Eight And Sand
[Crossposted on AO3]
Word Count: 2353
Characters: Ingo, Irida, Kamado, Zisu, Adaman, Mentions
Rating: Teen and Up (Swearing), Gen
Tags: Exile, Spoilers (for main story, not post game), Autism (not explicitly stated but heavily implied), Superstition (kinda), False Accusations (that whole arc), Autistic Ingo, Optimistic Ending, Kamado Negative (as always)
Warnings: Brief forced eye contact and touch (NOT SEXUAL)
Summary: Shortly after Arceus' Fated Child was expelled from the village in which they lived, another kindred soul entered the town.
He did not remain long.
Shortly after the sky went red, Ingo had found himself at the Training Grounds.
He wasn’t quite sure what drew him here. Perhaps it was seeking familiarity, both in the atmosphere of a battling arena and in the presence of a friend. Perhaps it was the feeling of wrongness he felt when he had passed the townspeople, previously ignored in favor of his set destination. Or, perhaps he was simply drawn there, the comfort of routine and a sense of purpose putting the steam in his engine.
Truthfully, the red sky had him rattled. He’d never seen something like this before, and despite his limited frame of reference, he figured it was safe to say that he hadn’t before, either. Although, to be fair, it was likely no one had seen something like this before. The town certainly felt tense, even with Ingo being as dense towards social cues as he was, and a collective anxiety would explain such an abrasive air about the Village.
The steps up to the dojo were worn and familiar, the ground remaining unchanged even as its opposite twisted in kaleidoscopic patterns. His habit of keeping his eyes trained somewhat downward did not spare him from seeing the dark look flitting over Master Zisu’s face, as he had risen his gaze to focus on her hair, as was polite.
A spark of confusion flickered in his chest, the tension of the town finally registering in his consciousness. The strange looks he’d mostly ignored, the hostility crackling within the air, the oppressive silence that met his arrival… what had he missed, in his typical habit of going full speed ahead?
“Master Zisu!” Ingo greeted boisterously, deciding to keep his typical routine and greeting. In a way, it was a desperate grasp for normalcy, a not-so-silent plea to her for peace. He knew not what sort of peace he reached blindly for, but something was amiss. “Hello!”
“Warden Ingo.” Zisu looked at him directly, then, pinning him in place with her gaze. Her tone was cold, her voice firm. She had never been so… shut off, as long as he had known her (which, he supposed, wasn’t long. But for him, it had been a decent chunk of time). A smile had not graced her face even once, he realized, and the lines of tension in her brow had never faded,
After a long moment where Ingo waited for her to explain herself, or say anything, really, he spoke again, softer. “Zisu? What is going on?”
A bolt of rage flashed across her face, wiped away quickly enough that Ingo could almost convince himself he’d imagined it. There were other emotions there, as well – pain, disbelief… strong enough that he, in all of his socially inept glory, could pick up on it quickly. He felt the oppressive air sink lower onto his shoulders, deepening his slouch, if minutely. “You have a lot of nerve showing up here, Warden Ingo,” she finally said, her words carefully measured and clipped. None of her usual fiery passion fueled the words.
“What do you mean, Master Zisu?” His voice returned to its normal volume, and the departure from the quiet inquiry seemed to frustrate her even more. The confusion in his voice was impossible to hide, and he didn’t bother to.
“You–” Zisu began, the fire behind her words rekindling, but before she could continue, a distant shout from Kamado silenced her. They both turned, and the utter puzzlement Ingo felt only increased as he witnessed Kamado marching up the stairs like a soldier to war, followed closely by the Clan Leaders.
What the fuck was happening?
Irida looked… he supposed the best word was grim, but he couldn’t gather for the life of him why she’d look like she was approaching her terminal station. Adaman didn’t look much better, but he was easier to read, his emotions less suppressed than Lady Irida’s in the moment. Where she looked as if she were to face an alpha Steelix barehanded and knew she could not win, Adaman had a cold fury swimming in his eyes. It reminded him of someone, of bloody fists and a manic smile… as he sought to latch onto it, the memory danced away, as if taunting him. Even in such a dire situation, his memories played games.
Kamado, however, looked murderous. It was clear he was the source of Adaman’s fury when, with little prompting, the man’s fist was bunched in his coat – hands off hands off hands OFF – and lifting him to force him to look him in the eyes. His skin crawled. Kamado did not know of Ingo’s aversion to eye contact, but in that moment, he knew that the Commander wouldn’t care. “Warden Ingo of the Pearl Clan. Explain yourself.” He all but growled, poorly contained fury lapping at the edges of his tone.
“Commander Kamado!” Lady Irida shouted, and – his brain had a brief lay-by. Shouted? Lady Irida rarely raised her voice in the presence of Clan members. She’d told him that it made her seem younger than she was, petulant, and she couldn’t afford to have a lapse in maturity, not in her position. “Unhand him. Now.”
“So you side with the outsider, Lady Irida? The traitor?” Kamado did not unhand him, but his gaze had left Ingo’s eyes, and that was a small victory.
“Your claims are unfounded, Commander.” Her voice took on a scathing air, and it was becoming clearer with every passing moment that there was a lot of context absent on Ingo’s end in this exchange. “First the child, and now my Warden. Watch your step, Kamado.”
The air took on a dangerous aura, neither Kamado nor Irida willing to budge. He knew it probably wasn’t the best time, but Ingo felt completely, utterly uncoupled from this conversation. “I deeply apologize, Commander Kamado, Lady Irida. If I may… what, exactly, is this about?”
Kamado’s angry eyes returned to his, and Ingo regretted speaking up. “The sky is what this is about, Warden Ingo.” The reasoning for Kamado’s emphasis on ‘Warden’ escaped him. “What did you do?”
“What did I–” Ingo, in his shock, allowed his voice to rise well beyond even his normal loud volume. “What did I do? As in, you think I caused something to happen to the sky?”
The Commander’s grip tightened in his already tattered collar, and Ingo had the faint thought of I hope he doesn’t tear it before his mind caught back up. “You and them,” the pronoun was hissed through gritted teeth, and Ingo assumed he was referring to the child, judging by how he was acting with him, “you dropped from the sky. Both of you. You may have been here for a couple of years yet, and them for some odd months, but you two are the variables.”
“The– the variables?” Ingo interjected, incredulous. The situation was dire, yes, but dire enough to drive the Commander mad? Truly, what was happening?
“Do not interrupt me, outsider.” At the silence that followed, he continued, “You came through the rifts. Amnesia is an awfully convenient excuse for a spy, would you not agree? You come through the rift first, gather information on our Clans and our Team, and bide your time for your companion. You gain our trust, pretend you don’t remember a thing beyond your name. You aggravate the nobles. Your companion quells them. An efficient setup.”
“Commander Kamado.” Irida’s hand came to Kamado’s wrist, the one holding Ingo’s collar. She squeezed, and Ingo knew she was much stronger than her appearance would suggest. Even so, Kamado only winced, returning his gaze to her. “I will not ask you again. You will remove your hands from my Warden now.”
Perhaps it was the cold steel in her voice and eyes, or perhaps simply wanting to avoid another incident, but Kamado loosened his hold enough for Ingo to step back a couple of paces. His foot tapped rapidly in an attempt to calm himself down, even if only a slight amount. Lady Irida remained next to him, arms crossed, allowing no room for argument.
Undeterred by the change in position, Kamado continued. “If not a spy, which I am not certain we can rule out, you most certainly are a catalyst. You are not innocent in this whole affair.”
Ingo opened his mouth to defend himself, but for once, he found his voice abandoning him. Was he some sort of spy? Surely he would know if he were a spy, no? Could he be some sort of… sleeper agent? Is that what they’re called? But he would know if he made the Nobles frenzied, he was sure! … Would he?
Kamado took his silence as damnation. “He dares not defend himself. Lady Irida, he is your Warden, but this is a matter of dire importance. On behalf of the Galaxy Team, I am offering my official advice that he should not be allowed to continue his duties. I ask of you: release him into our custody. We will keep him contained. He can’t hurt anyone with us.”
“No.” Lady Irida’s answer was swift and firm. Kamado frowned at her. “And I know you will threaten diplomatic standing with the Pearl Clan. But you will not be imprisoning one of my finest Wardens. This is non-negotiable.”
Kamado opened his mouth, and then shut it. He took a deep breath, and then two more for good measure. When he had composed himself, he opened his mouth once more. “I propose a compromise, then.” Irida gestured to continue. “Exile. Much like with the child.”
They were exiled? Ingo thought faintly, blinking slowly as the gravity of his words set in. Exile… that’s… better than imprisonment.
Irida looked as if she were to object, so Ingo stepped in. “My apologies for interrupting you, Lady Irida, but I believe the Commander has offered a reasonable compromise for the options at hand. I cannot allow my safety to come above those of my Clansmen. There will be no Trolley, here. I can accept exile.”
Before his Leader could interject, Kamado steamrolled her. “He agrees. The matter is settled.” Kamado took this moment to look at Ingo, mercifully allowing him to gaze at his (frankly ridiculous) mustache. “Warden Ingo. No, just Ingo.” Somewhere deep in his heart, Ingo felt a twinge of grief at the removal of his title. It felt like losing something twice, but he knew he’d only held this title once. “If we see you out there, if we think you culpable for this? You will be arrested. No question. Say your final goodbyes at the gate.”
It was like a blur, going from the Training Grounds with the disdainful stares of Kamado and Zisu to the gate, guarded by Ress, who looked… surprisingly sad, given the context. Adaman and Irida accompanied him, the former a surprise. It was possible he was there to support his fellow Leader, of course, but his clenched fists betrayed his distress over the situation. How odd.
“Ingo… I…” Irida started, her voice choked. Having known her as long as he had (as long as he could remember, more like), Ingo could tell she was blaming herself. It was a difficult situation on either side of the tracks, he knew. “I’m sorry, Ingo.”
“Lady Irida.” Ingo looked at his Clan Leader, really looked at her. She was disheveled, her eyes tinged red with unshed tears. Her shoulders had a resolute set to them, but they quivered ever so slightly, holding back what was likely an onslaught of emotion. A Clan Leader must be dignified in public, he knew. “I made this decision. It is no failing of your own, nor is it something that you would be able to control.” Although his voice was loud, it belied his sadness, his confusion… he had always been better at voicing his emotions. Irida seemed to understand him, though. For that much, he was grateful. Grateful for everything, really.
“You should… seek out Lady Sneasler.” Irida took a deep breath. “In the Coronet Highlands. Not many Galaxy Team members go there, and no matter what Kamado says, you are still her Warden. Only your Noble or your Leader can deem you unfit.”
“I cannot go to the Settlement.” It was hardly a question. Both of them knew that.
“...No.” Irida clenched her fists and unclenched them, releasing some of the stress. “But I will check on you, much like I’ll be checking on the child. I’ll bring some supplies. I know you can care for yourself, but they don’t hurt.”
“Thank you, my Lady,” Ingo’s voice had a smile, the warmth and gratefulness he felt for his Leader shining strong even in the dire situation they found themselves in.
Adaman piped up from where he’d been observing, close enough to hear but far enough that they’d had relative privacy. “If you need anything, anything at all. I’ll kick Melli’s ass into shape and have him help you. As catty as he is, he likes you.”
That got a soft snort out of Ingo, and Adaman finally smiled. It wasn’t until that moment that Ingo realized that he looked strange without a smile or a pompous air.
Ingo liked him better smiling, he decided.
He turned back to Irida, sensing that this was the true farewell, at least for that moment. “Lady Irida. I know I will see you soon, but in the event of a derailment… thank you. For everything you’ve done. I cannot express how welcome you have made me feel, nor the gratitude I feel towards you. I know I have little frame of reference, but I can say that I have not had a better friend.”
Lady Irida truly had to hold back tears, then, he knew. She came forward and embraced him tightly, and Ingo found he did not mind it coming from her. He held her back just as fiercely. For a Clan that valued space, a breach of it was sacred. “I wish you… what was it? You’ve said it before. Eight and … and…”
“Eight and sand. Thank you, Lady Irida.”
