Chapter 45 – Day 17, Part 1: Handsome

Chapter 45: Day 17, Part 1 – Handsome

With his next step, Ricinus would come closer to his future than ever before.

Ahead of him lay the tower of his desires, a monument to his past sins and eventual rise to something greater. Pokemon of all shapes and sizes walked right past him, ignorant to his status, crossing the threshold beyond the blessed archway as though it were normal to do such a thing.

His ribbons twitched. His tail ached to sway. The piece of cloth granted to him, one that would cement his passage through those illustrious doors, constricted his throat and made it hard for him to breathe. Ricinus’ whole body coursed with a heat that had not been there seconds prior.

Aven, who was standing patiently beside him, offered his own heat to Ricinus’ flank as though it would cancel out the other.

“…You alright, Riz?” he said.

Ricinus swallowed a lump in his throat. The dryness of his mouth became readily apparent the second his name was spoken. Although it had been agreed upon to maintain a guise of secrecy, that other name—a peasant’s name—irritated Ricinus further. It was only Aven’s low, sweet voice that fought to cure the Sylveon’s anxiety.

“Yes,” Ricinus said hoarsely. “Just…I am simply taking in the significance of this.”

The Lycanroc was slow to respond. “…So am I,” he said in a surprising display of verbal input. It was likely he was weighing whether or not it was appropriate to speak so freely. A landmark moment such as this relied heavily on the words of the Sylveon—not the Lycanroc. Yet, he spoke them anyway.

It was no wonder as to what the reason was. Kebia castle had been an object of both of their daydreams since long before they formed a partnership. Long before Ricinus concocted a formula that would thrust him beyond those doors and into the throne room.

He was, by his estimates, about five or so years early. Or ten. Or fifteen. However long it would have taken to will himself into action. Or however long it would have taken to convince others that he could walk past that archway…doing so with a crown and a royal bearing.

Ricinus took a step and immediately felt faint.

“Eugh…”

“Riz-!” Before Ricinus could so much as lose his footing, two strong paws steadied him, centering his shoulders. “We can…still turn around,” Aven murmured, his growls slow and raspy.

Ricinus sighed deeply. “No…no, I can’t.” The dizziness subsided, but the prospect of another step made him nauseous. “This is the most important moment of our lives, Aven. I need to do this.”

“I could kill him for you.”

Ricinus detected a hint of a growl in Aven’s voice and scoffed. “This isn’t about Canary,” he said. “Or Crane. Or The Count, even.”

The extra tension in Aven’s shoulders, the tightening of his grip despite his reluctance to hurt the Sylveon, the slight tremble in his voice…all leading to him saying: “Still. I could make him hurt. Make him bleed. Rip his arms off.” There was eagerness there. A thirst.

And Ricinus could feel it too. He yearned for it. Canary deserved to be dismembered for his arrogance.

But now was not the time.

If he could, Ricinus would tear out his own ribbons for the courage to lean his head back and nuzzle his cheek against the Lycanroc’s neck. A throat-rattling growl, an intertwining of tails—anything to quell the intensity. No one knew who they were in this city, so it did not matter how open they were about their desires. Instead, Ricinus did the princely thing and held his head up high. “Come,” he said, marching ahead. “Keep me upright—I might collapse.”

“…I got you.” The trembling remained, but Aven’s grip lost its strength, becoming softer than the blackened tufts of fur atop his head.

Kebia’s air breathed an uneasy apprehension into Ricinus that prickled at his nostrils. It was busy, like Rabuta, but lacked that same wariness to its inhabitants. Leisurely strolls were normal to these pokemon. Excess was written on their faces, taken shape through youth, fat, and health. They slept in beds fit for kings, and worked under ceilings higher than most fletching birds would fly, no doubt.

As Ricinus walked, ears perked for reasons he was not conscious of, he cast glances at the various services and shops that sat on the edges of the path. Stores and food-places so brazen that they left out samples of their products for potential customers. Flowers snaked through the streets while autumn leaves fluttered down like snowflakes. There was the occasional pink Gracidea leaf, as well, and Ricinus wondered how much monpower it took to keep the streets maintained.

Eventually, Ricinus came to a halt at the apex of an intersection, two paths leading further into Kebia. His eyes fell on a fountain near the center of an open area, which held various conversing mons at its base. Gold sparkling stars shimmered from within the pool below them—money tossed as an offering, or simply just because. Atop said fountain was a bronze statue.

Ricinus studied the statue with a scrutinizing gaze. From its steely, almost saddened eyes, down to the cape draped stiffly from its shoulders. He recognized the species as a Gallade immediately, but its significance was lost on him.

This bothered him. Ricinus considered himself an expert on Enigma history. All rulers had to be experts in some respects, after all. But this Gallade may as well have not existed to him.

“Who is that?” he wondered to himself aloud. Without a second thought, Ricinus snapped his head to a passerby—a Swellow—and cracked his ribbon like a whip at the air. “You there! Tell me who this is!”

His other ribbon gestured to the statue, but it grew stiff before he finished his sentence.

The Swellow stopped in their tracks and flinched. And then within an instant they scrunched up their beak in disgust. “Go read a book, creep,” they said, fluttering off hastily.

The insides of Ricinus’ ears burned red while he watched the spot the bird flew from. Right, he was not within the Oriole anymore. How long had it been since he had to…walk among the masses? Too long, it seemed.

Aven growled from behind him. “I can shoot ’em do-“

“No, Aven,” Ricinus snapped. “We should…get to the castle.”

He heard a grunt, but Ricinus paid Aven no mind. The Dewott would need to be found rather quickly to make up for this blunder. Back when Ricinus was an Eevee he was so adept at talking to mons, too. Perhaps he could channel his younger self within the castle.

Embarrassment turned to shock, however, as Ricinus rounded the corner and finally came face-to-face with the outer walls of Kebia Castle. His eyes trailed up from the cobblestone path laid before him, to the massive doors marking the entrance, to the windows and bricks and spires of the structure.

It was not difficult to imagine himself being an Eevee again, what with how small he felt. Kebia Castle was big. He could use more grandiose words to describe it, but words paled in comparison to actually being there, dwarfed by something so awe inspiring.

Ricinus had spent years watching it from a distance, trying his damndest to fathom what it was that thoroughly sunk into the minds of every mon on the continent. What it was that truly caused that war thirty years prior.

But now he understood. It spoke for itself. Enigma was Kebia Castle. Everything Enigma was and ever would be rippled from these castle walls and back again.

Here, at the foot of its glory, Ricinus knew: anyone who controlled the castle controlled the continent and everything within it. It was a marvel of design and architecture, but its presence meant so much more.

The fur on the back of his neck prickled, and through the stupefaction Ricinus nearly gagged on a feeling he could not place from a source he could not see. He related it to his years in hiding. All of that time spent, forced to be something he wasn’t, broken down by a single Zoroark.

Anger. Anger at Anemone. Anger at Canary and Crane. Anger at every mon that lived in the castle. Anger at the meticulously maintained shrubbery and pottery along the path leading in. Anger at himself.

This was not how it was supposed to go.

He did not hear Aven speak at first. To Ricinus, his words were a rumble behind a closed door. It was only after a warm paw touched his shoulder that he finally blinked.

“What?” Ricinus gasped.

Aven was in front of him now, his eyes full of concern. “You stopped,” he said.

Ricinus swallowed. He attempted to lift a paw, but it simply would not move. If he could bring himself to look, Ricinus guessed that someone had tied rocks to his legs while he was not looking. The next words he spoke were raspy and uncertain. “Does it…does it not bother you?”

Not a word left Aven’s mouth. He waited for elaboration that would never come.

Ricinus shook his head and cleared his throat. “We need to get inside. Come.” He turned his attention to the entrance to the castle at the end of the path, only to pause when he noticed that Aven was not following his gaze.

Aven’s eyes barely shifted, the Lycanroc remaining almost completely still. He only changed his posture to point over his shoulder. “…There’s a guard,” he said.

“So?” The word surprised Ricinus before it even left his mouth. Was he thinking of just walking in?

“You said…they would ask questions. On the ride in—that’s what you said…” Now Aven was sounding unsure.

But he was right. The grandiose nature of the castle must have halted Ricinus’ judgement. Peering over Aven’s side, Ricinus caught a glimpse of a muscular Pangoro standing in front of the doors with crossed arms. With biceps larger than tree trunks, the guard inspired caution even in those that worked there, most likely.

“Yes,” Ricinus said slowly. “I want to avoid being locked out before I even get to walk in.” He shot a pointed look at Aven. “And I want to avoid any fights. Or sneaking in, if possible.”

That really only left them with the option to walk in. Ricinus had told himself that if he lost that option he would think of something else by the time they arrived. But the thought unfortunately slipped from his mind during their journey. Now they were here, and his mind was racing.

“I could distract ’em,” Aven muttered.

And leave me alone?

The thought sounded so weak and pathetic within his own head. What he said next would make up for it, he decided. “No, there’s another way in.”

Although his expression did not change, Ricinus could see the doubt in Aven’s eyes. All he did was stare wordlessly, though, the silence saying more than he ever could.

Ricinus huffed. “You won’t be able to come in after me, you know,” he said with a flick of his ears. “Not with the bouncer on your tail.” It certainly did not help that Aven lacked a scarf matching Ricinus’ colors.

Aven shrugged. “I want what you want.”

“I want…” But Ricinus trailed off. All of a sudden the small satchel on his side weighed heavier than the rocks tied to his legs. He wanted Aven there. He wanted there to be a reason not to use that seed Canary gave him. Several times throughout their trip Ricinus considered outright throwing it away.

How could I not think ahead? Ricinus thought. Was I really that distracted?

Gingerly, Aven squeezed Ricinus’ shoulder, whispering in a deep voice, “Riz…”

Ricinus sighed, the air like cold needles as it left his throat. “Go. Meet me back outside later.”

There was a pause. Aven tensed.

“…I’ll be fine,” Ricinus eventually said. “I am a prince. I can handle myself.”

Aven seemed to regret his own suggestion, but after nodding he plodded towards the entrance of the castle, his claws clicking against the cobblestone.

While not following immediately, Ricinus kept to a reasonable enough distance to not elicit suspicion. He hid behind a pot of flowers some distance away from the entrance, using the passing pokemon as additional cover.

Aven was further up ahead, approaching what looked to be a young couple enjoying a picnic some ways away from the main path out of the castle. Not Ricinus’ first choice, but Aven deciding to interrupt their moment by stomping all over their food certainly garnered a lot of attention. A shrill scream, a clambering and turning heads, and finally the altercation erupting into an outright brawl between Aven and a Mienfoo.

In between the trademark smacks and thuds of combat, loud stomping sounded out further up ahead. It was the Pangoro, now decidedly boiling with rage, who barged into the forming crowd to break the scuffle apart.

Ricinus quickly realized that this was his chance. Ignoring how brutal it was starting to sound, Ricinus cast one final glance over his shoulder before dashing past a few surprised onlookers into the crack of the double doors.

---

Despite the fact that Ricinus could often become invested in his princely persona, his knowledge of high society was quite limited. Most of the literature on fine dining and royal tradition was either too rare or written in the human language. To most pokemon, that additional knowledge was not needed. They knew about as much as he did.

Even still, the state of Kebia Castle’s interior made Ricinus want to lecture its interior designers on the ethics of defacing something so magnificent. Castles were meant to be sacred places, home to the elite and wealthy, and should be treated as such.

They were not community centers, where reckless adventurers track their dirt. Or playgrounds for unsupervised children. Festive decorations should not hang from the chandeliers, some amount of peace and quiet should always be maintained, and- Arceus, the carpet!

Sweet Xerneas’ hooves, that carpet!

Anger flared so vehemently it reached Ricinus’ curling toes. If there had not been a horrible chill creeping up his spine, his tail might have puffed out in fury. The fur around his neck was already damp with sweat, it was only a matter of time before his eyes would pop out of his skull, too. Such a horrible first impression was almost enough to make him forget about what he came here to do in the first place.

Almost.

There were eyes on him, Ricinus just knew it. Even though the pokemon at the front desk had not noticed him, he knew full well how secure the security here could be. The more time he wasted, the harder it would be to leave. He readjusted the teal scarf around his neck as he took a look around.

If I was a Dewott with secrets to hide, where would I be…

An indoor pool, maybe? No, that was too obvious. Regardless, starting on the first floor sounded like a solid idea. Ricinus kept his head down on his way down the right side hall, past the right staircase.

A long hallway extended in front of him, accentuated by tall windows pierced by lingering sunlight, unlit candelabra, and the distinct chatter of casual conversation. Like the streets outside, Kebia was awash with activity, and mons like a duo of Goomy and a lone Beartic glided across the carpet absentmindedly.

Ricinus perked up his ears as he walked at a brisk pace, trying to catch any relevant snippets.

“What?” gasped a Bellsprout.

“Yeah,” a Pawniard replied, “I hear Colbur Village burned down.”

“But…why? Who could’ve-“

It was anyone’s guess, but not Ricinus’. He kept walking, picking up a conversation between a Plusle and Minun.

“You know, I’ve always wondered how a Vanilluxe mates.”

“They would freeze you, bro.”

“Really? Honestly-“

Ricinus had not even reached the end of the hallway and he was already losing hope. Not only were the pokemon here as bland as sand, there were just too many of them. The chances that Ricinus would happen upon a mon that knew something was slim.

It was when he felt the familiar chill of flowing air that he decided that he needed to start asking questions. At the very least, he needed to find where the water type pokemon resided.

The breeze originated from an outcrop in the wall—a passageway to a courtyard. From there, Ricinus looked on in bemusement at the activity on display. In little clusters in the courtyard pokemon fired off elemental attacks and engaged in focused sparring. The grass, or what little of it there was, had been trampled hundreds of times over.

Ricinus scanned the field in search of anything noteworthy. There was a Sudowoodo practicing their skills in chopping logs and failing, a Blaziken fighting multiple other mons at once and somehow succeeding, and, curiously, a Samurott.

That last one caught Ricinus’ eye. While yes, he was looking for a Dewott that seemingly had no prior attachments, species tended to stick together. Ricinus could still remember the Eevees he had met as a young child and how they formed their own little gang. It was nostalgic to think about; they got up to so much mischief.

Oddly, his relations with other eons these days were near non-existent. Such pokemon were far from rare, but Ricinus could count the names of eons he remembered on his toes. After his teenage years they all seemed to vanish from his life.

Either way, perhaps this Samurott knew something. As Ricinus darted through the yard, however, avoiding any stray dregs of combat, he soon took note that the Samurott was in the middle of a sparring session of his own.

The middle-aged Samurott barked, clearly agitated, “Much too slow! Try again!”

There was a Frogadier across from him in the midst of getting back to his feet. He coughed up something dry, clutching his shoulder. Water formed in his hand, warbling and shifting unnaturally, until it finally shaped into a lumpy ball of liquid. Frogadier dashed straight for the Samurott with the ball of water in hand, before being swat away like a pesky Joltik.

“Agh!” Frogadier flew onto his back once more. The water dissipated.

“You call that a Water Shuriken?” Samurott snapped. “Again!”

Water Shuriken? Ricinus thought in confusion. A Frogadier wouldn’t be capable of fighting in that style until they evolve. That is, unless this is some form of early training?

Before the Frogadier had the chance to pick himself back up, Ricinus cleared his throat. “Excuse me?” Ricinus said.

The Samurott glanced at Ricinus for only a second. “Not now!” he snarled. “I’m busy!”

Ricinus was unsure if the water type even saw him, let alone acknowledged him. It read like a general response.

“It will only take a moment of your time.” Ricinus took a step closer. “I am looking for a Dewott.”

That got his attention. Samurott whirled on Ricinus faster than he could blink. “I said. I’m busy,” he hissed darkly. There was a fierceness behind his glare, one that had only just emerged.

Ricinus blinked. He had to ask himself, what was this Samurott so frustrated over? That reaction of his was much too pointed to ignore.

Regardless, the Samurott had his gaze back on his training partner before Ricinus could ask more. He shouted “Again!” without any helpful guidance.

And so the process repeated. The Frogadier formed a misshapen blob of water before thrusting himself at the Samurott, only to fail, again. Ricinus narrowed his eyes and watched for another couple attempts, wondering in vain if it would ever stop.

When it didn’t, and in fact continued like clockwork, Ricinus walked off back to the castle halls. “That was pointless,” he muttered under his breath.

He should have known better, though. Samurott were such proud species that Ricinus might have ended up in a sparring match if he chose his words poorly, only to find that the old mon knew nothing.

There were other leads to find. But Ricinus did not get far before he had to stop. Once his toes met the floor of the castle, another chill spread down his spine. Immediately, his ears darted upward in search of anything out of the ordinary. He looked left and right, fur on the back of his neck standing on end. But he saw nothing noteworthy. Not even a set of eyes watching him. Just the same wandering masses as before.

Why did he feel like he was being watched?

A moment later his shoulders relaxed, and Ricinus blew out a sigh. This was wrong. Not what he was doing—the castle itself. He found it hard to believe that all of these pokemon could walk through these halls without constantly looking over their shoulder. Just being here made Ricinus want to scratch at his fur, get those prying eyes out of his skin.

It was right then and there that Ricinus decided that he hated this place, and when he was in charge, every corner and every wall would be flushed out. There wouldn’t be a single nail or plank of wood remaining that Ricinus had not placed himself. It would be new and fresh and free of this disgusting, moldy air.

The second he returned to the Oriole, he would have to start planning; Ricinus refused to rule over a castle such as this.

For now, he wanted to escape the invisible gaze. He stomped to the set of stairs down the hallway and headed up to the second floor, if only to cover more ground.

Almost as soon as his paws touched the midway point of the stairs, his ears caught the sound of commotion. Voices, primarily those of young children, resided somewhere ahead of him.

He almost turned right back around. It was downright habitual for Ricinus to avoid children. Canary’s trick still lingered in his mind, making him shiver. The only reason he continued further was because he knew he could avoid them and walk past them—unlike in the Oriole.

At the top of the stairs was a crowd of pokemon surrounding a boisterous Lucario. An entertainer, no doubt, what with all of the younger children watching him with sparkles in their eyes. When he spoke, Ricinus’s ears pressed against his head.

“It was THIRTY YEARS ago now when Neo the Fencer—yours truly—fought TWO towering Aggrons at once and LIVED to tell the tale!” the Lucario announced loudly. Several of the children expressed their amazement with various ‘oohhs’ and ‘aahhs.’

“Oh yes,” he continued, a smug look on his face, “you best believe, I am the greatest explorer that ever lived. And do you know why?”

The entire crowd of enamored children chimed out, “Why!”

Neo “the Fencer” put his palms together then separated them slowly, unveiling a beam of blue light underneath, gradually extending into a long bone club. He held it out in front of him as though it were the most amazing source of power in the world.

With the click of his tongue, he proclaimed, “The Aurrrrra~”

And the crowd exploded into astonishment.

Ricinus, however, rolled his eyes, and continued walking past. Even though he was not surprised to see one here, Lucarios were rare in this part of the world. They were often solitary creatures, with a culture that emphasized intellectual and philosophical enlightenment. Back during the war, very few contributed, and those that did only fought due to certain circumstances.

Neo “the Fencer” here was an example of those that weaponized their enlightenment for personal gain. Ricinus had no interest in stroking the mon’s ego.

His attention was better spent elsewhere. But when he chanced a glance back, checking to see if there was another path behind the crowd, something caught his eye.

A flash of light blue amidst a sea of color.

Ricinus did a double take. Then a triple take. And finally a quadruple take for good measure. Mainly because the pokemon he was looking at only somewhat resembled a Dewott at a glance.

Creeping closer, Ricinus examined the blue fur of the mon standing near the back of the crowd, ignoring the obnoxious remarks of the Lucario as he continued his routine.

Blue fur…lighter than any Dewott Ricinus had ever seen. Pale, almost ghostly in appearance. More than a little off-putting from where Ricinus was standing. And if that wasn’t enough, their fur was horribly unkempt. Like they woke up one day and decided that they would never groom again. From their Miltank-licked forehead fur, to their frazzled whiskers, to the dark blue fur flowing around their pelvis like a tree in the wind.

How tall they were…much too tall. And much too thin. Their posture, too. Somehow both slouched and lacking that subtle pride Dewotts were known for.

No, this one hardly looked proud. In fact, they looked quite displeased. With themselves, their surroundings, or both—Ricinus did not know.

But that scarf. That sloppy, purple scarf. Even if Ricinus was not looking for a Dewott that matched this exact description, he still guessed that they would easily stand out in a crowd. They certainly did right now.

Stranger still were their eyes. Green—which was odd on its own. When Ricinus looked into those eyes, however, he saw resignation mixed with trepidation. The eyes of someone who had given up, or at least, someone who lacked the conviction to express their discomfort.

But for a brief flicker, Ricinus saw something more. Something that nearly relaxed him, making him wonder if who he was looking at knew something he didn’t. Compassion? Or maybe it was longing…

It should have been obvious by now that the Dewott was looking straight at Ricinus, a scrutinizing look about their face. When they opened their mouth and started to speak, Ricinus heard the voice of a young male mon, smooth yet brash.

“Um…” was how their conversation started.

Ricinus blinked, finally realizing what was happening. “Oh, excuse me,” he said.

“Can I…help you?” The Dewott asked. He sounded bewildered, as though the question had no right leaving his own mouth.

Clearing his throat, Ricinus put on a slight smile. Friendly, and only a little bit flirtatious. Enough to seem nervous while not being nervous himself. He chuckled, “I did not mean to stare. You stood out to me, that is all.”

The Dewott raised an eyebrow, curiously. “Stood out?” he questioned. Then he scoffed. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Oh.” Drat. Was that too forward?

It was brief, but Ricinus saw the Dewott’s paddle tail lash out behind him. The edges of his lips fell in exasperation as he took responsibility for his mishap immediately.

“That’s not…” The Dewott sighed. One of his paws fell on the back of his head and scratched it. “Man, what am I doing? Sorry, I’ve been having a bad couple of days.”

Dearie me, how cute.

The way he took it upon himself to fix his rudeness, regardless of whether or not Ricinus was offended, did not go unnoticed. The way he composed himself, both in his appearance and demeanor, told Ricinus that this was a mon that put all of his energy into speaking his mind, not brushing his fur. A diamond in the rough.

Ricinus could not stop his smile from getting bigger if he tried. He said, “It’s quite alright. We both started poorly.”

As much as he hated to admit it, that wasn’t a lie. Thankfully, this was quickly turning into a wonderful start. They already had something in common.

The Dewott’s next words came out awkwardly. “Bear with me for a second,” he started, “who are you?”

Ricinus hesitated, saying, “You can call me…Riz.” His delivery of the fraudulent name made the Sylveon suddenly remember that the Reviser Seed was lodged deep within the pockets of his bag, not in his cheek.

For a moment, Dewott relaxed his shoulders, only to raise them again. “Riz, got it. I’m…”

How peculiar, he hesitated, too.

“…Oswald.”

And there it is.

Oswald. Oswald Oswald Oswald. It sounded foreign in Ricinus’ mind—perhaps even alien in some ways. The pokemon of Enigma rarely took on names that referenced back to the ancient humans, due to the stigma behind them. Continents such as Tojunn and even parts of Orochalco, where most Lucario resided, took it upon themselves to co-opt these names, and give them new meaning. It was possible he originated from there. Though those from neighboring continents viewed such practices as bad luck, or even disrespectful. Both Tojunn and Orochalco retained their isolationism after the war.

This Dewott—Oswald as he was called—simply did not remind Ricinus of any such description. If he were not looking for a human impersonator Ricinus might have just assumed Oswald aimed to break stereotypes.

Ricinus smiled, extending a ribbon to shake. “Charmed,” he said.

Oswald raised an eyebrow, but it seemed that had more to do with the comment than the gesture. He took Ricinus’ ribbon in-paw and shook it up and down tentatively, but with assurance. One more sign that Ricinus found the right mon.

“Yeah, you too,” Oswald replied. “Still didn’t answer my question.”

“Hm?” The Sylveon’s ribbon swathed back to his shoulder.

Oswald explained, gesturing with his paws by twirling them around in a circle above his head, “You know…why were you staring?”

A slight smile curved onto Ricinus’ muzzle. “Staring? I don’t recall you asking about that before?”

Oswald looked quite vexed, his brows furrowing and his arms now crossed. Just that one little playful comment irked him enough to invite a more intent stare, one step away from groaning in frustration. Ricinus could feel Oswald’s eyes glowering into him, trying to figure him out, almost physically pushing deeper.

“You know what I mean,” Oswald huffed.

He really is handsome when he’s mad.

Had this been a few years prior Ricinus could have seen himself attempting to seduce the Dewott, getting him looser and more infatuated. He met males like this all the time, always acting tougher than they were and getting flustered when Ricinus would brush his tail against them. It wouldn’t have been difficult to make Oswald question his sexuality, not when Ricinus was around—he could tell.

It would have been fun, and breaking his heart would have been the cherry on top. But as attractive as he was, Ricinus had to remind himself that this mon allegedly was not as he seemed. Pokemon with secrets always come back around, even when Ricinus did not want them to.

For Oswald’s sake, Ricinus clarified—albeit with a larger smile, now. “I was wondering what was happening over here and you, heh, caught my eye,” he said, his tone sweet and innocent. “Apologies.”

Oswald, despite his quirked brow and incredulous smirk, seemed to believe that. “Huh,” the Dewott laughed, “I guess I do stand out, don’t I?” He turned his head and regarded the crowd. “Was it not obvious?”

“Obvious…?”

“Er, what’s going on,” Oswald cleared up. “It’s just some performance for kids, nothing crazy.”

Indeed. The sound of Neo’s theatrical lack of modesty reached Ricinus’ ears, previously tuned out due to his new eye-candy. Looking back over, Ricinus caught sight of two young children hanging from the Lucario’s biceps like they were in a jungle gym. How fun. He looked back at Oswald.

“He’s quite boisterous, isn’t he?” Ricinus asked. There were other words he could use, but the two of them were not that familiar yet.

Oswald chuckled and returned the gaze. “Yeah, he’s a hack. I’m only here because my…teammate needed something to do.”

Ah, so he was not entirely alone. Though that scarf of his should have given that away. Ricinus cocked his head. “Teammate? You have a teammate?”

Oswald pointed at the crowd nonchalantly. “I do. He’s the purple Solosis.”

It did not take Ricinus long to find the blob of purple goo bobbing up and down, chanting along with the other children. Solosis had a distinct level of control over their liquid shell, so the unique color was nothing surprising. His age was actually more perplexing, as it made Ricinus wonder why Oswald had a child for a teammate.

“He’s quite young,” Ricinus commented.

There was a shrug from Oswald out of the corner of Ricinus’ eye. “Me and my other teammate took him in when we found him in some geezer’s attic. And uh…okay, when I say it out loud it sounds kinda weird. We’re just taking care of him until we find out what we’re gonna do with him…I guess.”

No, Ricinus understood, unfortunately. Oswald was very young and already had a partner and a child. A surrogate child, even. That made him marginally less attractive, and to add onto that, Ricinus just remembered that Aven was still dealing with an angry doorkeeper outside. Time to focus on the task at hand.

Ricinus’ ears flicked back in Oswald’s direction. “Well, I just arrived this morning,” he said brightly. “I’m still taking it all in, and wow. It’s quite a marvelous feat, this castle. How long have you been working here, Oswald?”

Once again, Ricinus felt Oswald’s eyes on him, but this time the Dewott’s expression flattened to reflect some degree of uncertainty. He reached down to rub one of his scalchops, likely gauging whether or not to even answer the question.

“About…two weeks,” Oswald answered. “I’m uh, not from here.”

That was two clues, just like that. They were even in the same train of thought. It was clear now that Oswald was the pokemon The Count was looking for. So much so that Ricinus genuinely wondered if this was a trap. After all, if Oswald were trying to hide, why would he not lie?

Two weeks was recent enough, Oswald’s answer was very non-specific, and his often quivering voice denoted some definite anxiety. If he was lying he was very bad at it. Who was this Dewott…

Ricinus’ tail swayed behind him. “That so? So recent, and you already found yourself a little friend, heh.” He tilted his head in the direction of the Solosis. “You must be a very busy mon.”

Oswald visibly deflated at that. “…It’s been a long couple of weeks,” he said with a sigh. His eyes abruptly shifted downward, growing wider. “Hold on…wait, I recognize that scarf color…”

Lifting a ribbon to touch the thin piece of cloth around his neck, Ricinus quietly swallowed. This could go poorly if he was not careful.

“Is that normal?” Ricinus wondered, now acutely aware of the blandness of the cloth. “There are only so many colors—some that certain pokemon cannot even see.”

It seemed that a slight change in subject paid off. The corners of Oswald’s lips curled upward, and his voice rose another octave. “I know, right? They’re so cheap, too. No designs or anything. Lace just put mine in a gift basket and said ‘you’re one of us now.'” He said that last bit in a mocking tone.

This was good, Ricinus could go along with this. “It was the same for me,” he said. “How do they know for certain who is who when the colors are so similar to each other?”

“Dunno.” Oswald shrugged his shoulders. “You’d think with all the money in the world they could afford something a bit more fancy. Even the door locks are faulty, it’s sketchy.” He narrowed his eyes at nothing in particular.

“You know,” Ricinus giggled, “I was expecting a lot more before I arrived. And now that I’m here…I must be honest: it is a bit disappointing.”

A pang of satisfaction hit Ricinus as soon as the words left his mouth. Because it was true—Kebia Castle fell well below his expectations. Someone needed to know how he felt.

And with that, Oswald broke into a full-blown grin. He said, “I was expecting to be talked down to by some prissy, stuck-up noble the second I walked in. But no. Everyone here is an asshole, but for different reasons.”

Arceus, Ricinus could relate. Back at the Oriole he had been expecting to come into contact with countless rude and callous bullies, but in the end most of them acted like the prissy nobles Oswald just mentioned. It was all backwards. Oswald should have been the one hiding away in the Oriole. At least then he could find some proper friends that were not random children he found in someone’s attic.

Speaking of-

Before Ricinus could open his mouth, the crowd nearby erupted into thunderous applause, cutting both of them off. He snapped his head in the performer’s direction just in time to catch the start of his next bit.

“Be careful with TMs, adventurers!” Neo began, breaking into some sort of impromptu lecture. At least some parts of the performance were educational. “You will find yourself learning so quickly that you might think to skip class! But don’t be fooled…you must still be-“

Oswald’s voice broke Ricinus’ attention. “But whatever,” the Dewott muttered. “I don’t know why- er…yeah. Sorry, forget it.”

When Ricinus turned his head to face Oswald once more, he noticed him looking down and away, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. A moment passed where Ricinus truly drank in the fact that this mon—of all mons—had some sort of important significance in the grand scheme of things. He was a “human,” even if by all accounts he seemed quite bland personality-wise.

There was a very harrowing aspect to that. But Ricinus smiled, regardless. “No, no, not a worry,” he reassured the Dewott. “Go ahead, you are quite pleasant to talk to.”

Oswald grimaced. That last compliment went ignored. “I guess I’m just not used to striking up a conversation with people,” he said. “It’s a…weird situation- I mainly just try to keep to myself.”

“You said you had another teammate?”

Oswald’s gaze immediately fell downcast, a cloud of sadness befalling his green eyes. While it was clear that he had been attempting to remain cordial, this was obviously a sour subject for him. Just mentioning that other teammate left Oswald visibly distant and uncomfortable.

Oh dear, this is getting out of hand.

“I did, yeah,” Oswald affirmed hoarsely. “Though uh…we’ve been going through a bit of a rough patch recently.” His ears fell slack, and Ricinus regretted approaching Oswald in the first place. “We’re giving each other some space.”

Talking to young, vulnerable mons like this always left Ricinus feeling like an unruly Eevee all over again. As in, as far from a prince as he would ever get, listening more than talking, then moving on when things started to get too personal. Usually in moments like this a nagging thought in his brain would resurface and remind Ricinus that he had more important issues to pay attention to. The thought still resurfaced to this day, to the point where it never really retreated again.

It was always there, peering over his shoulder, leaning right into Ricinus’ ear.

I should go. Aven might be in trouble…

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Oswald said. “It’s more my fault than anything else. We’ll figure it out.” The words as he spoke them almost seemed to heal the sadness in his eyes. But they had a pessimistic twinge to them that left Ricinus doubtful. Ricinus blinked and their eyes met, neutral.

Then Oswald smirked like a devious Gengar. “But no, seriously, you look a lot less pretty when you’re sad. It’s fine.”

Oh? Why, this sly dog…

“Really, now?” Ricinus giggled, looking away as though he were smitten by the flattery. Had he appeared despondent before, though? Was it because he was thinking of Aven?

“Yeah, totally,” Oswald reaffirmed. “Your teammates are lucky, whoever they are. And I mean that.”

Lucky? Where was this flirty side of the Dewott coming from? It was almost making Ricinus blush. Almost.

“Well, I don’t hear it from them often,” Ricinus said. “We hardly talk, really.”

These were details that Ricinus made certain to establish before he arrived. His “team,” as they were called, were independent researchers that compiled notes here and there. Otherwise they pursued their own goals without much input from each other.

As it was, Ricinus figured that it was an easy way to deflect questions about them while leading right into…

Oswald raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean you ‘hardly talk?'” he questioned. “Do you not go into mystery dungeons together? I know I don’t anymore; they suck.”

Ricinus widened his smile to appear emphatic over Oswald prying, meeting his expectant gaze with a cordial one. “Oh, no, we are all independent researchers. Like me, right now I’m looking into the ancient humans. Their culture and history and everything in between.”

To think that Ricinus nearly forgot why he was here in the first place. It was very brief. Ricinus had paid close attention to Oswald’s expression the second the word “human” was uttered, looking for anything different.

And it changed. A flash hit Oswald’s eye, his whiskers twitching with the raising of his eyebrows. His mouth fell open in awe. One more detail to note.

“Oh yeah?” Oswald wondered with a slight wavering in his voice. “How’s that going?”

He is such a terrible liar, Ricinus thought.

This was all going according to plan. Ricinus said, “Here, let me show you,” and reached into his satchel. His ribbon brushed against the tiny seed at the bottom of his bag when he went to grab the pamphlet. A chill rushed up his spine, and he spent an entire second wondering if he should take it into the open air. There would likely be no other chance to do so.

Fortunately, this was going well enough to not need it. The Reviser Seed remained in place, while the pamphlet Canary gave him was brought to Ricinus’ front.

“Human cultures are so interesting,” Ricinus stated. “I hear literature such as this lined the walls of buildings larger than this castle, even. Words upon words upon words, just detailing their methods of construction and innovation. Knowledge was their strength, even if their intellect paled in comparison to some pokemon.”

Ricinus had been staring at the cover of the pamphlet, grazing over the peculiar runes and even more peculiar creatures in horrid ritual as they contorted the elements to their will. It was horrifying, which was why Ricinus chose not to focus on it for long, instead choosing to show the front to Oswald.

Oswald gave the pamphlet a strange look. “…I don’t think you’ll be learning much from water parks,” he remarked.

Ears perking higher, Ricinus stared. “Hm? Water parks?”

The Dewott’s eyes grew wide as saucers. Those were words he was not supposed to say, judging by his reaction. His fingers fidgeted in the air in an attempt to mangle the situation back to his favor. The fur on the back of his neck grew to twice its size in an instant.

He quickly corrected himself, saying,” Y-yeah. I actually study humans myself in my spare time.”

“Really? Do you know the language?”

“No.”

Liar.

“That is a shame,” Ricinus admitted honestly. A part of him truly wanted to know what the pamphlet was about, even more so now that it would be definitive proof Ricinus could return with.

Oswald held up a paw. “I mainly study their architecture, like…” He looked away, biting his lip. “Okay, I like their theme parks a lot.”

Ricinus shook his head. “I claim to study them but clearly you know more than me,” he said. “I am not familiar with that term—’theme park.'”

“Oh!” Oswald’s eyes lit up. His posture seemed to instantly change, his voice rising to a slightly higher pitch. “Honestly I shouldn’t really be surprised, but- wait, no, I’m not talking about you here. I just mean…Kebia, or maybe Enigma in general. There was a festival in town a few days back. I doubt most of the pokemon here know much about that sort of thing.”

“Uh huh.” Ricinus nodded along.

“That had coasters and other rides but I wouldn’t really call it a theme park,” Oswald said. “Fairs can have coasters, but theme parks have a theme—that’s why they’re called theme parks.”

“I see.”

“Now water parks, those are something else entirely. They’re open only really during the summer and spring, they tend to be for younger people, and they, you know, have mostly water-based rides. It’s a lot of fun.”

“Interesting.”

“I remember really liking the wave pools, but the lazy river was always my favorite. Heh.” Oswald stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I wonder if that’s why I’m…”

Ricinus chimed in abruptly, more so than intended. “Do they have them where you’re from?”

Oswald blinked. “Huh?” Lost in thought as he was, only after speaking up did the Dewott really take notice of Ricinus again. His eyes drifted to the performance—something Oswald had not done once since the conversation started. He said, “More or less. I haven’t been to one in a long time.” He shook his head. “But whatever. I don’t want to bore you.”

If Ricinus was bored then he had to wonder how exciting Oswald’s life was. Because at this point, Ricinus was standing upright, wiggling his paws at the prospect of turning and leaving right then and there. He got what he came for—this Dewott was who The Count wanted.

“Hardly,” Ricinus quipped. “If anything, your enthusiasm is infectious. I might have to seek out one of these ‘water parks’ myself.”

With his eyes back on Ricinus, Oswald appeared quite relieved, what with his slouched posture and thankful smile. Both Ricinus and Oswald implicitly understood that this conversation was coming to an end, and neither had embarrassed themselves to an absurd degree.

“If you do,” Oswald pointed out, “take it easy.” He shot a glance over his shoulder. “It’ll probably be even louder there than it is here. Go during an off-season if you don’t want to deal with any kids.”

What a shame that Ricinus could not get to know Oswald more. There was a disarming quality to him, and not the dangerous kind. Ricinus was beginning to think that, despite all evidence to the contrary, this Dewott was harmless. But perhaps The Count thought otherwise.

Under different circumstances, they could even get to know each other better. But it was not meant to be.

Ricinus turned on his heels, his chest faced in the direction of the stairs. “It was nice meeting you, Oswald,” Ricinus said. “I must be going now, but I would like to talk again some day, if that is alright.”

Oswald looked at Ricinus incredulously. Slack-jawed, he froze with his paws still clutched at his sides. An unusual response to such a menial sentiment. “I wouldn’t…mind that,” he uttered. “Haven’t made many fr- I mean, sure. See you around?”

“Of course. And don’t worry, I’ll find you.” And then he winked.

On his way down the stairs, Ricinus swished his tail behind him deliberately in the definite chance that Oswald’s eyes still lingered. They would not meet again after this, so why not give him something to remember?

Regardless of what The Count had planned for him, Ricinus hoped it would not be too painful for the Dewott. He deserved that much. Ricinus even wished him well.

Once Ricinus reached the bottom of the stairs, however, he picked up the pace. Not even a second was wasted to catch his breath on his way to the foyer. Eyes were on him, he could feel it. It was bad before, but now it was downright stifling.

He made it close to half-way down the hall before his fears were realized. A snickering, taunting voice rang right in his ears.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Ricinus skidded to a stop mere moments before a black void twisted the carpet in front of him, an inky and velvety form rising from it. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest, his neck fur standing on end.

The ghosts had taken notice of him. And not a moment too soon, either. Dammit, he was too slow!

His path had been halted by what was now clear to be a grinning Banette, lounging on a couch that was not there as he floated upward. His zippered mouth dripped with malicious black steam, a harsh contrast to the Banette’s smug demeanor.

There was a knowing look in his eyes, shining with complacency. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” the Banette observed, a festering irritation leaking out into his words. He had missed Ricinus up until now, but he was apparently going to fix that if it was the last thing he would do.

Ricinus took a small step back. “Yes, I just arrived,” he stated, trying not to gulp. “What is the issue?”

The Banette grinned so wide that his mouth began to unzip at the seams. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? You did just arrive, but new arrivals aren’t kitted with scarves until they’re in the system.”

What? Then does that mean Ricinus could have walked in completely naked and got around with less hassle?

Nevermind that—there was still the seed. Ricinus’ blood went cold. It was still pocketed in his satchel, practically miles and miles away by now. He lost his chance, all he could do now was talk his way out of this.

“I-I’m not so sure of what you mean,” stammered the Sylveon. “I was given this scarf before I arrived.” It was an honest truth—some ghosts could detect lies.

“By who, huh?” the Banette questioned, his brows furrowed. “There’s only one place in this continent where you can join the guild and that’s right down the hall. But I ain’t ever seen your face around here.” He floated down, closer. The steam was pooling on the floor. “Or any Sylveon in the past couple months.”

Ricinus retorted quickly, “I evolved recently-“

But the ghost cut him off. “Don’t give me that crap! What are you really doing here? Where’d you get that scarf?”

It was all falling apart so quickly. The black steam was tickling at Ricinus’ toes, encasing him, seeping into his pristine white fur. An encroaching cloud of black congregated at the corners of his vision. His eyes darted left and right in search of solutions, but all his mind could come back to was the seed burning a hole by his waist.

That stupid fucking seed. It would be so easy. Make an excuse, pull out the seed, done. His mission would be a failure, but anything was better than torture. All he had to do was speak. All he had to do was end it all right there.

If he were a stronger pokemon—a true prince—he could have done it. Better to die a martyr than live in prison. His legacy would never be fulfilled, then. Ricinus, the prince, would die a horrible death in the very place he sought to conquer.

I am a prince, he repeated internally to himself. I. Am. A. Prince.

Shivering wracked his whole body and all that escaped his mouth was a frightened squeak. He had to think of something; if he waited any longer, it would be too late. Arceus, why did it have to be here? Why did it have to be now?

“I-“

Right before Ricinus could say more, and proceeding the Banette’s mouth unzipping fully, there was another voice. It broke through the fog, dissipating the steam at Ricinus’ feet with one simple sentence:

“Aster, what are you doing?”

A Hattrem hobbled down the hallway towards them with a swing in her braided step. She wore a beaming smile, only distantly hinting at the agitated derision she held for the Banette. Her fur color—reminiscent of cotton candy—was quite pleasant to look at, which might have been pacifying had it not been for her forceful presence.

The Banette, Aster, balked. He sounded more than a little annoyed when he lowered himself closer to the spot he originally came from. A “tsk” noise slipped from his rapidly zipping lips. “Now’s not the time, Lilac. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

The Hattrem, Lilac, wasted no time positioning herself by Ricinus’ side. Although she came to his aid, he may as well not have even been there; not once did she acknowledge Ricinus directly, or even look at him.

She said in an abnormally joyous voice, “You need to stop harassing pokemon, Aster.” Her tiny body swayed with the movement of tilting her head in Ricinus’ direction. “Clover has a brother, and I’d rather you not pester him without my consent.”

Notably, Lilac phrased the remark so as to not imply that Ricinus was even remotely the one she was talking about. It could be inferred, but when pressed on it she might have needed to get specific.

Not that Ricinus could have helped her in that regard. He was still reeling over her sudden intrusion.

Aster crossed his arms tightly and defensively against his plush-like chest. “I don’t know where you and those nosy birds are getting the idea that I ‘harass’ pokemon,” Aster glowered, “I was just asking what this guy was doing all by himself. Nothing more. Okay?”

His story certainly changed quite quickly. Was he afraid of being caught in the act, or was he afraid of Lilac herself? When looking to the Hattrem for guidance, Ricinus finally took note of the scarf wrapped around her torso. It was teal, just like his own.

That couldn’t have been a coincidence. Or, maybe it was. He inferred on his own earlier that there were only so many colors, after all. Canary could have just stolen it. And if that was the case, the coincidence of Ricinus being the same species as the aforementioned brother seemed too good to be true.

Lilac went along with it as if that were the case.

“Do you always make this many excuses?” she wondered, child-like in her tone. “You know how easily I could get you fired. I can see it now…’Kebia Castle’s security manager caught persecuting innocent guild members-‘”

“Alright, alright! I get it!” Aster held up his ghostly mitts in surrender. “I’ve got better things to do anyway.” He glared at Ricinus. “Just keep an eye on him; Calluna doesn’t like it when newbies are left unattended.”

When was Ricinus’ whereabouts anybody’s business? Divorced completely from Ricinus’ true intentions, being stopped and questioned by Aster left him terrified, fearing for his life, and then full of steaming fury. “Harassment” was right.

“I can look after myself, sir,” Ricinus grumbled.

Lilac hummed her agreement. “That’s right,” she said. “We’ll be going to visit Lace and Ipo right after this. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, indeed.” Ricinus gave her a look out of the corner of his eye. Whoever this Hattrem was, she fell into the habit of lying disturbingly easily.

Aster groaned. It sounded scratchy in his throat. “Piss off…”

His ghostly form melted back into the carpet through a dark hole, that of which dissipated after a short time, too. With Aster’s absence, the air grew less cool. In fact, with the ghost now gone, Lilac’s closeness became readily apparent.

Ricinus turned on her warily. After clearing his throat, he muttered, “Thank you…for that. You came at an opportune time.”

“Oh sure. Just don’t mess up so badly again, you stupid asshole.” The way Lilac smiled back at Ricinus, with nothing but blank affability in her eyes, unnerved him. “I don’t know what The Count is thinking, sending a bozo like you down here. It’s not my job to fix your mistakes.”

Her words were like the slow burn of an oven flame, cautiously boiling inside Ricinus’ brain until the scorn finally formed into understanding. This altercation, with Lilac coming to Ricinus’ aid, was no coincidence. His brow furrowed.

“You know nothing,” Ricinus stated, sounding more princely than he had all day. And that nearly made him pause. “…I was chosen as I was the most qualified. You would not know a thing about that.”

Lilac’s smile was like a boulder: it never shifted. “Of course, your highness.”

All of a sudden, Ricinus felt a tightness around his neck, only for that tightness to pull his neck forward and find release within the span of a second. Even still, he saw his teal scarf floating from him before he felt the warmth leaving his neck.

Puppeted by an invisible force, the scarf was promptly and neatly folded into a triangle, descending into Lilac’s outstretched hand.

Ricinus touched his neck with a ribbon, flabbergasted by the audacity. He seethed, “How dare you-“

“Find your own disguise next time, pretty boy,” Lilac snapped. Within the span of a second, her expression contorted into one of pure disgust, only to shift back to the boulder—the smile. “You better bring your entourage next time because I’m not gonna save you twice, hehe!”

She turned to leave, emboldened by the last word, but Ricinus thought quickly. Oh no, he would not sit down for this. Not today. He nearly killed himself with a Reviser Seed; if anyone would have the last laugh, it would be the prince, Ricinus.

“Hpmh!” he huffed. “I’ll be sure to bring along my own fabric folder next time, then. One significantly less sloppy than you. A prince can always do better.”

He heard a shocked gasp, but Ricinus was much too busy cantering his way out of the castle to acknowledge it. Yes, he nearly failed. Yes, he had to be saved by some disturbing facsimile of a Hattrem. But, he also succeeded.

Thinking back on it, Ricinus should have taken bets. The winning bet being that Canary would have to swallow the seed himself. Who would be laughing then, huh?

Past the front desk, out the double doors, and into the open air—Ricinus stopped to take a lengthy breath. He closed his eyes against the sun bearing down on him, head tilted upward in content.

Freedom was warm, he just always assumed it would tickle him more after leaving the Oriole after several days, not the castle of his obsession. If anything, it was as though he had just escaped from prison, the shackle around his neck left well and far behind.

It was euphoric, in a way. And euphoria, unfortunately, always ended.

Grumbles reached Ricinus’ ears as passing pokemon squeezed around him, inciting him to awkwardly step out of the way into a large furry body. Ears drooping, eyes growing wide, Ricinus swung his head around, then upward.

The Pangoro was there and glaring down at him. His arms were crossed and he wore a disgruntled scowl. Although his fur was a bit ruffled, he looked to be unscathed.

Ricinus slowly inched away, shrinking in on himself. All of that warmth from the sun melted away into a cool autumn breeze. A chattering sound made him jump, only for Ricinus to realize that it was his own teeth clacking together.

Aside from flaring his nostrils at him, the Pangoro let Ricinus scamper off; it was doubtful he even saw the Sylveon before, let alone recognize him. But still. Everything rushed back to him alongside the shivers he could not contain.

Aven was nowhere to be seen.

They had come to no agreement, there was no discussion of where to meet afterwards. It all happened so fast. Now that he was outside, Ricinus had no idea what to do. He was in a town he had never visited before, alone, with nothing but luck to propel him forward.

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? Luck. Ricinus was walking fast, almost to the point of a sprint, frantically throwing his head in every direction for a sign of white and red fur. He was depending on the chance that maybe he would find Aven, and the chance that maybe he did not get himself arrested.

Just like how Ricinus was depending on Oswald to be in that castle, waiting for him. It should have been a clear sign that this mission was doomed from the start once that unironically came true.

It could never be a success without his Aven.

His breath quickened—short inhales and heavy panting. Pokemon were starting to stare, but he paid them no mind. Let them stare, let them see who would be leading them out of the Queen’s rule: a whiny Slyveon panicking like a lost child over his missing servant.

Once that thought hit his mind, the prospect of not drawing attention to himself faded away. Ricinus began to call out for him: “Aven!” Hoarse and dry.

He has to still be here, Ricinus thought. He would never leave me like that…

“Aven!” he called again. He was sprinting now, ribbons flailing behind him. “Aven! Aven!”

It was when he finally decided that he would need to expand his search and start asking questions that something caught the Sylveon’s eyes. A waving appendage from behind a tree, right before the bend in the path. It was red, clawed, and slow.

Relief washed over Ricinus so swiftly that it exploded into elation. He gasped, heart beating out of his chest. Trees and cobblestone rushed past him as he sped to his destination, to him.

It all came to a head when, still panting heavily, Ricinus rounded the corner of the tree and found a red pokemon propped up against it.

The Lycanroc’s arm fell to his side once Ricinus came into view. A warm, tired smile spread across his scruffy snout.

“Hey,” Aven mumbled.

If there were any more words to speak, Ricinus did not wait to hear them. Because in an instant he had thrust himself into Aven’s arms, sprawled across the Lycanroc’s lap.

“Aven!” Ricinus squealed, face pressed against the fur on Aven’s chest. The coarse texture of fur and the firmness of his pecs and abs reminded Ricinus of home—his real home. Warmth and safety unlike any bed Ricinus had ever slept in.

Like a comforting blanket, Aven pulled the Sylveon in closer, wrapping his arms around him in a gentle grip. Comforting growls rumbled the two of them as Aven rested his chin on Ricinus’ head. Their collective heartbeat slowed.

They were as one—whole. Together like a Spoink and their pearl.

Aven sounded gravelly, but his voice flowed smoothly through the frigid air. He said, “…Sorry I disappeared.” A jingling sound followed, a small sack of money, no doubt. Was it the Mienfoo or Pangoro that Aven pickpocketed it from? “Hope this makes up for it.”

Ricinus pulled back a bit, ribbons still tangled around Aven’s arms. He glanced at the small sack for a moment, but ultimately ignored it. “No, don’t say that,” he breathed. Their eyes met after what felt like years, and a sparkle shimmered in the faint light on Aven’s cheek. Such a sight sent a pit down Ricinus’ stomach. That, and the red smear below Aven’s nose.

The smell of blood, that of which still persisted in droplets on Aven’s chest fur, finally became apparent. Immediately, Ricinus untangled himself and thrust his ribbons into his satchel.

“You’re hurt!” Ricinus cried.

Aven huffed, resting a claw on Ricinus’ shoulder. “I’m fine,” he grumbled, sniffling a bit. “Just…clipped my nose.”

But Ricinus did not care how serious the injury was; if it was possible to audibly wince, Aven would have made that sound. Although he was fighting back, Ricinus knew for certain that Aven was being strong for him.

Ricinus emerged with a handkerchief in one ribbon and a brown Gummi in the other, just for good measure. Although it was faint, little growls and whines still seeped into Aven’s breathing. He was handling this quite well, all things considered.

“Shush now, sweet boy,” Ricinus whispered. “You did wonderfully.”

Dried blood was always so difficult to get out of Aven’s fur. Never helped by Aven’s reluctance to wash himself. “I’ll just get dirty again,” he would say. Ricinus laughed to himself. That never stopped him from cleaning the dirty dog each time anyway.

As Aven chewed the Gummi, he asked, “Dib ya ‘ind ‘im?” Then swallowed.

Ricinus froze for a moment, processing the question. Not because it was hard to answer, there was just surprising quality to the result. “Yes, actually. I found him quickly, right at the second floor. Oswald was his name.”

“Ah-zz-wahl-duh,” Aven said, testing the name on his tongue. “Was he…?”

“Strange? Dangerous? Cute?” Ricinus slipped the handkerchief back into his satchel, finishing the job. “Two of the three. Guess which ones.”

Aven flared his nostrils thoughtfully. “…You know I don’t like these games.”

Which was why they had no reason to play. Ricinus giggled, tossing himself back into Aven’s chest. “I have everything I need now,” he said. “We can leave.”

“Good.” There was a heavy sigh from the Lycanroc, followed by his claws finding their way behind Ricinus’ ears. “I like the cave more.”

Leaning into the touch, Ricinus had no reason to disagree. The Oriole was drab, dank, and full of fools, but the castle unsettled Ricinus to no end. He vowed to not take a step within its walls again until it was his to control.

But for now, Ricinus was content to give himself to the one he loved.

“Me too…” Ricinus whispered.

Aven lifted his arm, Ricinus’ ribbon going with it. They coiled in perfect sync, like a dance. Aven’s arm moved back while Ricinus followed in kind.

“Such a tight grip…” Aven chuckled.

Ricinus’ cheeks burned. What was he doing holding on that tight? He buried his face in Aven’s shoulder as though that would save him from the embarrassment.

“Be quiet…” He sounded so whiny, so vulnerable. “I wanted to be an Umbreon…it’s all your fault.”

And to make things worse, Aven shushed him softly, causing Ricinus’ heart to leap.

Aven growled in that deep, husky voice of his, “…Guilty.”

Propelled by pure longing and affection, Ricinus raised his head. He looked into Aven’s eyes, ears flattened against his head, freckled cheeks awash with blush. When Ricinus shared glances with another pokemon oftentimes the connection was brief, and fleeting. The understanding they achieved as fellow pokemon seeking company never escaped the surface level.

Even with other males—the ones he would seduce. With Oswald, he liked him, yes. But his problems irked Ricinus. His insecurities peeked out of his shadow, always near and never satiated.

Aven was different. His eyes were red pools of connection that Ricinus could swim to at any given time. A comforting oasis in this desert of strife.

None of it mattered when they could stare into each other’s eyes for hours and hours. Forget it all.

They intertwined further, and became closer. Everything was right. Everything would be fine.

Ricinus was a prince in Aven’s arms.

And with that, their lips met.