Ilsa Waters
Johto Waters
The water was a cold blanket around Ilsa, rushing past her in a coherent current as she dove deeper. Light was fading fast, not that there was much to see in this part of the ocean. Middling waters were usually uneventful and murky, good for safety but dull to pass through. That it was a cloudy day didn’t help the scenery; waiting for sunlight to dive was recommended procedure, but if Ilsa did that she may as well hang up her gear. In the summer sunny days could be reliably expected, but now that autumn had set in there was less daylight and more haze, making for dim lighting in the ocean’s vast middle that only grew dimmer as Ilsa descended.
Vaughn, Ilsa’s Carvanha, was her preferred method of transport through the deep blue. Though smaller than her in size, he could pull her through the water at the sacrifice of speed, and not that much of it either. A combination of Aqua Jet speed and Speed Boost ramping had gone into developing Vaughn’s current state of motion, and a couple of weeks of practice later, Vaughn could blow most competitors out of the water—sometimes literally, by striking from below when near the surface. Much to Vaughn’s displeasure, Ilsa would unabashedly admit that getting him there was a struggle, even if that wasn’t apparent from the way he wielded his prowess in the water. The last time she’d brought it up she’d gotten a Water Gun to the face, which earned Vaughn a decent attempt at a Tackle in response.
In the ocean, though, diving was more Vaugn’s thing than hers, especially at this depth, where even light had a hard time penetrating. The colors too had gone, swallowed up by the vast blue sea, leaving only a murk between blue and green that tended more towards grey than anything.
It was at this point that the bottom of the ocean began to materialize. Blackness gave way to an ashen landscape of canyons and trenches that were once peaks and valleys, or so people were fond of telling Ilsa. Cities and skyscrapers were before her time, and her only references had been soggy magazines and pictures passed around by returning divers. After she arrived at the diving academy, she got to see these man-made ‘wonders,’ but at that point they’d already been claimed by the sea.
As the canyon below came into focus, Ilsa could begin to make out the distinct features of the underwater cliffs: the pathway of a past river, the road of a route traversing the cliff, and the tatters of a bridge connecting the two sides of the canyon.
A point had Vaughn bring her over to the route, a stretch of footpath that trainers likely tread flat in a less watery time. Taking a moment to mime walking for Vaughn, exaggerating the movement of her arms and legs to do so, Ilsa spotted a curious indent on the cliff face across the broken bridge. Vaughn helped her across the canyon after a brief moment of impatient signalling, bringing Ilsa to the strange symbol carved in the wall face. But, as they swam over, Ilsa saw something even better than a strange symbol in rock: a cave entrance. A grin hung on her face as she patted Vaughn, pumping her fist. And, after a final glance at the symbol, which was symmetric and spiny, perhaps missing a circle from the bottom, Ilsa headed for the cave.
The low cave entrance set the water level for the inside of the cave as well, allowing Ilsa to swim into the cave. As she swam, she was able to make out intricate tiling along the entrance, which opened up to a large, round room. A blue outline spanned the floor of the room, almost like a group of symmetric symbols, but either way Ilsa was excited at the prospect of this find. It seemed like she’d chanced upon ruins that may have been considered ‘ruins’ even before the great floods. True relics—the mere prospect was tantalizing, and Ilsa patted Vaughn to indicate her desire to surface.
Ilsa’s head broke water inside the cave, and she removed her mask to take a breath of preserved cave air. Other than occasionally being a bit stale or moldy after so long underwater, most pockets of air trapped in caves were entirely breathable, and Ilsa made sure she took advantage of this.
“Well, would you look at that, Vaughn.”
Now that Ilsa had removed her mask, letting it hang at her neck by its strap, she saw the cave in all its glory: a circular room with intricate red-and-gold designs circling the walls, broken only by a purple-and-black band of equally mysterious designs. That the room predated the flood was obvious, but by how much? A hundred years or a thousand?
“Worthless though, if we can’t move it,” Ilsa said, having finished her scan of the room. At her side, Vaughn grunted in agreement.
Now that she had a better view of the room’s circular shape, Ilsa also realized that the room did not, unfortunately, have any other passageways. It was self-contained, ending at its walls, it seemed, and therefore would likely offer her little more than a view at best. Wild Pokemon typically needed a sizable amount of space to survive, and this room failed to provide anything but a shallow pool and decent airspace. And, since she’d never been one to simply admire, Ilsa strapped her mask back on and blew out the water before diving back into the water,
Looking over the room once more, though, Ilsa’s eyes caught on one of the tiles towards her left. Unlike the other tiles, which were arranged in a smooth red and yellow pattern, it seemed like one block had come out of the design. Encouraged by the possibility of taking something—anything—back from this largely fruitless trip, Ilsa directed Vaughn towards the block.
Up close, the tiles seemed to be made of some sort of red stone, which peeked out where the paint had chipped. The block that had captured Ilsa’s attention moved at her touch, and after a moment’s struggle trying to find a grip on it in the narrow crevice its displacement provided, it came out easily, two hands in length and rather thin as well. But, rather than leaving a shallow space in the wall, it seemed that the hole it left behind was rather deep, prompting Ilsa to bend down and peek in. A grin instantly lit her face, and she snatched the object from inside without another thought.
Snapping off her mask, Ilsa turned the object this way and that, frowning. “Found something, but what is it?”
In her hands was a red-tinted, spherical ball of sorts. It appeared to be metal plated, judging by the way it sounded when Ilsa tapped it, and from its weight she guessed that its interior was likely made of something else—wood or plastic, most likely. And, much like the room it inhabited, the ball was covered in symbols and intricacies, circles and lines that deterred Ilsa from her urge to pass it to Vaughn for a hearty Bite. Since she couldn’t determine the value of the ball, she couldn’t guess whether its value would increase or decrease if she opened it, much less if she damaged it. So, deciding the best course of action would be to save it for appraisal, she tucked it in the satchel on her back.
“Right. This time for sure,” she said to Vaughn, who snorted some water in Ilsa’s direction as she adjusted the oxygen tanks strapped at her sides. She was running low on the left one, and she didn’t want to have to switch on the way back, so she figured it’d be better to switch now. Unfortunately, since oxygen tanks were refilled and recycled, she couldn’t just ditch the dead weight, though the thought had often crossed her mind. Replacing a metal tank was much more costly than just refilling one, and unfortunately she hadn’t had the best luck diving last week.
Ilsa replaced her diving mask and mouthpiece, then uttered a muffled “Ready” with a thumbs up. When Vaughn drifted over, Ilsa grabbed onto the spines atop his back, thanking her lucky stars again for the wetsuit designer who had the forethought to reinforce the palm area. Vaughn’s bone-like spines pushed back as she held on during his dive, though she kept her eyes trained ahead as they exited the cave.
Outside, the ocean remained its usual murky blue, but this time it wasn’t empty; a Sharpedo seemed to have started patrolling the outside of the cave, and its eyes lit up when it saw Ilsa and Vaughn appearing at the cave entrance. Lunging at them, the Sharpedo bared its jaws, its eyes glowing with the remnants of a Focus Energy.
Vaughn, though, was quick on the uptake, having experience on his side. Turning towards the Sharpedo, Vaughn opened his jaws to fire a Screech. Underwater, the harsh, high-pitched cry translated into a faint buzzing in Ilsa’s ears, invisible as it traveled towards the Sharpedo. And, just as the move seemingly hit—the Sharpedo’s eyes widening, then closing and quenching its previous glow—Vaughn veered away from the surprised Pokemon, starting a Water Jet to amp up his speed.
As Vaughn blasted away, Ilsa looked back at the Sharpedo they’d left behind, who now seemed to have a trainer by its side. So it wasn’t a wild like she’d thought, but who was it? A fellow diver, trailing her out here to steal her glory, or someone else entirely? But, that was gone from her mind when the trainer mounted their Sharpedo, seemingly intent on giving chase. Patting Vaughn, Ilsa turned back around, focusing on the way back.
The Shoal
Ilsa toweled her hair off, walking towards her chair where her wetsuit hung, drying. It was the only chair, at the only table in her modest room atop the inn. Since she was one of the more profitable divers, she’d been able to afford her own room—an opportunity she jumped on as soon as she could. Her savings were meager because of it, sure, but she had little else to spend on but better equipment, and she was already buying on the upper spectrum.
Sitting and letting the towel hang over her shoulder, Ilsa picked up the ball she’d retrieved from the underwater ruins, holding it up to the light to examine it more closely. There were, curiously, no scuffs or scratches on the ball’s metal surface, nor were there any clear cracks to indicate an opening. But, since the ball had to have been made somehow, Ilsa figured it was probably that the openings just couldn’t be seen—or that she wasn’t looking in the right place.
The patterns on the ball, now that Ilsa had more time to look, seemed to resemble those on the floor of the ruins. Now dry, the design had a faint blue to it, with the same two circles and spokes as the ruin floors except arranged differently. The contrast between the blue markings and the red ball made for a striking color combination, though Ilsa hoped it was more than just for appearances. The appearance of the other diver at the cave seemed to suggest that the ruins weren’t worthless, but maybe she was pulling it too far. The area she’d been exploring could very well be another diver’s designation or territory, which she would have no way of knowing if they weren’t from the Shoal. So, at this point, she could only keep her fingers crossed the local appraiser could find some worth to the metal-plated ball.
Grabbing her jacket and bag, she headed for the local tavern where people often congregated. The appraiser was often there around the evening, looking for work or just being merry, and Ilsa was looking forward to catching up with some of her peers. As she was a solitary diver, she seldom saw her fellow diving academy graduates when out diving, so visiting hotspots like the tavern or restaurants was one of the only ways Ilsa could stay connected with her peers.
“Yo, Ils!” Kelvin called, catching up to Ilsa at the tavern door, his curly hair plastered to his head. “Long time no see.”
“Heya Kel. Been diving?” Ilsa asked, pulling the door open for them both. Inside, the tavern was the usual bustle of motion, scattered tables and rearranged chairs to accommodate its varied guests. A few careless puddles, likely from spilt drinks or wet clothes, were being mopped up by a slow-moving Grimer. Cheer was the mood, as it often was the day before the Shiver Rill docked. Ilsa herself had a hard time staving off anticipation, having found both a Pokemon and a relic—the ball—to sell.
“Yep. Fished me a bag of Clamperl pearls for the Rill,” Kelvin said with a grin. “You? Basculin find anything good?”
“Basculin found more than Wimpod,” Ilsa said, matching his grin. “More guts too.”
“Hey, not fair I got the lame nickname,” Kelvin said, but Ilsa was heading away, waving the back of her hand as she made her way over to the appraiser.
“Murph! You got a minute?” she called out, getting the attention of the boisterous man downing wells like water. Murphy’s large beard exaggerated his movements as he snapped around to face her, the telltale tint of alcohol staining the tips of his ears.
“Ilsa, lass, business tomorrow. Today I celebrate—Mira, Calder, you—your Lileep, you—”
“Murphy!” Ilsa hissed, ducking and looking around to see who’d caught the drunkard’s words. But, aside from a few curious glances from Murphy’s equally drunk tablemates, it seemed like the buzz of the tavern had drowned out the statement.
“Oh cheer up. May as talk—no one’s got the funds to buy it off ‘ya,” Murphy said, burping. “And who’d wanna mess with Ilsa, the Basculin?”
“Tons of people,” Ilsa replied, then sighed as the barkeep slid Murphy his drinks, realizing that she’d been forgotten.
Looking around the tavern, Ilsa wondered where to start. She wasn’t one to get wasted—not often, at least—but she’d pulled in a good lot this time around. Maybe she could afford some celebration.
@Kuro
