Angelo arrives at the beach at the crack of dawn, welcoming the splash of pale orange light sitting atop his Mantine's broad back.

Today was going to be a busy day with work but the surf beckons, encouraging him to squish it into his routine where he can.

There's no spectators this time as he attempts a STARMIE 720.

Angelo cuts the time of his entrance close.

But the band of his soaked, black-blue swimming trunks cuts far closer to the 'v' that defines his lower abdomen, weighed down by a morning spent in the surf.

There's no rush even though he's left his attendance until the eleventh hour, the pilot casually pushing dripping dark hair back from his forehead as he walks down the runway.

He hadn't even had time to dry off.

Was his tardiness unintended? Yes.

But Angelo was about as opportunistic as the Wingull in his companionship. And the droplets that trail down the nape of his neck, rolling down broad-shouldered muscles and the scarred flesh of his spine, was as refreshing as it was surely points grabbing.

Stopping at the end, sunlight shines mercilessly in his eyes. Thankfully, with but a presentation of an outstretched palm, a pair of sunglasses are generously dropped into his waiting grasp.

Nobody needs to know that they're not his.

Slipping on the 'borrowed' shades, Angelo peeks over the dark rim, roguishly smiles and makes his exit.

Hey, it's all for a good cause.

Why not make the most of it?

She's so, so warm.

Fighting to pry weighted lids open just a crack, dull slithers of blue seek her through the fog when stirred awareness balances unstable on the ledge.

And though his wife fights so tirelessly to save him, Aqua Rings an ethereal halo that kisses silky and brisk against butchered skin, all Angelo longs for is to draw himself close.

To submerge in the comfort of her scent, to drown in silver eyes and feel the soft press of lips on his forehead.

It's a small ask, he thinks, as he slowly bleeds out in the woman he loves arms.

He's so, so cold.

Only his ruined body won't comply with his desperate wishes, poison locking him in time, limbs no longer his own.


“Sky.”

Her name weakly rasped from dry lips is the hand that he cannot lift, reaching with heart-breaking desperation through the haze towards her.

skyler dross is his aim point.

She'd always encouraged him to hunt for stars.  

And Angelo has fought too hard to not come home to show her the cosmos he's stolen now.

“Don't –”

A ragged inhale rips words away, rattling Angelo's throat with a cough that triggers a cruel chain reaction, the jolt of muscles igniting nerves from sliced neck right down to his fingertips in fire.

Suddenly, the lurking promise of unconsciousness seems like a tempting reprieve.

Darkness stretches long, shadowed fingers over his eyes. Guiding Angelo down, down, down until it swallows him whole again towards stagnant, lonely depths.

Only this time, as he's pulled beneath the surface, water softly trickles beneath his skin like a nostalgic canal lullaby. His breath echoing its song, as if long engraved.

Peaceful, in its constant flow.

Alive.

Day three presents an opportunity.

Martín del Mar swims past, looking like he'd spotted something under the surface.

Easy pickings.

With a nod towards his pokemon, Angelo slips beneath the waves.

Swimming past the other man, Floatzel spins its propellor tail, stirring up a cloud of sand over Mr POG bank while Angelo swoops in to snatch their prize.

It's become a routine now, checking who was sitting on the edge of the dunk tank. Angelo hadn't expected to see little Eris Halla, however. It had been a while.

“Eris.”

Competitiveness and the desire to gain satisfaction from dunking those who deems annoyances drains. Instead, a harmlessly playful smile takes place on his lips. 

“If I put a Gyarados in the tank for you, would you jump in and give me a win?”

He pitches the ball.

He may have failed yesterday but he'd also seen skyler dross spectacularly eat a wave after all of her competitive posturing, so it evened out with the taste of smug satisfaction.

Fuelled by a sprinkle of competitiveness now that his wife had entered the surfing fray, Angelo returns the next morning.

Arceus, he would not leave this beach until he got a MAGIKARP SPLASH down.

Through the darkening evening sky, a procession garbed in red makes haste towards Lilycove.   

A silver Charizard, injured Togekiss and a pair of Dreepy trail behind the shape of a sleek, blood-stained dragon who flies with unwavering urgency.

None of which spilled had been his own.

Perhaps some of it would have been, had the man sheltered between his wings - growing silent and colder, still - not stepped forward for him.

Latios doesn't care he's flying low and tangible as he makes towards his destination.

For Angelo, he'd even cross boundaries self-built.

Reaching towards the familiar shape of the ship rapidly approaching in the distance and psychically diving beneath bulky steel, Latios traces the signature trail of the woman whom fiercely stirs emotions in Angelo so. 

When he finds her in the space the two occupied together, the eon pokémon latches onto skyler dross's mind, enveloping it with a flash of ethereal blue.

His connection is unshakeable, taking over her vision to SIGHT SHARE the moment of their arrival on the Sotally Tober.

Droplets of red hit a pristine deck as someone all but falls from his back, knees meeting wood...

Latios doesn't hesitate to slip his neck beneath a limp arm, supporting them from crumbling further...

There's a pained, shallow intake of breath...

And the connection cuts.

“We didn't come all this way to stand in the entrance, did we?”

And that was that.

With a pat on Rowan's shoulder, he begins the ascent that leads to the looming remains of Ecruteak's famed Burned Tower, walking in the way of a couple of sightseer's camera flashes without concern.

Inside, they're met by the cold, ancient air that swirls around the fragile Johtonian pagoda, structure suspended in time. Wooden, ashen stained beams with intricate carvings on the joints and preserved, traditional paintings adorning the walls.

It wasn't hard to imagine the beauty of the tower that Lugia had once called its throne, as Angelo walks around the viewing floor. In a way, it still was.

Beyond the bustle of feet on creaky, dusty floorboards and practiced tour guide spiel, an old staircase catches Angelo's attention. In an empty corner, it descends towards the basement, veiled in darkness and dressed in caution-red rope.

As tourists slowly file around the Burned Tower, hovering in front of plaques and information boards with their pamphlets in hand, Angelo skirts the quieter edges towards it. Drawn into its secrets.

“Rowan.” Catching his companion's attention, he gives a subtle tilt of his head, beckoning him over.

When the Oceanographer approaches, Angelo lifts the rope barrier, gaze scanning the crowd for any prying eyes. No flimsy attempt at boundaries would hold him back from venturing forth, least of all when there's the promise of discovery, hidden behind a warning sign.  

He's sure Rowan Wrynn wouldn't object to a little trespassing after coming all this way.

“Let's get a closer look,” he hints on hushed tones, encouraging him under. 

“Y'know that Diving event they're hosing at Splashfest? Bet I can find somethin' more valuable than you do,” he had bet skyler dross last night, challenging the seasoned treasure hunter as some kind of competitive foreplay.

It wasn't all bedroom talk however, Angelo gets to the Splashfest event the next morning as vowed, taking to the water to see what sparkly things he could find. His Floatzel noses about in the sand beside him.

His first attempt at the Dunk Tank had been a narrow failure but it had been worth taking a shot against Mr 'I'm going to fine you' DEREK HOFFMAN.

Angelo returns the next day to see if there's anyone else who'd be satisfying to plunge into cold water, only to be met by @trish - an utter stranger.

No matter, he pitches anyway.

“Good to meet ya.”

The "warmup round" had left Angelo more oft than not beneath the sweeping curl of the waves. Utterly undeterred however, the pilot returns the next morning with his Mantine.

If anything, jumping back into the unpredictable chaos of the surf yesterday had only reignited his love for it.

Climbing atop Nereid's back, they coast along for their second day of waves. Greeting the fresh dawn light with an OVER THE GYARADOS (attempt).

Before them blooms a field of familiar flowers. Petals in the shape of Shaymin's blooms having taken over the spot that Locke Jamison had picked out for their picnic in a beautiful swarm.

Latias flies forward to sniff at the garden scents like a Combee, while Latios hovers at the back of their group. A little glance over Angelo's shoulder shows the Eon pokémon to be calm, unconcerned by the development, even as the postman sighs in exasperation.

“I'll take this over a tearoom with creepy riddles. Did y'see their menu prices?” He says as he steps towards the weird tablet.

Behind him, as Angelo reads the materialising letters, Latias tries to sneakily place a flower on Latios's head. His ear tuft flicks.


Blue eyes follow Locke's handwriting as they go first, a soft smile on his lips as an explanation is given for the choice. His own thoughts drifting to family.

“Bet she'd be proud you're still keeping it up.”

Angelo takes the offered pen.

His first thought drifts instantly to skyler dross.

But she didn't need her name written on a stone in the woods to know of his gratitude for her. He could - would - appreciate her in person. Always.

Angelo resists chewing on the pen lid as he contemplates, before finally taking the tip to the rock, scrawling the name of someone he hadn't thanked quite as much as he thought he ought to have.


“Sky's dad visited me a lot after the whole Mt. Pyre excursion incident last year,” the pilot explains to his friend. Not like Locke needed the whole story - they'd been there, after all. Angelo twists the lid of the marker, fidgeting.

“Definitely would have left the ship a lot more and done something stupid without him checking in an' bringing stuff to keep me busy.”

It had made recovery just that little more bearable, having Mr Dross come by to help cook or to listen to his father-in-law proudly ramble about his garden. Sometimes, he'd bring his signature special cookies that they'd eat while shooting the breeze. 

They'd even made Sammy his room beneath the kitchen cupboard that one time after afore mentioned treats. Surely a sight for skyler dross to find when she returned home from work, seeing her dad stuck in a cupboard and Angelo trying to free him through hysterics.

Angelo's lips crack into a mischievous, mirthful smirk as he hands the marker back towards the postman. “Still snuck out from time to time, though.”

Because of course he had.