-7- Projections, concluded.

Mrs. Finnegan answered her door and found a cross-looking gardevoir holding a feather duster and a mug that featured a little bit of dried cocoa at its bottom. "Oh, I know that look. C'mon in, girl."

Delilah received her duster and replaced it in the closet from whence it came, while Grace almost stomped, despite hardly putting any force on the ground, into the kitchen to rinse out the mug.

"Now, I'm no mind reader like you are, but I betcha I know what happened: nothin'!" Delilah took at seat at her breakfast table. "He came home, didn't notice a thing different, and went straight to his usual business, right?"

Grace turned to face Delilah with an expression that betrayed her frustration, looking ready to explode. She was steadied only because she knew that Delilah was not at fault and that actually directing it at Joe would only make him feel upset too without fixing the problem, or at least, the situation that she perceived to be a problem at the moment. She re-directed her anger at the water on the mug, destroying every droplet with a hand-towel.

"Nnnnnnn-huh. Remember when I told you men don't dust? They also don't notice when you bust your ass getting rid of it everywhere."

"He did notice the refrigerator. 'Hey, where's the juice?' Then, about fifteen seconds later: 'What was it doing there? Grace, did you screw with the fridge while I was at school?' Yeah, I screwed with the fridge. I sorted all the jars and cartons, threw out about a pint of milk that was pushed to the back and two weeks past-due, and moved the juice one shelf down to make more space."

"Awww, Grace learned something important today. If you want your man's attention, you fiddle with his food."

Grace looked aside with mild disdain. "You could've told me this before I spent all day cleaning."

"Advice is easy to forget. Experience you'll always remember."

"Got that right." Grace looked back to Delilah and seated herself at the same table. "And you are on to something. Last night, Burner brought a friend home, a lucario we met a while back at the park. She insisted that we let her make dinner in appreciation for Burner helping her evolve. James has always been cold to me, and just respectful toward Burner, but as soon as he smelled that ravioli, James' whole disposition changed. He doesn't want me reading him so I only pick up what leaks out, but he could've asked her to move in and I wouldn't have been too surprised."

Grace glanced at an apple resting in a bowl on the table, which Delilah noticed.

"Oh, help yourself, girl. Now, call me suspicious, but that sounds a little suspicious to me."

"Me too." Grace finished her bite before continuing. "She volunteered to let me see her mind so I didn't have to press anything, though. I'm sure she's honest about wanting to be our friend and that she's genuinely interested in making a good impression on us, but I don't know why. When I tried to see further back than what she wanted me to see, she resisted both physically and mentally. It wasn't like she was blocking it from me, but from herself."

"What's her trainer got to say about her sniffing around your chicken's coop?"

Grace gulped down a chunk of apple and wagged a finger at Mrs. Finnegan. "That's part of it. The only part of her past that she let me see was a little bit from the night that he freed her and a few random moments of them traveling or training or whatever. They seemed happy together; I wondered how they met. I saw a fragment of when he first got her at a Pokecenter. When I tried to see what happened before that morning, she begged me to stop. I had gotten as far back as a memory of her running in a total panic. She was scared and crying and the only things she was thinking about was another lucario and a deafening sound. Over and over. Bang! Bang!"



Bang!

The floors of Nybomy Fields' pokecenter were being cleaned, and the "wet floor" warning sign was not seen, understood, or heeded by the riolu that raced through the front entrance--automatic doors barely opening wide enough in time to permit her passage--slipped upon a puddle yet un-mopped by the janitor, and slid head-first into the reception counter's base.

The riolu came-to in a daze, half blinded by a flashlight aimed at her eyes. Her inheritance of speech was far from developed. Syntax was a loss, but she picked up key words from the doctor and nurse's conversation. "Blood"--some of Mad Dad's that he flung about the room had splattered onto her fur. "Ball"--her father had one, but she did not. "Female"--she was one, although she wasn't sure exactly what made that significant. "Cage"--satisfied with her condition, they put her in one inside a long, narrow room at the end of a hallway with a bowl of water and some kibble to eat. She felt no appetite, but took the water emphatically.

She slept little that night. It would not take long for her mind to drift back a few hours and she would again be awake with a cry and a whimper. In other cages, a few mute pokemon shouted complaints in their natural vocalizations. For a moment they turned on each other, arguing over which was more annoying, the cry-baby riolu or they the pokemon who were impotently ordering her silent. By midnight, it became a conversation about her potential fate.

"We will lose only one night's sleep. It will be gone tomorrow night," speculated an arbok.

"How do you know?" questioned a flareon.

"Because if no one takes it tomorrow, I will escape this cage and swallow it."

"At least someone will be getting a complete meal," quipped a munchlax.

Flareon huffed a small wisp of flame. "You said you were going to get out and eat me. A lot of times."

"Fires give me indigestion. You haven't quite made it worthwhile yet. Also, I'm not sure you wouldn't enjoy it. You've admitted your disappointment at my not eating you yet a few times now."

"And if I did, would that really disturb you?"

Arbok shivered. "Yes. Pervert."

"Pervert? Maybe. But she's the one who needs to be worried about perverts."

Arbok squirmed up the side of her enclosure to a spot that was weakened enough that she could easily open a gap to sample the circulating air currents outside, and possibly enough to escape if she wanted to make good on her threats. "You're right, it is a female riolu. I wonder, what's wrong with her to get her dumped? Breeder found a weak blood line in her, maybe? Or a physical deformity?"

Flareon chuckled. "Maybe she inherited no moves."

"What a shame! Then, to be fair, I really should eat both of you together. It would be a mercy killing."

"I didn't know you had any mercy in you."

Munchlax chimed in. "Arbok swallowed the chansey that used to work here, so now there's a little bit of mercy in her system and she needs to get it out."

Flareon rolled onto his back and wiggled against a foam pad that served as his bedding. "I know what Arbok needs. She needs a little bit of my mercy sliding down her throat."

The fire-type began snickering uncontrollably as he heard Arbok thrash her tail, sending flying a water dispenser, and hissing with all her might against the wall that separated her pen and Flareon's. She spat a glob of venom against it. "You nasty little rodent!"

Munchlax farted and shattered the tension.

The riolu clutched her pad as she had the small comforter on her bed in what was her home and pressed herself into the corner farthest from the other pokemon. She still did not know why she inspired such a heated discussion, or where that conversation had gone, but she was feeling like she should have kept on running.

Arbok flicked her tongue out of habit and thrashed again, cringing and hissing a whine. "Oh, oh-god, OH! I just tasted it!"

Both males began to laugh. Munchlax commented on the situation. "She calls Flareon a pervert, and then she licks my fart!"

Arbok slammed her body against the opposing partition. "When I get out of here, I'm going to swallow you first. I don't care if I choke to death on your fat ass."

"Flareon, I think she's in love with me instead of you, now. She wants to swallow me so my delicious farts will be inside her forever, like Chansey's mercy!"

Together, they sang as best they could, "LUCKY!"

The males could not hear her whispering for their laughter, but with the end of her tail draped across her brow, Arbok swore to Arceus that if he delivered her from this hell she would vow to never bite, strangle, or poison hers or any other trainer again before coiling up in a defensive posture.

Chatter from the other pokemon provided enough noise to distract the riolu from her memory but not too much to prevent her from falling asleep from exhaustion.



"Uh, this is the pokey-mon place, right?"

"It's, 'po-kay-mon.' This is the Center for the Nybomy Fields district. Can I help you?"

"Yeah. I'm kinda new around here, and it looks like I ought to get a pokey--kay--mon."

"I.D. please."

The man offered his passport, and the attendant called for her manager, who spoke to the man in private for some time but was ultimately unable to dissuade him.

"Alright, take him back and show him what we have available for placement."

The attendant introduced the pokemon in the order that their cages appeared, and explained their situations like she was reading their rap sheets.

"This is a munchlax. It eats everything it can and often emits foul odors and sometimes emits things it ate too much of. Then it might eat the same regurgitated matter again. You don't want this pokemon. This is an arbok. She has had four owners so far, and the first one is the only one she hasn't assaulted with potentially-lethal techniques. We never handle her without at least two people plus a staff pokemon to be sure she's under control. You don't want this pokemon. This is a flareon. All we know is that it was accidentally evolved into this form and the owner dropped it off here. He doesn't give us any trouble, but every time someone takes him, he comes back a week later with complaints of methodical misbehavior, like setting small slow-burning fires around the home and humping house guests. So, you probably don't want this pokemon. And that's what we've always got. Anything good gets snapped up fast, leaving these bad eggs behind."

"What about that cage?" The man noticed a distant cage had a small card in its pocket and approached it with the attendant following behind him, also curious about what was in there.

She plucked the card from its pocket. "Riolu, female, came in on its own last night, no registration, cleared by medical, level 1, S.T.M. positive. Huh. You might want this pokemon."

The riolu awoke to the sound of the attendant's voice, and watched the humans outside closely until she heard the latch click and the door opened.

Unfamiliar hands reached inside and she squirmed a bit to avoid them. They withdrew, and she felt relieved until she saw a hand reaching for the door again. She did not want it to close. A yelp halted the door, and her stepping forward opened it again.

The man took her up with his hands beneath her arms, and hesitated, clearly not knowing if he was holding the riolu correctly, or how he could rectify the situation if he was doing it wrong. The attendant advised that he could set the creature on the floor.

"Blue fur on a puppy dog," he remarked as he knelt and placed her down, surprised that she did not fall forward on her other paws. "She can stand on her hind legs?"

"Many of the dog-like pokemon, like that flareon, are quadrupeds, but riolu and lucario--the form she will grow into--always walk like people do, unless they really have to go extra fast or need to go low during a battle."

Together, the man and the riolu played for a bit, he petting her gently and seeing how she was and was not like a dog, and she getting annoyed with being teased and prodded; climbing on top of him, only to be plucked off and held securely in his arms. She liked that feeling.

"Well, then, are we leaving here together?"

The riolu yelped a distinct affirmation and smiled as the attendant led them away. As they passed the foremost cages, the humans thought the arbok was hissing and snarling at them, but all pokemon in the room understood her: "you're as lucky as it gets, Riolu. Don't screw this up."

Returned to the lobby, the man received some additional instruction, pamphlets, and at a reasonable cost, a very basic trainer's device and a ball for his acquisition. He was wary of the technology but captured his riolu per instruction and released her again.

"Alright, Sir. All that's left is a name, if you want to give her one."

"Of course; she has to have a name. I think she looks like an Alice to me. What do you think?"

The attendant seemed immediately insulted. "I think you could be more creative than that," then under her breath, "and more tactful."

"Pardon?"

The attendant tapped her shirt where her name-tag was supposed to be, had she not forgotten to wear it. "Oh. Alice is my name."

"Then we better give her my last name, too, so there isn't any confusion."

Alice submitted Alice's new name for registration. A surname on a pokemon was uncommon, but not unheard-of; often it was done only as a legal matter when naming a pokemon as an inheritor or assigning power of attorney, but there were some owners who considered their pokemon equal members of their family and chose to extend that fellowship through nomenclature.

"Don't screw this up." Alice remembered Arbok's goodbye as she looked up at the human carrying her out of the Center on his arm. Was Mad Dad the way he was because someone screwed it up? Did she do something wrong that made what happened happen? She did not know, and realized that she might never know, but one thing was certain: she would try her hardest to never screw up in the future.



After discussing the nature of boys with Mrs. Finnegan, Grace teleported back to her home, materializing in the living room. She went to the fridge, took a lemonade, re-aligned a few cans that Joe had disrupted, and lied on James' love-seat to relax, adjusting a throw pillow to accommodate her dorsal sensory organ. She could feel Joe in his room working on homework. Burner was in his room and out like a light. She sipped her drink and thought of nothing until she heard and felt James returning home a short time later.

He brought with him a couple large pizzas and laid them out on the kitchen table, not vocalizing any snide remarks that came to mind, once again coming home to see a pokemon lounging on his couch. James knew that instinct was leading him true when he left the kitchen to let Joe know that dinner was ready and spotted faint vacuum cleaner tracks in the carpet.

With Burner emerging from his room having smelled food in the air before Joe and James reached it to alert him, the men-folk approached the dinner table one by one, finding place settings arranged for them by Grace, and together they systematically eliminated slice after slice, taking no prisoners and letting no hunk of topping escape by clinging to a box.

Burner claimed the last slice and salted it generously while Joe stretched and groaned, "thanks, Dad. That was great."

"Take some credit for yourself. You suggested we try the new place even though it's on the other side of town."

"Yeah, but I heard about it from Terrance, so--oh, you got some sauce on your face."

James wiped the red fluid away with his napkin.

"So, he's the one who we should thank."

"Okay, you do that next time you see him."

Joe rose from his seat while Burner began chipping away at his slice's crust. "Dad, still got a little there."

James blotted the spot again. It was not sauce. He said nothing more about it as Joe and Burner left to hold a video game rematch.

Grace silently collected plates and utensils, taking them to the sink and giving them a rinse. James disposed of the boxes. When he returned, he stood a few paces behind Grace and watched her work for a moment. She easily sensed conflicted emotions from his mind. He stood until she finished the dishes, turned to face him, and asked, "what?" in a tone that was not fitting a pokemon addressing a human. She realized this after the word came out, and felt relieved when his thoughts became somewhat lighter, against her expectation.

"Nothing. It's just, I was remembering something."

"I know. Not what it was, but that you were."

"Yeah, I guess that's something your kind does. Something else you did--you did a good job, cleaning up around here."

Grace let her head tilt down modestly and blushed slightly. She drew her hand against a narrow lock of hair that fell across her right eye. "Thank you, Master James. I appreciate that you noticed."

James cracked a slight smile. "I can see that." He stepped forward. "And I can see that Joe didn't notice. Try not to hold it against him. It took me years to learn to see all the tiny big things a woman does for her guy when she cares about him." The slight smile vanished. "It took me a while to notice when she doesn't anymore, too."

James glanced aside and Grace reached toward his face with her left hand. He noticed her motion and snatched her arm by the wrist, and growled through his teeth, "I told you, Psychic, never again."

Grace was startled by how swiftly his mood shifted. She became scared. Not exactly of him, since she was now strong enough to defend herself from, or subdue through psychic power, any typical human, but rather for him. He had been doing a good job of hiding it, but something terrible was on his mind, something that scared him. She spoke with an obsequious whisper. "Master James, please, trust me. I swear I will always honor your wishes and your son's. I was reaching for your cheek, because--"

James released Grace's arm and stroked his wound. He rubbed a smear of blood between his fingers, scowling at it. "I guess I'll have to find a styptic. You didn't throw anything out of the medicine cabinet today, did you?"

Grace shook her head, denying. James exited quickly. The gardevoir drew a chair outward from the dining table using telekinesis and sat, pondering what just happened. She could not sense anything watching over her.



"Come on, Sabsie. We go back forever! I'm sure you owe me one somewhere, and it'll only be one night. Maybe two."

"No. Bar's closed, get out. Go freeze in your tent, Hague."

"I don't have a tent. That stupid phoenix I came for ruined my old one and the guy I'm waiting for was supposed to bring the supplies."

"That's not my problem. Get out."

Sabrina took Hague by his arm and literally dragged him outside, through the canvas flaps that created a fourth wall when the weather turned sour.

"Alright, you leave me no choice, woman. If you won't let me sleep on the bar, I'm going to track you until you lead me to your cabin. Then you'll have no choice but to let me stay there."

Sabrina tightened the canvas flap's tie-downs. "You're really fucking glad I know that that idea came out of the whiskey."

"I'm serious."

"Listen. I don't live in a cabin, and my partner will not approve of you sleeping over."

"Partner? What, did you turn lesbo or something? That would explain a lot about what happened after you and I--"

"Hunter! Go, the fuck, away."

"I'm not staying out here when it's probably going to drop 20 centimeters of snow by morning. You are going to put me up for the night."

"Last warning."

Hague intended to seize Sabrina by her shoulder, but instead gripped her throat. "I'm not kidding!"

Sabrina drew a large-caliber pistol and jammed its muzzle just beneath Hunter's rib cage. With some effort due to the constriction, "neither am I."

Hague released his grip and stepped backwards slowly. He soon recognized the pistol.

"Yeah, it's a nice piece, isn't it? Never got to thank you for it. Not going to, now, either. Piss off, and if I ever see you again, you'll wish I'd fired this pistol."

Still fortified with alcoholic bravado, Hague asked, "and why's that?"

"Because if I ever see you again, my partner is going to finish you, and he's got a seriously sadistic streak in him when he hates someone."

Hunter remembered back to when he lost that particular pistol; the handwriting on a note he was given that night. He staggered a bit before lurching away, quickly looking about for any hint of a rainbow's glimmer behind the gently falling snow.



James sat upright in his bed, waiting for his telephone to stop ringing on the other end.

"Admiral? Yeah, it's me. You remember that thing we talked about a little while back? Skipper, Skipper, please. You said all that stuff when I told you the first time. Yes. There's no telling. Might be years, might be tomorrow, but the clock's ticking. That's just buying time; bad, painful time. No, not yet. Probably when there's no way left to bullshit being okay. He doesn't need to know when he can't do anything about it. That's what I'm afraid of; I don't want him doing that to himself or to them more than I would like to stretch things out a little longer. Well, if that happens then that happens. I won't be in much of a position to stop him--look, I just wanted you to know, and to thank you again for agreeing to do this for him and for me. No, it is something. Gardevoir, now. She's pretty much what I expected. Both, but her heart's in the right place. A little later on he got what's now a blaziken. Remember Mitch McKinley? Yeah, now dress him in feathers and make him even taller. Oh, yeah. He's so naïve about some things it's almost cute, but he's not dumb or anything like that. You'll like him, he's the kind that would make such a great soldier that you'd want to promote him to Commodore so you wouldn't risk losing him. Those two are his, but there are a couple others. One's a lucario that's got a crush on Burner--oh, the blaziken. I agree, but I didn't name him. Anyway, she doesn't talk about her trainer at all so there's something fishy there, but I can't knock her cooking. Yes, she said Burner helped her evolve so she made ravioli for us. I ain't complaining. Finally, there's a ghost. It's a mis--something. Which is the small form? It showed up one day, started attacking us in our sleep, and demanded we get it an evolution rock. It and Grace had a fight last night and Grace kicked its ass, it seems, since that's what got her evolved, and I haven't seen it since. Thing is, the lucario seemed to know it, and thought that it was either Joe's or mine. Joe and Grace said that they first met this ghost when they all went out on Halloween and it harassed them. Yeah, something fishy there, too. Oh, yes, of course. I'm sorry, but I wanted to be sure that Joe was actually asleep and not playing his games with the sound off and maybe overhearing us. Goodnight, Skipper. And again, thank you. This means a lot to me."

James terminated his telephone's connection, placed the handset on its stand, and rolled over in his bed into a chilling fog that stared at him with red and amber eyes. He recoiled somewhat as the fog did likewise.

"Sorry, I wanted to know what that would be like. Never mind. James--I know. Not just from now; I was listening-in when that old creep came by with the articuno. I want to help, if I can."

James clicked on the lamp on his bed stand. "Nice hat. It looks like you found what you were looking for, Ghost."

"My name is Marianne, and I think I might have, although I'm sure I haven't earned it yet. Like I said, I want to help you."

"I really doubt you can. If you could, there would be a misdreavus on every hospital's staff."

"I did see something on T.V. once about a ghastly that could pull tumors out of people so they wouldn't need surgery, but that's not the type you have."

"Then how do you expect to help?"

Marianne became somewhat frustrated. "I don't know. But, if you think of something, let me know. I'll be around."

"You don't know how disappointed I am to hear that."

Marianne's naturally W-shaped mouth pursed to straightness as she turned away, let the bed sheet filter through her form, and floated into the attic.