Odd had been sitting up on the top part of the roof in his typical fashion; headphones on, music blasting, and watching carefully as light mist and fog covered Po Town.
He could’ve been sitting up there for hours, drowning the out the sounds of nature and Shady House that were clashing with one another. The Champion closed his eyes, and allowed himself to sink into the lyrics and rhythms pouring themselves into his brain.
He thought back on the things that had brought him here, to this mess, to his title, to Alola, to h o m e.
His home wasn’t Vermillion City, it was here.
After what felt like a whole day, he noticed Guzma was just below him, on a slightly lower part of the roof.
Odd cracked a grin, then let himself slide down to the Calavera’s level.
That was something in itself, being called that.
And Odd was sure that it meant as much to Guzma as being called Champion meant to Odd; if not more.
He pulled his headphones down so they were hugging his neck, and paused the music playing from his phone.
Bright red eyes smiled at his old friend.
“Coulda called it from miles away, honestly. You really outdid yourself, Guzma.”
In all honesty though, the Champion couldn’t be happier for him considering where he came from.
Guzma had a huge group of people to back him up, and they all seemed like a close-knit family, something that neither Odd or Guzma had when they were small.
“B’sides, I heard ‘Calavera’ being thrown around a little around here, and I think it suits you tons better than some Champion title. It’s a lot more personal, right?”
He took a few moments to mull over Guzma’s words, and nodded.
Meaning would definitely be nice; Odd had been running around somewhat aimlessly lately, almost restless.
It was still fun, though.
[ ☠ ] — “I mean, I like th’sound’a it, kinda sticks,” Guzma cackles to himself, lighting a new cigarette as he leaned his head back, the lingering remnants of smoke billowing from his lips as he glances at his friend.
“Mostly stemmed from needin’ an alias to avoid th’authorities, but, it jus’—kinda became me. Not sure if that’s how it works when ya become champ, though, I do look at ya now and instantly think ‘bout you whippin’ ass in the league!”
One of Guzma’s unspoken fears was that his family and friends would find things that were are more superior than existing in a den of criminal activity—that they would leave Alola and SKULL behind forever in order to pursue a better life; while the Calavera realized that it was selfish for him to demand that everyone remain in his domain, rather than making something of himself, there was always a sense of satisfaction when they would eventually come back. In the case of Odd, he was happy to have his dear friend back. There had been a vacant part in his soul that was gone—after all, they were inseparable as children.
Knowing that he had not lost the trust of Odd because of his criminal background was even more assuring. Countless people turned their backs in disgust when Guzma had to resort to illegal deals in order to survive, while others realized that it was his only choice due to the scenario that he was existing in.
“—SKULL’s a gang, yeah, but, we also a fam’; I give these people a second chance t’prove themselves. It ain’t legal, but—th’world, it turned its back on people like me,” Guzma muses to himself, watching as the flame from his lighter licks the end of his cigarette.
“…But it ain’t all bad doin’ this. Jus’ ‘cause I feed myself in a different way don’t mean I’m a terrible person. You’d be real safe if ya crashed in Po Town, man—nobody would fuck wit’ you or try an’ swarm ya wit’ paparazzi.”
The last comment causes Guzma to snort, flashing a teasing grin in Odd’s direction.
“You a big star now! Y’need guards.”
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