again, but couldn't draw in enough air to do so.
Blink lobbed colorful, glowing leaves at the Rhyhorn, sending it back with an angry growl. It stumbled away from the wet crater it had created, trying to bat them away. But their aim held true, and kept the Rhyhorn at bay as thick vines, slice marks still unhealed, shot forward to wrap around Lace at the bottom of the crater. She was passed out and coated in mud. Most of her horns had broken off with the attacks she'd suffered.
He pulled her back, cradling her body close to his. Blink continued to shoot leaves at the frustrated Rhyhorn. A cry pierced the air again and the Fearow swooped around to slash at Blink with its talons. Immediately Blink stopped, flinching back towards Haven. The Rhyhorn fell to the ground with a wet thud.

Haven was still looking at the egg. Or at least, she thought she was. It was hard to tell when her vision swam with a blurry mix of colors. Her arm was now lying uselessly on the ground, just barely short of touching the egg. Midnight seemed to be taking a hold of her. Closer and closer, she felt a creeping darkness seep through her mind, her vision, her bones. It seemed to be replacing her very blood, as that drained into the ground.
She was so tired.
Haven wondered how long it would take her family to find out. She hoped Rose learned first. Their mom needed someone to break the news to her gently. Rose was good at that sort of thing. Would they find a body? Haven hoped they did. They wouldn't have to wonder that way.
Her last thought was of her team. She hoped they'd somehow get away.
And then all Haven knew was black.
And that black was so warm.
The warmth tugged at her, caressed her softly.
The blackness of a dream surrounded her mind.
The shouts and explosions muted by comfort.

Her mind stretched to the Granbull, toxins and filth seeping into her bones. Rain fell around her as if an umbrella was raised high. The Medicham hovered just over the grass and weeds by the riverstream.
Her elegant body encircled the Scrafty, raising him above the ground with her as she exuded energies meant for rejuvenation. Head to tail, Milotic was a ring in the air of purification and beauty.
She hovered over the girl and her egg, the Weepinbell and the Corsola. Around them formed an orb made of the rain itself. Within, their wounds slowly healed and their protection from the elements greater. Masquerain watched on as the rest of her Party-mates drove the girl's assailants away.

With a simple and unvoiced command, the five of them rushed to erase these heartless thieves from the earth.
A bomb blew upon the Arbok. Mud and grass sprayed all around, but the orb of the Masquerain repelled the debris. Out of the explosion roared a particularly aggravated Flygon, by the looks in his eyes.
In the chaos, fronds sliced through the air across the Fearow swooping down to protect its ally. The bird cried a caw and began to tumble through branches. The Shiftry remained high in a branch, its yellow eyes piercing through the stormy woods for other possible threats.
To this, the man originally tied by Haven's Weepinbell was rushed by a Breloom, as quickly as a Breloom could. His hoof pointed toward the man's chin and his leg pushed off with too much power to rationalize such slow speed. Both went toward the canopy, with the man crying in distress.
From a dark pocket in the woods, another terrified scream covered the area. Wide and razored thorns were pushed deep into his flesh deep enough to cause immense pain, but not enough to fell. The Cacturne smiled wide, satisfied with his punishment.

Below each foe, eerie rings of violet began to form. Their centers turned darker than black, threatening to drop each villain into an abyss, a black hole. From their bodies rose a gray smoke that seemed to stick to their skin. It was as if their souls were being lifted from them, exorcised. Then the plasma was violently sucked into the voids, placing each of their souls in a dimension they'd have to fight from which to return. Their bodies now lay in comas upon the rain-stained dirt. Banette then appeared from that dimension, purposefully abandoning the now-sorry souls trapped in a realm they didn't belong.

The breeze was soft and warm against his skin. The sun coated his body with dew, the air light and slightly moist. The sun after a storm always smelled sweet, like Noonblossoms and Catpurs. Forrest took a deep breath, filling his lungs that burned as he worked against Medicham's mind. A simple push-up was made exponentially more difficult with weight applied.
Milotic bathed in the riverstream, all other wild Pokemon having been frightened away even now. Shiftry and Cacturne stood in the sun as they did after a battle, however brief. That, and both enjoyed the sun more than any other organisms unlike themselves. Flygon soared high above, a speck in the sky. Banette was, as usual, unaccounted. Breloom sank his feet into the ground where tree trunks didn't litter the soil. Unlike the other two Grass-types, he enjoyed the shade and moisture.
Just as Forrest was about to fail his final press, Masquerain hovered over with a hum and chirp. She alerted the man that the girl was finally roused from her sleep. Masquerain looked exhausted, having been performing Aqua Ring from that night until now. She seemed adamant for neither Milotic or Medicham to heal the girl. She seemed to know the fragile state she lay, believing she wouldn't cope well with a change in healing methods, despite the fact Milotic, too, could perform Aqua Ring.
Forrest rolled to his feet, grabbing his shirt on the way up. He wiped his face enough so it would no longer drip and slung it around wide neck. His face was touched with rose, and his chest rose with heavy and burning lungs. He strode quickly to the site of the girl. Her Pokemon gathered around her, the Weepinbell cradled the egg in its vines. He took a spot next to the Granbull and looked upon her with concerned eyes.
"Do you know where you are?" he asked. His voice harsh, low, but somehow gentle, caring. He wanted to make sure her head wasn't injured in a, clearly, intense brawl.
It couldn't have been a battle, clearly from the state of the girl. It was a fight for her life, it seemed. The bodies of her attackers still remained where their souls were dragged into the Other Realm. He looked at them after he asked.
"I'm Forrest," he introduced himself. His face youthful, though aged. His brows heavy and jaw wide and sharp. Though he was hunched over her, his stature was clearly large. His arms larger than legs, his chest rounded squares of strength. His back a V of power. His legs columns of stability. Hair coated his face and torso thick and even. The hair on his head shaved on the right, but long on the top and left. It fell in shining brown waves released from a tight braid. His eyes, though, were dull and gray, but soft and warm. They smiled, his mouth hiding behind his beard.

The boy clearly worked on his alias background. The man shifted slightly, the lack of surprise unsettling him subconsciously. The passion of Pit Fights was stronger than the sense of legality, for this lot. He hoped he would keep this alias well enough to succeed in his personal vendetta against whomever it might be. He also hoped the boy didn't unravel their whole operation at the same time.
"No," he said in a flat tone and leaned back in his chair. He waved his hand at the girl still standing beside him attentively. She pressed a spot on the desk far enough away from Dicky, himself, to warrant such a voiceless command.
He finger rose, the tip pointing behind Rai's right shoulder. A Chingling silently hovered over him, producing a constant stream from its mind to the boy's body. Despite the fact Chingling were known to constantly produce a faint ring, this one seemed to have been trained out of its natural anatomical feature. Or, perhaps, it was born without the ability. Still, it performed Heal Pulse upon the stranger rather effectively. Dicky wasn't surprised the boy confused the sense of relaxation with depleting health rather than calm.
"But I know who would," he continued.
He shifted to his left and collected something to put in front of him on the desk. A pen appeared in the delicate hand of the "lady" of which was then grasped by Dicky's thick and short hands. He scrawled something upon the small parchment, something quite uncommon in this age. He folded it tightly and slid it toward Rai across the desk. His reaching showed both how large the desk was and his lack of size.
"Make sure you burn that before you leave the Pits," he commanded rather calmly. "For now, rest."

"Oi!" Wah'chyur fuckin' mouth, kid!" Briney's voice boomed from up the old and warped staircase to the visitor's right.
The man was no mere visitor, however. He walked straight forward where the entrance simply opened to the small kitchen. There was a familiarity with the layout that the man new where to look for a mug and pour himself a coffee before the start of, what looked to be, a dreary day. Once the coffee was poured, he lit a cigarette in his mouth and took a drag before taking a sip.
This shit's weak as yur balls, Briney," he complained through the cloud forming around his head in a kitchen that wasn't his.
Fredrick was down the stairs in time to catch him mid-drag and leaning against the counter with his favorite mug in the man's hands. "Sonuvah-" he began to say under his breath. "How many times have I told ya?" he scolded rhetorically. "Take the fag outside or I'll take ya outside."
The threat didn't seem empty, but the man didn't budge from his position against the counter. Instead, he took another drag and another sip and fell his eyes on Fredrick in a look of boredom. He flicked some ashes into the sink and barely shifted. "No need to get your dick in a twist, ya bastard," he said through a half-chuckle.
Fredrick paced around, gathering a few things into a pack in preparation for their commute to Oldale. He picked up tickets to get them from Petalburg to Oldale by the time the demonstration would start. It would take them almost 4 hours to reach Petalburg on foot, but the demonstration didn't begin until the early afternoon. Still, with the stranger, Cloud, wishing to join them, he'd have to pick up another ticket.
"Change in plans, Honnings," Fredrick said, ignoring the offense from the man as well as his own threat. "We're all going to Oldale."
"So, you starting your own Pokemon Adventure, pops?" the man, Mitchell, asked this "Cloud."

Instead of paying for another ticket, Mit offered to bring Cloud to Oldale with his own Pokemon. Manectric was tame and loyal, proving calm and sturdy under the man. Mit chose to wade along a stream deep enough for his Sharpedo. His Ninjask darted through the air above them both. The bug enjoyed roaming around outside his Pokeball.
There was some small talk between the two, not quite racing fast enough to not hold a conversation. They reached Oldale soon enough and Mit invited Cloud to his fouse where he lived with his grandmother, wife, and two kids. Mit had removed his shirt, or ragged torso-cloth, when he was atop his Sharpedo and didn't seem to bother putting it back on despite the weather. Cloud was given weatherproof garments to prevent the need to change once more.
"Ah, Mitty, who's this?" a snow-topped woman asked as they entered.
"Oh, just some poor vagabond bastard the old man found," Mit replied through a wide-smiled laugh. A warm hand fell on Cloud's shoulder and gripped it with quick familiarity.

"Did you get a good look at him?"
"Um," she began, a quiver in her voice. "Skinny, brown hair, pale, average height?"
"Any distinguishing features?"
"No...I was knocked over." Her voice grew frustrated, frightened.
"I understand. I apologize, Mrs. James," he said with a shallow bow. "Are you sure you don't want to go to the clinic? I can have an escort ready."
"Yes, I'm fine," she said with a sigh, falling slowly into a nearby chair.
"You don't mind if I stay to make sure you're okay? Make sure they don't come back?"
She nodded her head. Like a response, someone entered and called for the day-care lady by name. "Female," he thought, anticipating the thieves to return at any moment. His head snapped to the right in the direction of the entrance. "Excuse me."
His heavy feet pounded in a march down the narrow and brief hall. He shot out from behind the receptionist desk and almost too close to the girl. "Are you Ms. Haven that went after the thieves?" he commanded an answer more than asked a question. "If not, I'm afriad," he continued with no sense of fear, "you must leave the premises as this is an active crime scene."
From one "Forrest" and into another. But this one was shorter, stockier. Scars painted interesting designs across his body. Stories. War stories. Accidents.
He held an air of authority. Clearly from the Rangers. Despite this, he only wore training fatigues like most Area Rangers. His large boots, black leather, came up mid-calf. Between the top of these and the bottom of his shorts, barely mid-thigh, was sunned skin and wiry hair. A darkened pink line ran horizontally over his right knee. A few circles of scar tissue dotted his left thigh. The top of his shorts held in a tight tank top, revealing the pronounced crevasses of his torso. Much of his right shoulder was discolored. His right forearm showed gashes scarred-over and ppale. The wiry hair followed from his legs to his chest and arms. His nose had clearly been broken in the past. Stubble spread from his chin to the sides of his head. The top not quite short enough to accurately be classified as "stubble." His eyes were steel, a pale gray holding no warmth or softness. His chin pointed straight to the floor and the sides of his jaw wide and rounded. His ears could have been considered "large" but fit his misshapen nose enough to be features of the same person.
"Sergeant Broadson," a newly famiiar voice pounded from behind Haven. "How did you get stuck investigating this?"
"I was nearby Mr. Johnson," he said, his gae not leaving the girl before him.
"Leave her alone," he said with a chuckle. "She's been through enough." He paused, his large hand suddenly on the girl's shoulder. How could someone so large walk so quietly? "I'll tell you what I saw and show you were the criminals are."

Her rounded paw contacted an orb of metal. A light, red and dull, illuminated above her. She released a stead stream of electricity. A light of an equally dull green blinked just beside her. A distant "click" sounded beyond her, through the numerous metal panels surrounding her position. It was a shift in the generator, levers had switched back, a deafening experience any closer than she was currently. A yellow light flickered steadily and she released her output of electricity.
"Looks good, you two. Come on back," a voice reverberated through the tunnels and against the walls from the intercom system. "We've gotta head to Mauville."
Levers slammed and cables reacted. Doors and gates responded in time. She appreciated her Trainer always being a step ahead.
Her paws caught each rung of the narrow and story-long ladder built specifically for someone of a diminutive size. It was convenient, for the space available for the Heart of Hoenn was diminutive by comparison.
She took every rung thoughtfully, unlike her brother. She touched the pad of her left paw in a tentativeness of uncertainty despite having climbed the ladder countless times in her life. The iron grate floor under her couldn't be too secure, ever cautious of her surroundings and with lasting concern for her trainer and party mates.

The sun was too bright for a moment. Despite the many lights in New Mauville, the intensity of the sun's illumination was always awing. She rose a paw to shield her eyes until they adjusted more completely.
She enjoyed the walk to Mauville Proper, shave for the few times her brother touched her to take some of her elecricity, which always made her jump with a large spark due to the level of discomfort it produced.
"The Southeastern Quadrant has been experiencing power surges and outages for the past day. Sounds like our friends are back."
Her trainer was handsome, at least to her. She always felt like a daughter to the man more than a companion, a party member. Of course, a trainer of his caliber, the relation between the Pokemon and Trainer was infinitely more powerful than simply one's training.
That was her opinion, at least. She always felt strongest when she could physically feel her trainer's energy for her, for the battle, for the excitement, for the care and emotions he held for them.
She hopped onto Manectric's head. The walk to Vauville wasn't long, but she enjoyed the protection he offered against her brother. His attention would, at least, be on Manectric and not her. The hound would snap his faw at the rodent, usually his ears. Her brother would then default to playing "let's see how close I can get." Manectric's enthusiasm for the game always lacked any kind of shared amusement. But she could tell how he enjoyed it, however calmly.
"Okay, let me get a diagnostics report and then we'll head out."

A low bass pounded through the harbor. Foreigners and business professionals were flushed from the ship and onto the docks. A constant hum, the overwhelming murmur of countless simultaneous conversations filled the city-streets. A Sealeo and Sheal turned acrobats performed stunts to passers-by for some kind of income between Coordination Events. Street vendors rang bells and called through projectors. It was chaos, comfortable and used to itself. Everyone walked in every direction with an unconscious fluidity only birth in cities such as these.
"Oh, Unova, huh?" the receptionst asked with a heightened sense of entusiasm. "I spent some time in Castellia for an internship. Certainly a completely different atmosphere compared to just Lilycove, here," she continued as she gathered some maps from under the counter. "But, yes: quite crowded."
Her fingers flicked through some papers. "This one's the map of the city," she said, extending the appropriate pamphlet forward. Her fingers caught an edge with a skilled deftness to spread it open.
"We're here," she explained, pointing to a red dot on the northwestern portion. "You might consider making it to the PokeStation to get these maps and more programmed into your device."
She couldn't remember the Unovan equivalent to the Hoennese Gauntlet and didn't seem concerned if the young man had such a device. Regardless, she moved on from her passing suggestion.
"The second floor, here," she said, gesturing to the current location," will have the supplies you seek."
Her smile looked rehearsed, practiced. Given her occupation, this wasn't surprising.
"And this is Lilycove, here," she said. "However, finding serious trainers might be difficult despite the population," she admitted. "Nothing too serious, anyway." She placed a finger just above a far-west corner of the main continental landmass.
Her finger then traced a path west and then slightly south. It now pointed to an island mountain in a bay. "Mr. MacKenzie can show you how the Pokemon League in Hoenn works. Here, on Mt. Pyre." She tapped her finger twice for emphasis. It then slid back east, past Lilycove, and over a long stretch of water.
"Directly east is the island of Mossdeep. Mr. Percival, his brother, would be more than willing to do so, as well."
Over the map appeared another brochure. This one listed times and locations. "And these are the Ferry schedules if you need them. You've missed the one to Mossdeep," she explained, having thumbed to its place in the charts. "You'll need to be quick to catch the Ferry to Mt. Pyre from Route 121, though."
The time for that ferry was an hour and a half from now, proving the scale of the Region and the map with this small gesture. She, then, folded everything back up neatly for the foreigner to collect them.
"Have a great time," she started as a farewell. "And welcome to Hoenn."

Puddles over pavement rippled and splashed with feet like organized Magikarp pacing through the city. The storm from the day before had passed, leaving the sun free to glimmer back from those puddles. Moisture filled the air, the heat slowly evaporating the wetness away. The air was heavy but smelled fresh, cleansed of dryness and dust. By the end of the day, that dryness would fill the air. For now, patrons enjoyed the temporarily-cooled heat from the sun.
The appropriately-named Slate Port was being visited by the city's Gym Leader, Admiral Pauline Chilikov. She, along with a team of architects, were baptizing a vessel to be added to the Admiral's already-sizable fleet. The Steel Serpent would be the largest and most heavily-armed ship once it proved seaworthy. Incoming cruisers would be postponed for the event. At least they'd have the unique opportunity to view the ceremony from the sea. The docks and narrow shores along the eastern edge of the city were flooded with people, when, just the day before, it was flooded with storm water.
Admiral Chilikov's voice projected with surprising clarity, even to those upon the S.S. Libra, the usual ceremonial speech for all new vessels: protecting Hoenn's people; protecting Hoenn's Pokemon; and, more importantly, the environment in which people and Pokemon lived. There was a list of energy-efficient features experimental and still in testing phases, just barely passing the tests allowing it to be used for transport of living beings.
The vessel slowly drifted northward as to allow the S.S. Libra to dock. The crowd surrounding the port didn't dissipate quickly, however. Passengers would be unloaded into the dense crowds. However, the general sense of manners would allow easy enough passage through.
Slateport Marketplace, as a whole, was holding a sale and festival for the day. The more intellectual individuals made their way to the Center of Marine Biology where admittance was free for the day. The Naval Base was holding presentations related to the Pokemon Rangers and all duties related to their positions. Recruits were signed up, the most in one day for a very long time.

A place of sorrow, mourning, absorbs these energies. These energies are powerful, genuine, forever. Regions have their own cemeteries. They always hold an air so much different than elsewhere. They do not hold the excitement of adventure or the thrills of battles. They do not hold the bustle of cities or the enthrallment of Contest. Their purpose is pointed, singular.
The waters in the Pyre Bay are glass, stained with clouds of gray, grief sinking into the waters. They still, turn silent, forever respecting the need for uninterupted sobs, unmolested wails. They are formless and opaque, rinkeled in ageless death.
The air pushes against them as if embracing for comfort, consoling. It's heavy, pushes against the chest. It makes one's conscious of their breating. Each breath is a blessing and should be cherished, understood as temporary and sometimes fleeting. It feels like one's heart tugs down into the waters to be cleansed, baptized, claimed for their own. It gasps, pulling at them like strings, pulling the hearts they've claimed.
There is no current. Foam does not form against the base of the slate cone at their center. The mountain ripples, the air fossilizing the tears shed, burying the cries and wails released here. It commands reverence. It demands silence. Echoes fall into the slate, taking the life of voice to sustain itself. It saps the breath away, attracts the gaze of all, and houses the restless spirits until they are ready to release the corporeal. Mt. Pyre is the center of a realm beyond this. It is a portal to the beyond for those who belong there. It is the end to the beginning.
The cavernous entrance constantly released a warm, heavy breath, always exhaling the last gasp. The gray slate covered the inside as well as out. However, the air, itself, was dead, unmoving. Pacing through the oppression, depression, with improper intent felt offensive. The atmosphere demanded the acknowledgement of each tomb and grave. Individuals froze before the memory of those past. Simply seeing a name, an engraving, etched in their minds the fact that the experience of life was over. The expressions of love, fear, and excitement would never again be shared with them.
Light dulled in their memory. Light exposes distractions. The need for proper mourning, even nature understood. Illumination is life. It was gray and haze required for the somber and sorrow siging from the living that was necessary for such an atmosphere.
Still, he smiled. The darkness, the depression, was certainly justified. But the life that was lived, however briefly, must be celebrated. Those experiences of love, fear, and excitement is what life is about. In death, rebirth occurs. It is the end of what was finished. A soul completed its meaning in this life and must be recreated for a new purpose. And this is what made him smile. Well, that and Sableye and Banette guiding new spirits to the realm where they belonged, after a good ribbing, of course.
"Mr. Gutermuth," a whispered through the shadows. "You have a challenger."

A small group of girls huddled around - something. Fawning, or laughing at - something. They were no older than 12 and a Skitty and Zigzagoon passively interacted with them. They nuzzled their heads into their calves, resulting in a subconscious scratch of their heads as the girls looked down and admired - whatever it was that commanded their attentions. One of the girls, almost taller than the rest, but certainly rounder, looked the most excited. Her round face was soft, supple. The yellow curls that framed her cheeks somehow gave her prominent cheekbones. Her rich, brown eyes shone gold in the purity of the sun. The ruffled sundress creased around her angled joints in the color of the post-storm sky above. "Look! Look!"
White sharded out between them. It was encouraged by the others but seemed to occur on its own. They shifted slightly, though it seemed the brightness before them did not harm their eyes. Their hands did not raise to shield them, they did not squint to filter less of the light into their pupils. It was brightness, pure and harmless. They "oo-ed" as the illumination dulled and finally ceased. "Yay!" the golden sky girl called out to her crowd as if they weren't there to witness it themselves. "Silcoon!"
The Skitty approached and pawed at the evolved Wurmple. The girls "aw-ed" in response. Their crying increased when Zigzagoon licked its silk shell. "He was right! I'm going to have a Beautifly!"
The other girls nodded and "ah-ed," looking at each other, validating the girl's apparent efforts to manipulate the evolution of the creature. "And I'll have a stronger connection with her since I didn't catch her as a Silcoon," she explained, reciting what was explained to her about the process she utilized for the event. "Silcoon, once she evolves, and I are going to be the Top Coordinators one day!" she promised, seemingly more to herself than to the other girls around her.
"Olivia!" another girl named the golden sky. "Let's get practicing now and learn what Silcoon can do!" Her excited fingertips rubbed Zigzagoon's head.
This girl looked much more mature than Olivia, though couldn't have been any older. She had hair of obsidian in waves cascading to her mid-back. The front was pulled back and braided. Her face was elegantly angled. Her eyes were a bright, almost sparkling as emeralds, green that complimented her pale olive skin. She wore jeans, proper yet fitted, with a light white blouse and undershirt. She dressed smart for someone so young.
"I don't see the point, Ezma," Olivia said, naming the smart-dresser. She held up an orb wrapped in a blue paper. "I'm just going to evolve her now."
"You know," Ezma began tentatively. Her face showed sadness, a sympathy for the Silcoon. "You really shouldn't do that. What's the point trying to build a relationship if you're not going to put in the effort?"
"What do you know, Ezmarelda?" Olivia snapped back with condescension and dropped three of the candies to the ground so that the Silcoon could eat them without much effort.

"What were you doing up here, anyway?"
"Camping with my son."
"Must be nice to have the time."
"Heh, fuck you," Forrest said and swung a fist at the sergeant's arm.
Broadson looked back at the boy, the attempted jab with some humor not quite reaching the man. "That's no way to speak around children." The chastisement seemed genuine. Forrest just remained silent.
"Did he see any of it?"
"No."
"Daddy," a long whine sounded behind them. "I'm hungry."
"You're a big boy, now. You don't need to whine."
The boy huffed and pushed fists toward the ground. "I'm not whining," he said through fumed pouts.
Forrest stopped and shed off the rucksack from his back. He pushed a few things aside and pulled out an Oran berry. "This will have to do until we get back home," he said with a touch of sympathy.
"Thank you," Jerrek said with brows pushed into his eyes, trying to look serious in an attempt to seem mature. He took the berry in his hands and nibbled at it with temperance.

"It takes a day to get from here to Petalburg," Broadson explained as if Forrest didn't know how far away his own home was.
"It takes a day and a half," Forrest corrected in passing. "But -" he started and pointed to the sky. Flygon swirled around above them. Barely a dot in the sky, but he could be reached easily enough.
Jerrek ate his berry - contented and slowly trailing behind the adults. Broadson offered a cigarette to Forrest and they both puffed as they hiked back to the "scene of the crime." Jerrek was naive enough to not be disturbed by returning to a place where lifeless bodies lied. He was more concerned with "just trying" a cigarette because he thought it was cool and mature.

"He should really go home. He doesn't belong here."
Forrest just gazed at Broadson sideways. The sergeant always had strong opinions of what was appropriate for others. There was nothing inherently wrong with protecting innocence. Forrest just had a very different philosophy about raising children to become competent adult.
"I'm not a kid!" Jerrek called at the sergeant. "Sir," he added sheepishly, recognizing his outburst as disrespectful to law enforcement. "I'm strong enough to handle myself, sir." Again, his brows edged into his eyes.
"No offense, kid, but you're not old enough for this sort of thing," Broadson explained rather coldly.
"I'm not a kid!" he almost screamed back. "Please! - Sir! I won't do nothin' or touch nothin'!"
"- Please," Forrest said low and quiet as he placed an arm on Broadson's bare shoulder. "I'll make sure he doesn't compromise anything."
"That's not the -" Broadson began to argue. But he stopped himself and let out a short sigh. "Fine, but you do what I or your father tells you. And you stay back." The gray ice of his irises shot toward the boy's soft blues, making him wince as if struck. Jerrek just nodded and put his fingertips to his temple in a mock salute, not knowing what else to do as he was temporarily mute.

"Milotic and Medicham made sure they weren't dead. Banette has control over that now, though." His tone was flat, clinical.
Sergeant Broadson stepped through the shaded grass and inspected the body closest to them. "How many are there?"
"Two men. Rhyhorn, Fearow, Arbok, Tauros, Scyther."
"What made you take such action?"
"A dead girl in the mud. They were fucking sketchy-as-shit, too," he said, pointing to the man stretched but also curled before them.
The sergeant checked for a pulse - faint, slow - and then rose to inspect the other bodies scattered around. They were no less than 10 feet away from each other and all equally contorted against the ground. The other man was further in the forest, barely in sight from the man they hovered over now.
"Was your intent to kill them?"
"Um..." it sounded pondering rather than guilty. "I guess so."
Both knew it was simply for the record. Neither could imagine Forrest actually getting incarcerated (considering the evidence against the attackers).
"Has anything else like this happened recently?" Forrest asked. It was now his turn to question.
"Well, we've had an influx of missing-persons claims."
Both also knew it was unlikely this incident could explain those missing. But it crossed their minds in a moment of silence. They steeled themselves for what the truth could reveal to them.
"Jerrek, honey," Forrest said, crouching down to level with the boy who was a distance away which encouraged him to approach. Half his attention was on Masquerain who fluttered just overhead, wanting to play with the boy despite his need to be "mature."
"You're going to go home. Tell your mother that I'll be home for dinner."
"But sir," he said, arms stiff by his side in an attempt to show an appropriate level of restraints and composure. "I won't interfere."
"I know you won't, hon," Forrest said and placed a hand over the whole of the boy's upper arm. His tone was soft despite it's resonance. "I can't promise your safety."
"But all of them are here," Jerrek argued back with a hand raised toward the air in a gesture to all of his father's Pokemon while quickly losing his composure.
"There's too many of them," he started, indicating the Voided across the ground, "and we don't know of what they're capable or if there's anyone watching us and intending to harm us to protect their friends."
Jerrek was silent and considered his father's calm and clear diagnosis of the current situation. His stomach interrupted with a violent curling - a plea that made even Forrest raise his heavy eyebrows. Jerrek looked down, equally surprised by the sound. He released a long sigh and slouched his shoulders. "Fine," he said.
"Don't slouch," Forrest snapped the correction seemingly out-of-place and with robustness. The boy immediately snapped back into a proper posture.
"Good-bye, Sergeant Broadson," Jerrek said with a voice pushed low and performed a proper salute, rigid and strained with his chest out and heels together.
The sergeant performed an equally respectful salute to the boy, but remembered that the eyes were to look straight ahead and past all distractions. Being so much taller than Jerrek, it looked like Broadson saluted to Masquerain, who continued to flutter obliviously in the close distance.
Jerrek made the mental note to remember that next time.
Flygon had alit behind the boy, having already been notified of the request of his services. Forrest rose to twice his son's height and reached a hand to Flygon's chin to give a friendly pat as a voiceless "thanks." Jerrek made the effort to mount the creature and the two rocketed up and then south. Forrest watched and waved despite not being able to see their outlines clearly. Regardless, it made him feel better about leaving his son.

"You ready?" Broadson asked.
Forrest looked over to Medicham who gave a mental nod. Banette's voice echoed from beyond, a snicker that reverberated against their skulls. Forrest gave a single nod for the three of them.
The Dark Void used to cast their souls away appeared around the bodies of the criminals. The rings that formed smoked gold. The haze wafted toward the ring's center just above the "victim's" chests. The fog sank and made their torsos glow.
After a few moments, they began to groan and cry with pain and soreness. One of each of Forrest's Pokemon stood next to them, making sure they wouldn't try to run. Forrest stood with Sergeant Broadson and his Carracosta.
Forrest stepped to squat next to the criminal they stood over. "Don't make any sudden movements," he exhaled a heavy whisper against the man's cheek as if he cared about his well-being.
"What's your name?" Broadson asked much more coldly.
"Fuck," was all he could groan.
The two of them waited for the man to collect himself and serve a proper punishment. Broadson squatted down and mirrored Forrest on the other side of the criminal's head. He studied it to see if he was recognizable. There was nothing remarkable about his gaunt and pale body. A few tattoos were etched into his chest and arms, but nothing notable. Regardless, he was the prime suspect for the crime against Mrs. James.
Broadson shifted his left foot toward the man's hand and began to apply weight to the ball of his foot. "Fuuuuuuck!" the man groaned a howl. He kept whining and Broadson never let off.
"Speak up, I can't hear you," Broadson said in a bored tone.
"Ahhhh. Get off my fuckin' 'and!" he continued to yell through a sore and dry throat.
There's something here, but I can't quite get to it.
Forrest rose quickly and trotted toward the other man where Medicham meditated. Broadson could get what he could from that man, but Medicham could penetrate the minds of others with much less physical consequence. What's in the way?
The...Hospital? Or is it the Institute? she asked and showed the vision to Forrest to see if his opinion could shed more light on the fogged thoughts.
It's definitely Fairfax, was all he could determine. Can you get a face?
I'm losing it. He's resisting me. He's surprisingly strong.
Forrest just remained silent and watched as the man, possibly around his own age but far worse off, moved his face as if casting a spell. He looked toward Medicham and thought just use Disable if he tries to flee.
The man's eyes flickered and his face contorted. He turned his neck slowly, seeing a large and shirtless man with a Medicham hovering over him. He knew not to pick a fight and instead sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fuck me, he's going to kill us."
"Sounds like your serious," Forrest said, evaluating his statements like some kind of psychologist.
"I am."
"Who's 'he'?"
The man just scoffed at the question, which made him cough. The dryness in his throat made it difficult for him to stop.
"Here," Forrest said and reached over to pour some water into his mouth.
The man took it without protest. He understood what kind of trouble he was in and had already submitted himself to failure, to death. He also knew he couldn't cooperate.
"If you just tell us who -" Forrest began.
"You don't understand. When you find out, you'll know why."

"Go bring-" Broadson paused, unable to summon the information he needed to communicated. "Keeper! What was that name?"
"Ms. Haven Dao from Goldenrod. Daughter to-"
"...Ms. Dao to your home. She'll be safest there," Broadson finished with the command. The woman was cut from her recitation and accepted the interruption. She went back to recording the immediate surroundings with the other Keepers, understanding she was under the Sergeant's command for this mission.
"Bulwark Lark and I will take them," he started again, nodding his head toward the criminals not yet off the ground, "to Rustboro to get them healed up and then into custody. We have only enough Rangers to stake out the Day-care. We believe Ms. Haven could be the target of another attack, however. But the General won't provide an escort for a single foreigner who hasn't even been in the region very long."
"Understood," Forrest said, lifting the rucksack and fastening it back on.
"You'd best leave now if you want to get back for dinner," Broadson teased.
Forrest just saluted and then hiked with some vigor out of the forest just off the path of Route 117. He took this chance to exercise some and started to run with the rucksack and alongside his Pokemon. By the time he reached the Day-care, his legs and lungs were burning. He knocked on the door but let himself in, regardless.

Heavy breaths. Apounding Heart. Panic and exhilaration. Fear and bravery. Defiance and independence. Pride and a sense of responsibility. Empathy is powerful and exhausting. Sometimes being a psychic medium was overwhelming. It was always a constant debate to allow herself to feel or to force objectivity. Having a powerful mind can make one's psyche fragile - delicate. Mastery could only come from reflection, meditation, and developing effective defense mechanisms. Few understood the struggle of Psychic-types. Spiritual awareness is the only path to growth and stability.
He only wants to help.
The voice filled her mind and blocked out all else. All the worry and guilt. It sounded soft but filled Haven's mind and her spirit. It was what a goddess would sound like if such things existed, if one believed. It was maternal and warm, like it'd been watching her her whole life. It wasn't judgemental or chastising. It was simply an explanation.
Accepting help when it is freely given is not a weakness. Weakness is not recognizing when you should accept it.
It seemed the voice was asking more than it was stating. "Can you truly protect yourself? The egg? Your Pokemon? Is there nothing for you to learn? Is there no way to grow from experiencing life with others?"
It was rhetorical. Something to think about before committing to a decision.
If you know you are strong enough, then continue on your path.
Haven's mind cooled. Her heart lightened. Her body loosened. She was finally relaxed. She could fall asleep at the foot of the door if she wasn't also invigorated by the cleansing. The soreness of her muscles washed away. They tingled. Her eyes were no longer heavy, her head no longer bogged by her own insecurities. If she wished to surrender herself and her party to rest, she could. If she needed to pursue independence, her body was ready. It felt like her bones were on fire, smoldering. It was up to her whether that fire would lull her or fuel her to journey onward.
They care about you. They want to make sure you're okay as you have made sure they are okay. They do not judge, they provide security - love. You have given them financial security. They wish to give you mental stability. Love goes both ways.
The voice wasn't talking about Forrest or Mrs. James. The voice merely suggested to speak with her mother. She didn't need to hide from them. She was already a region away. What could they do? What power or influence did they have over her now? What could she lose by confiding in those she cared for and who cared for her? The questions couldn't hinder Haven's now-cleared mind. Instead, they'd be answered without effort and in complete truth.
Speaking to them isn't what will still their worry. Knowing you are okay and safe and happy is what they want to do for you. If you aren't, they want to help in whatever ways they can, even if it's just listening.

The entirety of the city showed itself as a three-dimensional plasma cube suspended in the air. A corner glowed, creating a red cube in the light orange of the whole. This cube was actually made up of tiny and an uncountable number of red lines. Mr. Sturm's hand twitched in a way that enlarged the red cube and exposed those red lines.
His eyes darted, looking for something in the mess of a web. He walked around it, examining each connection and source, each bend and terminal. The slightest malfunction would have been rerouted, compensated by the fail-safes he'd designed. The fact that the entire block was out of power was suspicious. What the hell is going on?
Plusle hopped onto his shoulder and squeaked with a paw pointing to the base of the cube. There was a split in the diagram not there before. It was the pipe of the Major Conversion Chamber responsible for distributing power to the block. But how could that break cause a power outage?
"We're going to have to investigate," He told his party.
Another twitch of his hand vanished the blueprint. His other hand placed two fingers on his left earlobe and he spoke as if into a phone or gauntlet. "Sector Charlie-7-Foxtrot, Zone 0-November-67-Queen-1. MCC split. Evacuate and block all transportation in Quadrant 8."

The slate slopes cascaded like a waterfall. The crests glowed softly in the haze surrounding the mountain. MacKenzie gazed longingly at the orbs of light. The Altar was but ruinous ruble for the past - centuries. The full, but cool, air seemed to preserve them as if time held no affect at Mt. Pyre. The blues and reds from the orbs filled each crack with blackness. The power of the orbs emitted swirled around each other.
MacKenzie's gray-green eyes looked clear in the refractions. His dusty orange hair now brown in the overcast sun. He wore a full suit, as if attending a funeral, that made his slim and long figure look sharp and intelligent.
His right arm extended out as if to grab something in the empty space. His fingers curled as if clutching one of the orbs before him. A purpled-black fog began to form in its center. It bulged and boiled for a moment extended in existence. A cyclone developed and fell to the brown-green grass of the ground. The blades weren't affected by the fog or the apparent force it possessed. It spilled over the grass but kept some kind of density unnatural to the physical realm.
"Sable-" The voice formed as the body formed. Red gems pierced as eyes out of the cloud that grew to MacKenzie's mid-thigh. The darkness fog began to still into stalagmites - spikes against the head and arms. It's almost-black body with bloodstone eyes. A large jet pierced its chest creating an illusion of some kind of black hole as its heart. Cloudy and chiseled jade stone littered the entire back of the Darkness Pokemon. Granite Cave helped adorn its body with the intent to intimidate.
Just as Sableye "materialized," a Gengar appeared above The Altar, hovering and looking down on them with the classic "Gengar Grin." Sableye chittered, the sound echoing abnormally around them lit it was reverberating against the air itself. MacKenzie closed his eyes, focusing his third eye for a greater perception of this challenger.
It wasn't unusual for Ghost-types to be attracted to his abilities as a medium and his powerful aura. Malevolent spirits were attracted for the goal of devouring, whereas most others just wished to be seen. He was known as the Spirit Rehabilitator, calming or simply grounding the more nasty spirits actually harming people and other Pokemon.
But this one - no, this one was different. Interested in socializing with others of its kind. Or was that a need to prove its superiority? And it was a party member of a trainer. But not in a Pokeball? Young man, canine, arthropod? Unova...
"Welcome," MacKenzie said, his arms out as if to embrace the challenger without a trainer. "I am MacKenzie Gutermuth, medium and Gym Leader. What is your request?"
His eyes, still closed, listening with his crown, his mind in the realm shared by his Pokemon.

The gaggle of girls dispersed in huffs and giggles and sighs. Comments were made by some spectators about the lack of coordination on the part of the coordinator. Other comments were made about the validity of the younger girl's assessment while she hugged her Ditto. but these spectators moved on to more impressive shows of talent and skill anywhere else in the city.
However, one spectator held more interest in the Ditto-girl than the others. She approached from behind with a Whismur hopping beside. "Hi," she said with a level of cheerfulness unexpected from most. "You seem to know quite a bit about Pokemon training."
It was largely a redundant observation but worked well enough as an introduction. "I'm Jenna," she said "and this is my Whismur," she added with a look down to the silent pink orb. "Have you studied at the Academy? I've never seen you before."
The girl, older than Sarah by a half-decade, combed her fingers through her straight brown hair and positioned it behind her ear as Sarah responded.
"Yeah, the Johnson Academy in Oldale. I'm heading back there for a special demonstration. If you're not doing anything else, you should come with me. You'll learn a lot."