Kepler would actually prefer to hide away in the dark. He hated being out in public even before being kidnapped and almost sacrificed, and that only made things worse.

But he lost a game of poker with his stupid Pokemon and now he had to chaperone them out in the wild, so he slathered on the SPF one hundred, popped on his biggest, blackest, Hungover White Girl shades, and trekked out into the great unknown.

Jayden makes him jump out of his fucking skin.

“That checks out because I don’t want to be here,” Kepler confirms. Venus, his Golett, is holding Kepler's sweaty hand in her cold, stone one and waves mechanically at Jayden, the mineralized joints in her wrist creaking as she does.

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Kepler heaves a sigh and admits to the most embarrassing thing he’s had to verbalize out loud all day-- but it’s just the tip of the iceberg, knowing him.

“Mercury beat me at Poker and the bet was that if I lost I had to take them to the festival.” He gestures pathetically at his Raboot, who is buying an ice cream cone (with Kepler’s money) and splitting it with Gaia, his Combusken. Jupiter the Squirtle is eyeing up a carnival game-- and Venus is holding on to him, playing mother-may-I.

She lets go of his hand to reach out towards the Zorua, fingers hovering, clearly confused at what the heck just happened.

Kepler rolls his eyes.

“What brings you out here?”

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Mercury’s been Kepler’s near constant companion since Kep bought him on a whim year ago for the protection factor. Needless to say, him having a guard bunny did little for the bullying, but it did help decrease the physical abuse.

“Yeah, but don’t let Merc hustle you,” Kep said, glaring daggers at the stupid rabbit (his best friend), “he’s surprisingly good.” Or maybe Kepler was just really bad. Usually their party consisted of Merc, Gaia, Jupes, and Venus, who, for all her credits, did not have a brain.

Venus jumps when the Zorua drops the illusion, but instead of physically jumping backwards, it’s like all her pieces shift up and then clatter down. She lets go of Kepler’s hand to mechanically stomp around Jayden, to peer at the curious creature hiding behind him.

Kepler nods in time with all of Jayden’s listed activities.

“I think I landed that,” he says, frowning in confusion, “once. Then my shoulder came out of socket a little and I called it quits.”

For all his many flaws, his body was surprisingly tough. It had been through a lot of abuse in the past.

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Kepler tilts his head, thinking. What could he say that would not be a confession of the lamest magnitude?

“I didn’t-- don’t have a lot of friends.” It’s said without emotion, corrected in a beat, because it is important, always, to be accurate. Speaking in the past tense would be spurious. "Do you know when poker's on TV? Between midnight and six A.M."

He reaches up to touch his shoulder, then drags his fingers down his arm to the fresh scar slicing vertically up his wrist, nestled between his radial and ulnar artery. If the cultist’s blade had slipped centimeters right or left, he’d have bled out in Isaac Merlo's lap.

“It’s fine. Just a little pop.” The crackle of the bone in the joint, the sick gush of cranial fluid as the knife entered the eye. He inhales, blinks, shakes free of the scene.

“Did you go diving?”

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