#and maybe a pronunciation guide curtesy of a translator who’s helping Ingo learn unovan again

[plaid-maniac]

Another what-if submas post-pla reunion edition!

Basically, there has been talk of Ingo being sent to Hisui but not being able to understand Hisuian. But what if it was the opposite?

Emmet had gotten a call from the workers opening the subway. They had found a man passed out on the tracks of the subway, and had sent him to the hospital to get checked out. They said based on his clothes he was probably homeless or had been attacked.

But they also said, quietly, as though they were afraid to bring it up, that they had at first mistaken the man for him. They said that it was clear they were wrong when they took a closer look.

But they had thought it was him.

So, despite every fiber of his being telling him it was a case of a poorly lit tunnel (they had installed new, brighter lights three years ago) or a conclusion based on him having closed the night prior (they open and close in groups of 4 now, and it is against protocol to go around without at least one other person), he was here. Right at the entrance to the hospital.

He hadn’t worn his conductor coat. He didn’t want people to know it was him (just in case. Just in case his spirit couldn’t take another false positive. Just in case he crumbled to the ground in despair). He walked through the door and to the front desk.

“Hello. I am Emmet. A man was found in the subway this morning and brought here. May I see him?”

The man behind the desk looked at him for a second before smiling. “Of course. Please have a seat in our waiting area and I will call you when he’s able to have visitors.”

Waiting. Emmet hated waiting. Still, he went to go sit down. There was no winning when trying to fight against social conventions. He knew that all too well.

~~~~~

It had been a full hour. Emmet was not doing well.

He had already called out of work after ten minutes of waiting, after twenty he had gone through every magazine they had (all of them boring). When it hit half an hour he checked with the man at the desk again. He said he had to wait more. That’s when he had finally given up and had gone outside with Elektross and Crustle, telling the man to get him when he could go back.

Pokémon were allowed in the building, sure, but he knew not everyone would be happy to see such large Pokémon taking up space. Plus, it wasn’t a terrible day outside, and fresh air was always good when you spend a majority of your time cramped up underground.

At least, that’s what he told himself, as he sat against the wall of the building. It was still in the city, but there was a bit of area between himself and the people. It wasn’t bad.

It wasn’t good either.

Having been left to his own thoughts for the past while was not good for him. But there was little he could do besides wait, and try and focus on the weight of his Pokémon on his legs rather than the weight of the thoughts in his head.

“Mr. Emmet.” His head shot up. “The doctor wants to see you.” The man from the front desk looked a bit upset. Something bad was going on.

Emmet got up, returning his Pokémon to their spots on his belt, and ignored the crushing fear and hope that was overtaking his chest as he re-entered the building.

Each step he took sent another weight to his stomach as he was led to somewhere. In front of him was an important looking woman holding a clipboard. The doctor, he supposed.

“Mr. Emmet. Thank you for coming in today.” She said to him. She seemed troubled too. “I am Dr. Kristen.” She held out her hand. He shook it. That seemed to be the right thing to do.

“I must admit, your employees certainly found a strange case for me to work with. He had quite a few injuries. Ah, but don’t worry, they were fairly simple, and he will recover well.” Did she think he was worried? He shouldn’t be worried. It’s a stranger in that room. He’s just doing what he should as a subway boss. He should stop thinking that it was any more than that.

It was starting to hurt.

“However,” she continued, breaking him out of his thoughts, “he doesn’t seem to understand Unovan. We are currently trying to figure out what language he is speaking so we can communicate with him. Currently, we are pulling everyone who knows a second language to see if they are able to help.” She fiddled with something on her clipboard. “Though, if you want to go see him I can take you to his room.”

It was clear to him. This was another false positive. It was a mistake for him to have come. He wanted to leave

Emmet had to think a moment before responding. Words were never his strength. “Thank you, but it’s fine. It sounds difficult. I just wanted to make sure he was ok. It sounds like he will be fine. That is good.”

He was going to leave. He wanted to leave. “Mr. Emmet. Please wait.” The doctor didn’t grab him, but she did step up to him. “Listen. We don’t have any information on who this man is or what happened to him. Except,” her hand left the empty space between them and grabbed something from off her clipboard. It was a black leather wallet that was falling apart. “We do have this. And while there might be a thousand explanations for it, there is a chance that he had this because it was his.”

Emmet took it from her.

He opened it up.

There was an id in a clear plastic sleeve.

His brother’s face stared back at him.

It was- it had to have been his id. He read everything on the side of it. Name, age, height, hair color, eye color, date of birth, date of expiration. Even his trainer number was all exactly correct.

This had to be real.

“-met? Mr. Emmet? Do you need to sit down? Mr. Emmet?” When he finally had the energy to look up at her, he saw how worried she was looking. Was she worried about him?

Maybe she was right to be worried. It had been a long time since he felt this bad. “Please.” He finally managed to croak out. For some reason his voice sounded nasally, like he was crying for the first time in years. “Please. Where is he?”

The concern never left her face. But she did turn around and start walking. He followed her, past several doors and around a corner, until she stopped.

They were in front of a door. The same as every other single door in this building, perhaps even in all the buildings in the area. She opened it, and held it open for him. She gestured him inwards.

Emmet was not ready. But he walked inside anyway.

There was a stranger on the bed. A stranger with grey hair an silver eyes and looked exactly like Ingo if Ingo had aged 10 years under a rock. He was wearing a hospital gown and it was, undoubtedly, someone.

Emmet wanted to cry and scream and throw up in agony and relief but all he could manage was stumble forward towards the bed. The Ingo-but-not-quite looked up at him. His eyes became so bright for a moment.

He started talking and Emmet could not understand him. He couldn’t make sense of anything that was coming from his mouth but it was Ingo’s voice and it sounded so shocked, so desperate as he held his arms out, reaching out to him. What else could he do but collapse into his long-lost brother’s embrace?

Ingo was still talking. With his voice. It was his voice and it was so full of concern and comfort. He stopped caring if people saw him cry. Nothing they thought mattered. The only thing that mattered was his brother and his voice that he couldn’t understand.

Oh swords he couldn’t understand what his brother was saying. His brother was still talking. Still trying to communicate something important to him, but he couldn’t understand him. Every syllable was something he could have verbally produced if he tried but they fit together so wrong into a language that was so foreign and different and unknown to him.

He couldn’t understand him. He couldn’t understand his own brother.

Agonizingly he got up. Somehow he was able to sit up, to separate himself despite his body feeling so heavy just a moment ago. His brother was looking at him now, waiting probably. For a response to what he had been saying. Something he could hold onto. Something he could understand.

And all Emmet could say was “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you are saying.”