Angelo’s anger melts; at least, the part that's surface level. He doesn’t understand anything either, those same questions that Doug chants on achingly hollow tones burning on the tip of his own tongue – stinging like acid in his gut. [break][break]

How did this happen? Why? For what reason was important enough for teenagers to get swept up in the mess? Put in neck braces and half scorched. Over some useless slabs of coloured stone, no less. [break][break]

Fists at his side clench until the knuckles pull pale and taut. Perhaps they would have been better left buried. [break][break]

“The League. Us. Doesn’t matter who finds out the truth. We'll get to the bottom of what happened.” It’s a promise, these questions can’t go unresolved, one way or another. No matter who pulls the secrets to the surface. Angelo isn’t one to get involved with the region’s personal affairs – he’s got enough in his hands to carry and there’s the matter of returning to Alto Mare eventually – but he doesn’t think he can ignore this one.[break][break]

“But not tonight - or morning, I guess - think we've been through enough these last few hours.” There's no room for argument there; Doug needed to rest.[break][break]

Angelo doesn’t hesitate, crossing the distance until he’s planted in the uncomfortable hospital seat beside him, expression set with firm resolution. An arm comes across Doug’s shoulders, fingertips gripping tight with the intent to comfort. [break][break]

“She’s asleep now but they said she'll be fine.” Angelo pauses, giving trembling shoulders a squeeze; an attempt at a reassuring smile on his lips. “Chryssa is too… Chryssa-like to stay cooped up in here for long. I'd bet she's already dreaming up a plan to abseil out her window on a bedsheet rope or something. Plotting a grand escape.” That sounded like a chryssa glasgow thing to do, right? [break][break]

Blue eyes stare at the opposite wall, its colours dour off-white and void of feeling. Discomforting. “Wanna stay here for a bit longer? Or... I think the cafeteria might be serving breakfast. My treat.” They could talk there, over something warm to drink, if Doug wanted.[break][break]


[break][break]

+ John Sullivan [break][break]
+ pre autograph & autopsy

There’s a brief memory that flashes in Angelo’s mind, back from when he had ducked into a cavern to seek refuge. He recalls Doug’s presence within the darkened tunnels and a lingering conversation of memorials, on how the bug catcher had plastered a smile onto his face and dismissed it. Brushed it off with his usual energy, as infectious as it was deflecting. [break][break]

How Angelo had let it go, despite sensing the prickling of something unsaid underneath. It hadn’t been his place back then to press. [break][break]

But none of that could be found here. Whatever he had gone through, the teenager’s protective shield had been cracked – ruined – laying his pain naked and raw in the open like the wounds on his hands. Dripping red onto the floor. [break][break]

“Doug,” his voice is level, unwavering and just the slightest bit stern. There’s no letting it go this time, his eyes set much like his jaw; tense and carefully restrained. “Stop. You're not going to be able to hold a pokeball, let alone find anything or help if you hurt yourself more.” [break][break]

Angelo’s hand goes around the bug catcher’s arm when the teenager slumps back down in deflation, pulling him to his feet and rescuing the squished, tattered hat that had been dropped onto the seat. Not letting go of either. [break][break]

“Come on, get up. We're not staying here.”[break][break]

There’s a break room nearby, vacant in the early morning light that pours through the windows, with some cheap chairs for the weary to sit and a couple of vending machines. Its far from a comforting picture with its grey walls and background noise of a crackling television set in the corner, playing some old sit-com nobody would wake up to watch. [break][break]

“Your hat. Want me to fix it?” Angelo asks slowly when they finally enter the nook away from where Chryssa had slept, encouraging the bug catcher to sit as he turns the straw hat – charred around the edges – in his grip carefully.

[break][break]

+ John Sullivan [break][break]
+ pre autograph & autopsy

“Won’t turn out as good as yours but I’ll see what I can do.”[break][break]

They’re both weary, worn and frayed around the edges; Doug slumped into his seat like all the energy has left his body as if he were a flat balloon while Angelo directs all of his into retaining an appearance of hardened reliability. An age-old mask in place as he sits in the chair opposite, elbows on his knees while hunching forward, concentrating on the near-ruined signature accessory in his fingertips.[break][break]

For a few minutes they lounge in silence with but the old scratchy television and the groaning of vending machines as their backdrop. Becoming white noise to him when Angelo occasionally flickers his gaze up to check on the deflated teenager. It makes Doug’s question, when it’s finally breathed into the air, sound ten times louder than it should. Puncturing through hazy static.[break][break]

‘The Captain’ is a vague title; yet all he needs as identification… [break][break]

Normally Angelo might steer this particular conversation away by giving an uncommitted answer. If it was another day, another situation, the courier might even have rounded it back on Doug’s relationship with Chryssa. Playfully poking his nose into their business just so he might step back out of his own.[break][break]

But today wasn’t like any other day. This situation far from a normal, peaceful setting where two ‘bug association members’ bantered in front of a campfire in the woods.[break][break]

Angelo finds there’s too little energy left in him to divide up between carefully maintaining his emotions and the dangerous consideration of what exactly it was he shared with a certain captain. A topic he’s avoided thinking too deeply about.[break][break]

And yet, despite it being a treacherous path for him to tread and his mental strength fragile, if this conversation could be of some distraction to his bug catcher friend… [break][break]

“We’re not…” A pause, wetting lips that suddenly feel noticeably dry. Somehow the words stick heavy in his throat, coming out quieter than he intended, as if the syllables on his tongue are foreign or discomforting to utter. “We’re not together. If that’s what you mean.” Blue eyes, rimmed by dark shadows, remain fixed upon the straw hat in his hands, plucking at the strands that are too charred to be saved – focusing on salvaging what he could. [break][break]

“Guess I wasn’t being subtle, huh? Back in the church?” There’s a faint, wry grin on his mouth; foot restlessly - unconsciously - tapping against the carpet.


[break][break]

+ John Sullivan [break][break]
+ pre autograph & autopsy

At least Doug was laughing. That was enough to pull a more genuine curl to the edge of Angelo’s lips. “Wait. You guys were talking about mythology?” He responds with lazy humour on his tongue, peering up from beneath his lashes at the bug catcher and feeling a weight – no matter how slight – evaporate at the chuckles he’d managed to pull forward. That was better… [break][break]

“We actually left when that… ghost portal thing came out of nowhere and swallowed half your meeting – thanks. Get your mind out of the gutter, Doug.” skyler dross hadn’t given him much of a choice when the spectres had come out to play, teleporting them away from their chatter of how you could steal stained-glass windows and the frantic cries of their fellow meeting attendees. He’d still not been brought up to speed about what happened between that and the explosion… [break][break]

Angelo's glad that Doug decides to pull the attention of the conversation onto himself instead of his not-relationship; allowing the courier the opportunity to fall back into doing exactly what he'd been going for the last few months. Living in blissful avoidance. [break][break]

“What… You went on a date with him? Isn’t he like… the age difference?” Angelo blinked, his mask slipping into a perplexed frown, like his brain was trying to work out a million calculations at once. “Really?” [break][break]

He didn’t think Doug was Remiel Calcifet ’s type. [break][break]

It didn’t even cross Angelo’s exhausted mind that the unnamed crush – the referenced prince ambassador – could be the fourth member of their Adventour group (Andy Blackadder ), too busy debating whether he had to go knock some sense into Remiel for dating a teenager or leave it be. Guess that was their business… [break][break]

Instead, he decides to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Want a snack? I’m getting something from the machine.”



[break][break]

+ John Sullivan [break][break]
+ pre autograph & autopsy

“Maybe there’ll be a Doug Catcher Association next,” he retaliates with a raised brow at the teenager’s quip, hands on his knees as he pushed himself up to his feet. Bones aching uncharacteristically, weary. Angelo decides not to ruminate on the age difference and his friend’s blasé response to dating the ambassador of Galar. The prince and the bug catcher… huh? Who’d have thought. [break][break]

Before he goes to the vending machines, Angelo stretches the hat out towards Doug, charred accessory hovering in the space between them in a gesture of showing the progress. “It’s not done yet… but how’s it looking?” So far, the courier has plucked out all the burnt straw that he could, although some pieces had to remain to keep the structure intact. “Don’t happen to have a stash of grass in your pockets, would you?” It would have to be a half-completed project, otherwise.[break][break]

“’Kay, one coke coming up…” [break][break]

Leaving the hat with its owner – placed on the arm of the chair – Angelo crosses the empty breakroom to the vending machines tucked in the corner, mechanics humming with a bit of a groaning strain that shudders every few seconds. He barely has the mental capacity to think about the ache of parting with precious coins as he slots them into the machine for their overpriced snacks; returning with a coke, a small steaming plastic cup of coffee and a packet of chips. Salt and vinegar. [break][break]

He holds the can of coke out before realising, with an amused breath rather than feeling embarrassed, that it wasn’t going to be that easy.[break][break]

“Okay, buddy… How’d you want to do this?”




[break][break]

+ John Sullivan [break][break]
+ pre autograph & autopsy

Angelo glances over his shoulder, looking back at where the refreshment machines stood for a quick sweep, only to confirm that there were no elusive straws to be found. It was possible he had missed them in his bleary eyed state but... “Hm… Unless you know how to fashion one out of what straw you have and the shit in my pockets, then no. No straws.” [break][break]

It’s then, sensing that there were no other alternatives, that Doug reclines back against his chair and flashes him a suggestive wink. Intent obvious. Angelo lets out a short snort against the rim of his plastic coffee cup, threatening to make the uncovered, scalding liquid spray. [break][break]

“I’m feeling generous but not that much.” He grins, taking a sip of his drink and letting out a sigh that is both equally real in how it trickles pleasantly warm down his throat and exaggerated, just for Doug. “Ahh… So good.” There’s a smirk on his lips, definitely falling back into a teasing sibling dynamic, familiar and comfortable like an old knitted sweater. His insolence about as energising as the coffee beginning to pool in his stomach. [break][break]

“Okay, how about this...?” Angelo takes a seat down in the chair he had claimed across from Doug, balancing the drinks on the arms precariously. He then opens up the packet of chips and proceeds to throw one across the room, aiming for Doug's face. Hopefully he'll catch it in his mouth and not with his eye. [break][break]

“Maybe we could... tie the can to your hand or something so you don't have to grip it? Or I've got a couple of pokemon who could do with practicing their Psychic - if you're willing to take the risk getting coke in your hair... Or a can in the eye.” It would probably just be easier to go to the cafeteria but where was the fun in that?

[break][break]

+ John Sullivan [break][break]
+ pre autograph & autopsy