15. In Which Grovyle and Darkrai Have a Chat

“I don’t believe I’ve ever met Jirachi before. Are you quite certain he can juggle?”

“Better than I’ve ever seen him grant wishes, dear. It’s a little shocking, honestly.” 

The conversation Darkrai found himself in with Celebi was pleasant as always. She was an excellent conversationalist, and it was refreshing to speak to her. Twig might be kind, but she was also curt and taciturn when conversing with him— at least for the most part. Her hour-long raving about the misdeeds of Team Skull stuck out in his memory, still fuzzy with his gratitude for her trusting him enough to speak on the subject to. Even so, Celebi’s open warmth was very much enjoyable as they chatted in Twig’s front room.

Grovyle’s stormy entry through the front door cut their conversation short. Celebi fluttered over to her companion, asking if he was well, but Grovyle’s eyes didn’t leave Darkrai. 

“We need to talk,” he spat, and Darkrai followed him onto the porch as cordially as one could when they were led by someone who seemed desperate to rip out their entrails. 

Grovyle’s shoulders were tense as he whirled around to face him. “I’m not happy about you being around,” he hissed.

“I’ve gathered as much,” Darkrai replied. 

“Twig is raking herself over the coals for your sake, you know.” He stepped forward, leaves sharpening their edges in what seemed a subconscious expression of his distaste, though not one that Darkrai was foolish enough to look past. “I don’t care if a Legend can’t die by mortal hands— if you ever step out of line— if you ever act up, even once— if you ever do anything to hurt Twig in any way— I’ll be the first to prove that thought wrong, and I’ll kill you as slowly as I can.” 

“I’d appreciate that.”

He blinked, taken aback. “… What?”

“I am grateful for your willingness to defend your loved ones. I would even say I’d be much obliged if you would relay your oath to Twig. I suspect she’d take comfort in it.”

“You’re not… You’re not upset about it. You’re not upset I said I would kill you.”

“No.” He tilted his head. “Why would I be?”

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

“I’m no fool, Grovyle. I am not so oblivious to Twig’s fearfulness as you might assume. Nor am I blind to her withholding the truth of my past from me, similar to how you— while not as prone to blatant dishonesty as Twig herself— are withholding your knowledge of the truth as well.” The grass-type tensed, and Darkrai put up his hands in a peaceful gesture. “I am put out by this, I will admit, but I am willing to learn at the pace that you will allow me, though I may prod a bit for answers here and there. You are good people. I understand you must have your reasons for delaying my learning of my past.” 

Grovyle stepped back, shifting his weight to a more restful posture. “You’re much different than I expected.” 

“I hope that my difference from your expectations is for the better?”

“We’ll see.” Grovyle turned his eyes to the fence at the edge of the property. “I’m going to check on Twig.”

“Please inform her that Celebi plans to prepare supper on her behalf. Unfortunately.” 

He grimaced. “Tell Celebi that she’s not allowed to put any unidentified roots in what she makes. She might like to insist that they’re good for you, but not everyone can stomach the things.” 

With that, they parted ways, and Darkrai dearly hoped that they did so on better grounds than they met on.