Ends Meet
Throngs of Pokémon in various states of dress and engagement preoccupied themselves throughout the marketplace. The high noon sun made the weather balmy, and even under the shady canopy of a street vendor stand, the breeze still carried a pleasant heat. It was still more than enough to dew a forehead for this particular merchant, as the Golduck wiped the sweat from his brow. He cleared his throat as he continued to address the Pokémon who stood across his rough wooden counter top. He tried not to look himself in the eye, as his image reflected in the giant iron nail that stayed bored through his customer's head.
"... Yes," said the Golduck, attempting to keep the unease in his voice masked. "I hand-wove these myself. They'd look very good on you."
The Banette tapped the nail lodged in her head as she deliberated briefly, her other eye scrutinizing the set of straw hats before her. Her eye snapped back to the sweating Golduck, and she gave him a wide grin full of latched brass teeth.
"Why, thank you!" The lively excitement in her voice caught the merchant off guard yet again, and it showed in a slight recoil of his shoulders. He noticed that she spoke clearly through clenched teeth. "But I don't need a hat, why, it's for a few of my friends here!"
The Banette motioned behind her, her hand passing over the small group who surrounded her. As it swept past a sharp-eyed and cocked-grin Scizor who leaned on one makeshift crutch, and a Passimian with a cracked helmet who appeared to wince every now and then from sores, her motion landed on a profusely sweating Toxicroak and a panting Persian with a ragged tricorn on his head. The Toxicroak let out a low, ornery croak from his swelling throat as the Persian offered a formal "Hello."
She continued, pointing at the Toxicroak and then the Persian as she went. "That one's Enzo and that one's Barbosa. Now Enzo used to have a big, long red bandanna tied around his head, and he said it was made of a special cloth that soaked up sea spray and kept him cool, but he lost that." The frowning Toxicroak kept batting his eyes, blinking away sweat that rolled off his brow. "And Barbosa's captain hat is a big tattered mess, it is!"
The Persian lifted a paw and pressed it against the Banette's near-pristine white dress. "No," he solemnly interjected, his distant island accent seasoning his words. "It suits me just fine."
"It doesn't." The Banette's eye widened a bit as she glanced up to the Scizor. They both had chided Barbosa at the same time. She began to chuckle as the Scizor took the floor with the testy tap of his crutch on the ground.
The Scizor groaned, "Captain, just let Anarchy buy you a damn hat. It won't do you any good against the sun. It's got more holes than a net and you're huffing like a hound."
Barbosa gave a stern look to the insect, licking his chapped lips before dryly stating, "It's the sentimental value of it."
"It's the pride of it," the Scizor rebutted. "I thought you lost that last night with all your weepy woe talk. You're as complicated as a female!"
The Scizor doubled over in pain as the Banette delivered a swift boot to his abdomen before pointing to a stack of straw sun hats. The Golduck darted his eyes between the wheezing, cursing Scizor and the smiling, unaffected Ghost as she sang over croaking and a lemur's laugh: "Two of those, please!"
Enzo found his slick forehead now shaded by the hat he donned, though he scratched at a couple itches it caused. The Golduck counted the change in his webbed hand as Anarchy, the Banette, tried to offer her other purchase to Barbosa. The Persian shook his head.
"Anne," he insisted, his voice low only for her, "Thank you, but I cannot wear that hat. I have to meet the Admiral as I am: A castaway captain. This, my hat, is my status—disgraced and all. He needs to see the state in which our journey has left it—us. It is my responsibility, Anne. I have to be true the position."
Anarchy gripped the straw hat as she listened to her captain's words, holding it up to her chest as her face dimmed in consideration. She understood her captain's intention, but she had already spent coin on the gesture. Barbosa in truth had no business out of bed, she knew, as his state was just barely stable after Doctor Keahi and her assistant Kaipo examined and fed him this morning. With the sun beaming upon his short fur coat, he could easily become exhausted by the hot weather alone, and yet he forced himself to sneak away with Anarchy and the others when the Doctor and Kaipo were out on another emergency run. She felt it was the least she could do, but her captain was a rigid 'mon.
A strong palm slapped against her back and gave her a jolt. She looked up to the culprit, the Passimian, who pointed a finger at her and teased in his thick sing-song accent, "Ah-ah! Anarchy push up fire!" Anarchy giggled, remembering the Passimian's foreign phrase meant she was starting trouble. She tried to waive it off with a mock-exasperated "Emmanuel," but Emmanuel kept talking, his pointing finger now a thumb directed at the hobbled-over Scizor. "Give to Vincent, ya? He need charity-ah. You bust up his tush!"
The Scizor moaned with a pincer over his abdomen, "It's the least you can do for me... Ugh, nearly spit up the bit I had for breakfast... You cheeky girl..."
Vincent was promptly crowned with the hat. As the Scizor began to swat a claw at a teasing Emmanuel and cooing Anarchy, Barbosa curtly interrupted, saying "We should be on our way. Thank you for the hats, sir."
At that stern cue, Emmanuel and Anarchy returned to attention as the Golduck merchant held out the pouch of remaining coin. Anarchy reached out with a spirited "Thank you," to the hat-weaver, and took the little burlap purse, quickly sifting a thick finger through its contents to make sure the balance of the transaction was what it should have been. The count was proper, though she did withdraw a few coin to keep for herself before pulling the pouch's drawstring shut tight. She then offered the purse over to Emmanuel, who gave her an acknowledging nod. Taking his other hand, the Passimian lifted the cracked green berry husk of a helmet on his head. The matted bush of white fur felt a breeze for a bit before he sat the pouch square on the center of his cranium, pushing the helmet back on securely on his head. Anarchy had entrusted Emmanuel to keep safe the little bit of change Doctor Keahi provided her, and so he gave her a firm grunt to assure her everything was in place. As the crew said their goodbyes to the native and departed from the stand, Anarchy was quick to head the group yet again as she took back to the road, everyone else sauntering close behind.
Her eyes darted back and forth at all the colorful commotion that lined the market avenue. She couldn't help but twirl around on her boot to face the gang as she skipped backwards, exclaiming, "So now that that's done and over with, does anybody remember which way was the tavern?"
The males in the pack exchanged glances as they pointed in different directions, only to end up giving each other befuddled looks. There were groans all around as Vincent spat, "Oh Arceus, let's just get out of here!" Breaking the formation, he exasperatedly lumbered apart from the group, cutting across the road on his crutch looking almost sure of himself. The rest gave each other a wordless and partly-amused concession as he shouted over his shoulder, "Is it so hard to find a damn cave in the wall?!" The four decided to follow behind, figuring they'd lose nothing if Vincent ended up being just as wrong as they likely were.
***
The storefront of each stall Cook and the Oracle passed seemed more colourful than the last. It was certainly an exuberant way of attracting eyeballs to one's business. Fabrics, carrying bags, footwear, rugs, and more! And the Seer had to admit, it worked, even on her usually-focused gaze. Perhaps a little more colour was all she needed, after that extended vacation of seclusion.
One of the colourful stops, coming up on their right, didn't appear to be a storefront at all. Instead, a square table stood in the outdoor market, and customers had gathered, standing all around its four sides. The old Xatu, giving into her curiosity, slipped away from Cook to have a look, joining the others at the table. She didn't expect to be long -- she'd catch up with Cook shortly, right?
The table's surface was slanted inward, a bowl-like depression at its center and all four edges raised. In its center, a six-by-six grid of coloured squares were painted. Each square had a round pit. The Xatu was just catching on that this must be not a shop, but a game instead -- when a Golem spoke up nearby, gathering the customers' attention, including her own.
"Alright, everyone in? On the count of three --" His arm reached overtop the table, pointing with each count. "One, two, three!"
Three different customers reach rolled a wooden ball toward the table's center. The three spheres rolled over the coloured squares, swirling and bumping into each other, but eventually losing momentum. As they came closer and closer to stopping in one of the pits, the participants around the table let out enthusiastic noises, pointing or balling their fists. "Oh, oh, OHH!"
The first of the balls settled down on its own, sitting in a yellow-square pit, while the remaining two bumped into each other again, causing them to fall to a blue and a yellow square. There was a smattering of cheering, and as the Seer looked up, she noticed the Golem both taking and giving out silver berries to different participants -- and not just the three who had rolled the balls in the first place.
"Alright, alright!" He kept the mood enthusiastic with his tone and his smile, even if his heavy brow and hardened exterior gave the appearance of something much less lighthearted. "Who's next? That was a good round for the golds, will it swing that way again? Bets go on the edge of the table!"
The Oracle felt her feathers perk up on the back of her head. Betting? The game looked delightfully carnival-esque, even family-friendly, and yet, there was money to be had here! The bird fetched out the few silver berries Cook had given her for the day's errands. If she could double them, she was sure the Hydreigon would be pleased.
As she moved to put her money down on green, the Golem placed his hand on the table, squarely in her way. "Sorry, ma'am," he said, catching her eye with a firm, but not unkind, gaze. "No psychics."
The bird's smile disappeared in an instant, and she took a half-step back from the man. "I beg your pardon?"
"I can't let psychics play here. Sorry. It is a game of chance, after all."
"What exactly are you implying, sir," the Seer questioned, frowning and beginning to feel offended.
The Golem let out a small sigh, one that said he'd been through this before and he didn't care much to do it again. "Look, one of two things are gonna happen, if I let psychics play here." He held up a digit. "One. They predict exactly where them balls are gonna land." Another digit. "Two. They use that telekinesis and make the balls land where they want."
"I am not a cheater, good sir. To even imply--"
"I gotta keep it fair, ma'am. You got an unfair advantage over the other players, you know? It's nothing pers--"
"Your implications here are that all psychics would use their powers to cheat," the Oracle said, spreading a wing toward the table as she got worked up. "You realize what that constitutes, don't you?"
The Golem took a defensive position, while keeping firmly grounded on his stance. "Hey, it's not like that! But some of you psys are gonna do it, and if I can't tell which ones are the bad ones, I gotta make a rule to keep 'em all out!"
"Oh come now! Your explanation is the picture of discrimination!"
With the conflict escalating in volume, the other players couldn't help but watch. The argument was beginning to gather attention from shoppers at other stalls, and passersby, as well. Some even stopped in their tracks to watch, likely anticipating something more exciting to erupt from the fuss. As more Pokémon began to collect in little groups to watch the squabble, a small levee of bystanders formed off the flow of foot traffic. It wasn't long, though, before that levee broke.
"Excuse me, excuse me," shouted a voice, as not soon after, a Scizor with a straw sun hat, a foot cast, and a wooden crutch shouldered his way through. "Half-dead, Arceus-forsaken castaways coming through!" The disrupted onlookers gave him puzzled, curious, and irritated stares as he shoved past. Following close behind him was a leering Toxicroak with a matching hat, a rawboned and profusely apologetic Persian with an unkempt tricorn on his head, a Passimian glancing around uncomfortably with a stiff walk, and a grinning creature in a white dress with an unholy nail replacing an eye. To the last one, there were slight gasps and the shoppers seemed much more willing to part.
The Scizor continued to jeer over the din as he made his way in. "Didn't mean to steal the show,'" he started, and raised his crutch as he balanced on his good foot, "But now that I've got an audience: Where in bloody blazes is the Captain's Ire!?"
"Fayn's Retreat," replied a voice from knee level. A Gible, raising his voice to be heard above the squawk of irritated Xatu. "Shitty neighbourhood, that! Stick around here, you lot look ill enough already without downing Ire's brew," the small fellow advised with a laugh.
The Scizor replied with his own scoff. "Shitty! Well break my leg a second time! I've suffered worse!" Then he peered down at the little Dragon, asking, "Which way's Fayn's?"
The Gible pointed down the aisle between the double line of shorefronts. "When ya clear all the shops, due left. Straight on till the streets turn to shit and the walls crumble 'round ya. As for the Ire, just follow the ruckus. Noisier than--"
"My mon-- my money's no good here? Do you hear yourself speaking, boy?!" an old bird squawked nearby.
"...Well, than a psychic squabble."
The Scizor's stare turned into an irritated leer as he glanced over his shoulder at a Xatu and Golem verbally duking it out. By the way the two of them almost violently knocked their arms around in gesticulation, he figured they were the original centers of attention. His yellow eyes rolled back to the Gible, as he gave a tired, derisive smile. "Great," he offered wryly. Then he raised his voice for the last time with a flourish of his pincer to the oblivious couple behind him. "Thank you all, and I leave you to return to your show!" The Scizor gave a loud whistle, catching the attention of his nearby crew, who were either intent on watching him or the commotion in which the natives seemed to be enthralled at a distance. He cocked his head to gesture in the direction the Gible had pointed to him, and began to lumber down the road. The Persian, Toxicroak, and Passimian hastily followed suit, but not the Pokémon with the flowing white dress and the single eye. That one instead trotted over to the source of the local drama, and standing herself right beside a screeching Xatu, tapped the bird on the shoulder.
The avian's head whipped around, putting her beak's point just in front of the ghost type's face. "What--" Realizing just a moment belated that her ire was misdirected, the Xatu reigned in her bitterness and her volume. Her feathers ceased standing on end, settling on only half-ruffled. "What?" she asked again, half-calm this time. Partially distracted by the unusual metallic disk over this Pokémon's eye, and of course partially distracted by the offensive game-stall owner.
As the dark-grey Pokémon pensively scratched at the stitched-up scars on her face, she whispered through her sealed zipper track of a mouth, "Don't be so fussy! You could be spending your time and money on something more worthwhile, don't you think?" Her red eye stared into the gaze of the Xatu.
"This is a matter of principle, dear girl!" the Xatu replied with a frown, though not as deep-seated a one as reserved for the Golem. "Elemental type discrimination isn't an issue to stand down on. As long as I still breathe, I have rights."
The grey Pokémon put a plush, pointed finger to her chin as her eye glanced off in thought. Suddenly, she threw up her three-fingered hands and slammed them down on the edge of the Golem's game table. Leaning over the board as she stood on her tiptoes, she announced, "Ho! Rockefeller!" The Golem snapped to attention at the almost specific-sounding, yet incorrect name. The grey Pokémon admittedly had never seen this species before, but as the creature's body appeared like a chunk of earth, she dubbed him her catch-all name for unacquainted Rock-types. "I was on the sidelines listening in on your noisy racket!" She gave a quick tilt of her head in a motion back to the other species of which she knew not the name. "Miss Beakley has been squawking about you being right rude about Psychic-types! For shame!" She pointed to her single pink eye. "Everybody with an eye can see a cheating Psychic from a mile away, anyway!"
The Golem responded by lodging a set of knuckles against what would equate to his hip. "Well hell, I can't tell if she'd cheat or not. I'm just tryin' to play it safe."
Rocking back on her feet, she poised herself on her heels and pointed a directive finger at the Golem. "Then let's make a bet, Rockefeller!"
"That is my business model. Whatcha got in mind, missy?"
The grey Pokemon picked up a ball in her mitt and held it up beside her. "Surely I'm no psychic, but I'm going to make a prediction. I'll turn my back and toss this ball over my shoulder. As I do, I'm going to call out a color. If it lands on that color, you're going to pay me double the prize—that's compensation for all the trouble you've put me through coming up with this bet! And if I lose, then I'll pay you double the fee. How's that?"
"So long as you don't got eyes in the back o' your head, that sounds just fine with me," he replied, amiable.
And the Xatu had settled down as well, watching the Banette make a deal. A couple of her feather-tips just happened to brush along the ball's surface, and the bird shut her left eye. The light contact aided her scrying ability, and a moment of the object's future flashed before the Xatu's vision in her right eye.
The rocky fellow was too distracted to take notice, occupied with collection of his payment. "Alright, you get your lucky shot, this is comin' back to you doubled. G'luck, miss!" He set the ghoulish Pokemon loose on the game table. All eyes were on her, including the Xatu's. In that moment, with her back turned to the table, and money on the line... for some reason, there was only one thought taking up the one-eyed stranger's mind: one color in particular.
"Hmm... Purple!" As the brazen grey Pokemon tossed the ball over her shoulder, it landed onto the board. When the rolling sound finally came to an audible halt, a collective gasp rose up around her.
The Golem called it, straightfaced. "Purple." He raised both arms, a smile breaking out. "The one-eyed stranger doubles her wager!" With that, the crowd cheered for her, and her bold bet paying off, a few of them going so far as to jump into the air. The Golem of course, used this to his advantage, even if he was handing the lady a tidy sum of coins. "Whoooo's up next, folks? Think you can match her luck? Bigger bets reap bigger rewards!"
For the psychic avian, she seemed satisfied for some reason now that the ghost had gotten to play. She met the gaze of the one-eyed Pokemon, who said to her with a bold grin as the grey stranger flashed coin in her hand, "Walk with me, Miss Beakley," and stepped on by.
The so-called Beakley tilted her head at the odd request, made so boldly without a reason given. But considering her limited options -- the gambling game wouldn't welcome her kind, and her Hydreigon friend is long gone from sight -- the bird didn't see any harm in joining her. She swiftly caught up, and walked at her side.
"So," the mysterious Pokemon began, turning her head to the side to get a better view of her new walking companion. The reflection of the Xatu took center on the Pokemon's huge nail head. "I've won all these pretty coins, but I'll be frank with you: I only played the game for you." With her one red eye studying the Xatu's expression now as she spoke, she held out her hand full of coin to the bird. "Consider these earnings ours. Take your share!"
"Well, I probably shouldn't, but little point in refusing a kind offer," the Oracle replied with a hint of a smile on her beak. The coins being offered floated into the air at her direction, and obediently joined their new friends in the small money pouch that the bird held out. "Thank you, dear. So... I take it you know, then? If you're splitting the money, that is."
The Xatu's strange new companion didn't answer her, instead preoccupying herself with tossing up her own coins in the air, catching them and giggling. In the middle of her third tossup, something blue swiped up the coins mid-air. With a gasp through her brass teeth and a wide eye, she turned around with an indignant look on her face and her arms akimbo. Standing behind her was the sweating Toxicroak from before. He scratched at his straw hat with one hand while he rattled the coins in his other fist, staring down at her irritably.
He croaked, "Anne," with a warning tone. The grey Pokemon grabbed at the skirt of her white dress and pouted, "Enzo!"
"Anne," Enzo the Toxicroak continued, "We're waiting. Come."
The odd Pokemon named Anne draped her arm around the Xatu instead and raised a finger to the bird's beak. "... Beakley. Beakley?" She then pointed a finger at Enzo. "... Enzo!"
"Vincent." The voice not coming from the frowning Toxicroak, an astonished Anne looked back over her shoulder to see a crutch-bearing Scizor in a straw tricorn introduce himself. "Now that we're done proper introductions," the insect said with an edge of annoyance, "Let's get to Captain's Ire. Barbosa and Emmanuel are ahead and waiting for us, Anarchy."
"Anarchy Anne!" Anarchy exclaimed this for herself with a proud grin as she leaned over to the Xatu to clarify, "That's what they call me, Beakley. Oh! I've got an idea: you should come with me!"
Both Vincent and Enzo stated, "No." When met with Anarchy's disapproving stare and her tapping boot, Vincent decided to explain. "This is private business. We can't just bring in uninvited guests to see the damn bastard, Anarchy."
The ghoulish Pokemon replied, smirking, "I know that much, but we're just going to walk and talk, Beakley and I! There's no harm in that! Am I not sensible?" Before she could let Vincent react with a wisecrack, she added over Enzo's low and anxious croak, "Let's go, Beakley. Tell me about yourself!"
"Well, first of all, my name's not Beakley." She wore a calm smile, saying so mostly for the benefit of those who weren't there for the nickname christening. Her tone betrayed her age, if her eyes and feathers didn't show enough signs of it; she was most likely the elder of everyone present. She took up step in the direction of the group's destination, prompting first Anne, then the rest, to fall into Anne's recommendation. It would be harder to ditch her if they were all going the same way, after all. "I am a Seer, just recently recruited on board the Safe Journey. The vessel is stopping here in this port town for a spell." Her gaze cast out among the passersby. "I'm sure the rest of the crew is out and about as well."
Vincent grunted as shuffled along with his crutch. "Well, 'Seer' isn't much of a name, madame," he said. "And I've never heard of the Safe Journey before, either."
Anarchy excitedly cut in. "Is your crew well-known?"
The bird tilted her head up, running feathers along the underside of her beak thoughtfully. "You know, I'm not certain. I've never heard of them before, but I'm far from the first person to ask. The captain calls us the Blue Bands." She looked over to the hobbling gentleman next. "No, Seer is a title, a...pursuit. But Oracle is just as good, if you don't care for that particular title, dear!" she chirped, pleased with the alternative even if it held exactly the same issue.
"And Anne here --" The bird gave a friendly nod to the ghoul at her side. "Nice to meet you, Anne -- she broke up a spat taking place at a game stall I was trying to play." For now, she left out the fact that she was part of that spat. It wasn't exactly becoming of her.
"And you folk?" the Seer asked, looking across the trio. "Sky-farers as well? Landlubbers?" she guessed, before chuckling and covering up her beak with a wing. "Oh, listen to this old bird, already infected with the dialect."
Anarchy pursed her mouth as if she was about to speak, but Vincent quickly cut in. "To summarize," he grunted, giving Anarchy a warning side-eye that left her in a cross-armed huff, "We're a merchant crew who got ourselves into a sorry situation and now we're going to talk to our captain's captain." The limping Scizor's terse response and the low, throaty croak of anxiousness from the otherwise silent Toxicroak made it clear that the situation still left a sour taste. The Oracle sensed this, and aside from a quiet but well-meaning offering of condolences, she left the subject be.
Anarchy though appeared not to share in her fellows' upset and misery, as she leaned over to the Oracle and muttered behind a hand, "Don't mind them... I still know how to hold a proper conversation, haha!"
The ghoul made small talk with the old bird, taking their own precious time as the steely insect continued on with his crutch and splinted leg. Rounding the gabbing girls went the perspiring, poisonous frog to catch up with the lead, and they both exchanged wordless, ornery glances as they weaved through the crowd of natives on the promenade toward Fayn's Retreat.
Last edited: