The Clubhouse Stratagem
by barksmysteryFix this… please.
Grin yawned. At this point, he fought back the Z’s of sleep with nothing save a torch and a raised voice. The night passed peacefully, however, the poisoning incident remained the camp’s sole tragedy. The Floragato knew, having dragged himself through every idle moment awake.
He looked at what he traded for lost sleep: a veritable novel of solutions, penned down in mad paw-writing across pages four to twenty of his camp journal. Plans, plots, ideas, theories, all there, with important notes scribbled into the margins about splintering situations.
“I’ll bring this back from the brink,” Grin whispered to himself. “Enjoy myself, too.” He stood up and stretched. First down, touching the dirt. While there, he made sure to check the back of his head for glue, memories of soldier hazings now fresh on his mind.
He made to reach for the dawn and swiveled upward. A Raboot stood suddenly in his view–a raggedy bunny revenant amongst the trees.
“Ah!” He mewled. “Don’t hang me upside down and throw fruit at me! I know all your tricks. You won’t actually let me down if I catch one.”
“What?” Pawn asked. He casually pointed at the cat’s paw. “Your claw’s glowing.”
Grin looked down, noticing a green sun poking out of his clawtip. He waggled his paw, killing the little nightlight. Or was it a sunlight? It was a light for night, yet the power stemmed from sunlight he gathered across the day. “Oops! Sorry.”
“That’s some remarkable energy control. There were second years at my old uni who couldn’t manage that.”
Grin smiled. The first time he tried to use an energy ball as a light source, he accidentally gave Bear a heaping dose of vitamin D. Or, as a medic like Pawn might put it: a second-degree sunburn. It took ages for the fur to grow back. “What are you doing over here?” The Raboot should have been packing up his tidy tent. Wandering the trees was a far cry from his morning routine.
“Checking for that walking disaster you call a friend. And,” Pawn started. He gripped the veil over his mouth, his eyes locked to the ground. “You are aware you need to leave the Tall Grass, right?”
“Page six!” The cat opened his journal. “Say you need to go to the bathroom and then run ten miles away. Yup, it’s in there. Just in case.”
“Just in case what?”
“I don’t need to go to the bathroom.”
Pawn rolled his eyes. “Remove yourself from here. Trust me. I eavesdropped last night. They–”
“Probably brought up mutinying in the middle of last night,” Grin interrupted. “And the Empoleon, their de facto leader, probably told them to bide their time. Open violence would eventually make its way to Atlas, and that’s goodbye to their precious station in the Tall Grass’s ranks. They have another day to try poisoning. Or other, sneakier methods, like garrote wire.”
Pawn tilted his head. “I… huh. Okay, then. What’s garrote wir–”
“Yeah, it’s not that hard to figure out. They’re a well-oiled machine! I experienced plenty like them these past few years, and I didn’t miss my catnap so I could sit around picking my nose. And I didn’t do that. I don’t, actually, not ever. How long were you standing here before I saw you?”
A spark of exasperated hope entered the Raboot’s intense, angry stare. “It struck twelve for our broken clock. So then, is there a prevailing idea in that notebook of yours? One that doesn’t rely on you needing a bathroom break?”
“Right! One second. Check this out.”
Grin threw the journal on the ground and raised a paw up. He inhaled slowly. His little night-light grew, and grew, manifesting into a ball of pure energy. With a flex of his claws, he launched it straight into the pages.
The swoosh of heat and force rippled his fur, and chased away the shadows hiding still from the dawn. The journal jumped upward, dancing as its pages singed away into wisps of blackened parchment.
Pawn ducked, paws extended to shield himself from sparks. “Why, what–”
Grin shot another energy ball into the book for good measure. This one finished what the first started, cleanly obliterating any trace of his night’s work. When all was said and done, the Floragato stood proudly over the cratered remains, the violet in his eyes glowing with catlike contentment.
The camp medic, however, was less than pleased to declare a time of death for the journal. He dusted himself off calmly, before looking up again at the cat. “Before I run you through with the sharpest stick I can find, and then do myself: care to explain?”
“It’s simple,” Grin declared. “You see, it’s all about, there’s three main things to advising. Or maybe two? The greatest advantage a tactician can have is the ability to be truly unpredictable. So unpredictable, he cannot predict himself. Or… that doesn’t sound right. Shoot. I thought I’d imagine a really poignant reason as I did it. An epiphany of sorts? Aw, I super needed those plans, too.”
“You super need help,” Pawn said, voice trembling. “Super-duper, psychiatric help.”
“Don’t fret! I’ll just wing it. I am a master at improvising. Plus, it’ll be more fun this way.”
“Where does fun even factor into this? Fun?!” He flung himself forward, jabbing a paw at Grin’s chest. “They are going to beat you within an inch of your life and leave you three days away from civilization, with just some gruel and any of your belongings that aren’t worth shit at a pawn shop.”
“Hey, you have a right to refuse service to anyone.”
“I don’t own the pawn shop!” He shoved the Floragato into the dirt, and ground the remains of Grin’s journal into charcoal flecks. “I tried, but you can’t help a Magikarp who prefers to flop around on land. In fact, I feel I’ll savor what’s coming to you. You are the worst being I have ever met. You had a chance to do things differently from… gah!”
Grin smiled. “I think you’ll wind up admiring my flopping. I’m going to toss it back fishy style, like this, and you’ll be like darn, can’t believe I doubted this mental powerhouse–hey, where are you off to?” The Floragato had laid down on the floor and sullied his belly with dirt for nothing. Pawn stormed off, throwing back a rude gesture to cover his retreat.
While Grin planned to wing it, he understood the need for some kind of plan. It came to him in a brief moment where sleep deprivation besieged him, leaving him in a half-conscious stupor.
As if bringing it to life with an incantation, he spoke the name:
“Operation Clubhouse is a go. Time to fight fire with fire!“
Pate had declared martial law in camp, but only for silly green cats. Grin used his newfound authority to call a squad meeting. He rounded up each knight, pulling them begrudgingly away from their half-packed bags.
“This is gonna be epic,” Grin said to Pate. “I love public speaking.” Bear usually helped him practice by throwing rocks and sharp things at his head while he spoke. Even so, the Floragato felt his excitement alone could carry him through.
“They all look so upset,” Pate told him. She shrunk under the flood of derisive glares sent her way. “Grin, you hold my future in my paws. Can I at least know what your announcement is?”
“Not yet. Just play along,” he insisted.
There were, exactly, eleven knights in total. Of them, nine remained scarce, never speaking up much or acting outwardly. Their pure grit formed an iron wall that kept all outsiders out. Even as the emergency meeting provoked flaring nostrils and stamping feet, they kept their stewing behind the Empoleon, concealing their frustration behind his own.
“Alright!” Grin clapped his paws together. “You all wanna know the purpose of this meeting.”
“Is it about the explosion outside of camp earlier?” A Herdier asked.
The Empoleon from last knight shoved him hard. He bowed out, tail sagging. The penguin was indeed their boss–likely through coercion, from the looks of things. Grin never imagined having a penguin as a villainous rival.
“Oh, no,” he answered, “that was me incinerating stuff. Don’t ask any more questions about it, you’ll upset the medic. This is about, well…” the Floragato laughed heartily, throwing up his paws. “The cat’s out of the bag. The sharper among you might’ve noticed some divisions in our camp as of late.”
Several of the knights looked towards the Empoleon. “Yes. We were all there,” he said. “Judging by that look on your face, this ain’t an apology.”
“Nope! Sorry… uh…” Grin squinted, as if that would help him determine the huge fella’s name. “Secondary point to this meeting: we really need to start naming you guys.”
“Excuse me? My damned name’s–”
“We started a club,” Grin admitted. He laughed again, this time with a great heaping deal of bashfulness. “The rumors you heard are true. Pate, Bear and I have started a club for ourselves.”
The Empoleon (Grin decided to call him Pengy) balked. “A club? The hell are you talking about?”
“Oh, it’s not a big deal. Like, we’re all still a squad. Like, if you wanted to play games together, we can still. Just let us know, say, a week in advance. It’s just, we have a lot in common, us four. So we made the club.”
“Right, just keep saying club,” Pengy grumbled. “That’ll clear things up.”
Grin sighed, disappointed with himself. “I’m dancing around it, I know. Truth is, we think we’re all superstars. Pate is really good at speeches. Bear is strong. I’m sociable, silly, and love advising. it’s the Superstar Club.”
Pengy and the other knights murmured amongst themselves. They were likely blindsided by the existence of a Superstar Club in the squad. After all, they always imagined they were in the ‘it’ group. Turned out, they were mere worms playing in the manure and soil of the superstars’ backyard. This plan had come to him as if it were a streaking comet housing Jirachi itself: this plan was brilliant.
The irresistible secret handshakes, the hilarious inside jokes, the creation of fond memories revisited on lazy summer evenings… no one, not even a knight, could resist the temptation to beg for an invite. All the plan needed was some promise–a glimmer of hope that anyone could become a superstar with adequate effort.
“The point of this meeting is to address a vacancy in the Superstar Club. Bear unfortunately is on a journey of self-discovery and food poisoning–” the Floragato scanned the crowd for any shocked or guilty faces. There were none, somehow. “This brings the ranks of the best club ever down to a temporary two. So, we want to…”
He drummed his feet. With a grand flourish, he threw his arms wide.
“Onboard a new member! Today, we’ll be announcing who.”
“We’re losing daylight,” the Herdier (Barky) said, ” just so you can announce who you’ve invited to a club you invented this morning?”
Pengy held out a flipper to silence Barky’s yapping. “I see. Who’s the lucky fellow?”
“It’s hard to put into words. Just… superstars need a certain je ne sais quoi.” Grin swept a paw over the crowd, implying he could point at any one of them. It swayed back and forth, seeking out a Raboot in particular. “Aha! The kind of fellow who will just be throwing it back fishy style sometimes.”
Pawn, who had been crawling away for whatever reason, stood up with reluctance. He was deep in the back, practically out of camp. The other knights slowly encircled him.
“Pawn, you read books about things. You are a friend. You are a small business owner. Henceforth, you are… a superstar.“
A look of terror settled on the superstar’s face. He looked about at the other knights. “I do not accept. I swear I’m not friends with them. What a joke, am I right? Grin. Say you’re joking.”
“Pate!” Grin stepped aside. “Care to add your thoughts?”
The Houndour looked stupefied. Having been struck constantly by popularity’s steely foot, this revelation was sweeter than candy: as commander, she could just use her unlimited authority to be the most popular.
“We were always lone candles,” she said. “Now, the superstar club is like a candelabra. Even if you did not make the cut, you stand to gain from us geniuses sharing one wick, shedding our light upon your dark dullness.”
“That’s not how a candelabra works,” Pawn whined, defeated. He held his paws out to the other knights. “Guys, you have to believe me. I promised I w-wouldn’t annoy you all anymore. I promised, yeah?”
The Empoleon shook his head. “I’m disappointed, bunny. Bad side to pick.”
Breath hitched in the Raboot’s chest. It was too late to deny the superstar infused into his every terrified fiber.
“Alright,” Pate called out. “Let’s march. Non-superstars, please lag behind, so you can appreciate the stardust we kick up.”
The trail that morning shone clear, its shadows infused with jade, leaves-filtered sunlight. Grin rolled his shoulders, basking in it as he walked. It was a beautiful day to be marching alongside his Superstars–sans Bear, who never returned to camp. And Pawn, while present, was slipping out of his responsibilities to crack inside jokes and create fond memories by crying uncontrollably.
“Why,” the Raboot asked, sniffling, “you bastard. You stupid bastard…”
“He’s a genius,” Pate shot back. “I’m the coolest girl in the squad, so quit crying.”
Grin leaned over to the commander, whispering. “Hey, I think we need to hold a superstar chat with him. Superstars have a policy: don’t be afraid to cry. But don’t be afraid, too, to heal.”
Pate looked back at their marching line. The veteran knights were the farthest they had been from their commander, almost a separate unit. It was only a matter of time until one broke and begged to be a superstar.
“We’ve marched only two hours,” Pate whispered back. “It’s a tad early.”
“Pawn needs our help adjusting. Come on.”
And so, the march had its break three hours early, finding refuge in an awkward opening on the path. The knights searched for a problem, a reason for stopping, and discovered only a crying Raboot and his two concerned friends. Not a good enough reason. They stewed in casual uproar.
Nonetheless, the superstars endeavored to cheer up their newest member. Grin felt Pawn, being a university graduate, would enjoy some stimulating conversation. He sat everyone in a circle and formulated the best darn ‘small-talk with a splash of erudite’ a cat could muster.
“So, water freezes at a certain temperature,” he stated. “Crazy. Thoughts, Pawn?”
The Raboot was slumped, eyes blank with dread. “I tried to help for once. I went out of my way to warn you. You replied by annihilating my last foothold in life–just like you did to your journal. I needed this job. You… you’re a monster that satiates itself on the misery it causes with its own laggard machinations.”
Grin nudged Pate, smiling. “Heh. Bet they’re not having deep, rich conversations like this over there.”
The knights were arguing amongst themselves, jabbing and jeering at Pengy. The Empoleon held them off with his flippers, shout-whispering to the angry crowd.
The commander laughed. “The plan is working swimmingly! Look at them squabble amongst themselves. Advisor, I love you dearly. I… love you.“
“Haha! Okay, you just said that. How about we share interesting facts about ourselves?”
Pate shot up. “I get to go first, since I’m the commander. An interesting fact…” she blinked. “Um… what… Atlas is my fath–no!” She shook the words free of her, as if they were dangerous. “I read a lot of books. It’s how I developed my perfect leadership skills.”
“What kind of books?” Pawn asked. He had fallen dead in the grass, his voice barely audible, but the mention of books stirred life in his voice.
“A lot of material on dociles, especially anything written by dociles themselves. The Water Continent evolves every day, and my goal is to continue my father’s vision and ensure dungeon Pokemon always have a role waiting for them. Okay, Pawn, your turn. I order you to give us an interesting fact. Sorry you have to follow me up.”
“This is the first time in two years I’ve cried,” Pawn answered.
Grin frowned. “That’s not healthy.”
“You’re a blight. But go ahead, you stupid feline freak. Get this all over with, so I can resume my dissociating.”
“An interesting fact about me?” Grin popped up to his feet. “I can’t really ‘do’ big Moves. Not the kind for battling, at least. That notebook, Pawn, that’s about my limit for destruction.”
“Wait, you can’t fight?!” Pate blinked hard. “You’re a mercenary. Advisor or not, you’re expected to pull your weight. How did you even get past the fighting trial?”
“Bear fought two-on-one, to prove he could pick up my weight. But!” He clicked the tips of his claws together. “I have perfected a couple interesting magic tricks. Watch closely. And quietly. And don’t mind if I get a nosebleed.”
He breathed deep, adjusting his claws until each point perfectly touched another. A single slip, and he’d likely dig right into a digit. It would be slightly less painful than the actual conjuration he wanted to do.
Pate tilted her head. “You can make your nose bleed on demand? I can too, if I run into a tree fast enough.”
Life fully returned to Pawn. He leaned forward, apparently done with his dissociation. “It’s interesting how you all seem to pick up on only half the words in a conversation. He’s going to pull flowers from nowhere, or a… huh.”
Grin pulled his paws apart. A cloth, hungry to exist, devoured the nothingness that once rested in the shallow creases between his paw-pads. It expanded, longer and longer… until Grin felt a familiar wet streak down his chops. He let his arms drop, one swooping underneath to pick up his ‘trick.’
The purple cloth shone its own light, ignorant of the bright sun it basked in. This material was dark, like the safety blanket of a pup, fallen to the floor, and spectated within the scant moonlight entering through a room’s single window–a black shape only slightly reminiscent of color and detail. Intricate silver lines pulsed to every corner… seeming to move under their watchful gazes.
“Moongeist weave, ta-da!” The Floragato wiped his nose. “It’s only an itty bitty piece.” Producing more than this would knock his lights out for hours. The cloth would become his K.O blankie.
“Why does your hankie have a pulse?” Pate asked. “Very interesting. Not as interesting as me reading books.”
“And it’s fake.” Pawn nicked the cloth, dangling it from a paw. He played off his excitement, averting his eyes as he spoke faster and faster. “Lunala is a Legendary entity that resides in the cosmos. Its followers–called Primaries, like any other worshiper–garb themselves in this material. The enchanted fabric obliterates the wearer’s perception, then supplants it with Lunala’s own narration of objective truth; the cloth basically re-dictates the meaning of every sight, sound, and other stimulus your body stumbles across. With how often our emotions cloud our memories, a dispassionate dictation is similar to an epiphany.”
Pate tilted her head. “So it would help you dissociate, for instance.”
“Daringly close to a cogent reply, commander. Grin did not make a cosmic Legendary’s magical cloth by touching his claws together. It’s just another angle of his sordid, prismatic personality. Even his sense of humor is a bleak cliff riddled with jagged rocks, inviting observers to leap off.”
Grin nodded. “Yeah, you got it! The Lunala stuff, I mean, not the whole cliff metaphor. The cloth will make you remember things you should already remember. Try it.”
The Raboot sneered, draping the cloth across his arm. “Oh, oh boy. I’m due for a big old epipha–”
IRISES FLOOD WITH PURPLE, BEADY PUPILS BOB DESPERATELY TO STAY AFLOAT. SPACE, INFINITE AND FREE. THE LITTLE ASTRONAUT ATTEMPTS TO STAY IN PLACE, BUT FINDS HIMSELF STREWN INTO THE FABRIC OF FATE.
“W-What?” The Raboot gasped. “Do you hear that? That beautiful voice? It’s like silk…”
HOW KIND OF YOU. THE ASTRONAUT WAS REASSIGNED. HE STOOD AMONG OLD AND NEW SQUADMATES AT THE GATES OUT OF HEADQUARTERS. THE MORE HE FOUGHT TO TOLERATE THE SAME, THE MORE HE FOUND SMALL COMFORTS IN DIFFERENCES. THE WAY THE CAT AND DOG SMILED. IT WAS INFECTIOUS, AND THE MEDIC SPURNED INFECTION ABOVE ALL ELSE.
THAT’S ENOUGH FOR NOW. QUICK QUESTION–HOW DOES THE FUNNY CAT KEEP ACQUIRING MY WEAVE? SERIOUSLY. EVERY SO OFTEN HE GIVES IT TO A BOLTUND WHO WISHES TO RELIVE A NICE MEAL. THE MEALS ARE INDEED NICE. BUT SERIOUSLY. DO ME A FAVOR, ASTRONAUT.
Pawn ripped the cloth off of his arm and flopped backward into the grass. He stared up at the sky, as if the culprit of his epiphany might be waiting above him. “That’s just real moongeist weave. Real,” Pawn intoned. His breaths slowed to once a minute. “I just spoke to Lunala.”
“Well, Lunala slept-talk at you,” Grin corrected. “She must stay in deep meditation to communicate her infinite objectivity to so many of her fans.”
Their commander snorted. “Unless you can make everybody see things my way through the cloth, it feels like a waste of blood. I guess it’s an alright trick, though.”
“A trick?“ The medic groaned. “A trick? Pate, he just broke the laws of typology in front of you. A grass type can’t just whip up cosmic magic.”
“You broke a law?” Pate asked seriously.
“I bent it,” Grin said. “Pawn, chill. It’s just a magic trick I picked up from a Lunala quilter I hunkered down with.”
Pawn, however, refused the offer to chill. He was red hot, alit with eagerness. “There are Pokemon at my university who graduated because they approximated what you just did. Quilters receive a full decade of training–and Lunala’s blessing, besides. Who are you?”
Grin picked apart the weave with his claws, lost in thought. Its grand perspective nibbled on the corners of his mind, beseeching him to be let inside. “The primary did want me to join her. But… I don’t think I believe in objective truths. I think Pokemon make up facts when they’re finished exploring an idea, and so every fact is a dead adventure that someone else had the luck to experience. I wonder sometimes: when I end, what will be fact and what will be fiction?”
A REMARKABLY SAD OUTLOOK, FOR ONE WHO UTILIZES MY WEAVE FOR SUCH TRIFLES.
“Oops!” The Floragato’s ears twitched. “I thought this was all spent up. I hope ripping you up doesn’t hurt, little cloth.” He swiped away some flakes of weave, making sure to end every point of contact.
IT DOES NOT HURT. YOU SHOULD KNOW SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR MEAL LAST NIGHT. YOU SWITCHED PLATES WITH YOUR FRIEND.
Grin’s smile fell. “What are you talking about?”
YOU EXCHANGED YOUR PLATE FOR THE BOLTUND’S. YOU OPENED YOUR ACCEPTANCE LETTER AFTER, AND FORGOT AMIDST YOUR RENEWED EXCITEMENT. SINCE I DID YOU A FAVOR, PERHAPS YOU CAN EXPLAIN WHY YOU CAN FABRICATE MY WEAVE–
He swept away the rest of the cloth in a panic. The others closed in, sensing his disquiet ran deeper than hearing a Legendary’s voice.
“The food…” the Floragato looked at the non-superstars. Their moseying had taken on a calculated edge, every shift, every shuffle directed towards spying on the trio. Were they glimpsing his shocked expression, right now, and realizing that he knew the truth? He wished to put on the weave again, to have someone else reassure him there was no reason to put his tail in between his legs–that there were no violent, curious faces staring at him, furious purely at his health.
“It was my plate,” he continued, voice hoarse. “They were trying to poison me, not Bear.”
“That makes way more sense,” Pawn said under his breath.
Pate looked down, lost in thought. “You are the one they truly dislike. So, one of the candelabra’s wicks is found to be wet.”
Grin mewled her last word. “Wet? Commander? This doesn’t change anything, I promise.” He laughed nervously.
“The whole plan is to make the club appealing to join, yes?” Pate questioned. “And yet you are unappealing. All you know are parlor tricks and how to make others want to poison you.”
Pawn threw up his paws. “The last part’s true, but that cloth bit was no parlor trick. It was literally a miracle–”
“The stars and Lunala are up there,” Pate snapped, pointing her nose to the sky. She gestured then to the knights. “That is what is in front of us. We cannot afford the luxury of stargazing.”
“Right,” the Raboot mumbled.
Grin wheeled about, hackles raised. “Seriously? You loved me a moment ago. Let’s give it a day or two–”
“All in favor of removing Grin from the superstars,” Pate said, “say aye. Aye.”
“No!”
“Sorry. This is the best way to protect the superstars’ reputation with the outsiders. No one will join our club if you’re in it. Think of it like cutting off a leg to save the body.”
Pawn huffed. “Is amputation just your go-to solution for everything? Look. Maybe we don’t…” the Raboot stared at the flakes of moongeist weave, at the Floragato who brought such powerful magic to life for a trick. But he turned his ears towards the murmur of his squadmates. Pengy, Barky… the little astronaut bit down on his tongue and spoke.
“Forget it. Aye.”
“And you too, Pawn?” Grin pumped his arms up and down in a tantrum. “W-Wait. Bear is a superstar. He has a vote! And tiebreakers go to, uh, er, the advisor!”
“He’s not here,” the Houndour shot back. She inched forward, urging him out of their circle. “Absentees do not get to vote.”
“Was that your plan all along?” Grin asked Pawn. “You conniving criminal. I trusted you.”
The Raboot now kept his eyes and ears to the ground. “Yeah. I sent Bearet into the forest because I had a hunch you would start a club tomorrow and I wanted to take it over in a two-to-one, statutorily allowed vote. You figured me out.”
“Enough.” Pate nodded towards the knights. “Announce your departure, Hated One. Now.”
The morning meeting caused friction, but the next meeting was the thousandth cut; impatience exploded through Pengy’s ranks, each knight clawing at the floor in a vain hope to dig their way out of this bureaucratic misery.
Grin’s misery was far more personal, and no hole dug in the ground would allow him to escape it. It took everything the Floragato had to resist desperately tossing himself from the rock he perched upon. It was only a foot high, but it could nonetheless represent his fall into infinite despair. Especially if he flopped on the floor after falling, and did a little tumble and got a scrape to make them all feel guilty.
His station, though, required him to proceed with grim maturity (that is: to use his big kitty words). “I was asked to call this meeting,” Grin explained, “by the so-called Superstars.”
Pengy looked at the trail ahead wistfully. “Please get on with it.”
“Okay. The announcement is… I don’t know.” Grin sniffled. He wiped his nose, fighting back the lump in his throat. “I’m wondering if this–this–is all worth it. Is being another rung on the ladder worth a view of the top?”
Murmuring spread throughout the camp. Not the kind of murmuring camps do, though, when something shocking has thrown a wrench in their plans. This was mostly a confused clamor.
“That’s… not an announcement,” Scraggy the Scrafty (and so she was dubbed) said. She turned around to confirm she had not gone mad. “Did anyone else understand that?”
Pengy wore a frown louder than noise. “Shut up. Grin, tell us why you’re sad so we can get a move-on.”
Grin scoffed. “Yeah. Move on. Like they moved on from me. The world is chock-full of cowards: that’s the announcement. Bye–”
“I also have an announcement,” Pate stated. She stomped forward and headbutted Grin off the rock. He rolled across the floor, mewling dramatically.
The knights let out a collective groan.
“My announcement is… haters question me, true souls understand me. I do what I have to do to survive, like a candle hiding at the back of the shelf during a big sale.”
Barky let out a half-howl. “Tree of Life preserve us–that’s not information! It isn’t even a memo! It’s nothing-words!”
“Here’s a real announcement,” Grin shot back, hackles rising. “If they made a stupid-scented candle, it would smell like our commander. And no one would buy it. There’d be rows upon rows of unsold stupid candles, and, and the stupid candle store owner is all destitute, and like, he opens up his money bag and dust comes out. And his little kids are like, poppa, we’re hungry… but you can’t eat stupid candles.”
Pate staggered back. “You bastard–another announcement. I am no longer speaking to Grin, because he’s a spiteful brat and I do not need his energy around me. In the end? He’s the stupid candle salesman. I’m the candelabra female who makes a ton of money. My money bag and kids are both so fat.”
Pengy rolled his eyes. “Tree of Life preserve us, indeed. You’re firing your advisor. Is that the announcement?”
“No!” Grin twisted around and crawled towards them on the ground. “The A-Announcement is,” he rasped. “It’s that I don’t care if she never talks to me again. I think that’s… that’s…” the Floragato breathed in deep, ready to unleash another salvo of vague emotions. Instead, the emotions poured from him quite blatantly: he choked on a sob before breaking into a full on fit. He buried his head in his paws, distraught.
“We’re going to start marching now,” Pengy said to Pate. “You can sit here squabbling, or you can order us to move. That way, at least, you can pretend like we’re listening to you.”
Pate stood there, agape, as the knights defiantly marched on without her. She spun around to the sobbing advisor, eyes filled with fury.
“Congratulations. You made everything worse. At least you can still prove useful.” She spun around. “Wait! As is Superstar code, we must all kick dirt onto the removed member while laughing at them.”
…The knights turned their march around, heading back to the sobbing cat.
The cool table. The nerd table. The artists. Grin studied every type of clique in preparation to become an advisor. And yet here he was, at the absolute bottom of a social pecking order that he should, by all rights, easily puppeteer. He was a reject. An outcast. A fallen star.
Afternoon passed uneventfully. What reason was there to note the sun’s warmth, to enjoy the sight of sifting leaves, or to partake in springtime scents? As he walked alone, his bitterness grew. His anger.
The Floragato, spurned, turned to the only Pokemon he formed a true bond with over this horrid journey. He bared his heart.
“…She was suffocating me,” he ranted, paws lashing about. He scritched away a mud clump behind his ear. “She said she loved me. Like, awkward? And Pawn! Don’t get me started. Just trauma dumps all day about how we’ve poisoned you all against him. And his fur, what’s up with that? Like, how about you go back to uni and study up on shampoos? I totally get why Bear avoids that lot nowadays. What a bunch of jokes, am I right?”
Pengy breathed out slowly. “You are, I promise, the joke. Unless there’s a point to this, leave me alone. There’s only so many warnings left in this aching body.”
“There is a point.” Grin looked around before dropping his voice. “The point is: I’m sad.” The Floragato sniffled, tears cleaning away the dirt on his face. “All of this was to make you like her. And now, you hate her, and she dislikes me, and Pawn just cries all day.”
The Empoleon swung a flipper out in front of the cat. It might as well have been concrete: Grin knocked into it head-first and stumbled away, his view spinning. A creature thrice his size–and plum out of warnings–followed his stumbling, almost looking as if he prepared to strike.
He bent over, though, coming beak to snout with the Floragato.
“The dungeon shortcut,” Pengy snarled, “it was the right idea. Being early to a mission starts us off on the right flipper with the contractor. Doesn’t make it the rightthing to do.”
Grin stepped back, paws readied to defend against an attack. “I d-don’t get it.”
The Empoleon continued. “I’d bet money that Pawn accused us of poisoning your pet. Or you. Trust about it is, we have no clue why he became sick. We are planning on doing all three of ya, nonetheless. You earned an oren dinner by trying too hard.”
“Trying too hard?” Grin whispered, ears flat. “That’s possible?”
“There’s a system,” Pengy explained. “I built it. We don’t give one-hundred percent, as there’s just no point when Atlas will simply promote any brat he likes that week.” The Empoleon smiled at him. “Don’t pretend like this is honest work you’ve earned the right to. You have done nothing besides act pathetically since you signed on.”
“I was interviewed,” Grin pleaded.
“And Atlas’s decision to hire you has thrown my opinion of him into chaos. Look at the job you’ve done. Pate hates you because she thinks it’ll make us like her. Your career in the Tall Grass is deader than dead. You have no one to defend you, and it’s because you did things differently from me.” Pengy bellowed with laughter. “I almost thought you were playing legit mind games with that superstar club malarkey. But you really don’t have much else in your head besides schoolyard games, do you?”
Grin’s defensive posture fell. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to hold things together. “I’m trying my best to make you happy. You don’t want me to stop trying, I believe, so tell me what will make you glad.”
“Wanna know what’d make me glad? First, I knock ya to the ground. Then I start…” he lurched forward, turning his next step forward into a slam… “stomping…” another slam… “you into the earth, while no one does a single thing. Pate would turn the other way. My crew, they would be happy I finally took care of things. They look to me to keep these missions tolerable, after all.”
The Floragato’s voice was hardly a squeak. “T-That’s insane. There has to be a nicer way to solve things. Why not ask Atlas to arbitrate–”
“Brave kitty gonna tell on me?” Pengy asked, chuckling. “Atlas knows how this game works. Poor guy simply raised a loser of a pet daughter. She’s due to have a long, disappointing life. Probably the most she could do is try to make a docile pity her enough to be her mate.”
The Floragato gasped. “Okay, that sounds really awful.”
“This life is really awful. As for you, you remind me of… parts of myself. Once Pate’s out of the picture, maybe I’ll properly whip you into shape like I did that Raboot. I like to keep a few understudies around, you see.”
“Whoa, whoa. Yeah! I’m in shape! I’m shapely!” Grin looked around for peeping eyes and perked ears. This was his one chance to save himself. As vile as it was… he continued. “Y-You need access to her dinner, right? If y-you join the superstars-join them,” he pleaded, as Pengy towered over him, “Pate will be too happy to think you’re there to hurt her.”
Pengy snorted with surprise. “Goodness. That’s downright vile.”
“And Pawn will be there,” Grin added. “You can have him misdiagnose her right there in the tent. Just let me be your understudy.” Instead of his victim.
Pengy thought about it. “Well, you’re too stupid to con me. Fine. Let’s give it a try.”
“We’re making camp here!” Pate shouted back to the squad. “Everybody but Grin can come to my tent to apply for superstardom.”
Grin’s chest kicked up and down as he panted for breath. The Empoleon looked back and waved as he walked over to speak with the commander.
The tension was thick as a second coat of fur. Another announcement whipped the frenetic air into motion. The knights shambled into formation, their rage now replaced with an almost unsettling compliance. They waited like husks for Pate to speak.
The Houndour twirled, a big, beaming smile on her face. “Everyone. I am pleased to announce that Pengy is a Superstar.”
Crickets. Barky cleared his throat.
“Calm down, calm down. Pengy, the most popular of you lot, has seen the light. Must feel bad. My candelabra is growing heads like a hydreigon, while your candles emit naught but the faintest glow of lukewarmth against the unceasing chill of night. Again: applications are open. Shine… like a superstar (tagline pending).”
She struck a pose, her skull helmet glowing with proud fire. Embers drifted into the night, their small wooshes the most sound anything cared to produce.
“Er, meeting over,” she said. “I’m open for questions or applications.”
“I have a question,” Pawn stammered. He backed up, eyes occasionally flitting to a gap between two trees. ” Are you crazy? Pate, we can’t be alone with him. Arceus, you just can’t let it happen, he will hurt us–”
“I am so humbled,” Pengy said. “Can’t wait to hang with y’all tonight.”
The crowd dispersed, grumbling away to their respective corners. Pengy, for the time being, turned to Scraggy for one last goodbye. The Scrafty handed him a berry.
Pate turned to Grin. “I know you made an effort to convince Pengy. I guess I could be convinced to accept your apology.”
Grin stooped down. “Aha. Well. Real fast: Pengy still hates you and is going to do all manner of unspeakable acts of violence on us.”
Her wide smile froze in place. Hey eyes, though, screamed silently. “Oh. Wuh, oh… oh…”
“But, but,” Grin added, patting her back, “we have time. We just need to convince Pengy to be our friend before dinner.”
“Early dinner!” Scraggy called. “Come grab your gruel!”
“Oh.”
Pate twitched. “The, the, dinner time, we super the star and penguins slide down, yes? The um, the um…” she stared off into space. “Super the star.”
Grin winced. “Right. We just gotta super the star. Attagirl…”
The Houndour danced in place, paws plodding about in broken rhythm. Deep inside of her, the instinct to run drove her to somehow stay in place, as if the commander was struggling to escape a nightmare earth that revolved faster than she could move.
Grin clapped his paws. “Pawn, diagnose her fast. We need her wits.”
“Not alone,” Pawn whispered. It was as if he had been possessed by the past itself, a different him in time and space. “Don’t leave me alone with him. I’m sorry. I just wanted to earn some money for my private research. I’m not a real docile like you all. I’m a city pet. You’re so great, Pengy, because you never let me forget that. You never let me forget…” he crumpled to the ground, sobbing.
“Shoot,” Grin muttered. “Uh… deep breaths, buddy. Imagine yourself in a peaceful place, a place familiar to you-yes, behind the counter. It’s a slo-oo-w, easy day… you hear the ring of a bell. Who’s that? A customer… and they want to sell you the nicest thing they found in their attic–”
Pawn shrieked breathlessly at him from the ground, paws wrenching towards his throat.
Grin recoiled. Then, he drove forward, gripped their neck-scruff, and dragged them towards the dinner line. “Look. It’s not as if Bearet is just going to suddenly reappear and stab Pengy for unclear reasons, so it’s up to us. Come on.”
They grabbed dinner with all the excitement of a Cresselian funeral procession. Pengy loomed over them, his bowl miniature in his great flippers.
“Say, Pate,” he said. “Let me carry your bowl back.”
She handed it over in wordless dread.
The superstars walked in silence to Pate’s tent–there was no reason to suggest eating outside, not to the Empoleon–and sat down in a circle.
“Look at us,” Grin started. “Just a couple of knuckleheads and their humble club.”
Pengy nodded. “Life couldn’t be better. Say, the gruel even tastes good today. Pate, you should try yours–”
“TOXIC BETRAYAL BURNING THROUGH MY VEINS,” Pate screamed. “Eyes. The eyes. Eyes in favor of no more penguin.”
Pawn lurched forward and blurted out his answer. “Aye.”
“What are we all voting on?” Bear asked.
“That ain’t super nor starry of you all,” Pengy said. He squinted at Grin. “Hey kitty, why’s everyone so afraid already?”
“Already?!” Pawn squeaked. “Aye, aye, aye…”
“I v-vote no,” Grin said. “It’s an even vote, and I tiebreak in favor of myself.”
“I love watching you do politics,” Bear said. “You’re so official and cool, Grin.”
Grin smiled. “I love watching you be alive, my bestest friend-oh, whoa, whoa. Hey!” He jumped up and swung his arms around the Boltund. “You found the pecha berry!”
“Pecha berry?” He tilted his head. “Grin, I’ve had the craziest day. I had a, what do you call it… a seizure. And then I had a dream that I was in a giant expanse, watching a million lives occur at once through the eyes of a fly with jade pupils. And then I ran back here and the vibe was weird so I grabbed my mawblade.”
He turned, presenting the dagger and its sheath. The grooves in the mawblade’s handle were finely sanded to pair with Bear’s jaws.
“The fur on his arms is green,” Pawn said, paw limply pointed at the Boltund.
“BEAR.” Pate jumped forward, headbutting the soldier. “Vote Pengy out.. vote him out, for the love of-vote him away. You’re a superstar, you can save me.”
He smiled and looked to Grin. “She thinks I’m super,” he said warmly. “But I’m sorry, commander. I won’t do whatever you’re asking me to do.”
“I order you… to vote him out.”
Bear laughed. “Again, sorry. My time seizing in the forest has changed me. I’ve always conflated acting on my own with being alone. But the Empty Room taught me that all lives are so inextricably interconnected via invisible strands of fate that even those who truly wish to be alone could never sever. I am… independent.”
Pengy looked around at the lot. “I, I thought the damn dog left camp.”
The five all took stock of the situation in silence. Pawn was the first to make a move, his body moving as rigidly as a statue.
“Please,” he begged, “make an independent choice to vote him out. He is going to torture us.”
“As if a vote’s going to stop that,” Pengy shot back.
Bearet turned to Grin. “Goodness. Grin, don’t tell me what to do. But… give me advice!”
The Floragato sighed. Operation Clubhouse was in complete ruin, its intricacies fully stamped out. The commander was suffering from a panic attack. Pawn looked like death. None of them were ever going to be Pengy’s friend–and, deep down, the advisor accepted that in no reality was friendship possible. The Empoleon towered above them with his popularity. Stars failed to shine as brightly as a bully with time and resources.
“Trust your heart,” Grin advised. He couldn’t infringe on his best friend’s newfound independence. “For what it’s worth, none of us like Pengy.”
“I understand,” Bear said, nodding quickly. He crouched, tail-wagging slowly easing to a standstill.
Pengy guffawed. “Seriously? The vote will do nothing, I don’t give a rattata’s–”
The Empoleon looked down at his leg. There was a dagger in it, still quivering from its impact. Bear slid it in as if it had always belonged there.
A curdling squawk filled the small tent. The knight bucked backward for the tent’s exit. His own convulsing muscles confronted him. Bear always infused lightning into his blade, after all, to paralyze his prey.
Pengy swung about for purchase, finding only air–and a lone candle, which he smacked onto the ground. Its fire flitted onto the tarp and bloomed quickly into an orange ball of flame.
“Y-You stabbed me!” Pengy coughed and fought against his paralysis, throwing it back fishy-style on the floor.
“My tent!” Pate yowled. “Why did you stab him?!”
The Boltund flattened his ears. “I was getting huge ‘stab him’ vibes. Oh gosh, independence is really hard. Let me pull that out.”
“Ah! Stop yanking it! I’m going to end all of you!” Pengy roared. He flung himself up into a sitting position. Rivulets of water poured from his quaking beak as the torrent of a hydro-pump sloshed and swirled within his great chest. His next words sounded as if they were spoken underwater. “Smithereens,” he hollered, “smithereens–”
A blazing foot smacked him across the face, and the torrent in his chest became a trickle. An inconsequential spurt of water flew from his mouth onto the growing blaze, doing nothing to quell the rise.
Pawn, however, didn’t care that he added to the fire. He shook the flames from his foot.
“This is for gluing my head to my pillow!” The Raboot swung a foot into Pengy’s gut. “This is for hiding my diploma from me!” He kicked again. If the Empoleon wasn’t paralyzed, he may have been able to stop the insane Raboot. As it was, he could only wheeze and scrabble for freedom.
Grin coughed out smoke. “Y-Yeah. Yeah! My plan was a success.” The Floragato skipped over and drove a paw down on Pengy’s head, bouncing it off of the hard tarp and dry, packed dirt. “Superstars, unite! Clubhouse this loser.”
Pate leapt forward, spun around, and delivered a bucking hind kick to the Pengy’s gut. “You could have been a star,” she wailed. Another kick. “A star, my star…”
The four continued to pummel Pengy as the flames rose and swallowed their tent whole.
The next morning, the superstars met to see their most recent member off. They gathered around him, exchanging awkward looks over the singed heap that used to be an Empoleon.
Multiple burns. A knife wound in the leg. Bruises and scrapes all over. Pengy laid on his dirt gurney, his breaths uneven and pained.
“Damn you,” he rasped. His vengeance gave way to more primitive needs. “W-water.”
Pawn scoffed and dumped a metal cup of water onto his beak. “Canteen is in the green bag. Oran berries and bandages are in the red one. More than you deserve.” He pointed ahead, back the way they traveled. “Grin says the closest town besides Castle is Haven, three miles North. Pour squeezed lemon on your stitches after three days–they’ll dissolve.”
“I’ll end all of you,” Pengy promised. “End… end…”
Grin, meanwhile, perused the Empoleon’s personal belongings. “Huh? What’s this?” He unfolded a large cloak with edges of fine silken gold. “Property of Kline. Why was this in Pengy’s bag? Pawn, how much would this fetch at your store?”
“I’ll snap your neck,” the Raboot replied. “How’s that offer?”
“No deal.”
“So Pengy was a thief, too.” Pate scoffed. “Poor Kline… thank Arceus we managed to defend ourselves when he tried to hide Bear’s expensive knife in his leg. I think I’ve learned an important lesson. Some Pokemons’ approval ain’t worth the effort.”
“I learned,” Grin said, “outsmarting a problem is way harder than just outnumbering it.”
Bear nodded wisely. “I learned that Empoleon blood will always taste oily and bad, even if Pawn slathers it up in string and yummy poultices and stuff.”
“Did you lick his stitches?” Pawn asked. “Bearet, seriously. You need to tell me if you did.”
The Boltund wiped dried flecks of blood off his chops. “Ghost did it.” He sniffled. “By the way, why’s it stink like fear around here?”
Grin turned and noticed the rest of the knights. Their situation was no longer aggravating to them. Instead, most were stupefied, trembling, attention raptly focused on the Empoleon left beaten in the road.
“Arceus,” Barky breathed. The Herdier fought to remain balanced. “They savaged him. J-Just brought him into her tent and burnt him and stabbed him and stole his things… l-like monsters from the Badlands…”
Their commander stepped forward, standing tall.
“Listen all!” She barked. “I have seen the error of my ways. From now on, I shall… I shall…”
“Refuse to fear the candle for its flame,” Grin supplied.
“Thank you. We’re delaying our arrival. Today: each one of you, one by one, will come talk privately with the Superstars. An exchange of honest words. If we see eye to eye? Great. If not, we can part ways.”
“P-Part ways?!” Scraggy squeaked.
Pate shook her head. “I hope it will not reach that point. Although… I already know most of you won’t stay. I think only… two, three of you are loyal enough. The rest will be honorably discharged. Sort of like Pengy has been.”
The knights all returned their attention to Pengy. He went rigid, muscles clenching with agonizing pain.
“Okay, fuck this,” Barky yapped.
He turned tail and darted along the path, escaping into the underbrush.
Scraggy hung behind, hands wrenching together, before waddling in pursuit. The other knights all followed, making a mad dash for the trees, taking into the sky, burrowing into the safe earth. In a matter of seconds, Pate’s squad disappeared itself.
She let out a long exhale. A hollow noise came out long after her breath ran empty, sounding like her soul evacuating from her body. “They all ran away. My squad… it’s decimated. It’s four of us a-against a horde of bandits… bandits steal thingies and we go blamo to make them stop, but we no soldier have and, and the… I’m commander Pate, I dog, I leader dog…”
Grin donned Kline’s cloak and skipped up to Pawn’s side. “Don’t worry about her. This is how she does her best thinking.”
“You know they’ll be back, right?” Pawn asked. “We embarrassed them. They’ll rally and come for revenge.”
“The three of us will figure it out. Best of luck, Pawn.” Grin smiled. “Make the most of your second chance.”
“This’ll be way past my second,” he muttered. “And… and I’m not risking being caught alone by them,” he answered. “Also, I think you will all literally die if I leave you to your own devices.”
Bear picked a loose suture from his teeth with a claw. “You’re really staying with us? You’re pals with them all, aren’t you?”
Pawn started to correct him, then thought better of it. “My soul is a rotting carcass. This chaos, this misery… it revived a part of me I thought lost forever. I could feel it as I drove my foot into Pengy’s skull: a genuine smile creeping onto my face. I imagine if I stay around all of you, these fleeting morsels of delight may treat my malnourished spirit. Plus,” he threw in, “I need to know why your friend knows Legendary magic.”
Bear smiled ear to ear, tail whipping about furiously. “You’re unpleasant, but so was Grin when I met him. I can’t wait to be friends!”
“Never. Never ever,” the medic said. He shot Grin a furtive glance. The Floragato was frolicking in his new cloak. “Once my safety’s assured, I have bigger things planned.”
“Wrong, wrong, it’s all wrong,” Pate repeated, face planted on the ground. “Wrongness everywhere, a candle made entirely of wicks, an overbearing flame… wrong, wrong, wrong… stupid candle. I’m a stupid candle…”
“Okay, I might also help Pate cope with her anxiety attacks. But after that, forget about me.”
“Alright, squad!” Grin cheered. He strode forward, swing a paw forward and pointing it straight ahead. “We’re almost at the Castle gates, so to speak. Four is few, but we’re four superstars. If we all just hang in there, we’ll find a way to get the bandit leader alone in a tent with us. Let’s save Castle.”
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