Chapter Five: Outside

The guild lobby lay empty as Solder and Larcen woke up and went through Larcen’s morning routine. Food? Check. Bags? Check. Grooming? Well, Solder had had enough of that yesterday. He could stand to look a little scruffy. Sure, Larcen tried to tease, but the buizel couldn’t get his fur to cooperate no matter how hard he tried. Even after an hour of preening in a half-broken mirror leaning against a stack of crates, he managed to look worse than Solder, who just rolled out of bed and decided that was good enough.

“Just say it was the hurricane,” Solder said as they emerged from the larder. He couldn’t be sure if it was because of the juice from their breakfast, but Larcen dragging his paws over his cheeks got the fur to stick in every possible direction.

“What hurricane?” Larcen responded, finally giving up, slapping his paws to his sides. He moaned. “Ugh, this always happens to me.”

“The one over your bed. It was very localised.”

Larcen rolled his eyes and went back to obsessing.

As they passed through the lobby Solder couldn’t help but wonder how many pokemon actually worked at the guild. He’d seen what, seven, maybe? And two of them didn’t do anything. That seemed pretty light for a building of this size. Of course, he could always just be waking up after them—scanning the lobby, he saw the tracks of sleep, made and unmade cots and couches, stray mugs, some still wafting steam. Signs of life. But the only actual living body in the room was Brute.

And as Solder paused to watch the flygon, ‘alive’ seemed relative.

He hadn’t moved since Solder last saw him at Haxorus’ announcement. Or, maybe he had. Hard to tell whether the half-empty crates of paperwork around him were always that way. He’d created a throne from broken furniture and he sat, slumped over the arm, wings drooping over his back, looking as discarded as anything else. He stared off into the distance, and although his red goggles tinted his eyes, Solder imagined his eyes would be red beneath them, too.

When Larcen tried to pass by, Brute jolted up, one arm shooting towards them, the barest hint of focus returning to his expression.

“Oh! Wait. Please, please wait just a second,” He said, the manic, half-awake energy in his voice setting Solder on edge.

Larcen was the one to respond, hitting him with a nervous smile.

“Hey… ah… what’s up?”

“Please, it’s just been, oh—” He flinched, like he’d been slapped, then cradled his head in his hands. “I’ve been trying and trying but the whole bloody lobby is swamped and it— and it needs to be empty for the contractors and guilds but I can’t— I just can’t! Haxorus left all his paperwork, all the budgets upstairs and I can’t clean up down here and finish his accounting and keep everyone up to date. Oh, by the sea, I need to make an announcement still!”

He deflated once again, speech trailing off with a wheeze. He came back with a harsh inhale, claws now clutching his chest so tightly Solder was worried he was having a heart attack.

“Are you dying?”

“And was there a… question in there?”

They let him recover for a moment, sharing a concerned look. Solder couldn’t make out half of what he said, but none of what slipped through sounded good. Thankfully, after a worryingly long time his breathing calmed. He took a deep breath and gave a pleading, watery-eyed look at them.

“Sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry, I just… I just need some help around here,” He croaked. “The lobby needs to be cleared out ASAP, but I’ve… well, I’ve had a bit of trouble recruiting anyone to help.”

“Aren’t you the leader now? Why even ask, just tell someone to do it,” Solder said.

Brute’s thin frown dipped.

“Oh, no, I don’t…  don’t think…” He shook his head slowly, drunkenly. “Haven’t I asked anyone? I thought I asked you?”

Solder and Larcen shared a look. Solder scooted up beside the buizel.

“I think he’s having a meltdown,” He whispered, “maybe we should help, he doesn’t look too good.”

“I can stay. We were only going out for your thing so…” Larcen responded, “eh, whatever. I’ve been putting off guild chores.” He looked around, taking in the sea of trash that would have to be taken care of. His shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the task was sinking in. He turned back to Brute. “I’ll give you a hand, see if I gotta rope someone else in.”

Despite Larcen’s enthusiasm not extending beyond a limp fist-pump and uncharacteristic frown, Brute still managed to find some energy, staggered to his feet, and grabbed Larcen by the shoulders. His wings buzzed behind him.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you! Thank you, thank you!”

And that’s how they split up for the first time in days. Solder waved goodbye, which went entirely ignored by the flygon and only numbly returned by Larcen, wandered through the maze to snag his canteen from the hook by the door, and stepped outside.

He stood by the entrance to take in the sunlight and feel the valley around him. He cleared his throat, adjusted the strap around his shoulder, frowned at something vague on the cliffside for no particular reason. A sharp caw sounded in the distance.

Having a break from each other made sense. He felt like Larcen needed it more than he let on. Unfortunately, Loneliness felt different this time. Sure, he still had a goal: he would find klefki today, period. And he felt good. As he padded through the courtyard, his limbs worked the way he assumed they should. At the gatehouse, he stopped to look back at the guild.

Nothing happened. Nothing had changed since the day before. The sun still shone, the grass still waved in the breeze, the guild’s stone archway hadn’t moved. But something felt off. Solder felt… shifty. Uncomfortable in his own skin, fur like a coat he couldn’t take off.

Maybe he needed a break from himself, too.

“Fuck off,” he whispered, mostly to himself, convinced it could be a phrase powerful enough to fix his memory, attitude and general personality. The breeze—the only thing listening—washed over him, but didn’t respond.

Solder sighed, clutched his canteen to his side, and set off to look for klefki.

~(0)~

Seafolk didn’t stop being a confusing maze when Solder was on his own, turns out. It took no time at all for his ‘concentrated search’ to become ‘aimlessly wandering around’.

But the frustration wasn’t there. There was a great sense of freedom in just… walking around town, getting a lay of the land—and if he got tired, he could just relax at one of the parks, lay in the sun, bookshelved by two wooden buildings, and watch the pokemon stream by.

Waiting for klefki seemed as good a strategy as any, and if Solder was being honest with himself, he had none otherwise.

Asking around would have worked, but the more he tried to talk to pokemon the more self-conscious he became, the more his frustration spiked. Most were fine. Solder especially liked talking to an elderly red octopus who used to be some sort of pirate. Well, supposedly. Solder couldn’t tell how much he embellished, but with how frantically those tentacles gestured, his guess was mostly.

Still, that was a highlight. Most questions ended as soon as they began, some pokemon ignored him, some looked through him like he wasn’t there. There was always the stray smile, condescending and tight. Then Solder would get annoyed or frustrated, his cheery mask would slip back into flatness, a spark would escape his mouth with his words, and their posture would shift. The conversation would die and they’d slip back into the crowd.

Firestarter was a word thrown around a lot; of course he understood the hesitation, the danger of fire and why they looked at him like they did, but it’s not like any of them saw his performance against the chatot. Yesterday, he finally managed to harness some of his power, even if he couldn’t use it. Today, he wished he hadn’t. Solder’s discomfort crept up from behind him, closer with each clumsy word until it rested its claws on his shoulders.

So he sighed, gave up and sat on his bench instead, tucked in a little grove by the street where he could let the world pass by. No luck, of course, but it gave him time to calm down.

Then came the time to move on. He wandered streets, pushed through crowds, peered through open windows until the mon inside gave him a dirty look and slammed the wooden shutters closed. He passed the steep cobble street up to the guild, the market, the sun drenched docks, the market… again.

Until he ended up by a little line of restaurants, sign boards lined up neatly outside clusters of wood tables of various heights. Some had matching chairs, some were low enough they needed woven reed mats.

In his search, Soder spotted a somewhat familiar cloud of white hair parked by one of the shorter tables. He hadn’t really talked much to the whimsicott, but he seemed open, at least. With one more glance down the street, Solder padded up to the table.

“Hey,” he said, plopping himself on a mat to Bastaya’s right. There was another pokemon at the table—some green lizard with a spiky crest running over his eyes and lips that looked drawn-on with red marker.  “You’re Bastaya, right? I’m Solder. I had a question for you.”

Bastaya blinked, one hand holding a steaming mug of some herbal-smelling drink halfway to his mouth. Then, with a stray smile, he placed it back on the table and adjusted some of the fluff around his neck.

“Indeed, that’s me.” He gestured across the table, which the lizard returned with a wave. “ And that’s Unico, in case you haven’t met. He’s a guild member, too. If you haven’t seen him, he’s just a little… busy sometimes.”

As Bastaya pointed, the pokemon’s already wide smile stretched to its limits

“Yes! Hello! Hello! I’m Unico kecleon, but you can call me Unico!” The ah… kecleon responded. He leaned, practically throwing himself, over the table, took Solder’s paw before the quilava could react and slammed it on the table a few times in an approximation of a handshake. Bastaya’s mug rattled and sloshed in response. “It’s great to meet a new member! You know, me and Soleiro were the newest before you, but that was a couple years ago. Ha! A couple years, a couple days, what’s the difference? You get what I mean? It’s quite Funny how that works!” He finished what might have been a joke with a hearty laugh that neither of the other pokemon returned.

Solder had no clue how to respond except glare dully at the wrinkles  lining Unico’s perpetually happy eyes. It did nothing to stop them. Nor did it stop the lizard’s smile growing manic.

Solder could count on one paw how many minutes he could imagine tolerating Unico.

“Ah… yeah. Okay.” He said, pointedly turning back to Bastaya.

The whimsicott hadn’t flinched, despite the kecleon’s outburst drawing stares from other customers. He picked up his mug by the dry side and took a sip.

“He’s a bit excited. Always~” Bastaya swiped a puff of cotton hair away from his cheek. “Anyways, want something to eat? Looking a little scruffy, aren’t you?”

Solder didn’t bother to look at his fur. He knew it was a jungle. Not like any of Seafolk’s sailors wore suits or anything, but if he had money maybe he’d buy a comb. Speaking of money…

“You’re paying,” he drawled.

Unico slapped the table and laughed way too loud.

“Oh, of course!” Bastaya said, “what kind of host would I be if I didn’t? See anything you like?” He poked at a piece of paper on the table, clutched inside a little wooden holder.

So, probably a menu. Solder sighed, staring at the incomprehensible scribbles.

“Uh… I don’t know this place. You order for me.”

Through pure accident, it seemed like Solder stumbled on some sort of magic phrase because Bastaya’s amber eyes shone like real, polished amber.

“Baby, you’re not ready. Waiter!” he called,  quickly summoning a bipedal dog with a notepad and pen. They went back and forth a couple times until the dog scribbled something down and fled back into the cafe. “You like fish, right?”

Solder had no idea, so he just nodded.

“Well, while we’re waiting, what did you need?”

“I’m looking for a klefki.” Solder said. Bastaya hit him with a blank stare so he struggled to come up with something else to say. “She’s new, I guess. Only came into town a couple days ago.”

Bastaya’s stare didn’t shift.

“Oh, I used to know a klefki!” Unico jumped in, “She was great, really stand-up. Or maybe float up’s more accurate. Ha! She always tipped well, and you know the best tippers are always very polite. It’s a shame, sometimes, that we closed up shop if only because we never got to see her anymore. Of course, she moved out ages ago, so I suppose that wouldn’t have mattered anyway.”

Despite all those words, Solder thought Unico had said absolutely nothing. It did manage to flood his brain, leaving him to quietly work his jaw for several seconds before responding.

“I said days, not lifetimes,” Solder sniped. Still, Unico’s mood refused to dampen.

“Oh, I know! I thought I’d just add a little anecdote!”

Cue awkward silence. Bastaya took a long drink of tea and let the crowd speak for them.

“Alrighty,” he cut in, “well, it’s a shame I can’t tell you where she is, buuuut I can help you find someone who might.”

“Who?”

“Nuh-uh~ not yet! You thought you could barge in and put a few extra coins on my tab without punishment? Why not chat a little first? You still have to eat, after all.”

Solder gave him a flat stare, but the whimsicott said nothing, hiding a smile behind his mug. Solder supposed meeting his guildmates wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

“Sure.”

As they chatted, Solder had to wonder how he always met up with the chatty pokemon. Bastaya was definitely more… conventional than Larcen—offering details about his life and asking in turn rather than going off on tangents—but it came across very planned, like the whimsicott had a list of topics to run through. Given Solder couldn’t answer anything beyond three days ago, he slogged through their casual conversation and silently pined for Larcen’s charms, wishing the klefki would materialise in front of him so he could get this over with and go back.

Unico was the real star, though—jumping in at the worst times with vague anecdotes that meant nothing to nobody. If Solder asked how long Bastaya had been in Seafolk, you bet Unico would jump in with an overly sentimental memory of his father. Is Bastaya asking about Solder’s hometown? Better jump in halfway through the question to tell everyone what he ate for breakfast. It was hard for Solder to be annoyed when he spent the whole conversation wondering if the kecleon was doing it just to screw with them. Still, he felt close to exploding by the time the waiter slid a couple trays of food and drink onto the table.

By that time, Solder must have made it clear what he thought of Unico because the kecleon pulled up a timepiece and gave an exaggerated whistle.

“Well, it’s been great!” Unico said as soon as the food hit the table. He stood up from his rug, wandered around the table to shake the hands of Solder and Bastaya, then picked up his bag. “Wonderful to meet you! Fantastic! Unfortunately, I have to go find Soleiro, he’s wandered off somewhere, who knows where, and with the guilds coming we can’t afford to not open up shop again. Imagine the profits!”

Then he was off, barely giving a second look to the full plate of fish still steaming on his side of the table.

“Don’t you worry,” Bastaya drawled, probably noticing Solder’s slack-jawed look at the kecleon’s coiled green tail retreating into the crowd, “he’s always like that.”

Solder let his jaw clack shut.

“That’s worrying.”

Still, with Unico gone, it gave Solder a chance to eat in peace. True to his word, Bastaya ordered him fish—redfish, according to him—laying on a bed of greens. First, steam wafted the smell of butter and herbs and grilled meat over Solder. Saliva filled his mouth as he realised how hungry he had been. It was a whole fish, red skin crossed with grillmarks, belly stuffed with herbs and sliced nomel berries. Juice glistened on the bits of white meat peeking out from charred skin. Even as the fish’s one glassy eye stared at him, Solder didn’t feel sorry for carving out a chunk of skin and meat with his claws and stuffing it into his muzzle.

It was, without the irony of his situation, the best thing he’d ever eaten. As alright as the berries and bread and cured meats he’d eaten from the guild’s larder were, nothing stood up to the tender, juicy texture and sweetness of fresh fish.

Solder tore into it, barely conscious enough not to throw himself on the plate. A minute later he leaned on the table in a post-food haze and sucked on a nomel rind, a rack of bones all that remained of his meal. But even though he felt the warmest and comfiest he had all day, he still had some focus left over for his task.

“So, the klefki,” He drawled, picking his teeth with a bit of fishbone.

Bastaya paused a moment, chewing on a bit of salad off Unico’s abandoned plate.

“I think you should leave.”

Solder blinked owlishly.

“Oh, sorry, that came out weird. Not now, I mean.” Bastaya waved off Solder’s concerned look. “Seafolk won’t treat you right, you know. I’d wager you’d have a better time ah… somewhere else. Basically anywhere.”

Solder figured he had some idea what Bastaya was talking about. Still, even with his discomfort, a few harsh words were nothing he couldn’t handle.

“It’s fine. They’re just scared of… fire or whatever. Fair enough; doesn’t bother me.” He shrugged, scratching his muzzle to hide the way it wrinkled. Bastaya hit him with dry groan.

“Oh, goodness~ Don’t tell me you’ve internalised that already. I figured you were sheltered, but seriously. Seafolk is so much more dangerous to you than you are to it. Didn’t you nearly drown yesterday because you had the audacity to stroll along the docks? Or did the swampert push you in? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Solder had nothing to say to that; he just continued to idly pick at his teeth. Bastaya’s smile sank into something disapproving.

“Anyone can start a fire. Anyone.”

For the longests time, Solder just stared, letting Bastaya pick at his food in silence. Watched someone knead dough on a counter in the cafe and worked his mind over it in kind.

“See that feraligatr over there—don’t stare, just get a peek at that necklace.” Bastaya bobbed his head to the side, cotton fluff gesturing to the towering pokemon beside them. Some sharp, steel charm bobbed against its chest as it talked to a waiter. “He slipped that sweet thing on the moment he saw me. I’ll bet it’s pure steel.”

“Alright.” Solder drawled, not quite getting the picture except for vague memories of Larcen telling him fairy didn’t deal well with steel types.

“Look, admittedly us fairies got into some weird stuff in the forest a couple centuries ago.” Bastaya waggled his eyebrows in a way Solder couldn’t decipher. “And some folks got it into their thick skulls that if they wore steel charms they’d repel us, somehow. As if real steel and steel energy aren’t different things. But it’s still happening, baby. Here, in Seafolk. Other places, too.” He finished by leaning his arm on the table, rolling his eyes at his own suggestion. “ There are places like Seafolk everywhere: isolated, ignorant. But the guilds coming here are a magical rainbow force of multiculturalism only overshadowed by their own egos. They make a point to spread out their type coverage and think optics are for babies. I bet they’ll bring like, five water types max. But Seafolk hears about them and think they’re sending all the ‘good ones’, aka: burly sailors and swimmers. Kin, you understand?”

Solder pursed his lips, starting to see the problem. He imagined the reaction if nearly a hundred of him came into town, asking leading questions and parading around as if they hadn’t just arrived off the boat.

“I don’t know how long I’m staying. Definitely not forever,” Solder said. He scratched his chin, not satisfied with his own answer. It was true, sure, but he liked Larcen and certainly owed him more than to just… abandon him right before a big change.

“When the guilds come, you’ll be stuck between a town that hates you and a guild that doesn’t need or want you. Our guild will fail, get absorbed, and all the useless stuff—ergo, us—will be thrown onto the streets. Think you can rent a place here? Hold a job? Good luck~”

As Bastaya let a sardonic smile cross his face his amber eyes dulled and Solder saw for the first time a hint of real, unfiltered frustration slip into his expression.

“Larcen told me you weren’t useless. That your show was popular.”

Bastaya scoffed.

“My show, sure. But most pokemon don’t even know who I am. And I don’t do enough for the guild to get a free pass—I need to get some money and turn independent before my show gets inherited and I get sacked.” He slumped back down, frowning around a bit of berry.

And as Bastaya let them sit in his pessimism, their table surrounded by a little bubble that the smell of cooked food and happy chatter of other pokemon couldn’t slip through, Solder finally felt a genuine connection between them.

“So it’s over. Nobody thinks they can fix the guild.” Solder added.

Bastaya nodded.

“Meh on Larcen. Brute’s the only one gung-ho about it. And that’s Haxorus’ fault.” He paused to pick up his mug for another sip, but frowned as he tilted it back. With a quick twist upside-down, he revealed the mug was empty, set it on the table and sighed. “Listen, if you’re crazy enough to stay, then become something indispensable. If not, leave and take Larcen with you.”

Solder snorted, imagining himself dragging Larcen through the valley by his tails.

“He seems to like it here.”

“‘Course. This is all he knows. He deserves better, though.” The whimsicott finished with a wistful sigh.

With that, the enthusiasm drained out of both of them. Mostly, they watched each other, neither finding anything else to say. Then the time came for them to split. Bastaya paid and let the waiter clear their table with a wave of his hand. Solder watched it all go back to the kitchen. Neither of them fidgeted, but a stray gust of wind did it for them, messing fur and hair alike until they were forced to tidy themselves up with stray paws.

“Why are you here, then?” Solder asked.

“Well,” Bastaya returned, standing from his rug with a practiced grace, “a boy can dream, can’t he?” He stopped beside Solder as he passed. “To answer your question, Soleiro can probably tell you where klefki is.”

“Unico’s brother?”

“Yeah. Twin. Looks exactly the same, but purple. I never told Unico where he was because…. Yeaaah, no thanks. But he’s probably skulking around in some alley by the docks. If you manage to find him, have fun~ He’ll give you a hard time.”

He floated off without much else but a wink and a wave, whisked down the street by another stray gust of wind.

Solder sighed and stood up, taking a second to stretch.

Bastaya had given him a lot to think about. Maybe too much. Still, finding Klefki would make the choice to stay or go a lot easier. If only he knew himself—what pre-damaged Solder would do.

Solder tried for a grin. It felt uneven and caused a passing pokemon to side-eye him, but it got him in a decent mood.

Progress. Finally.

~(0)~

What would Haxorus do?

It’s a phrase that never stopped crossing Brute’s mind. It felt even more intrusive now, pinging through his thoughts like an alarm every time an obstacle came up. They were more and greater than ever before, now.

He had a moment’s reprieve from clearing out the lobby thanks to Larcen, so he migrated upstairs, to the guildmaster’s office, to bury himself under a mountain of paperwork. He’d crept in an hour ago, taken a tentative seat in the chair and felt like an utter stranger in a room he practically lived in the past few years. He couldn’t stop his wings buzzing behind him. Couldn’t stop the brief spikes of fear as he picked through the budget. Sometimes he had to remind himself to breathe. Normally, he had a seat beside the desk, but it looked dreadfully empty now. The room, too. Toying with some of Haxorus’ old trinkets from when he was a traveller normally comforted him, but it only left him with a sinking feeling now.

He scratched down a number on his paper, then realised he forgot a zero and let out a deep sigh. Twelve pages in and he wished for the dullness of hard labour downstairs. At least clearing out trash felt productive.

With only a brief pause from squinting down his muzzle at the guildmaster’s messy scrawl to finish a glass of water, he sighed and slumped in haxorus’ chair, wincing as it creaked.

There was just so much to do. So much to fix with no hands, no money, no nothing to contribute. Maybe he should’ve started hiring first, so he had some workers, but who would want to work here? Solder was right, of course, he had to stop asking and start demanding, but the thought made him ill—walking up to someone like Bastaya and demanding anything.

Brute shivered. He’d only felt a fairy’s full energy once, but he wouldn’t be looking for that experience again. He had better memories of living on the road, Haxorus by his side and nothing but a dream to guide them. He paused, remembering the way Haxorus tried to describe colours to him after learning that flygon saw everything through a red tint because of their lenses. Good times. He managed to centre himself on them for a while—staring at a photo of him, merely a vibrava, perched on Haxorus’ arm.

Then he realised he’d been staring for almost an hour and he turned his eyes back to the desk. Weary thoughts slipped in.

Better get back to work…

Well, he would have if he wasn’t interrupted by a rhythmic knock at the door. He paused a second, brain catching up to the sound.

“C-come in…” He stuttered. Despite just drinking, he still felt like he’d been eating sand.

The door slid open, wrapped in a blue glow. It revealed two blue ears poking just above desk height. They twitched,  leading down to Landy’s unimpressed frown and soul piercing eyes.

Brute struggled to keep a groan from leaking out his mouth. He wished he hadn’t said anything. He should’ve just hid under the desk and pretended not to exist.

“Landy,” He said. He gave an awkward cough, subtly shifting back in his chair as the meowstic sauntered up to the desk. Only Landy’s face was visible from Brute’s seat, but that didn’t make him any more comfortable.

“I’ll not waste either of our time, Brute. I’ve come with a proposal.” Landy pulled out a couple papers and slapped them on the desk, making the mountain that much higher.

Brute sighed. Another proposal. Brilliant.

“What is it?”

Landy tapped the paper and stuck up his muzzle, nose twitching. He must’ve seen Brute’s firm stare and realised the flygon wasn’t going to read it because he huffed and stepped back, paws tucked behind his back.

“I’m seriously concerned about your mental health.”

Brute couldn’t even pretend to believe that.

“I’m serious,” Landy pressed, “As much as I’d rather you not maintain sole ownership of the guild in Haxorus’ absence, there are some things even I cannot change. Alas, we are forced to tolerate someone far, far less than ideal, but that hardly means I can’t work to improve the situation.”

Brute shifted in his chair. It was hard to tell how any of that came across as concern

“You know I was a psychic therapist, correct?”

Brute nodded meekly.

“The tendency for innovation to be stifled for the sake of a profitable status quo means my research was not well received by more traditional medicine, but I can assure you it worked. And it will be a great boon for you.”

Trying to reconcile whatever that meant with what Brute knew actually happened would take up all his mental energy, so he rubbed the bridge of his muzzle and ignored it. Of course, he couldn’t ignore his own suspicions. No chance Landy had decided to do this out of the goodness of his heart.

“W-what do you want?” he asked.

Hardly a twitch of the whiskers betrayed Landy’s thoughts.

“Good to see you’ve decided to skip the meaningless small talk. You’re right, of course; this won’t be pro-bono. Everything I propose is in the papers.” He nodded towards Brute’s stack of papers.

The flygon’s eyes watered at the sight. An extra pleading glance didn’t budge Landy, so it seemed like Brute would be reading the papers after all.

There’s an art to skimming. Brute wasn’t quite an academic, but he knew the technique,  squinting, tracing a crease along the page with his claw. He picked up on sentences from a blur of words until it formed a hazy picture in his head. He lost the joy of reading in that haze, but it had been so long since he last read for himself he couldn’t tell if he would even recognize the feeling anyways.

And finishing the papers certainly didn’t fill him with joy.

“You want— I mean, y-you… feral rehabilitation?” Brute said, lingering on the phrase at the end of the neatly-blocked paragraphs.

“That’s right,” Landy responded, completely unconcerned, “really, it’s a benefit for everyone, even ignoring the greater implications. You get an extra guild member which you desperately need to reach the minimum. It fills space on my team that otherwise would be difficult to fill—I’m aware of my reputation, after all. There’s no reason not to accept. ”

Right. No reason. Except Brute remembered Haxorus rejecting this idea. And he could already feel the delayed headache from cleaning up after a feral. But Brute could not stop rolling the idea over in his head, even as it itched at him. Bugs crawled out from under each roll and filled his mind to spilling.

“Maybe we should start with your first idea,” Brute mumbled.

“Excellent. You’ve heard of psychic triggers, yes?” Landy asked, then continued before Brute could respond, “They’re a sort of tripwire, detecting stimuli and reacting in set ways automatically, often disconnected from the original user.”

Brute mulled that over for a second. “Is that what you did to haxorus’ windows?” He turned, reaching out until his claws scraped the solid glass of the window. It slammed open after barely a glance, shuddering and creaking as it hit the wall and let a cool breeze wash into the room. “It— it happens every time a leaf floats by, every time it rains I… it’s a little annoying.”

“Ah, I see. You’re right, surprisingly. My treatment operates under the same principles.It senses anxiety or stress and… tightens for lack of a better term, preventing overwhelming panic, breakdown and etcetera.” Landy waved his paw flippantly. “I’d rather not draw this out. Will you or will you not accept my offer?”

Brute considered. Or, he pretended to consider—chasing his claws around each other under the desk. But if he was honest with himself, truly honest, he’d admit to saying yes because it would get Landy to go away.

So, “y-yes. Okay,” came out despite all good judgement.

“Excellent,” Landy said. Brute almost expected a chilling smile to creep across the meowstic’s face, but Landy didn’t react beyond a word. He continued, “Some breathing exercises will help the process. I’m sure you’re familiar. Inhale five seconds, exhale five seconds, inhale, exhale, and on and on…”

Brute did. He focused on his breathing and studiously avoided Landy’s eyes to stare at the space between his ears. Breathing exercises were nothing new to him, sailing beyond routine and into reflex—which, he supposed, might defeat the purpose of them in the end. But that’s fine. Things were fine. Just breathe. In, out, feeling the swell of lungs in his chest, pressing up against his ribcage until it strained and settled back down again. Actually, that reminded him—

“We’re done.”

Brute blinked. Looked down at himself, then back at Landy. “That’s it?” He paused, furrowed his brow trying to reach for whatever changed in his mind. “I feel… alright.”

“I suppose that’s the goal of  all medicine, isn’t it? I’ll return every few days to re-examine the trigger and make adjustments if necessary. Now, about the proposal.” Landy took the opportunity to pick up his papers with the faint blue hand of his telekinesis, dangling them over Brute’s snout.

The flygon sighed. He tried to bat the papers away, but they floated out of reach like particularly annoying flies.

“Yes. Okay,” he mumbled, finally catching the papers, “you can— you can get your feral.”

“I’ve requisitioned the use of a cell.”

A cell? Brute had almost forgotten they had those. Maybe on purpose. He’d never liked the idea of criminals lingering in the belly of the guild.

“Which one? The broken one?”

Landy squinted, tilting his chin up at Brute. “Obviously not. A broken lock isn’t much security.”

“So… you’ll clean out one of the others?”

“I suppose.”

“Uh…. good.”

“And I will need assistance capturing the feral.”

“I don’t— I don’t know how to help you with that. Ask someone?”

For the first time since entering, Landy’s expression dipped into a pout—petulant for just a moment before bouncing back. But Brute caught it. And as Landy tilted his head, a flash of thoughts streaming across in his eyes before he turned to leave, Brute let something bubble up from his aching chest.

“See how far burning bridges gets you?”

He mumbled it so quietly he could hardly hear it over his own heartbeat. And as soon as it left his lips he threw himself back into his papers wishing he hadn’t said it. But Landy still paused, one paw on the door. He still turned.

“I know who I am,” he said, flat, but right on the edge of something tall and dark. His voice seemed to teeter as he spoke. “And I’m aware of what I don’t have. This is my choice, I suppose, the same as anything else is. But what about you?”

“Your precious haxorus has burdened you with a guild that hardly concerns themselves with you, a group of pokemon who can’t or aren’t willing to help you. They pity you. Did you know that? And yet here I am, who hates you, who hates your weakness—and I’m the single pokemon in this guild who has the skills and willingness to help. What bridges do you have, after all? How does that make you feel?”

Brute felt himself tighten, a twist of wire rubbing against itself until it threatened to split. He grit his teeth, clutching his head and waiting for the pain.

Then, nothing. Not even an untightening. One second, he edged on breaking, the next he evened out—the coil vanished, sinking into the ether.

So, how did he feel?

“It’s working,” Brute mumbled.

“Excellent.

The door opened. The door shut. But Brute hardly paid any attention to it or the empty space where Landy once stood. Whatever Landy did worked. Now all he was left with was an empty office and simmering conscience.

He almost hated it more that way. Sitting in all these memories of better times, Landy had to come and help him and ruin everything.

But with not much time to spend on hate, he cleared his throat, shook his head and buried his nose back in paperwork