This is an invitation. Please talk about ceruledge Ingo and armarouge emmet. Whatever part you like the best. Ingo immediately after his possession. Ingo in Hisui. The eventual reunion. I love the whole thing. Guy who is also a different guy with purple armor instead of a body. Guy who becomes a Pokémon sometimes when the spirit of battle overtakes him. But not so much of an animal that people treat him like a pet. Just a guy.
You know what, I will tell you all about Ceruledge Ingo!
So, fun fact- when you're on a trip to another region and you find some weird armor, you definitely should not touch it. Now, to be fair to Ingo, it probably pulled him in- compelled him. You would think having another ghost/fire type as his starter Pokemon would help build up some resistance to that shit, but no. Not really.
So Ingo gets possessed by Ceruledge's armor. He doesn't realize it at first. Goes back home thinking everything is normal. He does notice that lately he's been feeling awfully tired, which is strange, because he's certain he's getting a full night's rest. He's a little grumpier than usual, snappier, but people chalk that up due to lack of rest. Meanwhile, there's been a strange black and purple Pokemon in armor roaming the streets of Nimbasa, challenging anyone who seems strong and attacks them without mercy....
...but these two things couldn't possibly be connected, right? Right???
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Long Time, Not Seen
She wasn’t exactly sure what to say.
“Welcome home”? “Good to see you”? “Oh brilliant, I’ve been taking care of the Bureau while you’ve been gone, there’s a new crack in the ceiling from Muta’s failed baking attempt”?
Maybe an old version of her would say all of that. Sweep aside the anger and the demand for accountability and just… Accept what happened. All's well that ends well, right? The Bureau was still standing, the Earth still turning, and time just kept passing.
Not this version of her. No longer frightened and helpless and unsure.
She leaned further back in the chair, propping her feet on the desk. The twitch of his eye told her how much he disliked it. She hadn’t a place in her mind or heart to care. Not when he had no right to stand in her office.
He flashes her his million dollar smile, the one reserved for pretty clients and obnoxious ones. When she remains unaffected, he coughs, tries the simpler, patient one. It’s no more dazzling, but Haru’s learned not to look where he directs you to. She sees straight through to him, to where he hides his heart.
Solid oak. Doesn’t beat.
“How can I help you today, sir?” she asks, tilting her chin back to look past his left shoulder. Despite her anger, she’s afraid to look straight into his eyes. Even that green could captivate her wounded heart. She has to remain strong, sure of herself. She won’t let this be swept under the rug. But she’ll play this game long enough to get a kernel of satisfaction. She’s petty like that.
“A cold greeting for an old… Friend, isn’t it Haru?”
He hesitates around the word friend, which makes her heart clench in traitorous and conflicted ways. Even the familiar purr of her name does something to her insides, all cells of her longing and pining and wishing and wanting.
‘He wouldn’t have left without a word for no reason. Surely there’s something going on? Surely he still needs me, needs my help? He came back, didn’t he? Every time, he came back,’ she thinks, half frantically.
She takes her delicate, half hopeful heart, still engraved with the feel of his lips and the memory of their past, and cracks it in half herself.
No one gets to hurt her like that again.
“I don’t know what you mean. I see no friends in this building, besides my lovely little teapot, just an arrogant client who forgets who he’s talking to.”
His heels click as he steps towards the desk, setting his hat on the desk (‘With no respect for my paperwork’) and starting to discard his coat. He looks perturbed, maybe a little irritated, but so far she’s given him no reason to think that he’s not in control of the situation. It ignites a righteous, bitter fury that he thinks so little of her in that way.
“Come now, Miss Haru-” ah, back to Miss then, “I have a lot of work to catch up on. Please, fill me in on all I missed.”
He looks so expectant.
Haru forgets petty. Forgets angry, forgets hurt, forgets betrayed. Hell, forgets heartbroken and yet in love for a second.
Haru gets righteous.
“I,” she says, slowly rising from her chair.
“Am not,” she hisses, the walls of the Sanctuary shuddering against her venom.
“Your damn,” she practically howls over his indignant gasp, the sheer lunacy over being scandalized over a grown woman swearing.
“Secretary!”
The Sanctuary answers her call, her plea, her venom, and shutters its doors, locks its windows. The walls creak as they struggle to pitch forward, folding down to envelope and protect her.
Baron shouts, taking steps away from her desk and towards the front door, panicked and brash. He looks around wild, rejected by the place that’s always let him come back.
Only then does the building settle, wallpaper wrapping tendrils of support around her forearms, tea cups rattling off the shelf and perfectly served on the desk. She breathes in the scent of her homemade brew, familiar and heartbreaking in equal measures. Only when her hands stop shaking, and she feels he’s suffered the silence just enough, does Haru meet Baron.
Brown eyes to green.
Her heart does a flip, but she crushes it flat.
“Times have changed, Baron Humbert von Gikkingen,” she says, pulling her chair back to the desk, “and I’m not one to forsake what change I’ve been given.”
The Sanctuary met her meaning, jostling the umbrella holder closer so she could pluck her own cane out, and tossed the sleek white sunhat onto her desk. She dressed herself, calm and poised, and came around the desk to stand before him.
At ease and within her own domain.
“Good evening, sir,” she spoke, never breaking eye contact, “welcome to the Bureau.”
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