trainerblack:

“Shouldn’t be hard for someone like you.”  Even if N was feeling lost too, Black had seen that he could be a very determined and passionate person.  He may feel somewhat out of place in a world he wasn’t used to, but he was still very intelligent and had a willingness to change.  Black supposed the trouble with N was that he was such a unique person that it would be difficult for him to find where this place was.  But he was sure to find a use for his talents, someday… 
Perhaps all he needed was a little help.

“Just a thought, N,” he began uncertainly, looking down at the Pokemon in his lap.  “But while we’re both traveling the same region, maybe we could stick together…”  He tried to smile, but still kept himself distracted with Wott.  “Sounds like neither of us have any clear plans in mind.”

The suggestion caught N off guard. He stared at Black quietly, eyes wide and disbelieving.

“Together?” he repeated uncertainly, subconsciously curling his fingers in Zoroark’s mane. The Pokemon’s eyes flashed open, glancing concernedly at N, then pointedly at Black.

“I have never travelled with a human before,” N continued. It was true that he never had travelled extensively with another person before, but his experience with humans had been expanding gradually. He’d spoken with many at length and accepted friendship from a select few. He’d even taken up casual residency here in the Dragon’s Den with the acceptance of the elders. And he was happy.

Maybe this would be another step in the right direction.

“Would you truly want to take me as a companion, Black?” he questioned. “I— may not be efficiently experienced, but I would certainly do my best to be helpful…!”

He seemed jittery, nervously excited at the idea. It would be strange, and perhaps uncomfortable and confusing at times, he mused. But he realized that he did want to be that companion.

trainerblack:

Removing his wet jacket, Black sat down on the ground as he watched the Reuniclus interact with N.  Sitting cross-legged and several feet away, Wott came to join him and rest his head on his trainer’s lap, all the while keeping his eye on Zoroark.  He stroked the Samurott’s nose and listened in on a conversation he could only half understand.

Teal told N that they had all been doing good, too, and had all grown stronger.  She not only confirmed that Black had been treating them well, but raved a little about how great of a friend he was to her and the others.  After several years more of being together, they had only grown closer.

“We’ve been traveling for a while, now.”  Black didn’t think they would mind him contributing to the discussion.  “Through most of Kanto, and some of the southeasten areas of Johto,” he specified.  The Reuniclus threw in that they had seen many Pokemon she had never known existed before.

“We all learned a lotta new things through our travels, as well,” he continued, smiling at his other Pokemon as they gathered around him.  “So we’ll continue on for a while…”  He’d found N, but that didn’t mean he was going to turn around and go home, now.  There was still so much to see, and he was curious about what N planned to do.  “My guess is that you will, too?” he asked him.  It wasn’t as if N had a home to return to anyways, but he did always have the option to come back to Unova if he wanted to stop wandering.  Since he told them he hadn’t found whatever it was he was searching for yet, Black doubted he would.

N nodded to Teal, beaming, apparently pleased with what she was saying. It seemed that not all that much had changed; Black still maintained those characteristics that so intrigued N.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, and turned his attention back to the Reuniclus’ trainer. “A great distance.” N had only been to Kanto briefly and had never returned, having become too taken by what Johto had to offer. But he did understand the span Black must have travelled. And he wouldn’t have expected anything less of him.

At the question, he nodded slightly. “I suppose I shall. It seems that is what I am meant to do, until I find a true purpose for myself.”

He frowned slightly at that. It bothered him somewhat in the back of his mind that even after all this time, he still hadn’t yet found that purpose. He paused and began to absently stroke Zoroark’s mane. The Pokemon had calmed significantly since his wary display. Narrowed turquoise eyes glared stubbornly back at Wott for a moment longer before resignedly falling closed.

“I’m glad you found me, though, Black,” he started, finding his smile again. “Perhaps now I can continue on that path with renewed courage.” Not to mention a lighter conscience.

ginnypants:

the-nth-power:

ginnypants:

There it was, the demand. It was enough to make the man snap. One hand wrapped itself around the boy’s thin neck, squeezing mercilessly, threatening to crush the cartilage of his windpipe. Wheezing squeaks were all Ghetsis heard as he felt N attempt to swallow, attempt to gasp and draw in any possible molecule of oxygen he could manage through his strangled throat. The quick flush of blue that tinted the boy’s cheeks was enough to make him quiver.

“You’ve strayed so far from that perfect potential you once were,” he spoke, voice harsh, no longer laced with that faux-seduction. Ghetsis slammed into him now without mercy, with nothing but the intention to hurt. To tear away. “Look at you, now. Giving demands. Perhaps I haven’t taught you thoroughly enough…”

Another tight squeeze, and he could feel the protrusions of bone along the boy’s spine. How much more force would it take to break it, he wondered…?

The moment he felt fingers around his neck, N knew he had made a fatal error. Abruptly, that torturous pleasure he had been enveloped in was gone, replaced with a crushing pain around his throat, and panic in his mind. His body tensed, all instinct screaming at him to fight back— at least try prying the hand away— but he wouldn’t. He doubted he could even if he wanted to, already rendered exhausted and helpless by the vanishing arousal. His eyes, still glazed with tears, snapped open and stared with an almost questioning horror up at Ghetsis as he struggled in vain for breath. He squeaked pathetically in agony as the man moved again, cleaving violently into him.

Soon, as Ghetsis began to speak, N’s slate eyes turned glassy, empty and soulless, as if he had suddenly decided to accept his fate. Ghetsis’ words cut deep. Perhaps he was hopeless, then, if his potential had been lost. That was the fault of the doubt, he realized. The world had doomed him and his cause. He would be worthless with this doubt in his heart.

Maybe he could rid himself of it. That was what his plan was; he would face off against the one chosen to be the hero and Zekrom. That battle would bring an end to all of this…

He was terribly dizzy and weak, and his vision seemed to be fading at the edges, but his mind suddenly began to whir, kicked into overdrive by the horror of the squeeze. He was going to die. Ghetsis was wringing his neck, could shatter it, could shatter his body, could shatter everything.

His mouth opened in a silent scream and his eyes clenched shut. He choked and wheezed, trying to force out his voice, an apology, a plea. All he could manage was an unintelligible, barely audible and tremulous creaking of his vocal cords.

“Hahh— Ah-ah…”

As he bore down on his son, taking in that peculiar look of horror and acceptance, the man could hold back no longer. Ghetsis had followed the plan so perfectly and was rewarded with this vessel, a body torn between instinct and the engrained need to obey. It was more than flattering to see N give in; he would not fight back and let himself be taken, leave his hands to his sides as the man who helped give him life violently took it away.

The boy might have grown defiant in his years. Nothing more than a minor annoyance, his father concluded, as his questioning of the truth rarely became ever more than a week without sleep, a constant nagging question pounding at his brain that N could not escape from. In fact, it was ideal. Despite those teenage hormones and human inclinations, he still drove towards that made-up dream. Still took orders with little contempt.

Still laid there with his legs spread wide. Still let his precious daddy fuck him until he could no longer walk. Still let hands break his neck without so much as a struggle to live.

Perhaps N no longer wanted to live. Or was his devotion so strong that he knew not to question it? Either way was acceptable to the sage. After all, his use as as “king” would soon be null, and he would prove to be little more than a nuisance. This lifelong role as a sexual object would be his calling; perhaps he could still be warped enough into accepting it as well as he did now, have him remain the obedient little toy who knew what Ghetsis liked and who knew better not to dress his own wounds.

And if not… he could easily be disposed of.

The notion warmed the man’s blood a final time, and as he released his vice-like grip from around N’s throat, he pulled out quickly and let his seed spill over the boy’s face in one final act of degradation. The gesture itself had the man appreciate the thought as he came down from his high… N being used for nothing but this. To be corrupted and broken. Sobbing and begging.

Yes, a bout of defiance would be perfect at that point.

Once his throat was released, N wasted no time in desperately taking in a lifesaving breath. His lungs demanded more of it and he could focus on nothing else, his vision swimming and heart pounding with terror. But the second breath he took contained little air, only the heat and bitterness of a familiar fluid. He inhaled upon instinct, and had soon thrashed onto his side, coughing and sputtering on it, feebly trying to clear it out and breathe at the same time.

The act left him in a weak, unsightly state, collapsed on his side, one cheek pressed into the floor, lips parted and dripping coughed-out saliva as he wheezed. His senses came back to him slowly as the need for oxygen was met, and he was increasingly aware of how much everything hurt— his throat, his legs, the claw marks along his ribs, his pelvis…

But he was alive, and the deed had been done. He became aware of the signs of that as well— strands of it that had been released across his face. They clung to his skin and hair, and threads of it still remained on his lips, sharp-flavored and warm. He simultaneously felt humiliation and a twinge of jealousy between his legs. It had occurred to him before that Ghetsis had no intention of allowing him release, but it still aroused renewed frustration in him.

He decided to make a final effort to look presentable. With a slight groan, he pushed himself onto his back, eyes searching for his captor. He unintentionally spread his legs with the motion, putting on display his weakening but still-there arousal. Pushing aside his disgust, he licked his lips, taking in the fluid that he had not swallowed with a delicate sound.

ikebukuro-informant:

the-nth-power:

ikebukuro-informant:

Izaya skipped over the answer to his question and moved on; he hadn’t been wanting a response to it, anyway.  “Of course you weren’t a threat to him. Do you honestly think he’d mug someone who wasn’t an easy target? That he’d go for someone who he knew he couldn’t over power? Don’t make me laugh.” He knew he was being harsh, but Izaya wanted to see what the boy was like. Where was the fun if you didn’t push people a little?

Izaya grinned at the look N gave him. It was familiar, nearly the exact same look another young man had flashed countless times. Nodding at the confessions, he paced restlessly across the alley, twirling his hand as if it helped him to think.

The informant came to an abrupt stop and pointed at N. “So you’re homeless then.” It was more of a statement than a question. “Did you run away? Or were you kicked out? And these friends…” Izaya scrutinized N with his auburn eyes, taking in as many details as he could in the dark. “…Blue Squares? No, you’re not wearing the colors…Yakuza, then? No offense, but you don’t really look the type.”

He paced a bit more before shrugging. “But, if you had fallen in with them and your family discovered that fact, then I suppose they would’ve kicked you out as so to avoid disgrace to the family name; thus bringing you to your current predicament.”

“But you would?” he retorted, still speaking evenly. “You said you would not hurt me because I’m not a threat. But anyone else would do the opposite for that same reason.” But mugging in particular was something different, he supposed. He bit his lip and looked elsewhere. He shouldn’t retort; he remembered clearly what happened when he rebelled against powerful figures like this one.

He listened to Izaya’s theories patiently, watching him quietly with a trace of curiosity. Absentmindedly, his placed his hand over his wounded cheek again.

“I ran away,” he answered. “I simply… could not stand to stay with my family any longer. And they could not be bothered with me, anyway.”

He pulled his hand away and offered Izaya a slight smile. “And my friends are not part of the yakuza. They are not part of any group. In fact, they can’t be… because they are not human.”

“Yet, here’s the thing: I wouldn’t just be using brute force if I were to go up against someone more powerful than me. One can’t rely on strength alone. They need wits and speed to survive.” A scowl briefly flickered across Izaya’s face—as if he were going to describe an incident in which that had happened, before deciding against it. “That’s right, I did say I wouldn’t hurt you. But the way you’re talking it seems like you’d rather I had…Are you thinking life would be easier had I harmed you? That you wouldn’t have responsibilities if I had cut you up and left you bleeding in this alleyway? Or maybe you’re just not used to mercy.”

He made a noise akin to a tsk. “I see. You’re one of many, then.” But then he took pause. ‘Not human’…? His thoughts shifted to a courier in his service:  The Infamous Black Biker of Ikebukuro. Except the young man had said “friends”—plural—and there was only one dullahan in the city. Plus, Izaya would’ve known about this runaway before the current incident if he was friends with the courier.

Ah, the curse of being an information broker! Izaya was thoroughly curious now. “Let’s make a deal,” he announced. “In exchange for information, I’ll allow you to spend the night in my office. You can clean up that injury while there, as well.”

Izaya’s demeanor changed from serious to breezy. “Ah, but I haven’t introduced myself, have I?” He flashed a smile. “Izaya Orihara.”

“I see,” N mumbled quietly, looking at Izaya expectantly, waiting for that story to come. Instead, the conversation was turned back to him. “I don’t mind responsibilities. They give me a sense of purpose. So, it is the latter, I suppose.” And that was true; he wasn’t used to mercy, and had ceased expecting it from people long ago.

N watched Izaya with an analytical eye as he seemed to formulate a plan of how to deal with the person he’d saved. N didn’t mind doing something in return for Izaya; it was human nature to expect a reward for a good deed, and N supposed the man did deserve some credit for rescuing him without using much violence. And the idea of spending the night indoors was very inviting. The rumors about him that N had heard seemed distant and unimportant now.

He brightened. “You would let me do that?” He almost smiled, but he suddenly looked confused. Information? What kind of information did N have to offer?

As Izaya introduced himself, N offered a slight nod. “I’ve heard your name before. My friends mention it sometimes.”

Ah. So that was what he had to offer. N found it almost funny. He rarely tried to keep his ability a secret; people that witnessed him it in action seemed to assume that he was just insane.

“My name is N,” he said, nodding his head a second time in some attempt at a bow. “I suppose… you wish to meet my friends, is that it?”

ikebukuro-informant:

Izaya skipped over the answer to his question and moved on; he hadn’t been wanting a response to it, anyway.  “Of course you weren’t a threat to him. Do you honestly think he’d mug someone who wasn’t an easy target? That he’d go for someone who he knew he couldn’t over power? Don’t make me laugh.” He knew he was being harsh, but Izaya wanted to see what the boy was like. Where was the fun if you didn’t push people a little?

Izaya grinned at the look N gave him. It was familiar, nearly the exact same look another young man had flashed countless times. Nodding at the confessions, he paced restlessly across the alley, twirling his hand as if it helped him to think.

The informant came to an abrupt stop and pointed at N. “So you’re homeless then.” It was more of a statement than a question. “Did you run away? Or were you kicked out? And these friends…” Izaya scrutinized N with his auburn eyes, taking in as many details as he could in the dark. “…Blue Squares? No, you’re not wearing the colors…Yakuza, then? No offense, but you don’t really look the type.”

He paced a bit more before shrugging. “But, if you had fallen in with them and your family discovered that fact, then I suppose they would’ve kicked you out as so to avoid disgrace to the family name; thus bringing you to your current predicament.”

“But you would?” he retorted, still speaking evenly. “You said you would not hurt me because I’m not a threat. But anyone else would do the opposite for that same reason.” But mugging in particular was something different, he supposed. He bit his lip and looked elsewhere. He shouldn’t retort; he remembered clearly what happened when he rebelled against powerful figures like this one.

He listened to Izaya’s theories patiently, watching him quietly with a trace of curiosity. Absentmindedly, his placed his hand over his wounded cheek again.

“I ran away,” he answered. “I simply… could not stand to stay with my family any longer. And they could not be bothered with me, anyway.”

He pulled his hand away and offered Izaya a slight smile. “And my friends are not part of the yakuza. They are not part of any group. In fact, they can’t be… because they are not human.”

ikebukuro-informant:

the-nth-power:

N hesitantly nodded in response to Izaya’s first comment: an agreement rather than an actual thank-you. The switchblade had disappeared from view, but his wariness still remained.

Once he was given permission to retrieve his bag, however, he did relax somewhat. Maybe the man didn’t have darker intentions after all. He stepped into a jog and picked up the fallen pack in both hands, looking into it briefly, checking its contents for damage. He saw a glimmer of white inside, and seemed to be put at ease. He slung it over his shoulder again and faced Izaya. He hesitated for a moment before bowing his head somewhat awkwardly in a gesture he apparently was not quite used to making.

“Thank you,” he attempted. Fortunately, he did seem to be fluent in Japanese. “I apologize for my wariness— I didn’t expect to be saved by anyone.” Let alone by a man that was known to wreak such havoc. He furrowed his brow questioningly. “You aren’t going to hurt me, then?”

Izaya followed N with his eyes, not moving from his position in case it caused the boy to bolt. At the thank-you, he simply waved a hand. “There’s no need to thank me, I was just being a Good Samaritan, after all.” Seeing as how N could speak the language, Izaya’s interest was piqued again.

“Ahaha…now why would I hurt you? You don’t pose a threat to me, do you?” His words were lighthearted, jocular, but the last sentence carried darker and more serious undertones.

“Anyway,” he continued, smoothly returning to animation, moving so that he stood in front of N. “I’m curious: Where were you heading? No one enters an alleyway in Ikebukuro this late at night unless they have a good reason. Or maybe they’re just plain stupid.” Izaya locked eyes with N. “What category do you fall into, hm?”

N thought it a good idea to maintain his wariness. Rumors of Izaya’s chaotic nature aside, the way he spoke was confusing to N. He wasn’t sure what to make of the lighthearted, familiar manner of it, especially when he at the same time seemed so intense. It seemed like a contradiction.

“No,” he said quietly, not sure if the question of being a threat was rhetorical or not. “But I don’t think I was much of a threat to that man either.” He nodded vaguely in the direction that the Yellow Scarf had fled.

He stood his ground as Izaya moved, though he did flinch slightly as if expecting to be stricken. Slate eyes met Izaya’s, innocent but strangely cold, narrowed in mild offense.

“I’m not stupid,” he replied evenly.

… But there still was no specific place he was going. He averted his eyes. “I was looking for a place to sleep.”

His gaze wandered to his bag before he looked back up at Izaya again. “And I have friends that I… wanted to meet.”

trainerblack:

As N went to sit himself down next to Reshiram, Black released his four other Pokemon.  Out came Aurin again, as well as a volcarona, an excadrill, and a reuniclus.  Each of them glanced around to take a look at their surroundings, reactions ranging from visibly curious and excited to completely calm and neutral.  The krookodile and reuniclus, Teal, were shocked to find N and Reshiram before them, but the other two didn’t do anything more than watch suspiciously and keep their distance.

“Yea, we found N,” Black told Teal with a quiet laugh when she began nudging him and discreetly pointing in N’s direction.  She squeaked and smiled at his response, and stuck to her trainer’s side with a gel hand resting on his shoulder.

Before he could reintroduce his team, (though he doubted N would have forgotten any of them,) he took notice of the old man sending a chilling stare his way.
“Is there something wrong?” he asked tentatively, uneasily wondering if they hadn’t wanted him to release all of his Pokemon here.  But his question was answered indirectly as N spoke to the man as a familiar, and his image faded to reveal Zoroark.

Black remembered battling this Zoroark years ago, so its hostility towards him was unsurprising, but still unsettling.  He didn’t know the Pokemon well enough to determine what he would do, or if N could keep him under control, but Black took a mental note to keep his distance from the fox just in case.

Wott’s attention was in the same place, so he growled quietly and glared back in defense of his trainer.  Black had to shush him and tell him everything was OK, but the Samurott kept close when he stepped closer to where N sat. He had to admit that Zoroark’s presence did have him feeling nervous.

“I’m sure you remember everyone, N, but just in case: here’s Teal, Aurin,” he spoke, motioning to each, “Carmine, Kaden,” gesturing to volcarona and excadrill respectively as he named them.  He paused to glance worriedly at Zoroark before speaking again.  “I think Teal’s been the most curious about meeting you again, next to Wott.”  The reuniclus floated down to hover closer to the floor, but she did not advance.  She greeted N with a hello and asked politely how he had been doing.

N grimaced slightly, worried that Zoroark’s aggressiveness had wrecked the otherwise happy reunion. It was no fault of the Pokemon’s, of course. That hostility was something Zoroark showed to most humans— a result of mistreatment he had suffered before meeting N. It was only worse because it was Black, the one who caused N such conflict. For the better, N had assured, but Zoroark had apparently seen no sufficient proof of that yet.

Still, he didn’t lash out or snarl again, and only remained close to N’s side, looking the other Pokemon over after Black. His eyes settled on Wott and his ears flicked back as he glared with a silent wariness. N turned his attention to the other Pokemon as well and gave Black a reassuring grin.

He nodded as each nickname was given, eyes lighting up with familiarity. He could recall each one with clarity, as he remembered every Pokemon he met. He bowed his head respectfully, not blaming the few for their suspicion.

“It’s good to see you all again,” he said. “And on different terms.”

He seemed pleasantly surprised by the news that Teal had wanted to meet him again as well. Pokemon were often very forgiving, he knew, but it still surpassed his expectations.

“Hello, Reuniclus,” he greeted in response. No nickname, though he apparently knew hers; he still rarely used them, unless a Pokemon specifically told him to. “I’ve been faring well. I thank you for your concern. As I’ve told Black, I’ve learned a great deal. I’m… very happy, now.”

He gave her a warm smile. “And what about you and your teammates?” He scanned the group briefly. They all seemed healthy and just as spry, even after all that time. “I’m sure Black has been treating you all with the same kindness— But it seems you’ve all travelled very far, hm?”

ikebukuro-informant:

the-nth-power:

N felt a flicker of fear at the sight of the switchblade. So the man was armed. N was a bit surprised that he hadn’t been stabbed yet. Perhaps Izaya wanted something from him? N couldn’t see any other reasoning behind the rescue.

Izaya’s words confused N somewhat (What did being a girl have to do with anything?), but they seemed to have the desired effect on the Yellow Scarf. N watched his expression shift from wary to vaguely frightened before he finally caved, snapping a curse under his breath before turning and dashing down the alleyway. He abandoned the knife halfway; it clattered to the asphalt.

N let out a breath once his assailant had fled his view, but he couldn’t allow himself to relax entirely just yet. His eyes drifted over his fallen bag lying in the alley before Izaya. Would he be given a chance to reclaim it?

He kept his eyes on Izaya and took a slight step back, ready to run in case the man suddenly decided to attack him.

As the Yellow Scarf ran away, Izaya’s regular expression returned: bemused, yet apathetic. Knowing the Yellow Scarves, that member was going to go tell his leader what happened, and Izaya could possibly be targeted because of it. But that was something to deal with at a later date.

Izaya turned on his heel to face N, pocketing his switchblade in the same movement. “My, aren’t you lucky that I was here?” He said lightly. “If it weren’t for me, you’d have more than just that cut on your cheek.”

He noted that N was looking at the fallen bag. “You can retrieve it, you know. There’s no reason for me to take it.”

N’s silence was causing Izaya to wonder if N could speak Japanese, or even understand what he was saying. If that was the case, there was no need for Izaya to bother with him any longer. However, he did know people who were interested in foreigners for…various reasons.

N hesitantly nodded in response to Izaya’s first comment: an agreement rather than an actual thank-you. The switchblade had disappeared from view, but his wariness still remained.

Once he was given permission to retrieve his bag, however, he did relax somewhat. Maybe the man didn’t have darker intentions after all. He stepped into a jog and picked up the fallen pack in both hands, looking into it briefly, checking its contents for damage. He saw a glimmer of white inside, and seemed to be put at ease. He slung it over his shoulder again and faced Izaya. He hesitated for a moment before bowing his head somewhat awkwardly in a gesture he apparently was not quite used to making.

“Thank you,” he attempted. Fortunately, he did seem to be fluent in Japanese. “I apologize for my wariness— I didn’t expect to be saved by anyone.” Let alone by a man that was known to wreak such havoc. He furrowed his brow questioningly. “You aren’t going to hurt me, then?”

trainerblack:

Black was surprised at N’s eager and quick response, but with that surprise came elation.  He tried not to chuckle at the reaction and confused gesture he received. 
By the way he accepted the offer so suddenly, it appeared that the only thing that had held him back was his own doubt, (rather than any dislike.)  Which was sad, but Black was sure he’d be able to remove some of that doubt in time.  He was determined to figure out how he could help N in some way, now that he found him.

“You don’t have to thank me.  I’m uh, honored as well.”  And he realized he was, considering that N probably didn’t think of too many as his friends outside of Pokemon, even now.  ‘Honored’ was a strange way for N to put it though, which made him wonder how exactly the man viewed him…

But his reaction made Black significantly more confident about the situation he was putting himself in.  He knew N valued his friendships highly, so he hoped he would live up to whatever his expectations may be. 

“C’mon, let’s sit down or something,” he offered with a smile.  “Now that we’re… clear on things.”  Black didn’t know what else to do at the moment, but sitting on the ground was preferable to standing around.  “Here, I know…” he continued as an idea came to him.  “I’ll let out the rest of my Pokemon, too.”  N would like seeing them, he knew, so he plucked the pokeballs off his belt, sans Zekrom.  

“Okay,” N agreed, nearly stammering.

It all seemed so surreal. But his expression brightened at Black’s suggestion. He gave an enthusiastic nod; of course he would want to see them again as well. He plopped himself down and drew his knees to his chest as he watched Black with a careful curiosity. As if to imitate him, Reshiram lowered itself as well, curling itself around him. The wooden platform that surrounded the shrine creaked slightly beneath its movement, but it had been built to sustain the weight of Dragon-types. N didn’t look at all afraid, though perhaps he seemed a bit jittery in regards to other things.

There was some further movement behind him, and a figure emerged suddenly from the shrine. It seemed to be one of the elders, walking with a slight hunch and glaring at Black with bright turquoise eyes that glowed in the dimness of the cavern. Reshiram snorted in an unimpressed manner, and N glanced over his shoulder at the figure. He looked startled for a moment, but soon offered a hand fearlessly out to the man.

“It’s okay, friend,” he said gently. “There is no reason for you to be so wary. You may dispel your illusion without fear.”

The elder took a step back and scowled. After a stubborn moment, he seemed to melt away, leaving only the shape of a bristling Zoroark. The Pokemon moved quickly, leaping over Reshiram’s curved neck and landing beside N. He gave his trainer a brief protective nuzzle, only to turn back to Black and bare his fangs threatening.

“Zoroark, stop that…” N attempted, placing a calming hand atop the Pokemon’s head. The fangs were withdrawn, but it continued to stare sharply.

trainerblack:

Black was ready to respond with a confident, “Yes.”  He didn’t want to reveal how unsure he was about this. 

“I consider you a friend,” he said, smiling slightly.  ”After we’ve gone through so much together, how could I not?”  He hadn’t been prepared to justify his declaration, so he spoke carefully. 

“I won’t lie; you caused me a lot of trouble, but you helped me learn a great deal, too,” he continued, scratching his head.  “I could tell you were a good person, despite our differences.  And maybe we still have differences now, but that’s not always a bad thing.

“After everything was over, I think I felt like I could understand you, if only a little.  Sometimes I wondered what might have happened if you hadn’t left so suddenly, and… I think we could have gotten along.”  Often he had contemplated what could have happened if things were different, and he had liked to imagine that he and N would have furthered their understanding of one another.

“I’d like us to be friends… if it’s what you want, too.”  How awkward it would be if N turned him down at this point.  He knew that it shouldn’t be hard to leave N be and get on with his own life, but a part of him was aware that he would be very upset if N rejected his offer.  

N listened intently, still baffled by all Black was saying. It was baffling, but he still found it rather profound and very heartening. N could have admitted the same: that they could have worked to understand each other, that they could have been friends if things were different. But as things were, it seemed an impossible thought. It simply wasn’t his place. And was he truly a good person? He wasn’t so certain anymore.

Still, that didn’t mean that he didn’t want to have Black as a friend.

“Yes,” he blurted suddenly, then tried to correct himself. “I… want that. I would be— honored, Black.”

How could he refuse? He had wished before that their conflict could have been resolved, and now that it was, that weight had finally been lifted. He lifted a hand slightly, his bracelets clinking together awkwardly, in some attempt at showing his gratitude. But he quickly realized he had no idea what gesture to make with the hand, and dropped it back to his side.

“Thank you,” he said decidedly, returning Black’s smile.

Could they really be friends, after all they’d been through? Black seemed to think so. And that was enough hope for him.