Had she been mistaken? It's not like they'd spent that much time together since his first visit to the shop with has cadre of costumed babies on All Hallow's Eve. It could be someone else entirely. That would be awkward! But no, he was calling out again, and Hazel was pretty sure that it was Isaac. 

Not wanting to alarm him by popping unceremoniously out of the mist behind him, the little witch called out again as she stepped off the path. "It's Hazel! Don't move, I'll come to you. Oh, but maybe say something else. The mist is pretty thick and it'll make it easier to find you." 

He didn't sound like he was too far away. He'd been close enough for his words to carry anyway, if not quite close enough for her to make out what he'd been saying until he'd raised his voice to respond to her. 

Stepping off the path, Hazel slowly made her way through the mist toward the last place she'd heard Isaac's voice, hoping that he'd humor her and keep talking. All the while, she kept her gaze fixed upon the ground, making sure that she didn't accidentally trip over any of the makeshift graves that dotted the mountainside. She didn't actually know if there were any in her path, or on this part of the slope at all, since she could barely see a few inches past her own face, but it wouldn't do to disturb someone's final resting place, so she resolved to take extra care. 

Oh no, his hat! One of the mareep that Soug had snatched up was about as determined to chew up his straw hat as noodle mareep had been to make itself sick eating trash. At this rate, Doug wasn't going to have much of a hat left by the time the little sheep was done taking its fill. Or maybe it would survive after all, she thought as he shifted the mareep under his arms instead. Hat saved!

As for noodle mareep, he went right on back to slurping away while Hazel was chatting with Doug. "Hey now, stop that! What did I just say about eating trash? Those are moldy. You're going to get sick." And then she was scooping the sheep up in her arms, hold awkward but mostly firm. Now, if only she could stop him from squirming around like that...

"How do you keep them from squirming?" she asked, marveling at the fact that, after a minute or so, the sheep tucked under Doug's armpits had stopped trying to free themselves so that they could go right on back to gallivanting through the city looking for food, not that the little gluttons needed it. Hazel knew for a fact that Errol kept them well fed, and even if she hadn't been by the farm to see them being cared for, it was pretty obvious by the size of them that they weren't exactly starving. 

Seriously, she was mystified by the fact that the sheep seemed so at ease around Doug. Maybe he was a farmer like Errol. He kinda talked like one, not that Hazel was about to judge him by the way he spoke. That kinda thing never went well for anyone and was rude besides. Oh, but he said he was good with sheep. Maybe he was a farmer after all! That explained why the sheep had calmed down for him.

"Thanks for helping by the way, I'm Hazel. I own the shop over there." She did her best to gesture toward the little psychic shop across the way with her sheep laden arms, then stopped because it just made the squirming that much worse. "Please hold still, we're trying to help you," she told the sheep in her arms. She could put him down, she supposed, but she didn't want him eating any more trash. 

"Break?" Hazel finishes the thought as she rips off another piece of sandwich for her greedy new friend. "Well, technically whenever I want, I guess. All I have to do is flip the sign on the door over to closed when I want to take some time to myself. But, mostly I keep the shop open and get things done between customers. The shop is less busy on weekdays when most people are working or training, so it works out alright." It was a nice way of saying that she doesn't really take breaks, not ones that counted by most people's standards anyway, but Hazel doesn't mind. She'd snag bites of food in between customers and occasionally invite them to sit down for tea if someone happened to wander in while she was making it. Tea was better shared anyway, like picnic food or a really good book.

A series of splashes from the lake alerts her to the fact that Finn has found wild Golduck to bat the ball back and forth with. "Looks like we aren't the only ones who made a new friend."

Speaking of new friends, the now-sated hoppip doesn't seem like it's going to be going anywhere any time soon. It stays put as Hazel shifts closer to Sunny for the photo, striking a pose of her own. "Hey, we look great! And hoppip, you look so cute and, hey, wait, are you falling asleep?" Sure enough, as Hazel's gaze drops from the screen to the creature in her lap, the hoppip's eyes are drifting shut for a post-lunch nap. "You know I can't stay here all day, right?" She asks, voice already going softer in a way that says she doesn't actually mind being a bed. Oh well, it makes for a cuter picture anyway. Hazel settles back into her pose as her gaze drifts back to the camera on Sunny's rotomphone and ---WAIT, is that a kabutops?

Kabutops are a rare sight, at least in this area. In fact, Hazel can't remember having seen one by the lake before. "I don't want to startle it but look, we've got another friend," Hazel points at the screen where the kabutops lurks just past the treeline in the background of the shot because that seems less likely to draw its attention to the fact that they've spotted it. "And a rare one too. This really is a special occasion!"

sunny clark
flying/water

☉

She'd read the articles. Scrolled through dozens of them in the wake of the skirmish, hoping not to see any familiar names. That was the hardest part about tragedy, knowing that it always touched someone, even if it wasn't you this time around. And was only a matter of time before someone came calling, before someone asked her to make the journey to Mt. Pyre.

Maybe she should have said no. Then she could have avoided seeing the craters carved into the face of the ancient stone. The way everything seemed to be holding it's breath, waiting for the next big thing, or maybe the mountain had just given up. Maybe the battle had taken the life out of it at long last.

Hazel knew how it should have been, how it had been before when she'd made the climb to perform a sending. There should have been ghosts swirling about in the mist, scaring travelers half to death, mourners dotting the mountainside, solemn and kneeling, paying their respects to departed friends. Instead, there was only silence as Hazel followed the winding trail that lead to the summit and Hazel felt very much alone under the weight of it.

Her destination, according to the pin her client had dropped on her Maps app was about two-thirds of the way to the summit. A grueling hike if you followed the trail that was all steep inclines and rapidly thinning air. A much gentler one if you took the path that wound its way around the mountain again and again in long, gentle, meandering slopes. It would take longer to reach her destination this way, but it would be kinder on her calves and lungs.  

Uncomfortable in the strange, weighty silence, Hazel took to whistling as she picked her way up the path, a merry little tune that was wholly at odds with the gloomy atmosphere. It did nothing to take the chill out of the air, but it made her feel less lonely somehow as each note found itself an echo, like the mountain itself was calling back to her. Suddenly, it was easier to imagine that life might come back to the mountain in time. Hazel found comfort in that thought. In the idea of ghosts, and people, and new life coming back to dot the mountainside, of voices rising up out of the fog, making everyone on the mountain feel a little less alone as they paid their respects. 

And...was that a voice? Words traveled on the wind, swirling out of the fog like a phantom. Hazel stopped whistling. Started listening instead. The voice was familiar, but the last time she'd heard it, it'd been infused with cheer. Some of it forced, some of it genuine. Now, it was like all the light and levity had gone out of it, snuffed like a candle by the hand of grief.

"Isaac?" Hazel called out to the fog shrouded path. And maybe she should have left that too. Left Isaac to his grief, for grief is a private thing, but she couldn't stand the idea of him being all alone up here in the fog, and the weight, and the silence, with the worry that his words wouldn't reach anyone at all. 

Content in her victory, Carmen the abra took one last look at her defeated opponent before promptly vanishing. A teleport brought her to the back room. Out of sight, out of mind, and looking for a cozy place to take a well earned nap. 

Meanwhile, Hazel typed Pluto's number into her phone as he dictated it. She knew from first hand experience how insistent pokemon could be when they got it into their heads that only being held would do. "There we go, text sent!" The message wasn't so much a message as an emoji of an abra followed by a little card emoji. It seemed fitting enough for what had transpired. And, of course, looking down at her phone meant that Hazel now knew exactly what time it was. Uh-oh, the ferry would be here any minute now. Keeping him any longer would be selfish. "The ferry should be here pretty soon, so you won't have to wait long," she told him, which was better than goodbye. It couldn't be goodbye if they were going to see each other again, and wasn't that the best part about making new friends anyway? Knowing that you'd get to see them again, whether it was a week, or a month, or a year from now.

Pluto Fürst

☉

The sad little rasp goes unheeded. Wherever Ambrose has sulked off to, the Duskull doesn't seem inclined to return. Hazel suspects he'll probably be watching from the doorway to the back room in a few minutes, trying to figure out how to deal with all of the strangers. Honestly, she's surprised that he stuck around for as long as he did. He usually flees as soon as the bell chimes to announce a customer. This has to be a new record!

'Good job, Ambrose, you're getting there!' Hazel thinks fondly, but she can only stay distracted for so long with Isaac scrutinizing the cards laid out between them. A dire prediction, and one that has Hazel picking at her fingernails under the table with worry.

Funny, she thought she'd gotten over that particular habit. She'd even bought fun nail polish - bright neons and shimmery sparkles - in the hopes of breaking it. It was much harder to destroy art, after all, and the colors were so cheerful! Yet here she is, picking away at them. 

There's something sad about knowing that little flecks of color are falling away with each nervous scrape. She should stop, she should, but she's not quite sure what to say, especially when Isaac tries to comfort her. 

"It's...well, yeah..." But usually the universe is a bit less cruel, she doesn't say.

What would Nana say if she were sitting here? She'd probably turn it all around somehow. Remind Isaac that it was just a potential path. One of many. Maybe help to set him on a different one. 

"It's not all bad," she begins as Isaac takes a few sips of his tea. "Nothing in a reading is set in stone. It's just a representation of your current path. Of what has happened or might happen." She wants to believe that, whatever is in store of him, Isaac can steer clear of it somehow. 

She glances down at the final card, at the weeping Roselia and her five filling cups as she picks up her own cup, letting the warmth of it soak into her palms. Better to give her hands something else to do. Something productive.

She takes a sip. Offers him a shaky smile. "Just try not take things for granted, okay? You know," she falters, "just in case."

Victory! Carmen looks entirely too smug with herself as Smudge's gaze follows the crystal in Hazel's hand, greedy little fingers reaching out for it. Would the abra have preferred an unaided victory? Sure, but she's also entirely too practical not to call a win a win, regardless of who had to intervene to make it possible.

With a knowing smile, Hazel hands the purple crystal over to Smudge for munching. "It might taste a little funny. That one's been up there gathering dust for a while," she warns, not that she expects her warning to stop the sableye from popping it in his mouth as soon as he can, and it's not like the dusty will hurt him. 

"Oh, hey, before you go, would you be alright with exchanging numbers? It'd make it a lot easier to figure out when to visit."

Pluto Fürst

☉