Undella Sunrise
Jun 29, 2019 10:45:02 GMT
Post by girl-like-substance on Jun 29, 2019 10:45:02 GMT
Just because my first attempt at a one-shot for this Rock the Block turned into a chapterfic doesn't mean I can let the chance for a Pride Month special slip by like that! Content warnings for a little bit of (mostly remembered) violence, some blood, one instance of strong language, transphobia and some people feeling pretty bad. But mostly this is just a story about a very sensible but very inexperienced young woman, her bat friend, and a magic stranger on a beach.
UNDELLA SUNRISE
I have no idea where in God's name I am, but the light is murder here.
“Ugh,” I murmur, squinting. “What the … ow.”
I raise a hand to my face, feel some swelling. Split lip that stings beneath my fingers. And with that, I remember, and I open my eyes properly to see the sun rising from the waters, far out over the horizon.
At least it's pretty, huh. I reach for the lever and get the seat upright again, wincing at the ache dragging at my neck and shoulders. God. I didn't think sleeping in my car would be pleasant, exactly, but I was sort of hoping it would be a little less painful. Had the foresight to sleep in the passenger seat, at least – less stuff in the way – but even so.
I pop open the door and roll out stiffly into the sharp, briny air. Straighten up, roll my shoulders a little. That ache's gonna sit there for a while, it seems.
Before me, the tarmac of the car park gives way to the dunes, heaped with scruffy grass and weeds. I lean on the railing and watch the waves for a few moments, taking in the mingled pink and yellow glow of the sunrise as it catches the water and turns it to sheets of living flame.
It's beautiful. I kinda wish I wasn't here to see it, in some ways. But it is beautiful.
I turn back to the car and dig around in the door pocket for Shep's ball – he's always preferred to sleep in there; poor thing's more nervous than a rescue cat – then release him at my feet.
“Morning, dude,” I say, as he shakes out his wings and looks around at our new surroundings. “C'mon. Up.”
I pat my shoulder, but I honestly don't need to; he's already climbing up my leg. A moment later he's back in his usual place, clinging to the fabric of my shirt and peering out over my shoulder.
“Eek,” he chirps, so high I can barely hear it. “Nyeek.”
“Yeah,” I say, as if it means anything. “Pretty much.”
Round the gate and up the dunes. Beneath me, the waves go in and out, the tide slowly ebbing with the rising sun. I love Undella in the off season. It's chilly, especially now with the winter wind coming off the open water, but it's still gorgeous. More so for being all ours, without any tourists here to trample all over it.
The sand crunches beneath my boots, brilliantly white in between the scattered shells and basculin egg cases. I breathe deep and keep walking, down the beach and along the tide mark. I don't actually know where I'm going, but I guess that's okay. I have all the time in the world to figure it out.
“It's a beautiful morning, huh,” I say, raising a hand to stroke Shep. “I know we're not really morning people, but it's pretty.”
He chirps and snuffles at my cheek. Cutest woobat in Unova, I swear. It's a difficult contest to judge when they're all so fluffy, but none of the others are my friends, so he does have an advantage.
“Thanks, dude,” I say, burying my hand in his fur and scratching gently. “Least I've got you, huh.”
“Nyeek!”
I could sit down, I suppose. Might be nice. I've probably got a couple hours till anywhere's open for me to get a coffee and think about what happens next. Stay in town? It's a possibility, although it's not what I had planned. I've been thinking about Black City for a while, in case things went south like they have done; I read online that rent's not too bad there. The place is still new; they're trying to tempt people in so their dumb project to build a giant city in the middle of nowhere doesn't turn out a loss.
“How d'you feel about the big city, huh?” I ask, trying to remember if I bookmarked the places I was looking at. “Or are you okay just as long as I keep stuffing you full of figs?”
He tenses suddenly, pulling back from my cheek to stare intently into my eyes. And I guess it's the sunrise, and the quiet, and him being all cute right there in front of me, but despite everything I have to laugh.
“No, dumbass, not now,” I say, rubbing his little head. “I'll get you some fruit soon, though. Promise.”
He opens his mouth, but whatever comes out is much too high for me to hear. It's all right; he seems to have got the point.
“Yeah.” I take a good lungful of sea air. Stings my lip going down, but okay. Still delicious. “By the way, Shep, I'm … I should explain about Mom and Dad yesterday, huh. I don't really know how much of it you got.” Or how much he's going to get now, but I have to try. He's my partner, after all. He followed me out the door; he's here with me on the beach. “We can't go home,” I say, after a moment. “Not for a while, anyway. I told them, you know. Like we planned, d'you remember?”
No response. I guess I didn't expect one.
“Anyway. I gave 'em the choice, like I said. Take it or leave it, and if you leave it I'll go. And …” I sigh. “Well, Shep, to be blunt, they left it. I guess they really didn't want a daughter after all.”
It was one of those things where I genuinely couldn't tell which way the dice would fall. They've always said they're open to new things. Progressive. But there were a few clues here and there that maybe theirs was the sort of secularism whose morals are ripped straight from the conservative Christian rulebook.
I'd already put my bag in the back of the car, of course. In readiness. One thing you can say about … about Sophia, I suppose: she's always prepared.
Doesn't mean it didn't hurt, though.
“So we're out, dude,” I say, stopping and turning towards the sunrise. “For now. Maybe we can come back one day, but probably not for a while.”
“Eek,” he chirps – and flings himself off my shoulder, wheeling round over the water and staring at something behind me. I turn, following his gaze, and see a woman sitting on the sand a little way away, watching us curiously.
“Oh,” I say, embarrassed. Did we have an audience this whole time? “Um, hi.”
“Nyeek!” cries Shep, flitting forward to investigate her. “Eeh-eeh!”
“Shep.” Awkward smile. “Sorry, he's a bit nervous. Likes to check things out.”
The woman looks at me, then at Shep, still circling to peer at her from all sides. Something seems a little off about her movements; for a long moment, I can't figure out what, and then I see all the dark stains on the sand nearby, trailing away towards the seafront path behind the beach. Is that …?
“Hey,” I say, taking a step towards her, trying to see if she's got any injuries. “Are you hurt?”
The woman's gaze flicks back to me again, alert, fearful. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but for some reason it doesn't seem to work; she sits there straining for a moment, jaw twitching, and the whole thing is rapidly getting so much weirder than I know how to deal with but from somewhere I find the presence of mind to hold out what I hope is a reassuring hand.
“It's okay!” I say quickly. “It's, um … please, you don't need to talk if it hurts, I just, uh – are you okay?”
She narrows her eyes and tries to speak again, every muscle in her face quivering with the effort.
“Seriously, it's fine,” I begin, but she raises a hand to shut me up, making Shep squeak and retreat behind me with the sudden movement.
“Ruh,” she croaks, in a weird, hoarse voice like nothing I've ever heard. Like if a mountain tried to speak. “Ruh-an aw-aay.”
“You ran away?”
From where? She looks older than me, by maybe ten years. I guess there are other things you could be running from than bad parents, but she just seems too … successful, I guess. Her coat looks expensive; her make-up is flawless. Like a businesswoman who's just stopped here on her way to work.
She nods. For some reason, this seems to terrify Shep; he dives behind my shoulder and huddles there, clinging tightly to my shirt. I peel him off and settle him in my arms, where he shrinks down to a tiny ball of fluff, face buried in my chest.
“Are you hurt?” I ask. It seems pointless to keep saying it, but it's all I can think of. “There's blood …”
She shakes her head.
“No,” she grunts. I guess she's getting warmed up or something now, because her voice is much clearer. Little guttural, sure, but definitely recognisable. “Not mine.”
I think she's lying. I hope she's lying. If it's not hers, then – but no, it's got to be hers. She moves like she's hurt, right? So she's (probably) lying. I don't feel like I can call her out on it, though. This was already a weird morning, but at least I'd planned for it. This? The strange woman lying about being hurt at sunrise on the beach? This isn't even close to something I know how to respond to.
I can't walk away. She's hurt, even if she's not being honest about it. So … introduce myself, I guess?
“Okay,” I say, uncertainly. “I'm, um …” For a second, I wonder what name I should use, and then I decide: I am never using the old one again, no matter what. “I'm Sophia,” I say, hardening my heart against whatever response might come. “This dingus here is Shep.”
The woman cocks her head on one side.
“Sophia and Shep,” she repeats. “Hello. I am Helen.”
Oh thank God. I legit don't know what I'd have done if that had gone badly.
It occurs to me that I'm probably gonna need to start thinking about that kind of thing.
“Okay,” I say, my whole body tingling with relief. “Hi, Helen.”
We look at each other some more. Just us, and Shep, and one solitary wingull soaring up from the shore north of here. Somehow the silence seems the more silent for the murmuring of the waves.
I have to do something. Don't I? It's a cliché, but this is the first day of the rest of my life, after all. From now on, I am Sophia – properly, I mean, not like I was before. And Sophia is a better person than … the other guy.
Besides. The day I see someone in pain and walk away is the day I become the people my parents were last night, and it'll be a cold day in hell before I ever let that happen.
Helen just keeps staring at me, apparently immune to awkwardness. Something's not right about her eyes. Like there's something other than human behind them.
“I ran away too,” I tell her, after squirming underneath her gaze for a few moments more. “Me and Shep.” He chirps and shuffles a little in my arms, but doesn't stick his head out. Not sure what's up with him; he's not usually this scared of strangers. “My parents. They're like, uh … well, you can probably tell from the fact that I introduced myself as Sophia looking like this.”
What am I even …? Okay: I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that I have absolutely no idea how to be trans. Apparently Sophia isn't always that prepared after all.
Helen narrows her eyes, although fortunately it doesn't seem to be aggression. More like she's trying to see me better. I guess I do have the sun behind me. I'd move to the side a bit, but it's really hard to move when she's looking at me like that.
“Looking like this?” she repeats, kneading her lap like a cat making itself comfortable. “I am sorry. I don't understand.”
“Uh … yeah?” I feel my face twitching into a nervous smile. “Yeah, like, uh, you know. I'm―” (am I doing this am I actually doing this am I talking about all this to a complete stranger sitting in a pool of blood on the beach) “―trans.”
Helen's eyes betray absolutely no understanding whatsoever.
“Y'know what, never mind,” I say, backpedalling frantically. “Sorry. I shouldn't be laying all my problems on you like that. Just been a weird – well, a weird few days, I guess.” I clear my throat. “I'll, um―”
“I don't understand,” she says again, and I swear to God she manages to say it with exactly the same tone and inflection, like she just rewound herself thirty seconds to take another crack at it. “Sophia.”
“Oh,” I say, wishing I hadn't said anything. What is wrong with me? I mean, the situation's weird but c'mon, Sophia, try to keep it together. One weird woman bleeding all over the beach and suddenly I'm blurting out my life story. “Well, uh, y'know, I'm a girl but I don't … look like one. I'm, uh. Working on that.”
Oh my God. I really hope that's enough to put this to bed, because if I have to explain myself any further to this conventionally attractive cis woman – who I'm only even speaking to because she's left a trail of blood all over the goddamn beach – then I think I might just explode. The worst of it is, it's not even her fault. I'm the one who started digging this grave, and now I'm just going to have to lie in it.
Helen licks her teeth, which is not a thing I've ever seen a human being do before. Definitely not someone who looks like she manages a small team in an office somewhere, anyway.
It makes Shep squeak and burrow deeper in my arms, and for once, I really can't blame him. Teeth-licking is like something the killer does in a slasher movie.
“I can help,” says Helen – with relief, almost. Like she's come to a decision. “I can help with looking like things.”
I stare. I stopped having expectations about this conversation a few minutes ago, since it didn't seem to be getting me anywhere, but somehow Helen keeps finding new ways to startle me.
“What?”
“I can help.” Sounds like she's rewinding herself again. “If you help me.”
“If I …?” It takes me a moment, and then it clicks. “Wait, so you admit it? You're hurt?”
She lifts her hands shakily from her lap like she isn't sure what they are. Palms up, fingers curled into loose hooks. If there's a meaning to this gesture, I can't see it.
“I can help,” she says, staring intently into my eyes. “Like this.”
The light shifts around us, as if the sun is flying off-course, and then―
―then what, exactly? I look at Helen, still staring like a purrloin watching birds from a window, but it seems she has nothing to say.
“What did you,” I begin, and then have to stop: it's not my voice. It's … wait.
Shep screams and rockets out of my arms, whining and showering the beach with guano. Reasonable enough. They're not the same arms they were a minute ago. Nor is the body between them.
I swallow. It feels no different to before. Despite the fact that it's a different throat, that Helen has somehow ripped my secret late-night fantasies straight out my head and made me a …
“Ah,” I mumble, unable to hear myself for the sudden violent howling of my blood through my veins. “Ah, I …”
Helen gasps and clutches her stomach, and just like that it's over; the light shifts, and I'm me again. Whatever that actually means.
I want to help her. She's in pain; whatever she just did took something more from her than she should have given. But some actual literal magic just happened, and for ten seconds I had the shape I've dreamed of for the past five years, and right now I'm not totally sure that I'm not about to die from whatever the hell it is I'm currently feeling.
“Eek,” chirps Shep, drifting back towards me again. “Eeh?”
“Yeah,” I murmur, lifting my hands for him without taking my eyes off Helen. “Yeah, dude, it's – it's me.”
It is me. And I am here, on this beach, facing some kind of magician who's just offered me the deal of a lifetime. I settle Shep again, running my fingers through his fur and scratching behind his ears, but it's all on autopilot; I can't stop thinking about what just happened. Was it real? Am I still in my car – or hell, still in bed at home, dreaming a long and over-involved anxiety dream about coming out to my parents?
It would explain the stranger with the magic wounds. But Shep feels so real in my hands, fluffy and trembling as only a scared woobat can be, and the breeze still stings on my lip.
And there's blood pooling underneath the folds of Helen's coat now. So dreaming or waking, mummery or magic, I have to snap out of it and do something.
“I can take you to the hospital,” I say, as Shep climbs up out of my arms and round my shoulders, looking at me from all sides to make sure I'm me. “Can you walk? My car's just over there.”
Helen looks at me like she's never heard of a car or a hospital before. Somehow there's blood on her fingers, although I still can't see any on her clothes.
“I can help,” she says, her voice cracking. Little bit of that weird stony growl to it again. “If you take me to the healing place.”
“Yeah, the hospital,” I tell her, taking a step closer. “I can take you there.”
I hesitate – take a deep breath – hold out my hand. Helen inspects it for a while, like Shep when I first partnered with him in the cave, and then she wraps her bloodstained fingers round it and levers herself up.
“The healing place,” she murmurs. Her clothes are spotless, even where she was sitting in the blood. Maybe she's hiding the wounds somehow. Changing herself the way she did me. But if so, why can't she just magic her injuries away?
Jesus Christ, Sophia, did you seriously just ask yourself that? Who cares, it's magic. Just get Helen to the hospital before she dies on you.
“Come on,” I say, as Shep squeaks and hides behind my back. “It's not far.”
Helen nods, and we start walking. Slowly at first, Helen grimacing and leaning heavily on her arm; then a little faster. Maybe too fast.
“Hey, you don't need to rush,” I tell her, watching the spots of blood she's leaving behind her. “Like if it's gonna, you know, reopen your wounds or anything.”
She just bares her teeth, which I have no idea how to parse but which is pretty intimidating regardless, so I decide to shut up and concentrate on getting us all back to my car without Helen falling or Shep flying away.
It's not easy. Shep is understandably still pretty scared, and requires a lot of scritches and encouragement to keep in line; Helen's strength starts to fail her halfway up the dunes, and by the time we come to approach the top I'm practically pushing her along.
I really want to ask if she's okay. But I feel like I already know the answer to that particular question.
“Here we are,” I say, as we enter the car park. It's unnecessary – mine is literally the only car here – but Helen doesn't seem to mind. Maybe she can't answer; she seems a little short on breath. “Shep, uh, I'm gonna let go of you, okay?”
“Eek.”
He doesn't sound very happy about it, but when I take my hand away he stays put while I dig out my keys and unlock the door.
“Thanks, dude,” I say, helping Helen in. “Here you go.”
She grunts and slumps in the seat, eyes closed and breath coming in harsh, irregular gasps.
“Heeh-linh play,” she murmurs, her voice slipping again, becoming less intelligible
“Yeah, I'm taking you there, I promise.”
I get in myself and send Shep to the back, where he clings to the fabric of the seat and squints suspiciously at Helen from beneath his shaggy fur. She doesn't react – doesn't even open her eyes, in fact.
“Hey,” I say, starting the car. “Hey, um – I feel like you probably wanna try to stay conscious?”
“Am,” she growls. “Traih-een.”
“Okay,” I reply, not sure what she means. “Okay.”
I back up and turn out of the car park onto the road north. The hospital's up this way, right? Can probably make it in twenty minutes if I go fast. Won't be any traffic this time of day.
“You okay?” I ask, taking us left past the beach villas. All empty at this time of year; they loom darkly against the rising sun and drench the street in shadow. “I mean, you seem, uh. You know.”
No answer. I take my eyes off the road and see her head lolling in a way that makes my stomach lurch like it's trying to climb out through my belly button.
“Hey, Helen?” Trying hard to sound calm. “Helen, are you okay?”
“Uh,” she grunts. “Mm.”
“Okay.” It's not okay. She's dying in my car. This is maybe the most not okay this could possibly be. “Um, Shep? Can you do anything? Like poke her mind a bit, keep her awake?”
I glance back over my shoulder to see him folding his wings close to his sides, ears tweaked into a position. Either he can't do it, or he doesn't want to. Probably the latter, given that he had no difficulty doing the same for me last week when I was trying to stay up for the election results on three hours' sleep.
Stupid― but no, I can't get mad. Not his fault; if I'm gonna blame anyone, it should be Plasma, for traumatising him way back on our trainer journey. More important is to get Helen to a hospital.
“So, um, are you like magic?” I ask, barely even aware of what I'm saying but desperate to keep her from slipping away. “Helen? Like I don't know what that was on the beach, but let's be real, there aren't a lot of alternatives. You know?”
I reach out and touch her arm; her eyes snap open and she starts in her seat, coughing violently.
“Eugh,” she splutters, to my relief. “Ugh. What. Healing place?”
“Oh thank god. Uh, almost there.” I turn left onto Whitehead Row and nod at the sprawling complex of concrete buildings on our right: Undella General Hospital. Never been so glad to see something so ugly. “See? Hospital's right there.”
Helen stares at it like I've just pulled in at the pier and announced we're going to take a long walk off the short jetty.
“The – ugh – the healing place,” she says. She sounds like she's trying to be urgent, but she clearly doesn't have the strength; her voice is barely a murmur. “We agreed. Take me to the healing place.”
“This is the healing place―”
“Take me,” she insists, leaning out of her seat with a heroic effort and grabbing at my arm. “Take me to the … the …”
“I don't know what you mean, this is the hospital―”
“The heah-liih aiss!” she snarls. Eyes flashing wildly like a mad dog's. “Heeh-in―”
“We're here!” I cry, flinching away from here. “Helen, I don't know what―”
Her voice dissolves into a hoarse, wordless bark and she lashes out at the dashboard with one hand, fingers gouging huge chunks from the plastic. I swear and almost plough into a streetlight, slamming on the brakes and screeching to a halt half up on the sidewalk.
“What the hell!” My head hurts, in a way that means Shep's screeching at weird frequencies in the back; I look in the rear-view mirror but can't see him anywhere. Down in the footwell, maybe. “What are you doing?”
Helen glares daggers at me.
“Heehlin plaiih,” she growls. Her eyes are changing colour: brown to blue to green to … teal? “Taaahk―”
She coughs, splutters – and dissolves into motes of golden light that spiral up to the ceiling and disappear like dying fireflies. I stare at the creature that Helen is, underneath her borrowed human face, and all at once I realise why Shep is so afraid.
“Holy shit,” I gasp. “I, uh … oh my god, that is a lot of blood.”
The zoroark whines and clutches the gash in her belly, leg kicking weakly at nothing. She opens her mouth, lashing her tongue against her narrow jaws, but she doesn't seem to have the strength to fake human words any more.
“Hrr,” she hisses, blood trickling over her claws and matting her fur. “Eehr. Een. Aii.”
Healing place. Right. She's never been to a hospital, has she? But she sure as hell has been to a Pokémon Centre.
*
It's a long wait, but that's okay. I don't have anywhere better to be. I sit by Helen's padded table in the Centre infirmary, the curtains drawn around us for privacy, and keep Shep occupied with YouTube videos of elephants on my phone. (He loves elephants, no idea why. He has a plush one he likes to play with, but it's in the car.)
Helen stirs, lifts a paw weakly to the fresh white dressing on her belly. I reachout and hold her back, and at that she opens her eyes and focuses groggily on me.
“Hey,” I say. “Um, sorry. You can't touch it. The doctor said so. Healing person,” I add, in case that makes more sense to her.
Apparently it does, because she lets her paw fall again and whines softly. In my lap, Shep looks up from my phone, a little tense, but I bury my hand in his fluff and he soon settles down again. He's not as afraid of Helen now she isn't hiding her face; I think what threw him was an apparent human whose mind he couldn't sense. Besides, we're in a Pokémon Centre, and he's always felt safe in Centres. Lots of good memories here.
“You're gonna be fine,” I tell Helen, letting go of her foreleg. “It's gonna take you a while, but you'll be fine.”
She twitches an ear in some inscrutable vulpine gesture.
“Wiihhh,” she croaks. This close, I can see the wisps of gold light gathering on her teeth as she tries to generate the illusion of human speech. “Wiihlll help. Thank you.”
Of course. I've been thinking about that, and we're going to have to discuss it some more. But not right now.
“It's nothing,” I say. “Save your strength, okay? You don't have to talk.”
“Owe you.” She licks the light from her lips, gold flecks swimming in her saliva. “Left partner. Tried to―”
“I know.” I have a go at a reassuring smile, although I'm not sure how good it is. Not had a lot of practice. “We, um, well. The doctor, Alice, she found your partner through your record. He's in the hospital. A different healing place, I mean. For humans.”
The pieces are all there, if you care to look. A zoroark with a slash across her abdomen. A man whose severed hand is still wrapped around a bloody kitchen knife. Helen's insistence that she tried to leave.
Not all partnerships last forever. Sometimes a person or a pokémon decides they've had enough and that it's time to go. And sometimes the other person or pokémon decides they disagree. Easy to see how it all worked out.
As if she can read my mind, she turns away from me, ears flattening against her skull and a low whine building in her throat.
“Accident,” she mutters, her voice going a little growly around the edges as her illusion wavers. “I only – augh – wanted him to stop.”
Jesus. Poor thing. I kind of want to give her a hug, but I'm afraid of hurting her. And I guess I don't know if zoroark like it or not, anyway. Shep does, but he's definitely not representative of most pokémon.
“I'm sorry,” I say. “I don't know exactly what happened, but it sounds really bad.”
She doesn't respond. I guess I can't blame her.
Maybe I could talk about last night, when I – in their words – took my parents' son away. When I left them, and they struck back. Mom got a pretty good slap in, for someone who'd never hit me before.
No, I think, fingering the split in my lip. I can't. Even if I mean it sincerely, it's just gonna be me making light of her pain. Maybe I can't go home either, but I didn't get knifed, did I?
I sit there for a moment, watching Helen's ribs rise and fall and trying to figure out what to do. Even if she were human, I wouldn't know. And she isn't human – not even close; her pretence just makes her inhumanity all the more obvious.
I hate this. I'm prepared. That's who I am. But even if I'd known about all this for weeks, there's nothing I could have done to make myself ready for Helen.
“Okay,” I murmur. “Shep? Could you …? Thanks, dude.”
I put my phone on the table and he flutters after it, eyes glued to the baby elephant stumbling around onscreen. Moving slowly, trying to keep Shep calm and give Helen a chance to reject this if she doesn't want it, I lean in and run my fingers through her mane.
“It's okay,” I tell her, although of course it isn't. “You did what you could.”
She lifts her head slightly, just enough for me to see the very edge of her eye.
“Will you go?” she asks.
The words settle over me like a barbed net. I guess I got that one wrong, then. But I'm not going to hang around where I'm not wanted – it's why I'm leaving town in the first place – so I swallow my protests, nod and stand up.
“All right,” I say. “Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.”
Helen's ears flick into a different position and she turns to face me properly, something sharp in her eyes.
“No,” she growls. “I am asking. Will you? Or will you stay?”
“Will I …? You want me to stay?”
Her face shifts ever so slightly in a way I can't read, then she seems to remember she's talking to a human and bobs her head in a clumsy approximation of a nod.
“Well, okay,” I say, my face cracking into a smile. “I … yeah. Got nowhere else to be. I'm happy to hang out here for a bit if you want.”
She hesitates. Then she lifts her head and licks my cheek, and for a second I'm a kid again, cheering up my herdier after another failed gym challenge.
Jesus. I might actually cry. I did such a good job of telling myself that walking out on everyone was fine, and now all that conviction is crumbling like a dry sandcastle beneath the surf of Helen's affection.
I don't know how long they'll let me stay here on my almost-expired trainer card, especially for the sake of a pokémon who isn't even registered to me. But if the staff want me out, they're gonna have to fight about it, because Black City can damn well wait till Helen's ready to go home to the forest.
“Aw,” I say, blinking hard and scratching behind her ear. “C'mon, dude, you'll make me blush.”
I don't think she understands. But she does like head scritches, going by the way she's closed her eyes and relaxed into the cushions, so I think we might just be able to figure out some common ground here.
“You're not so spooky, huh. Big goofy dog.”
She sniffs haughtily, but doesn't tell me to stop. Shep looks up at the sound, then keeps looking for a moment before fluttering over, chirping indignantly.
“Feeling left out, dingus? C'mon, then.”
I run a hand through his fluff and watch him edge nervously towards Helen. He shuffles his claws for a moment, then moves tentatively into her mane, watching her carefully; when she doesn't respond, he squeaks in satisfaction and nestles himself against her shoulder, wrapped up in locks of crimson hair.
“Okay, hold that pose,” I say, reaching for my phone. “That is too cute not to go on Instagram.”
They're very obliging; neither seem like they want to move. I take a picture, then try to distribute the scritches evenly. In addition to always being prepared, it seems Sophia is also an equal opportunities pokémon trainer.
Helen spreads her jaws, tongue lolling over her teeth.
“Will help,” she says contentedly. “With looking like things. When I am – augh – healed.”
“Ah.” I transfer my attention from Shep to her, ignoring his squeal of disapproval. “Yeah, about that,” I say, as her eyes flick open. “It's fine. I don't wanna live the rest of my life wrapped in an illusion. I know that's fine for zoroark, but, y'know. Not a zoroark. So I'll do this … I was gonna say 'properly', but that feels sorta rude, so let's say the old-fashioned way.”
She gives me a long, level look. I don't really know how much of that she caught; I know not all zoroark can speak, and that according to her record, Helen has never shown any sign of being one that can. She probably doesn't have much experience holding a conversation.
“I will help?” she says, but it's a question now, not a statement.
“Nah,” I tell her, patting her shoulder. “No worries, dude. I'll just get a cool haircut and a sundress. Maybe some earrings. I mean I feel like that would really hurt, but every girl I know wears 'em, so it can't be that bad.” I smile. “You just worry about getting better, okay? I'll deal with the dumb human stuff like gender.”
Helen's ears twitch into a different position. Still no idea what that means.
“I don't understand,” she says. “But. I am partner. Will …” She trails off, licks her teeth nervously. “Trust,” she finishes, not meeting my eye.
I blink in surprise, my hand faltering mid-stroke.
“You … I thought you were done with partnership?” I ask. “Like that's why you left your guy, isn't it?”
She growls softly, but I don't think it's directed at me. Just some kind of instinct kicking in.
“Done with him,” she says. “Start with you.”
I almost laugh. But of course she's serious. Shep was exactly the same way: when he met me, he knew, and he refused to let me leave without him. That's partnership for you. It's not sensible. It's not even always a good idea. But pokémon know it when it hits them.
“Really?” I ask. “You know, uh, me and Shep, we're not exactly in a stable situation right now. Can't promise you this is going to work out.”
Helen stares at me for a while.
“Hrrm,” she grumbles, stubborn as the old dog she is. “Will start with you.”
“Well,” I say, raising my eyebrows. “I guess that told me, huh.”
It's gonna be interesting explaining this to the Centre staff. But honestly, if I can handle what went down last night, if I can handle the weirdness on the beach, I think I can handle that.
