Story Notes:
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable species, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Plot and original characterizations are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Part VII: Hot Tempered
Can’t Escape, Chapter 7: Hot Tempered.
Vincent and Theodore discussed finances and other things alone, as Vera was away meditating somewhere awkward and the others slept soundly. Spinning Jacqueline’s pokedex on an undersized breakfast table in his motel room, Vincent concluded, “so, in summary, Tio: we have two badges to earn, one week to earn them, and four days of room-and-board in our pockets.”
Theodore hunched forward, which brought his upper body over the table and his face within inches of Vincent’s. “Not gonna make it, Boss.”
“Nope. We might win this gym if we’re lucky, but… there’s always next summer.”
“And, summer courses.”
“There’s gotta be a gym near the university. We’ll watch the schedule to catch a couple wandering leaders that we can get numbers seven and eight from. Then, it’s just a matter of taking extra courses during the next spring so I can free up a summer term and play the fourth-tier circuit.”
Theodore sat up straight. “I had to learn half of your class material and teach it to you to keep your grade point average over 3.5 in high school, Boss. I don’t think we can handle extra load to keep summers open.”
Vincent leaned forward. “Well, then you do my coursework and I’ll chase after the title without you.”
“Okay,” Theodore leaned again to meet him, “but, I get your diploma.”
“I can’t wait to see you shake hands with the college Pres’.”
Theodore lowered his voice a little. “Jackie is going to college this fall, too, isn’t she?”
Vincent remained near but glanced away from his friend. “Yeah, a much nicer one, too.”
The typhlosion shifted half-way into his impression voice. “Rich-people-private, gender-segregated dorms, and it’s reasonably near yours?”
“She can probably afford an apartment off-campus. I think she was checking a few places out over the weekend when we met in Coumarin. I doubt she’s been traveling the same way we have just to trade lunches.”
“Even with her own place,” Tio gently touched Vincent’s chin to recapture his glance, “Jackie is going to get cabin fever, fast, cooped up in a place like that. Isn’t it about time you started owing each other dinners instead of lunches?”
Vincent’s cheek twitched. “I don’t know. I mean, yeah, but I can’t do that to Carl. He’d go nuts and have to be committed.”
“Just go for it, Boss. My nose is better than yours. She’s holding out just for you. Don’t let her down.”
“I’ll try not to, but it’s gonna feel weird.”
“Going to dinner with Jackie won’t feel weird compared to explaining that your typhlosion is a non-negotiable part of the package. That’s going to require precise wording.”
Vincent reached across the table and teased Tio’s fur. “Ha! She loves fluffy, cute pokemon like you, and I’m sure we can afford a king-size bed. No problem.”
Both Vincent and Theodore imagined the situation their discussion wandered into. The images they visualized, while quite dissimilar, seemed plausible enough from each’s perspective. Straining her powers somewhat, Vera, eavesdropping from her position near the pinnacle of Hexyloxy Harbor’s radio tower, successfully piggy-backed a psychic message on its transmission just for them: “Don’t forget about me, boys. I would feel left out if you skipped my turn.”
After a moment of shock, realizing her bold intrusion and admission, Vincent and Theodore slowly faced each other again and simultaneously asked, “what were you thinking about that made her say that?”
Theodore admitted his guilt through escape. “It’s after seven. I think I’ll see if this place’s promise of breakfast is any good.” Pacing along the walkway, he glanced at the pool area. His emotions rose and fell, first as he noticed a hot tub, and second, a sign reading, “no pokemon allowed in the water.” He arrived at a small room attached to the office lobby via sliding pocket doors that served as a communal kitchen area. A number of undersized tables stood in a loose array. One could not stand on its own, apparently, as it was bolted to the wall with a metal bracket. Of those tables’ chairs, those occupied were occupied by older folk. Although not intimidated, that did make Theodore nervous. Older folk, especially those from abroad, tended to believe that a starter belongs in one of two places: a new trainer’s pokeball clip or an old trainer’s electronic kennel except when there are fall leaves to rake and burn.
Concerned by his apparent condition, Shade roused his master with great effort. Zap provided Irish coffee and headache medication.
Mortimer needed a second chance to swallow the pills, one having missed his mouth. “Thank you,” he grumbled. That statement he directed toward his ninetales. “You better not be lying to me,” he grumbled. That statement he directed toward his ampharos. Then, he handed that pokemon his mostly-emptied mug.
“You can trust me, Master. There is no way he’ll get to eight badges and qualify for League playoffs. It took him five years to get five badges and you said he struck-out again last Monday. There’s only time for Vince to try one more gym before he heads back. Vera isn’t the type to give him an air-lift home unless his life depends on it, and she keeps him out of that kind of trouble. Hal refused the fly H.M. because he’s afraid of heights—falling, actually—even though the whole point of the H.M. is to help you fly stable despite having a trainer on your back.”
“Xatu’s a psychic. They could teleport home, from center to center.”
“She used it often when she was small, but since she evolved, she rarely does except to play tricks on people and claims she can’t use the silver posts. I think she could manage if it was to save his life, but that’s the same situation as flying. Just wait, Master. He’ll walk right up to you.”
Mortimer reclaimed his mug and finished his drink. “That xatu; quite a beaut’. I wonder if I can get my hands on her, too.”
Zap’s expression soured at what the hiker suggested. “Maybe, Master, but you won’t be able to catch her by surprise, Sir.”
“We’ll see about that.” The hiker waved his mug around in a small circle. “Well? Refill!”
His waiter swiftly handled the order.
“Gonna be ready, Shadey?” His ninetales barked sharply. “Thought so. When I get that little shit back in this cabin, she’s all yours; no limits. I’ve been inconsiderately selfish. Feathers was your friend, too. I should’a let you get it over with a long time ago.”
Zap returned with Mortimer’s mug. The man drank it all at once.
“Wash that out. I gotta roll before I come up late.” He quickly changed clothes and threw on his boots in one continuous motion. He paused only once, to turn on his radio before leaving.
“I’m getting food and coffee for my master,” Theodore issued as his excuse under pressure of dirty looks from other motel guests, with mixed honesty. People-food and coffee for himself he omitted, while the words ‘food’ and ‘coffee’ strained to encompass frozen breakfast products in a mini-fridge and coffee so weak it could darken upon adding creme if any availed itself. The microwave’s keypad functionality proved limited to ‘9,’ ‘6,’ ‘3,’ and ‘start.’ The poor soul who used it last gave up at ‘63:39,’ and after Theodore poked ‘clear’ without effect a few times, he solved the problem by unplugging the device for a moment. Clean and abundant, paper plates proved a singular saving grace of his continental breakfast. Theodore wondered which continent considered this situation a proper breakfast, and felt thankful that his master held no interest in traveling abroad.
Returning to his room, Theodore left a couple microwaved sausage patties near Vincent—he still pondering a region map—and tested the television, in hopes that something campy might be airing.
Fiona awoke with a start. The scent of cheap coffee caused her body to expect a bath of joe. Theodore glanced at her without suspending his channel surfing; that, until he landed upon a station dedicated to repeats.
Sauntering toward Vincent, Fiona reached up slightly and squeezed his shoulders as she walked behind his chair. “Are we going to pick some fights today?”
Vincent undermined her hopeful demeanor by describing a day of travel, instead, although he did at least promise her participation in any field challenges. He hoped to avoid any and all since he had little time to spare in pursuit of one more shot at a gym badge before turning his journey homeward. He stuffed the remaining half of one sausage patty into his mouth and offered the second to Fiona. She accepted it eagerly and slipped into his seat as he left for the washroom to awaken Phil and make himself presentable.
As Fiona swallowed her sausage, Vincent’s telephone rang.
“Answer it, Shorty,” said Theodore without breaking clicker rhythm. “Did all the networks decide to go to commercial together? It’s like women and restaurant toilets.”
Fiona fumbled the phone while figuring out a way to hold it stable and operate its buttons.
Its display identified the caller as Jacqueline. “Vinny, you aren’t on the road yet, are you?”
Fiona hopped onto the bed and did her best for a first-timer. “No, he’s doing a shower with Phil.”
Jackie tried not to laugh but suppressed giggles distorted her speech nonetheless. “That sounds like fun. I hope Tio isn’t jealous. Listen, I’m taking the bullet train because I’ve already beaten all the leaders that are hosting locally this weekend. If you guys want to come with me to Tartaroyal, I’ll buy the tickets and you’ll buy the meals.”
Fiona bounced to her feet. “I better ask him right now, hold on.” She discarded the telephone against the bedspread and dashed across the room to see Vincent. She gave no consideration to tact as she threw open the shower curtain. “Hey Vin’, Jack—wow, your thinger’s a lot nicer looking than his was! Jackie wants to buy us train tickets if you buy her food. Say ‘yes’?”
Vincent froze with a blush for a moment. Phil in particular could not be kept away from a running shower and all his other pokemon saw their master nude at least once before, but Fiona never before saw him exposed such and he wished she saw a more dignified image than himself washing his upper legs and ass cheeks. “Uh, well, ask her to hold for two minutes.”
Phil lost his composure and whistled a chuckle as Fiona trotted away nonchalantly to find Theodore in impression-mode keeping Jacqueline occupied.
“That’s right. Don’t trust no pokedex and be ready for anything. T pities the fool who ain’t expecting the unexpected. Then, T gives ’em the bite and The Boss counts to twenty.”
Jackie monitored the Pokemon League mailing list through her father’s account and noticed a message from Iwamoto-sama petitioning for poison-fang to be added to typhlosion’s roster of recognized techniques; his message was posted the morning after Vincent received his badge. Theodore seemed eager to proudly confirm her suspicions.
Vincent emerged in a towel and received his phone from Theodore. Quickly they settled the terms of their agreement while Vincent’s team prepared to rush to Hexyloxy Terminal with twenty minutes remaining to make their departure.
Vera watched from afar as her friend dashed away from the motel after dropping off his key. Vincent would expect her traditional last-second appearance, and he would be disappointed, for she chose to travel in her own way. She took flight from the radio tower and did not touch ground again until reaching a little village in front of a rustic general store that permitted no pokemon within its walls.
Vincent blasted through automatic doors that narrowly cleared his way and he almost crashed into the ticketing counter, not seeing Jacqueline anywhere and not having time to try to find her. He slapped his trainer card down, expecting to get his usual discount and be reimbursed by Jackie later, but instead two tickets reserved in his name accompanied his I.D. card’s return across the counter. Finding a few square feet of empty space, Vincent released Theodore. He intended to hand him one of the tickets but a conductor intervened.
“I’m sorry, sir, but safety regulations forbid large and/or dangerous pokemon from boarding our trains unless they are sealed within their balls at all times during our journey.” Theodore reluctantly agreed to be recalled.
Aboard, Vincent soon discovered that the seats reserved for himself and a companion were in a private room, currently half-occupied by Jacqueline and Jean. “Jackie, you know you’re spoiling me.”
She huffed. “Not at all. This is just the whim of a spoiled girl who has plenty of cash to throw at the problem of being bored on a train ride. You didn’t get in such a rush that you left your pokemon behind at the hotel did you?”
Vincent seated himself across from his host and gestured to his five-sixths filled ball belt. “They’re here, except Vera’s being Vera somewhere. They said Tio had to stay in his ball while on the train.” He turned to face Jean with a look of combined disbelief and confusion. “Something about him being a dangerous pokemon.” Jean returned the look, although he did not narrow his eyes.
Jackie giggled at Vincent’s insinuation. “Oh, yeah. It’s probably the fire thing. Even though they make great starters, the cyndaquil family is sometimes tough to teach to control their vents at all times. Packed into a train like this, one good surprise and someone’s clothing is on fire. I think you can let your weavile out, though.” She poked inside a pocket in the wall that held pamphlets and found one that included a list of pokemon forbidden to ride. Vincent learned from it that Phil was an “elemental hazard,” like Theodore, and Hal broke both height and weight restrictions. Vera was eligible, had she chosen to make an appearance.
Recognizing it somewhere between a shame and an insult to waste a paid seat, Vincent released his luxury ball’s occupant. Fiona immediately took a defensive stance, as her field of view was filled with gallade once she materialized. The last time she saw one so near, she suffered a concussion. Deep relief came when Vincent plopped her into her seat and informed her that this train did not permit battling on board. Nonetheless, Fiona did not feel much interest in befriending the warrior sitting opposite herself. She spent much of the ride looking out through the window, having never seen a landscape speed by so quickly. Additionally, the only thing else to look at inside the rail-car was Vincent and Jackie, who did not seem interested in including her in their conversation. Jean sat motionlessly and emotionless. That his blank expression was exactly the last thing that Fiona saw before he knocked her unconscious made it even more unnerving.
After a while, Vincent’s curiosity overcame his resolve. “So, why do you have Jean with you? I thought Carl hated letting—”
Jacqueline interrupted indignantly. “Ah! Caz is a bratty, self-absorbed, impatient jerk-face is why. I was over at Caz’s suite last night splitting a pizza. I knew something was wrong when Jean ran out of the other room with his hands on his head and hid—”
Jean became embarrassed and while he and Jackie did not share an empathetic bond, she was near and familiar enough for him to mentally beseech her to rephrase.
“What happened was Caz checked the rankings, saw that you got a badge somehow when he didn’t, and went on a tear. I’ve seen him lose his temper before, but this was the biggest outburst I’d seen since he was a child in body as well as mind. He threw stuff, broke stuff. Give him credit for having guts, though, since he even punched Lucas in the jaw, blaming him most of all for their losing to you and Sensei. When he finally calmed down a bit, he started sending his team back home over the network. I asked if I could take Jean with me and Caz just signed him over to my account. Then, he got his wallet and stormed off, heading for the game rooms, probably, and for all I know he’s been living there since. He won’t answer his phone.” Jacqueline’s expression shifted from somber concern to a cheesy smile, once she found a way to make light of the situation. “So, right now that dork is sitting at the slots, losing his ass and smelling like a bum,” she leaned forward, invading Vincent’s personal space somewhat, “while I’m riding around like a princess with her handsome bodyguard.” She quickly broke eye contact to kiss Jean on his cheek, and a beat later, after Fiona’s eyebrows had risen, suffixed a hasty, “oh, and you, too, Vinny.”
Vincent felt his breakfast sausage settle sideways and excused himself to find the privy.
Alone with Jacqueline and Jean, Fiona felt like the center of attention and nervously tried to start a conversation. “So, uh. I guess you’re pretty good at fighting.” She had not really decided if her “you’re” addressed the gallade, the trainer, or both.
Jackie picked up the line. “Jean has a respectable record, if you disregard a few incidents. You know how it is when you get too excited in the circle. And, I know you know because I checked your records. Quite a first day you had.”
Fiona did not like being reminded of her debut. She looked at Jean and asked, “do you like fighting?”
Jean’s blank forward stare suddenly shifted to Fiona’s eyes. He wanted to answer honestly, but even if he tried to force his thoughts into her mind, Fiona’s dark nature would prohibit such rudeness. He looked forward again and Fiona shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
Jacqueline stepped in again. “Don’t mind his silence. Jean hasn’t said a word to anyone in a long time. I’m pretty sure he wants me to tell you that he likes making Carl proud of him, and does everything he can do to achieve that.”
Fiona hoped to express something they had in common, but having ignored most of the preceding conversation, she was unaware of recent events. “I want to make Vinny proud of me, but I haven’t been doing too good. I hope I can get good at fighting and make my trainer proud like you did.”
Jackie flinched as a flash of emotion shot through Jean. He quickly turned to look out through the window. He had never seen a landscape speed by so quickly, since Carl almost never allowed Jean to travel outside of his ball.
Vincent returned to a chamber filled with three dark auras instead of the singular one he expected. He sat and activated his trainer’s device, calling up information on his destination city. With Jean keeping the window occupied, Fiona watched Vincent first study a city map and later play a built-in pokemon-themed video game while Jacqueline leaned against Jean’s left side and napped until the train arrived at their stop.
Vera’s motionless stance once again drew muttered complaints and stares from town locals, all of whom she ignored until a man with a ninetales approached.
He again imitated Iwamoto’s aide’s humble inflection. “Excuse me, Madame Xatu. Is the one I seek another of your kind, or the one standing before me?”
Vera chirped haughtily. “The one standing before you will serve you well-enough.”
Mortimer rubbed his stubble. “Your master, I take it, with the weavile; is he nearby?”
She turned to face the miles-distant train station’s direction. “Near enough, but he will soon be headed home. His next gym will be his last for this season.”
“That’s good to hear,” he said while smiling deviously, “from what I saw last time, he’s not exactly champ material. Maybe he ought to let you and them go.”
Vera went fishing. “And where would I go?”
Mac took the bait. “Well, I know a little place not too far from here, a short trip up the mountainside. Nice ’n quiet, peaceful like, got a pond, nobody comes and goes up there but a chubby guy and his dog.” Shade glanced away, slightly embarrassed.
She stepped forward, wrapping the hiker with her right wing while raising her left as a barrier between them. “Because that place is not as peaceful-like as you wish that it were.” Vera knelt and slowly stroked Shade beneath his chin with an oddly-compassionate expression before taking flight, leaving Mac and his companion alone to watch her form recede and vanish beyond the treetops of Allylidene Forest.
Disembarking the train, Vincent attempted to breach the food-related half of their agreement. “I guess I owe you dinner. I—”
The princess cut him off yet again. “I know just the place! It opened up a couple weeks ago, and they got all the best sushi chefs around. We’ll go there after our gym matches tomorrow night.”
Vincent smirked. “So that’s why you came out here. It had nothing to do with the league, you just wanted to check out a new fish joint.”
Jackie slugged his right arm. “I wasn’t lying. It’s not easy for me to find a leader whose badge I don’t have yet. So, when one shows up near a place I want to have dinner at, I gotta seize the opportunity.”
Vincent did not want to look like a wuss, but his arm wanted to be rubbed. “Why not tonight, though?”
Jacqueline’s expression became downcast again. “I need to take care of Jean. He may look like a rock, but he’s a sponge when it comes to Caz. He’s bonded with Caz so when the jerk flipped out, Jean couldn’t help but try to draw off his negativity. But, that only made Caz angrier because he wanted to be angry and they both kinda overloaded. Jean’s feeling totally rejected right now and he needs someone close to connect with and lean on. That’s why I took him with me when Caz said he was sending his whole team home. At home by himself, he’d fall apart and then Lucas would, too. This isn’t something that you need to be worrying about, but I appreciate your listening.” She hugged his arm and rubbed the spot where she punched him. “Get some sleep. You gotta be ready for the games, tomorrow.”
Visiting Tartaroyal Gym first-thing in the morning to ensure that he beat any rush and got in before others took all participant slots, Vincent discovered that the facility was sized proportionately to its city; Tartaroyal being the largest he had ever visited. Its arena featured auditorium seating in the style of the ancients and its center ring recessed into the ground as deep as a second basement level. High above were hung massive display screens to present elevated viewers with an option between direct viewing and a cinematic video feed of the contests.
Finding a vacant table, Vincent started filling out move-set cards. Hal and Phil rarely asked for variety, and Vera seemed always to be prepared for whatever he might put on her card, so he filled theirs out first while feeling Theodore literally breathing down his neck. Coming down to Tio and Fio, he started with the latter’s: surf, ice-punch, feint-attack, and, alas, fury-swipes. He told himself that that last technique was selected for want of a better option, but truly he wanted to be covered if she panicked and simply began clawing at any part of her opponent that she could reach. All reasonable methods of procrastination now exhausted, he wrote “Theodore” atop his fifth card. Hoping to avoid their usual argument, he immediately put an “S” in the first box.
Theodore, still looking over Vincent’s shoulder, rolled his eyes and grunted, complaining as he peeled himself away from his friend. “Sunny-day, again. You know, I miss the good old days: sweeping with eruptions, not wasting time casting spells.” He trailed off as he wandered off.
Vincent finished Tio’s card. “Yeah, the minor leagues were a blast, weren’t they? Maybe we could go to the park and rough up some middle-schoolers like the skinheads do when they get bored.”
Across the lobby, Theodore overheard a couple of other trainers discussing a rumor: tonight’s event would be an exhibition intended to promote a new pokemon-related invention. Theodore relayed this information to Vincent as he double-checked the cards. They huffed simultaneously. Normal matches were difficult enough for them, and exhibition events often turned the rules upside-down. Some critics argued that it leveled the playing field and provided a better evaluation of trainers’ skills, but others felt it simply meant that you were better off being lucky than good. Discouraged but not dissuaded, Vincent walked toward the receptionist to submit his paperwork. Theodore groaned, stretched, and leaned his back against the counter partition, yawning and exposing his fangs carelessly and intentionally. “Ahhhh, sunny-day. You know what I want to do.”
Vincent placed his trainer I.D. atop the cards and slid them across the counter. “Yes, I know what you want to do, and if it were legitimate, I’d be all for it.”
Kimberly took up a stamp to validate Vincent’s forms, but stopped at Theodore’s card to recite a memorized line of script. She was new to the job, but absorbed all of the training material readily. “Before I stamp this, would you please confirm for me that the information entered is what you wish to submit?” Vincent took Theodore’s card back, glanced at it, and asked what was wrong. “Well,” she broke from prepared dialogue, “I saw your badges, in particular, that one,” gesturing with a gentle nod and slight motion of one finger, “and with the minor rule change approved this morning, I thought maybe you might have meant to write ‘poison-fang’ instead of ‘toxic’ on your typhlosion’s move selection.”
Vincent did not know what to think, so Theodore thought for him by putting a pencil in Vincent’s hand.
The fifth card re-submitted, Kimberly resumed verifying the paperwork. Another issue immediately appeared. “Have you dropped a card, Sir? I count only five.”
With a touch of arrogant pride, Vincent replied, “I only use five pokemon.”
The attendant smiled brightly, returning to her script. “For tonight’s event, all participants must register six pokemon. I will set your papers aside for now. Please acquire a sixth and return before registration closes, or a stand-by participant, should any register, may compete in your stead.”
After saying that, Kimberly continued at a whisper, “don’t worry too much about it. You don’t need a well-trained pokemon. Anything will do, really.”
Vincent exited Tartaroyal Gym and released Hal from his ball. “Hey, big guy, how would you like to spend a few hours on the town before our match-ups?”
Hal struggled to contain his excitement, but it had been longer than he could remember since he alone had been asked by his trainer to share time that was not attached to a contest. “Wow, I’d love to spend—”
Vincent shoved a few bank notes into Hal’s hand while walking over his sentiment. “A few hundred shillings on a buffet line. That’s what I can afford; don’t eat it all in one place. Tio and I have to pick up a sixth because the gym’s running a stupid special event, so we’re going to shake some bushes. Have fun.”
Hal waited patiently until Vincent and Theodore were well out of earshot before finishing his sentence. “—more time with you, Master.”
Despite Tartaroyal’s broad and sprawling design, Hal quickly found a local game corner. They looked and operated likewise no matter how far and wide you traveled. A row of cases displaying pokemon available as prizes to people willing to blow away their afternoons flipping cards and their money on heavily marked-up snacks and refreshments lined the front windows. His eyes met with an eevee’s. He knew well its look of longing and hopefulness, and he knew that he would react to it just as had every human to which he once gave that look: glancing downward and away before leaving with a hurried step. Every human except for Vincent; not his current master, though, but a few-years-younger Vincent.
He continued along the sidewalk, not really looking where he was going. Pedestrians naturally stayed out of his way and his antennae were sensitive enough to detect when the row of buildings to his left were interrupted to admit a street, alerting Hal to check for traffic and signal before crossing. Until a familiar tune captured his attention, he was unsure what he was even thinking about. The music came from a small shop wedged between a kosher deli and a store that advertised novelties intended exclusively for adult humans. A disheveled man exited the strange shop holding a cardboard box. The air that followed him was thick with patchouli oil. Hal caught the door and looked inside. The aisles were cramped but wide enough for his frame to pass through as long as he was mindful of his tail. He asked the proprietor if he could enter and was greeted warmly.
“Yeah, man, come on in. If you’re polite enough to ask, I ain’t worried.”
A bell above the door chimed as Hal entered. When the door shut behind Hal, the store’s owner slid his yellow sunglasses down his nose.
“Hey, man, where’s your trainer?”
The store was even smaller than it looked from without. Hal anticipated an order to leave. He sought a place to turn about without his tail sweeping anything over. “He let me go by myself, today.”
Howie smiled a little. “Sounds like you got a pretty cool dude, Dude.”
“I guess so,” Hal said flatly, and assuming the proprietor’s continued consent he browsed the merchandise. The wares were widely varied, but most familiar was a table covered with milk crates, each filled with vinyl audio-discs. In the garage at home was a similar cache. Hal flipped through them, unable to pass over ten without seeing a band name that was familiar. Many of these albums featured artists that Zap sought but could not find, due to scarcity. “Zap would’ve loved this place,” Hal admitted to himself aloud.
Howie overheard and asked who that was while picking up the arts and entertainment section of a newspaper.
“An old teammate. He loved music, especially on these things. If he were still with us, he could have been here.”
The paper folded downward by half. “Did your trainer trade him off or something? That’s not cool, man.”
“No, but he did something that made Zap upset, and when Zap told him off, he let him decide to stay or go. Zap chose to go.”
Howie leaned forward over his counter, setting the paper aside. “Bummer. I take back what I said about your dude. When someone blows their top, you’re supposed to be cool and help ’em through it, not tell ’em you couldn’t care less if they take a hike.”
Hal stared at an album cover for a few long moments. It matched the description of one Zap once said he dreamed of finding.
Howie noticed that Hal seemed to be speaking, although he could not hear any words. “You know, if you want one of those, you can just have it if you promise to get it to your friend someday.”
Hal twisted to look back, in two motions separated by his tail bumping into something nearby that he could not see. “No. Thank you. I don’t think I’ll ever see him again and even if I did, I would be seeing that part of him—.” Hal pushed the album he held into a small gap between two other albums and returned to face Howard while heading for the exit. “—The part of him that left us all just because things weren’t going the way he hoped. Do you know of a place nearby that will serve food to a pokemon without a trainer?”
A rattata seemed to chatter a giggle as it used its tail to whip a pokeball aside before running away.
Theodore applauded violently. “Exemplary work, Boss! You threw that one close enough to have a tiny chance of capturing before the rodent knocked it out of the park. Forget college, we’re going to sign you up as a big leaguer.”
Vincent pantomimed bashing Theodore in his belly with a baseball bat before picking up his now-dud pokeball. “Marketing genius, making these things only work once and sticking a deposit on them so you’ll bring back the misses to be ‘recycled’ when all they do is replace the chip and button, buff out a couple scratches, and sell it again like-new. Well, I do have the premiere ball left. I guess if it doesn’t stick, we’ll just watch Jackie play and go home. I miss my own bed.”
Hal withdrew the second of his seven jumbo hot dogs from their sack. Normally, that would mean that he started his meal only a few seconds ago, but he seated himself on the park bench beneath him almost ten minutes prior. He felt like there was something stuck in his throat, blocking the path between his mouth and his belly. It was a distraction so great that Hal’s antennae failed to detect a gallade that walked by, stopped, and seated itself upon the bench’s other end. Jean remained unnoticed until he presented hot dog number-three to the dragonite.
Hal unwrapped it slowly. “If your master is looking for a fight, Vincent isn’t here for—with—me.”
Jean needed a moment to remember how to make words with his mouth. “I have been,” he paused a moment equally because of difficulty remembering the word and difficulty admitting his shame, “—reassigned.”
Hal offered his guest the fourth hot dog, but Jean declined. He set it aside and began eating Number Five as Jean continued, his words coming slowly and with great concentration. “If Vincent released you, what would you do?”
The dragonite swallowed hard. “For the first day, this. Find a cheap meal and eat it as slowly as possible.”
Jean relented and accepted Hot Dog Number Four, asking, “and after that?” before taking his first bite.
Hal gestured to Jean with the last inch of his fifth dog’s beef and bun, “I will wish that I could eat more slowly.”
Vincent’s premiere ball burst open and a re-materialized plusle darted away. Theodore gave Vincent a warm hug instead of his typical smart-alack jibe. “I miss our bed, too. Let’s go home. You’ve got to start paring down your stuff for your move to the dorms.”
The route back to Tartaroyal forced them to walk into the glare of a setting sun, which made seeing one’s imagination more comfortable than seeing the road ahead.
“Zap was the only one, wasn’t he, Tio?” Vincent mused.
Theodore hummed in confusion.
“Zap was the only pokemon I ever caught. You came to me, Vera came to me, Hal and Phil I bought, Fiona chose to stay, at least for now. I don’t really train pokemon at all. I just shepherd the ones that want to crash at my pad.”
The typhlosion halted his friend’s advance by resting a heavy paw on the young man’s left shoulder, forcing him to lean back and twist slightly as his legs took a half-second to notice Theodore’s restraint. “Vincent—”
Hearing that word cross Theodore’s lips triggered a sense of shock, as he never spoke it except to refer to other persons who happened to share the name.
“—what you just said insulted every one of us.”
Turning about, Vincent for the first time saw a typhlosion on the verge of tears. The gentle twitching of lower eyelids and broken, wavering tones of speech created a Tio that Vincent never before met and never would forget.
Theodore’s other paw found Vincent’s other shoulder and together they re-aligned his body. “Don’t you see all you’ve done for us? You got Hal and Phil out of those cages. You gave that weavile far more than she deserved. But above all: you… saved… my… life. If you hadn’t taken me in when you found me, given me a home, taken care of me as whatever I had got worse and worse; when it hit me hard I would have crawled back behind that garbage can and died in blind agony.” Theodore wrapped his arms around the stunned trainer and pulled him into a cold hug with almost crushing strength. “Every day of my life is a tribute to you, my hero. To say that I just crash at your pad… it hurts me all the way, Boss. It means that I am nothing to you and I don’t think I can survive that.”
Vincent began to have difficulty standing as the weight he struggled to support seemed to be collapsing slowly. “Theodore, I never meant that. I can’t imagine for a second what my life would be or have been like without you, and I don’t want to.” The trainer’s arms slid upward and crossed his typhlosion’s flame vents. “I’m sorry, Tio. Please, believe me; I will never intentionally do or say anything to hurt you or our friends.”
After a moment, their stances recovered and their embrace broke. Theodore’s expression became somewhat more typical as he turned his view to a city standing before the setting sun. “I know. Deep down, I know. But, I meant nothing to my trainer once before, and I don’t think that it will ever stop haunting me.”
The words, “I wish I could eat more slowly,” fell into an empty sack. Hal slowly stood from his bench and discarded the bag. “I guess I’m headed back to the gym. Vincent must have caught a sixth so we can fight tonight. He’s probably upset that I let it get so late before coming back. I think I’ve disappointed him too much.”
Hal began walking away, depriving Jean of necessary time to find all the right words and put them into correct arrangement. “Is his wanting, go away, you?”
Turning around partially, Hal thought about it for a couple of seconds. “I don’t know. I want to say that I hope not, but I’m not sure what I hope.”
Jean abruptly sprang to his feet as the reptile resumed his departure and leapt, landing straddling Hal’s bulky orange tail with a unique blue tip. Before Hal could react, Jean captured his head between two green palms plus his own forehead. He injected a vision without respect for permission or tact. The onset of a crippling sensation coursing through his mind and his soul caused Hal to cringe. Jean spoke with anger and frustration in his voice, punctuating each of his words with a pulse of emotion. “Hope that he never wants you away. This is… the shadow of how it feels; how I feel.” The sensation intensified steadily until Jean released his grip with a strained grunt, dismounted Hal, and marched away.
As Hal passed by the hot dog vendor, who was briefly concerned that two powerful pokemon were about to battle near her cart, he could not resist talking to himself. “And, he says that’s a shadow? How could Carl put him through that?”
Hal interrupted his walk back to Tartaroyal Gym with a visit to a pharmaceutical market. He needed a dose of maximum-strength headache medication.