Monday, July 26, 2010

no dawn no day i'm always in this twilight in the shadow of your heart

The boy was pinned up against the wall before he could finish. Nick held him with one hand at his throat, the other reaching down to where Byron’s shovel was leaning against the wall. He picked it up and held the flat side against the boy’s cheek. “Do you know what this is?”

“B-Byron’s shovel?”

“Yes. It is. He’s hit me twice with it. He also nearly knocked out Chase when we challenged him. Byron was very animated with this shovel of his. And you know what?”

“What…?” the boy squeaked.

“He will never be able to do that again, will he? Byron will never be able to lift his shovel again and smack sense into younger trainers. He won’t be able to hand out badges. He won’t be able to give advice on continuing on with a training journey. He won’t be able to admire the up-and-coming young trainers. He won’t be able to challenge the next generation. He won’t be able to test trainers to see if they deserve their Pokemon. Are you seeing what I’m getting at here?”

The boy only stared at him, eyes rolling in terror.

“You, who are using Pokemon to bully others—no, it’s not even that tame anymore is it?! You are all using your own Pokemon to kill others! Do you know how stupid that is?! You don’t do that! You don’t have the right to pass judgment on anyone! You are the ones who don’t deserve the Pokemon that follow you!” Nick roared, dropping the boy and turning to the room. He swung Byron’s shovel against the nearest window, shattering it. Glass rained over the fallen Gym leader’s body. “You all claim to be my followers, right?! So you should know what’s coming next!”

Nick grinned at them all, arms spread, waiting for someone to answer him. The other two trainers in the room didn’t dare speak, and the Pokemon cowered before him. Nick stomped over to them, still swinging the shovel beside him, and beamed at them all.

“You don’t deserve these Pokemon, so that’s why I’m going to take them away from you! Chase, Flamethrower.”

He didn’t kill anyone himself until he found the burning warehouse with thousands of lives trapped inside and two starry-eyed girls responsible for it. For the first time, it wasn’t his Pokemon doing the dirty work; Nick still had Byron’s shovel, and was beating their faces in until the blood soaked the ground around them. They deserved it. They deserved it so much and so much more for doing what they were doing. They were killing not only innocents, but all in the name of their twisted judgment call on all of Sinnoh. They were trying to imitate him and decide who deserved what—so he just gave them a hand with a shovel and a parting Flamethrower just to make sure they got the message.

So what if he was screaming at them, too. “You don’t do that! You don’t attack other trainers, you’re stupid for trying to follow me! You’re as bad as I am! Why are you doing this?! Why did you try this? Why, why?!”

-------THIS IS A BREAK-------

“Is he always this shy?” Lenore asked, still trying to coax Emil toward her.

“Oh yes. Terribly timid. Though he’s got a nasty streak if—”

“Bevriedera ors,” Emil said with a fierce pout.

Aminov sighed. “If you happen to be from northern Lanne. And I know that you’re not, but with the dark hair and eyes, you could pass for it.”

“Technically I’m a quarter Lannish. On my mother’s side.” Lenore straightened up and smoothed out her dress, looking severely put-out. “Still, what has that have to do with anything? What did he say?” Allen had been wondering exactly the same thing.

“I’m currently teaching him more of our language. He knows the basics, and he’s picking it up quickly, but these daily meetings with him are still a bit of a pet project of mine. He’s the only southerner we have right now in the program, and I haven’t spoken to one in years, anyway…” he trailed off wistfully.

“…He’s in the Inven project?” Lenore asked brightly. Allen rolled his eyes. And just like that, child-loving Lenore was back.

“Yes. Actually, the accelerated program. Within a year, he should be out in the field on his own. I hope to use him as a key to further missions and negotiations with the southern half of Lanne,” Aminov explained, patting the boy on the head. Emil flushed at the attention and ducked out of it rather hastily. He completely scooted around the scientist in an effort to further evade Lenore—though eventually she got fed up and chased after him, much to Aminov’s amusement. By the time Emil figured out he was being pursued, she had caught up and had her arms around him, picked him up, and carried him rather awkwardly back towards Allen. He was reminded very strongly of a child with a puppy. Complete with pathetic whining and squirming.

“So a little Lannish Inven. Look at his hair, though…” she crooned, setting him back on the floor—though not allowing the poor boy to escape her grasp—and ran her fingers through his wavy hair. “Look, Allen. It’s even paler than yours is.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m Lannish, though I always thought they had dark hair and eyes. Like you or Maria,” Allen replied, eyeing Emil with equal parts curiosity and pity. The boy looked ready to burst into flames, judging by the redness of his face. “So, he looks new. He acts new. Who brought him in?”

“B-Be-Bevridera ors,” Emil stammered, repeating the same odd phrase as before. It didn’t elicit any sort of response from Lenore, however, much to his obvious confusion and irritation.

“One of the new pairs. Actually, a Tego from your graduating class, unless I’m gravely mistaken,” Aminov said, chin in hand. Lenore and Allen exchanged a look. Allen, for his part, figured it was one of two people. “Loar, I believe his name was. Your age, with orange hair and brown eyes. He also had this spicy little Inven with silver and brown hair, oh, and glasses. Do you know them? I think they mentioned you…”

“Yeah, we know them,” Allen replied with a sigh. Nathan had been his first guess, anyway. It wasn’t as if he expected anything less. “Nathan Loar and Sonya Karahalios.”

“They’re good friends of ours,” Lenore added, still petting Emil.

He perked up at the name, however. “Shachelle? Capelleau halon, beli oei lilietta na?” he asked, gesturing vaguely. Allen literally felt the words fly over his head once more. Thankfully, risking an embarrassed glance to the side, he found that his Inven was in the same boat; she stared down at the child in her arms blankly, as if he had just spoken another language—oh wait.

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