The reaction is wonderful. Could Red ask for any better? Disbelief makes Fire’s laugh more of a bark in his ears, and the more he clearly rolls Red’s proposal in his head, the more Red wonders—apparently, something he was going to do a lot of today—if the guy was always this easy to tease. Fire actually seemed to believe him. There was nothing a guy could miss more at the highest peaks of Mt. Silver than deceiving a young, innocent soul. For everything it had, it lacked that.
"Under you,” Red repeats in the moment available to slip it in.
It’s like water to a dry throat. Delicious.
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The innocent execution of Red's echoing questions earns the older trainer an eye roll. Probably the only thing that could break Fire's grimace at this point.
"Either you're delaying things or just tryna piss me off." He quietly shares this thought, putting his cup on the table to leave the rest of the tea to go cold.
"Maybe I could advise you on when to quit pushing people's buttons." What sort of day trip is this for him? Where is he even headed after this? "That might be hard for you being so blunt. I wouldn't consider myself that graceful but even we could talk about finesse for your people skills." How dry. Fire meets Red's prodding with a dull stare, but clearly his underlying frustration betrays his toilsome efforts for disinterest.
His voice gives him what he wants.
"Why wouldn't you?" Fire groans. "You've been here for less than 20 minutes and you're insufferable. I dunno-- maybe because you barely know me? There's plenty of other people who'd be happy to 'receive' you." He tastes some spite on the word. "If you hadn't found me here on your little excursion, would you even have thought to find out what I'm up to? Who I am now."
The unbalance in chatter was expected, no doubt; there isn't much he can do that annoying bit. Slight huffiness has him stop to direct something out of Red, regardless of how lame it may be. This isn't free of charge.
The life of Fire. There’s almost a warmth (lift logs), cooled back down (demands for the lot), then it comes back round, stoked for its journey. Resting in his stomach, accompanied by a far from modest sip of tea.
He’s getting close to halfway, regardless of his burning tongue. But he likes that; likes the scorching sensation down the back of his throat.
Likes watching how Fire’s eyes don’t shift. Won’t shift. Was the boy like this when they were kids? He’s sure he was more restless than this, a face that can look so sulky as it stares disinterest into the wood of the furniture.
He isn't just caught off guard. His mental following tumbles and rolls at the unanticipated proposal of Red's stay, his question of approval flipped into an invitation.
The man's unpredictability finally put a scowl on Fire's face, so Fire brings the cup of tea to his lips again before he looks to his guest, gaze hardly relaxed.
" Funny. Real funny. "
A short laugh burst abruptly from an otherwise flat show, a collision of disbelief, bitterness and amusement setting off fireworks in the blank dark to beacon turmoil. It all compounds into offense like it always has, and he scoffs at the usual defeat. " That wouldn't feel right. " He continues with an effort for lightheartedness. Maybe because he's sorting through it.
Fire hollows out, putting his drink on the table and leaning back with his arms as stilts. This is mine— I settled first. He tethered his aimless, insatiable self there and the thought of Red dropping out of the sky to anchor on this casual day felt more like a joke than a blessing. Was he always this sarcastic, teasing? Did Fire not remember or was Red rewritten over the years of vigorously pursuing the legend gifted with opportune timing? Oh, shut up.
" You, an apprentice? " That’s not you. " Under me. "
" What could I even teach you? " He surprises himself with sudden bashfulness that shoots through the murkiness, only for the clean cut to be brushed over again. " Why not somebody else? " Someplace else.
Im back from a holiday trip aND U KNOW WHat that means! it’s panic mode time with a thing due monday night and an exam + stud̷i̵o̴ ̵f̶i̵n̴͓͌a̴͚͊l̶͕͝ on thursday. WOOOO
I have a feeling I might reply to reddo this weekend, ya kno for fun. but dw, ill req a week hiatus if need be!
I guess this is a tiny starter call for after my studio final? so just msg below or on discord if u wanna have a thingy come December.
The name is refreshing off Fire’s lips, but still leaves Red wanting despite the taste of it. It’s disappointing; there’s a lacking energy, an emptiness that’s spilling into Red slowly as they enter the new room, his mind needing to find familiarity to a dusty part of his brain. Did he come into this room? Did it matter if he did, when the crucial element he connected to—a voice bouncing off every wall erratically, so commanding—wasn’t here?
It’s so quiet. A dojo waking up is a dojo Red doesn’t like.
( But even the ferocity of fighters needs to understand the power in grace and patience, and exist in harmony, speaks a voice wiser than he ever would. Kiyo? Who knows.
It’s threatening to become uncomfortable, remembering so many ghosts. )
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Watching Red claim a spot at the low table invokes a swell of nostalgia, and Fire inhales with the mental buildup of his neighbor's living room. Their mothers have just made two cups of instant coffee, which ensures another hour of chatter. Mom encourages Fire to nap on the couch if he's tired but he wants to sit with Red. See what game he's playing. Peace of mind was child's play.
What's Fire turned this into?
Whatever the answer, the guy turns the page with nonchalance that Fire envies (huh, about that), and the younger trainer settles at his level. He takes a cautious sip of the tea, accepting that serving the others would yield to this ... exhilarating encounter.
Hitmonlee. Fire doesn't recall the seeing the Pokemon in Red's Hall of Fame portrait - never strategized their hypothetical battle concerning one. He hums in a lazy response, letting the detail pass for the sake of pacifying his old, stupid obsession. Then he brings the steaming drink back to his lips, and his gaze falls half-lidded at the following question. The earthiness better ease his headache.
" I do more than just that. What do you think I do day-to-day? " Words tumble. Ever wondered?
" I train, sometimes coach. Fix up the place: lift logs, two-by-fours, tubs of varnish. Hold back the municipal demands for this lot. The only kicking I do is kicking out Blaine when the old timer refuses to fly back to his island at a reasonable hour. "
" Interested? " in staying? " Or bored restless? " His eyes haven't left a knot in the wood of the table,
the daring rift in favored, unfussy grain.
Fire is putting on a decent show really, despite their guest’s blasé assessment of the unfamiliar situation surrounding them. A master of ‘internalization’ at this point in his life, Fire feels his core tightening by the second as the reality of Red’s landing sinks in. Past panic and apathy - stations at silent offense.
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He swears the carbonized woods are creaking louder today, perhaps disappointed in the lousy disorder weighing down on it. But who could expect him to overcome this resurfacing unrest so easily when subjected to the prickling of neutral eyes on his back.
Unimpressed.
Fire could sense something hushed - he knows the feeling too well.
Suddenly he stops, as they’ve arrived at the doors of the makeshift lounge already. His fingers settle on the notch of the shoji that's been left a bit open (and he scolds an absent figure, distracted briefly by the onset of colder weather).
Fire spares Red a look. " Kiyo. " The name is fresh on his tongue, his reiteration of it feeling like a long awaited echo from its glory days. Fire's predecessor, Kiyo's enduring student, honored the man as his master with each mention, and Fire was always sure to appease the lone fighter referring to the man as such.
" Good, I'd say. You know passion— tenacity is their life-blood. The Fighters. " He slides the doors apart, showing one of their more open and cleaner rooms given its constant flexible use. The back and left wall are planes of blank fusuma, suggestive of deeper spaces, and the built-in shelving to their right is what Fire goes to, pushing floor cushions under the low table on his way. A set of stainless steel cups, a chilled pitcher of tea. " Let’s see, what’s news to you ... He trained in Johto for a couple years. Now he's challenged with an unpopular dojo in Kalos. Ambitious. You gone there yet? "
He holds out a cup for Red, a slight shake in his hand forced still. " Sorry ... if he’s who you came to see. " There would’ve been a warm welcome otherwise.
Still, it’s intriguing in a way, comparing the present to a past that he didn’t even know. The downtime that came before the inspiring quotes belted out from iron stomachs, passion moulded in square jaws, square shoulders, discipline and in love.
If Red remembered anything normal about the city, it was the unapologetic vitality of a wounded dojo, keeping a stuff upper lip despite the hearts they wore on what remained of their torn up sleeves.
Fire is putting on a decent show really, despite their guest's blasé assessment of the unfamiliar situation surrounding them. A master of 'internalization' at this point in his life, Fire feels his core tightening by the second as the reality of Red's landing sinks in. Past panic and apathy - stations at silent offense.
Red gets a chuckle out of the sweepers with that comment. And Fire would hear the enthusiasm about this wiseguy being a formidable opponent buzzing behind him if he wasn't numbing under the scrutinizing eyes of his self-proclaimed rival. There is a faint ring in his ears, and when Red speaks it again it feels like Fire's heard the flat voice through a wall.
" Yeah, I work here? " He tests those words, confusion coiling at the just in the question.
A break in their miserable rhythm of a conversation warrants a barge in. The friend who announced Red returns with a hand smacking onto Fire's stiff shoulder. ‘Hey, this guy looks like he belongs in a dojo more than you do. We've got some work to do, huh?’ It's when the tease squeezes his trapezius that Fire jerks away in the direction of a staff-indicated door, leaving Red relaxed and his manager amused.
Mocking has his throat fucking dry.
Walking away, he braces for a dignified invitation. " I'll get some tea and water for everyone. Red, you can follow if you want. " Fire opens the forest green door to an extensive hallway staccato-ed with various open rooms on the right and windows ribboning the left wall. A glance at the ikebana on the far end grounds something, so Fire looks back at his senior. Nods instructively.
Perhaps it’s the gamble — how she is familiar with that.
Do you have enough coins for the Dratini?
No, but it’s coming, just you wait.
Or maybe it’s the raucous — the cheerful beeps and lowly boops.
The whir of a win, the boo of a loss.
Or perhaps it serves a purpose to something more — at least to her.
A little Escape Rope if you will.
Let’s forget for a bit and gamble for that plushie, shall we?
It appears as if this particular plushie did not want to be won by the likes of her.
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A small oh escapes Fire when destiny tosses its pick right at him. Silly of him to take upon choosing the lucky winner himself, feeling like lousy prongs of a claw that people'd shake their heads at. But something extraordinary happens for him: the sought prize gets picked up with another.
Fire quietly laughs at first, dazed as much as she. Just how did she always know when and where to find him? The cheers of prizewinners in the adjacent aisle allows, to some degree, an excuse to look away from Leaf and wonder that for a second. This episode of gambling in his life - her cameo could be the second 7 of three, or the first caution to cash out. These metaphors run down his spine and perhaps for the first time,
he is a bit shaken by this. Them.
When she says his name, sweet and in soft suspense, Fire returns to her. Drapes his jacket on his arm, swiftly. A hand goes around the plushie to rest on her forearm and lead it back to her core, then he wraps her in a hug that is perhaps too warm and aromatic (and smooshed - save Vulpix) given his prior errand. But her thinking wasn't that far off from his that night apparently, a silhouette of drinks veiled by the cigarette smoke he remembers from the stairwell of the building. There is something floral too.
Nuzzling, to setting his chin on her shoulder, Fire lets go of a sigh to finally give her his voice.
“ Hey, would you keep it? I'll hold it for you if ya want. Say you're not leaving. ”
He separates them enough for a good look at Leaf and doesn't part any further. A certain hope is guarded behind his LED-speckled eyes, fanned by larger prospect, but the immediate adoration for her gleams without reserve.
“ If you don’t want it- that’s fine too. Someone’ll take 'em. ”
The main event is over: The warm hugs, the smiles that reach the eyes, the faces lit up in surprise from every body that comes knocking on the door of his mother’s house. Some semblance of peace exhales over Pallet Town, and Red is thankful for it, but finds the tension in his own body hasn’t released.
Home was for a boy three years his junior, its normal routines making a soul like his restless. So he does what he does best to combat it: Travel, but within the borders of Kanto.
He reads the antique scroll every morning in passing, the evidence of a promise miraculously upheld despite his notoriety for backing out of things. If the tender, unreserved tears of a relieved apprentice couldn't turn his ways, then he would be heartless - so Fire even dusts the faded paper once a week. Laughs those words in battle.
Mumbles them into an awakening cup of cold green tea.
The dojo wasn't looking for a savior, per se. Aching cypress framing and scarred tatami sought an energy akin to its appetition for stability and growth to recenter the spirit of the facility; and to suspend its metropolitan ironing. An insatiability of his level did just the trick. Can he really say he runs it? He sweeps, slides the right windows open, makes calls about replacing the singed or obliterated stucco walls. Funds it.
The others do more.
When Fire enters, calling to others like a sibling who’s returned home, the day's manager tells him that they've temporarily sheltered the old scrolls in the office, that earlier's matches got a little out of hand but were well worth the adjusted tolerance. His amusement waves it off. The breathable mats carry his weight and the faintly bitter air clouds his preoccupations. Fire takes on the clean-up, and doesn't yield to any other matter until someone hooks on and pulls.
“ Look, you’ve got a fan boy. ”
It’s embarrassing
the way Fire looks away after accepting his presence. It’s dizzying. It’s been a minute now and no one’s gone up to him. And suddenly Fire is bothered. They must know him. Don’t they know who he’s dealing with? Fire faces Red again.
Fire tosses aside a torn patch of the floor (which is quickly swept away, the rhythm carrying on), and walks to him, gut tight, maybe sick, stops at the edge of the subtle elevation change. He doesn’t even think to take off his gloves or wipe some dust off his tee. “ Welcome back, Red. ” And he forgets a smile. “ ... What do you think? ”
The breeze is particularly fresh, and ever proclaimed a challenger, Fire harbors curiosity for this pleasant shift. Kanto, retaking its signature status of Region with the Healthiest Air after the questionable warpings in Alola’s skies, boasts a certain viridity up to the very cement edges of its urban centers. While the rural winds can breathe care into the upper stories and rooftops of Celadon’s infrastructure, Fire shouldn’t be recalling camp outs along ravines and falls with the backdoor of the Game Corner in his periphery.
So, this makes him pause.
He waits for something that does not come. Suspicion isn’t too out of place in this block, but when was the last time he feared the street? Had to be before age 11 ... A slight slouch indicates a reluctant tuck of the matter, preceding the continuation of his shortcut across the city. But it turns out that he was right to anticipate something.
Fire emerges from the mouth of an alley, and the force of a Miltank nearly knocks him off his feet. In the effort to keep his balance, Fire’s fumbling bumps him against the nearby concrete corner.
And he chooses not to catch his tongue. “ What the hell!? ”
Probably. You’re just another special guy after all. We were children together, but somehow home’s delicate carriage of your name and the world’s fascination of your glory blurred the boy I was curious to know into an intangible icon I had to be worthy to realize.
It must have confused a lot of people— the way I antagonize(d) you. It confused me too, but with daring dreams and a naive under-appreciation for quiet... chasing you was what made the most sense.
What was your goal exactly? Couldn’t have been filling the PokeDex; Oak laughs when I bring it up. (He always asks Samson about you). Simply winning, getting stronger? How did Team Rocket change you ... did it even?
I’m afraid to ask still. Any answer would suffice for anyone else, but warning you that whatever you say - or don’t say, that’s your thing - might bother me. I’m unfair. Maybe mean.
Everyone is seriously happy that you found a new home in Alola; you’ve done a great favor once again. Seeing Red on vacation? A real upgrade from a blizzarding mountain, hero. I guess it’ll suit you soon enough.
can u believe I’m wannabe red again. so COOL to be back, I feel so giddy.
BECAUSE I’ve finally thought of a future for him! it’s killed me for several years not being able to select a path of development or imagine a post-game goal. I’VE DONE IT. I CAN WRITE HIM AGAIN. and story’ll unravel, I guess!
imma stick with my open for now because..infamous...for...poofing guilt..:”)
just hmu if you have something in mind or want to know about his newest hc!
It’s a bit cold for his liking, but when did a little chill deter him from short sleeves? He presses his black jacket to his side with a stiff elbow. Unbuttons the cuffs of his wrinkled shirt to slide the cotton up his arm.
Before his third go at the Alolan Vulpix plushie claw machine, he notices the trace of obligatory sake on his lips with a flick of concentration.
Another ₽400 for the next biggest challenge of his life.
Exaggerating? Nah.
A new chapter is on the horizon, and the calculated touchdowns of empty bottles distracting from the truly buzz-inducing side conversations makes sure of it. Whether they wrote it for him or he made it his, is still undetermined, but he doesn’t intend to say pass just yet.
Learned hits and a decisive press wins him the light blue plushie. It’s a decent deal - a good 30cm in height. Fire scratches its snout with reflex as he dedicated a season to train his own Vulpix, discovering the right time for her evolution. Was it right? Pursing his lips, he wonders if the CopyCat girl would like this— then wonders if she already has one. Losers were plenty in an arcade, so the trainer turns away from his claw machine to consider using his tired voice a little longer tonight.
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