Chapter 9 - No Place Like London

  I may have been exaggerating about the 'no food' thing. There is food, a lot of it. Just oodles and oodles of berries. Agent's Pokedex entry wasn't lying; he does have good aim. As we've already established, I know absolutely nothing about berries. The extent of my knowledge is Oran Berry good; everything else will either taste like shit or kill you. Oran berries taste… decent, but they get old after about the first dozen. At least it's something; I really shouldn't be complaining. After all, it's better to be lost with food and water then... die, I guess. I've been exclusively surviving off of the water Agent produces; I'm sure that's going to have some terrible side effects later. But for right now, it's working.

  So, I may have treated this forest too harshly. Turns out, the only reason it wasn't scary before was because I had Stella and her Rookidee to keep us on track. Now I have Rocky and Agent, who, aside from some useful utility from Agent, are pretty useless in this situation. Well, not completely useless; obviously they have the most important job of them all: protecting me. Which, I'm not entirely convinced Agent is ready for yet; the smallest sound or sudden movement is still enough to set him off. Anyway, I'm currently relying on my internal compass and sense of direction to guide me back to safety. You want to guess how that's going? Not good; I haven't seen a single other trainer in hours, I think. It's been at least one hour, but my internal clock is all out of whack, and the sun is still high in the sky.

  I wonder what Stella is thinking right now. Does she think I just up and left without her? Oh god, I hope not. That's not going to make for a pleasant conversation when I see her again. Then again, she's always saying that she's going to leave without me, so I'd say this gets us even.

  "Tired?" I ask Rocky.

  He scoffs, I guess that's a no.

  "What about you?" I ask Agent.

  Although, it's a bit of a dumb question. He's been sitting on my head since we first started walking; the only way he would be tired is if he is secretly doing calf raises. Actually, does he have calves? Do those skinny little legs count?

  He shakes his head no. He might not be physically tired, but mentally, I suspect that he's wearing himself out. He's on edge like he always is whenever he's outside his ball, but more so than usual. His eyes are constantly darting around the environment, tearing up at the slightest sign of another lifeform. Can you blame him though? Being lost in a forest isn't exactly a fun experience. Side note, I've been using the words forest and grove interchangeably even though I know they're not. I also don't know the difference, but does it really matter? Like, are 'forests' and 'woods' the same thing? No, but people still use them interchangeably.

  If I were to describe this trek, I would say it's like the hike I took through the Slumbering Weald a week ago, but a thousand times more manageable. For one, I have Agent to balance out the forces of evil; that's Rocky, if you couldn't tell. And second, it isn't freezing cold. The weather in Galar this second week is like a pendulum swinging from 'Requires full winter gear to step outside' to 'Just wear a sweater.'. But never hot, not even warm, except for that one time on my last day in Wedgehurst. If you want my advice, never ever travel to Galar unless you like everything that sucks. I could list everything that entails, but we'd be here for a long time if I did that.

  But I'm getting off track; let's get back on it.

  I hear a branch break. Agent tenses up and shoots a spurt of water into a bush before I can even figure out where the sound came from. Rocky, in his usual fashion of not paying attention, throws a stone into the bush long after the Nickit has already revealed itself. It tries to shake off the water that Agent shot at it; he just keeps shooting at it. I don't know what to do; I didn't even know Nickit lived in forests. I've only ever seen them stealing food from local vendors in Wedgehurst. It was probably trying to rob me before Agent shot it. For what? I'm not sure. It's not like I have much of value. Unless it wants my wallet, which I can understand. That thing is a hoot.

  The Nickit finds a moment of respite in between Agent's assault and growls at him. That's all it took to break him. He bursts into tears almost immediately. I recall him, but not before me, Rocky, and the fox are all pouring tears.

  "Damn it...." I sniffle, clipping his Pokéball back onto my belt.

  The Nickit seems to have given up on taking whatever it wanted from me and is now just crying on the ground.

  "You want some food?" Rocky gives me a soft punch to the leg when he hears me say that. I get it; offering a notorious thief food is probably a recipe for disaster. But I can't help it; they were probably just trying to get some food when Agent just started shooting the hell out of them. Which, bravo by the way.

  "No, she doesn't."

  Oh my, another person. Thank Arceus. He emerges from behind the Nickit looking as if he just ran a marathon.

  "Oh, are you her trainer?" Thankfully, Agent wasn't crying long enough to impact me for longer than thirty seconds at most.

  He answers my question without even speaking by recalling the Nickit. He answers anyway.

  "Yes, I'm sorry—" I hate the way he pronounces that: 'soree', "If she inconvenienced you."

  Inconvenienced me? Arceus, why is everyone in Galar so serious? Would it kill them to crack a joke every once in a while? Actually, it might. And also, I take that back. Galarian humor is not something I'm interested in hearing.

  His accent is different from those I've heard so far, but it's definitely Galarian-adjacent. It's just thicker and a little less ugly to listen to. Well, that's a little misleading. It actually sounds dumber than a Galarian accent, but somehow leaning into the silliness of their dialect actually helps. I should know; I'm an expert in nitpicking the way people speak.

  He has short, strawberry blonde hair. There aren't a lot of blondes in Galar, but I've seen a fair amount of redheads; I suppose this is what you get when you combine the two. I've never seen the color on a guy, though; maybe it's rarer?

  "No, no inconvenience at all." I say, "By the way, you wouldn't happen to know where we are?"

  He looks confused. "The Dappled Grove?"

  "Yes, but exactly where? I may have gotten lost." I explain.

  He suddenly seems on edge, "Lost? How lost?"

  "Very lost?"

  What? Was I supposed to say 'a little lost'? I'm going to have a very stern talk with my dream buddy tonight, if I can even fall asleep, that is.

  He thinks for a moment, "Very well then, where is your map?"

  Ah, how do I tell him?

  "I... don't have one."

  ---

  Good news, I'm not the only idiot in Galar; this guy is just as lost as I am. Bad news, this guy is just as lost as I am. He was hoping I would have a map to lead us out of here, but unfortunately we both have terrible luck. The partnership is turning out to be mutually beneficial, though, since he was running out of food to eat before finding me. His Nickit seems to beg to differ, but he ignores her. As for him? Well, really the only thing he's bringing to the table is the ability to speak, albeit not very coherently, to me at least.

  It's a little hard to understand him through the accent, but I'm steadily getting better at it. He's a lot like Stella, which I'm not sure is a good thing. He refused to admit he was lost until he realized I wasn't going to stop following him. Is that stalking? Yeah, probably, but I just want some company. Although, in that department, he's almost as bad as Stella. But unlike Stella, I don't know what makes this guy tick yet. So, do you want to know the best way to get someone to tell you their name? Annoy them. Annoy them until their only choices are violence or submitting. And since most people are cowards, they will submit.

  "Christopher Tanega." He finally says.

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  Christopher, okay, I like that.

  "Can I call you Chris?"

  "No."

  "Okay, what about—"

  "Not Topher either."

  Damn, he beat me to it. Christopher it is then.

  "And you?'

  "What?"

  "Your name, what is it?"

  Well, isn't that the million-dollar question? I can't just stay silent, and I guess I don't have to lie to him; it just feels weird telling him a name I'm not sure is actually my name.

  "Bell Benson."

  "Mm." I might just die if I hear another grunt from these people.

  He has another Pokéball on his belt, an Ultra Ball. That must mean something cool is in there, right?

  "I see you, eying my Pokéball." He actually says 'Eying me Pokéball,' but I'm deciding to spare you from having to understand this guy's way of speech. You're welcome; just call me Mr. Translator.

  "It's a nice ball; what's in it?" I ask.

  "A Toxel."

  Okay, another Pokémon I don't know about. Based on the name, I'm assuming it's a poison type. But that's as far as I'm willing to assume. You know the saying.

  "Ah, okay." I pretend to know what he's talking about, "So, where are you from?"

  He turns around as if he's been waiting for me to ask that question, "I could ask you that very same question. You're clearly not from here."

  Someone get this guy a cupcake, or me. Please get me a cupcake.

  Cupcakes aside, why did he have to turn this around on me? I don't want to tell him my entire life story; it's way too weird—and frankly a bit of a mess to have to explain.

  "That, I am not." I try to dance around the subject.

  "So. Where are you from?" He asks.

  Arceus, it's like my dreams all over again.

  "It's a long story."

  "We've got nothing but time."

  Fuck, why does he have to be right? Okay, fine, I'll tell him. Please don't be disappointed in me.

  "How about you tell me first, and then I'll tell you."

  If he really wants to know, then I at least deserve to know a little bit about him. He agrees, almost immediately. That's a level of curiosity I can respect. The cat can go fuck itself.

  Galar is a lot bigger than I thought. Christopher is from an island directly to the east of the mainland called the Isle of Armor; I guess that's where the accent comes from. I was hoping for more details, but I'm only able to manage to wrangle a few details from him. One of them, funny enough, is his complete date of birth, down to the minute and everything. It's August 20th, if you were wondering. No, you're not getting the year or the time, creep. Anyway, here's a few more details: His favorite food is some strange Galarian dish called shepherd's pie, his favorite color is blue, his mother is a breeder, and his father is dead. That last fact is not so fun.

  "Oh, I'm sorry." I say.

  "Don't be; it wasn't your fault." Well, I guess we'll never know.

  I want to ask him how he died, but it's not my place to pry. Who knows what kind of bad memories that brings up. If Stella has taught me anything, it's when to keep my mouth shut.

  "Then, I believe it's your turn."

  Ah shit, alright. I have to handle this delicately.

  "Alright, but you have to promise not to tell anyone." I'm not sure why I'm being so secretive. It's not like I'm some super-secret agent. Actually, I could be. Arceus, this is so confusing.

  "What?" I stare him down, "Okay, okay, I won't tell anyone."

  Great. I suppose it's story time. I don't want to be too descriptive, so I omit the part about the Songstress speaking to me. That's what I'm going to call her, by the way, since it feels strange just referring to her as 'the woman.'. But other than that, he gets the full tale. And just like I thought, he looks completely flabbergasted (are you keeping count?).

  "You—are you serious?" He asks.

  "Dead serious, just ask the crab." Rocky says something I can't understand because, you know, I'm not a Dwebble.

  "So, you don't know who you are?"

  Oh, he actually believes me? I've got to be honest; I didn't think I'd get this far.

  "Not a clue." I say, "I'm stuck in this hellhole of a region."

  He furrows his eyebrows. Fuck, did I offend him?

  "Hellhole?" He says, "How can you say that?"

  Well, I put myself in this position. And I'm no coward; I'm not backing down.

  "Well, first of all, the food. I mean, how do Galarians even eat that slop? The only decent thing I've had to eat here is curry, and that's because it was being cooked by an old person." Everyone knows old people are the best cooks. I don't want to try a Galarian Curry made by some shmuck in a tall white hat and apron. I don't care how good they claim to be.

  He scoffs, "You've been here a week; what do you know about good food?"

  Hm, "Nothing, but my taste buds know quite a bit, and they tell me that shit's nasty."

  "You complain about our country, but tell me, have you ever been to Wyndon?"

  Wyndon, that's the northernmost city if I remember correctly. Also, why is this guy defending Galar so vehemently? I thought he was from an island or something.

  "No, I can't say that I have." I say.

  I'm not sure why he would think that I have; I've literally been here for a week.

  "It's a beautiful city. There's no place like Wyndon." Ugh, why does he have to be such a Galar enthusiast? "It's the second biggest city in the world, you know? You can't say you hate Galar till' you've seen it."

  Well, considering my position, I think it's going to be a while before I see it. But maybe there is a bit of truth to what he's saying. I guess I am a bit of a complainer; I haven't even seen half the region yet; I shouldn't be judging. Not yet, at least.

  "Okay, I'll hold you to that."

  That is, if I ever see this guy again after leaving this damn forest.

  ---

  More bad news: we have made absolutely no headway in regards to leaving this damn forest. And to make things worse, the sun has gone down. Luckily, Christopher knows how to start a fire using only a few sticks. It took him a while, and it took him even more sticks, but he got it done. We don't have any tents. At least I have an excuse for not having one; he just says he didn't think he would need one. I shouldn't be judging though; we all know the only reason I had one in the first place was because Stella bought it for me. We decide to sleep in shifts so as not to get jumped in the middle of the night. It probably won't happen either way, but I'd rather be safe than be mauled to death.

  Neither of us are sleepy, though, so we talk for a while. It's mostly him, since he has quite a few stories to tell, and I am one week old. One of these stories in particular piques my interest. It's less of a 'real' story and more of an urban legend, though.

  "There was a doctor and her husband." He says, "She was a Pokémon doctor, I think. Not for the centers, though; this was before that. She was beautiful, blonde, and just married; they lived by the beach in Hulbury. They had the perfect life."

  Uhuh, I can see where this is going. Something awful is going to happen, that's how all of these stories go.

  He continues, "One day, the two go out. Some bar, or restaurant, it doesn't really matter. The important is this: there was another man there, an important man. He saw them, but mostly he saw her. He saw that she was beautiful."

  Okay, so he's going to kill the husband and try to take her for himself. That seems like the most probable outcome. Certainly not the happiest one though.

  "So, he takes what he wants. He makes an offer to the husband; he can take a sum of money and leave her, no hassle at all. He says no, of course. So the man, in a drunken rage, or maybe it was just normal rage, kills him and hides his body in an abandoned dumpster behind the wife's house."

  Well that's a stupid idea.

  "Then he comes to her doorstep acting all contrite, saying he saw a man get mugged and killed near her front door. The woman gets worried; her husband is hours late. So, he leads her to the dumpster where he claims he saw the body dumped."

  This lady is stupid; why would you follow this guy, who is clearly tricking you and probably killed your husband, into a secluded area?

  "They find the body, and she cries and she cries. It wasn't a perfect crime; the police traced it back to him. But the man was important; it wasn't anything a few wads of cash couldn't fix."

  Typical.

  "So he stays with the woman; of course, she refused to do anything more with him so soon after her husband's death. He could live with that; he assumed a time would come when she would be ready for him. But that time never came, and he grew restless. So one day, he decides, to hell with the long con. He would do this his way. So he organizes a party full of people he knew to be completely loyal to him and invites her. She goes, thinking it would help her get her mind off things. Poor thing, she didn't know anyone there, and all of the drinks were laced with alcohol. She didn't know this, of course. She asked around for the man; no one answered; they only drank and laughed."

  Okay, I expected this, but wow, this is fucked up.

  "By the time she finds him, she's drunk; she can barely walk. So the man helps her up to his room upstairs. You can probably guess what happens next."

  Yeah, I can.

  "God..." I mumble.

  "Come the next morning, the woman is disgusted, rightfully so. She tries to report the man, but no one listens. They've been paid to not listen. So she concedes and goes back to living by herself in Hulbury."

  Wow, that was... horrible.

  "Where did you—"

  "I'm not done." oh, okay then, "Two months go by, and she realizes something. She's pregnant."

  As if it couldn't get worse, "Oh fuck, did she keep it?"

  He shrugs, "I don't know."

  "What? What do you mean you don't know? What happened to her?"

  How can he just get me invested in this story and then just tell me he doesn't know how it ends.

  "It's just an old story my mum told me once, she never finished it, even after I asked her to." He says, "I like to imagine she did keep it, and that she never told him. I hope she moved to Alola and lived out a peaceful life."

  That's certainly a hopeful ending. But, assuming that it's a story based in truth, I doubt it's really what happened.

  ---

  "Who are you?"

  I can't even have one good night's rest without getting harassed in my dreams. The soft jazz music enters my ears as I turn around to face the girl. She has her hair in pigtails and is wearing a dress suit. It actually doesn't look bad, but I've got a bone to pick with her.

  "How did you do that?" I ask demandingly.

  "Do what?" She takes my hands, I guess she's not asking this time.

  "Like—you—teleported me or something. How did you do that?" I clumsily flail around in a pitiful attempt to try and dance.

  She looks around, "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Oh, don't play dumb with me," I accidently step on her foot, "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

  She leans in closer, "Maybe I do."

  "Then, answer my question." The music doesn't feel so soft anymore.

  "Who's to say it was me? I only have one job, and it certainly isn't making you teleport." That's the most she's ever said in one sentence. She even sounds somewhat defensive.

  "So then who was it?" She lets go of my hands.

  "If you can answer me one question, then I'll answer your question."

  "I can't answer your fucking question, don't you know that? I don't know who I am." I try to explain.

  But it doesn't matter, I know what's going to happen the moment she opens her mouth again.

  "Who are you?"