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Eternally Vernal, Chapter 6a: Rock.

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Gates struggled to keep up with Seth. Were it not his familiar style, the dog could have been suspected of plotting to ditch his master as he hotfooted from shallow spot to shallow spot amid the deeper puddles that covered much of the northward terrain. Finding an island, he stopped shortly after Gates began surrounding his name with expletives.

“Yeah, you just sit there and look smug!" Gates had underestimated the depth of a pool and overestimated the firmness of its bottom, rewarding him with a boot full of sludge. Its complement looked no better, but so far only enjoyed a little sogginess. “You give me dirty looks and fireballs when I want to walk you too soon after a rain, but now you want to romp in a swamp." Catching up and stepping onto the island, Gates swung his arm forward and seized Seth by his left horn. “Lose me, lose the trail, and lose what time we have, that'll be three strikes. Straighten up or I'll start taking that team diversity shit seriously. We've both gotten too old to play at this like amateurs. Got me?"

Seth issued a steady whine.

“Good. Get the trail again and take it half-time." Gates fumbled with his trainer's device's radio until something not-horrible came in, shoved it back into an inner pocket of his vest, and sloshed along behind Seth, whose enthusiasm would be now diminished even hadn't he been scolded: the water was rising, slowly but steadily, and perhaps increasingly.

A very distorted voice, almost synthetic in timbre, called to Gates from above. “Coming tide."

Gates twisted to find the statement's source. The twist settled in his right ankle, which had sunk into the mud deeply enough that it failed to turn with its partners tibia and fibula. The man yelped at what would surely be a week's ache and yanked his foot free to find firmer foundation first, and then to—

“Leaving, Trainer."

Gates squinted and noticed the inconcealable wings of a wingull folded somewhat behind the leaves of a tree beside him.

“Who are you to tell me what to do?"

The wingull leapt from its branch and after a half of an orbit, vanished behind the tree.

“Lead on, Seth!" They continued for a few minutes. Although each step was becoming heavier, it was not until Gates' other boot flooded that he paid any attention to the water level. Seth had not tried to communicate the fact, preferring to follow any submerged ground he could still stand upon to admitting that whatever trail he was following was well behind them, now.

The wingull landed on Gates' head. “Helping or drowning?" Anthony swung an arm over his head, which the bird easily evaded before landing squarely again. “Helping or drowning?"

“What are you talking about, squab?"

“Warning, coming waves. Drowning. Then, pokemon; eating you. Helping?"

Gates called Seth to his side. “Figure out what this bird means to say and give me an up or down." Gates inferred from Seth's body language during his exchange with the wingull that accepting the offer of help would be wise at any price. A few minutes later, his right boot resting mostly atop his left, and his left boot's toes resting mostly atop a pikachu, Gates distracted himself from questions of how surfing pokemon managed their feats by asking of the wingull, still atop his head, “You live around here?"

“Nesting."

“Have you seen any espurr come through at low tide? Getting drowned, or I guess climbing a tree when the water comes."

The wingull hesitated. “Espurr, who?"

“A pokemon, like, uh, sneasel shaped but fluffier, pikachu size, gray fur, creepy eyes, Psychic-type."

The wingull hesitated. The trio felt themselves rise as a bore washed up from behind them. “Coming and going, yesterdays." Gates cursed under his breath and fell silent until the pikachu delivered Gates to an incline rising from the water and leading to the same altitude as a bridge visible to the west. The wingull commanded him, “Climbing, feeding us."

“Yes, Master," Gates grumbled as he scrabbled up the hill. When it leveled off, he found himself near an automobile path, likely the one by which he came to town, and near a fast-food restaurant. He turned and glanced over the wetland, turned flooded inlet. He checked his wallet and figured it would soon be bare and wished that it had a hole that opened to the contents of his cookie jar; granted it was mostly a hole, now, itself. “Better than drowning." Soon returning with a few quid's worth of deep fried delights, Gates found Wingull and Pikachu waiting patiently near where he had left the waters behind, although hidden behind the beginning of the slope. Kneeling, he set the sack on the grass and opened it, releasing warm, flavorful air. Although he intended to make an impromptu picnic of it, as soon as the pokemon crested the incline and grabbed something, they fled into the bushes nearby. Gates grumbled and stood, reaching for Seth's ball. As he turned he faced the business end of a pistol.

“Clip that ball and put your hands up! Don't try anything funny!"

“A Jenny?" Gates asked with a nervous chuckle.

“You're under arrest for violating Palmitoy Wildlife Management Regulations, chapter 23, section 58: No person, trainer or otherwise, may feed feral pokemon food intended for human consumption without authorization or registered expressed intent to befriend and capture affected pokemon. Face that tree and put your hands behind your back."

“Better than a bullet," Gates complained as he complied. The officer released a growlithe, cuffed Gates' hands, and escorted the accused to her cruiser.

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Eternally Vernal, Chapter 6b: Paper.

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Following the waterway into the downtown area, Velasquez and Cyrus enjoyed a tour of the part of town where litter accumulates and where the down-and-outcast hide during daylight hours. First, through Bum Town. Occasionally one wore a hopeful face as a prelude to asking for change, and more than once Carlos turned down challenges from self-proclaimed trainers hoping to win a wager with a pokemon that they literally caught; a rattata at the end of a rope, or a pidgey that had recently thrashed itself senseless in a rusted cage at least one size too small. “But, for the grace of God," he considered. Cyrus paced the area longer than Carlos felt comfortable with, and at the latter's insistence, the former assumed that the trail would re-appear nearer to the part of the city where residents bathe according to a schedule. As they pressed into an area which was designed for water's passage rather than people's, they noticed a similar situation in different form. Wherever there could be found shade and shelter, they found a pokemon. Each wore the same expression, despite the variety of their several species; an expression of resignation, fear, and disgust. It kept Carlos's and Cyrus's feet light, even though those faces' eyes, when light could shine upon them at least, sparkled with a deeply buried prayer.

Carlos recalled his first job: working at a game house, keeping the prize pokemon's cases and cages in proper condition. “Forget the trail; Silas, get us out of here."

Cyrus complied, although he did it by following the trail nonetheless. It soon joined with a few others, more distinct and more fresh. It was an unsuspecting path that avoided all of the obvious ways out of the reservoir channels, and when Carlos and Cyrus could be once again considered top-side, they were not a block from a building that smelled like french fries and emitted cliche music.

“Is that a Jolly Roger's?" With a growl, Carlos's stomach admitted an interest in finding out. Cyrus barked. “Well, they do serve pokemon without any fuss."

A video camera attached to the rear of the building swiveled to follow them as they trod alongside carelessly and incompletely patched fencing, seeking a proper entrance. Before they arrived, a pair of wooden shutters popped open, apparently covering what once was a drive-through window, and a mightyena wearing a pirate hat shoved his head through. “Arrrrrr," it growled, before making another sound and barking as a full-stop.

“No trespass intended," Cyrus replied, “but, this is where leaving the drainage led us."

The mightyena paid both guests attention with quickly shifting eyes, back and forth. “Be ye land lubbers members of Captain Crabdinner's Kids Club?"

Cyrus approached the window and asked, “Is that a local thing? I've seen too many Jolly Roger's commercials, but none have mentioned that. Besides, this trainer is no kid and neither am I."

“S'pose ye not." The mightyena vanished into darkness—the window was completely un-lit from behind—and returned to drop a couple plastic cards from his mouth. “Get yees wheres ya belong." He withdrew again and the shutters slammed shut before Cyrus could ask about the origin of his forced accent, which was more bombastic and unnaturally labored than Seth's.

Velasquez picked up the cards, each offering a discount on a meal for a man and a pokemon, respectively, while Cyrus sniffed around. “Hm. The way he was barking at us, I thought he was going to fight. I can't complain about this bargain. Let's take 'em up on it. The trail won't get much harder to follow after an hour, anyway." He watched Cyrus for a reaction. “You haven't lost it, have you?"

Cyrus sat and cocked his head at an angle while grumbling a complaint at Carlos's lack of faith.

Carlos refused to be fooled. “Did the target actually come this way?"

Cyrus lowered his head and whipped his tail—twitching its spaded tip like a pointing arrow; at the window.

Coming about the front of the building, which was easily double the size of a typical restaurant in each dimension, they joined a short line at the entrance and waited for their opportunity to walk across the wood-planked rope bridge that would admit them from the dock to the ship; as the seating area was not merely nautically themed but actually on a floating platform that swayed gently (usually) with artificially generated waves. He glanced at a mechanically animated pirate holding a chalkboard sign warning that a storm was coming into harbor tonight as he followed a golduck to table designed for two diners with six legs between them.

A white cat with blue accents in her fur approached them. Above her head floated via telekinesis a menu, flat, and upon it, a glass and bowl of water, each with a slice of lemon to ward off the scurvy. She wore a small vest with a nameplate over-sized by proportion that read, “Zyzit."

Carlos showed her the discount cards and ordered surf-and-turf. He could not understand what Cyrus ordered, but his exchange with the waitress was too involved to be merely, “What's the special, tonight?"

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Eternally Vernal, Chapter 6c: Scissors.

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Ruby yelped and leapt from the water, barely clearing it only to fall back in. Warden fixed his legs and advised her, “Stand ahead of me, face away, swish your tail." Recovering her stance she did as he advised. Nearly a minute passed and she whimpered, a prelude to a question, but the sawsbuck faintly grunted to silence her. A faint rippling of the water's surface appeared to their starboard. She swished her spade again. A sudden weight caught it, but briefly as something else tugged it away. Turning to look behind herself, she felt a sturdy branch swat her left flank and send her over and into the flooding basin again. Coughing up water, then steam, then fire, she shook her head to clear it and saw Warden crushing the life out of a savage-looking, green-scaled fish, holding it in his mouth and pressing it against a tree. A jolt of electricity coursed across his antlers and burst against it, a coup de grace that forced Warden to let the fish fall from his mouth and forced him back a half-stride.

Warden looked to Ruby, “Come eat."

She neared with trepidation. “Eat a wild pokemon? Your master lets you do that?"

Warden reclaimed the fish, placed it upon a fork in a low branch, and bit into its belly, delighting in that first taste for a moment. “Old Mentor taught me what to eat. Berries every day, a bird or egg when the moon is split, a fish when it changes shape. New mentor does not know how to hunt every day. I will make them both proud when I teach him."

Ruby licked her chops. “I would like to try it."

Warden transferred from his mouth to hers what remained. “Your share."

The houndoom hummed, and with a burst of flame, transformed the fish from rare to well. Then, she looked about, realizing that it was too much to swallow at once and that there was no place to set it. Warden bit the outermost half and suggested, “Pull." She tore away a chunk, raised her head to chomp it a couple times, and let it down her hatch; soon finishing the rest with Warden's aid, likewise. “Real food tastes better than the food that trainers give us, except for bacon. Find another fish with your tail and we will eat again." Warden continued on, following the gentle bores that were washing in from behind them.

Ruby splashed about a little to catch up beside him. “Who is 'Old Mentor'?"

Warden looked up at a tree, reared up, poked his face into its branches, sniffed, paused, and continued. “A great sawsbuck. In my oldest good memory, I am walking behind him. He showed me how to fight pokemon: how to hurt the ones that want to hurt me and how to kill the ones who want to kill me. Other pokemon in the forest like us were afraid of us. They knew that our blood was the strongest."

“Was he trained and let loose?"

Warden found a patch of higher ground with some bushes on it and pressed inside them. Ruby followed him and saw him settling down. She sat beside him. “He did not speak of humans except when we saw one. He taught me to only reveal myself to one that looked strong, that led strong pokemon, and as a family, proved their strength."

She raised her body temperature to something between the boiling point of water and the flash point of plant matter. “Trainer Gates proved his strength?"

“Old Mentor and I watched him when he visited our forest. He took a sawsbuck every time. Old Mentor told me that he would not take me, because I was still small, but that when I grew, he would want to eat me."

“He wanted you to stay small, then?"

Warden exclaimed, “No!" Seeing Ruby's reaction, springing up and a yard back, he grunted and glanced away. “He wanted me to become big like he was. Fighting with weak pokemon was not enough. We would fight… Trainer Gates. Old Mentor would defeat him and I would kill him. Together, we would taste his blood, feel our strength grow, and prove to human hunters and the predatory pokemon that we are not their prey."

Dismissing Warden's outburst as panic rather than threat, Ruby advanced to reclaim her half of their slowly sinking island. She looked at the many pink streaks on his coat, battle scars that manifested in a unique way, wrapping taut muscles and a chest that expanded with each of his deep breaths. Wondering if Warden had exceeded in becoming “big like he was," she asked, “But, you decided not to kill him?"

“New mentor proved himself to be superior. Old Mentor charged him from behind while New Mentor was looking through some… two, eye, far…" Warden shook his head and spoke as though he were speaking to his trainer, “binoculars."

Ruby gave him a lighthearted bark. “Caught on a human-only word? Try this." She gave him a translation that somehow felt like a perfect fit.

“New Mentor turned around and hit Old Mentor's face with the binoculars while jumping away. Parts of them crashed together and both fell down. When Old Mentor got up, he saw New Mentor was lifting his rifle. He escaped and we stalked New Mentor for a day, hoping for another chance to attack. But, we needed food and the next day, when we came for him, New Mentor was hiding. He tricked us by putting his scent around a fake campsite and covering his real position with other odors. We realized this, but only when we heard New Mentor ready his rifle. We froze in place, and Old Mentor told me, 'I would be proud to call this trainer my master. If he kills me, impress him, follow him, exalt him; show him the strength in our blood and he will help you increase it. By his side, become for your proteges the mentor I wanted to be for you.' I asked him about our territory, the others, but he ordered me to be silent; 'Grow strong enough, and those won't matter.' We waited until the shadows fell another way before moving. Old Mentor moved, and New Mentor killed him. That is why he is New Mentor."

The water level had risen enough that Ruby now rested beside Warden. “You weren't worried that, maybe after you evolved, he might want to kill you?"

“Weak pokemon worry."

A bore climbed up to touch Ruby's toes. “I can't smell anything like a cat here. If we don't find the trail again before this water washes what's left of the land, we will fail."

Warden nuzzled Ruby's neck. “A tree we passed before resting here was the end of the trail. A bit of its fur was in the branches so it rested there when the water rose and went back afterward."

Ruby thought it over and did not like the prospect. “Phooey. I noticed that the trail seemed to be doubled or tripled over, but I was hoping against a dead end."

“Look ahead of us. There are no good trees to hide in or islands to rest on and then it's a lake for a long way."

Ruby peered through the bushes. Warden's logic seemed reasonable enough. “Let's go back."

Warden grunted. “Rest more. Talk more. You aren't like Mentor's dogs. I like you."

“I'd like to talk with you more, too—my master doesn't let me talk with other pokemon much—but if this water keeps rising, I—"

“You will straddle my back and I will carry you."

She flopped down against his belly, feeling her external ribs collide with his internal. “Okay, we'll stay here for a little time. But we do need to go soon. Palmitoy is infamous for getting wetter than you think it will. Now, what do you want to talk about?"

Warden told her.

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Eternally Vernal, Chapter 6d: Noughts.

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Carlos noticed the clock on his T.D. when it signaled and incoming audio-only call. “Gates, you have a funny sense of time when it comes to checking in every hour." Cyrus did not turn his attention from the diced steak he was savoring one chunk at a time until he heard Trainer Velasquez's voice shift when it repeated, “In jail? What— … shit. Well, here's the good news. I found the cat, but Madame Half-in-the-bag isn't going to like what we found. Worse. Yeah. Hey, don't try to put that on me. I rented you and your dogs, that doesn't mean bail's coming out of my half, and now that the job's a bust—. Probably. It's not your first time, is it? Could'a fooled me. Yeah, I can do that. Have fun until arraignment." Carlos pocketed his T.D. and addressed Cyrus. “Gates got busted by a Jenny for feeding the wildlife, so you and yours are staying with me for a few days until he gets to tell the local magistrate he's sorry and has his wrist formally slapped. Now, what do you think we should do about this job?"

Cyrus wolfed down what remained of his dinner, bit his napkin to blot some steak sauce, and trotted away. Getting permission from a camerupt with a couple hot platters on its back, he went through a “Pokemon Employees Only" passage and waited for Zyzit to join him for a conversation.

“Tizzy, properly, I presume?"

The meowstic shrugged. “She doesn't own any Dark-types. How much did she pay you to bite my neck and drag me home?"

“We're good enough at our job to earn our keep, it's the number of job offers that keep us hungry. Anyway, I was hoping that biting your neck wouldn't be necessary, but if that is what it takes."

A swampert wearing an eye-patch shook the wood plank flooring as she came up beside the houndoom. “If the cat wants to stay, the cat stays."

Cyrus addressed her. “The law is on our client's side. If the cat wants to stay, this place can get shut down."

The hulking starter laughed at him. “You're near to learning a thing or two about Jolly Roger's. Shove off or you'll wish you could walk the plank; or walk at all."

Zyzit intervened, “No, don't, please, I don't want this. Houndoom—"

“Cyrus."

“I left Mistress because she treated me like a doll, because she never actually loved me, only that I could win contests and pageants. I left because I wanted to change, and be anything other than what I was. And, I have. If you need me to go back, I will. And, I don't know what will happen, but since I'm not what I was, I guess she'll either get rid of me or breed me to have another espurr to dress up, or ball me up. But whatever happens, I don't want to cause trouble. That's not what I wanted to become."

Swampert spoke gently, “You came to us and we helped you. Now, you are turning your back on us, and for what? So I don't have to squish this mutt? So that slaver can put your energy in a battery on the network? This isn't a game, Zyzit; don't play—"

Zyzit's ears flicked open and shut. Swampert, bowled over, slammed against the wall; a cabin boy spilled a tray of plates; and Cyrus shook his head because the sudden shift in air pressure made his horns ache. “I'm sorry, and I am grateful. And I know this isn't a game. It's about doing what's right, one way or another. Running away wasn't right. Thank you, Swampert; you saved my life out there. I have a second chance, and I need to share it with Mistress."

Swampert recovered and sniffled. “If you think your slaver deserves a second chance, I won't try to stop you. But know," Swampert lifted her eye-patch, “this is how some slavers repay their pokemon's kindness." Zyzit gasped and turned away. The flap fell down again. “A high price to pay to be considerate," she turned toward Cyrus, “but my slaver paid in the end. I'll remember you if it comes time to collect for Zyzit. Get out of my kitchen."

The meowstic removed her little vest and nameplate. “Does your master have any talking pokemon? It might help."

Cyrus followed her out and into the dining area. “One, but I'm not sure that he knows what he's saying, sometimes."

They found Carlos at the table. “I wasn't sure if I should leave your tip with the cheque." Tizzy beckoned the camerupt over, explained briefly, and receiving the coupons, dismissed the diners.

Approaching the exit, Tizzy walked across the bridge, stepped into the parking lot, and shivered as a cool breeze welcomed her into the setting sunlight. Behind herself, she heard faint echos of a song professing the benefits of a life of piracy. She wanted to look back, to turn back, but she could sense a Dark-type blocking the way; yet, her mind focused on its Fire, as though it had burned the bridge behind her.

No, that was a wrong thought. Cyrus was innocent. She was the striker of matches.

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Eternally Vernal, Chapter 6e: Crosses.

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Carlos, Cyrus, and Tizzy reached the gate of Madame Œufweiß's mansion, but before pressing its call button, Cyrus detected a paw-print and a hoof-print stamped with charcoal and pointed in the neighbor's direction. Glanced at by a security camera, the gate opened for them as they approached. They were met by a grumpig driving a golf cart—apparently he had changed his mind about letting humans enter as he seemed to welcome them affably—and led to the rear, where a massive swimming pool took up space. Beside it, a hot tub was filled with bubbles, deer, and dog. Energetic music burst from a boom-box nearby. Carlos and Cyrus approached the tub while the grumpig and Tizzy shared some sort of Psychic-type exchange. Velasquez chuckled at the sight of a sawsbuck lying on his back, legs folded and splayed in the most unnatural pose imaginable. Nonetheless, Warden's facial expression advertised comfort, if not satisfaction. The same could be said about Ruby, lying with her fore-half across Warden's ribs and her rear-half dangling in the heated waters. “It looks like I should've thrown scissors. Did you guys turn around the moment Gates and I were out of sight so you could have a pool party?"

Warden opened his eyes. “No. We followed the trail, talked about ourselves, explored, came back to here to wait for you to come back with the stinky cat. Did Mentor get lost?"

Crouching and sitting with a grunt beside the hot tub, Carlos confirmed, “And then he got in trouble. He's locked up in the county jail. Wait… how did you know I would come back with Tizzy?"

“Grumpig told me where he thought she went when we watched his television. I saw that you went the good way."

Carlos leaned forward with such enthusiasm that he nearly toppled and joined Warden and Ruby in the hot tub, and shouted, “If you knew, why didn't you tell us?"

Warden stared into Carlos's eyes. “Because Mentor wanted to explore all three trails."

The tracker's hands and head hanged limp. “So if we'd asked if you knew, then, which one was the right one…" Despite his indisposed recumbent orientation, Warden still struck his prideful and slightly arrogant smirk. “I'm glad Gates is the one who has to deal with you, eventually. Well, did you have fun splashing around all day?"

Ruby perked up to grumble and yelp a high-pitched sound, one of the attitude she normally reserved for visits to the park or other great pleasures.

“Good, good. Now, let's see about getting this case closed."

With Warden's aid as a hot tub translator, Velasquez and Tizzy discussed her return to House Œufweiß. The grumpig did not like what he was hearing. “If it is merely a matter of money, that can be arranged," the pig interjected once he compelled Warden to lend an ear and translate for him, “I could say, 'name your price,' for the fun of learning how ambitious your heart's greed is and to get an idea what the whore next door offered you, but it is growing late and my shows air soon. I will give you twenty thousand pounds if you register Tizzy as your own, as such or as whatever her new name is or whatever you want it to be, and give her fiduciary power over herself."

Velasquez's brows furrowed. “Twenty—wait, I can't register her if she's still owned by Œufweiß."

“You can, but you need to connect to the wireless network at Jolly Roger's for it to work. According to their records, this meowstic is owned by somebody who works there with a blank line on the form, so you need only to ask to swab the deck with the help of your first mate—there." The pig gestured at Tizzy, as did Warden, involuntarily through the psychic connection he endured. “Your League registration card and a paperwork revision request is all there is to moving the clerical error from one row to another. Of course, it would be desirable that there be no contest to said revision; I'll trust you to convince her not to raise a fuss."

Carlos stood and asked, “There's more to this than you're telling me, isn't there?"

The pig snorted a laugh. “No questions. Oh, and half of the money goes to Tizzy alone. You and your partner can split eight thousand however you like, and the other two belongs to this sawsbuck on a valet money card because he's talented and deserves better nutrition." The grumpig approached the meowstic, hugged her, and they shared another communication.

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Eternally Vernal, Chapter 6f: Marbles.

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Warden lost a little faith in his ability to wield echoed-voice adroitly the moment Madame Œufweiß unleashed a “No" so operatic in its intensity that a groundskeeper raking the sand in her zen garden had to start over. Her kricketune threw a towel over her spilled brandy and gave her a fresh glass, and did so with such smooth execution that Carlos assumed past experience.

“How could you do this to me, Tizzy! After all I've DONE for you. I made you a star!" Her butler left while she rambled, “…first class, with escort. Before we even met, I sacrificed all I could for your comfort, for your career. Look, Tizzy—" She gestured blindly with a half-emptied snifter toward her butler, who had just returned with a hinged wooden shadow box nearly as wide as he stood tall; Carlos assumed rehearsal. “—Palmitoy, three times; Fenchone, twice; Hexyloxy, twice; Coumarin; Tartaroyal, twice; Sulmepride; have you no idea what it means to win eleven in three years? Have you no idea what it would have meant to win twelve? It would have meant everything; EV—E—RYYYYYYYY thi-i-i-i-ing." Her lungs deflated, defeated. The butler left with the shadowbox that was eleven-twelfths proudly displaying ribbons and one-twelfth bare, and returned with another towel and another glass.

Tizzy asked Warden for his service as translator, and both approached the lush. “I wanted to win those ribbons because when I did, you held me in your lap and brushed my fur yourself. For a while. After you got the bigger box for the ribbons, you stopped, even when I got new ribbons for you to put in it. I spoke to the neighbor—"

“That fucking pig; that's what turned you against me! I ought to go over there, and," Madame Œufweiß struggled to try to stand for a moment, but failed as Warden raised his right fore-hoof, pressed it into her chest just above where her left breast was artificially suspended by an underwire, and forced her back into her fainting couch.

The buck snorted at her. “You will stay, and you will listen to her."

“I ne—how DARE you touch me, you feral brute!" She clasped his foot with one hand and wiggled it to little effect but to encourage Warden to press harder. Again her lungs emptied, but with more of a whimper than a prepared whine. “Order him down, poa—puh—ge—"

“Warden, back off! You're… actually suffocating her," Carlos said with rising anxiety as he stepped beside Warden.

“You will listen to Tizzy," Warden repeated to the woman whose only sound was a desperate wheeze, a little out and a little in every other second. “Or you will die."

Carlos shouted, “Warden!" and gripped his flowery antlers.

Warden tilted his head a little to look Carlos in his eyes. “You aren't my master." The sawsbuck lifted his hoof off of the woman's chest, nonetheless.

Œufweiß gasped and moaned. Warden indicated to Tizzy that she ought to continue.

“I spoke to the neighbor and he told me about the pokemon you had before me. How you got rid of them when they stopped being young and pretty and when they stopped winning ribbons. I decided to leave you because I loved you and I wanted you to be able to get another contest pokemon, one that would keep winning more ribbons longer than I did."

“But, why now, Tizzy? Just one more. You would've won this time." The lady's eyes were so pleading, if it were not for earlier theatrics, Carlos could have believed them to be presenting a genuine emotion. Then again, perhaps Warden had given her a reality check.

Tizzy shook her head and projected into Warden another message. “I know. My friend told me about what you did. That's why now."

Warden stepped one pace away from Tizzy and thrust his snout into Œufweiß's personal space. “You are not her mistress anymore. Now, she is free of you. Agree with me!"

The woman's eyes bulged wide. As though a thousand curses were welling up within her, she slowly drew a deep breath; seeing Warden raising his hoof again, she spent it generously and wisely with a mere, “…yes, yes! Her ball is over there, somewhere. Take it and go, you brute, you beast!"

“Old Mentor warned me that some humans are worthless in every measure. You help me to understand his words." Warden deliberately sneezed in her face before swinging his head up high, turning about, and strutting away with, “Come, Friends, before she provokes me."

After the poacher and team left, Œufweiß asked her butler why he did nothing to protect her. With a raspy doodle-de-whoop, he presented her a final snifter of brandy standing on a platter, flipped the platter as she reached for the glass, sliced off the sparse and cliche-styled garment he wore, and abandoned her awash in the only thing that she ever truly adored.

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Eternally Vernal, Chapter 6g: Tag.

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“Long time, no see," spake a familiar officer, soon coming off of duty.

Gates rubbed his wrists, still a little sore from the manacles he wore a few days before—he'd heard that a Jenny always clamped them on extra tightly, and this felt like a tendon had been crushed. “Yeah, just got handed a hundred hours service for feeding a bird and a rat."

The officer chuckled. “Did you take your sawsbuck down into the wide inlet just before high tide?"

Anthony received his confiscated belongings in a large envelope from the Jenny that nabbed him, and bit his tongue when she wished him a safe and legal tomorrow. “Something like that."

“That wingull and pikachu pull their racket a couple of times each month on out of town trainers who make that mistake. It's become Jenny's beat: If she sees a stranger without a surfer out there from the bridge when the tide's right, sure as sin, that somebody's going to owe those pokemon a snack."

“Now that I've been hazed, do I count as an honorary local?"

“I dunno, what are you really asking?"

“Can I use the phone? I've got nearly nothing on my League account, my T.D. drowned when I failed my first try ever at surf mounting, and a wagon won't get me to Guaiacol on pocket change and naval lint."

Despite Jenny's vocal protest, composed of the recitation of a number of sections and subsections of standard operating procedure, the code to call out was entered and the phone handset itself handed to Gates. “Just one call, so make it count. If you want another leniency, you'll have to have your sawsbuck chase off another gyarados."

Given the warning, Gates considered carefully—Velasquez had his pokemon, and maybe some money if Œufweiß took the news well, but…

“Carol, yes—New Guy, right—how would you like to have me on the clock and at your command? No, it's a little different than that, but—wait, don't hang up! I kinda need a ride and—yes… I would be. Right, you say you wouldn't do me another favor but then you do right away and it's bigger, so it would just be us doing that thing we do again. Palmitoy. I do, that's why I can't walk it; if I could I wouldn't bother you like this. No, I, I really don't; I called you because they're letting me have only one call so it had to be somebody I trust. Yeah, I mean—I'm sorry, I—you will? Oh, God, thank you, Carol; Miss MacLeod, right. I'll be waiting to, yeah, the station's before the big bridge and a burger place. Thank you, again. I will." Gates hung up the receiver, thanking the Jenny—who snubbed him—and the officer on his way out. He sat at a bus stop and shook his head dismissively whenever one of the buses serving it stopped there. A discarded magazine helped him pass the time until its pages all turned. He pulled out his T.D. and looked it over—like his rusted heap, at least it had a little salvage value since the case was fine; it just needed to dry out and get a new everything electrical. Then he remembered that this meant he owed Carlos a steak dinner at Jerome's. A hell of a trip up there, Gates hoped that he wouldn't call on that debt until he got a chance to get on his feet again. He looked at his feet and thought of each as an option. He'd told Carol that the ranger service was his future, but the officer mentioned that department was suffering cutbacks; no matter his will, there may be no way for a while. The other, Maximilian and the shiny ralts in the forest.

That he imagined the ranger service as his right foot was a detail that never registered in his mind, before or after Carol's truck pulled up. It startled him, because at first glance he thought it were a commercial vehicle, and felt sure when it sounded its horn. “Thank you again, C—Miss MacLeod," he said before climbing up and inside.

“You're biting your tongue, I can tell." She checked her mirrors and pulled back onto the road.

“If I weren't afraid you'd kick me out, I'd ask if this truck is big enough for you."

She cut into the restaurant's parking lot to loop around. “Not yet, but if I keep feeding her those little electric cars the city folk get, I think she'll make it to seven tons gross." Causing the vehicle to lurch forward for a second, Carol patted the dashboard, “Easy, girl! Look what you did, New Guy, talking like that and making her feel inadequate." Despite the engine's steady rumble, silence between them seemed to make the ride bumpy. “You know, I don't really mind. I mean, I do, but—even though it's your fault for having no friends of your own, it kinda felt nice hearing that you'd call on me for help. In some towns, gym leaders are revered, they're like a symbol of the town or the mayor but better. I guess it's because of my age and how popular my father was, but, like when I got approved, and I'm in there in the League H.Q. and the room is full of gym guys and they're all famous one way or another, and then there's me being a big nobody, but Dad couldn't do it anymore so sure, why not let his little tomboy take it over? His pokemon will be doing all the work, anyway, so so what? Uhhh, yeah, so if you're wondering why I agreed to come down here to pick you up, I guess it's because this is the first time somebody treated me like a gym leader, and I'm just a silly softy without anything better to do with her evening."

Gates watched shadowed trees breeze by through his window. “I really don't know what to say."

“Then say nothing."

“No. I think I should. I know you're young but I never thought of you as a kid in over her head, if that's what you're saying you're used to. In fact, I—"

She glanced aside. Although the cabin was scarcely lit, she could easily tell that he was blushing. “In fact, you what?"

“Say nothing, you said."

“Too late, Mister. I can still kick you out; plenty of highway between here and home. Are you ready to be in the woods, being the poached instead of the poacher?"

Gates groaned with frustration. “You're going to kick me out if I say it."

“Ohhh, really? This is going to be good. Spill it."

“I had a dream. I was in the break room at the hopper getting my pokemon fixed up, and you came in and, you were wearing like, a half-casual business suit—"

Carol laughed aloud, “Ha! At least you knew it was a dream. Does that mean you did something you wouldn't do awake?"

Gates rubbed his face with his palm. “And you started flirting with me, and things started happening—"

“Things that you wouldn't do awake?"

“And then I woke up because when I was moving my hands, uh, down, I realized it wasn't you dressed funny. It was really Warden in my bed."

The vehicle swerved as Carol collapsed aghast against the steering column for a moment, tooting the horn while making a funny sound somewhere between a laugh and a cough. Gates gripped whatever he could clutch, but she regained control of herself and her truck before drifting more than half-way into the opposing lane. “Oh, God!" she shouted loudly in the truck's cabin, “It's a good thing you waited till there was no oncoming traffic to drop that bomb!" She reached into the console and withdrew a tissue. “I'm not going to throw you out for that, though. Hell, I guess I'm flattered, and I now get why you promised Warden that he could sleep in your bed to encourage him; you must be better at cuddling than you let on." The silence gathered between them again, and again she undermined it. “Business suit, huh. So, it was like, an older, more mature me? Sensible shoes, contributing to a retirement fund."

Gates sighed, unable to remain at peace, “Something like that."

“Yeah, figures. Despite what you said, I'm still too young to be taken seriously. But, I guess when you get old like you are, you don't want a gal about twenty years younger than you, wearing you out with all that youthful vitality, right?"

“Well, I knew you were early-twenties in the dream, even though you looked about thirty."

“Am I?"

“Are you?"

“Not yet. Almost though. It makes me nervous. It's like, just yesterday I was fifteen, got my learning driver permit and this little starter ride," Carol patted the dashboard again, “from Dad. Then, he had the first embolism, and I'm running the gym and a few months go by and now the big two-oh is on my calendar. T.V. says I'm not supposed to start feeling mortal and responsible until at least the second half of the twenties. I guess I'm just precocious, you know?"

Gates nodded, although that he did was unseen as Carol was now focused on the road ahead. “At least you got wise to it before your thirties. That's way too late to wake up. You wind up poaching and begging for rides from she-could-be-your-daughter-s, had you gotten with the program on-schedule."

“I hate that."

“What, losers who forgot to grow up?"

“No. That I'm not thirty something and wearing a business suit. I'd take us by the break room and let you show me what your dream was like. It's not fair."

Gates took his time to respond. “You'll find somebody, or somebody will find you."

“You didn't, or vice versa." Gates took his time, and failed to respond. A sign indicating the nearness of Guaiacol added a bit of time pressure. “Or, did you?"

Anthony blushed again. “Nothing worked out the way it was supposed to."

Finally, the silence that so desired to endure was left standing until Carol brought her truck alongside Gates' apartment building. When Anthony pulled on the door's handle, it refused to budge, and attempting to unlock it, she overrode the control.

“Think of my truck cabin like a confessional: What we've said in it doesn't exist when we leave it. So, before you step out and I become Miss MacLeod, your local gym leader to whom you're going to report for some community service assignments, I, Carol, the prototype of your dream girl, want to thank you. I've been hit on by a lot of dumb boys, but never a real man; and even though we would be another didn't-work-out, you've shown me what I should be looking for."

“Carol, I'm a bum who can't afford a bus ticket, I live in a flat that smells like despair—as you yourself said—and soon I'm probably going to go into the forest and try to steal a shiny ralts from her mother so I can afford rent next month. That's nothing anybody should be looking for." Gates tried the door again, to no effect.

“Those are all terrible things, and they're mostly your fault. But there's also a part of you that cared so much about a pokemon you orphaned that you didn't sell it or trade it or eat it; and when everybody thought it was a lost cause, you pulled him through it. I got a call from a guy at the pokecenter, Harrison I think, asking about Warden's background because he saw in the records that he'd served as a staff member in my gym. Pokemon gain strange powers when they bond strongly with their trainers, I've even heard they can change into strange, more powerful forms sometimes, and he thinks that the only reason Warden held together was because he couldn't bear to let you down, because you couldn't bear to let him down. That's something special, and genuine, and that's what I'm looking for." She unlocked the doors. “Get straight to bed. I've got at least a hundred hours of work to arrange for you."

Gates gripped the handle, but asked before stepping out, “At least?"

“You owe me for that dream I inspired."

“That amounted to a tease, I told you."

“Then pick up where we left off. Maybe I'll have a dream, too; don't be jealous, fair is fair. Goodnight, Tony." She blew him a kiss as he stepped down backward from the truck's cabin.

“Goodnight, Miss MacLeod," he said softly before shutting the door. Approaching his apartment's entrance, he heard the horn blow twice when her truck reached the stop sign at the end of the block. Inside, he sat on his couch, turned to lie, and stared at the ceiling for a moment. The last time a young lady took to calling him “Tony," he was…

God damn the years.

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