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Eternally Vernal, Chapter 2: Variegations On A Theme.

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“Are you sure?" asked a deerling of a houndoom.

Seth again regretted his past under-performance. “Yes, impetuous one. I am quite certain that our lordship would be infuriated."

Warden snarled at the door that separated him from Gates. Planting his fore-hooves against it, he bit at the doorknob but found it nowhere near as soft as the juicy berry its shape reminded him of. It refused to pull or to turn and it tasted unpleasant. He considered other ways to assert his will upon it when a noise startled him. Then he leapt away from the door and from the white rectangles that burst through a shiny yellow flap. Seth's view of human women wearing colorful triangles and expressing their excitement at drinking artificially-colored, artificially-flavored water was obscured by his view of Warden holding colorless rectangles and expressing his excitement at gathering them up and into his mouth. “Place them where you stand, and move aside," he grumbled.

Warden complied and hopped off of the coffee table. “The door laid these eggs."

“These are not eggs. These are missives seeking our lordship's attention."

“Why do they taste like bark and leaves?" Warden wondered aloud.

Seth nosed the envelopes around on the coffee table's surface. “Because it is that from which they are made. See here," Seth placed a paw beside an address, “this marking indicates that this missive is specifically for your master. Preserve its condition." He slid it aside and indicated a different one, addressed to “Resident." “This marking means 'any being at this place' and condemns this missive as unworthy." Seth got the envelope into his mouth and huffed a powerful flame, reducing it to a flake of ash that his tongue partially drew in before it collapsed away. “A treat for me, it is, but your kind cannot partake." Seth watched Warden sort the remaining mail as the commercial break passed through. The deerling did well enough, and gathered the keepers together while Seth incinerated the remaining advertisements.

“Mentor will be happy?" Warden asked.

“Our lordship will be delighted I am sure."

Warden leapt onto the couch, catching Seth's legs with his hooves. Seth gathered himself up with a start and barked forcefully at Warden before adding, “Have caution where you land or I will do you harm twice over!"

“I accept your challenge!" Warden returned, and took an aggressive stance.

Seth hungered for another chance to soundly defeat the interloping Grass-type, but this was not the time. “There can be no challenges within our lordship's den, for he will decide us both disrespectful of his shelter."

Warden held his stance until after Seth laid himself down again like he was before, as though he had never proposed this challenge that he then so irresponsibly withdrew without admitting submission. Warden's forest mentor warned him that pokemon living among humans behaved irrationally, but this seemed ridiculous. “Why did Mentor order me to stay here with you? I should be with him."

“Our lordship is patronizing a bank. You would be encapsulated there, if not during the journey also."

“Your words are too long," Warden complained.

“Your thoughts are too short. What a great fortune it is that our lordship's pleasure is not to hear us—giving you his language would be a thorough waste." Seth changed channels.

“I don't understand that."

Channels surfed by until one dedicated to educational programs intended for young future trainers appeared. “Study with this programming till you understand all that you might." Seth closed his eyes, yawned, and sprawled a little, accidentally kicking Warden. Gazing at the screen, Warden hardly noticed.

---

Reminding Gates unnecessarily that his profession was not one that provides the most reliable and generous of income streams, a bank clerk turned him away with nothing more than his withdrawn balance in hand. Stepping onto the sidewalk, Gates released Cyrus so he would have an empty ear into which he could pour his complaints. Re-materialized, Cyrus barked a heightened and hopeful note, in defiance of the muffled tones that he heard while encapsulated.

“No, no," Gates said, taking up the role of wet blanket, “Unless you want a broken-down dune buggy coming off of the Hollingsmoth garbage barge as our next ride, we're hoofing it around town for a while. I guess this means we'll have to decide between morals and meals in the near future. What'd ya think if we tried being bad guys for a while?" Without regard for couth or consequence, Gates speculated aloud every means he could imagine to maintain solvency. Without concern for the future, Cyrus faked attention and enjoyed a tour of town. When their path neared the local gym, Cyrus derailed Gates' train of thought. “Gym battling? What, as contestants? Or as resident trainers?"

Cyrus barked at Gates and led him to the facility. Within, Anthony took a lobby seat and listened patiently. As though he were hunting a hart, he slipped into a patient state of mind. Cyrus wandered off for a few minutes and when he returned, he was accompanied by a freckle-faced young woman and a rhyperior that came with the house.

“Your dog told Chippy that you're desperate for work!" Bystanders glanced toward, smirked at, chuckled about, and finally dismissed from their minds Anthony and his state of affairs. Carol MacLeod sat beside him. “The thing is, we don't get enough appointments—or even walk-ins this time of year—to need another house trainer; from the times you've battled here you've got a reputation about being easy to beat, running two of the same; and that's because of the third problem," she leaned at an angle to hug Chip's arm, “with guys like this around, we're all about clobbering Fire-types. Wouldn't it be a little silly looking to have a houndoom in an earth-themed gym?"

Anthony glanced at Cyrus as though he could see inside and learn what his dog was thinking. Then, the thought that perhaps it had come to him. “Water douses both of our leads."

“That's true, but that's not enough. I like multiple battles, and if the League will hurry up and give me permission, singles will be just for open floor sparring and guest leader nights. You're going to need more than a houndoom and a houndoom, and in a partner match, you'll need something that can handle friendly earthquakes." Carol looked confused for a moment, her mind having drifted a mile away in an instant. “You don't happen to have a way to get an archeops, do you?"

“I never tried fossil hunting. I have the two houndooms and… you did say 'earth-themed'—would Grass-type be earthy enough?"

She recoiled. “Not if you're so desperate for a job that you're thinking about yanking something out of the neighbor's garden. I may be a girl but that doesn't mean I like flowers."

“He doesn't have any yet, but if that's a deal-breaker," Gates paused, waited for a tell, received none, and rose to leave, signaling his dog to follow.

Carol was miles away again, but shouted as he neared the door, “Hey! I didn't give you permission to leave."

---

Warden watched the throne's contents swirl, gurgle, and return, somehow purified with a short pull rope still in his teeth. It fell away when he vocalized. “Did I do it alright this time?"

Seth shook his head and, biting another rope—this one a handle atop a small stool designed to help domestic four-legged pokemon to use facilities that were designed with humans and human-shapes in mind—to replace its feature aside, and then, after exaggerating the amount of scrutiny required, evaluated Warden's performance. “Since you did not this time," Seth caught himself before saying “cowardly," avoiding inciting a new conflict, “senselessly complain about a fear of slipping and falling from the platform using a vocal attack that last time destroyed our glass shower door, I will deign to agree that you performed tolerably."

“That means I did alright, right?" Warden asked, flatly.

“Put away the platform yourself next time. But, you are not done. The final step is to examine yourself in reflection. The mirror low on the wall will serve you. Especially if you are unwell, you may require our lordship's assistance or be compelled to wash or be washed before you are appropriately cleansed and ready to return to our living space."

“Do what?"

Seth grumbled a curse to invoke the power of an unknown god. “Stand about where you are, look back at the wall where you can see your ass's reflection, and call for help if you have any dung stuck on you." Each word seemed forced, as though speaking them were a struggle.

“Oh. Say it like that next time." Warden contorted himself and examined his hindquarters. “How do Mentor's proteges obey so many commands?"

“When our lordship is disappointed, we spend a day encapsulated, reflecting on our memories. You will adapt, reflect, or be returned to the wild." Seth backed out of the bathroom and Warden followed him into the hallway. Seth glanced back, realizing that his charge needed to acquire another new habit. “Warden, when you exit the water closet, hit the light switch."

Warden paused; whatever Seth said, it was almost completely foreign to his mind. He struggled to untangle it. “Gently kick the bud of lightning-strike dawn and nightfall?"

“If you can reach it." Seth huffed a small flame to encourage Warden to get out of his way, re-entered the bathroom, and rearing up on his hind legs, demonstrated the light switch's operation. Warden took a few turns at it. With a hop he could push it on, but getting it off required a finesse deficient in Warden. With persistence he managed to turn off the light and damage the wall. Seth growled. Warden assumed that he was the target and got out of the way and into the hall. After a quick inspection of the damage, Seth looked at Warden up and down and stepped halfway out of the bathroom. “If our lordship chooses to retain you, this issue will be resolved when your body changes to become like that of your mother." Seth went into his lordship's bedroom, climbed upon the bed, and laid himself down.

Warden followed and thought about that for a moment while climbing his forelimbs up first the box spring and then the mattress. “I'll get bigger than you dogs."

Seth whipped his tail. “Unless the fates deny you."

Warden crouched, tensed, and sprang into the bed. Seth was at first startled, but as Warden flopped down immediately and wiggled around, Seth relaxed. “Mentor's sleep place is comfortable."

“Verily, our lordship's resting sanctuary is. Before we developed, we were permitted to rest alongside him, but when we grew, he refused us. We join him briefly when he is late to awaken; it is our duty."

Sniffing at the nearest pillow, inches from giving it an experimental lick, “Will Mentor let me sleep beside him?" Warden asked.

“As you are now, perhaps. As you will become, assuredly not." Seth began drifting away, undisturbed first by Warden's continuing chatter and then by the bed's shaking as Warden rose to move. He was almost asleep when Warden's warm breath awakened him.

Warden stood in a combat-ready stance, glaring at Seth. The houndoom's tail whipped, the tip of its spade catching a bed sheet. “If I killed you while you slept here, this bed would be mine."

The houndoom's tail whipped, the tip of its spade tore free of the bed sheet. “This bed would still belong to our lordship."

Warden's glare remained fixed. “What is Mentor's is Mentor's, and I am Mentor's so it is also mine. Why should I share it with you? I've proved myself nearly as strong as you, and once you've finished teaching me to live in Mentor's den and I've grown large and powerful, he will not need you anymore."

Seth's tail curved into a loop, reaching around to touch near his lumbar. “You are a dunce. You are blind not to see that our lordship does not want you. He was not testing you by putting you beyond the river and those other things you have claimed as proof of his pride in you; he wanted to be rid of you without taking your life because his heart looks upon you with pity after he claimed your father for food. He could see that you are too thick through the skull to survive without a caregiver. Be thankful that our lordship offers you this opportunity to be his lowest ward, and as for proving your strength—" With the speed and force of a mouse trap, Seth's tail whipped the other way. It crossed Warden's right rear leg, just below the ankle, and with the spade locking onto the tail's length, Seth yanked his body up, pulling Warden out from beneath his own self. Dancing on the springs with unsteady hooves, Warden could not find a new stance before Seth loosened his tail and seized the deerling by his throat. Clamping down and coughing fire, Seth performed a short rotating hop that, upon releasing his bite, threw Warden against the head board. Dazed, Warden groaned and tried to right himself. Seth denied him that opportunity. Mirroring Warden's previous stance, Seth pressed his nose against the stripling's scorched cheek and pressed his face into the pillow until much of it was swallowed up by cheap polyester filling. “—our benevolent lordship orders that I treat you gently, but if you threaten me again, I will disregard that. Learn your place, knave: our lordship leads a rank, not a file."

“I did not threaten you," the deerling whimpered, “I wanted to know why."

Seth suppressed a scoff. “You positioned yourself to attack while I dozed and then spoke of my death."

“Previous mentor taught me, if a pokemon is ignoring me and I want it to respect me, I must show it that I am ready to challenge it."

“Previous mentor got shot!" Seth barked with the timbre of a growl, the inflection of a snarl, and the heat of a branding iron. “Nothing he taught you protected him from our lordship's will." Seth stood down.

Warden struggled to rise and found his right rear leg to be malfunctioning. The pain in his neck also discouraged moving much.

“Lie still. Our lordship will care for you after returning from his tour of the city. Or, he will dispose of you, ergo the troubles you bring upon this house." Seth let himself relax on the mattress once more.

Warden obeyed silently for a short time. The funny thing he noticed about the pain was that moving to feel it sharply broke the monotony of the steady ache he felt when not moving. “You tell me to do things that I don't understand and you hurt me when I do them wrong. Why do you talk with vine-choked words?"

“Before our lordship, I had a—mentor, as you put it. A wise Psychic-type who taught me many things. I did not know why at the time but I now realize that this knowledge makes its bearer feel a loneliness. It is a curse, truly; but also an addiction. It could be worse, however."

“Worse?"

“I could feel compelled to infect you with the curse, as my mentor innocently did unto me."

Warden tried kicking the air with his injured leg. It moved awkwardly. “If using vine-choked words means you won't hurt me like this, I want to be cursed."

Seth muttered, again drifting off to sleep. “Be mindful of your desires, brother deerling."

---

“No! Get your butt back over here, Cyrus," Gates commanded. Truly he only wanted to pass by Isis, who was now being walked on a basic lead, and taunt her with his freedom of motion. However, if the opportunity somehow arose—. Gates continued, “I'll leave it to you to figure out how to tell him how gyms work; think you can do it in time for the interview?"

Cyrus affirmed with a bark, followed by a louder signal to herald their return.

Opening the door to no audience, Gates and Cyrus were immediately curious. Cyrus caught a scent of smoke, faint and faded. He led Gates to the bedroom where together they surveyed the sight.

“No pokemon on my bed!" Gates began. Seth bounded off of the mattress. Warden tried to move, groaned, and remained. “What the—" Gates asked himself aloud as he leaned over the deerling. Lifting it up, he learned first that touching one particular leg led to a whining groan of complaint, and second that there was now a small blood stain on his pillow case. Gates set Warden approximately where he found him, and chewed out his house-sitter. “What the hell did he do to earn this?" Anthony checked his gear for medicinal sprays. “I'm supposed to show him off. If he's all busted up—" He shook a can; its rattling sound made him think further along. “Well, if he gets taken out by you disciplining him, there's not much chance he's got what it takes."

Warden's ears rotated and he tried to raise his head, but pain discouraged that. Seth queried Cyrus and Cyrus quickly explained their visits to the bank and the gym while Gates sprayed Warden's neck generously with a burn treatment, and then his leg with a general analgesic. Warden responded quickly, although his leg remained tender and uncooperative.

“Alright," Gates said to his team, “take a leak if you gotta and get in your balls. Warden needs a healing and you two need a fresh medical clearance. We're gonna find a way to make some money or die trying."

---

“The wild Ursaring is frozen solid," Francois declared into a handheld radio.

Madame Wintergreen snubbed her victim as she walked away, and then snubbed Francois as he went in to investigate while listening to a field medic confirm reception of that message. She clambered into her partner's vehicle and stretched out across its bench seat beneath slightly-leaf-occluded sunlight.

“Freja! Get back over here; this bear might thaw out before he gets that truck up the hill," Francois shouted shortly before ducking beneath a snowball.

A dull rumble resonated within the crystal-encrusted creature. Francois crouched beside it, near its face, and showed it a couple of things. “See this?" He revealed a full restore. “It will make you feel better. See this?" He revealed a large calibre pistol. “If you try to fight me and Glaceon doesn't stop you, this will. Understand?" A sharp, short rumble served as an acknowledgment. Pressing a button on his radio, Francois spoke to the driver and operator of a medical van. “It's a wild mute, but it has basic comprehension at least."

Doctor Spathor replied, “ 'Basic.' We called it 'normal' back home."

“Speaking of, you are actually coming and not joy riding to the nearest port for a ride back, yes?"

The doctor hit a big bump and cursed in a heightened octave before replying, “I'm still in your blasted forest, but I may be lost."

“You've been this way once before."

“Once, as a passenger. Now I'm having to drive a stick."

Francois noticed an echo and looked back along the path. “Is that why a grinding noise is scaring the little birdies away? Good, you are almost here, then."

Freja coughed a plume of fine crystals that shimmered in the air briefly, creating an ephemeral rainbow above her utility vehicle.

The doctor parked, stepped out with a sense of relief—neglecting thoughtfulness of his return trip which would naturally be down-hill—and unloaded some equipment. After defrosting the ursaring's belly with a narrow blast of ice heal, performing a few palpations, and hearing a few warning growls, the doctor gave his diagnosis. “Symptoms are consistent with your information, that it may have consumed garbage and with it something that won't digest. You said you know the camper responsible?"

Ranger Lacroix scoffed. “He's no camper, but I know who is responsible, and will happily send him the bill. Pursuant to that," he leaned down to the lightly frosted bear, “since you've been such a good and patient patient, you're going to get the best treatment Gates' money can afford."

---

With a whipping spin, a mawile's horns clamped onto Warden's legs and threw him out of the ring.

Anthony let his shoulders slump and raised Warden's ball to recall him. At least the contestant's prize money would be paid by the house; again. Of course, that was a fact surely not being overlooked by the house's owner. The mawile returned to her master and then to her ball. The man looked somewhat familiar but said nothing as he returned to the lobby.

Gates entered the house trainers' lounge and overheard a few chuckles. Since there were only two other people in the room, he did not wonder who mocked his performance. Placing Warden's ball in a hopper, he heard another chuckle before the device buzzed and kicked out a card. He read its text aloud to himself, “Condition non-critical. Service refused pending override. Lockout duration: 22 hours, 12 minutes."

A third other person entered. Carol's eyes never met Gates' with an admission of suspicion. “Only two spins a day, three during the on-season. If you want to keep fighting after that, it's up to you to buy revives or herbs or to go home and let it rest comfortably for a few hours."

Another snicker across the room sailed over.

“My pokemon do seem to like my bed. Why the limit?"

Carol leaned over a little and spoke low, “Can I trust you with a dirty little open secret?"

Gates nodded and hummed.

“Imagine how many times a pokemon could be cycled in one day if it's the only sixth-tier jobber on hand when school lets out for the summer season. Now, imagine you only get so many of those before your cells stop sticking together. It rarely matters because the professional battlers don't battle all that often and the newbies can't afford all those lost wagers, but yeah, a pokemon whose job is mostly to lose is going to burn out after a while. They've figured each rejuvenation knocks about eight hours off of the total lifespan. Of course that's a loose estimate and eight hours off the end is better than being laid up while a bone heals the slow way, but they add up like cigarettes."

Gates glanced at the hopper, accusingly. “And nobody talks about this?"

“It's in the full trainer's manual—you know, the one that nobody reads and looks like an old dictionary—and in the T.D.'s info if you actually open the technical information document on the nature of electromagnetic-phase pokemon storage and manipulation."

“That sounds dry."

“Am I boring you, Mister?" She leaned against the counter and gave him an odd look.

Gates adjusted his posture. “You're confusing me. I expected to be told to hit the bricks, not to learn about healing machines."

Carol raised her arms to fold them behind her head. “Your deerling has spunk, and if you actually train it to have a little strategy instead of trying to outrun and take flying kicks at everything it sees, it might make a decent fighter. But, my budget won't cover your wage and your losses and the amount of meds that will keep you from getting that guy locked out of the hopper in under four hours. So, what I'll do is cut you a deal on gym membership. Fees will be discounted or waived, depending, you'll be able to train him here whenever you like, work as a fill-in whenever I could use a spare, and if he starts showing some improvement before the summer rush, I'll consider giving you a staff trainer position. Right now, he's just too wild, too reckless, and too… pink."

“He'll be less pink if he evolves."

“But then he'll be all flowery. That's even worse. Anyway, you're done for today and so's your provisional status. Get a membership card at the counter, then hit the bricks. Should I expect to see y'all tomorrow?"

Gates slipped Warden's ball into his pocket. “Maybe. I still need some sort of a job."

As Anthony left the lounge, one of the fellows in the corner spoke up. “That bum's a poacher. He shouldn't have any trouble finding some dirty money."

Carol, still leaning, crossed her arms before herself instead. “I know. I wonder what's his game, here. Do ya think he's casing?"

“Could be, but he could do that from the audience. Why get your face and name well-known like this?"

Carol hummed. “And, why would somebody who raises 'dooms add a deerling?" She left before her question could be answered. Catching up with Gates in the lobby, where his card was coming out of a printer, she found him holding Warden in his arms. “Hey, a few more pounds of investment won't kill me. Want one of these?" She showed Gates a few technical machine discs in their acrylic cases.

“Actually," Anthony read their names and noticed that the pokecenter doctor warned him about this decision, “yeah, it can't hurt." He selected return. “Thank you."

“It can't hurt too badly if he would want to use that against you," she paused as Warden twisted a little to bite the T.M.'s case and snatch it away and realize he had no idea what to do with it after he glanced at its label and verified that it was not junk mail. “But I don't think that's a worry, here."

The attendant asked for Gates' signature and Carol excused herself. Taking a couple sheets of paper from his membership informational packet, he folded them into a crude cup, filled it at a water fountain in the lobby, and got his deerling standing steadily. It then licked his cheek.

---

A red blob of plasma, at any angle its silhouette being that of a bear, glowed inside the back of the doctor's van. Said doctor wielded two long metal tools, made of a specialized alloy that permitted them to pass into the plasma, become energized, and yet retain their form. Doc Spathor's brow formed beads of sweat, born of the heat of the day, the sunlight on the truck's roof, and the vent fans of the machinery that created and maintained the plasma. Needing to stay out of the way, Freja stood atop the machine's console beside other instruments and watched as the tools in Spathor's hands very slowly and carefully worked at manipulating strange forms in the plasma.

Francois's job was to watch the battery gauge. It made the slowness of progress a concern. “Down to twenty minutes, Doctor."

“That means I have ten," the doctor replied after carefully twisting one of the tools. A strange form rotated with it, becoming somewhat flat and near the surface. “Ten will be enough."

Francois sighed. She could at least sit on his lap and keep him cool. “Good. This timer is ticking down too quickly."

“Getting them through the interface is the slowest part, so I'm going to get the pieces up to the surface and park them. You'll assist me in cutting the skin and extracting them when he is solid again."

The ranger's eyebrows lifted. “You want me to dart him?"

“No, immediately after this procedure, that could kill him. You'll have to keep him calm."

“How am I to do that?"

“I thought you had established a rapport." Switching tools, the doctor seized another fragment of a plastic cooler.

“Basic comprehension! That means small words in small sentences. How am I supposed to tell a bear that you're going to take a sharp metal blade and slice and dice his flesh and convince him that's okay?"

“What does the clock say?"

Lacroix glanced at the screen. “Sixteen and twenty."

“You've got eight minutes to figure out how."

---

Despite the adventure of being let out of his ball, walking to the gym, competing in some matches, drinking from a paper cup, and then coming back here to the pokecenter, “You lied," was all that Warden had to say to Seth, liberated since being rejuvenated and standing watch near the pokecenter's public-use technical machine application device, called by the vulgar a jukebox, and also written upon by the vulgar often-vulgar jokes based on the names of the H.M.'s it offers to all.

“Account for your accusation, knave."

“You said he didn't want me. He showed me to other people and let me fight as his champion against others many times. He let you battle only once. He favors me, now."

Seth noticed the T.M. in Anthony's grip as he put a coin in a slot. “Our lordship did not want you; at best, the most is being made of you. Look, already he must improve you."

“Build up ski—what me?"

Seth chuckled a tiny wisp. “Are you able to comprehend these words: visceral, cacophony, migraine?"

Gates beckoned Warden to his side before the deerling could tear apart and re-assemble those lumps of communication. “Alright, Warden, this will be loud but you can't move until I let you go. Understand?"

Warden grunted. He overestimated himself. Anthony pressed a button, starting a countdown. Seth stepped up and repeated a more comprehensible translation of what he had previously said. That confused Warden, because it was the first time that the houndoom spoke plainly without being asked, as though he were a normal pokemon in the forest.

Gates pressed padded speakers against Warden's head, folding his ears back. Seth watched the countdown reach zero and enjoyed the sound of hooves scraping against floor tile as Warden kicked up and collapsed, his legs still weak from his gym adventure. When the noise ceased, the jukebox spat out a bit of headache medication and a receipt. Carrying his fawn again, Gates sat in the lobby for a while, careless of his surroundings until he heard a snap and saw a photographer, already turned away and running out of the facility.

“What the hell?" Gates asked.

“You're famous now," replied a nurse at the counter. “He comes in every week looking for a different theme to photograph and put in his gallery across town. He said this week he's looking for precious pokemon that have adopted… um… unspectacular trainers."

There were worse things to be famous for.

---

“I think he likes you." Humor kept the doctor's mind off of the drive back down.

Francois struggled out of a literal bear hug. “Freja, can you talk to him?"

Madame Wintergreen coughed a short-lived cloud of frost to clear her throat of a bit of berry matter, licked clean her muzzle, and trotted over to the ursaring that, despite his grumpy facial expression, refused to let Lacroix loose. They chatted. Ultimately she walked back to the vehicle, leapt up and into it, emerged in the rear, and tapped its tailgate with her right paw three times.

The ursaring grunted something to Freja. Francois grunted, too, “Unnn, no. No! That's against all of the regulations in the book."

She said something to them. Only the ursaring understood it. It had been a long time since anyone carried Francois around, but flailing his limbs only asked the bear to snarl and grip him more tightly, lest he fall free. This situation was getting too weird for the doctor's comfort; he quickly fired up his truck and headed back down the path. If the road were planning to roll his vehicle over, leaving first meant somebody would come his way soon after. If it weren't, leaving first ensured that he would not be the next human to be captured by those bizarrely-behaved pokemon.

Having lowered the tailgate, Francois thinly threatened his superior, “You must have a good excuse for this. I am not taking responsibility for your orders, 'Madame.' "

The bear settled into the back of the vehicle. Freja settled into the passenger seat. Both stared at Francois until he got in as well and started the engine.

“I'm not!" He waved a finger in Freja's face. “Not again."

She frostnipped that offensive finger's tip.

---

Warden trotted to the fore. “The most important one leads," he asserted.

Seth briefly tensed his muzzle. “You run ahead, like bait; we protect our lordship closely."

Warden stopped until his companions caught up. “You're not enough. Mentor needs three, so he defeated Old Mentor so he could add me. Now, Mentor is protected."

Seth lowered his head in frustration. “Knave, your only service is to generate foolish words that struggle to carry half-baked thoughts."

Cyrus lowered his head, too, misreading Seth's gesture at first, “Enough!" he grumbled, “If either of you makes a sound, I'm biting your tail off." The next to make a sound was Cyrus, indeed, barking twice and stepping aback as they neared the entryway to their apartment building.

Gates almost fumbled the bargain-priced merchandise that he bought at an off-label store, including a shower curtain to stand where glass once stood. “No, not that guy."

Cyrus barked again. That guy.

Maximilian's back was turned to the quartet when they would have come into sight. “If I must get the landlord to open this door, I will."

A television, audible behind the door, became louder.

“So be it. I am many things, but I am not to be ignored." Maximilian clicked his heels as he turned and faced Gates and his party. Max's mouth fell open slightly. “You leave your T.V. on when you're out, now?"

While the humans exchanged pleasantries, Cyrus got his nose against the door's gap. There was something unfamiliar in there. Something familiar, too; although so faint he was not sure of its identity. He barked sharply at the gap three times. Television noise ceased immediately. Anthony crowded his dog out of the way, found his key, dropped a bag of ready snacks—spilling much of its contents—and got his door open. Immediately on patrol, Cyrus and Seth squeezed between Gates' legs and the door's woodwork. Maximilian let himself in behind Anthony. Warden nosed at the bag, soon hiding his face within it.

Gates plopped the remaining items on his kitchenette's counter and glanced over his shoulder. “I thought your kind couldn't cross a threshold without being invited."

Maximilian drew a square of paper from his suit jacket's inside pocket while sliding a previously-delivered folder a short way across the surface of the table upon which it rested. He spoke while folding the square. “That's the lore of demons and vampires." He felt a faint sensation, like a draft, and glanced toward the doorway. Warden shook his head free of the bag, sniffed the air, looked back down the hallway, and growing bored and lonely, came inside.

Anthony passed by Mister Syfax and his deerling to retrieve the dropped bag. “Are you denying a habit of biting necks and sucking blood?"

“I prefer to take positions that pay well."

Gates chortled and picked up the bag. “Warden, you could've brought this in with you. I don't need a third dog that's bad at fetch."

Maximilian continued. “However, you are free to add 'esquire' to my name if you prefer."

The bag seemed to be one snack pack short, but market negligence could not seize his foremost concern. “I'm about to add 'get the hell out of my house' to your name."

Maximilian finished his craft and placed it upon Warden's nose upon noticing that the deerling was staring at him. “Keep this on your nose and I'll give you a treat."

“Don't take candy from strangers, Warden."

“Even if it's rare? Mister Gates, you know that our employer expects prompt responses. Your fair-weather friend, Velasquez, understands that. Why have you dawdled?"

“I don't like the job."

“You didn't say 'no.' "

Gates mumbled, “I might need the money."

The paper crane tickled Warden's nose, but he wanted the promised treat. Meanwhile, Cyrus and Seth discussed their findings. Something broke in: pokemon and female; it left a scent of persian—a particular persian, Cyrus noted to himself—on the couch, but elsewhere the scent differed. Their investigation continued.

Anthony filled a pot with water. “It's a shit job is what it is."

Maximilian withdrew a particular sheet from the envelope. “See, I even went to the extra trouble of having it printed with a yellow background: Target is confirmed old enough for separation from parent, and the family has no pack alliances that could result in a melee. It's not like it's still sticky with egg fluids. Not that that stopped you in the past."

“Once!" Gates shouted as he turned and pointed accusingly with the box of spaghetti in his hand, sending what remained within the box soaring into the living space. “I didn't like that job. But, I needed the money."

“A flexible man is a survivor, Mister Gates. Speaking of flexible, I see that the mighty hunter has suffered a change of heart. Did you go vegetarian on us?"

Gates picked up the larger groups of pasta, three-second rule be damned; it was getting boiled anyway. “No. I got a pokemon that's brave if not fearless, that never gives up, and that's going to earn the respect of anybody who tries taking a shot at him; you get what I'm sayin'?"

Maximilian twitched his eyebrows, crouched, removed the paper crane from Warden's nose, and began palpating the deerling. “Overall size is about right, coat needs proper nutrients, well developed muscles, especially around the flank—is he a fast runner or a hard kicker?"

“Both." Gates added more salt.

Maximilian turned Warden sideways and continued his examination. “Pure stock?"

“Pokecenter doc said he might have rapidash in him."

Maximilian hummed. “Now that's a combo worth two." Rising, he reached into a different pocket and placed on the counter a pair of rare candies and a plastic card. “Train him well, and when he gets big and randy, I might be able to provide some other opportunities that you won't not like so much—when you need the money."

Gates glared at Mister Syfax.

“Oh, assuming you don't feel peckish and have him as a midnight snack, of course. Anyway, we won't make a move on this unit until a proper home is found for the current offering, so conditionally I can let you have a little more time to consider the job and get back to us, but don't mistake circumstance for privilege."

“God, Max. 'Unit,' 'current offering'; they're living creatures you know, with minds and thoughts—especially those," he indicated toward the paper with yellow highlighting, “but all of them. Have a shred of respect." Gates added an inquisitive “What is this?" when he picked up the plastic card.

“An incentive. Good for one T.M. on Simian's dime. Save the card after you swipe it; it has my private number which you might find convenient at some point in the future. Any T.M. you like. Even the pricey ones they only do limited runs on, like speech, if you want to learn about pokemon minds and thoughts directly. Frankly, pokemon that can speak tend to mind and think a bit too much for my tastes; of course, that's why you had your houndooms trained specially instead of just getting their brains upgraded, right?"

“Something like that. Maximilian Syfax, esquire, get the hell out of my house."

Maximilian smirked and turned to leave, but paused just before shutting the door behind himself. “Oh, since your finances are apparently out of order, consider your next rent payment taken c—"

“I don't want your damned charity! Keep your money—"

“Your money," Max counter-interrupted, “a small advance of your payment for doing the job. Of course, if you don't accept the job, I guess it would then be unearned, but that semantic makes no difference to a man in my position. Enjoy your dinner."

With the entryway clear, Cyrus and Seth investigated the only area they had not yet while Anthony re-loaded their feeding machine and asked his deerling what he should prepare for its dinner, as though he had forgotten that it could not intelligibly reply.

The persian scent faintly and other scent boldly; it was fresh on the wall just behind the door. The dogs were so busy with their mystery that they almost forgot about food, but then Gates activated the machine and with Seth at attention, Cyrus decided to call off the search and think about the clues for a while.

---

Were he a Fighting-type, it could have been a force-palm. Despite lacking the mysterious energies that pokemon channel, Francois's attack proved super-effective against an ursaring he found impolitely raiding the ranger station's refrigerator as though it were a large cooler in the rear of a crashed four-wheel drive. He second guessed his courage when the ursaring recovered his senses and bellowed in the ranger's face, but the beast then pawed at its nose, grumbled again, and slinked away.

A minute later, Madame Wintergreen indicated that he should give the bear one berry. Preferring not to awaken at some time in the middle of the night suddenly buried beneath five inches of snow, he did so, and was relieved when the bear ate the berry from his hand without also eating his hand. It faced away and leaned into the corner in which it sat. Francois crossed the quarters and sat on his bunk. “This breaks every regulation in the book. Feeding the wildlife, harboring the wildlife without medical necessity, interfering with the natural—"

Freja whistled at Francois and gestured toward the poster.

“I'm holding you accountable for this," said Ranger Lacroix as he rolled into his bunk.

The glaceon whistled again and snacked on some of the food scattered during the boys' combat. There was no sense in letting it go to waste, after all.

---

Anthony put Warden's ball into Guaiacol Gym's house trainer rejuvenation machine's hopper and pressed its button. Outclassing that click and hum was the swish and click of the lounge's main door swinging open, swinging shut, and becoming locked. Anthony looked behind himself and saw his boss. She was dressed somewhat formally, which was a dramatic shift from her normal attire—attire that suggested she had just returned from, or was about to begin, chasing mountain goats around the faces of steep inclines. Instead, she cut an image befitting someone who processes an insurance claim filed after somebody less nimble than a mountain goat misses a hold and takes a tumble. Anthony looked back to the machine—its display was unreadable.

Carol's high-heeled shoes clicked against the floor with every step she took. “Just the fella I was looking for," she admitted as she approached. “I was hoping we could discuss your position in my gym."

Anthony exhaled heavily. “I'm being let go, aren't I?"

Carol giggled as though she were being tickled by a favorite uncle. “Oh, no. No. It's the opposite." A cheap table squeaked as she hopped up and backward to sit upon it. “Whether you like it or not." Kicking her legs up, she poked Anthony's lower back with her three-inch heels and as he turned, reflexively, grappled Anthony's midsection with her ankles—letting her shoes fall free to the floor—drawing him away from the counter. “What do you think about this position?" she asked as she (barely) brought her toes together behind him.

“Caro—"

The gym leader tilted her head up with a forceful jerk. “I think you mean to say, 'Miss MacLeod.' " She tensed her legs and brought him against the tabletop, and herself.

“Miss MacLeod, are you—feeling okay?"

She smirked. “I'm a little warm. You have hands; feel me and tell me your findings."

Anthony noticed something in the air, a scent that could be described best as “natural." He let his hands find her. Warm indeed; her clothing felt almost like velvet. Soon, her arms came around his torso and she pressed herself against him, and sighed.

“Ca—Miss, you're half my age."

“I'm legal everywhere in Ocimene except Carthamus. You aren't thinking honeymoon destinations already, are you?"

Anthony gripped her body as tightly as she gripped his, and then a little tighter. “I'm thinking there's a good chance both of us are going to wish we'd thought twice about this, someday."

She moaned as his hands moved lower, soon gliding along the inside of fabric and finding a change in the terrain. “Then let's have as much fun as we can before someday comes."

Anthony leaned forward, trying to lay her flat upon the table, but she hardly reclined. For a little thing, her body owned a hidden strength. Making no further effort, he instead shifted his hand and twisted its wrist, feeling for warmth and a hint of moisture. The scent became stronger; as did her vocalizations.

Something else became stronger; and longer. She gripped him too tightly to let him pull away and try to see what he felt. “Carol," he asked, “are you… are you a…"

With a gasp and a groan, she pressed against him more strongly than before—the strength, the warmth, the scent—he awoke. “Get out of my bed!" Gates screamed at the top of his lungs. That awakened two houndooms and one neighbor behind the near wall. Warden bounded down the hallway and skidded into a half-splay when he hit the cheap vinyl flooring of the kitchenette area. Gates cursed indistinctly and went about some business.

Cyrus re-rested his head on the couch's proximal arm and muttered, “A valiant effort, Deerling."

Seth, who—having been startled out of his skin and out of his place—fell to the floor and landed awkwardly upon some clutter, came around to face the deerling. “I instructed you against imposing upon our lordship. Must I instruct you once more—"

“Shut up, Seth," barked Cyrus.

Warden flicked his tongue out as Seth returned to his position. “I told you he liked me. When he sleeps, he comforts all of me. He just doesn't want to show you that he already likes me more." Turning away, he flicked his tail at them both with a snub and trotted back down the hallway.

“Warden, get out."

Warden bleated.

“Now. Get—get off of—"

Warden grunted.

“Ow, that—stop—Warden, I—I'll get your b—"

Warden squeaked. A moment passed.

“Okay, fine. But we face different directions."

When the sun rose and the houndooms arrived to awaken their master, they found Anthony holding Warden like a teddy bear, his chin buried in the deerling's fluffy scalp tuft.

Seth growled. “Such braggadocio…"

Cyrus snapped at Seth to get his attention. “If you want to use compound words, use them right. This little one succeeds."

The 'dooms completed their duty in an alternative manner and departed: Cyrus to the window, and Seth to the couch to engross himself in commercials and trivial morning shows such that he could convincingly claim that he did not notice Warden's swagger as the latter strutted about to remind his neighbor in this rank whom is permitted use of the comfy place to sleep.

---