(( I’m sorry for disappearing, I’m dealing with stress lately and having a hard time focusing on anything ))
raimun (aka terrible person) requested a dress up party, so I drew one. Luckily, Basil and Friday are spared from embarrassment and Nic is a hard-boiled detective because Victor gets the dresses.
(( Oh my goodness this is wonderful))
(( Quick concept doodle for B+E’s parents
I decided years ago that they were a dusclops and a ralts who were bred in a center, churned out kids until the staff ran out of leafy vegetables to name them after and never really formed much of a connection with any of them or got to know them. Hadn’t really given much thought to their designs though ))
Wyatt was at least still breathing by the time the stranger had returned with the teleporting Xatu. Then it was only a short trip to take the injured Gardevoir to the Pokemon Center. The nurse had taken one look at the shape the obviously beaten and unconscious Gardevoir was in and immediately called for help. After that, Wyatt had been whisked off into the back of the Pokemon Center, and Basil had been forced to wait.
It had been a long wait too. When the nurse finally returned, it was to inform him that the Gardevoir had been badly beaten and struck repeatedly in the head. There didn’t seem to be any permanent damage yet, but the Gardevoir was showing signs of exhaustion and had an obvious concussion and continued to fall asleep - they presumed more from exhaustion than any damage, and so they were allowing him to rest rather than keeping him awake, and that he was free to have visitors, though they would get little for the visit as he was still sleeping deeply.
The Pokemon was not in good shape. His wounds had been cleaned and bandaged, but there was a pallor to his face as he slept. It was true that Gardevoir had white faces, but they could still go ‘pale’ - white skin was not the same thing as pale skin. His breathing was at least deep and regular, but he was unconscious.
And he stayed that way for nearly a day. A very un-kind day, especially to someone who might have a reason to fear being outside their home. Especially to someone in such a public place as a Pokemon Center, where Pokemon could enter and leave without much attention given to them and it would be painfully easy to create a diversion and…
When Wyatt woke up he did so slowly. He still felt like it was hard to think, like he was having to think through a fog. Everything was hazy in his mind and almost surreal. Where was he? What was he doing? The last thing he remembered… Why was he swinging? Was he being held upside down? The room spun around him. Was there someone there?-
The wounded psychic-type let out a sudden cry, his arms out in front of him defensively to ward off blows that had fallen a long time ago but that in his addled, foggy mind were still coming. The terrified psychic-type suddenly dropped back into the bed, realizing something was wrong. He wasn’t dangling, he could feel a bed under him. He wasn’t being held by the leg anymore, there was no touch.
But the fear refused to leave him, and he trembled helplessly in the bed, unable to think, unable to concentrate clearly enough to use any psychic power, just a trembling, softly whimpering bundle of nervous fear and confusion as the pain he was in caught up to him.
Wyatt’s yell suddenly and not-so-kindly snapped awake the pokemon who had, somewhere along the way, fallen asleep on the floor by the Gardevoir’s bedside.
For a moment, Basil was aware only of his heartbeat, pounding too quickly and seeming to reverberate back at him from the hard surface beneath him, and then his mind flooded with the horrific scenes of his nightmare and his friends dropping around him and what was that scream?-
He tried to scramble to his feet, but something was wrong with his hip- moreso than usual, and with a spasm he flopped unceremoniously and rather painfully to his knees. He breathed in sharply, gritting his teeth.
As the initial shock faded, he was finally able to get a grip on reality again. He was in a hospital room. His white robe was sweaty, his body was stiff and sore from sleeping on the floor, his hip hurt terribly, and his stomach was growling and felt sick- when had he last eaten? He couldn’t even recall- but there was no danger at hand. Celian and Réau were nowhere in sight. There was nothing dark closing in on him, no echoey voices. That had all been a dream.
Wyatt was injured, and Basil had no idea what had happened to him. That was real.
But Wyatt was awake. He had just screamed. He probably had no idea where he was.
Basil scooped up his hat, and attempted to get up more carefully. Using his cane, which had been lying on the floor near him, and putting as much weight as he could on his left leg, he made it to a standing position.
At the sight of the injured Gardevoir trembling and terrified in the bed, he had to bite his lip to keep himself from crying. The feeling of guilt plonked itself onto his head alongside memories of the conversations they’d had that always managed to make him feel better, Wyatt going out of his way to check on him when he was ill, and the time he had listened to everything- more than he had ever told Maisie or anyone else- and not judged him for it…
And when Wyatt was hurt, he had teleported to Basil- and what had he done? Sat there uselessly and panicked while a couple kids who didn’t even know them actually made an effort to get help for his friend. A part of him was saying that nothing he could do now would ever make up for what he hadn’t done before. He bit it back, and used his cane to lower himself slowly onto the edge of the bed, trying not to disturb the already terrified Gardevoir.
When he spoke, it was out loud, as he was still very cautious about speaking in Wyatt’s mind when he had a nasty head injury. Something he probably should have asked the nurses about earlier.
"Wyatt? Y-you’re in the Pokemon Center, in Hearthome City. You’re safe, I promise." He nearly choked on the word ‘promise’, remembering the last pokemon to whom he’d said that word. “I-I’m right here. You can hold my hand or lean on me if you need to.” He reached out a bandaged arm, but didn’t touch his friend- it was an old habit, really. In general he tended to avoid physical contact with others unless they gave him permission or touched him first, and in a case like this he didn’t want to startle him.
Something was terribly wrong. Basil crouched beside his friend, and took in a gulp of air. How did one breathe, again?
« Wyatt, no, look at me. Come on, you can’t go to sleep. Stay awake! »
There was no response, but he could feel Wyatt’s consciousness flickering out, fading beyond the point where he could use regular telepathy. The damage to the Gardevoir’s mind clawed in his own, like a terrible itch that was impossible to scratch.
Keep trying. He had to keep trying. He gently lifted the Gardevoir’s arm, feeling for a pulse, but his own heart was pounding so hard and quickly that he could hardly tell if he felt anything.
"Wyatt! Please, please wake up. If you sleep now, you might not EVER wake up! PLEASE!" His voice cracked badly toward the end- he hardly ever used it, and now it was beginning to break into fast, ragged forced breaths. He actually was forgetting how to breathe. It was happening again.
Some people, when truly tested and faced with dangerous situations, are able to unlock strength that they never knew they had and reach their full potential, almost as if powering up into some sort of super-mode that had been stocked in their mind.
Basil powered down into what-the-hell-do-I-do mode.
"WYATT!" As if continually screaming his name was going to help.
At the very least, it helped with something. Though its residential areas weren’t as full of trainers and coordinators as the streets around the shops and Contest Hall, Hearthome City was far from quiet as far as Sinnoh’s towns went.
There were a few people and Pokemon about the streets- and one of those who had heard Basil’s broken cries had run over to see what was wrong.
"H-hey, what’s going on? Do you need help?"
What did they need? Basil’s mind had turned to mush. He gave a shaky nod.
"Is she- uh- or he— hurt? I- my friend has a Xatu that can teleport. We can get you to the Center. I’ll go find her!" With a pattering of footsteps the trainer and his pokemon were running off.
And Basil waited, trembling and feeling ill.
The reason he wasn’t supposed to be outside had returned to his muddled thoughts.
He tried not to think about what would happen if Celian and Réau found him now.
For several hours, he had been sitting by the window looking over what Maisie’s house had of a front yard- a small area of grass decorated by a few flower boxes.Beyond it repetetive tan bricks and grey houses faded into a meaningless blur in Basil’s sleep-deprived mess of a mind.
Not that he suspected he would have seen anything even had he been alert and healthy. His stalkers wouldn’t let themselves be seen again, and Endive wasn’t coming back. Not today, and probably not ever. He hadn’t recognized the Abra, Réau, but the second the cloaked figure was addressed by name, it was set in stone that nothing good was waiting for his sister.
As it came to mind again, the name struck something deep within him, a part of that story he had tried to smother beneath connections with new people and Contests and a Gardevoir costume- and it had been struck not quite because of the Pokemon the name belonged to, but because of the human to whom that Pokemon belonged.
Luyten Mera. That was his real name. Basil’s former trainer had called him “Dad”.
But he was gone. He was SUPPOSED to be gone, dead, vanished into that deep, dark hole where reality was broken and nothing made sense- you couldn’t come back from that! What was happening? Maisie was so calm about it, but she knew nothing- Nothing, nothing
In his mind, that shifting, dazzling portal opened once again before him, twisting reality until his head was spinning and he buried his face in his bandaged hands, trying to force the memories out but the flood of thoughts was too strong for him to even gather himself enough to use Calm Mind.
It was like an avalanche coming down on him, full of his fears and memories and full of whys. Why had he lied to Toadstool? Why couldn’t he act in the face of danger? Why had he lashed out at himself so severely, and would he do it again? Why hadn’t he told Maisie where Gan came from - where he came from?
And then, in the midst of it all, he asked himself, What am I?
He wasn’t a Gardevoir.
He wasn’t a Gallade, either.
He didn’t even deserve to call himself a Pokémon.
He’d have called himself the equivalent of a heap of garbage, but that was probably an insult to all the Trubbish and Garbodor out there.
Something, glimpsed hazily through the hands that had been over his face, caught his eye and snapped him from his dark reverie: a sort of brief flash that he recognized as the indication of a teleport.
His breath caught in his throat, and he forced his eyes to focus on the Pokémon that had appeared on Maisie’s lawn.
It wasn’t Réau the Abra. It was a Gardevoir, and it was lying sprawled across the grass.
But not Endive, no. The thought that it might be her didn’t even cross his mind- the shade of green was far brighter than hers, and he recognized who the Pokémon was immediately.
He hobbled clumsily along the wall, his chair crashing to the ground behind him. His injured hip complained, but a rush of adrenaline had overridden the pain. He swung open the door, and jumped off the side of the doorstep. He was hardly surprised when his legs crumpled beneath him and he experienced a sensation akin to someone driving a sharp rod up through his right leg from the foot and through his body.
He crawled rapidly toward the Gardevoir’s form on his hands and his good leg, dragging the other behind him. There was a brief groan, and then the other Pokémon was still.
« WYATT! »