[attr="class","samjermain"]Sy took time out of his busy schedule to visit his grandparent’s graves on the regular. The last time he’d been here, it had been under a heavy shroud of terror, what with the meteor lurking in the space beyond the atmosphere.

This time, Cerise floating quietly over his shoulder, he was bringing some fresh pink tulips to lay over their resting place, a familiar peace in his heart.

He talked to them for a little bit, telling them about his life (the tamer points, at least), and then sat in a silent sort of prayer, as was his custom, to pay homage to the religion they’d raised him in-- a remembrance for his roots, even if his blooms were born under a different sun.

He didn’t realize he’d lost track of time until Cerise tugged at his ear. Blinking, Sy turned to look at her, her face clearly nervous.

“What’s up, kiddo?” he asked, and the Flabébé turned away and gestured at the world around them. Sy stood up and brushed the soft dirt off his knees, stepping away from the gravesite and--

--staring out into a strange collection of positively giant mushrooms that had popped up around them.

“Uh… I don’t think we’re in Hoenn anymore.”

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]The bright-colored tents and happy chatter burnt away at the gray season like a magic fire. He had nothing for appreciation for the funfair organizers, thankful for their presence and the way they managed to bring a little cheer back to the region.

Sy and some of the boys had volunteered to be the pretty assistant’s for a magician’s show, which was in an hour or so, leaving them with some time to explore beforehand. Many of the crew flocked to the beer tent, but Sy preferred to keep an even head, so he went to play some carnival games.

He handed over his tickets to the booth runner who asked him what color squirty frog he wanted.

“The pink one, please,” he requested, taking his seat on the far-too-small bench and preparing to squirt the shit out of some flies.

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","wownewtag"] Madeline McKenna

[attr="class","wownewmain"]The Alakazam regarded them with a soulless coldness, and it was this that gave them a brief reprieve. Despite its aggression, it clearly thought of them as beneath it, and so that bought them a little bit of time.

Time for Vermillion to throw herself into the fray with a high-pitched, angry shrieking that made Sy reach for his ears. The Comfey conjured up a storm of petals, whipping and swirling like a tornado’s funnel cloud, a cacophony of colors that surrounded the Alakazam, temporarily blocking it from view.

“Dark, bug, and ghost!” Sy said, the innate need in him to be stupidly self-sacrificial causing him to step forward in front of Mad. “They’re weak to dark, bug, and ghost!”

Seconds later a pink-hued beam shot forward through the petal blizzard, the psybeam scattering the petals and narrowly missing Vermillion by passing through the center of her ring.

[attr="class","wownewpoke"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]Have you ever lost your faith?

When you live in the shadow of it for all of your youth, twenty-plus years of servitude, of values, of worship, it shatters ever the harder. His mama read the scripture to them at night, his daddy prayed before and after every meal; his grandmama shuffled with them to church on Sunday and holiday even when she was so senile she couldn’t remember her own name.

When mama struck them with the willow switch she used God as her excuse. When daddy unwound the belt from around his waist as retribution for their slights he claimed God gave him the right to do so. When Maggie scolded him with her tongue of flame she spoke with the fury of the Angels.

And Sy could pretend that his parting, while not on good terms, was something manageable. Not the loss of a limb or an organ but simply a change, a facet in a different light. And he could do his best to be strong-- that’s what he does, after all-- to be strong and act like the severance didn’t leave edges that cut.

But now it felt like his throat had been gored. A shaky breath escaped him and he bit down on his tongue so hard he tasted blood.

“N-no,” he said, as a thin stream of red dribbled down his chin, “y-you’re not real. You’re not real.”

I marvel that you have turned so soon from My Ways. You should hallow thyself unto Me.

Arceus’ stained glass crystalline legs reached towards him, blade sharp, and placed themselves against his throat.

“You’re not real, you’re not real, you’re not realyou’renotrealyou’renotrealyou--,”

The cold stream of water washed over him and for the faintest of fucking moments he thought he was getting baptized. His lungs burned with a choked-back scream but when he opened his eyes again, The Thing That Was Not was gone.

“Ho--,” he couldn’t bring himself to say the word. “Shit. Thanks.”

And he did the most Symon thing ever and pushed the damage down and fucking climbed over it.

“This place is really getting to me.”

He wipes the blood from his chin but does little to dislodge the water sluicing down his face.

“How do we help them?” Because that had to be their priority, now. Helping Fae and Hailee and getting the fuck out of here, all of them, together.

He turned to look around them. “Maybe there’s a back door?”



+ the hallucination breaks
+ starts looking for a back door into the tunnels fae and hailee are trapped in

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]Sy shares the laugh, the easy smile, the genuine enjoyment of the moment.

“He gently kicked me awake and asked me if I was okay. I was so scared and out of it that the minute I was standing I ran all the way home and my momma--,” he grinds to a halt as his accent threatens to punch its way out of his throat. He swallows. “My mother beat the shit out of me. Which was arguably worse than the giant gash I had in my head.”

He raised his glass and inclined his chin as though to say see? You’re not the only one.

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]Sy considers taking the bottle away for the briefest of seconds, but then shrugs and leaves it. He has no use for them, anymore, and Caden’s a fucking doctor. If anyone has a respect for the power of prescription drugs, it should be him.

He returns to the fridge for more waters and some ice cream and just barely catches the sound of Caden’s apology upon coming back to the couch.

“Why are you apologizing?” Sy asks, genuinely confused, as he cracks the tub of Ben & Jerries and sets it on the table, a spoon on its lid.

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]