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[attr="class","samjermain"]Her original entry to this realm was not planned. She had been on the way home from treating a patient—looking forward to an afternoon with her daughter—when the earth itself swallowed her up. Soon enough, the doctor became a member of a group of determined women. Or, to be more accurate, she became their burden.

After dispatching a mindless mechatronic Corviknight, the quintet made their way to a portal. Not wanting to seem pushy, Aubre let all of them depart first. As her turn neared, her heart soared. She turned to grin at her Helioptile. If things went well, her daughter would be none the wiser. Mommy would tuck her in just like every night before.

But, as she stuck her foot through, the portal began to waver like heat on a summer day. Then, with a pop, it vanished.

Aubre laughed. A shaking finger lifted to point at the now unremarkable air. “Hahahaha!” Her hand clutched at the now empty air, the humorless noise slowly warping into sobs.

She collapsed onto the cold steel of the earth. Around her, the ticking gears reminded her of each second lost. “Al!” Aubre is breathless, her voice a hushed whisper. “It's gone!” No shit, Sherlock. Let's tell him the sky is blue. “I—I don’t think I can find another one on my own.” For once, he didn’t respond with a quippy sentence on his notepad. Instead, he just squeezed her shoulder. Right. You're not alone.

For a while, she followed like a disheartened dog on a leash. The little electric lizard kept an eye out for a suitable camping spot. Finally, he found a clockwork cottage where the door opened. It was some cuckoo clock thing before, the slider shattered beyond repair. The figure leaned against the corner, the bipedal Thievul's eyes glowing conspiratorially.

and, for the first night, they just sat there. Eerie music echoed from every corner of this dead, facsimile world. Occasionally, the steps of something terrible could be heard just outside.

Slowly, the rubberband holding her from despair weaved itself back together. A snack bar from her bag enough to stop the rumbling in their tummies. The messenger bag at her side gave her enough supplies for a few days. It included her doctor’s jacket and two spare outfits. There was also a wide assortment of medical supplies. A survey of the surrounding area revealed more of the same: gears, sinister music, and the ever-present tick of life down the drain.

A shower (courtesy of her Swampert) managed to clear the doctor’s brain enough to try and plot a path forward.

It wasn’t very complicated. They would watch the portal. They would wait.

What else could they do?

NOTES
18 begin building a base camp/settlement of some kind.

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[attr="class","samjermain"]At the dismissiveness, Aubre’s lips pursed. What does he mean it’s not a new feeling? Did he have some kind of chronic throat disorder? Were his parents choking him on the regular? After a brief moment of debate, the doctor shook the idea away. People said a lot of strange things when they were near death. If what Leon claimed she had said was true, well, it was best not to put too much stock into it.

Though the chill air had begun to pick up, the redhead hadn’t noticed her own drenched state. Adrenaline heated her limbs as effectively as any fire, a relief. After all, a few flames would send her right back into the water. At the thanks, she allowed a small smile to crawl across worried cheeks. A nervous hand brushed soaked bangs out of the way. “You’re welcome.” A deep breath followed. “I wish I had more on me, but my gear’s for Pokemon.” Which she hoped hadn’t been ruined by the tides or sand.

The offer drew a click of her tongue and a shake of her head. A hand lifted to lay against the open air between them. “You need to rest.” Green eyes slid to her own Pokemon. “We’ll find it. I mean, the shore isn’t that big.” And, she was pretty sure it wouldn’t have been swept out to sea. As her eyes scoured the ground before her, the Pokemon at her side did the same.

What in Arceus's name had made her take a tan button-up to the beach? Talk about stupid.

The woman remained stiff. Each noise behind her making her want to turn around, but she resisted. The poor boy would already have nightmares. So, instead, she forced herself to walk closer. Aubre lowered her knees until they were almost on eye level. A hand reached out to push a stray strand out of his face.

“Now, Abaslom, is there anyone you want me to call?” She chewed on her inner lip. “Someone you trust to take you home?” Hopefully, her phone was as waterproof as it claimed.

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[attr="class","samjermain"]That answer didn’t comfort her. Not just because it came from the mouth of someone who wanted to skewer and cook her over an open flame. “Fresher?!” Her voice is punctuated by a mad laugh. Half of her was a chewy, disgusting mess. "There were easier ways to—” But that confusion sharpens into a point driven by the poison that now streams through her blood.

The syringes—filled with gods know what—are blown away by a burst from the Altaria. They bounce off the hardpacked dirt, shattering and showering the earth with their payload. With a distressed noise, the chained trainer tosses her hand up to protect her face. The Dragon Pulse sends her tumbling to her bottom in a flurry of limbs. She wipes blood from her cheek and lips her lips. Too many people around him. Maybe something smaller? Her eyes settle on Vanilla Kingsley but then they shift. Why are you so weak? Stop this!

In this state, her brain’s fears are rendered almost mute. Lulu Flint’s Houndoom earns a brief glare and a press of her lips. Some shred of her dislike drives her forward. Again, two full syringes appear between her fingers. They are clutched carefully as she stumbles toward the scientist. Like before, her approach is almost mouse-like. The magenta chain wriggled beneath her poncho to hide beneath its translucent surface.

As she passes, she tries to slam a needle into the other woman's leg.

As she approaches from one side, her Gyarados is attacking its victim. The fact that it is a bag—not the flesh of what hurt it—isn’t obvious in its rage. Instead, it shakes the bag like a dog might a rat. As its contents fall out, it turns its rage back on the dark-haired woman. But it’s recalled in a blast of light as its trainer clutches desperately to his ball.

Nothing takes his place.

The distortion almost sends her toppling over again, but she stays on her feet this time. This gives her a ringside view as Spencer’s head is removed from his shoulder with an audible crunch. Fear punches through the fog as she glances at one of the aliens for comfort. Going forward doesn’t seem safe. But everyone else seems so confident and self-assured. Just like she wishes she was. They didn’t second guess themselves. They just do.

If in the right state of mind, she’d debate their paths for a moment. Remind her companions that none of them know how to drive this spaceship. That, with all this technology, there was a chance they’d make things worse. That maybe she should just run out a different way. But she wasn’t, and she wouldn’t have been even if the chain hadn’t hung from her neck like a weighty tumor.

So, instead, she staggered toward the spaceship following those who held her leash. As Noel Parker strikes at one of her perceived masters, the redhead appears from behind a different attacker. She, again, tries to turn her medicine into a deadly concoction, aiming to jab it into exposed skin.

ZXC7Qa0D

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[attr="class","samjermain"]This place had been a dead zone all morning. The most exciting case came courtesy of a cat with its head stuck in a fishbowl. Which, aside from a ton of laughter, wasn’t much of a diversion.

The Heliolisk’s frill explodes with a surprised squawk as the automatic door bursts open. With a panicked motion, he shrinks his internet window. “Lisk!” He jumped on the countertop. with an irritable expression. A clawed digit gestured violently to the by-appointment-only sign. But his attitude changed when he saw the blood stains on the young man’s shirt.

Then, of course, he was soaked. It made him think of his sister. The self-sacrificial tendencies are bookended by neverending apologies and emotions on the sleeves. Wait. The earlier motion changed into a universal sign for pause. Then, the electric type gestured to one of the empty seats behind Reese. On the table were a few forms—which weren’t something you could fill out on a wild Pokemon. A few taps on the keyboard and he settled back on the desktop.

Within seconds, the swinging door to the exam rooms burst open. The doctor looked like she’d been on break. Her fingers were stained with ink and her hair was mussed. A tablet was resting in one hand. A set of scrubs was thrown over the other. “Uh—Alastor didn’t leave you name, but you can come on back.” For a moment she debated on shaking hands, But they were both full. “We’ll be in Exam Room 1.”

She looked the pink-haired person up and down. Her lips twisted slightly, her gaze dropping to the lavender fabric in her hands. “I brought some scrubs, but I didn’t have your size. So, they might be a little—well, Alastor isn’t the best at sizes.” To him, almost all humans looked extra large. Maybe she should have brought some towels instead. Way to overthink it, Doc. Let’s give him a whole wardrobe while you’re at it.

“Can you tell me what happened? Before you brought him here?” A glance revealed their patient to be a male. Obviously. He doesn’t need to narrate the here and now, Aubre. Arceus.

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[attr="class","samjermain"]The redhead’s porcelain cheeks lit up a blinding pink. A scarred finger lifted to nervously tuck a stray strand behind one ear. You just met the man, and you’re already embarrassing yourself. Can you not go two minutes without making an ass of yourself? Aubre’s tangible response was much less cynical. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you feel, well, you know.” Probably the way she felt right now. Not wanting to seem like some sort of fangirl, she did not correct him on the age difference.

After all, three years wasn’t that big of a gap. Not that her experiences were anywhere near as wide as his own. Unknown to her, the dragon beside her was older still. Not interested in the human conversation—still more wild than not—Marcus began to explore the platform. It didn’t give him much to examine, however.

The highlight of her morning came in the form of the sanctuary. Dozens of flying-type species mixed in a harmonious, beautiful open space. Even her daughter, normally impossible to impress, had raced playfully after a few of the smaller bird Pokemon. And, a few times, Aubre had caught her fighting back a grin. While less exuberant, her husband even seemed relaxed.

“If you’re sure…” The redhead took a deep breath. He doesn’t have time for this, Aubre. Just try and keep it short. She finally settled on a simple question. “I was curious how you keep them from fighting.” She sighed. “We have to separate a lot of Pokemon because fights keep breaking out. I’ve tried everything I can think of.” But, maybe, she was missing the forest for the trees. Or, more accurately, the bird for the molted, bloody feathers.

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[attr="class","samjermain"]An awkward smile remained plastered on her face. People’s attempts to reassure her often made things worse. It called attention to her being a little coward. “If you’re sure.” The redhead murmured. It is not like she’d tell you if it wasn’t, right? As green eyes followed Shalin’s motions, her eyes caught on the Rapidash’s mane.

They truly were beautiful creatures. It was a pity she couldn’t admire their cousins the same way. But one glance at that flickering mane was enough to send her into a tizzy. “I’m glad you had someone who could help.” The redhead murmured, nodding once to the horse.

“Types of...motion?” Aubre did not mind risk-taking. Or, at least, she understood thrill sports and things like it. Rollercoasters and free-flying were activities she enjoyed—or once enjoyed—in her free time. But this confused her. “It is quite an interesting approach.” If she had a suit, it’d likely be used for something utilitarian. Healing, perhaps? What a cliche, Aubre. Why not just ask for world peace while you’re at it?

The sudden motion made her jerk backward. Her cheeks flushed at the perceived scolding, a scarred finger weaving through her Farigiraf’s velvety fur. A hand reached out as the horse reared as if she could control it telekinetically. An apology danced on the tip of her tongue. Aubre swallowed it as the horse reared. Did I say something wrong? Oh. It was the apology thing. Again. The red on her cheeks darkened.

“Sorry—I’ll just—it’s a bad habit.” She stammered. Fortunately, the conversation turned to one of her best friends. The nervousness in her face lessened. “He’s a Farigiraf. He just evolved a few days ago.” The giraffe nodded, making a noise of annoyance. After years of a nice, cozy life as the doctor’s go-to therapy animal, this change had thrown his life on its head.

Which, as a giraffe, was a very hard thing to do. Aubre gave the psychic type a gentle squeeze. “The regrown leg is lovely, but now I can’t fit him through the door.”

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