The Lost Documents of Julianne V. Skye

May 28th, 21:36, New Boons in Old Places

May 28th, 21:36, Travel log of Aidan Rode
If Maria weren't married with three kids and a squabbling pack of grand-beasts, I would drop to my knees and pledge my heart to her. I had, indeed, read Dr. Skye's thoughts on solosis, duosion, and reuniclus, as well as the associated formal research paper. However, it is now apparent that my version was heavily censored. Maria, who probably scanned the original source, accidentally delivered novel content. Fresh ideas often spring from antique haunts.

All text after the paragraph on the solosis line's lack of discretion was entirely new to me. Considering its deeply intimate nature and abrupt tone shift, I understand why this portion may have been omitted from the public edition. However, her concerns regarding Keros and Feliks were not unfamiliar. After all, I have perused many of her personal records. Dr. Skye kept a journal not unlike my own travel log. It brimmed with sentiments and scientific hypotheses, frivolous notes, drafted libretti, musical sketches, and (admittedly awful) anatomical drawings. I confess, my own drawings are unworthy of even mum's refrigerator.

The conclusion of Julianne's journal entry might serve as a reminder to all pokemon trainers. The creatures who stand beside us are emotional individuals with their own trials and tribulations. As friends, leaders, whatever we may be to them—it is vital to be there for them. As much as we rely on our pokemon, they also rely on us. Vivi, for all her energetic temerity, seeks sanctuary and someone to groom her feathers each night. She's bold because she knows, if things truly went awry, her trainer would have her back. Additionally, Clarisse, Baron, and I each take the time to tend her plumage, just as a mandibuzz parent would.

Baron himself struggles, to my dismay, with his image as a subpar pokemon. Patrat and watchog are hypervigilant creatures, continually wary that some predator will devour them and their loved ones. Furthermore, beginner trainers often catch them, name them, and make them feel important, only to release them later. They are usually forced to surrender their position to less experienced pokemon, as these rivals are of a species that is rarer, a desired type, or possessed of greater potential power. As a result, Baron's kind are prone to severe inferiority complexes, sometimes in association with depression. I can't prove it, but many of my watchog's behaviors suggest an abandonment event before meeting me. Thus, I must convey to Baron, in particular, my unconditional love and appreciation for his contributions. I'd also revel in the chance to find the trainer who ditched him and introduce their face to a pair of brass knuckles.

Clarisse was my starter and I confess to treating her as something akin to my child in youth. I read her the same storybooks as Luca, walked her round the block in a stroller, and even learned knitting (poorly) to make her a blanket. My project ended up looking more like a net, but she loved it and that's what matters. Ironically, my baby has established herself as a mother figure to the entire team, including the human who raised her.

That being said, even a mother of extreme patience and fortitude requires an occasional respite from duty. Clarisse constantly places our needs before her own. To simply watch her go about the day is exhausting. After hours of training in the basement arena, her companions settled to sleep. She, instead, organized my paperwork, folded my clothes, mended a tear in my jacket, and would have done Arceus knows what else if I hadn't insisted she rest. I'm ecstatic to see her flirt with that maractus—cater to her own desires, for once (even if my sketchy vullaby is left to my supervision).

Speaking of sketchy, another paragraph was absent in the censored version of Dr. Skye's notes—the section regarding her "newest academic acquaintance." Again descending to that abyssal realm traversed only by conspiracy freaks, I am drawn to the date at which it was written. This text was penned approximately two months before the letter to Professor Cypress, requesting elusive neuroscience literature. In this paragraph, Dr. Skye mentioned the possibility of consulting Lorenzo on her dilemma. The issue in question involved a mysterious, brilliant, and, according to Julianne, amoral individual. Additionally, she sought to contact said individual as a client. Her pokemon perceived a threat. Even Keros and Gemma's insistence that they could handle this character implies hostility to be handled.

Maybe it's too grand an extrapolation but might this be one of the "medical associates" condemned by Professor Cypress? Furthermore, might this be a beheeyem? They were described here as intelligent, unethical, and enough to spook members of Dr. Skye's impressive pokemon team. Then again, they spoke to Julianne in a subway station. Pokemon of such disrepute are not exactly welcome on public transportation. If not a beheeyem in person, perhaps a puppet? What a chilling thought.

Soon, these ideas will be presented to Maria Cypress and Sofia Mori. In the meantime, I must deliberate upon what in Zekrom's name you're supposed to wear to a late-night jam session (where I'm certain to face musical humiliation). Clarisse suggests I sport the dyed beachgrass vest she's woven, but I'm rather tentative about that particular shade of electric magenta.