ashes burning

Is it that bad?

“ The jury thinks so, ” he grumbles, gaze leaving the brunette (rated charming, but not exactly the type of guardian angel he was expecting) to pin the Dodrio head demanding attention from its human partner. An impulse to shake his head clear of the annoying pitches gets Gold to sit upright, and he gently elbows a beak away to do a prompt 360, dignity commanding him to locate his skateboard—

        which he finds tamed by the sand a few meters away. He’ll clean the wheels tomorrow.

Nodding once to himself concludes an assessment; disgrace downplays sore wrists and a knee scrape (a fresh stroke on his roughened legs) and hardens his guarded psyche. He glances at Fire’s plastic bag, glad for a second that he wasn’t on a busy street, then stands with a private reminder not to slouch too much.

“ You remind me of someone. But never mind that, did destiny have you buy any bandages? ” Gold harmlessly nudges the bag with his foot.

‘You remind me of someone’? Really. A quirked brow, but true, nevermind that—

"Nope." He nudges away the most offensive beak bumping at his arm, but not without sticking the bag straps into its beak, getting a muffled hwwwrk for the effort, then the bag being lowered to the ground.

"Don't poke them," he commands with some foresight—beercans clasped in yokes not bought for the amusement of eccentric dodrios, the snacks not for now—while he bends to a knee; the backpack swung over his shoulders now swung off, right before him.

"—but I should have one in here." To the side pocket, where the gauze dressing and pads, and all small first aid can be packed away. They come out folded and connected, large squares than rectangles, and he tears one off to hold out.

"That enough? Nothing for the head? How many heads does my doduo have, by the way.”

‘Leader Jasmine is out today!’ Bummer. Gold was ready to turn on his heel and be on his way upon that report, but the Gym Assistant tugged with an extensive Q&A which Gold literally had to back out of. While he was never much of a person to rub his neck with blatant cringe, he’d spared plenty of dismissive laughter with his adamancy that he was not here for a rematch. Just to hang out. Speaking of out.

‘I ain’t takin’ haf’ a punchcard.’ An exchange of deadpan looks. Somehow his beat up card had cropped half its valued perforations: paper evidence of his past patronage gone, robbing his free meal. Sure, the prior champion and hero of Kanjohto cards were played accordingly, but when did the sailors ever bend to that? Paid bill and tongue clicking aside, the server was happy to hand him a fresh loyalty card.

Escaping a persistent challenger, accidentally kicking a small Krabby, nearing losing his cap to the sea … Gold pushes with true indignation boarding along the flat stone walk of the port. The bar of his foolish content refilled to an adequate percentage, he spends the stored energy on an ollie that doesn’t pass gdi—— the absolute mess hopes to himself that his flop had gone unseen, but letting his head loll to the left in resignation brings a figure into view. So, he sighs at his doom.

It's the worst Gold could not want: an erratic laughter, a trio of them, high pitched and low and all unabashed about revelling in his torment. The main figure he sees in his crumpled new home of despair waves a hand to hush the three-headed trio only once it's really too late—but there really is something so utterly pitying about the body he's found, spirit left for hopefully greener pastures than the hard, cold road.

"Yo," he gives, the hint of sympathy not disguised, but not overly sweet off his tongue, "Is it that bad?"

Fire approaches without a rush, plastic store bag crinkling in his hand, suspecting the guy might have a few scrapes, but not suspecting anything much worse than a wounded pride. The dodrio, still squawking and chattering behind his back, are a lively group at his back. One in particular swings its head around to the side of Fire, barking at him nonsense sounds.

Yet, when his question finally came, she found herself overwhelmed with a sense of relief. Relief and a hint of happiness– that he would be willing to open up to her, even if it was just a question that did little in helping her piece together what it was that was troubling him. As small as it was, she found herself more than satisfied by what had come after the long silence, such was evident by the smile tugging at her lips.

“ I’d much rather not be in the spotlight whatsoever, but it’s part and parcel of being a gym leader… or having any sort of position in the League, for that matter. ” Though her words took on a similar tone as it had throughout their whole interaction, the look in her eyes seemed to have softened just as she begun to speak. “ Interviews can be tiring, tedious even… especially when they’re being done by the more questionable members of media. Of course, you have a choice as to whether you would like to do an interview or not, especially if you think of it as unpleasant. Having an audience is something I’m somewhat familiar with, but being asked questions, especially some more… invasive ones can be unnerving. ”

“ But at the same time… interviews give you more exposure. Well, it certainly does put your name out there, but it also allows people to understand the type of person that you truly are, rather than making their own assumptions. For example, I assume that you are aware of the unofficial title I’d been given by the people of Celadon? ” A sigh escaped her lips, though her smile still remained as she turned her attention back to Fire. “ I hope I’ve managed to answer your question properly. In a way, you could say that asking a question is like a private interview between friends… or is that too much of a stretch? ”

His fidgeting—unsteady elbows, a foot swinging from point A to point B, eyes and a chin that can't decide if to be pointed in Erika's direction—relaxes the more she speaks, the more he has to focus on, and to not feel so— what? Stupid? Immature? Exposed by how incredibly put on the spot interviews make him feel?

Interviews give you more exposure. Why does he need a thing like that. Trainers coming to bug him from all over? Well, he'd like to say he has those... kinda hard for them to find him when he’s always moving around. But the rest of what Erika has to say makes him wonder, takes note at the personal, tamed exasperation of titles. 

His back straightens a little towards the end of what she has to say, for no real reason; just something to do, the least fidgety thing he’s done in a while. He gives her ending thought a dipped brow, a lined mouth. Mmm, like a private interview between friends?

"It's a private conversation shared out to the world," he points out, but it's not really what he's stuck on, lips pinching harder for a second afterwards. 

"Would it be any better if a friend was interviewing me? I dunno... I'm trying to imagine you sitting in a chair asking me questions," and he's got the whole set-up clear in his mind!, "and maybe that isn't so bad, but then people want to read your words..."

He’s searching for the way to describe it, the problem—one of many problems when it comes to this, but the one not yet said:

“I don’t have anything cool to say.”

“I know it doesn’t have to be cool, but anything different or inspiring from the stuff you already hear... everyone else has it sorted out. I just want to be battle! But—”

A sigh, heavy, sharp. 

“I don’t want to read that in a magazine... and know everyone else is reading it too! It’s like—” His hands wave, trying to grab the right words out of thin air.

“—Like everyone’s looking at you!”

The round ends, Heracross Wins!, and Fire acknowledges it with a sigh, an 'Oh well!', falling out of tune with the performance he was in the middle of in its quiet cheeriness. But it was small, hardly noticeable against the arrogance he was playing up—and he had his partner (opponent, acquaintance? victim—) absolutely revolted by the performance that he himself had set up.

You make yourself sound like an insufferable individual. Yup. Hit the right mark. 

“Do you want to be beaten that much?”

But that, that he likes the sound of much better.

He wasn't playing as well as he might've liked to be, but soon enough, that regret quickly becomes irrelevant; which it already was, seeing as he was going up against a guy who obviously really liked to play games.

But as the Frontier Head actually indulges him with that dulcet tone—the one that comes after the defence of his inventions, that is—, and oh, the analysis of his character makes it hard for Fire to keep himself from breaking into a full-teeth smile.

He does keeps it down, somehow, eyes focused on the screen, and for the first time, he doesn't answer straight away; allowing the idea that the guy just hit the nail on the head.

Until—

"You make me sound so cool." He tips his head only slightly, letting his attention drift momentarily from the game, even if his opponent might not look his way to see the way he looks at him, amused. But it's fine: it's there in the husky tone of his voice. A husky tone for such a hunky-sounding guy.

“So, where do you think you’ll fit into my story? The guy who’ll put me in his place, or just another boring disappointment? I’ve beaten some of the best out there...”

He’s down to a quarter on his health bar. Losing, but far from sounding like one, as if the game wasn’t even really anything serious to him as it had been just moments before.

“I bet I’ll be the one testing your battle intelligence. Are you ready to be judged by someone on my level?”

“Yes, that’s right. Snowpoint City.” She was impressed that he had been able to guess that just by her name alone and, perhaps also her accent. Although she’d lived in Alola most of her life bits of her Sinnoh inflection still surfaced at times. “Have you been there?”

Actually, now that she got a good look at him – shoes with worn soles, his backpack looked as if it had seen quite a lot of use, and comfortable clothes for traveling. He seemed like a well-seasoned adventurer, likely much more experienced than she was.

“What about you, are you very far from home?” Miyu could detect a faint accent, and if she were to guess she would say either Kanto or Johto – but decided to allow him to reveal his origins rather than taking a mostly blind guess.

He got it right? "Ah-ha!" He grins along with the vocal fanfare, feeling pretty good about himself. Did she sound Sinnoh too? Bah, he couldn't remember how anyone sounded from that way back. Let's go with Yes.

"About as far as you? Kanto," he indulges her, before she could get the idea that he meant Sinnoh. "It's been a while, but I spent a good chunk of time around there looking for all the lakes and caves they're supposed to have out there, full of legendaries. Wasn't a bad time."

And he might've seen a special sight or two, but was a stranger going to believe him, five minutes after them meeting? It didn't matter; the memories along kept Fire cheery. The scent of damp grass and enclosed spaces waft in the places that the odour of the seeds permitted it to, a reminder for how dense the forest was they were in.

"I was here before, Unova, but I decided to come back since I was in the area... there were a few spots I never really got to go that I wanted to last time." He looks back to her, the curious glint in his eye easy to miss. "But you're pretty far from home. What made you pick Unova?"

Fire.. Fire… you’re like the brother Red never had but wanted. What’d he do now without you? You’ve literally saved his life by bringing food and drink. Of course he wanted to get something for Pikachu, so he nodded at that part.

Although… money.

His money was probably outdated, which sucked.

Keep reading

The blastoise snorts at Red's approach, his touch; far from a derision, but the type of laugh that the pokémon had made back when he was even a squirtle, going from a high-pitched noise to the smug-sounding thing it was now. Before Red left, a fist was offered to him—for a fistbump.

Don't miss out on the fistbump, now.

Here was just fine for Red. He wasn’t ready to face his inevitably angry mother yet anyway. He smiles distantly. His mother. Yeah no he doesn’t want to get slapped just yet.

Red points to the floor, as if to say ‘Yo here’s okay.’ and he heaves a sigh. Thankfully his hat covered most of his messy hair. It’s not as if he didn’t shower up there. Melting the ice made for cold baths, but y’know he just hadn’t managed to find a nice hot bath on the way down.

Keep reading

Down they go, a heap on the dirt-covered road that connected the Indigo League and Viridian City. Seeing this, Blastoise decides with a huff to come closer to the scene of the two boys, taking a place behind where his trainer sits cross-legged.

He looks to Red, to Pikachu, but says or shows nothing—nothing but the unflinching smirk on his features, a rather permanent fixture about him.

Red most likely looked like one big mess right now. Which, well he was of course, but he didn’t want to be that guy, y’know? Although he didn’t exactly feel like speaking at the moment. Nevertheless, this was Fire, he could trust him. He opened his mouth to speak, except a flurry of coughs came instead, and he quickly moved to cover his mouth.

Well shit.

This isn’t fun.

Keep reading

Nothing? Nothing at all? Red will get a free pass for that, actually. Fire stares at him while waiting on some kind of answer, but that means really looking at the guy more: his awful clothes, his messy black hair, arceus, his face. Some people wouldn't say anything.

"Alright, I get it. Man, Red... You look like shit."

Fire wasn't that polite.