Dante isn't expecting much. This is partly due to him not putting much thought into what he was walking into in the first place— he just sort of followed the unholy shrieks of terror. As you do, because, like? He isn't expecting much. The screaming could have been anything from someone playing a surprise game of grab-ass in the water to an obnoxious little kid dropping their ice cream. The most interesting thing that probably happens on this beach is someone brushing up against a stray tentacool. He's pretty sure. Realistically, it's just a neat little distraction before he screws off and makes some sort of huge financial mistake.

Except everything gets much, much louder the closer he gets. To the point where he cringes back a bit and has to actively resist the urge to cover his ears, because people are apparently, absolutely, losing their shit. There's a lot of screaming and running, anyway— he has to dodge, like, six or seven half-naked bodies. They all seem to ignore him as they push, shove, and crawl their way off the beach, paying absolutely no mind to the sanctity of civilized life, or something. Weird.

Dante scratches the back of his neck, thoroughly bemused. It takes the panicking crowd another minute or two to clear out enough so that he can see, and even then, he's still not entirely sure what he's meant to be looking at. Like, at all, though there's a bit of barbecue-and-ozone smell in the air. Freak, localized thunderstorm?

Wait. There's— a thing, sort of? Moving in the distance. Dante squints at it. It is, somehow, a giant ape, which seems to be swinging its arms around and pointing at people importantly.

When did a giant fucking ape show up, he tries to ask, except all that comes out is a flat, "what." Because, seriously, what?

Before he can even begin to process— like, any of this, really? The massive creature swings its head around, pinning him under a stare specifically designed to peel wallpaper. Dante, irrationally, feels like he's getting judged, and he begins to feel vaguely offended. Honestly, it's either the dumbest or the weirdest interaction he's had in his whole life. It cracks the top hundred for both, at least, and he's not really sure how he's supposed to be handling all that. Besides feeling vaguely offended, because the ape is giving him the most contemptuous look Dante's ever seen, and he kind of wants to flip it off. 

He hasn't reached a decision yet when the ape apparently grunts... something. It's way too intelligent to be mindless. Like, Dante can't understand any pokémon at all, and he's absolutely biased here, but there's definitely something intentional and demonic about the way the creature points a chiseled finger at him directly. "Oh, sh—"  

Dante's not sure, but it's probably some combination of luck, instinct, and pure, beautiful cowardice that lets him drop to the ground before a Raichu doing dirty work for a literal monkey shoots a Thunderbolt. Into his face.

"—it!" he finishes, spitting out a mouthful of sand and promptly scrambling back on his feet. Most of the beach has cleared out by now, though there's at least one other idiot like him that's lingering by the shoreline. "What the hell, man!?" hollers Dante, wondering if he's asking a genuine question or if this is, in fact, just his life now.

River Marx

Dante's unsure, but it probably has something to do with the immediate denial— the other boy absolutely knew what the hell was going on, and had everything to do with it. Like, obviously, right? Because he was being strangely specific, and Dante just knows. But there's no time to call him out on his shit. The overgrown electric rat is coming closer, glowing brighter, and all Dante has time for is a disbelieving roll of his eyes before it loosens another thunderbolt. 

Only, instead of striking him, it hits... the ground? Like, Dante's fine, though he's covered in even more sand, and, God. He's really starting to hate this grainy, rocky crap being stuck all over his clothes. But he's okay. Physically.

Which is kind of weird, right? Like, this whole situation was so ridiculous that it was actually starting to circle back around to sensible. But the raichu, while Satanic and very likely unhinged, definitely had damn good aim; he'd only avoided becoming a smoldering chunk of stringy meat in the dirt by dropping down, and it had been a near thing, at that. And the psychotic rodent had only gotten closer to him, not further away. So. Objectively, Dante should be really dead right now. He's grateful, or whatever, that he's not. But he should be. Really.

He's about to go poking at the dirt, like— well, like an idiot, he supposes. But, honestly, what the hell else is he supposed to do in this situation? Run? The raichu was throwing lightning around, and Dante thinks that it would be way faster than his overheated, overdressed, dumbass self could possibly be. Ever. He's pretty sure, anyway. So, what's going on with the sand?

It's all moot, anyway. Someone literally tackles his body to the ground before he can even take a step, which— okay, fine, sure. Dante's on the ground again. Why not? It's the kid from before; the one that definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent had a hand in this madness. This is the only fact about the boy that Dante can appreciate at the moment, however, because the boy's knee is currently digging into his solar plexus. Ow.

"Ow," says Dante flatly, squirming a little bit but not much. "Uh. Hey. I don't suppose you—" A movement from the corner of his eye has Dante cutting himself off. It's... something. Sort of. Probably? It's something coming out of the ground right in front of him, anyway. It looks sharp and pissed off, which, yeah, that's a mood right there. Still. "What the hell is that," he deadpans. Because, it's just— there's entirely too fucking many questions, at this point, and it's getting kind of hard to breathe. Because of the pressure on his vital organs, not all the other stuff.

Dante keeps wiggling until he manages to work himself out from the tangle of limbs, keeping alert for the deranged raichu and that smug ass looking ape. "No, really, though. What is that?" he tries again, because he's still completely, totally sure that the other boy is completely at fault for all this shit.

River Marx

Listen. It's not like Dante doesn't know, okay? Because he absolutely does. Really. He always carries his cheap, plastic trainer's license in his wallet, just in case. He's intimately familiar with how Pokémon Centers work. His first bus out of Fallarbor, ever, he'd had his deino's pokéball clipped on his belt, and it had been... something. Enough that he never really stopped wearing it, at least. So, yeah, no, he knows he's a real fucking pokémon trainer. He does, damnit.

It's just. It's been a month, maybe? So he forgets sometimes. It's not really that big of a deal, though— like, he's only been at this for a few weeks, so of course he forgets that he's not just on a stupidly ridiculous vacation. And it's not like he knew being a trainer meant dealing with rampaging gorillas going into it, because, seriously. Seriously, who'd ever heard of trainers having to deal with rampaging gorillas? They don't make a manual for this shit.

So, okay, fine. Maybe it takes him a minute to remember, but clearly the other kid's got it handled anyway. Really, it's not like it even matters. Because Dante's still stuck on the ground like an idiot while the weird boy just— what the hell, did he just dig up a sea urchin and murder the rat with it?

"Holy fucking shit," he mutters, watching the raichu writhe around the sand with some sort of detached horror. Like, the thing was clearly psychotic. He's inexplicably sure that it wanted him dead, even. So he's glad he doesn't have to deal with dodging its thunderbolts, anymore, but that purple goop oozing out of its body can't possibly be good. He's not a nurse or anything, but he's pretty sure.

So Dante's only half paying attention when the boy snaps at him. And he's sorry, okay? He's trying for three-quarters, at least. He really, really is. But between this potentially traumatizing mental image getting branded permanently into his brain and the fact that he's just noticed how weirdly bright the other kid's eyes are, he's kind of checked out. Because, like? That was absolutely terrifying. But it's also probably one of the best thing Dante's ever seen in his entire life, and it's making him feel weird and inadequate. 

"Ouch, my feelings," he deadpans, deliberately getting back on his feet as slowly as possible, just to be annoying. He's about to mouth off again, like a moron, except he gets distracted before he can. Because there's this little yellow kitten - Shinx? - clamoring all over the, the supid ape, batting at— wait. Wait, was it wearing clothes? That's. Ew. He hates it. Dante's not sure why, but he definitely hates it.

Dante squints and tilts his head. Wait. Not— well, yeah, okay, it was wearing clothes. But it's a belt with pokéballs on it, specifically. Like, as opposed to something else. As he stares, the monkey swats a big paw at one of them, releasing an actual fucking pokémon that latches onto the cat. What.

Dante turns his head to the other boy, eyebrows pulled together. "Do. Do you need my help?" he asks blankly, thumbing for his own pokéball at his side. Because he seemed okay a second ago— the other kid, not Dante himself. Dante himself is definitely not okay. He's pretty useless overall, actually, but he can probably try and do... something helpful. He's not sure what, but. It's an option. Probably a better one than standing still and being called a useless ass, at least. 

Without really waiting for a reply, he releases Beatrice from her pokéball. The little deino swings its head around, nose to the air... and promptly heads for the strongest, strangest scent around. You know, the giant, evil ape. Because of course she does, fuck.

"Shit, she's blind," Dante hisses to himself. He'd completely forgotten, because Bea crashes into things so much he thinks of it more as a personality quirk than any kind of deficit, and now— she's headed straight for the smug, evil monkey, sniffing and snapping at the air.

The ape itself pauses, apparently bemused at Beatrice's odd approach. Before it can decide on whether or not it wants to attack, however, the deino moves first. By biting its toes. You know, as you do.

River Marx

Dante tilts his head at the other boy and squints. Because— well, okay, one, rude. Two, he seems incredibly tense for a guy who just murdered an electric rat with what was probably literal garbage randomly strewn on the beach. Like, the coolest thing Dante's done this week was score a discount on some ramen, and he just casually committed homicide on a psychotic pokémon. What the hell is he so worried about? The smug, weirdly intelligent ape? He's fine.

Then Dante remembers the inexplicable feeling in his gut that this kid was the one causing all this. Which he basically just confirmed, and, God, he's not sure if the rushed explanation makes things better or worse. Worse, probably. So much worse. "The fucking monkey ganked your pokéballs, didn't it?" he asks flatly, just to be sure.

Because, yeah, okay, that would explain some of it. He's still a bit fuzzy on where the crazy beast came from, and why it was trolling a beach, but that's just the stupid little details, at this point. Isn't it? Like, now he knows where an evil, judgmental ape would even get pokéballs from anyway, since it's not like it could just walk into a store. Or why the other boy was so freaked out, despite the fact that he was clearly capable of handling himself. If someone stole his pokémon, Dante would be pissing himself, so. Fair enough, he supposes.

Except now the kid was screaming about dragons. Which, considering how Beatrice was currently tottling around the beach like a drunken kindergartener, he was pretty sure that she did not qualify for one, wait, what the hell? Why is this Dante's fault all the sudden? He throws his hands in the air, equal parts bemused and frustrated. "Man, she's a baby dinosaur, not a—"

Which is, of course, the precise moment where Dante remembers that she's extremely blind and twice as clueless. And then she bites the ape. On the foot.

And, well, he kind of wants to give the kid crap for the 'doomed' comment. He really, really does, because it's so stupidly dramatic that it also makes Dante want to throw himself into the sea. Except that it's still probably not wrong, and he's never been one for false optimism, anyway. They're fighting an oversized, hyper-intelligent gorilla with a literal kitten and a creature so clumsy and oblivious he once had to grab her before she fell off a cliff, so, like—

Holy shit.

Holy shit, did the monkey just fucking kick Beatrice?

Dante winces when his deino hits the ground with a loud thump! And then he almost does something totally stupid, after, because this giant ass gorilla just punted her hard enough that she flew. Except that she's up before he can even take a step, her lips pulled back in a defensive, tiny, baby's-first-snarl. Which. Wow. It's so pathetic that it's actually kind of adorable. How?

But she's digging her little feet into the sand. She's stubbornly setting her jaw. And Dante knows, he just knows, that she's about to do something violent and stupid. "Um, sweetie, maybe you shouldn't—" he tries, dread lacing his tone.

Letting out an feeble battle cry, the baby deino ignores him completely and lunges forward, attempting to bite and latch onto the gorilla. Except she misses completely. Spectacularly, even, because she's headed straight for the shinx, not the monkey. Because she's blind.

"Fuck's sake—!"

River Marx

There's just— there's a lot going on right now. And Dante kind of wants to force Beatrice back into her pokéball and fucking bail, because everything's gotten so much worse in what had to be, like, a span of only a few seconds. There's literally another limp, motionless body sprawled out on the beach now, and he barely remembers it happening. Which, honestly, how does something like that even work? Did he just stroke out for a second? Because he was there, he totally was. He even has a vague mental image of the other boy going down and not getting back up. But it feels like it happened to someone else and that nothing is real.

Dante's not sure, but he thinks his mind's gone fully numb.

A loud screech pulls him away from his existential dread. Dante peers over the body of the other kid to— which, wait. Just. Fucking wait, back up, because he still doesn't understand much of what happened there. Or what he should do next, really. Like, he's not a doctor, but someone abruptly falling on their face can't possibly be a good thing. Does he drag him to a hospital, or call a cop, or what? Is, is he even alive? Because if he's not, Dante has even less of an idea about what he should be doing.

Blinking, he crouches down and experimentally pokes at the body. "The hell, are you okay?" Dante asks, thoroughly nonplussed. "Is this about your, uh, shinx? Because—"

Wait.

Damnit.

Dante whips his head around, just in time to catch his own pokémon reel back in surprise and pain. Which, you know, fair, considering how she was trying to use the kitten's tail as a chew-toy only a minute ago. And, yeah, no, she obviously didn't mean to attack the shinx, and she's just a blind little idiot, and he loves her to death, or whatever. He'll patch up the scratches on her nose later and buy her some ice cream, okay? God, he's sorry, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been tempted to swat her upside the head whenever she's latched her sharp fangs into him before. Dinosaur jaws fucking hurt. 

And Beatrice is baring her teeth in a cute parody of a roar. It doesn't exactly inspire terror, but Dante knows it means that she's going to be a little asshole about the whole thing.

"Oh, c'mon, really?"

Dante climbs to his feet, taking off before he can really detangle his limbs from themselves. Killing the distance between them, he's able to get his arms around Beatrice's shoulders before she can do little more than snap at the air in front of the kitten, yanking her up off the sand. Which scares the ever-loving piss out of her, because— well, why wouldn't it? It's not like she has any way of telling why the ground is gone or where she even is right now. So of course she starts screaming and thrashing around. Of course she does.

And he gets it. He does, sort of. He's not blind, or anything, but he's known her long enough to be sympathetic. Being blind sucks, so Dante holds tight, even when she manages to land a solid kick to his ribs.

Even when she turns her head and latches onto him, her razor-sharp canines piercing his arm and drawing blood. Again. Because why not?

He still yells a bit, though. Because— "fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck!" God, that fucking hurts. two or twelve accidents later, and it still surprises him. "What the hell, Bea!?"

 

River Marx

Beatrice drops his bloody arm like it's a hot coal, because, like. She's dumb and blind and evil, yeah, but she knows his voice and she knows who he is. She knows he's the one to slip her bits of his chow mein under the table, and that he always gives her the comfier seat on the train, and that he knows exactly where to scratch to make her happy, and, God, what a little asshole.

So Beatrice drops his bloody arm because she loves him, but it still hurts because she sucks. Dante hisses out a breath of air between his teeth, letting her slide back onto the sand so he can cradle his injured limb. Which doesn't help, really, because it's still bleeding like a fucker and he's pretty sure he can see bits of fat popping out of one of the punctures, ew, God, gross. Did she really have to tear up his sweatshirt, too? Like, really, he doesn't need to see this shit.

A loud bark of laughter gets Dante's attention, and it takes a second to pin the source of the noise, since he's the only person still standing on this beach and— apparently overgrown chimpanzee demons can laugh, what the hell? 

Dante stares as the great beast gives up the belt without a fuss, turns around, and walks off towards the slowly setting sun. Maybe, he despairs, he should follow its example and leave too. Leave Hoenn entirely, in the pursuit of greater truth. Of the meaning of life. Of freedom. Of happiness. 

He scowls and bites his lip, watching until the ape disappears his view entirely. "...that was fucking stupid," he deadpans.

Hesitantly, Beatrice chirps something that might be agreement.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dante takes a minute to gather himself before turning around and vaguely facing Slateport. Because he's going to have to find a pharmacy within, like, the next hour, unless he wants to bleed to death. Which is an option, he figures, except he doesn't want his mom to hear about this on the news and destroy him. So, yeah, he has to go back, and he has to find shit to patch himself up with, and only then can he scratch out a bed in the bottom layer of a city dumpster and rethink everything. Ever.

Except there's still a body on the beach. Fuck.

Well, like. It's a moving body, now. Unless it's a crazy fever dream, but it seems a bit ridiculous to accept everything else but the other kid slowly crawling back to life, so. Yeah, he's pretty sure he saw a finger twitch. Maybe a toe. Which is probably a good thing, because knowing his shit luck, a cop'll find them any moment, and then Dante'll have to stumble a way out of explaining corpse on a suspiciously deserted tourist spot.

Warily, Dante pads over to the strange boy. He's not sure why, but he's kind of afraid of the body abruptly waking up and going for his throat. "Um." He scratches his neck, feeling a bit awkward. "Hospital?" He blinks, because he's honestly a little surprised at what just came out of his mouth. Like, it's a good idea — and something in his chest is settling, so it's probably the right idea, too — but he hadn't really... thought. About any of it. At all, because the easier thing would be to ditch him and go somewhere that makes more sense. Maybe get some ramen or some shit. 

Except the thought of bailing right now is making him a little ill. Because, like, this was one-hundred percent the boy's fault, but he also did totally save Dante's life. Twice, even. So, fuck, fine, he'll take him to the stupid hospital. Damnit.

...the taking him part is going to be literal, isn't it?

Dante processes this thought for a moment. "You can't move, can you?" he asks, tone flat, because of course he can't stand on his own. Like, why would he, he can't even talk. Hell. Dante wants to die.

Swearing under his breath, Dante peels off what's left of his hoodie so he can wrap it around his fucking arm, because he's pretty sure it'd be rude to just get his blood all over another person like that, and— God, carrying him with that is going to be horrible. He can barely lift a gallon of milk unassisted as is. He has to, though, because there's no way he can leave the other kid here, and there's absolutely no way he can pay for an ambulance.

"Screw it," he mumbles, deciding to just get over himself and be done with it. It takes a few tries and probably a few snapped tendons, but eventually he manages to get a good enough hold on the kid's body to lift it up.

It's— sort of like carrying Beatrice, really. If Beatrice were five times her size and half-dead, but the lifting, Dante lies to himself, is absolutely the hardest part. Since that's done, now all he has to do is make the three kilometer trek back into the city and walk to its only hospital. Which he does not know the location of.

...fuck.

River Marx