Agatha Kanto Elite

"Ha! Indeed. I haven't forgotten battle or the lessons, I just took my combat to a different venue. It's still there, mark my words-" he chatters on while automatically taking the glass jar, giving it a cursory look before scooping it under his arm in anticipation for another one. They had already had many a conversation about their cohesion. Despite everything, they worked well together.

"-- AND I am good at it! Come now- you know that there is no other academic who is more respected. But- throwing my hat in my other ring. Blue's a good choice by your meter- No I didn't wait for you to match my skill and I certainly didn't wait for any of my current rivals to either-"

He took the pearl from her, collecting it too in his palm.

"Our grandkids were never our rivals. You are saying I should see Blue, Ozzie, the both of them? As rivals for this particular power?"

Actually, it's not a bad idea. The specific wording makes him clutch the pearl in his palm and raise his hand to scratch at his chin. He felt the contents of his skull physically re-orient themselves.

"Ahh! I see. No, that makes perfect sense."

Eureka.

"Well, Daisy isn't collecting her own personal book of pressed flowers, and herbal garden that date back a century and more. I will still be coming to you."

Yukinari follows her about her workspace, a grin on his face.

Agatha snorts as Yukinari asserts that he hadn't lost his touch with battle. Even in her snippy and snide remarks, Oak was always her senior both in age and battle experience. She always gave him a run for it, in sport. And it wasn't the same as superiority in matters of life or death.

Oak was good. He got better, and continued to get better.

A fact she had to swallow in silence when she considered piecing him together just as Celebi's magic on him started to wane the last time Hanako cut him near in two.

An eye was a small price in comparison, and more readily manufactured.

"She's not-" Agatha agrees, sifting through gems, "Our grandchildren like playing in the dirt. Unearthing things. Neither leave well enough alone. Buried secrets and all... regardless, she has the tools she needs to make good use of it all when it does become hers."

She outstretches her palm, "We have onix that goes in regardless- I'm giving you a choice of tiger's eye, or brown jasper, citrine, tourmaline. You'll see out of it- but, since I'm feeling generous, and you're smiling like a loon, I'll throw in something extra."

He hadn't thought of it as coddling, but that was what it was in a world that would be constantly hit with conflicts and no real way to address those conflicts. It was also the burden of raising children in peacetime. They did not know what it meant to be in the kinds of violent, earth shattering conflicts. As much as he contributed to the world as a whole, it would never be a utopia free of conflict, but that did not nullify his experiences.

"The kind of trouble is different, Aggie. I know- I know. But it doesn't make it any less heartbreaking knowing that the passing of power isn't an honor, it's something I never wanted to do."

And with the world changing as it was...

"But, you are right. And I can't take back what they've seen. That would be more immoral, and... trickier."

Again, he scratched at the back of his neck. Things had suddenly become quite complex.

"I can't make that promise. I can certainly try."

"Feh. I miss the days when you were a trainer," she says rather bluntly, "It wasn't about the 'passing of power', it was forcing those little twerps that thought they knew better to meet you on your level and earn that power."

She turns to her kitchen area, nudging a step-stool in front of a detached pantry, and climbing up to a cabinet full of odds and ends that certainly weren't suitable for consumption, and rummages through containers, pulling each up to her sharp nose to inspect the contents.

She passes down a jar of cream-colored glass shards, hardly looking behind her, expecting the former husband to fall in step and collect her reagents for his proposed project.

"No better teacher than experience, in battle or witchcraft. You can learn a lot in general from writings and the observations of others, but to really have to hone your skills and not be a dabbler-" she says the word with a deep sneer, "You have to form a rigorous self-discipline, and form a covenant."

She inspects different pearls in her hands, feeling the weight and shape with her fingers, before settling on one and passing it back, "You only got as strong as you did because you kept fighting, and had to keep fighting, and took new rivals, and kept getting better and better at it. I got stronger too, but I never had to face the same things. And you never waited for me to match your skill."

It's said a little indignantly that suddenly he was going soft for the sake of the kiddos.

"But I have my covenant. One day, you'll have to be asking Daisy to fix you up, or any of her children. I'm not retiring from the Elite- if no one in the League has what it takes to snatch the title from an old woman, no one is worthy of being an Elite."

"Make them earn it. Let them have different ideas from you, too."

She's right.

"You're... right. I don't really want to. I can't fault anything for picking me, fate or otherwise, I really was the person to do what needed to be done."

It's terrifying thinking about passing the buck on. He couldn't keep it in the family, that was so abundantly clear. He'd never ask Daisy to do something like this, and Blue was much like Agatha, completely occupied with the present and drawing threads of the past for spite. They'd done the impossible and given their grandchildren a time of peace to exist in.

It made them bad soldiers and good people. His was a combat position. It made the decision more weighty.

Ozzie was a possibility but how exactly could he train them for this in the first place?

"Three? Well, I see the merit in that, but dividing temporal fingerprints into three pieces- it's bound to cause arguments... The safeguard is that Celebi is sentient, but... I suppose I just don't trust anyone. Not really."

The old Oak frowned, sighing and scratching the back of his damaged skull with frustration.

"I suppose what I do isn't something essential for life to continue, but it is a battle for the spirit, so it still is important. My aide came with me. So did Blue. They performed well under horrific pressure."

And he had been trying to reason with himself and orchestrate his peace with the fact they even went in the first place. Ookidos are stubborn, and his Wingull around the neck was his unachievable perfection. The kids (and they were still kids to him) shouldn't have had to see that. He had to let that go.

Yukinari fell into step beside Agatha.

"Maybe I should ask Blue and my assistant to work together. He's always wanted to see history and touch it. With enough time I think he'd want to try and save his world he lives in. Maybe."

"Maybe you should," Agatha agrees.

Oak had always perplexed her in the contradictions he held. 'Love and Trust' were fundamentals to him in the raising of pokemon- and yet the man held no trust for his fellow man.

Not that it mattered much to her. Pokemon and people were built for conflict and contradiction. It was that much chaos that made the life worth living and the fight worth fighting.

Pokemon were ultimately built for battle.

Those that weren't hardly survived the wild, or hardly survived human interventions.

"You can't keep holding back on them. The kids will get into trouble regardless. You need to give them the tools they need for this reality. You see what coddling does."

And in some degrees, she was guilty of it as well.

"One day, neither of us are going to have a say-so. Hell, there are lots of things we already don't get a say-so in. Glad to see you're finally coming around to that you tauros-head."

She humphs, tapping her cane on the ground as she passes her Golbat to look over reagents.

"If I go making this eye for you, you better not break this one too. I'll know."

"They'll have to kill me in that Elite Four chamber before I ever step down and leave."

Said most assuredly by the one person that still probably wouldn't leave even after death.

#;;status update

He tilted his face towards her for her to get a better view, and sighed with more drama then he actually felt about the situation. The loss of an eye in this day and age was just a setback, and one he could absolutely deal with, but getting Agatha involved in his own way was a bit more like jumping back into the Ponyta's saddle. He was back. In a way.

"Pity?"

What on earth was that supposed to mean?

"Anyways- That would be much appreciated. I'm no shy shot with one eye but I would rather two."

Agatha flipped the patch down and he winced.

"Ow- Well you seem to be pleased about my steps back into the temporal game! Which- I just can't seem to find a successor. No one in our immediate family has the temper I'd trust with time. Not now, anyways. Though I suppose a ten year old shouldn't have been trusted with time travel in the first place..."

And thus, he'd be doing this same thing until he was dead.

"Agh... Maybe I should just pick someone within the decade. I just simply don't feel old."

"Age is a frame of mind as much as a physical state. Some of us are more predisposed to age well, and others have blessings to count."

She leans back for her cane and rests her hands atop it, "I'm surprised you got back into the game at all. I thought you were forcibly retired from it."

No one else had the temperament for time travel. Agatha herself was completely present-minded, and if she had gone back and forth through time, there'd be a list of multiple people she'd have spited.

The old witch would be content with the gift of flowers instead.

"You can train a temperament. You can't look for perfect if you really want to retire. Train anyone you think is good enough. Either way, it'll take at least three people to replace what you do, so you'll never be truly out of it."

She closes her eyes, "Just think about how much annoyance you'll actually tolerate in your retirement. And prepare for it."

Agatha thwapped the soft end of her cane against his sternum and it pulled his attention directly forward to meet her eye to eye. He had difficulty focusing with just one eye, the other resting under a soft cloth eyepatch now that the worst of the tissue healing had come to pass. A bit of the to-be scar, now stitched mounds from the blade attack, stuck out from each side.

"I am... aware that it may be a BIT more than the usual scrapes and tumbles- HOWEVER-"

Ookido set his teacup down. He held two pointer fingers to emphasize it, placating the verbal lashing.

"I came to you because I thought about fixing the situation. And then I thought you would fix it more effectively with a bribe-"

He lifted the lapel of his coat and fished out a small bundle of purple flowered weeds, corded and bagged. Despite everything, he had used to bring her flowers from different timelines, and that hadn't changed even after they split.

They really were better friends.

"I could fix it myself. But..."

She sighs, turning her hard gaze to the packaged bundle and shifting to an appraising look. Agatha picks it up, thumbing through the different specimens.

"... Well, consider me bribed."

They really were better off as friends.

Oak had too much a habit of getting into situations that were out of his depth, in her own opinion. A fact, which always earned her caustic worries. The fact that he always came out earned her abrasive forgiveness.

Truthfully, this isn't the worst off he's been.

Setting aside the flowers, she lifts herself up to cross the distance between them and cup her hands around both sides of the Professor's face with a firm, "Let me have a look at you."

Studying him intently with shrewd eyes and furrowed brow, she humphs over the mound of scar tissue forming and appraising the stitches when she flips up his patch with her thumb.

"I can't make you look how you did before, pity. I can help it heal faster, and I can grow you something to match the other. It's not going to be the same, but you won't be toddling about like a grounded Zubat, at the very least."

"Er..."

He's not entirely sure how to start the conversation of how he ended up with one eye, but holding the teacup, he had to start somewhere.

"I got myself into a bit of a situation."

"A bit?" the witch guffaws, "A bit?!"

"A broken rib is 'a bit' of a situation- a dislocated shoulder is 'a bit'-" she raises the tip of her cane to prod at the old professor's sternum, "- but an eye?! That is by no means, 'a bit.' You're more a fool than I'd thought!"

She narrows her eyes. Arbok slithers out of the way across the ornate rugs, as Gengar peeked out of the shadow of the grandfather clock. Mirrors lined both sides of the room, candles illuminated the scenery among thin rays of light.

Agatha lowers her cane and raises her own teacup from the saucer, holding it to weathered, pursed lips.

"You've some explaining to do, I hope you understand."

#;;about #nothing funnier to me than agatha taking ariana's girlboss card from her

bi-hop

What were they cooking here

cursedmystic

"Yes, that thing. I tangled with it about a year ago, during the Saffron Incident."

He steps into the room proper when she steps forward, his head down for a moment of reverence to her before he continues speaking, letting the tap of her cane guide his thoughts.

"I have been troubled by it for some time now. At first I thought it was simply the malingering effects of it after the Saffron Incident, as any psychics and mediums exposed to it continue to have severe signs of illness, but -- I think it's more than that."

His Gengar looks at him expectantly as he considers how best to explain the situation. The dull ache all over his body was certainly distracting enough.

"When we fought with it, I found myself in its literal grip when we were trying to banish it. Since then, I've had increasingly terrible nightmares, dizzy spells, weakness and pain. I thought it was just the typical symptoms of it, but the nightmares have become. . .specific."

He frowns as he says it - he hasn't mentioned it to anyone, not even Sabrina.

"They've started happening in a way where I can't tell if I'm awake or asleep, and the shadows are trying to tempt me with relief from the aches. I normally don't pay any mind to it, but it's been exhausting doing even normal things, and I keep finding my thoughts returning to what was said. I think it's affecting my Pokemon too."

"So, you were in its grasp?"

She frowns, halting in place to listen to Matsuba recount the night of the attack, and then the immediate aftermath. Hearing the symptoms of his problems and the admission that the Black Fog had him in its grip made the outcome clear to her, in no uncertain terms.

"Sounds to me like you've been cursed," she says. No beating around the bush.

"You stole two lives from it, is that not so?"

No matter how she knew.

"It's retaliating by stealing your life force and draining your energy so that you can't use your power effectively. As well as using you as a conduit to influence others."

"It would be prudent," she says, leaning her cane to the side, "for you to break that curse if you want to live- or at least die with your will intact."

#cursedmystic

cursedmystic

@elite-agatha / from here.

"They let me by because I didn't come as a challenger today. Maybe another time."

He's never officially finished the Elite Four, taking over the gym at an age where most would come up against them. Still, the air in the Plateau is thick with tension, the wavering determination of the challengers that pass through here.

Her team is called effortlessly to her side and his own Gengar rides a shadow along the wall, watching her with curiosity and respect in equal measure. She could command the ethereal as if she lived within it herself.

"No, I'm here seeking guidance on a manner most would have no idea how to deal with. I'm assuming you've heard of the recent struggles with the Black Fog?"

No need to beat around the bush. She'd probably get mad if he did.

"Oh, that thing."

She says it with bored irreverence.

"I have heard of it. It's made quite the ruckus in the East. Sleeping sickness, plague, mass death, possessions, hauntings on a massive scale. Making extra work for the psychics and mediums trying to hold the masses together."

"It's been quite annoying ever since they dug it up, and its admirers are even worse."

The older woman steps forward, tapping her cane with one hand by her side.

"I'm supposing you're one of the ones that has been troubled by it?"

A trick question. She knew his involvement in fighting it from the escape before this one, and was quietly impressed with the coordination effort.

She also knew that ghosts were spiteful things.

"What do you need help with?"

#cursedmystic

Normally he would call ahead of time, but for someone like Agatha, it feels wrong to call and ask about something of this nature. It's not hard to find her, after all -- she's either home or at the League, as far as Matsuba knows, so he waits until he's sure she's at the League.

There's a beleaguered challenger shuffling out from her room of the Elite Four, stomped once again by the Mistress of Ghosts. The air still smells like ethereal burning in the wake of her Marowak.

He raises a hand in greeting from the doorway. "Hey. I need your help with something."

Her lair is scorched, charred wood still burns with green embers from the wake of her Marowak's ghostly baton, and Agatha stood at her end of the painted arena guidelines, silently observing the destruction as a new champion-wannabe sulked out.

Waste of time.

Unlike her cohorts, Agatha did not have the patience to coddle anyone who didn't come at her with their absolute best. Did they think it was a cakewalk? Did challengers now not take the trials seriously?

"Pfeh," she tuts aloud, speaking mostly to herself and the company in the shadows, "What does the League expect? My colleagues slip up twice in one day and let two kids run through here like it's nothing, grab the champion's seat, and all of a sudden the challenges are a game. No more of that nonsense."

Never mind that she also lost to them. Never mind that one of them was her grandkid (she blamed her own slip up on sentiment), and the other was a freak of nature also related to one of her proteges (that one she blamed on her surprise).

Regardless, there's a chorus of agreement from her monsters, both on her belt and in the ethereal, as another colleague from a different division blots out what little light came in through the doorway.

"Mori Matsuba," she announces with two taps of her cane to recall her monsters out of the shadows and line up next to her, "What kind of help do you seek? Must be urgent enough that Bruno and Lorelei let you past with hardly a scratch... Or perhaps my colleagues truly have gone soft."

#cursedmystic

It’s like the chime of a clock.

Kikuko has always been his exact opposite in many ways. He was always good with crowds, classrooms, young children in groups, and she was not. He had, ironically, terrible timing, and Kikuko always seemed to arrive exactly when she was most meant to. It was a skill he’d envied when they had been married after enough half-polite emails or reminders about his endless schedule.

At one point, his grandson had suggested a private assistant, but his own Rotom had taken that mantle with a bit more finesse than any person could.

Kikuko arrived with the tick of her cane on the hospital floor, passing by the boys that exchanged a few looks and left with the announcement they were heading out to go for a walk.

“Ah- hello Agatha-” because she preferred the nickname and all its history, particularly coming from his mouth. The minute it came out of his mouth he knew it was too sharp.

He must look a sight, in some wrinkled dress clothes (a conference he’d left early), and a melting bag of ice chips on his knee atop a folded towel containing the condensation constantly dripping off the bag.

He couldn’t help but try to offer ice chips to Daisy- which was apparently, an extremely unhelpful thing to do when said more than once that it helped with the process (maybe he’d said it a few too many times). Regardless, he was shuttled off for the rest of the process.

-and back into the waiting room with Giovanni (an unusual surprise).

All the relationships in the room were soured for one reason or another.

"No, no," he waved a hand as he said it to wave it off, "My lab assistant is taking care of trainer registration and induction. The Pokedex has been completed for some time."