Chapter Text
Volo will admit it, Rei was right: the future is incredible. No more retail, no more money problems, just libraries and cheap paper and traveling the region to visit every single museum. Allegedly they’re supposed to get a job eventually, but why would they?
Most people we work with are burnouts, the woman had told them when she was helping to fill out the UBI forms. They crash for a few months, trying to recover, but eventually they start craving structure and go back to working part time.
Volo had scoffed at that. Sounds like something made up by a bunch of employers to convince me to go back to doing retail.
She had just shrugged. Don’t pressure yourself, everyone’s path is different. I can’t promise a perfect solution, but this should help you get back on your feet.
It’s not perfect. For one thing, it’s not a lot of money— Volo ends up staying at pokemon centers a lot, since hotels are out of their budget in the long term. They have to learn to navigate the grocery stores and cook for themself, with spices being luxuriously cheap and restaurants quite expensive.
And then there’s the monitoring. Rei wasn’t kidding about telling Cynthia, who happens to be the most powerful trainer in the region. Volo… isn’t sure how to feel about Cynthia. It’s a bit like looking into a mirror, seeing someone like you who had the tools to succeed and be recognized as a powerful wielder, except she’s full of love for the world and had made it clear that she’d stop Volo if they ever tried anything like that again.
And there’s also Interpol, who help with paperwork but also do occasional check ins. Volo doesn’t mind them quite as much, since they’ve also done a lot to help with the adjustment. Everyone in this strange future needs a phone, a concrete identity, a surname. And the phone isn’t bad at all! They don’t much care for the apps and games, but have started a social media account for pictures of their pokemon, and learned to navigate the mathematical god known as an algorithm. The ability to take pictures, especially, is appreciated. Anyone at all can preserve a moment in time forever.
So no, it’s not a perfect solution, even once they figure out that a “psychiatrist” is someone who can give them small medications to keep the malaise at bay. Even in a kinder world, some things are still heartbreaking or difficult. It’s just a bit more advanced, not fundamentally different.
But Rei’s victory made it clear that there is no place for Volo’s dreams in the world. Even so, it’s impossible to let go of them. If Volo needs to become stronger, needs to wait centuries to bring their plans to fruition, then they’ll do it. Because they absolutely cannot tolerate a world led by a being as cruel as Arceus. They deserve better than to be taunted and tormented by a being whose motivations are seemingly only spite and hatred.
So that leads them here. Lake Verity. Volo has a tenuous relationship with Rei that mostly involves him enforcing his unofficial restraining order, and unfortunately that means Volo hasn’t had a chance to visit Sandgem town yet. His latest text said he’d be back in Hisui for the next month or so, and thus Volo was clear to visit if they wanted.
It’s pretty enough scenery, Volo supposes, half their Pokémon scampering freely around as they lounge on the shore. Clear blue water, a fresh breeze, a charmingly rural town behind and healthy trees framing a short strip of beach. But they lack Rei’s device which allowed him to find the guardian of emotion, and thus they can only watch the scenery.
If only they knew how to access that cave. Damnit, damnit, damnit! Volo lets out a frustrated huff, running a hand through their hair. It’s not like they have a lot of options here. At this point, their plans have shifted from “use the old gods of the region to remake it” to “ask Arceus what the fuck it’s problem is and then fix shit somehow without destroying the entire world.”
But to do that, they need knowledge. And to get knowledge, they need more experience. So that means gathering resources and traveling across the region, and learning how to access this “JSTOR” repository that continues to elude them.
The crunching of sand alerts Volo to someone else on the beach. They tense, expecting it to be Rei or some relation of his, but it’s… not. In fact, this person looks quite a lot like Captain Cyllene. Stern face, sunken eyes and gaunt cheekbones, with blue hair slicked back in spikes.
“Nice view, isn’t it?” Volo gives a friendly smile on instinct. Damn customer service training. “What are you doing out here? Not planning on fishing, I would assume.”
The person who looks like Cyllene scowls. “I wouldn’t expect a plebian such as yourself to understand my intentions.”
Volo’s face twitches, still locked in that instinctive smile. “If you’re looking for a fight, my garchomp and I can give it to you.”
“Tch. One day, all of this will be mine to do with as I see fit.” With that chuunibyou line, the Cyllene lookalike (descendant?) turns and walks away, leaving Volo confused and more than a little pissed off at the failed social interaction.
Their garchomp, Tachyon, emerges from the sand and nuzzles them for pets. Volo obliges, of course, but their mind is elsewhere. What was that supposed to mean? It’s public land; it can’t exactly be bought or sold.
Whatever. They shouldn’t be lingering here, anyways; they’ve just been putting off the inevitable. What they really should be doing, after all, is signing up to get a trainer’s license. Because everything is stupidly moderated and micromanaged nowadays.
Sighing, they recall their pokemon and trudge back through the tall grass, watching the bidoof and starly scamper about. All of them are temperate enough for them to feel safe walking alone, which is excellent, because they’re in the mood to be alone.
Unfortunately, as they round the bend, that mood instantly sours. Damned old man, having descendants. Volo personally wishes that Commander Kamado had never been able to conceive, because the old man bearing his likeness stirs up some awful memories.
“What are you doing out here, young—” His face contorts as he tries to find a gender neutral way to continue berating them. “—fool! Don’t you know it’s dangerous to go alone?”
“I could say the same to you,” Volo retorts dryly. “You’re just as alone as I am. If I really wanted, I could take you for everything you’ve got.”
“Tch. You could certainly try,” the old man says derisively. “Have you seen a briefcase in these parts? It would be brown, rather plain.”
“No, and I really don’t have time for that. I’m looking for Professor Rowan, so if you’ll excuse me—”
“You’ve found him,” says the man who is apparently Professor Rowan. Fuck. Shit. “Whatever business you may have with me will have to wait until I’ve reclaimed my lost property.”
Okay. Come on, Volo, you can do this. They’re trained in this. They can just… make conversation, be friendly. Fuck, why does this suck so much.
“My apologies, we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot,” they say with a smile, holding out their hand. “Volo Ward. I’m not from around here, but I was hoping to start the gym challenge.”
Rowan looks them up and down dubiously, but takes their hand. “Well, I won’t turn down the assistance. It’s been rough since Rei walked out.”
Of course. Volo just needs to get all of this done before Rei comes back. “Well, where do you think it might be?”
“This way. And you should really have a pokemon with you,” Rowan grumbles, trudging towards the lake. The lake where Volo just came from. Where they would have almost certainly seen a briefcase if one had been around there. “Did you come for a starter, as well?”
Starter? What does he— oh. Oh, hang on, that’s a new tradition, isn’t it. To give children a “starter” pokemon from a selection of local three-stage evolutions in a few select types.
“No, I did not. Chara, please fly ahead and scout for a briefcase, okay? It’s brown, and sort of squarish, about this size,” Volo says, letting out their togekiss. Rowan’s eyes bulge at the sight of her— as they should. She’s beautiful, rare, and powerful, and everyone should gaze upon her with admiration.
“Is she yours?” he asks. “Can’t say I expected that. Normally, you’d have a license long before they reach that stage.”
“As I said, I’m not from around here. I’m behind in terms of paperwork, but I’ve got a competent team. I just… well, I’m afraid I don’t have many marketable skills,” Volo lies, because they could totally just be an organ donor with an infinite supply of hearts, or go back into retail, or do really anything else to make money. They have plenty of marketable skills.
But they want to spend time with their pokemon, and buying rare books instead of food has gotten Interpol quite mad at their budgeting skills, so being a trainer seemed like the best way to make money.
“I see. Well, I wish you the best of luck.” Rowan ducks under a low-hanging branch, and the two of them emerge into the clearing by the lake. The sun dazzles on the surface, the waves lap at the shore, and Chara is circling above.
“Chara,” Volo calls, holding out an arm for her to rest on. She descends with a gentle flap, folding up her wings neatly and then pointing across the lake with a distressed cry. “It’s… over there?”
“That’s impossible,” Rowan mutters. “I didn’t get that far, after all. I was only on this side of the shore— she must be mistaken.”
Bitch? The absolute fucking audacity of this cunt, to think that his word is worth more than that of Volo’s beloved and cherished pokemon companion? Volo stares at him indignantly, then remembers that’s not normal or socially acceptable behavior when interacting with other human beings.
“Well, that’s what she says,” Volo reiterates, reaching up to give her some scritches for being such a good girl. “Did someone else find it, and move it?”
She gives another chirp— distressed, affirmative. Rowan has started kneeling and poking around the grass, as if he’ll find anything.
“Okay, well…” Volo frowns. Chara would likely be able to recognize the thief on sight, but she’s unlikely to be able to give any good identifiers, even with prompting. “I’ll tell you what. I can try to find the briefcase myself, and then return it to you. What’s inside it?”
Rowan stands, with a haunted look in his eyes. “Pokemon. Three of them, all meant for research. If someone really has taken them… I’m afraid I’m not fast enough to find them before something might happen to the little ones.”
“Right. Well, I’ll meet you back here, one way or another. Tachyon!” Volo tosses out their garchomp’s ball, and climbs on his back, relishing in the professor’s expression. “And don’t worry, sir— I’m not alone, and I’ll be plenty safe.”