Fern had wholeheartedly signed up for this job. He made no secret of the fact that he enjoyed Mt. Pyre, and settling himself amid the spirits that inhabited the dreary place. Even grave management seemed a doable task–he might’ve not had any pokemon of his own there, but it was a matter of reverence. And really, if they could keep away potential interlopers, he supposed that was a bonus too.

In his bag, he’d brought along incense and other baubles for offering. Pretty things in lieu of flowers because his planning had…not been the best and the shops near him had closed by the time he was on his way.

As ever, his dragapult floated along behind him–a spectral, serpentine shadow. It would seem that his assigned shift partner had beat him to the punch, arriving at a far more punctual time.

Interesting greeting. “Which Fern did you expect?” He asked in return, head tilting. “As far as I’m aware, I’ve got no alternates running about.”

He smiled, wry and crooked. “Cygne, yes?”

ana fell

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It wasn’t a hard job, to be sure. Mt. Pyre was no back-street cemetery, defaced by vandals and haunted more by rebellious teens than ghosts. It was considered a solemn place of memory to almost everyone in the region. As such, there was little more to do than sweeping some stray leaves and adjust bouquets left by family members.

She screws up her face at the thought of the other Fern. “Oh, he’s, like, six-foot-asshole, dark hair, one eye. I don’t think he’s technically a Rocket but one never really knows with him.” One hand goes over her head to indicate how tall she means.

She’s talking about FERNANDO SILPH , by the way.

“Yep, that’s a-me. Cygne-o.” She reaches into her basket and pulls out an orange rose, a rare coloration that had taken Elisabeth Fiorelli a lot of experimentation and cross-pollinating to get the correct, Halloween shade (the marketing ploy had been flowers fit for fall. They’d been a hit.

Her eyes find the Dragpult behind him as she sets the rose on the top of a gravestone. “Cool Dragapult.” Then she frowns. “Wonder where my little troublemakers got off to…”

fern delaney

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It’s a nice little plot that’s been set aside, Fern decides. Quiet, just as the rest of the mount is.

“Oh, yyyyyeeeaaahh. This is not the Fern you’re looking for.” See? He could do play-on references too! But really, he’s never met the man she’s referring to. And from the sounds of it, he’d probably be better off avoiding him. “Just Fern– like the plant.”

He almost follows up with a wahoo! at her introduction, but Fern only laughs brightly. Then is quickly distracted by the rose she produces. He sets his incense jars to the side as he peers down at it curiously. “I’ve never seen one like that before. Or so bright.” Even among normal roses, the shade is practically luminescent.

“Hm?” His eyes follow hers to the dragapult now floating along the graves as if she’s inspecting each one. Really, she’s probably just looking for vulnerable rattatas. “Oh, thanks. That’s Ceci– loves chin scratches, for the record.”

Stooping, he pulls a lighter from his pocket to light some incense sticks for the graves already adorned with the flowers Cygne’s left. He blinks up at her, “Mischievous pair you’ve brought along, then?” He assumes she means pokemon, but you never know. Could be friends crashing a job. He wouldn’t mind either way. People person, and all that.

ana fell

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“Probably for the best,” Cyg says, confirming what they were both thinking.

Cyg is a simple creature and making others laugh gives her a special kind of energy. Like photosynthesis: giggle-synthesis.

“Yeah, my boss… uh, made them,” she said, holding one out for him to take. “Fiorelli Florestry. Check us out on Instagram. Or stop on in, we’re based out of Petalburg.”

She stops before she goes full commercial and instead holds out a hand to offer chin scritches to his dragon, smiling at the opportunity. Look, we’ve already established she’s a simple person.

“God, yes, my littlest nightmares,” she said, peering around to see where her little skull-heads had gotten off to. “For some reason I attract ghosts like moths to a flame. And not, like, normal ones.”

As if on cue, Shaco’s bright red form apparated into view, directly next to her face with very little space between. Cyg bit down on a yelp and jumped a little. The little skull wobbled side-to-side in the Duskull version of laughter.

“I have one Cofagrigus who loves to do that shit,” she said, waving the skull away, “and now they’re all picking up on it.”

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“I’ll take your word for it!” he quips back, a crooked smile on his face.

Fern shares this quality with her, though maybe to a lesser extent, so if they continue to make one another laugh, they’ll find themselves in good company for it. Fern is the sort who, once he begins, cannot always manage to quell the sound.

“Made them?” he echoes curiously, taking the rose and twirling it between his fingers as he peers down at the bright shade of the petals. “How lovely. Botany is fascinating.” His glance flicks up to hers, “Did you assist with them?” Then he makes a mental note to take her suggestion later and check out the page.

Obviously pleased with the attention, Ceci twirls around Cygne with delighted trills and coos. Always easy to please.

“Oh! There are certainly worse problems to have,” he replies as his hands clap together in obvious delight. Fern also has a habit of attracting ghosts, but he also goes out of his way to find them, too.

He can’t help but laugh a bit at the startle tactic from the duskull, a wide smile hiding behind his hand lest she take offense from his amusement at her expense. “At least they are willing to learn,” he offers, opening his hands in greeting toward the little guy, “they could be malevolent rather than impish. And that’s never a fun time.”

ana fell

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