ACL: 20. Hey, I remembered this quest exists. (Patreon)

Chapter 20: Hey, I remembered this quest exists.

Brockton Bay, NH, USA
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Type: None

I retired for the night fairly early. I wanted to deal with Coil as quickly as possible and that meant scouting out his base tonight. I awoke to the soft vibration of my phone against my arm. It was 2 AM and Mark was snoring loudly above me.

I checked my type for the day and winced. Nothing. The gear turned but there was no connection to be found. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it limited my options significantly. If something happened and I was forced to fight, I’d only have half-remembered martial arts, lampent, and kirlia to get myself out of trouble.

That raised the question: Did I want to scout out Coil’s base tonight?

Originally, the plan was to scout out the base with lampent while relying on my armor’s durability and a stronger pokemon should things go horribly wrong. I wanted to find his various exits, take stock of any hidden passages, learn more about the layers of defensive measures he undoubtedly had, and pinpoint the location of key rooms in the base such as his office, mercenary barracks, armory, and garage.

I did manage to sneak into Coil’s house to memorize his psychic signature, but that was his house. There was no way his base was as unguarded, surely.

X

I decided against it in the end. No one was going to die if I didn’t check out his bae today. If anything, me going off half-cocked and tipping my hand could have far worse consequences. I settled into bed and shut off the morning alarm so I could sleep in.

When I next opened my eyes, it was 9 AM, late for someone who typically woke up at the crack of dawn to go jogging. After a quick breakfast of microwaved oatmeal and berries from the back garden, I was out the door.

Half an hour later, I stood opposite the abandoned ferry station. Emily, resourceful girl she was, had loaded up her paintings inside an abandoned shopping cart along with her plywood easel, apron, paints, brushes, and a bottle of water. For once, I decided not to scare the bejesus out of her and walked up in my human form.

It wasn’t because I wanted to keep lampent a secret and the public couldn’t see kirlia messing with other girls, definitely not…

Fuck, I hated not having options…

“Yo,” I called. I was dressed in some comfy jeans and a flannel shirt to ward off the January chill.

“Blake!” Emily chirped with a bright, freckly smile.

“How’s it going?”

“I’m a little nervous. You really think my paintings will sell well?”

I glanced down at some of her work peeking out from beneath a plastic tarp. “Em, that ninetales looks like it’s about to ask me for my immortal soul. I think it’ll sell.”

“You don’t think it’s a bit much? You’re not mad that I’m using your image for money?”

“It’s not hurting me and you’re my friend. Seriously, don’t stress. How many did you make this week?”

“Oh, umm… Four big ones like this but lots of little ones,” she said. She reached into her pocket to reveal a palm-sized, plywood canvas. It was a four-inch square, if that. It depicted a riolu, the black and blue cub pulling back a glowing fist in a telltale Force Palm. “An art supply store was having a huge sale on these mini-canvases and I borrowed some money so I could stock up on a bunch for cheap.”

“It’s cute,” I told her honestly. “And I can tell you’ve been listening when I told you about what some of my ‘mons can do.”

“Yeah. I started with an arcanine and a growlithe and moved on to the other ones I could find on PHO.”

“Awesome. What do you have so far?”

“Arcanine, growlithe, ninetales, riolu, spheal, aurorus, meganium, audino, and gardevoir.”

I let out a low whistle. I gently hip-checked her from the cart so I could push it along towards Lord’s Street Market. She made to protest but a chiding glower had her trotting along after me. “You’ve been busy.”

“I really love art,” she said with a soft smile. “It doesn’t feel like work, you know?”

“I’m glad you’ve found something you love. Cherish it, most people end up looking all their lives only to come up empty.”

“Pffttt, you sound like an old man, Blake.”

“I do not,” I said in mock offense… even if I kinda was. “I’ll have you know I am a young man of great youthful vigor and wisdom past his years.”

“Right. If you say so.”

We chatted on the way. She told me about some friends she’d made at the shelter, women who weren’t exactly having the best luck. She told me about a Korean lady who taught her how to make budae-jjigae, army stew apparently, out of some ramen, leftover kimchi, spam, and American cheese.

The more she talked, the more reassured I felt about leaving her alone. With enough luck, this whole freelance painting gig will take off, giving her enough capital to get her own place. Well, once the ID from Faultline came in so she could actually have a legal footprint.

X

Lord’s Street Market was the biggest flea market in the city. It contracted and expanded like a living thing, swelling like the tide over the weekend only to ebb back to something more manageable during the workweek as people found other things to do.

It attracted all sorts, from amateur carpenters who made cabinets and desk ornaments in their spare time to swindlers selling a “Rolex” watch for only a couple Benjamins. The only rule surrounding the market seemed to be that each vendor had to claim a lot, starting at the size of a parking space. Everything else was up to the whims of capitalism.

We made our way to the admission desk, which was really a refurbished parking tollbooth. There, a gruff old man in a wifebeater greeted us, cigarette in his mouth. “You lookin’ for a booth?” he growled. He looked like a man who couldn’t make any other sounds if he tried.

“Yup. How much is a lot?” I asked with a disarming smile.

“$25 for the day. Setup and teardown is your job. If it’s there by closing time, it’s mine.”

“Fair.” I handed him his money. He in turn gave me a map of the lot with a hastily scribbled sharpie to mark our spot.

“Thanks,” Emily whispered as we walked away. “I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I told her seriously. “Just invite me to your gallery when you make it big, Em.”

“I promise.”

“Did you ever think about how much to sell your paintings for though?”

By the way she froze in her tracks, I assumed she hadn’t. “Shit…”

“Em…”

“Sorry… I don’t know… $10 for a little one? $15 for a medium one and $20 for a big one?”

I sighed. I was a professional hobo for most of my life. How did this girl have worse business sense than me? “No. Absolutely not. The little ones are what? Four inches squared? They’re perfect for desk ornamentation or in a cubicle somewhere and you’re really good at this, I promise. $20 easy. The medium ones are 8 by 12? $50. Big ones that you can hang in your living room? Start at $200 and let them haggle. But don’t you dare drop lower than $100, got it?”

“I-Isn’t that a bit much? My paintings aren’t worth that much.”

“They are,” I insisted. “Your work is amazing, Menagerie’s pokemon are super popular right now, and the paintings are one of a kind. And even if, for some reason, you think they aren’t, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Sometimes, pricing something higher will make it seem more valuable, especially fan merchandise like this.”

“If you say so…”

“I do. Besides, this is a flea market. You’re meant to haggle. Just don’t go below the prices I set and don’t accept anything but cash.”

“$20, $50, and $100. Got it. Do they really try to pay with other things?”

“Flea market. Bartering is fair game,” I said with a shrug. The market in Slateport was much the same. “One of the kids in the orphanage bought something from here by trading an ounce of weed.”

She scrunched her nose in distaste. “I wouldn’t do that. Weed smells bad.”

“Good. Say no to drugs and all that. And concert tickets. Or DvDs. If anyone tries to barter with them, they’re guaranteed to be expired or bootlegged.”

“Got it.”

X

I helped her set up shop and haggled with the first two customers, just so she’d get an idea of what the scene might look like before taking off. It was now approaching lunch and I had a date with everyone’s favorite grumpy healer.

I ducked back into the ferry station to change into my armor. As far as everyone knew, Menagerie was dating Amy, not Blake.

Menagerie: Yo, Ames, did Vicky and Dean ever figure out where they wanted to go for the date today?

Amy: Shut up, let me sleep.

Menagerie: Ames, it’s 11:27. Wake up.

Amy: ┌∩┐

Menagerie: Real mature.

Amy: Just show up at Fugly Bob’s for lunch. Vicky said she wants to know what you think and decide from that.

Menagerie: Fine. Sweet dreams, oh, prickly one.

Amy:┌∩┐

With little to do, I killed time for half an hour before making my way to the infamous burger joint. Part of me wanted to show up at Emily’s art stand so I could personally endorse her work, but I figured that’d be a horrible idea. The last thing I needed was for some villain to start getting ideas.

In the end, I ended up walking around the Boardwalk. The north pier was full of fishermen, hobbyists who took advantage of the pier to toss a line into the sea. Only a handful of them were actually keeping what they caught. I chatted with one such man who offered me a fish, swore it was “good grillin’,” but I declined as I had places to be.

I arrived at Fugly Bob’s several minutes past noon. Dean, Vicky, and Amy had grabbed a table out on the patio. I could see the couple making goo goo eyes at each other while Amy looked miserably bored.

I considered doing another dramatic drop-in like I had when I asked Amy out in the Arcadia High cafeteria but decided against it. A kirlia just lacked a certain kind of… oomph… that a gardevoir had. Besides, I figured my blood-red armor was eye-catching enough on its own with its closed faceplate, oversized armguards, and furred shoulders.

I had to be honest with myself. The way the restaurant went silent as I pushed open the doors made me feel like a badass from an old western, that moment when the toughest gunslinger in town saunters into a saloon. I walked out to Amy’s table.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Dean got up and held out a hand, ever the gentleman that one. “Hello, Menagerie. I’m Dean. Thanks for indulging us; I’m sure you had other things to do today.”

“Hey, no problem. Going on a date with my girlfriend isn’t exactly a chore. Have you all ordered yet?”

“We haven’t; let’s go together.”

The four of us got up to the counter and I got a chance to look Amy over. She wore a dark-green turtleneck alongside a tan jacket to ward off the January chill. Part of her hair was set in little braids on the sides of her head while the rest cascaded down to her shoulders. I did a double-take; I didn’t think her hair was that long.

“Did you do something with your hair?”

Amy looked bashful, a rarity with the usually ornery girl. Now that I was looking, I couldn’t see most of her freckles either. “I straightened it out. Why? Does it look bad?”

“It just looks longer than usual,” I said. “It looks good, like you didn’t sleep in until 11:30.”

“Well don’t get used to it. This took forever.”

“Aww, I’ll help you again, Ames,” Vicky chimed in. She was as pretty as ever, though her prickly aura still grated.

“Nope. Takes too long. Give me my sweats any day.”

I nodded along. “For real though. You look nice and all, but I wouldn’t have minded if you rolled up in your PJs. Honestly? That would’ve been kinda funny.”

“See, Vicky? Told you I didn’t need you to primp me like a peacock,” Amy grumbled.

“Whatever, you two are impossible,” the blonde huffed goodnaturedly.

The four of us talked while we ate. I bought myself a double cheeseburger with all the usual fixings. Even without the faceplate, Fugly Bob’s had huge portions so fitting it all in my mouth without making a mess was a real challenge.

“Huh,” Amy began, “I for sure thought you’d eat the challenger.”

“I’m not obese. Or a competitive eater.”

“Yeah, but you have like a dozen forms that could down that much food, right?”

I thought about the caloric intake of a snorlax and snorted. “Mhmm, but today’s not the right theme for it.”

“What’s your theme this time?”

“Nothing that can eat big portions,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. “I might come back when I end up with a bigger form. The challenger is free so long as you can finish it in an hour, right? Is there a rule against changers?”

“I don’t think so?”

Dean coughed. “There isn’t, but I think it might be a little dishonest.”

I nodded. “Probably. So, where are we going after this?”

“Oh, well, we had a few ideas depending on what you wanted, Menagerie. Vicky wants to go shopping at the mall,” I noticed Amy shoot me a panicked look at that, “there’s the bowling alley that should be pretty empty on Fairview Street, or we could just grab a movie.”

“Boo, no movie,” Vicky said. “Movies are way too cliche for a double date. Dates should be all about socializing! Getting to know people!”

“Well, you’re not wrong. There’s also laser tag, though I’m not sure they have a vest that can fit over your armor, Menagerie. Oh, and the Forsberg Gallery is running an exhibit on romanticism if you’re into art.”

I shrugged helplessly. Back in the pokemon world, my dates were… honestly? I didn’t have much in the way of traditional dates. I remembered going flying, battling, and maybe seeing a contest or two. I truly had no opinion on the matter so I decided to deflect. “I don’t know about laser tag, I’m not really looking to sweat buckets in this armor running around after you guys, especially Victoria. Do you have a preference, Dean?”

“I’m partial to the gallery myself,” he said with a genuine smile. “It’s both free and has several paintings from the era that are considered masterworks. It also has an educational seminar if we want to stick around for that too so no one has to feel lost if they don’t know much about paintings.”

“Hmm… Amy? Preferences? All I care about is no laser tag.”

“No shopping,” she said immediately, overruling her sister’s pout. “We were at the mall yesterday.”

“Fair. I don’t have too much disposable cash at the moment either. So no shopping, laser tag, or movies, which leaves bowling or the art gallery, right?”

“Yup,” Vicky said. “I saw a really cute dress but it’ll still be there tomorrow. You’re the newcomer here, Menagerie, you choose.”

“Well if it’s up to me, I’m down to go bowling,” I said finally. It was one of those things that I knew existed but had never done myself. In my old life, I’d been too caught up in training my team or stomping one team or another. In this life, I was too poor to afford the $12 or so I needed for a game and pair of bowling shoes.

“Sure, why not? I haven’t gone bowling since… What was it, Dean? Our fourth date?”

“Something like that,” he replied. “I admit it’s been a while for me as well. Do you bowl, Menagerie?”

“Nope, never,” I said. “I figure now’s a good chance to try. How hard can it be?”

A dangerous glint appeared in Dean’s eyes. “Surprisingly difficult. It is a game of control and technique and people spend a lot of time trying to get a perfect 300.”

“If you say so. I mean, aren’t there little bits of paint to help you line up the targets?”

“Yes, but you’d be surprised at how much the ball can spin.”

“So, two versus two couples?” Vicky asked.

Amy shrugged and got up, scrunching her wrapper in her hands. “Sure, why not. We can play for a few hours and grab ice cream after or something.”

“Ooh! Loser buys?”

“Vicky, Menagerie has never played before.”

“We’ll have a few practice games then. How ‘bout it, Menagerie? Think you can take us down?”

I rolled my eyes and started to walk towards the door. “Sure, why not? It’s just ice cream.”

“Woot! Dean, I got us ice cream!”

“Vicky, don’t take advantage of Menagerie’s kindness,” Dean chided.

I could feel my eyebrow twitching. I was a trainer. Competition was my bread and butter. Really, how hard could it be? “What kindness? You’re buying me ice cream.”

“Hoh? I guess you’re feeling confident then.”

“Bring it, Dean.”

X

I stared at my scorecard. What was this nonsense? Why was this so hard? Never mind a perfect game, I couldn’t even bowl over a 30. Meanwhile, Dean managed 170, Vicky had a respectable 150, and Amy came in trailing behind at a mere 90.

I thanked the llama up above that this was one of the practice games.

“So, still feeling confident?” Dean asked smugly. This was a side of Dean I hadn’t seen as Blake, the boy was usually so focused on being a gentleman that I didn’t think he had a competitive bone in his body. Apparently, he did, for bowling of all things.

“It’s fine. I still have time to learn. This is practice game one and we bought four games.”

“So we did, Menagerie, so we did.”

The next game went by better. Now that I’d gotten a feel for the ball, I managed to roll a decent 70. We’d drawn a bit of a crowd by now, if only because I was in dinosaur-themed armor. The faceplate and gauntlets especially made controlling the ball difficult, not that I was shameless enough to bitch about it after losing so pathetically.

“It’s better,” Amy said. “You’re almost as good as I am.”

“I can do better,” I told her. I pulled off my armguards and let them sink into the chair with dull thumps. “Alright, game three. Let’s do this.”

“Do you really think it’ll help?”

“Worth a shot.”

The third game ended with me scoring in the high 90s, still nowhere near Dean’s consistent score of 200-plus.

Dean sent another ball rolling down the lane. “Don’t stress, Menagerie, I come with my dad pretty often. He likes this over golfing so I had to learn, said it’s a good way to talk to people in a casual setting.”

“Yeah, 90 is actually pretty good for a beginner,” Vicky chimed. “Ice cream is still on you though.”

I sighed. It looked like I’d be paying. I wasn’t expecting such a simple game to have so much finesse behind it. “Well, we still have one more game. You never know.”

“I mean…” she gestured vaguely to the scorecard. “I think I kinda do?”

“So… I can’t go beyond the line. I can’t throw the ball overhand, and that’s it, right?”

“Yeah?”

I had an idea. I had a wicked, wicked idea. Judging by the dawning look on Amy’s face, she knew what I was thinking. Question was, was I really petty enough to become a psychic for this?

X

In the end, I decided against using kirlia. I could be competitive, but I’d spent an entire lifetime learning the tact needed to moderate that impulsiveness. I could be petty, but I wasn’t that petty. At least not over ice cream. Maybe if we’d bet something else, like those weird, jelly-filled donuts that Brock fellow made out of rice.

Seriously, there was something wrong with that man but damn if he wasn’t a great chef.

The last match had gone mostly predictably. I wasn’t too invested in the score anymore, having fully resigned myself to getting my ass kicked. Instead, I took photos and signed autographs for a few kids who came by from the arcade machines.

Victoria stood in lane with her 16 pound ball in hand. It was as heavy as they got according to regulations apparently. She made a show of twirling it on her finger like a basketball before palming the thing and winding back. Though she couldn’t do anything to make herself weaker, she’d had enough good taste to not fly during the matches, another reason I decided to not become a kirlia.

Then, one of the kids ran between the booths, a stuffed dolphin in hand. He was a short blonde boy who couldn’t be older than eleven or twelve.

“Hah! It’s mine, Sam!” he cried as he raced our way. He was chased by a redhead girl, “Sam” presumably. They shared enough facial features for me to assume they were siblings or cousins.

“Give that back, John!” Sam shrieked.

“Hey, stay out of the lanes!” an employee called, but he wasn’t being paid enough to do more than shake his fist angrily.

Dean stood and put a shoulder around the younger boy. “Woah, that’s dangerous, buddy. The bowling balls can be heavy.”

“Got you!” Sam yelled as she tackled her brother. She snagged the dolphin plushie and held it in the air. “Hah! Mine, you jerk! I won it fair and square!”

“Nu-uh! It was my coin!” John yelled back. They’d already forgotten about Dean.

“And I played the game so it’s mine”

“Nu-uh! My coin, my prize.”

“My win, my prize.”

“Nu-uh!”

“Uh-huh!”

“Nu-uh!”

“Uh-huh!”

I glanced at Amy. “Does this… happen often?”

She shrugged helplessly. “How should I know? I don’t come here that much.”

Victoria looked as lost as we were. The three of us watched them go at it for a minute. I considered intervening as the clearly in-costume hero, but Dean had managed to calm the two down and their mother came down to apologize for the fuss. He shook her hand and gently pushed them to their mother before returning.

“You’re good with kids,” I complimented him.

“Thank you,” he said with a soft smile. “I wish I had younger siblings.”

“They’re nice, but only to a point.”

“You have a big family? Sorry, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“You could say that. My little siblings are great but they can get tiring really fast.”

“I can imagine. So how-”

“Fuck!” we heard Vicky swear. That was followed by a loud crash and the sound of splintering wood.

We turned to find Vicky had managed to lob her ball with considerably more force than necessary, sending a shower of laminated splinters into the air. I stared at the ball embedded into the wood halfway down the lane, then back up at the brute.

“Vicky!” Amy and Dean chorused as one. They looked at each other with surprise but shared a moment of solidarity as the two people who had to put up with Victoria’s antics most often.

“It was an accident! The finger holes got sweaty and I tried to control my strength so I loosened my grip and then it slipped!”

We could see the manager coming our way. If he got any redder, Amy and I would likely have to treat him for an aneurism. “What happened here?” he demanded.

“Sorry, sir,” Vicky apologized. “The ball slipped and I couldn’t catch it in time.”

“Do you have any idea how much a new floor costs?”

“N-No, but it was an accident.”

“Your mother will be hearing from me, young lady.”

I sighed but got up and pulled Amy to her feet with me. It looked like the date was over. “Come on, guys. Leave your mother’s number and let’s get out of his hair. For what it’s worth, we’re sorry about this, sir,” I said. I didn’t do anything wrong but felt a little guilty anyway.

“Yeah, whatever. You capes are more trouble than you’re worth sometimes,” he grumbled.

He ended up taking Carol Dallon’s number but otherwise let us go. We were outside when Vicky spoke up. “Sorry, guys. It really was an accident. I’m sorry I ruined the date.”

“It’s fine, Vicky,” Dean said, comforting his girlfriend. “It happens.”

“For what it’s worth, I had a good time,” I told them.

“Yeah, but mom’s gonna flip,” Amy said. “You guys wanna grab ice cream? We may as well before she hears of this and grounds us both.”

“Wait, why would you get grounded?”

“Mom’s a big believer in shared punishment,” she drawled.

“So not fair,” Vicky pouted. Her phone began to vibrate and she let out a defeated groan. “Too late, I guess. She must have been home.”

“Well, I guess this is goodbye then,” Dean said. “Want me to drive you home?”

Vicky gave her boyfriend a peck on the cheek and scooped Amy in her arms. “Nah, we’ll fly. Thanks for hanging out with us, Menagerie. It was fun.”

“Likewise. Later.”

X

I arrived back at the south ferry station in time to change back into my civilian clothes. Then, with nothing else planned for the day, I decided to head back to the orphanage to catch up on schoolwork. When I got done with that, perhaps I could meditate more, maybe figure out why I kept getting these dud days.