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for i_am_emmet
[Ingo has been in this land for a little while now.
There wasn't any grand cataclysm. No rift that he's aware of. He did not fall from the sky. One day, he simply woke up here, lying on the side of the road with a stranger fussing over him in a language that he hardly understood.
He'd quickly made excuses - which he's quite sure she did not understand - and fled into the nearby forest. That's where he's been living, if one could call it that. How do you cope with losing your home, your people, everything you know, for a second time? How do you keep going when you do remember what you've lost, and know that there's no way home?
For a while, he didn't. He doesn't know how many days he passed in a blur of grief and despair, too hollowed-out to consider doing anything but sleep or mourn. It was his Pokemon who cared for him then. He offered to break their Pokeballs and set them free, guilt-ridden that he'd dragged them away from their home too, but none of them left. Instead Gliscor and Tangrowth took it in turns to go out and gather food for everyone. Machamp built a shelter of logs and branches, and Alakazam sat with him and woke him from his nightmares. They all guarded him from wild Pokemon. There aren't too many, or else they aren't so aggressive here. Once, there was a strange black-furred Zoroark, but they attacked it so fiercely that it never even attempted to become Ingo-in-white.
If not for them, he would not have survived this second derailment.
And it's for their sake that he eventually forces himself to begin moving again. He cannot let them waste their lives on him like this. No matter what it feels like, his tracks have not reached an end just yet.
But where do they lead? His first tentative venture out of the forest brings several discoveries. For one: he can't communicate very well with the people here. The language is one he understands! Sort of! But it feels like old, rusty gears in his mind. Written words are easier, but the people just speak too fast and too much. No one will pause to let him try and translate. In fact, most of the people he sees on the road avoid him altogether. It seems outsiders aren't welcome in this land - or, maybe, he just cuts a rather unpleasant figure. His standards of living have slipped.
And this place! To the east of his forest, there's an enormous bridge made of towering metal and glass; to the west, there's a city that's very similar. He attempts to venture into it once, only to find the lights and noise overwhelming. With a blinding headache, he flees back to the forest.
Maybe if he spent time there, he could get used to it. But what's the point? Why should he start from scratch again, carving out a place for himself in a strange land, when it can be torn away from him again so easily? He can't go through it all over again. He won't live through this a third time. The loss of his memories was probably the only reason he settled into Hisui so easily. As much as he's always wondered who he used to be, he's starting to think the amnesia was a blessing. But he didn't forget Hisui when he came here, so he doubts he'll forget this place if he's ever taken somewhere else.
No. There's no place for him here. He doesn't want to fight to make one. So eventually, after having managed to acquire a map, he forms a different plan. This region has a large port city. If he gets there, and finds a way to earn his keep, surely he can barter passage back to Hisui? It's clear to him by now that he won't find any of his friends or clanmates waiting. There's no going home for him. But however long it may have been, the land will still be there. He can return to the familiarity of Mount Coronet, and maybe one day his bones will rest near those of his clan. It will be no less lonely than living here in the forest, but at least he will know where he is and how he fits.
The first step of the journey is to get through the city - Nimbasa, according to the map - and exit by the southern road. It's an intimidating prospect. There are no guards or city walls, but they obviously don't much like outsiders, and he cannot pass for a local. What, then, to do? He spends a day or two scouting it out. The bustle barely dies down even at night. How do they keep the lights burning so long? When do these people sleep?
Ingo finally decides to set out in the early hours of the morning. The streets are still brightly lit, but at least they're quiet then; most of the people have gone. It should be fine? But maybe he's just developed some sort of aversion to the place - his head still starts pounding before he's even halfway through. It's the sort of headache that makes it hard to see, much less navigate. Luckily, he isn't the only one with a good sense of direction here; he releases Probopass.]
We are trying to leave this city to the south. Can you help guide me there?
[Probopass offers him a floating stone arm to lean on. And they move through Nimbasa like that - a little slow, Ingo leaning heavily on his Pokemon. He's a shadow of the man he was in Hisui: gaunt, bedraggled, shaggy and bearded. He hasn't been eating even as well as he used to, and certainly hasn't been attending to his usual grooming standards. Well, who's left to care how he looks?]
There wasn't any grand cataclysm. No rift that he's aware of. He did not fall from the sky. One day, he simply woke up here, lying on the side of the road with a stranger fussing over him in a language that he hardly understood.
He'd quickly made excuses - which he's quite sure she did not understand - and fled into the nearby forest. That's where he's been living, if one could call it that. How do you cope with losing your home, your people, everything you know, for a second time? How do you keep going when you do remember what you've lost, and know that there's no way home?
For a while, he didn't. He doesn't know how many days he passed in a blur of grief and despair, too hollowed-out to consider doing anything but sleep or mourn. It was his Pokemon who cared for him then. He offered to break their Pokeballs and set them free, guilt-ridden that he'd dragged them away from their home too, but none of them left. Instead Gliscor and Tangrowth took it in turns to go out and gather food for everyone. Machamp built a shelter of logs and branches, and Alakazam sat with him and woke him from his nightmares. They all guarded him from wild Pokemon. There aren't too many, or else they aren't so aggressive here. Once, there was a strange black-furred Zoroark, but they attacked it so fiercely that it never even attempted to become Ingo-in-white.
If not for them, he would not have survived this second derailment.
And it's for their sake that he eventually forces himself to begin moving again. He cannot let them waste their lives on him like this. No matter what it feels like, his tracks have not reached an end just yet.
But where do they lead? His first tentative venture out of the forest brings several discoveries. For one: he can't communicate very well with the people here. The language is one he understands! Sort of! But it feels like old, rusty gears in his mind. Written words are easier, but the people just speak too fast and too much. No one will pause to let him try and translate. In fact, most of the people he sees on the road avoid him altogether. It seems outsiders aren't welcome in this land - or, maybe, he just cuts a rather unpleasant figure. His standards of living have slipped.
And this place! To the east of his forest, there's an enormous bridge made of towering metal and glass; to the west, there's a city that's very similar. He attempts to venture into it once, only to find the lights and noise overwhelming. With a blinding headache, he flees back to the forest.
Maybe if he spent time there, he could get used to it. But what's the point? Why should he start from scratch again, carving out a place for himself in a strange land, when it can be torn away from him again so easily? He can't go through it all over again. He won't live through this a third time. The loss of his memories was probably the only reason he settled into Hisui so easily. As much as he's always wondered who he used to be, he's starting to think the amnesia was a blessing. But he didn't forget Hisui when he came here, so he doubts he'll forget this place if he's ever taken somewhere else.
No. There's no place for him here. He doesn't want to fight to make one. So eventually, after having managed to acquire a map, he forms a different plan. This region has a large port city. If he gets there, and finds a way to earn his keep, surely he can barter passage back to Hisui? It's clear to him by now that he won't find any of his friends or clanmates waiting. There's no going home for him. But however long it may have been, the land will still be there. He can return to the familiarity of Mount Coronet, and maybe one day his bones will rest near those of his clan. It will be no less lonely than living here in the forest, but at least he will know where he is and how he fits.
The first step of the journey is to get through the city - Nimbasa, according to the map - and exit by the southern road. It's an intimidating prospect. There are no guards or city walls, but they obviously don't much like outsiders, and he cannot pass for a local. What, then, to do? He spends a day or two scouting it out. The bustle barely dies down even at night. How do they keep the lights burning so long? When do these people sleep?
Ingo finally decides to set out in the early hours of the morning. The streets are still brightly lit, but at least they're quiet then; most of the people have gone. It should be fine? But maybe he's just developed some sort of aversion to the place - his head still starts pounding before he's even halfway through. It's the sort of headache that makes it hard to see, much less navigate. Luckily, he isn't the only one with a good sense of direction here; he releases Probopass.]
We are trying to leave this city to the south. Can you help guide me there?
[Probopass offers him a floating stone arm to lean on. And they move through Nimbasa like that - a little slow, Ingo leaning heavily on his Pokemon. He's a shadow of the man he was in Hisui: gaunt, bedraggled, shaggy and bearded. He hasn't been eating even as well as he used to, and certainly hasn't been attending to his usual grooming standards. Well, who's left to care how he looks?]
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[Of course he doesn't say it bitingly; he has no experience on which to found such an accusation! But it has the feeling of some old, well-worn conversational tracks.]
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What do you do?
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[He won't admit he has been burning the candles at both ends to keep both the passenger side and the battle facility going by himself.]
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[Said with the bright polite tone of someone who has no idea what the fuck you're talking about and doesn't really want to admit it.]
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[Emmet has to keep remembering- Ingo doesn't remember anything. Not just bits and pieces- all of it.]
[He slowly started to scoop out portions of food for Probopass and Alakazam- the two members of Ingo's team he has seen so far.]
Did they- have trains in Hisui?
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[Ingo half-chokes on a bite of egg and quickly swallows.]
No! Tell me?
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A subway is one of those, but underground.
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I feel as though I can see it! I used to - well, I have always spoken of trains. Tracks, passengers... [He waves a hand; you know, train talk?] I did not know why.
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[Rather a step down socially from being a Warden, and he'd miss working with Pokemon. But at least it does sound interesting!]
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[This is largely meaningless to him, in a practical sense. In a larger one, though - he must have been very close with Emmet. He feels (felt) very close to Zisu, and he only worked with her perhaps every other week or so.
(He doesn't really register the implication that Emmet's been doing everything on his own since. Why wouldn't he hire additional help?)]
Is that why the coats? [Of course he noticed they were matching! It makes sense if they're uniforms.]
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[Not that Ingo has always been the best about these things himself - just look at his coat and hat! But poking fun at Emmet sounds much better than talking about the past.]
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We are hardly indistinguishable!
[Though of course it's easy for him to tell them apart.]
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[Because he definitely looks way more like shit than Emmet!]
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I suppose. It's been nothing but berries and mushrooms lately. Wasn't feeling well enough to cook.
[Gliscor brought him prey a couple times to try, but...]
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[If Ingo have been sick for a while- they should go to a Doctor.]
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[He really meant mentally, but he doesn't want to admit that!]
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[Emmet suggested optimistcally.]
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