[Pokémon Legends: Arceus] All Aboard
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teamflareTitle: All Aboard
Fandom: Pokémon Legends: Arceus
Pairing: Emmet & Ingo
Rating: G
Summary: When someone asks for his name, he says, "I am Emmet," and keeps his mouth open like he expects more words to follow. He closes it as soon as he realizes the others are staring at him strangely.
Notes: Written forkitchensinkbingo ! I couldn't get a bingo, but I got to make a bunch of bite-sized stuff, which was fun. Some of the lines said by the characters in this fic are taken directly from the original Unova games.
AO3 Link: Here.
It's the loud one, with the purple hair and the constant look of well-practiced disdain, who finds him lying on the shore of the Lonely Spring. Emmet blinks at him, the blurry edges of his silhouette all in harsh shadows against the blinding light of the sun, and then blinks again.
His head feels heavy, and there's a ringing in his ears that reminds him of something he can't place. He closes his eyes and counts backward to ten, because that's what you do when you're trying to put yourself back together.
It doesn't really work, but that's okay. When more people arrive to help, he blinks at them too, and gives them a smile. A smile is always good. A smile keeps everyone in good spirits, no matter what.
When someone asks for his name, he says, "I am Emmet," and keeps his mouth open like he expects more words to follow. He closes it as soon as he realizes the others are staring at him strangely.
The purple-haired one, whose name he learns is Melli while he listens to their poorly hushed conversations, hands him a dirtied white cap. He likes the shape of it.
"This is yours, right?" Melli asks, slowly, as if he's speaking to a difficult child. It's a familiar tone.
Emmet takes it in his hands. It fits there. It's the same color as his clothes, something he knows only because he saw his reflection in the water a few minutes ago. He puts it on, just to see, and that feels familiar, too.
"Yes," he says. Melli gives him a look, but doesn't say anything else. He frowns, puffs up his cheeks a little, and walks away.
Later, Emmet will learn to recognize that this is an expression of concern. Right then, he's mostly perplexed.
There are a lot of things to be perplexed about. Through a series of what can only be called interrogations, Emmet discovers, at the same time as his rescuers, that he has no idea who he is, where he is, and how he arrived there.
He remembers his name, which is Emmet. He remembers smiling, talking, walking, standing up, sitting down. He remembers...
Not much else.
Everyone looks so distraught at that, once they've realized that he's no threat, that Emmet has to smile, to try to cheer them up. Nobody smiles back. He keeps smiling, just in case.
He's still smiling hours later, sitting in the camp they've taken him to, even as the overall mood stays grim. They feed him some kind of spicy soup that burns the roof of his mouth. It doesn't taste bad. He watches them walk around, talking among themselves as quietly as possible so he can't overhear, and his gaze follows the creatures that accompany some of them.
Trying to remember things feels like looking at his face reflected in the soup: dark and blurry, akin to diving into murky waters. He stops, if only because it worsens his headache, and closes his eyes.
Perhaps that's how he catches someone's poorly hushed whisper.
"Another one?"
He can't hear most of the reply, but he hears enough. "We thought it was him," someone else says. "They look the same."
The words ring true, though he doesn't know why. His smile, this time, is more of a reflex than anything else, a well-tuned mechanism he doesn't fully control. He smiles to give himself some time to think.
They ask him if he's alone. He blinks at himself at the bottom of his wooden bowl.
"Clearly not," he says, "since you're here with me."
It's the wrong thing to say, he thinks, and he doesn't really care. He wants to ask questions without knowing what they are. He wants to say, "Can I meet him?" even though he has no idea who "him" is. He looks up at them, to meet their eyes, and his curiosity must be obvious – something about his demeanor, the intensity of his gaze, the sudden focus on his rescuers when he'd been mostly staring into space until now – because one of them, a blue-haired man he'd spotted speaking to Melli earlier, steps forward, palms up, like he's trying to soothe one of those big beasts they keep around.
"The other outsider is not with us," he says, carefully. It occurs to Emmet, at the very back of his head, that he's not sure what language they've been speaking all this time. "We can bring you to him, if you feel up to it."
Emmet nods. He's stopped smiling, so he tries again, if only to seem agreeable. The other man doesn't smile back, and Emmet isn't sure what to make of his expression, but he doesn't think it's hostile, at least.
He sleeps in one of their tents, surrounded by the smell of dirt. They've examined him for injuries, just in case, but he's healthy as can be. His coat is barely tattered, though its fabric has yellowed, as if he'd spent a long time lying on the ground.
Absent-mindedly, more to soothe himself than anything else, he looks through the pockets of his pants, and finds nothing.
It takes them three days to trek to the settlement. By the time the huts come into view, Emmet is buzzing with anticipation, jittery with nerves. The blue-haired man, whose name is Adaman and whom he's grown to like very much, has spent their trip filling him in with what they know, which is not much.
They found a man just like him the week prior, Adaman tells him, lying on the ground and wearing an outfit that matches his. He, too, did not know who he was, or where he was, or how he'd ended up there. He spoke tersely, and only accepted food once it'd become clear he was stuck with them, with no other way to survive. Then he'd stopped talking, lost in his thoughts.
Emmet nods, as if he understands. Adaman tilts his head at him and smiles, uncertain, so Emmet smiles back.
"He said his name was Ingo," Adaman says.
The name evokes very little in Emmet's mind. He keeps smiling but doesn't reply, doesn't say anything else. He turns the word in his head, imagines it twirling around his brain, pictures a long chain where the links spell out Ingo over and over. It doesn't help him remember. It doesn't help him figure out whether he has something to remember, either.
They take him to Ingo, because Ingo refuses to come to him. He sits on a rock, hunched over, staring down at the inside of his black cap like he expects to find some kind of answer there.
Emmet doesn't have to see him up close to know that they are indeed the exact same. Looking at Ingo is like looking into a clear mirror, one where a man with tired eyes and an incessant twitch to his mouth looks back.
His lips move before he's even decided to speak. "Hi, do you remember me?" The sound of his voice scares him, echoing inside his skull, the slight tremor he can't control, the dryness of his throat. "I am Emmet."
There's something in Ingo's expression that terrifies him, too, something fearful and small that he wants to run away from.
"Welcome," he says, and Emmet's vision blurs. "I've been waiting for you."
The murmur around them falls on deaf ears. They've forgotten that they're being watched, too focused on each other. Emmet's tears roll down his cheeks, and he doesn't know why, doesn't understand what's happening, only that he's stuck in place, pinned to the ground, himself a reflection of someone his brain refuses to remember.
Ingo blinks away his own tears, and this is what frees them. Emmet rushes toward him, nearly tripping on the way, and falls to his knees on the cold, hard dirt. He smiles and smiles and smiles, ignoring the sobs that shake his body.
"Follow the rules!" he chants.
"And drive safely," Ingo replies, reflexively, seemingly taken aback by the words.
Emmet's laugh bursts out of him all at once.
"We're headed for victory!"
It's only then, finally, that Ingo's features relax into a smile. He brings his cap up to place it on his head, and crosses his arms in front of his chest.
"I don't know what this means," he says. His voice is still strained, his cheeks still damp. "But I'm relieved to see you."
The others, having moved past their initial apprehension and reluctance to intervene, begin to step closer, to try to provide some kind of help. They both ignore them, too caught up in this reunion they can't quite understand.
"We're together," Emmet says. Someone helps him to his feet. His knees ache, but it's a good ache, like stretching your joints after a long, productive day.
Ingo nods. He's still smiling, his lips stretched thin. He rubs his eyes with the corner of his sleeve.
"We're a two-car train."
The rhythm of the words clicks into Emmet's brain like he's heard them many times before, and maybe he has. Maybe he'll remember saying them, later, remember Ingo's face as he'd pronounced them for the first time, or the fiftieth time, or the hundredth time. Maybe he won't.
At that moment, as he reaches out to grip Ingo's sleeve, to feel the shape of his arm underneath his coat, he finds it doesn't matter. He doesn't need to remember, because he's found what he needs, where he belongs, and that is what matters the most.
He hooks himself to his mirror image, and becomes whole once more.
Fandom: Pokémon Legends: Arceus
Pairing: Emmet & Ingo
Rating: G
Summary: When someone asks for his name, he says, "I am Emmet," and keeps his mouth open like he expects more words to follow. He closes it as soon as he realizes the others are staring at him strangely.
Notes: Written for
kitchensinkbingo ! I couldn't get a bingo, but I got to make a bunch of bite-sized stuff, which was fun. Some of the lines said by the characters in this fic are taken directly from the original Unova games. AO3 Link: Here.
It's the loud one, with the purple hair and the constant look of well-practiced disdain, who finds him lying on the shore of the Lonely Spring. Emmet blinks at him, the blurry edges of his silhouette all in harsh shadows against the blinding light of the sun, and then blinks again.
His head feels heavy, and there's a ringing in his ears that reminds him of something he can't place. He closes his eyes and counts backward to ten, because that's what you do when you're trying to put yourself back together.
It doesn't really work, but that's okay. When more people arrive to help, he blinks at them too, and gives them a smile. A smile is always good. A smile keeps everyone in good spirits, no matter what.
When someone asks for his name, he says, "I am Emmet," and keeps his mouth open like he expects more words to follow. He closes it as soon as he realizes the others are staring at him strangely.
The purple-haired one, whose name he learns is Melli while he listens to their poorly hushed conversations, hands him a dirtied white cap. He likes the shape of it.
"This is yours, right?" Melli asks, slowly, as if he's speaking to a difficult child. It's a familiar tone.
Emmet takes it in his hands. It fits there. It's the same color as his clothes, something he knows only because he saw his reflection in the water a few minutes ago. He puts it on, just to see, and that feels familiar, too.
"Yes," he says. Melli gives him a look, but doesn't say anything else. He frowns, puffs up his cheeks a little, and walks away.
Later, Emmet will learn to recognize that this is an expression of concern. Right then, he's mostly perplexed.
There are a lot of things to be perplexed about. Through a series of what can only be called interrogations, Emmet discovers, at the same time as his rescuers, that he has no idea who he is, where he is, and how he arrived there.
He remembers his name, which is Emmet. He remembers smiling, talking, walking, standing up, sitting down. He remembers...
Not much else.
Everyone looks so distraught at that, once they've realized that he's no threat, that Emmet has to smile, to try to cheer them up. Nobody smiles back. He keeps smiling, just in case.
He's still smiling hours later, sitting in the camp they've taken him to, even as the overall mood stays grim. They feed him some kind of spicy soup that burns the roof of his mouth. It doesn't taste bad. He watches them walk around, talking among themselves as quietly as possible so he can't overhear, and his gaze follows the creatures that accompany some of them.
Trying to remember things feels like looking at his face reflected in the soup: dark and blurry, akin to diving into murky waters. He stops, if only because it worsens his headache, and closes his eyes.
Perhaps that's how he catches someone's poorly hushed whisper.
"Another one?"
He can't hear most of the reply, but he hears enough. "We thought it was him," someone else says. "They look the same."
The words ring true, though he doesn't know why. His smile, this time, is more of a reflex than anything else, a well-tuned mechanism he doesn't fully control. He smiles to give himself some time to think.
They ask him if he's alone. He blinks at himself at the bottom of his wooden bowl.
"Clearly not," he says, "since you're here with me."
It's the wrong thing to say, he thinks, and he doesn't really care. He wants to ask questions without knowing what they are. He wants to say, "Can I meet him?" even though he has no idea who "him" is. He looks up at them, to meet their eyes, and his curiosity must be obvious – something about his demeanor, the intensity of his gaze, the sudden focus on his rescuers when he'd been mostly staring into space until now – because one of them, a blue-haired man he'd spotted speaking to Melli earlier, steps forward, palms up, like he's trying to soothe one of those big beasts they keep around.
"The other outsider is not with us," he says, carefully. It occurs to Emmet, at the very back of his head, that he's not sure what language they've been speaking all this time. "We can bring you to him, if you feel up to it."
Emmet nods. He's stopped smiling, so he tries again, if only to seem agreeable. The other man doesn't smile back, and Emmet isn't sure what to make of his expression, but he doesn't think it's hostile, at least.
He sleeps in one of their tents, surrounded by the smell of dirt. They've examined him for injuries, just in case, but he's healthy as can be. His coat is barely tattered, though its fabric has yellowed, as if he'd spent a long time lying on the ground.
Absent-mindedly, more to soothe himself than anything else, he looks through the pockets of his pants, and finds nothing.
It takes them three days to trek to the settlement. By the time the huts come into view, Emmet is buzzing with anticipation, jittery with nerves. The blue-haired man, whose name is Adaman and whom he's grown to like very much, has spent their trip filling him in with what they know, which is not much.
They found a man just like him the week prior, Adaman tells him, lying on the ground and wearing an outfit that matches his. He, too, did not know who he was, or where he was, or how he'd ended up there. He spoke tersely, and only accepted food once it'd become clear he was stuck with them, with no other way to survive. Then he'd stopped talking, lost in his thoughts.
Emmet nods, as if he understands. Adaman tilts his head at him and smiles, uncertain, so Emmet smiles back.
"He said his name was Ingo," Adaman says.
The name evokes very little in Emmet's mind. He keeps smiling but doesn't reply, doesn't say anything else. He turns the word in his head, imagines it twirling around his brain, pictures a long chain where the links spell out Ingo over and over. It doesn't help him remember. It doesn't help him figure out whether he has something to remember, either.
They take him to Ingo, because Ingo refuses to come to him. He sits on a rock, hunched over, staring down at the inside of his black cap like he expects to find some kind of answer there.
Emmet doesn't have to see him up close to know that they are indeed the exact same. Looking at Ingo is like looking into a clear mirror, one where a man with tired eyes and an incessant twitch to his mouth looks back.
His lips move before he's even decided to speak. "Hi, do you remember me?" The sound of his voice scares him, echoing inside his skull, the slight tremor he can't control, the dryness of his throat. "I am Emmet."
There's something in Ingo's expression that terrifies him, too, something fearful and small that he wants to run away from.
"Welcome," he says, and Emmet's vision blurs. "I've been waiting for you."
The murmur around them falls on deaf ears. They've forgotten that they're being watched, too focused on each other. Emmet's tears roll down his cheeks, and he doesn't know why, doesn't understand what's happening, only that he's stuck in place, pinned to the ground, himself a reflection of someone his brain refuses to remember.
Ingo blinks away his own tears, and this is what frees them. Emmet rushes toward him, nearly tripping on the way, and falls to his knees on the cold, hard dirt. He smiles and smiles and smiles, ignoring the sobs that shake his body.
"Follow the rules!" he chants.
"And drive safely," Ingo replies, reflexively, seemingly taken aback by the words.
Emmet's laugh bursts out of him all at once.
"We're headed for victory!"
It's only then, finally, that Ingo's features relax into a smile. He brings his cap up to place it on his head, and crosses his arms in front of his chest.
"I don't know what this means," he says. His voice is still strained, his cheeks still damp. "But I'm relieved to see you."
The others, having moved past their initial apprehension and reluctance to intervene, begin to step closer, to try to provide some kind of help. They both ignore them, too caught up in this reunion they can't quite understand.
"We're together," Emmet says. Someone helps him to his feet. His knees ache, but it's a good ache, like stretching your joints after a long, productive day.
Ingo nods. He's still smiling, his lips stretched thin. He rubs his eyes with the corner of his sleeve.
"We're a two-car train."
The rhythm of the words clicks into Emmet's brain like he's heard them many times before, and maybe he has. Maybe he'll remember saying them, later, remember Ingo's face as he'd pronounced them for the first time, or the fiftieth time, or the hundredth time. Maybe he won't.
At that moment, as he reaches out to grip Ingo's sleeve, to feel the shape of his arm underneath his coat, he finds it doesn't matter. He doesn't need to remember, because he's found what he needs, where he belongs, and that is what matters the most.
He hooks himself to his mirror image, and becomes whole once more.