Shaun woke up feeling too hot.
He lamely struggled to get the blankets off of him before lapsing into a coughing fit. This brought Chansey whisking in with medicine and a thermometer. She stuck it into his mouth and watched it carefully for about a minute before clucking disapprovingly. “Looks like the fever started at last. Took it long enough,” she said briskly.
Shaun smiled sickly. “I don’t feel too good.”
“I’m not surprised. You’re running a very high fever,” she said. “I’m more than a little concerned for your health.”
“I’ve lived through worse,” came Shaun’s reply weakly. Chansey rolled her eyes and left the room.
She returned and forced him to drink a medicine that tasted like a cross between unsweetened green tea and moss with the consistency of slime. Shaun gagged, but his throat stopped screaming bloody murder when he tried to breathe through his nose.
“I’ve done all I can do for right now,” Chansey said. “You need rest, sir.”
Shaun laid there silently as Chansey left the room. He was far too sick to protest.
Shaun rolled his head feebly towards the window, where gray drizzled outside on the unseen pavement. He could hear the wet sloshing of people walking in the rain, and the faint but constant percussion on the roof was his only companion. He vaguely wondered how long the fever was going to last before his eyes drifted shut.
Slowly, slowly, his consciousness faded away, and he was asleep.
Buizel was in a pretty good mood for being at school.
The sound of the rain hitting the hastily erected tarp over the school was faintly nostalgic, and Buizel often found his eyes turning towards the outside, where the gray drizzle softly fell like the leaves had earlier that winter. It was relatively chilly, but he didn’t mind.
The rest of the school had varying reactions to the rain, varying from fascination to disgust. Haunter, Buizel was amused to see, didn’t enjoy rain at all. He sat at his desk muttering curses under his breath every time a stray drop splashed near him.
The younger kids liked the rain, but they didn’t like being cold and wet afterwards. The Electron twins were huddled together under a blanket, shivering, but loudly exclaiming about how the weather was exciting.
Sneasel didn’t seem to care about the rain that much, Buizel thought. It made sense as she was an Ice-type, but she didn’t seem to react to much anyway.
Mr. Breloom had taken the opportunity to teach the class about weather’s effects on moves. Buizel was already familiar with this, but he still watched the younger kids with a faint smile on his face as they listened wide-eyed to the effects the weather had on their moves.
“…For example, in weather like this, the Thunder move will always strike your opponents,” Breloom was saying. “Water-type moves are also boosted in this weather, due to the latent humidity in the air taking shape as water moves easier.” He gestured grandly towards the sky, which was covered by the dripping tarp. “It’s very important to keep this in mind as you experience battles and whatnot in the future.”
The kids all nodded their heads reverently as Buizel saw Haunter roll his eyes out of the corner of his vision. They had all heard this before when they were kids, but it was a little cringy now that they were older.
“That about wraps up this lesson,” Breloom announced at length. “Any last questions?”
The class shook their collective heads.
“Alright, then,” he said, sounding faintly disappointed. “Class dismissed!”
Buizel hastily departed before anymon else had the same idea. The last thing he wanted to do was walk with Haunter in a bad mood.
He walked slowly along the trail that led back into town, savoring the rain. Not every Pokemon liked rain, but he loved it, even if it was a faint drizzle that dampened the village’s roofs and pavements.
He walked straight home and went to his room. His parents were most likely still asleep, as they worked nights. He rummaged through his dresser of odds and ends, eventually pulling out a bag. He looked at it for a moment, turning it around in his hands. He had gotten it as a gift from his parents recently, and it was supposedly waterproof. Well, I guess this is the litmus test, he thought as he walked downstairs. He grabbed a pot of ink, some sheets of paper, and one of the manuscripts sitting by the door and put it all into the bag before suddenly remembering the weird note he had written down yesterday.
“I had entirely forgotten about that,” he muttered as he went upstairs again. He glanced around his room and saw the note sitting on his dresser, like it had always been there.
Buizel blinked. He didn’t remember putting it there. He shrugged and stowed it away inside of the book that was already in the bag, and left the house.
The bag proved to be extremely good at its job. Drops of rain rolled off of it as he walked to the clinic along the wet, slippery paving stones.
He made it to the clinic and stepped inside. It smelled of warmth and a faint, clean smell that he couldn’t pin down. Curiously, Cleffa wasn’t at her desk. Buizel looked around before hearing voices coming from the sick ward. He went over and cautiously slipped inside.
Cleffa and Chansey were both standing at Shaun’s bed, discussing something in bewildered tones. “…It’s really most unusual, you have to understand. We’re going to keep you an extra sixteen to twenty-four hours to see if the symptoms redevelop.”
Buizel’s ears picked up Shaun complaining about this as he approached them. Cleffa noticed him first and waved him over silently.
As he rounded the privacy curtain, Buizel saw Shaun sitting up in bed, looking positively miffed. His eyes lit up as he noticed Buizel, but he continued to argue with Chansey. “Really, I’m completely fine. Never felt better in my life, actually.”
“Oh, I believe you,” Chansey said. “We just want to make sure that you don’t suddenly get worse again.” Here she finally noticed Buizel. “Oh, hi, Buizel. Shinx here has somehow made a total recovery from his illness with no lingering symptoms.”
Buizel looked from Chansey to Shaun and back. “What?” he asked, bewildered.
“I’m completely well,” Shaun clarified. “No coughing or other pleasant side-effects to be seen or heard.” He cast a frustrated look at no one in particular. “And I have to stay here for another 12 hours in case I suddenly get sick again, which, news flash, I won’t.”
“It’s a precaution,” Chansey said patiently. She sounded like she had done this many times before. “Going to sleep with a high fever and waking up suddenly well is something that doesn’t just happen.”
Shaun tried a new angle. “Can I at least have Buizel keep me company for a while?” He sounded resigned to his fate. “I don’t want to die of boredom in here.”
Chansey nodded with obvious relief. “Yes, but that’s up to Buizel, not me.” She turned to Buizel expectantly.
“I mean, I have stuff I need to show him anyway,” Buizel said, nonplussed. “Besides, Mom and Dad aren’t up for another few hours at least.”
“Glad to see that’s settled,” Cleffa said. She bounced down the hall to presumably retake her position at her desk.
Chansey left as well, leaving Shaun and Buizel in the room. Buizel sat down beside Shaun’s bed and put down the bag with a muffled thump. “Are you actually well, or were you just playing that up?”
“I’m legitimately completely well,” Shaun insisted. “I don’t think I’ve coughed in at least three hours.”
“Huh.” Buizel pulled out the book. “I had the idea to transcribe all the books in the library with Unown script inside them.” He made as if to say something else, but thought better of it and stopped.
“And I assume you need me to read them out loud,” said Shaun dryly. “Man, word gets around fast,” he muttered.
“Yeah,” Buizel admitted. “Though if we do them all we get paid.”
Shaun’s face lit up. “Why didn’t you just lead with that? Hell yeah, monetary incentive!”
The sudden change in mood made Buizel laugh. “Wow, didn’t know you were so mercenary.”
“Hey, twenty dollars is twenty dollars,” Shaun said with a wry grin. “Hand me that book and we can get started.”
Buizel obliged and put the book onto the bed. Shaun awkwardly tried to move it with his paws before seemingly remembering he could use his mouth. Buizel observed this out of the corner of his eye as he busied himself with setting up his writing space, but didn’t remark on it.
“Alright.” Shaun opened the book, cleared his throat, and began to read slowly. “This is the chronicle of Fifty Island, detailing its foundation and dedication, as told by eyewitnesses. Where’s Fifty Island?” He stopped reading and asked.
Buizel looked up from where he had been writing down what Shaun was reading. “What? Oh, we’re currently on it.”
“Huh,” Shaun said. He continued reading aloud. “Fourscore years ago, there was an archipelago, comprising fifty islands. Unfortunately, The Great Disaster destroyed the other forty-nine, completely hiding them underneath the ocean. Many lives were lost that day.
“But as the Pokemon on the fiftieth island saw the destruction of the other forty-nine islands coming towards them, they desperately prayed to Arceus, hoping that He would save them. Nothing seemed to happen, until nigh the final hour. The remaining Pokemon cowered in their homes, praying for anything to save them from The Great Disaster.
“Suddenly, 50 stone pillars appeared around the island, somehow dispersing and sealing away the power of The Great Disaster. The Pokemon were filled with awe and praise for the miracle that Arceus had performed. That day is celebrated among the village’s residents to this day.” Shaun looked at Buizel. “Really?”
Buizel had been writing furiously to keep up. “What?” he panted.
“Do you still celebrate the holiday?” Shaun asked curiously.
Buizel thought momentarily of the various holidays they celebrated. “Uhhhh, I think so,” he said. “Though we celebrate a lot of holidays here, so I’m not exactly sure which one it’s talking about.”
Shaun nodded. “I see.” He returned his attention to the book. “The next year, the Great Dialga descended from Arceus’ plane to bestow a precious gift upon Fifty Island: A Time Gear.”
Buizel paused with a paw hovering over the page to look at Shaun. “W- what?”
“Is that important?” Shaun asked. Buizel’s reaction had caught his attention.
“Um, kind of very important?” Buizel peered at the book he was reading to see rows upon rows of characters he couldn’t read. “Time Gears help keep the flow of time from stopping. I didn’t know that one was hidden on the island.” He looked back at the paper he was writing on with a sudden epiphany. “Explains why exploring is so discouraged,” he mumbled.
There was a moment of silence, filled by the sounds of rain gently tapping against the roof. Shaun cleared his throat and started reading again. “He told us to guard this gift with our lives, for if it ever left the island, the passage of time would stop, freezing everyone and everything as it was. Oh, it’s mentioned right there,” muttered Shaun wryly. He continued, “This was the dedication and founding of Fifty Island, transcribed by Marowak of Island Village.” Shaun closed the book. “Ends there.”
Buizel finished writing and considered the text he just finished writing. “Marowak of Island Village, huh? I didn’t think Island Village was that old.”
“You learn something new every day, I guess.” Shaun looked over at the paper Buizel had written on. “You wanna look through what you just wrote and see if you missed anything?”
“Oh yeah, good idea.” Buizel skimmed the pages that he had just written down. He didn’t notice any glaringly obvious typos nor anything he had missed writing down. “Looks good to me,” he said noncommittally.
“Cool,” Shaun said. He pushed the book away and looked curiously at the bag Buizel had brought the manuscript in. “Did you bring anything else?”
“No,” said Buizel. “I was working off of the assumption that you were still sick.”
“Fair enough,” Shaun shrugged.
“Actually!” Buizel remembered the slip of paper he had brought. “I saw a message cast out of perspective in the library yesterday when I was picking up the books.” He leapt to the bag and pulled it out.
“Cast out of what-now?” Shaun asked, clearly confused.
“It was so weird.” Buizel recalled the evening he was there. “I just felt I was overlooking something, and then I stood in the right spot and a message formed out of furniture and shadows just… popped out at me. I wrote it down before the light changed too much-“
“Hand it over.” Shaun’s interest was thoroughly piqued.
Buizel obliged, and peered over Shaun’s shoulder while he squinted at it. “Not very good handwriting,” Shaun said jokingly.
“Oh, shush,” Buizel said, a little hurt. “I’ve never written in Unown script before.” He was far more interested in what the message said.
Shaun read it out slowly. “It says ‘THE SEVEN ARE NOT YOUR FRIENDS’.”
Buizel looked at the paper, feeling slightly disappointed. “Well that’s categorically vague and unhelpful.”
“What’d you expect, the meaning of life and the universe?” Shaun asked sarcastically. He gave the paper back to Buizel. “You might want to write down what it says on the back. Might be important.”
This struck Buizel as a brilliant idea. “I would not have thought of that,” he said as he reached for the jar of ink.
He dipped his paw in and it came out dry. Confused, he picked up the jar and looked at it. “Oh,” he said in tones of disappointment.
“What?” Shaun asked, plainly curious.
“We’re out of ink,” Buizel said. “I told Dad that we were almost out.”
A moment of silence descended like a layer of snow, punctuated by the sound of rain lightly tapping on the roof. “Listen,” Shaun said suddenly. “You technically owe me a favor for helping you translate this. Do you think you could show me around town tomorrow?”
“Huh?” Shaun’s request caught Buizel off guard.
“The only bit of town I’ve seen was at night in the dark,” Shaun continued, “And I’d really like to know where I am.” A thought seemed to strike him. “I don’t have anywhere permanent to stay, either.”
This hadn’t occurred to Buizel. “Oh. Oh crap, you’re right. Uh.” He racked his brain to figure out anything he could do. “I’ll talk to my dad about it. He’s a good ‘mon, he’ll probably figure something out.”
“Appreciate it.” The silence descended again, but it was more amicable this time.
At length, Buizel stood up and stretched. “Well, I’d better get going. I need to turn in the book and the translation, and hopefully see about getting the ink refilled.”
“You do that,” Shaun dismissed. “If you ever need me, I’ll be here.” He looked ruefully in the direction of the window. “Not like I can leave, anyway.”
Buizel packed everything back into his bag and left the clinic, greeting Cleffa as he left. “Would you mind checking on Shaun sometimes?” He asked as he stood in the doorway. “He’s really a people person, and he’s miserable when he’s lonely.”
Cleffa glanced at the door to the sick ward. “Maybe. I’m supposed to stay here in case of medical emergencies.” Her expression softened as she looked back at Buizel. “I’ll try, though.”
Buizel nodded in relief. “Thanks. It might keep him from doing something stupid again.”
Cleffa winced. “Yes, we do want to try and avoid that, don’t we?”
With that taken off his mind, Buizel walked out of the clinic amidst Cleffa’s goodbyes.
The rain had stopped, leaving the sky gray and dreary. Buizel looked at it with faint contempt in his eyes as he trekked towards the library. He wasn’t a big fan of cloudy days, as they always promised rain and then were gone within the day.
As Buizel stepped into the library, Farfetch’d looked up from what looked like the last of his forms for the day. “Oh hey, you’re back,” he said in a tired manner. “Get cold feet?”
“No, just turning in a translation,” Buizel replied lightly. He reached into the bag and placed the book along with the papers containing the translated text. “Looks like it was some kind of history book.”
Farfetch’d took a page and glanced at it. “I see. I’ll give this to Mr. Fearow and see what he makes of it.” He picked up the book with the translated text and carried it inside Fearow’s office. After what felt like an eternity, Farfetch’d exited the office bearing a pouch. “Well, we can’t really validate the authenticity of your translations, but Mr. Fearow trusts you enough to not lie about it. You didn’t just make that up, right?” he asked suspiciously.
Buizel raised both paws. “I just wrote down what Sha- Shinx read aloud,” he stuttered. He didn’t want to reveal Shaun’s name, that was up to Shaun.
Farfetch’d raised an eyebrow but passed him the money. “Here you go, one thousand Poke.”
Buizel felt his eyes nearly pop out of his skull. “One thousand?!”
“Yep. He’s the only translator in the world, so he’s being compensated accordingly.” Farfetch’d went back to working on his forms. “When you finish them all, there’s a bonus payment waiting for you.”
Buizel took the money in a daze. One thousand Poke was a lot to just hand to a child. He carefully stowed the money pouch away in his bag and quickly hurried home.
He groaned as he saw Haunter waiting in the alleyway he passed through to get home quickly. Of course he’d be here now, of all times.
Haunter grinned as Buizel approached. “Well now, look who’s cavorting with the sick and the ill!”
Buizel didn’t respond, but he didn’t quicken his pace. He was fully aware that trying to run from Haunter was a bad idea.
“I’m honestly surprised that you haven’t been put in quarantine where you belong,” he continued taunting. “Spending that much time with a sick ‘mon is bound to have… repercussions.”
“What, like blackmail?” Buizel spat.
Haunter grinned even wider. “You said it, not me. I prefer to think of it as ‘a mutual understanding’.” He floated next to Buizel in an imitation of pacing. “All I want to know is why you keep visiting that Shinx in the clinic? Surely there’s more incentive than just… camaraderie?”
He knows something, Buizel thought as he stopped walking. He folded his arms and looked at Haunter. “What do you know?”
“Nothing,” Haunter said in what could have been the complete truth. “That’s simply why I’m asking.”
Buizel looked at Haunter for a long moment. “And what will you do if I don’t tell you anything?”
Haunter’s grin turned nasty. “I have a feeling that rumors will do the rest, don’t you?”
He was expecting that answer. Buizel resisted the urge to sigh and said, “I was staying with him until he got well because I’m the only person he knows. He’s well now. Happy?” The last word was unintentionally undercut by a tone that was decidedly not happy.
Haunter considered this with the grin still on his face. “I suppose that could be the truth, couldn’t it?” He turned around and floated a few feet before vanishing. Buizel immediately spun around and walked home. It wasn’t until he was standing on his front step that he let out an angry and frustrated sigh. Haunter knew something. Maybe it was the monetary deal, or the fact that Shaun could read Unown. Buizel wasn’t in the mood to figure it out, so he opened the door and stepped inside his home.
The air smelled of something warm and delicious. Buizel inhaled the scent of apples and a small smile forced its way onto his face. Floatzel always seemed to know when Buizel had a run-in with Haunter, because she almost always baked something. “Hi, mom,” he called. “I’m back from the clinic.”
“Were you visiting that Shinx again?” She responded from the kitchen.
Buizel walked into the kitchen/dining room and sat down at his place. Floatzel seemed to be busy making some sort of tart with caramel glaze. She spared a moment to smile at Buizel as he walked in before returning to her work.
“Yeah,” he said. “I took a book over to translate it and he was completely well.”
Floatzel took a second to answer, putting the finishing touches on the dessert. “Really? No lingering cough or anything?”
Buizel shook his head. “No, at least not that I noticed. The clinic staff were confused about it, too. Apparently he went to sleep with a high fever and woke up completely well.”
She turned to face him. “That’s really unusual. The last time you ran a high fever, you were still sick for a week afterwards with an awful cough.”
He shrugged. “Praise Arceus, I guess.” He remembered his bag and put it onto the table. “Shaun also translated the note that I wrote down.”
“Oh, what does it say?” Curiosity abounded in her voice.
“THE SEVEN ARE NOT YOUR FRIENDS. I don’t know what it means.” He put the note onto the table. “I also returned the book along with the translation we made, and got 1,000 Poke for it.”
His mother reacted in much the same way he had. “One thousand! Are those translations really worth that much?”
Buizel pulled out the pouch containing the money and set it on the table with an alarming jingle. “Apparently so.”
“And the gamble has paid off,” Ampharos announced to no one in particular as he walked into the kitchen. “Buizel, have you seen the ink jar anywhere?”
Buizel pulled the ink jar out of the bag and set it on the table. “Right here. It’s out of ink, though.” Buizel facepalmed. “I just remembered I could’ve gotten it refilled at the library.”
“It’s fine,” Floatzel assured him. “We’ll get it refilled ourselves.” She looked over at Ampharos. “How much did you overhear?”
“I heard everything up to before getting the note translated,” he replied. “I have no clue what it means either.”
Something about Ampharos’ voice seemed wrong to Buizel, but he shrugged it off. “Hey, dad,” he cut in. “Shaun is completely well, but he doesn’t have a place to stay once he’s discharged from the clinic.”
His parents looked at him. “Who?” Ampharos asked.
“Oh. Right. The Shinx likes to go by ‘Shaun’, for some reason or other.” Buizel rubbed the back of his neck. “Forgot I didn’t tell you that.”
“Hmm.” Ampharos went over to the cupboard, grabbed a wooden cup, and got a glass of water from the water pitcher sitting on the kitchen counter. He stared into the distance for a while, sipping water in thought. Buizel sat down in his chair and waited. When Dad took this long, it meant that the problem was a particularly fierce one.
After a while, he seemed to come to a conclusion. “The way I see it, ’Shaun’ has no real options besides sharing Buizel’s room.”
Before Buizel could object to this, Floatzel asked, “What’s wrong with getting a room at the tavern?”
“The proprietor is a bit… eccentric.” Ampharos grimaced. “Also him getting a room there is probably a bad idea for a myriad of other reasons.” He didn’t elaborate, leaving Buizel to imagine what they could possibly be.
“Well,” his father continued, “the choice is ultimately up to you, Buizel. I’d be fine with keeping him here as long as he pulled his weight.”
Buizel considered his options. He could either share a room with Shaun, ultimately still a stranger, or he could leave Shaun to face the world on his own. Something inside him screamed that leaving Shaun to fend for himself was a horrible, awful idea. “Yeah, I’d be fine with letting Shaun stay in my room,” he said, surprising himself. “He doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Glad that’s settled,” Ampharos replied. He busied himself with various tasks around the kitchen to help get dinner ready as Buizel sat processing what he just promised.
At length, Buizel asked, “Hey, Mom, did you know we apparently have a Time Gear on the island?”
Floatzel was mixing something together in a bowl, but paused. “What?” In the background, Ampharos choked on water he had been drinking. “Where did you hear that?” his mother continued.
“It was mentioned in the book we translated today,” Buizel said. “Mentioned something about a Time Gear being bestowed upon the island for it to be protected or something.”
“No, I didn’t imagine we had a Time Gear on the island,” Floatzel said very carefully. “I advise heavily against sharing that knowledge publicly, Buizel.”
Buizel nodded emphatically. “I know. That’d be really dangerous, right?”
“With the wrong Pokemon, yes,” Ampharos said. He had recovered from choking and was scrutinizing Buizel carefully. “Who else knows what’s in this translation?”
“Um. Me, Shaun, possibly Farfetch’d, and Mr. Fearow.” Buizel thought about it and shook his head. “It didn’t come into contact with anymon else.”
“All the more reason to house Shaun,” Ampharos muttered. Buizel pretended to not hear, but the response worried him a little.
The house descended into routine after that. Dinner was soon ready and it was a hearty meal of fruits and salad, with the occasional gummy for texture. Afterwards was the tart for dessert, which Buizel and Floatzel dug into with reckless abandon. Floatzel offered some to Ampharos, but he politely declined. “I’m watching my weight again. Don’t want to fall downstairs because I can’t see my own feet over yesterday’s meal.”
Buizel rolled his eyes. When his dad wasn’t watching his weight, he usually ate twice as much as Mom and him combined. “All the more for us,” Buizel teased. They polished off the rest of the tart, Ampharos watching with not-quite-remorse.
After dinner, Buizel wandered up to his room and looked around with renewed interest. It was relatively small, but it could feasibly fit two Pokemon, he thought.
He walked over to the window and looked out into the evening sun. It was a brilliant palette of oranges and pinks, reflecting off of the clouds to create something that was beautiful. Its impact was dimmed slightly by the fact that Buizel had seen many like it already, but it was still pretty to look at.
A bright red glint in the sky caught Buizel’s eye for a moment. It was obscured by the sunset, the orange rays hiding anything in the sky from view. He blinked and stared out the window, but the red glimmer was gone.
Buizel shrugged. Probably just his imagination.