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The ginger boy’s admission made Scotti grin. It was nice not to be the only guy with his foot in his mouth. Though his stuff went waaay beyond compliments. Just a week ago he’d talked about a princess’s hoo-hah to her face. But that probably wouldn’t get this relationship off on the right foot. “Join the club.”

He chuckled. “A lady told me she loved my cakes yesterday.” The brunette sighed as Jangle snorted. “I couldn’t think of jack to say, so I just said ‘You too.’” The woman took it pretty well, though he could tell she was a little weirded out. And, unfortunately, the stuff he tacked on didn’t do anything to fix it. Giving up, he just wished the patron a nice day and ran off to lunch.

Man, he didn’t know a lot about medicine, but he knew a ton about this one, specific disorder. “Kinda?” He scratched idly at his nose—feeling like he was awkwardly still. Though he realized that didn’t really matter in this case. It wasn’t like this guy could see it. “Mum and dad have the gene, but ZERO symptoms.” The young man took a deep breath. “Then, lucky guys like me end up with BOTH messed up copies.” Up went his shoulders in a shrug. “It could be worse though.” He and his Runerigus could get around it pretty well. Even if it’d taken years for them to get to that point.

Luckily, this ginger kid wasn’t dripping with envy. A lot of people just thought of the bad side of pain. The stuff that actually hurt. But they forgot that those same feelings stopped them from turning a hand in a flame into a burnt marshmallow. “You’re a guy with common sense.” The parallel between pain and fear made him ponder for a minute. “I still have plenty of that at least.” Right now, he was worried he’d get the Triton treatment from the farmer.

“Yeah. It’s kind of like redheads and anesthesia. A weird genetic connection nobody gets.” A shitty lottery he wished he could share his prizes with. He’d give them some pain-deadening, and he’d take a few points off their schnoz-o-meter. Sadly, that kind of stuff couldn’t be bartered with. Everybody preferred dealing in cold-hard cash. Which he didn’t have much of either. Most of it went to student loans.

The talk of mythology drew a brunette brow up. Why the heck would he name a Pokemon off of something he didn’t get? His squad—with the exception of grandma—was named after comic book noises. “Yeah. She turns guys to stone by looking at them. Reminds me of my mother.” Which, knowing her, one flip-flop would be enough to get these errant animals in line.

The sheep turned as the snake approached. A few of them bleated uncertainly, drawing together until their sparky wool began to crackle. Slowly, but surely, they started backing toward the pen. “Looks like that’s doing the trick, pal! You’re a lifesaver!” Biscotti gestured Jangle forward. The Incineroar’s belly flared with red hot flames as she continued pressing the farm animals toward the pen.

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Biscotti couldn’t help but wonder if he’d have the guts to mount a thing like that. Aside from the aforementioned fair Ponyta—all boredom and tired eyes—he’d never mounted up on anything. “Uh, I guess so..” Reminded of his earlier gaffe, the baker turned scarlet. “It’d be pretty easy to get nailed. Especially if it stopped too fast.” It’d probably feel like getting socked with a sledgehammer. “Kind of cool that job’s still around though.” Like horses and stuff felt so antiquated, but there was probably a family with ten kids out there naming them after different types of saddles.


The brunette nodded. He’d pay a surprisingly large amount of money to see Elise again. At the race track, not just in general or something. That’d be creepy. “I’ll swing by next week then.” Honey eyes drifted to Jangle. She nodded. The cat always loved a good match. “Could be cool to see that stuff in action.” Maybe he could make a few bucks off of playing the odds too. It wasn’t like Cannolli nickeled and dimed him to death.


Again, he made her frown. Why couldn’t he just keep his big mouth shut? Talk about the weather (or lack thereof). Maybe he could say she looked pretty without implying she was some porcelain collectible. “I, uh, I didn’t mean to assume—” He swallowed. “I mean, I did, but I didn’t mean anything by it.” His scarred hand rose to squeeze Jangle’s bicep. “Some of the toughest people I know are women.” A growl from the cat made him drop his grip, opting instead to shove it in a pocket. “You’d fit in anywhere.” Unlike him. He was too awkward for that.


His honey eyes watched the battle with an open mouth. The back-and-forth was a blistering firefight. A sword there. Someone tossed a rock. It ended in a familiar boost of red light. It took him a minute to realize Elise was talking to him. Though, if she’d ordered him to punch the Onix, he’d have totally complied.


“Oh, uh, it’s not old.” The blood was still dripping. “It just isn’t bothering me.” For some reason, he was loathe to admit why. Maybe he didn’t want to look like a weirdo. It sounded tougher if he wasn’t.


Her declaration made him blink. “That sounds like a lot of work.” Jangle huffed at his wound once more before pulling back. The smell of burning flesh emerged. His vessels were cauterized. “Don’t people take advantage of that?” How’d she know who was Galarian anyway? Did she have radar?


Waiting for her to lead the way, he would follow Elise toward the exit.

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Oh! It was just a trash can falling over! No big deal! It happened all the time.

The person’s voice caught Biscotti’s attention. He continued forward, his head turning to face the dumpster diver. His hand lifted in a wave before his mind processed her words. After going a few yards, he stopped, started, and turned around.

“Uhhh….”It took him a minute to know what part of the woman to stare at. Honey eyes drifted first to the neon pink heels. They were the easiest thing to spot. Then, they bounced to the mess of grey at her chest. Realizing he looked like a pervert, Scotti quickly lifted his gaze to the stray lock of hair on her forehead. He shared a glance with his Pokemon companion. Finally, he shook his head. “Not if she doesn't want me to, I guess?”

It wasn’t like no one wanted to hang out in the trash. Rats and stuff did it all the time! And, once, he’d run into an actual freegan! They lived off of scraps.

Realizing he was still standing there, he decided it was time to move. “Let me help you up.” Moving closer, he offered a hand to the woman. It was covered in scars—all of them as dissimilar from one another as leopard spots. “I can give you one of my shoes if you want?” From here, he could tell that heel was designer but really busted up. “They might be a bit big, but I’ve got some napkins in here.” He’d meant to hand them out to the partygoers.

But he’d been way too shocked to actually do so. As he did so, he tossed out his Incineroar. Its bulky form loomed over him—bright blue eyes stared suspiciously down at the trash can Barbie. “Jangle might give you a piggyback ride if you nicely!”

As Biscotti moved to tug back, his eyes alighted on a face in the shadows. Was that a Stunky back there? For once, he was glad his nose operated at only 10 or 20 percent capacity. He couldn’t smell whatever it gave off.

A shriek from above drew his eyes skyward. It happened just in time to watch a Honchkrow blot out a nearby street light. It seemed to be looking for something.

NOTES
Skipping
@pearbard

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