Though she's never seen it with her own eyes, Hazel's heard plenty of stories about shoal cave and the pokemon that call it home. The way the tide ebbs and flows, changing the landscape within, and she just has to see it for herself while she's here! Pluto won't mind if she's just a liiiiite bit late, right? Besides, if something novel happens, she can greet him with a story!

It doesn't occur to Hazel that the changing of the tides might leave her trapped. That the way forward and the way back might not be the same. Or it does, but too late to do anything but stare at the flooded path back to the entrance with rising dismay as her flashlight begins to flicker. 'Oh no!' She's not just going to be a little bit late, she's going to be really really late! She taps the flashlight a few times, hoping to stabilize the beam (that usually works when it does this), only to have the light go out entirely.  

With a frown, Hazel releases Edgar from his pokeball, hoping to shed some more light in the gloom. There has to be another way out, right? 

Pluto Fürst
ice/ground

☉

What a perfect day for a picnic! It wasn't often that Hazel closed the shop on a whim (nana said it was bad for business, that consistency was key), but today was going to have to be an exception. It was just too nice not to take her pokemon out for lunch by the lake. And, sure, it would be better if she had someone to talk to and share her iced tea and sandwiches with, but Pluto was busy and nana wasn't really able to leave the nursing home these days.

Thankfully, Finn and Carmen were proving to be excellent company, the ever-exuberant eevee bounding ahead while the more reserved abra chose to keep pace with the young witch until they'd reached the lake, and she set about helping Hazel lay out her picnic blanket out on the grass.

sunny clark
flying/water

☉

One by one, Hazel flips the cards.

The first card depicts a venomoth sitting atop an ornate wand, lit from above by a full moon. Her wings are outstretched as though she's preening. The formidable Queen of Wands reversed.

The second card flips to reveal a constellation of delicate silver webwork trapping seven glittering gold coins. A silver embossed spinarak climbs toward them. The Seven of Pentacles. 

The final card shows three beedrill picking their way over a constellation in the shape of a honeycomb, this one also filled with gold coins. Hazel counts them. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. The Eight of Pentacles.

Hazel scrutinizes the three cards. Seeking their story. The answer to whatever question Pluto holds in his heart.

"Lots of pentacles. You don't happen to be a fellow business owner, do you? Or...hmm...no, it's not quite a business thing, at least not entirely. There's something that you've helped build, something that's been coming together like a well woven web. Whatever it is, it's got a lot of moving parts, but it's working well, it's giving you what you need right now, but it's going to take some work to keep it that way. Pay attention to little details." 

That covers the pentacles, but there's still the matter of the reversed queen. Hazel doesn't usually skip a card, and this story definitely starts with the first card, but something keeps telling her to add it last. Maybe it has to do with whatever will take work. Someone or something in the spotlight, someone or something volatile, maybe even dangerous. A friend? No. A partner maybe? Hazel frowns. 

"There's someone in your life that you find yourself drawn to. Someone magnetic who makes you feel special."

"There's a side to them that you haven't seen. Something they keep from you. It's..." Her frown deepens. "Well, it may present some challenges, but nothing that you won't be able to work through if you choose to." 

Pluto Fürst

☉

On her way over to the kettle, Hazel gives Carmen a light tap on the head with her index finger. The abra doesn't blink. Looks like this is going to go on a while.

Hazel shakes her head as she pours the tea and returns with two small ceramic mugs depicting handpainted  psyducks trying out various dance poses. She sets one in front of Pluto before she sits and examines the piles that he's left for her.

Ooooh, four piles! That's novel!

"Do you have your question?" She doesn't need to tell him that there's no need to say it out loud. Instead, Hazel stares at the pile for a moment before pulling three cards - one from the first pile. She skips the second and third piles before taking the last two cards from the fourth. Perfect!

Carefully, she lays them out in a line halfway between Pluto and herself, careful to keep them well away from the merrily steaming mugs. 

Pluto Fürst

☉

There's something idyllic about the scene unfolding in the front room of the little shop. Something undeniably right that leaves Hazel beaming as Isaac's team nicks treats from one another's bags, the victim in swift pursuit of the sticky-fingered thieves. Finn's watching them too. A little too interested, if his posture is anything to judge by.

The wayward eevee has abandoned the berry basket to crouch quietly beside the counter, gaze fixed upon the commotion - rump in the air, tail twitching back and forth in short, erratic bursts. Any moment now, he's going to join the fray and send someone tumbling over. But who to choose?

Finn's eyes dart back and forth between the Echo and Overdrive as they dance away from Willow, stolen apples still in hand. He wants to play too! The eevee gives a short, excited trill as he makes a beeline for Isaac's unsuspecting ralts - Drop. Spring. Pounce!

Hazel winces as they collide. "Finn, play nice!" she warns, though there's no bite to her words. Nobody's hurt, after all, just surprised, and that seems harmless enough. Besides, it's Halloween and tricks are just as welcome as treats in this shop!

At least Edgar hasn't jumped anyone yet, or set anything on fire, for that matter. Excited as he is, the litwick's behavior is surprisingly subdued as he cautiously hops toward the skittish cyndaquil peeking out from behind Isaac's leg. He wants a friend too, but some friends take more time to make than others, a lesson that Hazel has tried time and again to teach the more exuberant members of her team. Maybe the lesson has finally taken? 

Hazel makes a show of giving Isaac a once over when he jokes about being hexed, circling him and pretending to look for something, her eyes narrowed in faux concentration. When she reaches the front of him she shakes her head with mock seriousness. "Nope, no hexes," she says, as if that's something that a person can see. It isn't, but she's wagering that Isaac doesn't know that. Or maybe he does. Hazel never knows what the people who enter her shop believe about the world of the invisible, and that's half the fun! "Must be garden variety bad luck," she adds, seriousness evaporating in an instant, replaced by a teasing grin. "I've got a charm for that."

From the doorway, Ambrose watches as Hazel goes to fetch the kettle from the counter and pours tea into two ceramic cups decorated with watercolor ghastlys that slowly fade as the cup begins to soak up the warmth. They're halfway gone by the time Hazel hands the mug to Isaac and gestures to the little wooden table by the window with its faintly singed cloth covering. "I usually do readings at the table. Choose whichever chair you'd like." 

The two chairs are, ostensibly, the same, at a glance. Each simple, made of some sort of stained wood, and topped with a purple cushion that matches the cloth draped over the table, sans glittering silver moons and stars. It doesn't seem like there's much of a choice to make. Unless there's a catch. It is All Hallow's Eve, after all. 

Isaac Merlo

☉

The abra remains frozen in place save for the occasional twitching of her ears as she tracks the conversation on the other side of the room. Gotta keep an eye on the pretty human. Pretty humans always end up being trouble somehow.

Hazel, on the other hand, is all motion. She settles herself in the chair opposite Pluto, one foot tapping out a rhythm to who even knows what as she continues shuffling - first a simple shuffle, then a bridge - before offering the deck to him. "Cut it wherever you like and--"


A high-pitched whistling cuts Hazel off, making her jump and bang her knees on the bottom of the table. "Oww! Looks like the tea is ready. I'll grab some cups while you cut the deck. Feel free to get creative and leave me several piles if you want. Oh, and be sure to think of a question while you're doing it!"

Pluto Fürst

☉

And now he has a name, they're halfway to being friends already! "Pluto." Hazel nods once as he makes his choice. "Good choice! It suits you." Though, whether she means his name or the deck that he's chosen for his reading is anyone's guess.

The deck in question is a study in contrasts - the backs of the cards a deep matte black fading into a twilight blue at the bottom, each emblazoned with a generous spray of metallic silver stars that catch the light, twinkling as she shuffles them. Inlaid at the center of the cards are a series of elegant-looking silver rings representing the interconnected nature of past, present, and future. It's one of Hazel's favorites, each card face a constellation of meaning both figuratively and literally.

"I think a traditional three card spread would probably be best." Usually, she asks, but this feels right somehow.

Hazel gestures to the two wooden chairs at the table, each one topped with a soft purple cushion, leaving Pluto to choose which one he'll occupy. "Have a seat and we'll get to it!"

As for the abra, this is the moment she's been waiting for! A true test of stubbornness! And so the two pokemon continue to sit and stare like weirdos, neither combatant in the war of open eyes willing to be the first to admit defeat.

A fellow practitioner! A thrill of nervous excitement runs through the young witch. It's been a while since she's gotten to do a reading for someone who can see just as much in the cards as she can. What if she gets it wrong? But no...no, she's been doing this forever, since before she could read actual words. Chasing meaning in the pictures found on each card. Interpreting fate. It'll be fine. Fun even! A reading for a new friend!

Because somewhere between Pluto's exuberance and the fact that he used to do readings himself, Hazel finds herself deciding that she and her mysterious visitor are to be friends, and there's a spring in her step as she goes to put the kettle on.

Green tea. A good choice. Simple and soothing. 

"It'll just be a few minutes. It's an older kettle, so it takes a while to heat up, but it gets the job done," Hazel informs Pluto as she opens a drawer behind the counter and pulls out three decks. The readings always go better when she lets people pick, and though she has many to choose from, these three feel the most like him. The most like --- oh! oh no! she'd forgotten to ask his name! 

"Which deck would you like me to read from?" she asks, moving to set the three decks on the small table by the front window. "Oh! And I'll need you're name too. Not for the reading, of course, just to know what to call you. I'm Hazel by the way!" 

And all the while, Carmen stares, stubbornly refusing to break eye-contact with Smudge now that her challenge has been accepted.

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.

"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. 

Settled cross-legged on the floor with a bowl and two charms, Hazel hasn't noticed that her clothing reeks of incense, or that the incense is no longer the only thing burning. A curl of smoke rises from Hazel's sleeve, a token from the flame that she's hunched over one time too many, but her mind is elsewhere, her gaze slightly unfocused as she runs her calligraphy brush over the paper. One sigil for finding as she lets her mind drift to all the places that a thing might tuck itself away when it goes missing. One brush stroke, and then another, carefully and lovingly crafted as her duskull bobs overhead, waiting, but knowing better to interrupt when she's working. But he wants to. 

The skittish ghost has been by her side all day, hovering just out of reach, but always close enough to keep an eye on her. And definitely close enough to see the curl of smoke the moment her sleeve begins to catch.

He dips and bobs a few times, then tries fading in and out of view, hoping that the movement will catch Hazel's attention. He's on the verge of doing something more drastic when the door to the shop opens and a young woman steps in, which is more than enough to convince the duskull to make himself scarce. 

Hazel jumps when the door chime sounds, the soft tinkle of bells drawing her back into herself and her brush drips ink onto the second charm. Oops. That one will have to be redone for sure. 

She glances up at woman and offers her a smile that would be welcoming if it didn't verge on guilty for being caught making charms instead of being behind the counter ready to greet potential customers, and that's when she notices her sleeve.

"Ahh!" Hazel flails a moment, before pressing wrist down on the floor to smother the not quite flame that has taken a liking to her sleeve. "Sorry about that, I was making some new charms and got a bit lost." Because that's a normal thing to say. 

Hazel snuffs out the incense and gathers up her inkwell and both charms, though the second one is definitely ruined now. 

"Are you looking for anything in particular today?" she asks as she gets up and goes to settle her things behind the counter, "or are you here for a reading?"