demons . fernando

[ANNA GULLY]

Humans in motions. They always had been, they always would be. The sheer amount of energy used would be enough to-- well, do more than what a population could ever imagine. If only she could harness it. Access it. Control it. No. Too risky. Not here. Not now. Not ever. Impossible, are you going insane? It's dark. She would be left to the confines of the cage she had been returned to, months ago. Left to die. Left to rot. Words meant nothing, in the end. She was right. Never trust. Him. Especially him. The underground hadn't changed, or perhaps it had. The cycles were the same, the backdrop was different. The faces were different, but identical. Genes had altered the personalities, if they could be deemed as such, that she had once known, but the eyes, the soul, still held its expression. Unchanged. Dirty. Hopeless. Anna could only hope she wore the mask as well. It would do better to fit in, if she could call it such. Was she a wolf among sheep, or was she a sheep who had dreamed it could once be a powerful carnivore? Perhaps she had never really changed, perhaps she had never left this world. Business was business. "You're strong." Was that a mocking tone she heard? Without a doubt, he would have never spoken to her seriously with that sort of dialogue. Eyelids closed, shoulders fell, ragged breaths traced the wall she had found for herself. Waking up had always been so painful. Did it happen? She had been used, only to be thrown back into the bowels of the world she had thought she was welcome back to? Surely. Dreams were for the weak. Then again, she was weak. Never strong. Nothing had changed. Or had it? Too many months. Blank. Exhaustion riddled her entire body, any traces of hope melted away weeks ago. Anna had always been a slave, yet the slave she thought she had been was not the slave she was currently. She dared not say his name to herself, it would be too painful. There was too much shame. For what? Classified. No, unknown. She was ever obedient, this was her task. Being stripped of clothes, dignity, used as some ragdoll for the desperate. "At least it pays." Would those really be the words she chose to remember? The proceeds were not her own. He lied. He always lied. Vivid memories would never be enough to comfort her, to remind her that some part of him had to care. He offered her life when she was stuck in death, only to throw her back to the reaper. Anna was stuck on the border of comprehension and devastation, yet neither would hit her head-on. She didn't hate him. She couldn't. "Have you ever lied?" "Yes." "Well?" "Yes." "You're lying." Lesson one. Keep your face straight. Don't give away your intentions. Act natural. Don't lie yet, you're horrible at it. Know your enemy before you kill your enemy. "Do you find killing acceptable?" "Yes." "You're not traumatized?" "No." "You're lying." "I'm not." "Is that why it took you two weeks to come out from under a blanket?" Lesson two. Learn the mask. Use the mask. Death is a natural cycle which comes to some sooner than later. Why allow them to suffer as ignorant, unstable, useless beings when they can help make room for a brighter populous? "You didn't answer the call." "I was busy." "You're never busy. I'm the only one who keeps you busy. You're trash, Anna. Useless. The bottom of society. Again. You didn't answer the call." "... I apologize, sir. My lack of wit managed to get the better of me." "Don't let it happen again." Lesson three. Loyalty. Dedication. Never be late. Always answer. There were too many for her to run through again, too many to keep up with. Of course she remembered them all word for word, lesson by lesson. They molded her-- HE molded her, made her property. She was more than property, but that notion wasn't allowed to rear its ugly head until she was an equal. And it had become painfully obvious that Anna was NOT an equal. Not here. Not on the arceus-damned mission that turned out to be a trap. Some part of her still believed this was punishment for Azel, despite recent confessions. Or maybe not recent. Everything either seemed far away or dreadfully close, she could no longer tell the difference. She was changing, again, but it would not be for the better. Escaping was the problem. She could have killed the ring-leader by now. Slaughtered him in his sleep. Fernando had taught her how to use her hands. Be clean about it. Weakness had crept into her bones now. Months, weeks-- surely it hadn't yet been a year, had gone by. She was malnourished with the intention to keep her thin, given small proportions in order to keep her in her place. Mission failed. There was no strength left. She would not have the savior she acquired previously. Every routine made her stomach knot, the agony of being auctioned was too much to bare. She was strong. Thoughts would prove to be her only crutch, yet she was in desperate need of a new, less-beaten one. Her current support was cracked, slowly breaking. There was an auction in the afternoon. Until then, patience would have to keep her content.

[FERNANDO SILPH]

People are so fragile. They always have been, they always will be. The ease behind bending them over, snapping them in half-- it's a practice perfected by few and paid for with their promise of their morality. Morals do nothing but impede on progress, on success. For years he's ignored it, giving his brain sole authority over his actions. Any lingering voices left of his consciousness are ignored, quieted before the commands of his mind. Results are the only things that matter. Profit over everything. Everything. With his mindset he is able to conquer over all. Deceit proves fruitful and paves the way to his glory. His accomplishments cements his spot as a God among men, a modern era emperor. A fraction of the world is held between his greedy, lithe fingers, unknowing, unsuspecting. Fernando is pleased with his absolute authority. He is pleased with his work. But work is never over. There is always more to be done. He may be a God but his body is that of a mere man. He can only do so much with such a meager vessel. So, like any deity, he enlist the help of disciples. His most trusted earns his favor, the closest feelings that can be called fondness, if at that. She is a woman by the name of Anna. Stupid, pitiful, and worthless; it's odd how such a person can charm a man of such prestige. Something about her eyes, about the way she perseveres. It reminds him of a flawed version of himself - something worth molding into perfection. Her presence pleases him, keeps him happy. As long as he who rules over everything is content then the world can continue to function. The mongrels that flood the streets should be grateful that they get to share the very same air as he who reside above all. But to have a God incarnate bound to standards of others is unsettling. Perhaps it's because of this that even he must bow before the might of true divinity; the one creature that surpasses even him: that blasted Arceus! A shower of lights would bathe the night sky. What was once muddled darkness would be lit aflame by the terrifying spectacle of the heavens burning upon him. Arceus' judgement would rain down on the Saffron skyline, turning his capital, his tower of babel into worthless rubble. Had he been too selfish? Too arrogant? His sacrilege would be paid in blood but not that of his own. Brawn would be the only realm that Arceus would reign over. Far too stupid and riddled with incompetence, the mighty creator had forgotten the most important rule of smiting. Always confirm the kill. Therein laid the Knight's own undoing. They had let the serpent go, allowing it to slither away until it would one day overcome their mighty God. And the cost of surviving - of his promise to come back with a vengeance - would be a year's worth of devotion. Everything else would be put on a back burner until Fernando found a way to reclaim his throne. Silph Co? His father's funeral? His reputation? Nothing matter other than slaying the beast that had brought him into ruin. Nothing. The only thing capable of pulling his mind away from his studies was the vague feeling of emptiness. There was a void left by the absence of the one person closest to him. The one person who was never supposed to betray him. The same one who had crossed him behind his back only to promise herself an absolute allegiance. The person who was gone. At first, he had clung onto some sort of hope. Every hour would bring about another text, another call, another struggle to find some way to reach her. When silence was his only answer he resorted to reasoning, finding a way to explain and negotiate with why she would leave him alone. The cycles would continue to change coming to full circle with despair, anger, and resentment each finding their time to shine. But at the end of the day she was only a woman. Fernando had his time in the limelight and now the world would call upon him to pay for his previous life of comfort. He had responsibilities now. If there was anyone to prove instrumental to undoing the tyranny of the knights, it would be him. Days turned into weeks, hikes turned into expeditions, weeks turned into months, expeditions turned into reading sessions, which in turned into a whole lot of nothing. Fernando would cram, devoted himself into the life of a desperate scholar and learning to live on bread and water in-between his hours spent reading, searching. There had to be something to restore the world to it's former order. Something to put him back on top. Something to revert things to a simpler time, one where he was happy. One where he was happy. One with Anna. Even now she would be the single idle thought to dot his brain when he slept. The extra pokeballs that lined his belt would serve as a constant reminder, proving to haunt him with her absence and likely death. He didn't believe it and hated the notion but that was the safest explanation behind her desertion. Somewhere, he'd like to believe she simply fled, living out her days as a wandering before settling down in some rural village. But that was just wishful thinking. Fernando could lie to just about anyone but not to himself. Wet tears would line the corner of his notes as his candle finally gave out. He was growing tired, weak from the countless hours poured into scrounging through the various record he could scavenge from the Canalave library. Even in the darkness he found it hard to keep his eyes open, unaware of the time of day. Reduced to a small cavern, Fernando found it hard to track time as it aimlessly passed him by. Every so often he would come out to gather more supplies along with gather news but rarely did he find anything uplifting. The would would continue with or without him. He no longer mattered. He was weak. The thing most precious to him. The answers he desperately needed. Neither presented each other as something he could acquire. They were terrifying fairy-tales best left for those who believed in hope. Fernando did not hope. He knew better than to trust into false despair. There was no happiness left to be had. His days would be left for him to waste away, shouldering the world's predicament as a tired Atlus. Perhaps one day he would find a way to obtain the unobtainable. For now, all he could do is search, picking up any traces of something he could use. Fernando is not foolish enough to hope. He merely accepts this broken delusion as it swallows him whole.

[ANNA GULLY]

Restless sheets, greedy hands. The same routine. She was sick. Of it. Of everything. Weakness, drug haze. Two physical reasons not to strangle the man on top of her. The mental ones overruled. She wasn't ready. She would fail. She always failed. That's why he had gone. Left her. She would have to fend for herself again, learn to be strong. "They're just blue prints. It shouldn't even take you a week." The words struck illness in her at the time. Now she just laughed at them. Time's up. Move on. Go back to your place. No. The defiance came out before she could suppress it. Short, simple. Enough to earn a firm smack across the face and a few dozen curses. All threats. Taunts. He was the big dog snarling at its prey, waiting for it to defy him a second time. He would rip her throat out. But anyone could do that. Why should she let him hold fear over her head? Why was she waiting until this very moment to realize that every customer had simply been an escape route? Men were easy to kill. Defenseless. They were naked, but her skin had turned to armor. Lesson six. It took three minutes to gather up the strength to hit him. Hard enough for him to recoil, but too slow to catch him off guard. He fumbled, reached, missed. She was weak, but nimble. Strong. She was strong. Only for now. It took five minutes for her to dig shaking fingers into his neck, letting her palm crush his windpipe. Seven minutes for him to go unconscious. Eleven minutes to die. Maybe longer. Time blurred, she only knew that his heart stopped beating. She sat for an hour. Getting herself together, contemplating, wondering. There was no savior here. She had to find her own way. Where was home? Where was he? The immediate thought of Fernando was enough to make her ashamed-- she had no control over her life. She had, but she'd ignored it. He would know. She knew. He would see it in her eyes, and she would try to make it known that she couldn't help it. But they both know that's a lie. She so desperately wants it to be true, almost needs it to be true. She didn't want it. She was stupid. He wouldn't believe her when she blamed her own mental state. She was a puppet that had been on someone else's strings, but now she had cut herself loose, and regret was the only feeling she could cling to. Fear was gone. Agony was gone. Confusion stood at bay, while wonder waited for its chance. She didn't hate him. Anna wanted the past. Craved it. She left her clothes on the floor. They were a symbol. They were chains. But what would she be without bindings? Fernando would need to see them. To know. To understand. She didn't realize there were tears in her eyes until they hit the wooden floor. Anna did not cry. She been void of emotion. It was dangerous, risky, unexpected, uncontrollable. She didn't look back when the door closed behind her. The cool air of the city's night-time landscape was welcomed-- she hadn't felt it like this for what seemed like years. Lights made her squint, stares were ignored. Now was not the time to be self conscious, but the time for realization. She needed him. He didn't want her. His world had changed. She was a thing of the past. She was a toy from his child hood, buried in the rubble of the present. She needed him. She didn't want to need him. She didn't want to go back to him. The risk of being scorned, turned away, treated like the absolute bottom of the food chain terrified her. She wouldn't be able to handle it. Maybe exhaustion, starvation, dehydration, or mental instability would kill her first. She could hope. But then she wouldn't see him. Ever. Never again. Part of her didn't want to. She was digging her own grave, and walking herself to the cemetery. Anna had taken her previous captor's phone from his corpse. The number came as if it were instinctual. She would never be able to forget it. Weak. Her voice was weak. A rasp, hardly a whisper. Even the ring tone was more stable than she was. She didn't bother waiting for him to speak-- A woman. A woman's voice. Panic and betrayal clutched her organs as the female inquired as to who was calling her at such a late hour. Anna hung up. Checked the screen. Wrong number. There was no replacement. Relief was a tidal wave. Redial. It was correct this time. It had to be. "V-Vermilion."

[FERNANDO SILPH]

Restless sheets, sweaty palms. The same routine. He was sick. Of it. Of everything. Weakness, bitter fatigue. Two physical reason he could barely manage to stumble out of his makeshift bedding to clasp the stale water that had sat on his nightstand since the night before yesterday. In a fit of disgust, Fernando spat out whatever he could not swallow before struggling to pull himself together. Duty had forced him to let his body go, muscles wasting away into nothing. He ate only what he needed and it made his body weak. How fitting that his body match his spirits, battered and broken. But life still courses through his sickly stature. The burning of the sun is enough to remind him of that. Time away from the light has colored him a ghostly white, the straining darkness dying his eyes a perpetual red. Fernando Silph is no longer the triumphant, arrogant man he once was. His body matches his nature, cautious, alert, and all too ready to slip away as just some "Cobalt". That's who he is now a days. An old name stolen from some second rate corporate owner who probably perished when the world turned over. At least now he can serve as some use, as the name naturally sticks and wards off any pesky inquiries. Fernando is just another wandering trainer, popping into town once or twice a month to resupply. No one ask questions, no one bothers him. It's a simple life and one that reminds him of his never ending sin. A curt thanks to the cashier allows Fernando to leave the convenience store with relative ease. But before he can do so a sharp ringing sound brings him to a stop. It's been a while since anyone's called him, even longer since he's actually picked up. He doesn't even know why he carries the damned device around. There's no one worth talking to. Not anyone who he can't find on his own. Except one person. The most important person. It's an unknown number and Fernando allows his curiosity to have the best of him. He answers, giving away his pen name: Layfette Cobalt. It's an odd name but one that immediately registers to those who need it. The name is all he can muster, choking out his location before allowing the cellphone to silence itself. He can't handle hearing anything else, anything more. It's been Lies. Impossible. Improbable. Why now? Was it a trap? Was he dreaming? Most importantly, what was this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. All of a sudden he felt ill. He wanted to puke - to throw up all the doubt doubling inside. "Hmph." Time seems to fast forward as Fernando awaits by the pier. The tolls of the buoys do little to keep him settled as he rolls unfamiliar pokeballs in-between each his fingers. She doesn't call. She never calls. The one time she does turns out to be nothing short of a miracle. But here he is, waiting once more. Months of inactivity makes him lazy not incompetent. Not once does Fernando take off the mask, constantly painted in a stern manner. Eyebrows cross and Fernando can only loathe himself for how much hope there is bundled underneath his cold demeanor.

[ANNA GULLY]

Her throat is dry. Her eyes are soaked. She doesn't recognize him-- or perhaps she refuses to. He's different. His face, his posture, his eyes-- different. Similar, yet not. Anna doesn't doubt for a second it's him, though. The expression matches the man. She only agreed to meet one person in this spot, and it was him. She didn't want to go, but she would force it. Need kept her moving forward, until she was able to maintain a reasonable distance. Close enough to speak, far enough to avoid touch. She didn't know what to say. How would she speak to someone who doesn't want her? Who threw her away? She cannot be casual, yet the formality she used to worship has disintegrated. There's no way a word will escape her throat as she stands, staring. Anna doesn't maintain eye contact-- the beta never challenges the alpha, even now. Her shoulders are down, the bruise on her face is finally starting to show. Speechless. Anna flounders, grasping for the right words. Why did he agree to come if he disposed of her so easily? Tears have stained her filthy skin, the cloth keeping her covered isn't doing enough to keep her warm. She's shivering, though she can't tell if it's due to the breeze off the water or the anxiety of the situation. She's intimidated, scared to speak up. "I didn't get the blueprints." Of course. Always business. The words are choked out, leaving her to wallow in shame. Incompetent. As always. Why do you think I got rid of you? She didn't want him to speak. She wanted some notion of reluctance, of sympathy. The changed world around her had not yet registered- cities were being reconstructed all the time, how was this any different? Being prohibited from news and recent events was supposed to keep her calm. Ignorant. Enslaved, properly. "They took my phone. Inevitably." She wanted to ask him the most important question. Was it too soon? No. It was because she didn't want to answer. Why did you leave? It would remain trapped in her thoughts until she was brave enough to let it loose.

[FERNANDO SILPH]

Fernando is not alone. There is another - someone else who's watching him from a distance. But he's complacent, making no move to address the lingering presence. He doesn't have to. It's her, Anna, or so he believes. Neither of them is willing to spark the inevitable reunion, satisfied with just being within each other's vicinity. Fernando waits, distant and frigid. She finally approaches and Fernando eyes her, observing and noting any changes to her appearance. It's been a while and he can vaguely remember what she looked like, unable to formulate a perfect image of her previous figure. The resemblance to himself is uncanny; a thinner frame, tired eyes, and a saturated expression of defeat and despair. Pity forms in the back of his mouth, settling as a sour taste that he can't quite explain. If this is what Anna looks like then he can't bear to imagine how he'll hold within her eyes.Maybe he'll be lucky and the stark differences are enough to hide away the blemishes on his pride. But does he really care about his image anymore? No, he hopes for the opposite. Salvaging the remnants of his pride will only mean her skills of observations have deteriorated, something he'd rather not lose. All of his whirling thoughts remind him of something: who was he to judge? "I know." Her words bring about a clarity that Fernando can only struggle to accept. It's been months since the last time he had been truly heralded as someone of importance. But that'll change with her around. He's unsure of whether or not he's ready for such a drastic change, of having to explain the sudden exchange of fortunes. But Fernando no longer has the luxury of choices. There is but one solution. "I figured," he mentions, face unwavering and unchanging. There was always that possibility but Fernando waded against it. There should've been no trouble with such a simple operation. Even in the worst scenario, making it out alive would've been a cake walk for someone of her caliber. Why had it taken so long? Why did you never come back? Well, she did, admittedly, but time had already done it's damage. There was little Fernando could do without delving into his own little tirades. Instead, he opts for what he deems as positive reinforcement. With a disgruntled huff, he takes off his thick overcoat and holds it out for her.

[ANNA GULLY]

"I choked." The words almost catch in the back of her throat as she inhales, voice wavering. "You said it would be okay. You said it was impossible to get trapped." She's holding back the majority of the bitter tears that she had refused for so long. Even at her breaking point in possession of the underground she had refused to show desperation. Such a simple mission (or so he thought) had turned awry when one of the buyers recognized her face, expressing so the very man she was supposed to take from. She was questioned, grinded down, treated harshly for weeks until her will was nothing. She could have done something about it at the time. She could have grabbed the blueprints faster. But she was incompetent. A failure. A disappointment. She would never be any use to Fernando, but that was something she couldn't stomach. "You said you would be there if anything happened." Her voice wavers again, as much as she tries to keep herself together. She doesn't remember if he truly ever did say such, or if she was letting loose the wishful thinking that had been confined when she was. Why didn't you just kill me? Instead of sending her back to her own underworld. Instead of ripping the bandages off her old wounds that had not fully healed, despite what both of them believed. She wanted to stop talking, to simply go to a place she could call home and be protected. But speaking was necessary. For everything. As much as the thirst for knowledge, the craving to learn what she missed, nagged at her, it would have to wait. She had higher priorities. She flinched at his unexpected movement, recoiling back a step. It took a moment for her to realize the perceived consideration in his gesture and, as much as it caught her off guard and as much as she wanted to reject, Anna reached out and accepted the offering, allowing the warmth of his previous outer layer to act as some comfort. The heaviness of the object surprised her-- or perhaps it was her overwhelming weakness. Her steps brought her closer to him, yet she had no plan. She wanted to hate him, she tried to put it in her eyes as they finally rose to his, but drained pride and strength was the only thing present. He was different. She was different. She had failed him. How could I have ever believed I was good for you? "You said--" You loved me.

[FERNANDO SILPH]

Fernando stood there for the longest time. Still, distant, caught up in a maelstrom of his own inner thoughts. Any grievances Anna piled onto him would be met with an unapologetic, stoic expression. She could hate him, loathe his very guts, but it does little to change what's already happened. Nothing can damper his resolve. Time has passed and regret isn't something they can afford to dwell on. The world will continue to rotate and sitting on the past does nothing for them now. "Boris, Noki, Michael, Caedom, Mila; they're all dead." Each name passes through his mouth without remorse, plain and void of any real emotion. They're nothing more than words, no longer holding any significance. There's no sadness he can fall back on, only the blunt facts of their current situation. "Even father is dead," he adds passively. Nothing can let the words settle in other than time. Seconds pass and Fernando outright ignores her, pulling a pack of cigarette out from his back pocket. It's a terrible habit, he knows, but it's something to calm his nerves in depressing situations like these. An empty gaze stares into the silent ocean, watching waves lap against the docks as Fernando fumbles for his lighter. "The Elite Four of Kanto also fell. Even one of the Dex Holders from Hoenn. The only person to outwardly oppose them and still live was me." Without regard to her own preference, he lights it, taking a long drag from it before expelling a thick stream of toxic smoke. "If you couldn't handle them then you were safer down there than you would've been topside." The feeling of tar and nicotine stain the insides of his mouth, the taste of Grimer taking away from any noticeable guilt. "I rather lose you than have your blood on my hands. They're already red enough, Anna."

[ANNA GULLY]

Any regard of her emotion is absent, that much is easy to distinguish. She doesn't know how to act, doesn't know if she should let the momentary anger slip through the gashes in her mask. Probably a horrible idea. Less than favorable. She swallows it instead, a small knot of pity forming in her throat. As if everything was her fault. She supposed it was. If she had gotten the job done correctly instead of freezing, choking, making herself vulnerable, Fernando might have retained his position on his pedestal. With her gone though... Her mouth opened for an apology-- it was useless. Two words could not reverse the damage, both of them knew that. She had to constantly remind herself to leave out the unnecessary, to ignore what could go without attention. An apology would float away to be devoured by the wind, useless in attempt. It wouldn't even come close to touching him. The cigarette catches her attention and, while she chooses to ignore it for the moment, the smoke puts her on edge, makes her tense, reminds her of where she just came from. The nicotine burns her eyes, dries her throat-- she only stares at the stick as it slowly dies down. She figures some sort of meaningful metaphor can be made out of that-- something that was once all together slowly begins to fall apart. Just like the two of them. They were not cigarettes, though. Humans could put back the pieces, in time. It's a risky move, but she approaches him with the intent to remove the drug from his fingers. A trembling hand rises, hesitates, falls back to her side. It's no longer her place to have even an ounce of power over him. The realization hits her like a truck, the physical pain crushing her lungs. It's all an illusion. She can only stare ahead in an attempt to recover before she backs away from him again, suddenly scared. 'You couldn't handle them.' A resounding echo. She's going to choke again. It's in her nature. "That--... That was dif-- different." She fights to spit the words out, to shove them away as fast as she can so she can recoil back to silence. 'I'd rather lose you.' He's ripping off the shredded remains of any mask. Or maybe she's doing it to herself. His eyes are empty, and hers tell too much. She wants to touch him-- she wants him to want her to touch him. It's been too long. She was trash again, meaningless. Again? You always were. Her shoulders shrug in his coat, as if she's willing to return it. "Should I go, then?" How could she argue for her own competence after recent events? It would be useless, she would be forced into submission. Anna immediately regrets her offer-- it leaves a bitter taste on her tongue. Or maybe that's the nicotine. She can't handle the cigarette much longer. "I can promise it won't happen again." But there were never any guarantees.

[FERNANDO SILPH]

Anna approaches him and Fernando does nothing to stop her. He doesn't have to. It's obvious that she's broken, battered between her conflicting will and timid mindset; nothing new. She gives in to her hesitance and Fernando averts his gaze. This whole situation makes him feel old, like an old sack of shit who's finally reached the point of being an irrelevant relic. "You're free to do as you like. You don't belong to me anymore." His lips pucker around the shriveling husk of tobacco that begins to dim. "If you need anything, you know how to keep in touch." Starring at his feet makes this whole passing easier to bear. It's frightening how attached he is. But if all for the greater purpose, he reminds himself. He expects her to linger, to curt around his movements while trying to blend into the backdrop but how long can she last. Fernando doesn't it put it above her, or anyone, to leave him to his own devices. Eventually, people get left behind. "Just..." Fernando flick the remnants of the burnt cig away. Into the ocean it falls, landing light onto the water's surface and surrendering to it's movements. "Live. That is my last order. Whatever happens, live, Anna Gully."

[ANNA GULLY]

It can't end this way. She wouldn't permit it. Was it true, then? He didn't want her? She should have never come back? You're useless. Helpless. Stay alive? I wouldn't care to know if you perished. She took it like a blow to the slow, and the dazed Anna could only stare at him, jaw clenched, fists curled. Surely he was joking. Even if her subconscious disagreed, he couldn't disown her after her return. How damaged are you? "I've always been yours." It's silent, she's not quite sure she's even said it. A feeling has been swelling in her chest, and she's not sure what to call it. Love? She hates the word. Despair, agony, confusion. It slowly working its way to her throat, making her think she's going to vomit any second. It's all an illusion. If he doesn't want her. She wants him. She always has. Anna no longer permits her mind to control her body, she takes the final lurch forward to cling to him, grasping on to something, someone, she knows she's already lost. She buries herself against him-- his build has changed, but she doesn't care. It's him. She's craved his touch, and she's going to take it against his will. She wants to breathe him in and she does, she doesn't care to look up. Her face is against him, her eyes fear what they will find if they dare look up to his again. She refuses to let go. Not so soon. It's been too long. His final lines would have made an excellent closing, and Anna is not one to linger when given a command. Why is this so different? He doesn't want you. Go. Her mind is screaming at her, but her grip refuses to loosen. She isn't permitting herself to cry, yet the tears linger at the edges of her eyes anyway. Why was it so hard to let go? He doesn't want you. The constant reminder does nothing. She does nothing. She can't breathe. That was fine. She would suffocate against him if she had to. The welt in her throat would keep the oxygen out, she would die without him if she had to. Anna wasn't one to cling. She wasn't one to cry. She wasn't one to act irrationally. Apparently she was. Since when? She was truly out of her element, truly distorted. "No."

[FERNANDO SILPH]

"Been." He repeats it to reiterate his point. There's no point in trying to hold onto the past. Coddling such sentiments would only lead him deeper into his road to despair. Fernando's fucked up and it's up to him alone to fix it. There's a price to pay and he won't allow Anna to share the burden. She has to leave. Go far away. Settle down somewhere. Even if she doesn't, as long as he can believe she has, it'll be enough. It's selfish, he knows but he doesn't care. Not this time. There's too much at stake. The feeling of touch brings a tough rigidness to his frame. He can't afford to pet her, to tell her everything will be okay. Against his will, he suppresses the urge to do anything. Even scolding her might prove to be a hope, that there's something left of the man she once knew. But Fernando isn't that cruel. He won't give her a false hope. "You don't have a choice." Anna Gully is no longer a friend nor a lover. She is nothing but another speckle of flesh that does as it's told. Whether or not she approve is out of the question. She will comply. She will do as ordered. And, if should she live long enough to see a peaceful time - a better time, then she will be rewarded handsomely. But that time is not now.

[ANNA GULLY]

Resilience means little to nothing in the face of true hopelessness. She's missed destruction to be met with heart break regardless, and there is no mercy left for a broken toy. She holds on to his voice, trying to keep it in her mind-- she would never be able to forget the message, but the delivery ran at risk of being altered. She knew what she would have to do, yet she held no mind of doing it. Kanto had always been what she might call "home". She would blame everyone until it would finally dawn on her that this all happened due to fault of her own. It made her want to scream. Made her want to let her insides be ripped away by some savage beast with a blood lust. She feels nothing. She feels everything. It doesn't matter either way, all that matters is that she cannot stay this way. Anna forces herself to let go, eyes red, barely breathing. Her eyes flutter to the extra pokeballs on his belt, but her mouth remains plastered. She didn't want anything to guard her. She didn't want defenses. Perhaps the six she held so dearly would serve him better, perhaps they would get some benefit out of it. She looks away for the sake of avoiding the stare she knows is not directed at her. The waves offer no calming affect, and as much as she would like to dive in and let herself sink Anna remains motionless. Salty tears prod at the edges of her mouth. Has she been crying for so long? Pitiful. The back of her hand is enough to temporarily fix the leak, but repairs will be far more extensive. She can't speak, so she acts. The cold breeze means nothing, she's too flushed, perspiring. Anna slides out from underneath the comfort of his coat, offering the thing back to him before wobbly legs start to carry her once more. She has no money, and she hasn't the slightest clue where she'll go, but life will find a way. Good byes are in order but she can't bring herself to speak. Even Anna isn't sure if anger will emerge, or simply sadness. It doesn't matter.

[FERNANDO SILPH]

There are those who need time to let circumstances sink in - to register the depths of their inner turmoil. Some never come to grasp the gravity of their situation. Others simply ignore it out of spite, preferring to feign ignorance than admit their demise. Fernando lies somewhere in a rift between both, caught behind an unyielding battering ram that is misery, absolution, and self-loathing. This sense of self hate is a new emotion that he's unfamiliar with but as of recently it's become something he can understand and fully accept. Clarity becomes his poison and he can't bear to guzzle down the last few drops. He wants to quit, to allow everything to fizzle around him and leave it up to fate but he knows that such a thing doesn't exist. There is no God. There is only a divine monster who he must slay. I'm sorry, Anna. The words cross his mind but Fernando makes no move to act on them. Such half hearted words would only make the transition harder, unbearable. He can only hope that one day Anna will understand but he never expects forgiveness. He doesn't deserve it. All he can hope for is that she lives to see the day where his motives are clear - for a future where she out last him. It's selfish, he knows but since he's already taken so much from her, all he can ask is that she doesn't put him through her death. Unslightly cracks amongst his image is unheard of. Ferandno refuses to allow himself to crumble. Anna Gully must out live him. To do so would require protection and a means to arming herself. It's too late to refuse. Fernando catches the slightest linger of her eyes - he catches everything - and she has no chance to protest. There is nothing she can do to appease his demands and one by one her pokemon are stripped from his arsenal. They will serve her better in more ways than one. They're meant to be with her rather than collect dust in his desk drawer. He refuses her return and instead offers her more with the reunion of her pokemon. With that, and the money and affectionate belongings he lined into the many pockets of his coat, he figures that she'll be able to make due. Against all percieved notions, Anna Gully is a capable woman and an even more capable trainer. At least she will be once the target is wiped from her back.

[ANNA GULLY]

Goodbye. So long. The story would seem to end here, on a pier in the darkest hours of the night, surrounded by shanty, make-shift buildings and the occasional movement of a street dweller. The world had changed, it was time to accept that. I want to go with you. Too bad. But you said-- You don't have a choice. The slow inhale she attempted turned out to be a sharp gasp for air, an attempt to cover the sound of the inevitable tears. She thought they had stopped. Wrong. Again. Always. She shakes her head for naught-- she's already holding the coat again. A frown is plastered on her face as she stares at the heavy accessory, and she replaces it on her shoulders with reluctance. She has yet to find out the extent of what she's been given, even if her fingertips do brush past something in one of the pockets as she slips her pokemon away. There's nothing left to say. She can stare, and she does-- she soaks up everything she can before-- Does she leave first? Surely he wouldn't turn his back on her and leave her standing alone. But does he truly expect her to do the same? The pressure in her chest makes her want to get away, but that means-- "Will I see you--" Again? Ever? Anna doesn't want an answer. It's too likely to be the thing she prays not to hear. She can hope so, but hope is disappointment in disguise, flaunted as sweet, forgiving mercy. There is no mercy. Her shoulders are low as she steps past him, eyes so desperately wanting to look back as she forces them forward.