Broken Souls

Promises We Can't Keep

"Terrible idea." I insist. "This is an absolutely terrible idea."

Minerva and Fang remain dead-set on the humble looking Fuschia gym in the distance, barring double grins.

"Spritz us up." Fang says, building into a chant. His tail is waving like crazy, the late-night, post-battle rush filling him with dangerous recklessness. "Spritz us up."

I'm sure he means for the team to echo the sentiment, but no one else on the team's joining in. Hycanith smacks her bone against her hand nonetheless, which is her own kind of agreement. Reginae picks my Pokegear out of my bag and Fang tugs it away with Psychic, using his paws best he can to navigate to the map function.

"This is even better than I thought," he laughs. "It's purple. That's my favorite color."

"Can you even read?" I ask, taking the Pokegear back from him.

"Uh? No. But you can." Fang snorts. "So. What does it say?"

"Poison-type. Run by Janine... Koga's daughter."

The whole team erupts into excited fury at this. Koga was one of our easiest Elite Four wins by far, and we have no less than four Pokemon with super-effective tactics. Given that Poison-types go hand in hand with bug-types, we can bump that right up to five.

"Looks like I'm sitting this one out." Reginae says, "Should be easy, though. I say we go for it."

I can help. Ethan insists.

"Do you think dragging him into a League mandated battle is a smart move?" asks Reginae.

"More importantly, will he fit in that little hut over there?" asks Minerva.

"Gyms are supposed to be large enough to fix the likes of Onix and Gyarados, so I'd imagine so." I say. "You know what? This is probably a stupid move, but let's just do it. Let's go for it!"

Hycanith and Minerva form the front guard while Fang trots along behind them, bouncing up and down with an enthusiasm I thought he'd lost in the aftermath of Pisces's...

If anyone could recover from a death like that, it would be him.

Reginae and Ten are having their own conversation up ahead. From the feel of it through the collective bond, I can make out the gist of it- strategy. It's become all too easy to communicate without words, since we can sense each other's feelings, but all of my Pokemon are chattery know-it-alls with glib tongues. Humor necessitates precise diction, and hence, it necessitates that we keep talking.

Ethan shudders at my side. We're close to the building now. I go over our personal strategy: "Stay calm, stay controlled. This won't be like the biker battles- these Pokemon will be aiming for you, and it'll be one on one. Do you think you can handle that?"

... yes. Ethan's eyes flick over mine. It's hard to keep consistent with his pace, since he's moving one massive hang and then dragging his entire body across the earth, so I have to jog forwards and then slow to a snail's pace every two minutes. The effort of his struggle wracks my body, and I feel my breath catch with his every time some new, startled civilian comes out and sees our menagerie with him at the center. They're staring at me.

"They can't see you for you on the inside. Don't let them get to you." I tell him, though it sounds hollow and campy even to my own ears.

On the inside, I'm collapsing. Inside is worse.

He takes another step and stops himself short at the foot of the gym. The architecture is traditional and smells of wood and strange spice, though the pungent underscent of panic and blood from past battles is detected by my two canines at once. The building is bigger than it appeared from a distance, though it still has to open all the way at the front to accommodate larger Pokemon. The roof and the top of the door are so close to each other that they're almost touching, and Ethan is even with the slab of space in between. He lowers himself, squaring his shoulders and bringing his massive neck level with the rest of his body, and is able to squeeze himself through the entrance. I stand beneath his chest, hand on his hand as I lead him through.