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doodlejoltik · 4 months ago

Text

grass knot

[~4.5k words, read it here or on Ao3. tagged with Volo and Lance since they appear as prominent characters; Rei-centric]

Why is it that even the thought of confiding in Akari, his closest friend, makes something constrict in his chest, choking out the words?

Rei, caught in the stirrings of a new arc, tries to rise to its call, but trips over the past at every turn.

A full rewrite of that Mysterious Stones chapter where Volo first shows up, from Rei’s POV, plus a bit more. Written mostly before the Arceus Arc began.

(Setting expectations: a lot of this fic is just Rei Thinking About Stuff haha. Love getting into his head! His characterisation is a little bit different/more nuanced compared to the other Rei oneshot I wrote; hopefully you'll still be along for the ride if you've read that one!)

“Show me thy bond.” It echoes inside Rei’s skull, down to the very bone, the same as in his earliest memories. He nearly buckles under its weight, but it's a welcome feeling.

After so long without direction, this is a relief. Arceus has finally spoken.

The words fit perfectly with the half-remembered fragments Rei had received some weeks ago in the middle of the night. Why hadn't they been intelligible then? What makes now different? The sync stones ultimate are one factor, of course. Maybe Arceus draws power from them, which is strange to say of a deity, but from what he knows of the Plates, it might not be so far-fetched.

Prince Lear disperses the murmuring crowd; so, the audience all heard it too, not just those on the arena floor. Professor Bellis congratulates Bettie. Cynthia, Lance and Steven whisper among themselves. And his mind still whirls with new theories as they gather together.

What does Arceus want?

‘Seek out all Pokemon’ had meant completing the Pokedex. At least, that’s what he’d assumed. Now, this time, Arceus likely means for them to showcase bonds with their Pokemon, given the context. But what does that actually entail?

Cynthia’s words cut above everyone else's. “Rei. Was that voice…?”

All eyes are on him. He breathes deeply, steeling himself, as the familiar weight of it settles in. Things are moving, now.

“Yes. I'm certain. That was —”

“Indeed! That was a message from Arceus!”

His words catch in his throat. Off-balance, suddenly, as all his thoughts fall away, replaced by a swooping feeling he can't quite identify —

He whirls around.

Volo is here.

He takes a few steps back, an involuntary half-stumble, before remembering himself.

Those flashes of movement he's been seeing, the feeling of being watched, a Togepi, unattended: they’re all now terrifyingly validated. He'd half thought them a product of his overactive mind.

“Excuse-moi, pardon me… but who are you?” Professor Bellis ventures.

“I'm Volo — a humble merchant who loves history and mythology!” With that, he flashes a winning smile. Rei could laugh at the sheer audacity of it all, but his thoughts are still strewn across the dusty ground, scattered, and they slip from his grasp as he tries to gather them up. Whatever sense of gravity he’d felt upon hearing Arceus’ voice has completely lifted.

“But more importantly!” Volo continues. “When the arena shone brightly, I also heard that voice.” He brings his hand up to point at the air with enthusiastic emphasis, a gesture still so terribly familiar. Rei clenches his fists, feeling the nails dig into his skin. Not really out of anger. More as a reminder.

The last time he’d seen Volo had been. Well. Memorable. But that isn’t the image that smiles back at him now, tripping him up. He's in Gingko uniform again, complete with ridiculous oversized backpack, which Rei had thought discarded, up there on the peak. Apparently not. Had Volo returned later, still seething, to collect his things? The concept is strangely hilarious.

“I wonder… these sync stones ultimate… might they be some sort of test from Arceus? If we could show him that ‘bond’ he desires —”

“Sorry, test? Arceus?” Cynthia interrupts with a frown, holding a hand out. “What makes you say that?”

“Why, it's quite simple. Arceus' presence was summoned by these stones, in this exhibition, and he requests us to further show our bond. What else could he desire?” Volo says, gesturing widely.

Rei finally pulls himself upright — scrapes his thoughts together into something resembling coherence. The initial shock has drained away, settling into a distant sort of apprehension. He watches silently. Volo’s not really saying anything too unreasonable, but where is this leading?

There’s so much he doesn’t know. What has Volo been doing, all this time? How long has he been on Pasio? What does he hope to gain, approaching them like this?

He’ll let Volo continue, then. It's an opportunity for some of those questions to be answered.

(And it gives Rei time to think of what to say.)

“Well, put that way, that does make sense,” Steven nods along. “Should we organise for more trainers to try the stones, then?”

“Oui, I would love to gather more data!” Professor Bellis answers. “However, the stones are still quite volatile. There is progress on this, yes, but for now, I would like to limit their use, capisci?”

At this, Bettie speaks up. “Yeah, it was weird.” She runs a hand through her Pikachu’s fur, the mouse curled up lazily in her arms. Nobody in Hisui was quite that affectionate with their Pokemon. Certainly not Akari, though she'd grown closer with her own Pikachu over time. As for himself, Decidueye had been standoffish, averse to being carried even as a baby Rowlet. Well, actually — as his distracted mind digs deeper into memory, he recalls — there had been Volo and his Togepi.

He casts that errant thought away, buries it deep once again. Bettie is still speaking.

“And it was like nothing was there, at first, and Pikachu and I had to concentrate really hard. And then — whoosh! Wow! Overwhelming,” she shifts Pikachu’s weight to one arm to gesture with emphasis, “and all at once.”

“And this is when Arceus spoke,” Lance asks.

Bettie nods, now subdued. “It was a rush! I think you guys could handle it, but I dunno if everyone could.”

“If I may,” and all attention returns to Volo. “It seems the stones can currently be used by trainers with particularly powerful convictions, and bonds with their Pokemon,” he gestures with a smile to Bettie. She blushes.

At the casual flattery, Rei can't help the small frown that twists onto his face. It seems innocent enough, but compliments and niceties can so easily mask true intent.

Especially with Volo.

Volo continues. “Perhaps we might solve this by way of a tournament, of sorts. Allowing Arceus to witness our talent and dedication, with the victor bestowed the honour of using the stones! Of course, the winner of such a competition would have the fortitude necessary to handle such power.”

Well, taking that to its logical end… Volo wants to win, and be granted this ‘honour’ he so conveniently proposed. But why go to all this trouble? The stones appear out in the streets quite often — apparently, found even by preschoolers. Volo should have no trouble obtaining them.

Does he know something they don't?

“Bettie here led the first winning PML team, did she not?” At this, the girl in question smiles Mareepishly. “And that is why she was the one to demonstrate the stones, I presume,” Volo inclines his head towards the Champions.

Informed guess, or something more? He thinks back on half-seen, furtive movements, and wonders.

“That's right,” Steven confirms. “Bettie is a shining example to us: a leader of the next generation. We decided there was no better choice.”

“So you suggest we hold another tournament,” Lance says thoughtfully. “Well, there is precedent. Prince Lear,” he turns to the Prince, whom Rei had honestly half forgotten was there. “What do you think?”

Before Lear can reply, Volo reinserts himself into the conversation. “It would be a grand tournament, truly fitting of Pasio's reputation. Why, perhaps, the deity Arceus might even be compelled to descend —”

Ah. So that’s what he intends. “Aren't you getting ahead of yourself there?” Rei interrupts. He means to sound stern, but it comes out sounding more incredulous. Not at the idea itself, but at how brazenly it’s admitted.

“Perhaps,” Volo says with a careless shrug. He doesn’t acknowledge Rei any differently than the others, still maintaining their inadvertently shared ruse. “It's only speculation, of course, but it is exciting to think about!”

“Hmph! I believe I was the one being addressed,” Prince Lear declares, arms crossed. His red shades flash dangerously, eyes hidden under their glint. Directed at him, it's almost like the full glare of an Alpha Pokemon.

Rei’s face flushes with heat to the tips of his ears. Great time he picked to enter the discussion. He quietly ducks his head down; the Prince is in charge, here, after all. He'd rather not test his patience.

Meanwhile, Volo just smiles, seemingly unfazed.

There's a part of him that really wants to know how Volo does that. It's just — he's so confident. How can he be so sure that everything will work out in his favour?

“A grand tournament,” Prince Lear ponders, tapping his foot. “And what could be grander than the second Pokemon Masters League?”

“Indeed!” Volo beams. “I'm sure the audience would love to see the clash between a king and a deity, would they not?”

Lear's tapping stills. His guarded stance loosens; he's taken aback. Volo emphasised king, and oh, Lear's official title is Prince. Hm.

There's something more deliberate about it beyond just casual flattery.

Lear uncrosses his arms and seems at a loss, for a moment, on where to put them before straightening up with his hands on hips. “Is that so?” He laughs. “I like the sound of that!” A pause, unnecessarily dramatic. Nobody breaks the silence, not even Volo.

The Prince looks around with some satisfaction and continues. “Very well, then. The winning team of the second PML will be granted the honour of using the sync stones ultimate.” He grins, sharply, red shades flashing once again. “Which will include me, of course. Hahahahaha!”

“You have a real gift for making quick decisions!” Volo says cheerfully. The tension breaks. Chuckles arise from the rest of the group, and Rei can only stare in disbelief. That — that has to be mockery, right? But everyone else seems to take it as light teasing, even the quick-tempered Prince himself.

Against his better judgement, his gaze catches Volo’s.

He doesn't know what he expects to see: amusement? Satisfaction? Triumph? And there's some of that, but it's a wry, knowing sort of look, like a joke shared only between the two of them.

Already the others are starting to animatedly discuss between themselves. Bettie makes a teasing comment to Lear, who scoffs. Professor Bellis says something about checking in on the sync stone technology. Cynthia, Lance and Steven form their own little group again, speaking in low tones, and he can't quite follow their discussion.

It seems like he's the only one who notices Volo quietly slipping away, and he's got half a mind to do the same.

Would it be incredibly ill-advised to follow him? Probably. But he still has questions. And it’s possible that Volo will let his guard down when they're alone.

(Even to him, that seems incredibly optimistic. But there’s things between them that he himself would rather only unearth in private. Maybe Volo feels the same way. And even if not, perhaps he'll gloat, or tease playfully, and let on something of use hidden in the thorned barbs.)

It's not like he has much left to contribute here. Tournaments and competitions and organised displays are foreign to him. The Neo Champion Stadium had felt so different from the kind of battles he’s used to… which, in part, could be why he lost.

He needs to train. If everything rests on the result of this tournament, he has to be ready.

The group seems to be naturally dispersing, at least — Professor Bellis just excused herself — so he won't be missed. With some quick words, he, too, turns to leave. They can handle this part, and Rei will do his.

Prince Lear had mentioned a winning team, and Pasio battles are generally three on three, from what he's seen. Who could he ask? There's Akari, of course. And the clan leaders, but it would feel strange to team up with only one and not the other. A little bit too reminiscent of another time.

His steps carry him nearly to the edge of the arena.

Besides, he's getting ahead of himself. He still has to… well, he should explain everything to them. About Volo.

Even all these months later, it still aches. He had buried it all, hoping to let it rot away, to be free of that thorny mass of contradictory feelings that arose every time he dwelled on it.

But the longer he waits, the more impossible it seems to explain — to explain not only the events of that fateful day, but also his own, confusing silence on the matter. Though he’s tried to plough the field, turn it all over and start anew, it still lies just beyond the surface, and a single misstep is all it takes to snarl him all over again. Why is it that even the thought of confiding in Akari, his closest friend, makes something constrict in his chest, choking out the words?

(Akari is unquestionably the one person he's closest to. But there was a time when that singular title wasn't so clear cut.)

There’s a sort of tunnel that leads out of the stadium, a long darkened archway that passes under the audience stands. He's about halfway through when he hears footsteps from behind, swift and purposeful strides.

His breath catches, for a moment. But Volo left first, and the arena had been flat and wide, with no corners to lurk in. Besides, it's too loud. Clearly telegraphed.

Cynthia, maybe?

He turns. The face that greets Rei is slightly less familiar. “Lance,” he acknowledges the Champion.

“Rei,” Lance greets in turn, stopping a few paces away. Arms crossed, silhouetted against the light of the arena and framed by the tunnel’s dark, arching walls, his tall figure is — intimidating.

He can’t help but wonder whether that's deliberate.

“You left before I could ask,” Lance says, and there's a pause. “As someone who has prior experience with Arceus, what do you think of all this?”

A fair enough question. But the way it's said… sounds a little too carefully worded. Casual, but purposefully so.

What sort of answer does Lance expect?

“It sounds reasonable enough,” he decides to say. As much as he hates to lend credence to Volo’s proposal, he can't think of anything better. It somehow seems to suit their needs perfectly, which he's sure is no accident. “Back in Hisui, I was told to seek out all Pokemon, so I helped with the Pokedex. In the same way, I guess this could help fulfil Arceus' new request.”

Lance nods along, but his brows furrow. “You sounded more sceptical, earlier,” he points out.

Ah. Not really his intent, but… “That was about the more…” he casts about for the right word, “speculative part of it. I don't know if it would really call Arceus down, or anything like that.” Though honestly, he doesn't know that it won't.

“What do you think will happen, then?” Lance asks, with clear curiosity, and, well. He doesn't really have a good answer to that.

“... I don't know,” he admits. “I never actually completed the Pokedex, so I'm not sure what happens after Arceus’ request is fulfilled.” He had been close, but there had still been so many minor tasks that needed finishing, things to busy himself with, to arrange and get in order before he had to face Giratina again.

He hadn't been ready, yet. Maybe Arceus had grown impatient, and brought him here to confront his problems directly. Maybe it cared. Maybe it didn't.

(Seeing Giratina with Cynthia had felt a little like he was the punchline of some divine comedy.)

Lance purses his lips and looks off into the distance, out of the stadium, past Rei. He wishes he could read the man’s expressions better; as it is, the set of his brows calls to mind Kamado, and everything else tangled up with it.

Finally, Lance’s gaze turns directly to Rei once again, and he speaks. “That Volo… you two know each other.”

It’s not a question, but even then, the expression of unguarded surprise he can’t hold back might be answer enough.

Lance has one hand on his hip, the other, at rest, is framed by the drape of his cape. He looks down at Rei as he states plainly, “His clothes aren’t of modern make, so the logical assumption would be that he’s from Hisui. Cynthia confirmed my suspicion. And, historically, Hisuian communities were few and quite tightly knit. It’s more likely than not.”

He tries to keep his expression carefully neutral, as logic digs deeper, dangerously close to things unexplainable. And the earth is already recently disturbed, soft, friable. He can’t offer much resistance. “I've seen him around,” he concedes.

“But why did neither of you acknowledge the other?” Lance looks confused; frustrated, even. “Even a passing acquaintance would be notable, with both of you being here in the future.”

And here — this is familiar. The accusations. The questions he can’t answer. But it’s different; it’s not that he doesn’t know the answers. He just can’t seem to put them in an order that would make sense, to anyone else.

(Does he really understand, himself?)

But eyes are on him, and he needs to explain, in whatever unsatisfactory way he can. “Volo and I… it's complicated,” he laughs weakly, tugging at his scarf. “He genuinely does love history and mythology, you know. I guess I wouldn't be that surprised if he was right about Arceus.” All those times they’d pored over ruins together, Volo excitedly babbling on about whatever legend this one related to — there had to have been the seed of something real, something genuine, in that.

It’s not really an answer. Lance can obviously tell, because he crosses his arms.

“Is he bad news?” he asks bluntly.

There’s no twisting his way out of this one.

Some of the panic he’s feeling must bubble up onto his face, because Lance’s expression softens, just a bit. The man sighs. “Look, Rei, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but us Champions need to have all the relevant information. This tournament, the stones,” he gestures around them, “affect everyone here on Pasio. So I’m sorry about involving myself in your business, but it's necessary. Should we be keeping an eye on Volo?”

It’s obvious what the correct answer is. And every second he delays responding makes him seem all the more untrustworthy. He questions, a little hysterically, why this of all things is what he stubbornly roots himself for, risking this place he’s made for himself in another unfamiliar land.

But his jaw works, and all that slips out of his throat, past the thorny tangle, is a “Maybe.” The most ground he can concede. “Volo’s… passionate about Arceus.” Which is perhaps the biggest understatement of both this century and the last.

There's an expectant pause. He almost leaves it at that, but it seems it's too unfinished a sentiment for Lance. “He wants to be seen by it.”

“The same way you are?” Lance says sharply. Arceus, he picked up on that fast. Rei hopes he leaves it at that. A rivalry fallen apart, twisted into bitterness and jealousy, nothing more.

Nothing world-ending.

It’s not like he doesn’t trust Cynthia, and by extension the other Champions. It’s just… he can deal with it himself. It’s what he was probably brought here to do, anyway. The thought of someone else turning him over, and finding him lacking — fighting his battles for him — makes him uneasy.

“Yeah, something like that,” he answers, with a painful swallow.

Besides, he hopes he can resolve this peacefully. He’d beaten Volo before, even after he’d flipped the rules of battle on their head. And this time Volo can’t upend the script; one good thing about tournaments, he supposes, is that the rules are rigorously upheld. A different sort of battleground.

He wants to laugh at that. Suppositions and wildly optimistic thoughts are his only foundation, and yet it’s enough for him to reject all possibility of outside help.

Then again, if he can’t even bring himself to tell Akari, what chance does he have of breaking that self-imposed silence, here, on less familiar ground?

Lance hums, assessing this. He uncrosses his arms. “If that friend of yours does anything drastic, tell us, alright?” he says. It’s said warmly, but there's something serious to it. An undertone. “Our job is to help out wherever we can, so don’t hesitate to reach out.”

Rei tries for a smile. “Understood.”

Lance nods, and looks Rei up and down, though it's only a subtle flicker of his eyes. His gaze lingers on the scarf at Rei’s neck, which Rei realises he’s been fidgeting with unconsciously. He lets go with faint embarrassment, feeling caught out.

The other man sighs. “You can go, you know?” There’s resignation in his voice. Maybe even something apologetic. In that moment, he seems more like Kamado than ever.

Rei doesn’t want to turn his back to him, but he wants to be here even less. So he nods, stiffly, and turns himself around, continuing the dark walk through the tunnel and out the stadium at a steady pace.

He doesn’t run.

(But his hand hovers by his satchel, where Decidueye's Pokeball rests.)

It’s only when he’s walked for a good while, out into the harsh sunlight, through the town outskirts and to a more forested spot, that the tension drains from him. He sits at the base of a large tree, feeling a little lightheaded.

That was… an interrogation, to put it bluntly. And he can’t really fault Lance for it. To anyone, he's sure, his actions are confusing at best.

Unfortunately, he’s found that he’s less than clear headed when it comes to Volo. He turns over Lance’s final words. That friend of yours. It’s not surprising Lance phrased it that way; everything Rei had said had been carefully woven to lead him to that conclusion.

Except it hadn’t been misdirection, not fully. He does still think of Volo as his friend, despite everything.

He slumps backwards, against the trunk of the tree, feeling the rough bark dig against the base of his skull.

What is he supposed to do with that?

Apparently, one of the worst days of his life isn’t enough to uproot over a year of growing camaraderie and budding friendship. Too many memories knot together, a stubborn tangle impossible to pick apart. He’s tried not to think about them too hard, but they tighten their hold once again, from where they lay dormant and buried.

Many of them have been forcibly recontextualised. He’s second guessed every helpful gift, every directly admiring word, every coincidental and fortunate appearance, as something deliberate and cultivated. But some of it, it seems, doesn't fit so neatly with that singular goal.

One day, they’d watched Togepi use Metronome for an hour, ostensibly for Rei’s surveying purposes. Important documentation of a seemingly random phenomenon, and all that. In actuality, they laughed the entire time, with no useful or coherent records to speak of, as the results became all the more improbable.

They’d camped together, those last months, as the search for the Plates got wilder and more exciting. He knows Volo’s favoured way to build a camp-fire, and how he wakes up unreasonably early in the morning, and that he prefers sweet foods over savoury, unlike Rei himself. A hundred mundane familiarities shared, taking root in fallow ground.

Once, Volo had been his only friend in the entire world.

Is it surprising, then, that he can’t lay this friendship to rest so easily?

He wonders what it means, that the hand offered to him at his lowest point was the same one that always meant to drag him back down. And what it means that he still wants to reach for it.

Had any real feelings been sowed there, on Volo’s part? Or was the entire thing a carefully constructed weaving, an intricate field of grass knots laid around Rei, ready to catch him in their snare?

He can’t quite strangle the hope that something of their friendship still exists, even if neglected and overgrown. And that’s the part that scares him.

He has Akari, and Adaman, and Irida. He has Professor Laventon and the Captain, though they’re far away. Then there’s the Wardens, more friendly faces: Mai, Sabi, Ingo, and all the others; there's Zisu and Pesselle and Beauregard and everyone else in Jubilife. New friends here on Pasio, too.

He pulls out Decidueye’s Pokeball from his satchel, and rolls it around in his right hand. He has his beloved Starter.

He has friends. He has bonds.

Why can’t that be enough?

The Pokeball he’s holding isn't the original. He'd had to break that well-loved possession in two, and recapture Decidueye in this modern device. It's a distant echo of its predecessor, wooden grooves and clunky iron replaced by smooth metal and near imperceptible seams. The weight of it is all wrong.

But despite that, it's still his partner, and that's what matters.

(The two broken halves sit in his satchel, too, carried on his person at all times. It's yet another thing he can't bring himself to let go of.)

He sighs, tracing formless shapes in the dirt. His hand finds one of the sparse clumps of grass that grow here, directly under this wide and mighty tree. Deprived of proper sun, it’s a miracle that there’s any at all.

It seems more and more likely that he’ll end up looking for Volo on his own. To get answers: not only about the stones, and the tournament, and Volo’s intentions with Arceus, but also for his own ends.

Maybe there’s still something there. A single glimpse of life in this scorched earth between them.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do then.

Where he sits, what little grass there is has grown long and ragged, as their leaves stretch and reach for the sun. He sets Decidueye’s ball down and plucks two long blades. With a few simple loops and twists, they’re deftly woven together into a knot. He considers it, looping it around his fingers; tightens it, pulling on both ends, until he can feel the entire construct threaten to snap from the force. He stops.

The thing is, no matter if it was never meant to be real, deliberately sowed, intended ultimately for harvest — it’s all the same, to Rei. He wants to keep it alive. He’s hopeful. Naive. Selfish.

For a single, impossible moment, he wonders whether this is what Arceus meant by bonds all along.

The knot goes in his satchel, where it will turn dry and brittle with time. But kept safe, unbroken, regardless. Maybe his future self will laugh at his sentimentality. Maybe, he won't remember why it’s there.

Wouldn't that be for the best?

He tucks Decidueye’s ball away, with care, then hauls himself up, both hands braced against the dusty ground. There’s dirt under his fingernails. From under the tree’s darkened canopy, he squints into the afternoon sunlight.

There’s a lot that needs to be done. He needs to train for this tournament, for one. Learn more about modern battling. Pull together a team. With that, ask Akari, and perhaps Adaman or Irida. Confront Volo, somewhere in all of this.

After that? Only Arceus knows.

One step at a time.

He finds his footing, around gnarled roots. The grass crunches underfoot. And he steps into the light.

(So maybe I was just snared by the grass knots you laid in my path. But if I wove my own, would you fall for it too?)

#finally posted this thing! further rambles and commentary in the tags #trainer rei #rei pokemon #pokemas #pokemon masters #legends arceus #volo #champion lance #pokemon volo #pokemon fanfiction #rei #lance #// tikposting #// tikart #// fanfic #// tikwrites #backstrikeduo #i've been mulling it over a while since rei's canonical pokemas characterisation Intrigues me #not telling people about Volo is sort of an objectively not smart thing to do but it makes sense !!!#rei both wanting to be friends with volo again and also not really trusting others (but especially authority) that much #rei going through his “i can fix him” era (maybe he'll end up being right! who knows! arceus maybe)#they WILL be friends (again?). whether Volo likes it or not.#experimented with metaphors; hope they didn't get too abstract or confusing #also can't believe that bits of my lance and rei convo ended up echoed in the canon cynthia and rei convo #when Rei says that Volo genuinely loves history and myths…#that was in my draft! SMH Pokemas writers have been peeking into my Google Docs XDD #spot the references to PLA! some more obvious than others #gosh can you tell this guy lives in my head rent free XDDD #feel free to ramble to me about your thoughts on them and the way the story is developing in pokemas i'm all ears #behold also my sort of insane multi hour painting that i did for my fic that isn't even 5k words long

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feroluce · 2 years ago

Note

On character death: Coming to Hisui went very, very wrong. Ingo comes across Emmet's body and. He can't place a name, who this person was to him (is it even the same man from his faint memories? why would that person be in hisui?), but, looking at this stranger(?), he still feels himself fucking s h a t t e r

SO I HAVE. SOME THOUGHTS.

It happens in the coastlands. Palina and Iscan are just kinda sitting around at the top of the cliffs, up by the previous Lord's grave, and suddenly Palina looks horrified. Iscan finally manages to see what she's pointing at and shit, shit, that doesn't look like just debris floating out on the ocean. Iscan goes diving off the cliff, blowing into his Celestica Flute on the way down, Basculegion catching him right before he hits the water, and they get out there at top speed, but. Yeah. It's already too late. It was already too late well before they'd spotted him.

Iscan brings the body back with him, of course. He figures he'll have to ask the Ginkgo Guild if one of their merchant ships have lost any crew, even if this doesn't look like their usual blue and yellow uniform. Except.

As soon as she gets down to the shore with him, Palina looks stricken, and it takes Iscan a few minutes just to calm her down and get the words out of her. He knows she still has a lot of trauma related to drowning after the previous Lord of the Isles, but he can tell there's something different this time, something's off. Palina never cries in front of anyone but him, but even then, this is way way worse than usual. And it's not until he picks out a name between all her hiccupping little sobs that Iscan realizes oh, no, Palina knew this person.

He'd never really met Warden Ingo, but he's seen him from afar, and now that he looks, yeah, this body definitely seems to be him.

Even if his coat does seem to be a different color than usual.

So Iscan carries Palina home, sends out a message via Starly, and waits.

((Irida, looking up from a letter in her hands: Warden Ingo, apparently you've been found dead in the coastlands.

Ingo: Ah, alright, My Lady.

Irida: ...

Ingo: .....

Irida: .......

Ingo: .........No, wait, what???))

The next day, Irida shows up...with Ingo in tow?! Iscan says something about ghosts and nearly faints haha. Palina is so relieved she nearly faints, too. She's still upset that someone drowned, but. She's at least glad it wasn't Ingo.

Irida doesn't look as relieved. And neither does Ingo, to a much greater extent.

Irida keeps glancing at him, hovering near him, fidgeting with the bangles around her wrists, and it's been so long since Palina has seen her act this way that she almost can't place the behavior.

Irida is nervous.

She shouldn't have any reason to be nervous. If the body isn't Ingo, then it's not anyone else in the clan either. It shouldn't be anyone they would be upset over. But as they make their way through the rest of the coastlands, the air starts to feel thicker, darker, more oppressive, Palina has to all but hold onto Iscan to keep herself from running ahead just to escape it and get it over with, because it feels like waiting for the other shoe to drop, like the suspense of waiting for the blade of a guillotine to come down.

Iscan leads them to where he'd safely placed the body, but before closing that last bit of distance, Irida suddenly grabs Ingo's hand. His eyes are locked dead ahead; Ingo isn't looking at her. Irida isn't looking anywhere but him.

"That's- I can- Do you want me to look? You don't have to."

"No thank you, My Lady. I need to see for myself."

And still she hesitates, but Irida drops his hand. She lets him go, stands there with her fists clenched around nothing but their emptiness.

Ingo finally gets a good look at the body, at the man dragged under and brought in by the tides, at his face, the white of his hat and his coat, his upturned mouth, something tugs at his insides, pulls loose, the knot he'd been working to tease apart for so long, for years, it's vanished into thin air, the thread let loose, nothing to hold it steady, nothing to keep it anchored and taut anymore, part of him is gone now, just suddenly gone, and that absence aches-

Ingo's knees hit the ground first. Then his palms. Then his elbows, and finally his forehead.

All sound seems to disappear, the world is as quiet as a wake. Ingo tries to remember how to breathe.

His vision fades out, then back in, then out and then back in again. He doesn't remember sitting up. It seems like it should have been impossible for him to do, with how unbearably heavy his body feels. Palina and Iscan are gone. His aching hands are covered in grit from clenching his fists. When he hears sniffling, it seems to come to him from the bottom of a deep, dark well.

"It is him, isn't it." Irida's hands are clutched in his coat.

"It...it is." Ingo has no idea who he is, but he would know him from anywhere. He can feel it in his leftover half of a soul, in his ripped red thread.

Ingo sits there, on his knees, in the dirt. He doesn't know for how long. He doesn't move. The sun starts to set. He doesn't move. The man's coat all but glows white under the silvery moonlight. He doesn't move. Irida's head lolls. She's been sitting flush against his back the entire time. Ingo moves, if only to find his voice.

He asks if he can have some time alone. Because Irida doesn't need to be out there in the elements with him, she hasn't even eaten this whole time. Irida tells him he can, of course he can, he can have whatever he needs. But not just yet.

Not until Ingo stops looking like he'll walk right out into the ocean to join him.

Gaeric shows up the next morning with a sheet big enough to wrap a body and a cart to bring the man in white back with them, surprising Ingo. Usually people that don't belong to a clan or settlement are simply burned and then the ashes buried where they're found. Hisui is no stranger to shallow, hastily dug graves.

Irida declares that the man in white is to be given all the same burial rites as any Warden's spouse. Ingo is one of hers now, and that extends to his family, too. She had always planned to take in anyone who showed up looking for Ingo, she just...hadn't wanted it to be like this...

Ingo nearly cries again right then and there.

Iscan helps Gaeric with the cart and pats his shoulder when they go to leave. Palina promises she'll be there for the rites and hugs him goodbye so tightly that Ingo wonders if she's trying to squeeze all his broken pieces back together into one jagged, misshapen form.

They set off, and at first Ingo walks alongside Gaeric and Irida. And then alongside the cart's front wheels. And then its back wheels. And then almost behind it. Gaeric keeps pulling it forward as he tells Ingo that he can sit on the back of the cart if he's tired. If he wants to. He's strong, he can pull them both the whole way.

There's no verbal answer, but the cart dips under its new additional weight, two bodies laid side-by-side.

Irida takes up one side of the handles so that she can squeeze in next to Gaeric. She hangs her head and grits her teeth, fits her smaller hand into his. He lets her, grips back just as tight.

And neither of them says a single word of protest the entire way back to the alabaster icelands, as Ingo quietly breaks down behind them.

(Technically, everything goes back to the same afterwards. Technically, Ingo's life is the same as it's ever been; nothing has changed. The man in white had never lived with him here. Ingo still doesn't even know who he is. Technically, he should be fine.

Ingo gets up. Takes balms to Sneasler and her kits. Eats breakfast. Scares off any predators. Clears the arena. Fishes in the river. Eats dinner with Melli. Reads the book Calaba lent him. Goes to bed.

Ingo gets up. Walks to Jubilife. Eats breakfast. Puts the aspiring trainers through their paces. Makes small talk with Zisu. Coordinates matches. Eats dinner with Akari. Goes home. Goes to bed.

Ingo gets up. Delivers balms. Protects the territory. Eats the food Melli brings him. Goes to bed.

Ingo gets up. Drags himself to Jubilife. Battles. Picks at the food Akari treats him to. Goes home. Goes to bed.

Ingo gets up. Does his work. Goes to bed.

Ingo gets up. Does his work. Goes to bed.)

((When Ingo passes of illness some amount of time later, he isn't found at the main settlement, or at the training grounds in Jubilife, or even at his own home in the highlands. Instead, he's found huddled against a nameless grave, protected from the elements by a white coat, matching white cap still clutched in his hands.))

#blankshipping #submas #pokemon ingo #pla ingo #legends arceus ingo #been thinking about this one for a looooooong time #anon i love you #love thinking about what a strange process grief must be for Ingo in this kind of situation #he knows he loves Emmet but he doesn't know who Emmet IS #in some ways it's like hearing a stranger died- it shouldn't have a lot of impact #but it does. regardless of what Ingo does or does not remember- it does #and I have a lot of Thoughts about how Ingo reacts to grief too #i might? put them into a separate post sometime?#anyway did you guys know that there's a thing called Heartbreak Syndrome? I associate it with Ingo a lot.#Ingo loses his soulmate and his body just kinda. gives up.#he gets sick more often and for longer. it hits him so much worse than it used to.#and eventually it just kinda becomes more than what can be dealt with #ask #answer #anon #emmet #ingo #Warden Ingo #nobokai #ingirida #irida #palina #iscan #gaeric #my fics

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