The silence between them is somber, but Gavin doesn't break it. His grip on his lover's hand is a firm anchor.

He's not the type most would seek for comfort in troubled times. That Tempest Quinn trusted him to sit in on this ritual of mourning means more than he knows how to express. He's just happy to provide support, as Temp has always done for him.

He's surprised to see the ship, traces its damaged hull with his eyes.

He turns back to Temp, then, gaze drifting to the bag.

"What's in it?"

To some, the ship would be a familiar shape, one that suddenly went missing almost thirty years ago. Never seen again.

To Temp, it's just one of the last pieces of his mom.

"Just some birthday presents." He gives it a firm pat, turning to offer Cillian Quinn a tight smile. Some hurts got better but they never really went away. He jerked his head towards the ship itself, moving slightly more inland and under the shadow of both the rock and ship.

Two graves, outlined in rocks, rest under the shadow. It's peaceful, the way the breeze laps at them, this calm spot. Two large stones sit at the heads, word down and smooth from the surf, a name carved into each. Temp moves to the smaller one, sits down at it's foot and opens up his bag, starts to clean off any debris that might have collected since the last visit.

"Well... this is my lil sis, Aurora." He straightens up a carved wooden wailmer, tipped over at some point. "And my mom, too." He nods to the grave labeled 'Alvilda'.

From this angle, he can't see if there's any name carved into the ship's hull. If there was, if he'd seen it, he might've made the connection to the name that's carved into the weathered headstone.

Instead, his lip twitches with distant memories.

"Alvilda? Reminds me of pirate stories from when I was a kid."

He brushes away a few rough stones from the sand and sits down next to Temp, tracing the little details of the Wailmer carving in silent appreciation for the handiwork. Another year's gift, he imagines.

He finds Tempest Quinn's hand again and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"What kind of stories were those?" He's curious but distracted. Temp squeezes his hand back, relishes in the contact for a moment, but then he's working in other ways.

A thermos taken out of the bag, a steamy stew poured directly on the sandy dirt at the foot of each grave. This is followed by a shot of whiskey on his mom's, a cup of juice at his sister's. Only then does Temp takes a swig of the soup, a swig of the whiskey, before offering both to Cillian Quinn. Some type of ritual, of some sort, but for now he doesn't explain.

"This ship used to be my mom's, maybe that's what she was named after?" Which was wrong, but good guess Temp.

From this angle, on the ground, a sheen of sunlight reflect's off the side of the ship is shifted, allowed them to see the name.

Siren's End is faded and chipped but clear.

Gavin's distracted, too, for entirely different reasons.

"Good ones," he says belatedly, hoping it wasn't offensive to compare Tempest Quinn's mother to a pirate queen. The stories of his youth are some of the few fond memories he has of Galar, curled up next to the frosted window and staying up past his bedtime to read by the pale light of his digital clock.

The smell of the stew draws him from his thoughts as Temp presses a thermos and a bottle of whiskey into his hands.

He doesn't understand but just as he had in Pacifidlog, he complies without hesitation. Stew then whiskey burn a path down his throat, settle together in his stomach as he hands back the objects.

His gaze shifts with the sunlight and falls across a weathered name.

Siren's End.

He laughs, soft and surprised. "No way. Your mum was the Adamantine?"

Pirate Queen and a child's idol.

"You know, I named my Dhelmise after her ship."

He's taken to naming his favourites, slowly but surely.

Temp hums, at first only half listening, as he takes out various trinkets from his bag and lays around his sister's grave. Color painted beads, a clay Corsola he had picked up in Lilycove, things that would return to the earth in time. His mom's grave, too, gets a nice handful of shells, not to be forgotten even if it isn't her special day.

He does pause when Cillian Quinn seems surprised enough to slip into Galarian, even if for a second, and he wonders if this is a bigger deal than he realized.

"You did?" He's capping the thermos and whiskey back up to put away, baffled, because Cillie had heard of his mom? Had named one of his pokemon after her?

Something twisted and sharp squeezes his heart, vines with thorns making it bleed. Temp loved his mother, she was a wonderful person who cared about him and his sister so much. She gave so much for them. That Gavin knew her? These stories that he didn't, even though he held her so close to his heart? It made him a bit... jealous?

"Was she famous?" Because it's too hard to put any of his other thoughts into words.

"Yeah. Siren. It—"

A pause, a frown. It's hard for him to put into words what he wants to say, that the Pokemon he held closest to him deserved to have their names before they had only gravestones in which to etch them, before it was too late and not enough.

"It needed a name."

Tempest Quinn struggles with something, too; Gavin can tell, even if he doesn't know what it is that gnaws at his partner beyond the obvious.

His own fleeting feelings are shelved in favour of this.

"Just enough that I looked up to her, I guess. Always liked pirate stories as a kid."

It feels silly to admit it, accompanied by an almost shy smile.

"Didn't know much about her, though. What was she like?"

The person, rather than the myth.

"Pirate...." Repeated back, some type of wonder in his voice, something sinking in slowly between them.

"She hated pirates." Which is maybe why it's so hard to take in, at first, but Temp is quick to amend. "The pirates that sometimes attack our village, anyway. She always said it was cowardly. Picking on easy targets cause they weren't good at what they did." That had never really made much sense to him growing up.

But him mom was... she was....

"I think she could have kicked both our asses with one arm behind her back. I was kind of a rowdy kid, she kept me in line pretty well." For some people saying something like that would be sad. Temp says it with a fond smile. "She cursed worse than my dad and wasn't afraid of anything. Taught me how to throw a punch. But when I was sad, she would squish my cheeks and kiss my forehead and always knew just the right thing to say to make me feel better."

"I really miss her."

Cillian Quinn

"Well that's 'cause no pirate worth anything's gonna earn respect picking on Pacifidlog." He seems to rethink what he's said, amending, "Because you're easy targets, with the League focused on their bigger fish and the place being as small as it is."

He remembers the pirate attack he'd helped repel, the fear in the faces of the townsfolk overshadowed by a grim resignation like it's happened before. Like it wasn't the first time they'd been easy prey.

Gavin barks a sharp laugh.

"Yeah, I bet she could've. Wish I could've met her."

Quietly, privately, he wishes he'd had a mum like that to look up to.

There's nothing he can say or do to ease the pain of loss, so in lieu of words Gavin slings an arm over his lover's shoulder and draws him close. Waves crash against the hull of the ship, filling whatever silence stretched between them.

There isn't any insult, even if some could be taken. Pacifidlog was a very easy target. They're a small settlement made of mostly Native Hoennians who were poor and unable to defend themselves. They valued community and nature, not war. Temp was really one of the odd ones out with his willingness to bleed. It was only thanks to being made a Gym Leader that they had gotten any types of boons in the last few years, and that was so conditional. Only because they needed to pump out more soldiers faster, not because they actually cared about his town.

In the end he sighed, accepted the comfort and further leaned in to his lover. Temp's head dropped onto Gavin's shoulder. But his eyes stayed on the two graves, eyes somewhere far away.

"I wish you could have met her, too." Was aid, absently, as Temp imagined what that might have been like.

Maybe in some other time, some other world, they could have met. Temp prefers to think she would have liked Gavin.

Water splashes and the ship creeks, something looming inside.

With Tempest Quinn's head resting on his shoulder, Gavin entwines his fingers with those of his lover and traces the lines of Temp's palm with his thumb. He tilts his head to rest his lips gently in the other's hair.

He'd have been content to sit like this for as long as Temp needed, but—

Creeeak.

—something had other plans.

Gavin's gaze shifts to the ship. There's a crack in the hull from where it had impacted the rocks and from within, he sees something move. A glint of red, like an eye, a flash of something that looks like steel.

Carefully, quietly, he whispers, "I think we've got company."

The attention is nice, just what Temp needs as he deals with the bitter and old grief that rests in his chest. Despite what people tried to say, grief never not easier. You just grew around it until you convinced yourself it didn't hurt anymore.

So, Cillian Quinn's quiet, tight voice catches him a little off guard. A hmm and he jerks his head up, maybe a bit too sudden, before his eyes meet what Gavin saw.

He doesn't have much time to react, the massive Dhelmise forcing itself out of the hole in the hull. It looms over the two of them, angry. A more modern design for both the anchor and helm, from the very ship that they were sitting in front of.

Temp is apprehensive but he doesn't seem... scared. If anything, his face lights up with a weepy smile.

"Oh! That's... that's the Dhelmise I was talking about, Cillie. I guess it came back."

Gavin, too, reacts with caution in place of fear.

Lugia is all right, and they are not the anchor's chosen prey. Too small.

"We're not here to fuck with your ship."

He looks to Tempest Quinn.

"Just to pay our respects."

But Temp knows this particular Dhelmise better than Gavin, even if Gavin might have studied the species in personal interest, and so he allows his lover to take the lead in the situation. He looks to him for direction, and doesn't reach for a pokeball.