A haunting cry wavered under the rain. Monty shivered and pulled his coat tighter. With his second badge in hand, he’d hoped to cross the bridge near Motostoke and make a new friend or two, but this awful weather promised to stall him hard. “No sense gettin’ chills, Monty,” he murmured to himself. Good thing Dad’s cap was so darn warm.
There it was again. Spooky… Monty was no stranger to ghosts, even liked them a little. But he thought of that big old Golurk he’d seen stomping around yesterday and shivered harder. No promise for ghost to like him, none at all, and he didn’t like his odds just from eyeing that thing.
Argyle snuggled close in on his shoulder. Monty reached up to pat him. “No fear, old Gramps,” he told the old Eldegoss. “We’ll find a quiet spot, we will. Some place to pitch camp, wait it out.”
Under the bridge ahead looked right enough. Less rain down there. Maybe less big pokemon too. Fun to watch, but not fun to run from, not soaked to the bone. Monty hurried forward, then skidded in the muck and crouched fast. Argyle chittered sharply, indignant and spooked and quite nearly upended.
A little Toxel cowered against the stones. Didn’t look too good at first glance, and Monty didn’t think that was just mud there. Quiet as Monty’d tried to be, it looked up at them and tried to bristle, but didn’t have much luck at all. Definitely not just mud.
“Poor tyke,” Monty murmured. Reminded him a bit too well of some of the first-time-trainer’s bringings on hard afternoons, cracked and battered because some young ‘uns didn’t know how to play soft with others. But this was a wild thing, not an unlucky Nickit. ...and poison type. No signal on his phone out here with the big old bridge to block, no way to call Mako for advice. Monty checked his pocket, subtle as he could with the Toxel still watching, to make sure he had his medicine on hand. Dangerous, dangerous.
Argyle trilled again, nervous, as Monty pulled his tent out of his bag.
“It’s fine, Gramps,” Monty hushed him. “I know what I’m doing.” I really don’t, he admitted to himself. But it’s not like I can leave the little thing.
The Toxel didn’t move much as Monty pitched the tent and hauled the cooking pot to a relatively dry patch under the bridge, tucking rocks tidily around it. Maybe hurting, maybe tired, maybe just a really chill little creature, wasn’t too easy to tell from here. Monty let his pokemon out one by one, whispering to each to leave the Toxel alone. No sense scaring it.
Asper listened and nodded and curled beside the tent. Argyle stayed firmly on Monty’s shoulder. Scaevola huffed a little, already solid-sure that poison types made Monty sick as any grass type got after that one unlucky run-in with a Stunky. But he’d learned soundly too that Monty meant mountain, and Monty was as stubborn as one when his mind was made up. For his part, Opilio was too new to know any of Monty’s quirks, but didn’t care enough to be bothered. The Sizzlepede just got as close as he could to a shrug with so many legs and a carapace, then wrapped himself around the cooking pot to start it warming.
“Got so many apples, might be right as rain,” Monty muttered, rummaging through his ingredients, then laughed at the accidental pun as a raindrop dripped down his nose. “Fair-fair. So it’ll be. And we’ve got a right mixey crowd tonight… So plain-berry too, I think.” Good thing indeed for dropping those oran and persim on his noggin earlier, it seemed.
Toxel watched quietly as Monty prodded Opilio to the right heat and stirred away at the pot. Didn’t seem too bothered at the excitement when monty served the fresh curry up, either. Now, when Monty approached with a spare plateful, now that was a surprise.
“I won’t hurt ye,” Monty told the little pokemon, freezing in his tracks as it started to scoot away. It held still again and he crouched down to be a little more on its level. “Just want ye to have a snack, is all. Bit cold and damp for goin’ hungry, don’t ye think?”
Toxel did think, and took the plate slowly. Monty had to support it a bit still. Toxel didn’t seem to mind that part. It just ate and ate and licked the plate polished-clean. Didn’t beg for more, though. Just curled right up, huffed at Monty, and watched through half-closed eyes as he packed the cookware away.
“That better, luv?” Monty chuckled as his own accent thickened warmly. “Ha, haven’t had that slip out in a bit. Ye sleep tight then. C’mon, you lot, stop ricocheting around and cozy up. It’s right cold indeed.”
Toxel was still there when Monty and the team woke up to a misty dawn after the rain.
“Looking better this morning,” Monty told it politely. Toxel blinked. Monty took that as a maybe. “Mind if I come over again?”
Toxel didn’t seem to mind much of anything, really. Just seemed to focus hard on the sound of Monty’s voice.
Monty swallowed a bit of his medicine, just in case, like he’d have to on days when something doused in Poison-Powder got brought in, then crept over to Toxel again. Still surely not just mud there, if cleaner than before. Toxel had made at least a little try in cleaning itself up overnight. Monty stifled the urge to whistle--that might startle it too much--and settled for a quiet humming.
“Somethin’ messed ye up right good, lil’ critter. Even the nicest curry won’t set this quite right,” he said softly.
Toxel’s expression got quite deadpan. Of course it had already realized that.
Monty chuckled softly. “Right, right. So, to the point… I’m no good for fixin’ this. Can’t safely touch ye, see. Sorry about that.” He sighed. “Could bring help, but that’s no good, long ways to the town and back again. Might get more trouble-like while I’m gone, hm?”
Toxel looked fairly resigned now. It had realized that too. It was a sad, lost little resigned, though. The kind that only happened after finding a little hope. Monty felt his heart break just a little. He knew that look a little too well.
“If ye got any better ideas, I’ll help,” he whispered.
Toxel looked up at him, then at Argyle still on his shoulder. Then at the other pokemon out helping clear camp.
Monty did whistle. “Now really? I’m not against, but… ye true and sure? I mean, I’ll let ye go after if ye don’t like me enough, but that’s a lot to trust some stranger’s word.”
Toxel made a tiny clicking chirp in the back of its throat, the first sound Monty’d heard from him since the sad ghostly sounds before. It might’ve been laughter.
Monty tilted his head, conceded the point. “Alright, a stranger who made curry. Well… good enough. Haha, this’ll turn Mako’s hair grey...” He pulled a heal ball out of his bag. “This should help until I can reach a doctor proper. Welcome on, little one.”
