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[branchinginterests]

shadowedsapphire:

Sapphire gripped at the hand on the crook of her arm, eyes wild and bloodshot. She was hearing the words, but they made no sense to her. Why would he target her? She couldn’t have been all that important? He mentioned her father, and that brought forth a burst of fear, a needing to protect papa that overwhelmed her senses for a moment. She could feel starbursts at the corner of her eyes, small white specs beginning to crowd her vision. She ignored them, she had answers to find.

“I must have– I must have done something–” she stressed, her grip against the wall turning white with the effort to keep herself upright. “—you don’t just fake someone’s death without a good reason, right?” a small hysterical giggle bubbled out of her throat, and Sapphire made no motion to stop it. She was so tired. She raised her head to look at the man– her uncle, with half lidded eyes, trying desperately to hold onto consciousness. 

“My… my papa– did Damian ever hurt him? Becasue of me? There’s someone else, I can only vaguely remember– I needed to protect him the most, but I can’t–” she tapered off, her breathing growing labored, as a cough began to build in her throat. Not now, she couldn’t vomit now.

She goes on about how she must have done something for all of this to happen, and while Sycamore knows vaguely why she was targeted (he’d done his research after his fist encounter with Damian) he wasn’t sure he could explain the why’s to her properly in this state—better to just let it come back naturally. Besides, the tired, hysterical laughs that came out her were enough to convince him that they couldn’t spend any more time on this. She needed rest.

“Your father,” he said, beginning to mention the fire at his lab, but stopped. “Your father has been fine. Because you were so very brave, my girl, he’s safe. So please. Please come with me now, okay? Let’s go somewhere you can be safe, as well.”

She looks like she’s going to be sick, at any rate, and Sycamore reaches to steady her as best he can. “Come now,” he gently pushed, “come, we’ll go to the infirmary, and there will be people there who can help you.”

Waking Nightmare || Sapphire & Sycamore

[branchinginterests]

shadowedsapphire:

Sapphire stares up at the lanky man in front of her with a desperate look on her face, familiarity of him so close in her mind, but still so far out of reach. “Why can’t I remember anything?” She needed to know, why would he want to wipe her memory?

His voice broke as he spoke to her, only confirming more to her that this man knew her, could almost feel the desire to protect radiation off of him. It baffled her. This had never seemed like a possibility– but then again, what did she know? She had apparently been drugged up to keep her from remembering something. Something important, she could feel it. She thought of the scars all over her body, the huge, old gashes across her back.

Something important indeed.

“What do you know?” Sapphire asked, her voice slightly raised in panic. “What did he do to me, why would he want to make me forget? What happened to me, what did I do–” her voice lowered and caught on her last sentence, “–did I deserve it?” 

She’s trusting him again. Slowly but surely, she has to be. It’s why she doesn’t run, why she stays and keeps asking him things. Things he doesn’t necessarily want to answer, but things she needs to know, nonetheless. Things to remind her why she was here, who she was with, and why he was bad news. Again, Sycamore swallows hard.

“I know that he would hurt you,” he told her, “I know—know that we thought you were dead. Your father and I. We—you were gone for so long, and we never heard anything. And I know that I... I found you here, I walked into a lab room and he was—he was hurting you, and.....”

But the last thing she asked was the most painful. Did I deserve it? Who could ask such a thing? Those were words that never should have even come out of his precious niece’s mouth. “Of course you didn’t,” he stressed to her, “Sapphire, my girl, you didn’t do anything. That psychopath, he... he does it for fun.”

Waking Nightmare || Sapphire & Sycamore

[branchinginterests]

shadowedsapphire:

Sapphire immediately shrinks back at his tone, instinctively bringing her arms up close to her chest, ready to defend herself if need be. It takes her a moment to realize that he is angry for her, and it calms her somewhat. The throbbing in her head grows as she tries to recall exactly what Damian has done to her, the only alarming things coming to mind being smiles that didn’t reach his eyes, grips on her that became a little too tight, too possessive. 

It is very easy for her to imagine him being violent, and that scares her.

The fear makes her pain spike, and she lets out a low groan, swaying against her position of leaning on the wall. Everything hurts, in a way she knows is wrong, and her eyes dart down to the pock marks on her arm. “What are these– I don’t remember… this happening, doing this to myself. Do you think he–” She stutters off, not wanting to believe what is right in front of her.

She shrinks from him, and Sycamore supposed that was his own fault for getting upset, for being angry and that he needed to try harder not to spook her. She’s swaying and looking not good at all, and if anything happens Sycamore needs to know she’ll let him take care of her if she falls, hurts herself, anything—she needs to remember that he’s her uncle, and he’s here for her.

When he notices her looking down at her arms, his mouth forms a thin line and his brow creases. “Yes,” he says, “yes, I would not put it passed him. He is vile, my girl, and all of this.....” He reaches out slowly, gently taking one of her arms in one hand and running his fingers over the marks. “This is from drugs, chére. And I know you—” His voice broke, and he swallowed hard.

“I know you would never hurt yourself this way,” he finished a moment later when he was able to compose himself. He released her and tried to give her space, but still stood close; just in case, he told himself. Just in case.

Waking Nightmare || Sapphire & Sycamore

[branchinginterests]

shadowedsapphire:

Sapphire stares unseeing for a moment as her vision clouds, echos of a memory bubbling through the heavy fog in her mind. –Uncle, uncle, tell me more, I want to know everything, tout savoir Uncle!– she shakes her head and the echo is gone, lost to the abyss of pain and confusion. “My mama has been dead since I was a girl-” Her response comes from her mouth before she understands the words, and her eyes widen at information previously lost.

Her hand lifts from her arm to cover her mouth, and Sapphire tries to blink away the sudden burn of tears behind her eyes. She will not cry in front of this man, she will not. His eyes had focused in on her arm, the itchy little red bumps standing out on her pale, was once sun kissed and tan pale skin, and suddenly he was berating her. She staggered to her feet, wobbling dangerously and using the wall for support as she gathered all her frustrated strength.  

“I– I have done nothing! I woke up hurt and confused and no one is making any sense! You– you say you know me, that man… that man Archer says he knows me, but tries to hurt Damian, but Damian… he says he helped me, took me from something, something terrible??– I don’t–” she tapered off towards the end, her strength draining quickly. “I… I don’t know.”

Sapphire sniffed, rubbing a hand absently over sleep-bruised eyes. “I can’t remember… anything important. Everything hurts, it hurts to think–”

Yes. She begins to remember, he can see it in her eyes, and she starts to recount her family, and for a single beautiful moment, Sycamore felt the hope swell within him, but it was short-lived, and to Sycamore’s dismay, it was only his own fault for setting her off. He started even as she wobbled forward, wanting to catch her and hold her, but her defensive words stab him deep into his heart.

Damian. Damian again. This was his doing, had to be, and Sycamore didn’t know what he did, how he did it, what he used, but his darling niece is suddenly under the impression that Damian was her ally, and he knew without a doubt he had to have done something to make her think such a way, and the image seared into his mind that haunted his nightmares resurfaced, her pinned to the lab wall, Damian taking her so roughly—

“No,” he said aloud, voice suddenly low and dangerous, seething with rapidly increasing murderous intent, “no, that limp-dick bitch has not helped you, my girl, he’s only harmed you, Damian has only harmed you, and I do not know what he’s done but you do not look well, and you need to come with me now.”

Waking Nightmare || Sapphire & Sycamore

[branchinginterests]

shadowedsapphire:

Sapphire startled as a hand landed on her shoulder, wrenching herself up against the wall and letting out a small, strangled shriek as her body jerked. She wasn’t able to catch herself as she tumbled back, sliding against the smooth wall and down to the floor. The pain wasn’t immediate, it was a slow creeping thing, stealing the air from her lungs and causing her to grasp at her chest and wheeze. Why did all these people know her name? 

She tried to ignore the pain building in her lungs, the rasping in her throat the only giveaway to her misery. She looked up at this new man, this gangly, lankly man in a lab coat and gave him a nervous look. “I– I don’t… who are you? How do any of you people here know me, I don’t– I don’t understand?” Her nervous energy spilled over to her hands, and she brought her hand up to scratch at the pock marks on her forearm.

“I— I’m so confused–”

She didn’t recognize him. It was plain as day, there for the world to see, and they may as well have, because she didn’t recognize him. His darling niece. And she didn’t recognize him, and the way she was looking at him—no. No, she wasn’t allowed to be scared, he remembered when she was small and tiny and Brenden brought her with him when they met up and Sycamore would get to hold her and steal her little nose. And now she didn’t know him.

“Sapphire, ma chére, it’s me,” he said, “it’s Augustine. You remember? I would come and your parents would let me sleep on the couch and we would drink chocolate milk and look at pokemon. Please remember me, chére.” She was scratching, and his eyes were immediately drawn down to the pock marks on her arm and his face fell.

No. No. This couldn’t be happening. This isn’t happening. Why would she? Who would even deal to this poor girl? Why would she turn to something like this? Sycamore was no stranger to a little recreational drug use, could remember vaguely the time in his life when he’d used as well, and it wasn’t the answer. It was never the answer, and he knew that now and thought Sapphire had known it, too, but now.... “Sapphire. Sapphire, my girl, what have you done?”

Waking Nightmare || Sapphire & Sycamore

[branchinginterests]

From (X)

flooded-chambers answered:

He isn’t surprised when Sycamore makes an appearance in the kitchens, eyes bright. Hopeful. He pauses in his work, already in the middle of preparing a meal for himself that evening. He turns to face the professor, his gaze level with his own.

“As you can see I’m preparing dinner. You may join me if you wish.”

Score. He’s in. No starving tonight for Augustine. With his most charming smile, Sycamore edges in further, trying not to seem too desperate for Siebold’s masterful cooking.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose!” he chimed as he did exactly that, beelining in to hover and watch Siebold work, “but since you insist, I might as well, non? It smells delicious, cher.” He leaned in to inhale deeply before pulling away to lean back against the counter. “Do you need any help, then?”

[branchinginterests]

Of course Siebold had already requested it; if anyone could get the Executives to crack and give them funding to redo a kitchen with, it was him. An elite, a chef, an elite chef—and with a stubborn streak to boot. He was a go-getter. Sycamore admired that about him. He even offered to continue helping Sycamore with his research, and considering Sycamore’s only current pokemon were tiny babies, he was more than willing to accept. Even after he’d so angrily accused Siebold of a break of friendship, a break of trust... it was heartwarming that he would even offer.

“I would be incredibly grateful, cher,” he said with a smile, “oh, that would definitely be good. No megastones and no keystones to speak of with me, it has been a disaster! Désolé!” He shook his head in defeat. “And they won’t even steal one for me. Rude is what I would call it!”

Peas. Right. Do the peas. But not like that. In the professional way. Sycamore’s tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth as he focuses on getting the peas into the water. It is a very important, very difficult task, and he accidentally drops one on the stove that starts to burn and blacken, but that’s okay. He’s helping.

“I’m glad you’re alright, too,” he says once he’s sure the peas are all floating in the water. What did Siebold want him to watch them for? Only time would tell. But Sycamore wasn’t surprised to hear that Siebold was doing well; he was a confident, passionate man, after all. Of course it would be an easy transition for him. “It’s good that you’re doing well. I am... doing okay. I’ve made a friend while I was here! But mostly it is just quiet and work which I guess is not too bad if you do not like people.” A pause, and a frown. “I like people, though. It’s a bit of cabin fever. But now you’re here! And I can bother you whenever you’re not incredibly busy.”

Circumstance | Sycamore & Siebold

[branchinginterests]

It’s almost visible as the tension leaves Siebold’s body, and as the tone of the conversations takes a gentler form, Sycamore finds himself relaxing a bit. Siebold even speaks softly now, the anger from before seemingly dissipated. Stress. That’s all it had to be. Just stress. Confusion. Sycamore could understand that. It seemed that was all Rocket was made of.

“Yes,” he said, “yes, I’ll try to remember. And besides, you’re right!” He offered as best of a smile as he could at the moment. “They have me researching my field here. They’re not as pushy as the League was, either. I’m able to work my own pace. It’s not so bad, here. Have... have you been settling in?” Now Siebold is mashing potatoes, and Sycamore doesn’t understand why butter has to go in them. He keeps his question to himself, but quite frankly it seemed that potatoes could be wet enough on their own. Isn’t that why people juiced them? It’s probably for the best that Siebold didn’t let Sycamore help with this part.

“And I am here for you,” he replied, “it will be hard, but we will have our friendship. And who knows?” It’s easier to smile now, almost easy enough to give a vague attempt at a laugh. “Maybe if you manage to navigate the bureaucratic mess of this place, you can get funding to redo the kitchens. It will be up to your standards in no time, cher.”

The other cooks still haven’t shown up. If it wasn’t for Siebold, Sycamore would go so far to say as the base wouldn’t have eaten lunch that day (not the first time, either) but all it does is makes him want to help even more. He puts his hands on his hips and tries to look confident. “Of course even a great chef such as you needs lackeys! What else can I do for you, mon ami?“

Circumstance | Sycamore & Siebold

[branchinginterests]

He whirls around and it doesn’t take a genius to realize he’s angry, but Sycamore still flinches and and turns all the same to brandish a chicken wing at him in self-defense at such a sudden movement. He was tall as ever, towered over him, and Sycamore felt meek by comparison, but then, he always did, with any of his friends. Any number of them could be dangerous, Siebold included. And after everything that had happened, Sycamore knew that, now.

He slowly lowers the wing as Siebold denies the unspoken accusation, asserts that he was on Sycamore’s side the entire time, and by the end Sycamore felt more ashamed than he had just being caught here. Awkwardly, he rolls the wing again in flour and sets it with the last of his batch, unsure of what to do with it next.

“I....” He swallowed again. “I’m sorry, I—I know, I just—there was no warning, and no word from anyone, and I have no credentials and.... I’m sorry. I should have trusted you. I’m sorry.” He watches still as Siebold returns his attention to the chicken, cooks with such precision that Sycamore is always mildly envious of. He doesn’t have a choice at all, Siebold continues, and Sycamore can only wonder what that can mean. Something about safety and resenting him? It’s... odd. Was he up to something? Or not?

“I won’t push you,” he sighs, “if it’s that dangerous, I’ll.... I’ll trust you.” A pause. “I-I shouldn’t be antagonizing you. We’re both here. Things have happened. We... should be on each others’ side, non? So I’ll trust you.”

Circumstance | Sycamore & Siebold

[branchinginterests]

He’s getting forceful with the chicken. Augustine flinches the smallest bit as Siebodl throws it onto the plate with the force to upset small children. It was Sycamore’s fault, obviously, but what had he said? He eyes Siebold wearily out of the corner of his eye as he tries to decide what of what he said upset him so much, but it didn’t take long for Siebold to make it quite clear, himself.

Sycamore refuses to look at him now, refuses to acknowledge what Siebold could possibly be feeling about the situation and focuses on not screwing his chicken pieces up. “When they tear up your contract and take your pokemon, it’s not exactly easy to fight back,” he snapped, “but I suppose you would know all about what happened, wouldn’t you, Monsieur?”

Now he is also getting forceful with the chicken. The chicken never asked for this. It was just being chicken, and now two upset Kalosian men were throwing it around like it insulted their mothers. At some point something is going to fall to the floor and the tension is going to get worse. Sycamore just wants to leave before this last friendship snaps like the others.

But of course, Siebold is also in Rocket now, and he says as much—and if he, someone with qualifications, someone with prospects and power in the League, fought and still ended up here, then what chance could Sycamore have ever had of keeping his job or even finding a new one that wasn’t mopping bathrooms at Starbucks? As much as he wants to say it, he keeps his mouth shut.

“A much colder place,” Sycamore murmured, “so many lost in such a short time.... Still, that you would end here is unthinkable, mon cher.”

Circumstance | Sycamore & Siebold

[branchinginterests]

Sycamore hadn’t necessarily been expecting the warmest of greetings—after all, Siebold was ever the professional, and with work to do, he knew there would be no time for his old friend to stop an exchange pleasantries. But the coldness in his voice, the stress, it feels almost alienating, and Sycamore doesn’t quite know how to respond to it. It’s awkward, without doubt. But Siebold isn’t chasing him out of the kitchen, so that has to be a start.

A simple oui, and Sycamore finds his feet moving of their own accord towards the sink, where he rolls up his sleeves and turns the tap to hot, washing his hands quickly before returning. Siebold has a bowl of flour to one side, and so Sycamore takes the spot next to it and watches, brow furrowed, as Siebold rolls chicken in it. Won’t that make bread happen? Why would anyone want to have a surprise chicken in their bread? Still, he doesn’t ask, and instead begins to clumsily copy Siebold as best he can. It sticks and clumps and it’s messy, but Sycamore manages to kind of get the hang of it.

“They fired me,” he said softly in reply, shame settling into his heart, “and I needed work. I didn’t.... I didn’t really have options.” He wasn’t sure how to talk about it. Not to Siebold. Not now. It had been painful, a painful experience, and for all he knew Siebold—Siebold may have.... He swallowed hard, doing his best not to pass judgement. Siebold was here, too, after all.

“And you, mon cher?” He tries to change the subject, though he supposes it’s not to anything better, “it must be difficult times in Kalos if a master chef and trainer both might turn to a place such as here, eh?”

Circumstance | Sycamore & Siebold

[branchinginterests]

Sycamore is... hungry. That seems to be a constant state for him these days; if he’s not busy snoozing, he’s looking for a snack, and in between he toils at a desk stacked high with books and maps, and finds new and more creative ways to write reports saying he hasn’t quite found anything yet, please don’t hurt him. It would have been easier with the company of his pokemon, though his charizard, blastois, and venasaur had long been stripped him his possession before he even left Kalos. He’d tried to fill the void with small, common pokemon he found on his trip to the base, but it wasn’t quite the same. Even though he knew it was impossible, he could have done with a familiar face.

But all of that aside, Sycamore is still hungry; it’s easier to focus on than the monotony and loneliness, and so with his mind set on something to munch on, he slipped down the hallways and sneaked into the kitchen; at this time of day, it was always more or less empty, with none of the cooks rarely arriving in time to beat the lunch rush (and subsequently, Sycamore imagined, being responsible for the periodic outbreak of salmonella throughout the base) but it at least made it easy to raid Rocket’s pantry without worry.

Except someone is in there, today. Sycamore is already shuffling through the pantry and comes across a knock-off brand of Lucky Charms, and satisfied that he could, at the very least, pick out all the marbits to eat, prepares to take the whole box and return to his tiny office when the order comes to bring the man a chicken. And he recognizes that voice. Oh, does he recognize that voice. Freezing in place, he can only bring himself to stare on with wide, confused eyes as Siebold worked to begin cooking preparations in Team Rocket’s kitchen. Siebold. Cooking. In Team Rocket’s kitchen. Only one of those pieces of information did not belong, and it was not Siebold nor the cooking.

Siebold looks over before Sycamore can take his cereal and bolt, and when his old friend addresses him he feels anxiety settle across his shoulders like the worst cape in the world. “Siebold,” he manages to reply audibly, “I... did not expect to see you here.” It seems like he’s already been demoted—Siebold no longer trusts him with preparing the chicken, which to be fair he agrees with—and seeing as Siebold has no help to speak of, he decides he may as well help out where he could, especially the promise of _more than stale cereal_ is involved. Sycamore finds the chicken Siebold is referring to and does his best not to touch it directly as he brings it over. “I-I can keep helping if you need me to,” he says, “but I must wash my hands first, yes?”

Circumstance | Sycamore & Siebold

Circumstance brings him here. To this place and it’s of no ones fault but his own. He’s too proud to admit defeat, too wrought with his own situation to do more than think about it. Here he is, assigned to the kitchen of criminals and here he looks at what little he has left and makes use of it as if it doesn’t bother him at all. But it does bother him. It eats away at him from the inside out and as he rattles around the dingy kitchen he now calls his own he recalls a time when he had much nicer facilities. All of this, though, is part of his punishment. He defies the very League’s wishes, their intentions as cruel as ever and still he tries to stand up against it. Now look where he is, assigned here and forced to step down. 

He tells himself it’s only temporary, tells himself he’s here of his own volition , his own power but in the end his situation rings clear. He’s at the mercy of these people. Even if he holds his head high, even if he plays pretend it all boils down to the mercy of Team Rocket. And so he works hard with what he has and arrives early to begin work in his kitchen. His team is later than he wishes them to be and so he begins preparation without them; they will learn to show up on time or be left behind his rigorous schedule. 

He’s in the middle of boiling water when he hears the doors to his kitchen open. He assumes it’s one of the staff, and doesn’t turn to face them as he moves to gather another pan so he can pour some oil into it and set it down on the warming stove eye. 

“Bring me the chicken. I imagine you know how to prepare it?” He finally casts a glance up from his pans and turns to meet who he assumes is going to be one of the cooks in this kitchen. 

Instead he’s met with a familiar face, one he hasn’t seen in the following weeks to his own disappearance. He stills and blue eyes flicker with curiosity, as if questioning Sycamore’s very presence before him. Is he really there or is all this some trick on his eyes? He braces himself, form growing taut with caution. 

“Sycamore,” he grasps for something to say, to do, and finds himself drawing his gaze down to the box of cereal he holds in his hand. “put down the box and bring me that chicken and we’ll see about fixing you something more suited to eat.” He hides his surprise well, though his initial pause is the only thing that gives it away.

[branchinginterests]

It was her. Without a doubt, it was her. As Augustine turned the corner he had been shocked to see that for once the movement hadn’t been imagined, that it was real, and someone was there, and not just someone, but it was actually her, brown hair, uniform and all. The joy skyrocketed to Sycamore’s throat—this was joy, wasn’t it, what he was feeling? This stringy, lumpy feeling. He quickened his pace, intent on catching up, on finding out where she had been, if she was okay, why she was out alone.

As he neared her, however, he realized the feeling hadn’t been joy, not by any means—though certainly he was glad to see her and know she was still alive, the feeling that had settled into his throat and made its way towards his stomach could only be defined as dread, the apprehensive fear of the unknown. Where had she been? What had she been doing? Why hadn’t he seen her in months?

“Sapphire,” he said as he drew near, reaching one hand out to gently place it upon her shoulder, “Sapphire, my girl, where have you been?”

Waking Nightmare || Sapphire & Sycamore

[branchinginterests]

Waking Nightmare || Sapphire & Sycamore

Augustine was getting antsy. It had been a couple months since he’d last seen Sapphire, and though he tried not to worry so much, it was hard; despite telling himself numerous times that his darling niece was likely just busy hiding, that she was maybe with that Archer fellow or one of the executives or enforcers, he had remained on edge, unable to stop searching wildly in the dark corners of the base to try and find any scrap of hope, any signal that she was okay.

It was a maddening procedure—twisting and turning at night, unable to sleep, hardly ever hungry, but often seeing a figure out of the corner of his eye, seeing her shape in the shadows only to blink and realize he was just imagining it. If Brendan knew just what was going on, how useless Augustine was being in finding her, protecting her, he knew his friend would beat him bloody raw; it’s just how fathers were. And knowing that, knowing his imagined fate, Sycamore couldn’t help but feel more and more powerless, more and more of a failure. She was his niece. He should have been there for her. They were family, even if not by blood.

He thought he saw her again that day. As Sycamore took his twitchy walk to his lab, eyes alert and scanning, jumping at every noise with his hands flying to his pokeballs (his pokemon, he knew, were far too weak to be of any help, and it ached to remember his venasaur, charizard, and blastoise left behind, to remember even that Sapphire’s own pokemon were lost out in the wilderness) without fail or room for relaxation, he could have sworn he saw Sapphire’s shape disappearing around a corner, and despite knowing that he was likely to just be imagining it again, he couldn’t in good faith let her go. Hand brushing to his pidgey’s pokeball, Augustine slinked after the movement, eyes peeled for danger.

[branchinginterests]

Augustine is at least glad she doesn’t make fun of him for being able to get more than a few feet before having to put her down. As much as he could appreciate jokes and teasing, this didn’t really seem to be the time for it. He took a deep breath, tried to pick her up again—failed—and eventually decided she could probably make it hobbling along on her own.

It was one depressing thing after another, of course. Her pokemon were out in the wilderness, on their own. Without her. Not protecting her. That’s... not good. That’s the furthest thing from good. Them out there somewhere, her in here. “They’re your friends,” he told her, “they’re meant to be with you. To protect you. I don’t mean to lecture, but....” He sighs heavily. “Well, I suppose it’s not matter anymore, eh? If you ever wish for someone to find them and look after them until you are, ah... in a better position....”

He let the sentence hang. Maybe he was overstepping his boundaries. Maybe not. He didn’t know. He wasn’t her father, after all. But her father wasn’t here, and Augustine was the next best thing she had. “You’re right,” he finally agreed, “you’re right, let’s not. This–this Archer, you do not mean...? The executive? So the bosses, they know what’s going on? Where is this safehouse?”

Family Ties// Sycamore Sapphire

[branchinginterests]

“Ahhhh, little Kaylee, eh?” In a more positive situation, he would be beaming, but now he’s incredibly, incredibly preoccupied with spiriting his darling niece away through the halls before the cretin comes back. His ears, however, perk up at what she doesn’t quite say. Not allowed to train. She’s hurting, and that awful man had her under his thumb so securely—Sycamore wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry from hysteria.

She may have said she only needed assistance walking, but he wasn’t having it. Not after everything he heard. He wasn’t about to lose her just walking down the hall. As she balances herself against a lab table, as he tries to convince him they’re safe for now, Augustine swoops in and sweeps her up into his arms, holding her close even though he is now trembling with having to exert actual effort for once in his life. “No,” he says, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you and I am not letting you go until we get you safe.”

He gets about as far as the door into the hallway with her before he has to put her down, struggling to catch his breath. Huh. He should probably start exercising or something. ....That sounded like a lot of work. “It’s okay,” he gasped around his pants, “it’s okay, you are okay, I’ll get you to the safe place ma beau—though if you do not train, then where are your pokemon?”

Family Ties// Sycamore Sapphire

[branchinginterests]

A smile breaks across Sycamore’s face. Of course she didn’t steal it, he chided himself quietly, she was far too good for that. It puts him at ease to know that, at least, has remained unchanged—he can still count as her to be just as sweet as he remembered. Brendan did well with his little girl.

When he finally hands her the pokeball, she can’t seem to meet his eyes, tells him that anyone around her gets hurt by that heathen, and Sycamore feels the pressure in his heart build. She must be so alone, he thinks, so very, very alone. Not anymore. They were going to fix everything, and she could be happy and safe again.

He’s about to say as much when Sapphire instead opens the pokeball and lets out the most adorable deino Sycamore has ever seen. He watches as she bumbles around she finally finds Sapphire and tries to climb up her leg, and the ex-professor can’t help but let out a laugh at the adorable innocence of such a small, blind pokemon. “Oh, ma belle, she is darling. What is her name, then? Are you planning on raising her for battle? Come come, tell me as we walk.”

He turns on his heel and beelines towards the door—the sooner they get Sapphire to that Archer man’s safehouse, the better—and sticks his head out to make sure no one shady is in the hallways before he awkwardly, slowly, turns his head to face Sapphire once more, her words finally sinking in. “Er—right, yes,” he said, “well, I can—I can carry you, maybe?” Maybe being the keyword—Augustine, on principle, loathed exercise and could only attribute his scrawny stature to a freakish metabolism. But still... he could definitely try. It would be much easier if he had his old pokemon from the professorship. Sapsaur, Rainer—even Charcolt would have been able to help. “We must move quickly though,” he says, “so tell me what I must do.”

Family Ties// Sycamore Sapphire