June 18th, Coumarine City
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Among the bustling crowds of Kalos' chief port city, Coumarine, one man was doing his best to blend in. His grey flat cap was pulled low over his head and his grey pea coat's collar was popped up, effectively concealing his identity save for his piercing steely-grey eyes which shifted back and forth in constant search for danger. His boots slammed against the cobbled-streets just fast enough to get him to relative safety quickly by following the flow of foot traffic through the open air markets, and he had to force himself not to speed up and risk betraying his sense of urgency. He wasn't completely innocuous, however, and several Coumarine citizens quickened their own pace or changed directions entirely if they happened to meet the scowling criminal's eyes.
After only a few minutes of walking the man ducked into a collection of residential side streets, clutching his purchases tightly in one hand and fishing around his pockets for his apartment key with the other. His fingers found the cold brass key just as he reached his destination, and he stepped down into the lowered front patio and took one last look around before unlocking the deadbolt and quickly slipped inside the three room apartment.
Montagne Khastil breathed a sigh of relief as he locked the deadbolt behind himself.
I never imagined something as simple as getting groceries would be so stressful, he thought as he crossed the small kitchen and set the bags down on the counter that divided the kitchen from the living/bedroom.
It had only been two days since his abrupt departure from the Old Guard, but Monty was already feeling the weight of his decision bearing down on him. He hadn't dared to leave his hastily acquired apartment for those two days, opting to hunker down and ensure his arrival wasn't noticed by any Old Guard contacts in the city. The
milieu wouldn't take Monty's theft and escape lightly, and he would likely need to escape Kalos entirely for a while to let things blow over.
Dahlin had the right idea getting out when he did, Monty mused as he began unpacking the groceries.
He went off to the United League right when the operational scale shifted up. The man reminisced for a moment as his hand drifted upwards to trace the scar on his jawline.
That was about when I got this, huh? He wondered if his brother had ever even seen him with the scar. Monty could already hear Dahlin's voice chiding him for letting his ass get beat badly enough to earn such a wicked trophy.
Eh, I more than repaid the favor.
Monty's focus shifted back to his current situation as he reached the last three items; a bag of Oran berries, a bag of Pokemon food pellets, and a single Pokeball.
Maybe today will be the day, he thought as he picked up the items and quietly walked into the living room area. Monty laid eyes on a sickly little Houndour sleeping in an open cage, also known as the previously mentioned theft from the Old Guard, and set a bowl down a few feet away. The stomp of the man's boots on the dirty hardwood floor stirred the sleeping puppy from its slumber, and it fixed its fiery eyes on Monty and began growling as he filled the bowl with Pokemon food.
"Hush your growlin'," Monty said to the Houndour in a mildly annoyed tone. "I'm not going to hurt you." Just as the previous two nights, the spirited little puppy wasn't easily convinced. Even though Monty had saved it from the Old Guard's trafficking, and even though he had offered it half of the takeout he had ordered since they'd arrived in the apartment, the puppy never left the cage and the disgusted and distrustful look in its eyes never disappeared.
Monty crouched down and moved the bowl a little closer to the open cage door, ignoring the increase in protest from the Houndour, and backed off to retrieve his leftover Johtoan Takeout from the fridge for himself.
Maybe tonight won't be the night after all, Monty thought dejectedly as he set the microwave to heat up his dinner. As the whir of the microwave filled the small apartment, Monty picked up on another sound emanating from the living room.
CRUNCHCRUNCHCRUNCHCRUNCHCRU-
The man cracked a slight smile as he listened to the sound of the Houndour eating.
At least the thing isn't gonna starve, the man thought with relief as he remembered the past two days of fasting from the poor pooch. The crunching died down by the time Monty's food was ready, and he began chowing down only to watch an orange snout peek its way around the corner of the counter and bring the rest of the Houndour's head with it.
Monty took a couple more bites of his food as he and the Houndour stared at each other, the former's expression slightly curious and the latter's more inquisitive and still not entirely trusting. Without breaking eye contact Monty motioned towards the bag of oran berries on the counter and said, "You want one?" The puppy sniffed the air for a moment but seemed unsure of what it should do, so Monty set his food down and grabbed one of the berries from the bag. "Here you go," the man said, crouching down and offering the Houndour the berry from his hand.
The puppy crept forward, keeping its body low to the ground and its eyes on Monty.
That's it, Monty thought with a calm sense of exhilaration,
Just a little closer. The Houndour reached Monty's outstretched hand and clamped its jaws down on the berry, wrenching it from his hand and stepping back two paces to eat. Monty withdrew his hand and watched silently as the puppy feasted, wondering,
Does this mean it trusts me enough to eat, or did it just get that hungry?
Monty decided he would answer his question by retrieving the Pokeball from the counter, expanding it into it's full size and rolling it towards the Houndour as it finished the oran berry. The shiny red and white sphere came to a stop about a foot away from the Houndour, and the puppy eyed it with a keen suspicion. "It's called a Pokeball," Monty explained, "It's something trainers use to register their Pokemon companions." The puppy sniffed at the sphere but didn't touch it, still eyeing Monty warily.
Monty continued, "This world is...dangerous...especially since the Darkest Days. Everyone I know looks out for themselves just to survive, and you can't really trust anyone. But I'm...I'm getting tired of looking out for myself-" Monty's mind flashed to images of he and his brother when they were kids, Dahlin protecting him and Monty backing Dahlin up. Then his mind flashed to Dahlin's escape from the Old Guard, to how isolated he felt while his brother was off participating in the United League.
I'm tired of being alone.
"-And even though I don't know anything about where you came from or what happened to you before we met in the back of that truck, I want you to look out for you. But I need you to look out for me. Please." The last words were hard for the former criminal to choke out, but he tried to be as sincere as possible. The Houndour continued to watch him, and Monty recognized a certain level of intrigue had replaced some of the suspicion in the puppy's expression. After a few seconds the Houndour closed its eyes for a moment, as if in quiet contemplation, before taking a couple steps forward and touching the Pokeball.
It was immediately digitized in a flash of white light, and the ball rolled once, twice, and a third time before a loud
CLICK! sounded from the ball.
Monty smiled and thought,
Xerneas merci. He crossed the kitchen and stooped to pick up the ball, only for the Houndour to rematerialize in a flash of white light. It caught Monty by surprise for a moment, until he remembered he'd heard particularly strong willed Pokemon could easily escape the confines of their Pokeballs. He had planned on letting the Houndour out anyways to initiate the Sync-Bond, so he didn't see any issue with it.
"Didn't like it in there, buddy?" Monty asked as the black and orange puppy shook out its coat. It eyed him with a more inquisitive expression than before but the spark in its eyes was strangely sinister, reminding Monty of the way gangsters back in Lumiose would eye marks they were sizing up.
Hopefully that's not an omen, the man thought as he reached a hand forward to pet his partner. The Houndour's muscles tensed briefly as the hand approached, but it didn't back down nor did it begin growling.
Monty's hand drifted to scratch the pooch behind the ears, but as his hand passed over its eyes the Houndour pushed its head straight up into its trainer's palm. The movement caught Monty by surprise, but that was nothing compared to the immediate feeling of his vitality being drained into his partner. An intense wave of nausea worse than the worst alcohol sickness Monty had ever experienced set in after only a second of contact, and he withdrew his hand from the Houndour's head to more effectively pull himself up to the sink and void himself of every bite of takeout he had only just eaten.
Monty hoped in vain that relieving his stomach of its contents would alleviate his sickness, as not only did the nausea persist but it was compounded by a headache seemingly meant to rival the aftermath of his worst beat down as a torrent of images, sounds, and thoughts flooded against his psyche. The man's hands shot to the sides of his head as he grunted in pain, and among the flash of foreign memories and emotions a single feeling rose above the rest; an aching, gnawing hunger.
It was a hunger so great and so terrible that Monty threw up again from the pain alone, and the longer it lingered the more Monty recognized that it wasn't a hunger at all but something far worse...a deep, primal greed. The feeling on lasted a moment, but the rest of his symptoms remained. "Maybe it was an omen after all," Monty wondered aloud as he met the Houndour's gaze again.
< You called me that again. > The Houndour mentally growled at his trainer.
"Called you what?" Monty gasped, recalling the Sync-Bond's ability to let each partner see the other's thoughts.
<
That word...an omen. You called me that again. An omen is- >
A symbol of something, usually of more things to come, Monty interrupted.
The Houndour contemplated it for a moment before declaring in a loud bark, "
More things are to come!" The little pooch trotted over to his trainer, and Monty noted that he was looking noticeably less sickly. The Houndour contined, "
There is more power to come! There must be!"
The Houndour jumped up onto his hindlegs, rested his front paws on Monty's leg, and barked, "
I will be...an omen. An omen...of power!" Through the nausea Monty could feel a strong sense of pride welling up inside him, and he rested a hand on his partner's head and picked himself up off the sink.
With a little effort Monty crouched down and scratched his partner behind the ears, declaring, "Sure thing...Omen."
A sense of satisfaction briefly emanated off of Omen at the sound of his name, and a sense of self-confidence rooted itself in both trainer and Pokemon. Monty couldn't help but think,
If anything is for certain from here on out, it's that we will get stronger.
