//------------------------------// // 2: Something something fish pun // Story: Stormy Horizon // by ZauronTheChangeling //------------------------------// As a (albeit temporary) special investigator for the police, I pride myself on my ability to analyze a situation, taking in all the details, and formulate a detailed understanding of a given scenario. Utilizing this skillset, which I definately, 100% have, I came to an intelligent and meaningful conclusion about our situation within an hour of taking off into the desert with Tempest. Deserts suck. Surprisingly enough, the heat didn't bother me quite as much as I thought it would, though I could tell I would need water soon. I guess being the embodiment of a living lightning bolt afforded some perks every now and then. No, what bothered me was the sand. Call me Skywalker, because I don't like it. It really is coarse, rough, and gets everywhere. I hated the constant shifting beneath my feet, the grinding under and between my toes, and the stinging scratches each grain seemed to leave behind as I took step after step… …after step… …after step… …damn, walking sucks, too. When can I learn to fly? That thought made me pause briefly, causing Tempest to glance at me in annoyance and slight concern. Whether she was concerned for me, or afraid of some hidden danger she hadn't sensed wasn't clear, but it didn't last long. "We must continue our journey, creature," she said, starting forward again. "Keep up. I intend to make Wet Sands by sundown." I grunted, not bothering to tell her my name for the thirtieth time—it's not like she'd understand, anyway—and continued forward, pondering silently to myself. Can I fly? I know Zeraora flew in the movie, and his dex entry refers to riding on the earth's magnetic field, but I don't think he can learn fly. Can he even learn any flying-type moves? I stared down at my hands—paws?—as I walked. The pads on my fingers and heel of my hands had a texture very similar to a cat's paws, though slightly smoother, and significantly more yellow. Running the back of my hand over one of them made the fur pull towards it slightly, like with static electricity, which supported the idea that they were used for electric moves. However, I had no idea how to even summon a spark from them, let alone whatever weirdness let Zeraora float on magnetism. I focused on trying, using the distraction to keep from feeling every single grain of sand beneath my tragically bare feet, but no matter what I tried, nothing came of it. "Great," I muttered to myself. "I'm a thundercat with no thunder. Wonder if I can weird my enemies to death?" "Your complaints mean nothing to me," Tempest said, not looking back at me. "Do as you are ordered and we shall find shelter promptly." I rolled my eyes, but otherwise kept silent. Not that she'd understand anything I said anyways. Instead, I occupied myself going over every fact I knew about Zeraora from the games and movies, which was admittedly not much. I'd never played Sword or Shield, and Zeraora was only available in Ultra Sun/Moon to people who bought some show ticket or something. Plus, it'd been a long time since I'd actually played a pokemon game, or really consumed any pokemon media. I claimed Zeraora as my favorite partially because he was new and exciting, and I'd always had a soft spot for electric types. There's a lot you can do with electricity, and Zeraora was the perfect example. I decided to try a different tactic. A lot of fiction has their characters using a method of sensation and visualization. If one could "see" deep enough into themselves, they'd discover their hidden power, like a flame, or a light, or some odd sensation. Figuring my coma would follow that kind of logic, I attempted to turn my senses inward, ignoring the outside world. I set my attention on my breathing, attempting to calm my racing mind with the methodical expansion and contraction of my lungs. I focused on the sensation, a prospect made ever more difficult by the discomfort in my feet. I worked the problem the same way I'd look at a new firewall, searching for any small inconsistencies, any entry point I could exploit to gain access to what was hidden inside. I continued on in silence, my mind focusing on the sensations in my body for what could've been hours. Every time I thought I was making progress, it would slip from my grasp. If there was anything there, I couldn't sense it. I was tired, frustrated, and in pain, and at this point I was desperately trying to find a way to wake up from this fever dream so I could chew out the guys at the station for not fixing a clearly unsafe electrical system. As I continued growling to myself, Tempest suddenly stopped moving, pulling me from my thoughts as I nearly ran into her. I looked up to see what had made her pause, only to see sand, sand, and more sand. Tempest was looking around, worry clearly evident on her face. "Impossible," she muttered to herself. "It should be there. The map…" I watched as Tempest started trotting in circles, examining the desert from multiple angles, her expression of anxiety growing. "We're lost, aren't we?" I deadpanned. "I am not lost," Tempest snapped, accurately guessing my question. "This is just a temporary setback. The wrong dune, yes, that's all it is. Wet Sands shall be in sight from the next sand dune!" "If you say so, oh wise mistress," I quipped as she started trotting up to the next largest dune in our path. It didn't take long to reach it, only a few minutes at the pace she was going, and after some more panicked searching, she insisted it would be visible from the next dune, then the next. After the third dune, I grabbed her tail to keep her from galloping off and getting us even more lost than we already were. The sun was going to start going down soon, and if this desert was anything like the ones I'd heard of on earth, it would be getting very cold, very fast. "Tempest, stop for a moment," I said, meeting her gaze. "Look at me. Breathe. You're not helping anyone by panicking." I don't know if it was my tone, my gaze, or the fact that my claws were digging into her shoulders a little, but Tempest actually took my advice and managed to calm down enough that I felt I could release her. After a few moments staring into my eyes, she snorted a little. "You look like some sort of mutated abyssinian," she commented, turning back to scanning the horizon, more calmly this time. "Wet Sands is a coastal town," She said, setting off calmly in a direction not dissimilar from the one we'd been heading all day. "The nearest coast is directly south of here, unless we've managed to travel much farther west than should be possible in a day. From there it should be a simple matter of following the coast until we reach our destination." “Doesn't the coast go in either direction?” I uselessly pointed out. “You could still end up picking the wrong way.” “It is not much farther. Do not delay.” I rolled my eyes and followed her. Step after step. Damn I hate sand. I wished I knew how to turn it to glass. That would've been nicer to walk on, probably. For me, at least. Luckily for both our sanity, Wet Sands became visible to the South-East just as the sun began its descent, so we didn't have far to travel in the dark. It wasn't a walled town, so we didn't have to worry about curfew or guards stopping us at the gate, which I was quite glad for. At that point, I'm fairly certain both of us would have had no qualms blasting through such an obstruction just for a warm meal and a soft bed. Well, Tempest would. I didn't even know how to spark a simple thunderbolt yet. Unfortunately things just couldn't be that easy. Arriving just after dark carried its own risks, even without checkpoints and curfews, and there's always going to be that one group of guys ready to take advantage of weary travelers. By the time I'd noticed the shadows between buildings were moving, Tempest had already taken on a defensive posture. “Well lookie ‘ere,” a growly voice spoke up from one of the shadows. It sounded like someone attempting to speak through a throat full of mud after smoking for fifty years. “Snagged yerself quite the prize, ‘ere, didn'ya, pussy cat? Tall one, too. Betcha she'll fetch a pretty penny down south.” Pussy cat? Was this shadowed mud smoker talking to me? Did he think I owned Tempest? I was just about to (foolishly) try to correct him when Tempest stepped forward and spoke for herself. “I am Tempest. Mercenary. I belong to no one. This one,” she tossed her head at me. “Belongs to me. If you have something of value you wish to trade then seek us out in the morning. Until then stay out of our way. I do not have time for games.” “Oh, I'm afraid I canne do that, mam. Y'see, we're the guard o’ this ‘ere settlement, and we can't go lettin’ a couple'a strangers in past dark wit'out payin’ a toll. Toss over yer bags and we'll let ya by nice ‘n’ easy.” Tempest narrowed her eyes. “You expect me to simply hand over my possessions to a coward who won't even step out into the light? I think not.” Tempest started forward, intent on finding an inn, but was stopped by… furries? Scalies? A group of anthropomorphic creatures wielding short swords and knives. Two that looked kind of like fish, three lizardfolk, and one who I swear had to be a kobold. They stepped out of alleyways and stood in our path, quickly surrounding us. I could tell Tempest was trying to put on a brave face, but she was clearly spooked. “Now, now, no need fer this t'get ugly,” The largest fish-man said. “I’s jus’ sum stuff, innit? Not werth yer lives.” I met Tempest's eyes. Coma or not, I really didn't want to die here, but I was also tired, hungry, and ready to kill for a hot bath. I could see the same thing in Tempest, despite the fear. Her gaze hardened, and her muscles tensed. I felt her horn light up before I saw it. I felt it reaching out, a fuzzy rope lashing around until it found the tip of one of the thugs’ weapons. I felt a surge, and a split-second later, the thug was thrown back with a flash and a loud crack! The others looked on in, well, shock, as their companion was flash fried and thrown into a wall, where he lay groaning in pain. “Anyone else?” Tempest quipped, managing to keep most of the shakiness from her voice. Mudsmoke obviously was more brawn than brains for this group, as he responded by getting mad and pointing his knife at us. “Gut ‘em!” Screw that, I thought. These guys wanted to play? I'd play. I lunged towards the leader, ducking to the side as he swung his knife at me. He left a small opening, but I chose not to take it, instead choosing to close the distance slightly more. He drove the point of the blade towards my chest, and I brought up my knee, slamming it into his elbow. Having deflected the stab, I quickly grabbed his fishy wrist and stepped behind him, locking his arm to his back and kicking his knees out from under him. I disarmed him easily, then brought the blade up behind myself to deflect an incoming sword swipe. It succeeded, barely, but set the knife ringing painfully in my grip. I hissed and dropped it, then rolled out of the way of another swing. I heard another crack! I glanced briefly at Tempest and saw her ducking away from the kobold, who seemed quite adept in the welding of his, or her, two daggers. I turned my attention back to my own fight just in time to dodge a thrust that would've skewered my eyeball had it landed, and found myself backing up towards Tempest. The guy with the sword–turns out it was one of the lizardfolk–quickly helped his boss to his feet, handing him the knife I'd dropped earlier. He looked pissed. “Well fuck you, too,” I growled, getting a momentary look of confusion from the two. Right. Pokéspeak. Tempest yelped as she dodged another swing, bumping into me from behind. I felt my fur stand on end as she charged another bolt, causing something to stir in me. I don't remember why I did it; maybe some Zeraora instinct or something, but before Tempest could fire off another shot, I reached back and wrapped my hand around her jagged horn. When she let the bolt go, it surged through me, revitalizing me. Suddenly, I was stronger. The dark, moonlit streets were clearer. My feet no longer burned from hours of dragging them through sand. I felt energized. I felt alive! I launched myself at the duo, kicking mud face into the sand as I sprang off of him and landed on liz-sword—hey, I had to call them something—and drove my fist into his hard, bony snout. Sure, it hurt a lot, but given the way his face caved in, and the burn marks around the point of impact, I'd say it hurt him quite a bit more. The lizard dropped like a sack of bricks, and I turned my attention to the kobold still pressuring my companion. It took less than three steps to reach it, but when I went for a tackle, it jumped out of the way, leaping much higher than should have been easily feasible for a creature that size. As I stood up to look for it, a sickle came flying in towards my neck. I barely deflected it, the blade sparking off my fist as I swatted it away. The fish-dude who had swung it paused, staring at his now red-hot blade in fear, before dropping the weapon and booking it down an alleyway. “Yeah, you better run,” I growled. My thought process was interrupted by another bolt from Tempest, this time crispy-frying the second lizardman. That left just one lizard and the kobold. Where did they even—? A pair of clawed feet slammed into the back of my head, shoving me forward and making me stumble. I quickly turned around, then leaned back to avoid having my face cut in two. Damn, this kobold was fast! The little bastard avoided my follow-up punch by diving between my legs and slashing at my heels. It hurt like a motherfucker, but I didn't collapse or anything. Guess my anatomy doesn't work that way. “Mother–!” I hissed, jumping away and clutching my bleeding leg. “Tempest! I could use a zap right about now!” Tempest did indeed send out another bolt, but it wasn't aimed for me. The last lizardman barely avoided getting the char broil treatment by throwing his weapon at the oncoming bolt. Unfortunately for him, he didn't anticipate it being launched back at him, where it promptly lodged itself in his left leg. On the bright side, it probably cauterized the wound on the way through. That didn't stop his girlish scream, though. The kobold, noticing they were alone, finally decided to give up the fight. They stood up, took a fucking bow, and ran off into the night, blades tucked away in their clothing. I swore then that if I ever saw them again I'd learn what fried kobold tastes like. Bastard. “Creature, are you alright?” Tempest asked, rushing up to me. “What does it look like?” I growled, still holding my legs. Blood had stained my white fur and soaked my hands and feet, and it was still dripping onto the sand beneath me. Tempest quickly dug into her satchel, pulling out a roll of bandages, then set to work trying to wrap my legs. With her mouth. Right, broken horn. “Let me,” I sighed, taking the roll from her. The bandages smoked a little where my claws made contact, but otherwise didn't combust. I didn't really think about it at the time, instead focusing on cleaning and wrapping the wound as best I could before returning the bandages to Tempest. She seemed surprised by something. I tilted my head and grunted, “what?” “I did not know you knew how to treat your own injuries,” she admitted. “I underestimated your intelligence.” “You can say that again,” I huffed. “Nevertheless, we should find an inn. I doubt that is all the filth such a poorly port town has to offer.” “Lead the way, oh wise master,” I quipped, wincing as I rose to my feet. Tempest gave me a strange look. “Why do I feel as though you're mocking me?” I kept as straight a face as possible. “Zeraora.”