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Route 8 - Beachside

"Salieri it is. I'm Grant."

"A hand," Grant said, holding up his arms to show the cuts on his hands. "I think I'll die before I make it to town in my current condition. Would you mind?"

"Or you, maybe?" he shot to Benedict, turning his head to look at the guy.

"That thing acts like Ricard..." Benedict mumbled when Banksy was disobedient to its trainer's wishes. He tried, for a moment, to imagine riding on the dragonite, but not only was the thing fast, but it would probably throw him off. From a really really high height.

"Ah. Oui. I am going towards Cyllage.." The youth said. He tried to make best grin better, though that was impossible. Honestly, it was a surprise she wasn't swooning already. "Ambrette was not a very nice place."

He glanced towards Banksy warily for a moment, and then over at Jerath. The rhyhorn had been trying to murder someone just that day, so... It wasn't like he wasn't already taking chances. Besides...

It paid to be a gambler sometimes.

"Unless you want to ride him back, I guess it's the tortoise." Benedict said to Grant as he made his way towards Banksy. He gave Salieri a glance first, to make sure it was fine with her, and another one to Banksy. Frankly, if the tortoise showed any sign of not wanting him there, the youth planned to stay with his chances of riding Rhyhorn back.

Banksy counted up the potential number of passengers. Three humans would be a cramped ride on the bed sized shell, but the weight was feasible. The issue was that she didn't feel like it. A Pokémon of her level was no go-cart. She huffed and looked away.

"Banksy, come on." The Torkoal didn't respond. In the sun's setting light, Sal's amber eyes glowed with intensity. "You agreed to help me out. So make good on your word."

A burst of smoke angrily blew out of Banksy's shell, but settled just as quickly when Banksy heaved with a sigh. The girl had challenged her pride. [Disrespectful brat,] she grumbled in a dry, elderly voice as she lowered herself to the ground. The smoke stack thinned out before stopping entirely. Sal sighed in relief rather than reluctance, and put her smirk back on.

Biz Marquis clapped his hands to his face in surprise. [I didn't know you could talk! Does the other guy talk too? What is up with you guys, I want in on that-] The red recall beam returned the Quilladin to his Pokéball, shutting him up. Salieri jumped onto the front of Banksy's shell, crouched low and gripped onto one of its grooves. "If you want to stand, wait until we take off. Keep both feet on the shell at all times. In case of emergency, jump off."

Assuming they got on and followed the rules, the Torkoal's legs would tuck in, White Jet would begin, and Banksy would hover over to Cyllage City's Pokémon Center along the beach's sunset on a hazy cloud at a reasonable cruising speed of thirty miles per hour.

Route 8 - Mountain Range Peaks

There were a few trees dotting Kalos's eastern mountain range. Behind one of them near the top was Faust Nostrad, wrapped in a brown cloak with the hood up. Next to him was a saddle with a pack of supplies, and a Gogoat munching on a patch of grass. Up in the tree’s canopy was his Octillery, hanging upside down from a large branch and looking down at Route 8 far below him.

He adjusted his glasses and scratched his square black goatee as he looked down at a tablet screen. In a high definition bird's eye view seventy feet up in air was a shaky cam shot of Salieri, Grant, Benedict, Banksy and Jerath. Faust peered at the back of Grant's jacket and saw the Pokétch symbol. He picked up his wrist and spoke upper class Kalosian into his Holocaster. "Nicolette, I have a situation.”

No hologram appeared of Nicolette, just a blank space of blue light. After a few seconds, Nicolette's deep, electronically distorted voice answered the call with annoyance. “What?”
“The Soledad girl has joined up with the Pokétch sponsee from Sinnoh, the one on your list. There’s another trainer with them as well. Should I wait til that trainer I gone then take out Grant with Salieri? Two birds with one stone.”
“Unless you have a particularly special stone to throw, you risk one getting away,” the voice explained, as if speaking to a child. “You will leave Grant to someone else. Focus on Soledad.”
Faust suddenly became embarrassed, yet glad Nicolette couldn’t see it. “Right, of course. I just wanted you to know. I’ll continue keeping tabs on her until your liason gives me her answer.”
“I don’t need to know every little thing you do,” she said wearily. “If you need to get it off your chest, keep a diary. Don’t call me about such trivial matters again.”

She hung up before Faust could apologize. He shut off his Holocaster and leaned back against the tree. “What a woman.”

Sycamore Research Lab - The Guest Room

The old bedroom's door opened softly and Professor Sycamore crept inside. He ignited a gaslamp that he kept on a table by the doorway, and let its dull light spill over the room. Zack was a still mound on the bed, quiet as a corpse. The professor placed the lamp on the bedside table and pulled up a chair. He took a quiet moment to look Zack over, wondering if he'd seen his face before. In the end, he decided he hadn't, and shook the trainer awake.

'Rise and shine,' he said, sitting back while Zack grunted himself to life. The trainer sat up on his elbows, squinting in the lamplight. Without it, the room wasn't true dark, but the orange streaks of sunlight filtering past the curtains had turned into the faded blue of twilight, and it wouldn't be long before night fell. Sycamore laid out a leather bundle on the bed, which contained a multitude of medical apparatus, each in its individual sleeve.
'Time is it?' Zack asked, wincing when he looked directly at the lamp. Sycamore withdrew a small halogen torch, and clicked it on in Zack's eye. The trainer flinched back and looked to the dark.
'It's not too late. You've been sleeping for about an hour,' Sycamore said, holding his hand to Zack's forehead and peeling back an eyelid. He shone the torch, examined the trainer's reaction, then clicked it off. 'I thought so.'

'Thought what?' Zack asked, rubbing his eye. Sycamore gave him a searching look, then slipped the torch back in its sleeve. He sighed.
'You'd be surprised at how many young trainers I've seen with Potion poisoning,' he said. 'Some try drinking it as a dare. Others do so out of sheer stupidity. But you're the first I've seen with it past the age of twelve.'

Zack stayed quiet. Sycamore slapped his shoulder reassuringly, but all it did was make Zack wince. 'Well, don't look so dour. You don't look like you've been drinking it for long. No, no, long time abusers have it much worse. The Potion heals surface wounds, but it doesn't stop there. It flows in your bloodstream, thickens blotches of skin, hardens arteries. Soon your mind becomes muddled, and you're left with the brain of a hundred and fifty year old. It doesn't take long to die, not after that.'
'Oh,' said Zack. Sycamore unbuttoned another sleeve on his medical roll and withdrew a slender syringe. He held it up, and squeezed the plunger, loosing a small spray of fluid.
'Pick an arm,' he said.
Zack frowned. 'What is that stuff?'

Sycamore smiled like nothing was wrong, waving the syringe about. 'Oh this? It's an antidote. I'm sure by now you'll have had the cravings. The most insidious aspect of Potion sickness is the addictiveness. I can see the state you're in, and I'd shocked if the thought to remedy it all with a quick swig hadn't crossed your mind. But really, do you want it to continue?'
'I suppose not,' Zack replied, not taking his eyes from the needle tip. He rolled the sleeve back on his right arm, and held it forward. Sycamore took him by the wrist, injecting the contents of the syringe, emptying the lot.
'There,' Sycamore said brightly. 'That's the worst of it over with. Now, I'll have to check your injuries. Seems a number's been done on you.'
'Yeah, I wound up losing count,' Zack smirked, but painfully.
'Ah haha. Now take your shirt off.'

Zack stared at the professor, sighed, then did as he was told.

---

Sometime later, Zack was sat up in bed while Sycamore packaged his supplies away and redid the leather roll. Sycamore had gone around Zack's body with firm care, finding where he was hurting and working out why. In the end, he left Zack wondering if mummies knew fewer bandages. He'd been outfitted with soft pads that were then held in place with bandage rolls around his ribs and shoulder. Several scrapes and tears of flesh had been discovered and disinfected, then plastered over. He felt like a patchwork man, but the pressure of the bandages alleviated some of the pain, at least.

'It seems my work here is done,' Sycamore said, fastening his medical kit with the dull clip of its button.
'Seems like,' Zack said. The professor started walking off, but a thought occurred to the trainer before Sycamore reached the door. 'Hey. You're meant to be an expert on mega evolution, aren't you?'
Sycamore paused, then turned around with a weary smile. 'Some might say I'm the expert. But I'm afraid it's a little late for a Q&A.'
'Not exactly what I was getting at,' Zack replied. 'I need a book. Something comprehensive would be nice. You do have books, don't you?'

Sycamore cracked a grin, then nodded. 'Right, a book. Of course. There are some on my PC. A terminal should be on this floor somewhere, not far. I'll go get one for you. But reading's all you get to do. And I suggest you take it easy for a few days as well, while you heal.'
'Aye, captain,' Zack muttered. 'And Professor Sycamore. Thanks. For fixing me up. You didn't have to.'
'Ha. Well, I couldn't very well have you falling apart up here, could I? My mother died in that bed.' He closed the door, and left to get Zack some reading material. The trainer stared at the dark edge of the room for the longest time, wondering if Sycamore had been joking.

Lumiose City

Helena remembered every step of her journey to the center. She remembered every stoplight and crosswalk. Pressing buttons, and waiting for the little L.E.D. man to pop up and signal for her to make walk across. All of this made Helena recall a mental state that she had read about once upon a time.

Highway hypnosis. The explanation for walking from point a to point b and remembering none of the journey. Helena wished that she could fall into it, but the hypnosis never came. When the teen arrived at the cramped center, it was with a heavier weight on her shoulders.

Every step was a thought about a problem, a reminder that things were only going to get worse. The monster would come for her again someday, Zack might get himself killed hunting it, Salieri would definitely get herself killed taking on the nobility - a group of people that were already hunting for her. Helena felt completely helpless to stop any of it.

If she wanted to play the heroine, it meant teaming up with a murderer. If she wanted to run away, it meant leaving those that she cared for to die. No matter what road she decided to take, it meant sacrificing something important. Her humanity, or her compassion. The only other option was to beg them to stop, to make themselves as harmless as possible and let the big leaguers play their ball game - and that meant sacrificing their trust in her and respect for her. A small price to pay for the option with the worst odds.

With these things dwelling on her mind, only growing worse and weighing more with each step, Helena reached the pokemon center.

It was so loud she couldn't hear herself think, and for that the teen was grateful. She moved through the crowd, twisting out of one person's way, and making herself small enough to fit between two other people. It was all going swell until she reached the line to the nurse's counter.

Helena was about to step past it, knowing her situation was an emergency, when she saw the shape people were in, or the pokemon they carried were in. Helena gasped without meaning to, one hand covering her mouth in the same motion. She decided to wait until it was her turn.

The second wait was the worse of all. Helena had no direction for her misery, but it steadily grew worse all the same. When she finally reached the counter it was with a heavier heart than she'd ever imagined feeling. The emotional weight on her shoulders felt very real and it caused them to slump. A pain was slowly forming in the girl's back, along her spine underneath the shoulder blades from the posture, but she couldn't muster the strength to fix it.

Helena couldn't speak loud enough to tell the nurse what was wrong, but the woman simply took Serene and looked her over before writing something down and handing it and the Kirlia off to another nurse who glanced at the board and then hastily disappeared into the back.

Helena was then handed a slip of paper that told her to come back tomorrow, one that came from a pile of them that had been hastily printed up. Helena could tell from the fading ink that there not only had been a lot of these, but that a lot had already been given away.

"Thank you," Helena said, her cracking voice drowned out by the center's noise. The nurse just offered her a sad looking smile and nodded.

When she got out to the street, the light from the sky was gone. Star and moonlight illuminated the sky, and lamp posts lit the streets. In that coldness, Helena began her walk and then stopped as soon as she was far enough away from the center that there was nobody around.

She fell back against the nearest wall and then slid down it until her bottom touched the ground. Helena reached into her bag and started to search around. She had item balls filled with clothes and other things, each of them labeled, but that wasn't what she was looking for.

When Helena finally found it, she released the item into her hand and then looked it over. The silver colored metal locket sat in her hand, the chain scrunched up. It looked as pristine as the first day that she had gotten it, but the shadows of the night and the orange glow of the street lights gave it an odd color - one that Helena better related to at the moment. She carefully opened it and looked at the picture.

Her mother, beautiful and strong. Helena had once compared the features in the photo to her mother now, and had thought that she was just as beautiful, the lines of age had only made her look stronger.

The picture also included her father. He looked larger than life. The way he dwarfed the rest of them, Helena was sure she'd have to crane her neck to look him in the eye, whether she was a child or an adult.

In her mother's arms was Helena herself. A little baby wrapped in a red blanket. Then there was Zack, standing as close to the edge of the picture as possible and looking miserable. His hair was a mess, and he was scowling at something far away.

Helena smiled as she went over the possibilities of what might have happened to make him upset. It wasn't difficult, Helena reflected, but the plethora of reasons only made it more fun. She didn't realize until that moment, when her smile gave way to a sob, that she had been crying. She wasn't sure when she started, or how long it had been happening, just that her cheeks felt sore and her eyes heavy. She put the locket's chain around her neck and connected it, letting the heart shape fall over her shirt where it rested below her collar bone.

When Helena got up to head home, it was with some luck and a little mercy that the next thing she knew, the teen was brushing past Dexio with a broken hello on her way into the lab. She barely remembered that trip too, making her way through the lab off of muscle memory. She didn't look at anyone else, nor would she have noticed them.

Helena made her way straight to the room where Zack had been sent. When she got there, it was to the sight of the mummy that had replaced her brother. "Never do that again," she said, louder than she had intended to, "never ever." She couldn't tell him everything. Not yet, at least. She couldn't explain to him that it wasn't just this one thing that had her so upset. She couldn't give him a reason to go out there in his condition.

En Route To Cyllage City

Banksy didn't respond to Jerath, whom she also didn't consider worthy of her time, but she did snort in annoyance when Grant mentioned the graffiti tagged on her back. "Don't worry about it," Sal told the sponsee. To his other comment, about what he owed her, she muttered, "Damn straight you do." Once they were at the Pokémon Center, Sal planned on finding Grant and questioning him one on one. Until then, she'd try to be pleasant. Or at least what she considered pleasant.

Once Banksy reached her cruising speed, gliding them a few feet above the ground, Salieri stood up with a strong legged stance. Hands in her pockets, she looked out at the crystal waves of the ocean rolling against the sand. The end of the beach was rockier, and transitioned into a dirt and grass path that led to the small city. Like the rest of Kalos, it was gorgeous. She embraced the salty sea wind running across her face, allowing herself to get distracted for a moment from the threat of the shadows that loomed around her.

"I didn't teach her." Sal answered Benedict without looking back while taking off her bandanna. She wrapped it around her wrist and let her wavy brown hair blow freely behind her. "My brother did. That's what he told me, anyway." At the mention of her brother, her tone became melancholic. Salieri scratched at the scar on her nose, then glanced over her shoulder at her passengers. Time to change the subject.

"You guys aren't the only ones with battle scars from Ambrette Town." With a prideful smirk, she turned back her torso, unzipped her vest, and pulled down her shirt slightly to show them the bandages wrapped around where her neckline met the top of her chest. She'd taken off the bandage covering her forehead an hour ago, and without the bandanna on a dark, coin sized bruise was evident. "We're veterans now."

Sycamore Pokémon Lab - The Guest Room

"I'm not kidding," Helena said as she approached the bed, moving around to the side of it. "I thought I lost you. I saw you on the news and I went after you, but I couldn't find you in the caves. I looked and found Serene, and I wanted to keep looking but she was badly hurt, so I turned back and there you were but what if you weren't, Zack? What if you were there still? What if you never came out? I'm not ready for that, I'll never be ready for that." Helena was out of breath by the time she finished, and she had moved down to her knees, resting her fingers along the edge of the mattress. "I don't even know what to do right now, what would I do if things got worse?"

Salieri zipped her vest up again. "Heroes of what? Rubble?" she asked while jabbing a thumb back at the ruins formerly known as Ambrette Town. "We didn't do a very good job." With a sigh and a shrug, she added "At least nobody died, as far as I know...c'est la vie."