"Ambroe, wait!"

'Where's he going?' The whole time Hazel's been here, the skittish duskull has been glued to her side, often phasing out of view whenever someone got too close. He's never run off before, and Hazel finds herself out of breath by the time he finally slows.

Hazel takes in the sight before her as she struggles to catch her breath. Row upon row of chiseled stone. Simple. Rough. Old. Some of these have been here a while. But why did Ambrose bring her here? Hazel turns to ask him, but finds that the duskull is on the move again, floating toward a large figure kneeling before a grave. Ambrose vanishes before he reaches the man, leaving Hazel standing there wondering what to say. She doesn't want to intrude. Nana taught her better than to intrude on someone else's private moment, but then he speaks and it feels like a blow.

Hazel knows that feeling. She feels it every time she pays her nana a visit and finds herself face-to-face with the reality of the fact that she's slipping away. That, day by day, there's less and less of her. That, someday, she'll stop by for a visit and the last person she has left in this world will be gone.

"Everyone's scared sometimes," she says, voice soft, unsure, but she has to say something. It's weird, having her nana's words fall from her lips, it feels like she's a child again, clinging to her favorite blanket, sobbing in the wake of her parent's death. It wasn't just that she missed them -she did, terribly. even now - but their death had come with a terrible realization. People could die. Even strong, healthy people, and that thought had shaken Hazel to her core, had left her wondering if she would be next. If one day there would be another accident or she'd brush her teeth and go to bed just like she did every night and never wake up again. Hazel hadn't wanted to die.

She doesn't want to die now either, but she's gotten older and the thought doesn't scare her as much as it used to. Or, at least, not in the same way. Death isn't just something that comes calling out of nowhere, the dark shadow that hung over a girl too young to process why her life had suddenly fallen apart on what should have been a perfect mid-spring day. It's also something that comes at the end of a fulfilling life. Her nana had taught her that, and Hazel's intent on making sure that her own life is a worthwhile one, that she finds a way to leave her mark, even if only in little ways, that she gets to live on in the memories of people that love her.  'Who will that even be when nana's gone?' The thought isn't a comforting one. Neither is being stared at, but she supposes that's what she gets for intruding.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt." She wonders if maybe she should have kept quiet and left him to his visit after all, to his fear. But that's not who she is. "That's a really pretty bouquet. My mom used to love geraniums." Past tense. Yep. Still hard. 

[attr="class","top"]

Everyone’s scared sometimes.

Sy doesn’t jump so much as his chest squeezes. His gaze tracks up, head tilting towards the blonde stranger and her hovering Duskull.

His first instinct is to smile, so he does; smile and be polite. His smile is sad, though, and his eyes drop back to the smooth stone with MARION BLESSING chiseled into its surface.

His second instinct is to argue. He shouldn’t be scared. He’s supposed to be big, strong, and brave! He’s not supposed to be scared! A childlike mindset, in its simplicity, but one that has gotten him through a lot of things.

Not the literal end of the world, though.

“You’re okay,” he says, and his voice is strong but soft, and the feelings in it are genuine. “No harm done.”

He straightens the flowers, even though they’re already straight. “Thank you. My grandpa had a big garden. Well, big for Lilycove. He grew all sorts of things.” He pushes himself to his feet, wiping palms damp from the fall grass on his jeans.

“I’m Symon,” he offers, holding out his hand to shake.

HAZEL KLEIN

Hazel imagines the garden. Geraniums, like the ones from the bouquet. Maybe some roses. Or lillies, in honor of the city itself. Vegetables tucked into little raised beds, screened in to keep wayward critters out. She likes the garden in her head - Not too big. Not too small. Well cared for. Loved. That's how she chooses to imagine it because she's never been to Lilycove, at least not that she remembers. Though there's always a chance that her parents took her there when she was still too young to commit the trip to memory. Memory is funny like that.

The man towers over her when he stands. Introduces himself as Symon. Symon has kind eyes and Hazel can't help but smile back at him. She shakes the offered hand.

"Nice to meet you Symon, I'm Hazel, and this is Ambrose." It's rare for the duskull to remain when strangers are near, rarer still for him to actively lead Hazel to one, but he's back in view, hovering a little ways off to the right of the gravestone. 

"I'm kind of surprised he's not hiding right now. He's usually afraid of strangers." And other pokemon, for that matter. Hazel's gaze flicks briefly to Vermillion, hovering at Symon's side. 

"Maybe he sensed that you were scared of something too." She nods. That seems about right. Ambrose has always been particularly attuned to people's emotions. Always appearing on particularly rough days. Hovering above the bed like a solemn guard the night after Hazel's parents had died and she'd cried herself to sleep. "I think, sometimes, when you're scared, it gives someone else a chance to be brave. To show you that they care." Nana's words again, but this time they don't hurt.