#anti jessie blackthorn

[fallenranger-archive]

Month of Drabbles: 1

A King’s Regrets

Where did it all go wrong?

The streets of Goldenrod were much like that of Lumoise’s own. Neon signs were everywhere advertising for a new shop, with a digital display advertising Oak’s Talk on the radio. In the medians were miniature gardens, each with a plaque stating that maintenance was done by the gym leader. So much here resembled the Kalosian capital.

Yet, it was here that the red-haired man felt like he stood out. Not counting the height of his hair’s styling, he stood half a head over the rest of the people here. It was a consequence of immortality. Not many other people here had the same shade of red, earning him a few looks. None went beyond a glance, thankfully.

The man appreciated how people seemed to mind themselves here. It would make his search here go a little more smoothly. The subject he was searching for had taken careful steps to not be found, but there are some profiles that cannot be hidden forever.

A middle-aged man was struggling with his wheelchair. The left wheel had gotten caught in a rut by one of the medians, it seemed. His head was hunched over as he focused on pulling his wheel out. “Come on, just a little more-”

“Allow me to help,” the red-haired man placed his hands on the handles, giving a small push without an invitation.

“Oh, thank you-” Twisting in his wheelchair to see the kind stranger, the man revealed his face -- his unhideable face. It twisted with pure rage. “No! Get your filthy paws off! Il ne me faut pas votre aide!”

The standing man’s hand curled more tightly around the handle as he leaned low to whisper. “Cela peut être vrai, mais…” He took a deep breath through his nose as he transitioned his thoughts from the language of the streets to that of his home. “Nous avons besoin d’un tête-à-tête. Chez votre.” He was standing so close that the red-haired man in the wheelchair could smell his cologne.

Shoving the head of his helper back, the man in the wheelchair grumbled. “Fine, fine, it’s not far from here.” He took control of his chair, pushing the wheels forth.

The standing man let go of the chair, following a few paces behind. Despite the protests of his target, he knew that he would not be lead into a trap. He knew this man better than that.

In the elevator of the apartment complex, the two were quiet. The floors seemed to change so slowly. Although there was all of the time the world could offer to the standing man, he was impatient to get this over with. The hallway, was thankfully short. A couple of five-year-old children ran past the two men, unaware of who they were. A third one ran by, but waved. “Hi Mr. Winters!”

The man in the wheelchair stopped wheeling to wave. “Hello Jessie. Be careful not to wake Mix Alena. They’re working nights now.”

“Okay!” Despite the warning, the five-year-old yelled and started running down the stairs.

The man in the wheelchair shook his head before continuing on. After the door to his apartment was unlocked, he tried to open the door by pushing it with his wheelchair. “Don’t touch my door, Lysandre,” he snarled when his companion tried to push it open for him. “Il ne me faut jamais votre aide.”

With the reminder, the standing man, Lysandre, withdrew his hand to his side, following into the apartment. Like Lysandre had expected, the apartment was small. Past the entry was a small living room with a few chairs. Laid over one was a dark colored cloak that reminded Lysandre of the ones used by the dragon tamers who came from Hoenn. Past that was the open kitchen. It had a low table, custom built so that his host could use it, but there were a few stools by the counter that reached up higher.

“Alright, Lysandre, what do you want?”

No time was given to him to catch up. Although, Lysandre did not expect it from his host. He knew better. Lysandre’s fingers interlaced, curling around as he rested his hands on the counter.

“I wanted to see how you were doing, Uncle Aldric. It has been several years since we last met.”

“Try for more than several,” Aldric snarled. “Thirty one years doesn’t seem to fall into that category. But I presume you were busy the past eleven.”

“I was. You should know how busy it gets at the labs.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aldric wheeled himself to get a kettle. “By the way, if you ever see your cher ami Giovanni, tell him he can stick my prosthetic up his ass. It’s his damn fault that I am like this.”

“I was not aware I was on speaking terms with the Kantonian mob boss. I’ll have to go see about paying him a visit,” Lysandre was mostly amused by the flippant tone his host was taking.

“You both are the same. You pretend to love pokemon, enough to gain respect by some official and then you use it to try to either rule the world or blow it up!”

That hurt. Lysandre’s fingers unwound, laying their tips flat on the table. “Our motives are very much different. If anything, had I succeeded, I would have saved pokemon from the likes of the faux gym leader.”

The black kettle was set on the stove. “By doing what, killing them off? Forget Giovanni, you’re more like-”

“Enough!”

Lysandre’s voice bellowed like a pyroar’s in the small apartment, cutting off Aldric. After taking another breath, Lysandre regained his composure, again interlacing his fingers.

“Aldric, the point of my being here is to catch up with you. As you have so aptly pointed out, it has been thirty one years since we last saw each other, since I came to see my cousin. Now, let us continue that strain, unless you would like Mix Alena to report you for hosting a fugitive.”

Given no other choice, Aldric sighed. His face expression softened with grief. “Don’t bring her into this. If she knew what you did -- there is no way that she shouldn't know what you did -” he stopped himself on that strain. “There is no one here for you to visit. She vanished years ago, like you did.”

Lysandre pondered this for a moment. The last time he saw her, it was at a celebration for her passing a test. Although they were physically distant, they kept up through emails with each other. Lysandre and his cousin often discussed what they learned about the human abuses of Pokemon, and also about the inability for, as things currently were, the environment to continue supporting the hobby of Pokemon trainers. Some day there will be no more mega stones but there are still trainers who want one. Is it fair to contribute to this? He thought he went the right way for that. Lysandre was taken out for limiting the demand on such precious resources. He had viewed the route his cousin took as a weak attempt to balance.

“What happened to her?”

The kettle began to whistle, indicating to the taller man that his pondering kept him quiet for a long time. Aldric poured the water into two mugs. “No one will tell me. I was lucky just to have a source that would tell me that she’s gone.” His breath and voice shook as he inhaled. Aldric put down the spoon he took out. “I know that whatever it was that she was doing, she really was doing it for the sake of saving pokemon and their environment. And to allow us humans to live alongside them.”

Lysandre scowled, ready to rebuke his uncle for going down that route again, when a young man shuffled into the kitchen. From his squinting eyes, it was easy to tell he just woke up. The young man appeared to be in his early twenties. He scratched his long red hair. “Gramp, were you making tea?”

It was a scene Lysandre had seen once before, on the weekend he came to visit. Just like this young man, the young lady with short, red hair was barely awake enough to recognize there was anyone else in the kitchen other than Aldric. Aldric mumbled something that sounded like ‘go put a shirt on kid,’ before Aldric waved him off. “Go, go, you’ll get tea later!” The young man finally looked over to see the guest before slowly turning back to the room he came out of and shuffling off. Aldric leaned over and held his head with his hand. “Aye-ya, the boy will be the death of me. If his brother isn’t.”

After exhaling another sigh, Aldric resumed making tea. Once he had stirred himself a cup of foaming matcha and a cup of black tea for Lysandre, he got out another mug and a glass. “The young man with the ability to make the most stunning first impressions is Cameron. He’s your first cousin once removed,” he looked at Lysandre. “You’re going to have to come get your mug, I can’t carry two like this.”

Lysandre reached over and took his respective mug, not bothering to take a sip. It wasn’t done steeping yet. “I presume that cape in the living room is his, then.”

Aldric made a face. “Yes. He just drops it wherever sometimes.” Since his mug didn’t need to steep, he took a sip, lining his upper lip with green foam. “He was just staying the night before he went up to Blackthorne city. He’s in training to become a dragon type gym leader.”

Interesting. “And I thought that Valerie was anti-trainer,” Lysandre commented.

“Yes,” Alric said. “But apparently she changed her mind. A little. More for conscientious trainers now. Which I don’t mind.”

The news didn’t settle well for Lysandre. Both of them abandoned their first ideals. The trend of compromise would never have lead to anything. He finally sipped his tea. “What caused her to change her mind?”

A hydreigon dragged itself into the kitchen, coming from the room Cameron departed to earlier. Just like the red-haired man, it too seemed to be half asleep still. “That,” Aldric answered. “That is why. Some spook was smuggling in deinos through the region, and Valerie had the misfortune to rescue one her kid latched onto.”

The three-headed dragon levitated past Aldric, stopping to give Lysandre a sniff before continuing to the living room. There, it flopped down on the couch.

“Stupid thing sheds black feathers,” Aldric mumbled. He looked back at the room. “You better finish up your tea and then get going. I know the boys won’t be as kind as I was about treating you as a guest.”

#Drabble #//Today is short because running out of writing muse #Guest characters