Whispers in the Dark「Pokemon Fanfiction」

Tᴡᴇɴᴛʏ﹣Eɪɢʜᴛ • Pᴜᴘᴘᴇᴛᴇᴇʀ's Sᴛʀɪɴɢs

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Puppeteer's Strings

The silence between them was unsettling.

It was normal for Quinn to not speak, but the usual banter between her and Ryou had long dissipated, and the stifling quiet was maintained too well that she could hear the slightest Caterpie move amongst the bushes.

She wasn't in the mood to speak; besides, no words, in any form, were willing to leave her mouth—she just didn't have anything to say. Beside her, the shorter boy had his stance turned away from the trio, amethyst eyes downcast and giving a dull glance at the grassy pavement below his feet.

Celebi rested herself on her trainer's shoulder—like most Legendaries, she had the ability to turn herself invisible in the eyes of others, and she watched the sparking tension in the air with a look of imminent worry.

The coordinator spun around, causing the other two members of her group to slow to a halt. "We've been walking for..." She glanced down at her watch. "Four or five hours. It's almost lunchtime, anyways—let's take a break here."

"Middle of the pavement?" the carrot-haired child retorted in a scathing manner, and she pointed a listless finger at a nearby patch of grass. "There. More sensible."

As they made their way over to the plot of land, the older female glanced back, offering an apologetic smile in return. All three of them knew it was nothing but a forced expression, but no one was in a good enough mood to call her out for it.

Grabbing a sandwich from his bag—she wasn't quite sure if it was edible—Ryou gazed off into the distance with an absentminded look plastered on his face. "There's a stream up ahead," he observed in a quiet voice. "I'll go eat there."

The boy spun on his heel, taking a small bite of his lunch as if to prove that he was alright—and then he walked off, disappearing into the meadow and leaving the two girls alone. He'd made it clear that he wanted to be left alone for a while—they had no choice but to comply with his wishes.

"I have a spare packed lunch," she muttered, handing the tupperware box to the younger girl beside her. "It look's like Ryou's already taken care of his food, so you can have it."

The child snatched the container from her, muttering a grudging thanks as she tore it open—Quinn must have been hungry. She didn't seem to complain about the grass—the girl crossed her legs, digging a plastic spoon into her meal and hungrily devouring the food before her.

Before Celeana could start on her own lunch, however, a tug on her sleeve prompted her to pause and look down—the small child beside her cocked her head in the direction where their other ally had gone. "He's not OK," she stated. "Cheer him up."

As she picked up her spoon once again, ravenous for the food before her, the coordinator just sighed, flipping open her handphone. She wasn't any therapist, but she did know one and maybe Miss Enya could give her some advice.

Her clumsy fingers slid over the digital keyboard—she never had much use for her phone, and she wasn't exactly used to typing—and tapped the "send" button, praying that the psychiatrist was available.

She needed her help.

• • •

Tiny stars dotted the realm like a maze of constellations, the automated beep of the piece of technology was almost jarring against the ethereal silence.

Frazzled, the woman extracted the hair tie that had been entangled in between messy blond strands—the golden locks fell down, and as soon as her hair had been released from the tight bun she'd use for work—no need for that now—and glanced down at the phone with muted annoyance.