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Lucas sympathized with the man who so naively trusted his little pokemon to behave from the single word. Simultaneously, though, he felt himself immensely fortunate for never having to deal with such whims from his own Chimecho. At the time of receiving her, there was no way he would have been able to tolerate behavior such as that.

"Sure, sounds good to me," he said with a nod. "Although sorting... There might be a bit too much to sort properly. That sounds like the kind of thing that starts as a way to procrastinate from something and ends up a lifelong effort." He started work on the desk now, uncovering a stray wrapped sandwich he recalled purchasing at the cafe some few weeks prior. "I'd been wondering where this wound up!" he exclaimed, triumphant. A squeeze of the bread, however, revealed it to be quite stale. Pity.

Alba would find a wide array of messages recorded on those papers, varying from recollections of nightmares to excerpts of their writers' daily lives. A single word would recur in at least one page out of five: a name, Morrison.

Lucas realized that it was invariable to carry notes without becoming curious of their contents, and he was wary for this. There was little he could do about it, though, besides trust in Alba's good character. A successful sound escaped him, redirecting his thoughts, when he happened upon one of his favorite sweaters that he was certain had been lost somewhere during his transfer from Sinnoh to Kodo.

With two people and a pokemon working at it, it was not long before the room began to appear almost livable, and Lucas sat back on his heels with a long exhalation and a sweeping of the back of his hand across his brow.

"Man, I had really ought to stay on top of this mess," he muttered, mostly to himself. He then stood and stretched. "I think I'm gonna grab a drink out of the vending machine. You want anything?"

"All right. Back in a minute." He proceeded out the door, Merry floundering for a moment that he had forgotten her, turning a scrutinizing gaze on Alba, and eventually resuming her work quietly.

Lucas, as he proceeded down the hall, breathed a sigh. The notes were stifling. When he had written them, he had only the preservation of his memories in mind. He had never considered that there were perhaps things that his older self wouldn't want to recall. Perhaps that was why he had left them in such disarray for so long...

He stopped in front of the vending machine, finding the button for a coffee. It was a chilled beverage, and he had found those to be considerably weaker than their hot counterparts, but he hoped it would suffice for his drowsy roommate. He then sought something for himself, trying for all he was worth to recall what it was that man had always asked for. His previous roommate, his former partner, and his best friend. It was always when he was most relaxed that the grief would strike him hardest, it seemed. Unable to recall the man's favorite, he pressed the button to request a bottle of plain water and started back towards the room, a drink in either hand and a somber expression on his face.

Merry had heard the same indication that her pre-evolution had and turned to see just what was the matter. If her little face could become any paler, it did when she saw what was on the floor before the startled man. She was quickly at his side with a scolding jingle that would equate to, You mustn't handle those! Her warning, of course, would be all but completely lost to the human, and she could only attempt to return the firearm to the box that had produced it.

Lucas shouldered the door open and was met with something of a grim scene before he had the opportunity to announce his return. Exhaling quietly, he set down the drinks on the nearest surface and moved to the bookshelf, taking the revolver from Merry's tiny hands. He placed it back in the box, sealing up the cardboard flaps and relocating it to a place beneath his bed.

"Sorry." What else was there he could say without sounding like he was making some excuse?

Lucas had no idea how to apologize properly. To him, guns were little more than something that needed to be cleaned regularly. He had never actually fired one of the things - that he could recall - so their dangers seemed wholly foreign to him. He cast a sidelong glance at Merry, who had taken once more to his shoulder, and wished he had allowed her to learn Heal Bell. The sound, in addition to curing physical ailments, had a strange ability to soothe human hearts. Without it, all he could do was wish.

"Yeah," he affirmed, "drawers should be fine." He returned to his tidying of the notes but suddenly found them rather offensive to look at, shoving and kicking them into whatever arrangement would keep them most out of the way. "...Brought your coffee, by the way. On the table over there." It was a pitiful strike against the massive wall of awkward that had risen.

Lucas succeeded in making room enough to walk and sleep while Alba unpacked, sinking back to the place on his bed in which he had started and pulling his guitar back into his lap. Merry took up a station at his side, her long steamer-like tail curling around her. He strummed gently at the strings to produce a much quieter sound than was standard, watching Alba and Spook from out of the corner of his eye. His brow raised at the Chingling's performance.

"Cafeteria's still serving dinner," he tipped, taking the bell pokemon's garbage disposal-like speed as an indication that she was hungry beyond reason.

"Aww, don't punish her for that. She just wanted to socialize, right, Spook?" Lucas flashed a grin at the little bell pokemon. It was good to see such an energetic, good-natured Chingling. Merry had been so gloomy and withdrawn as a Chingling that he had worried something was wrong with her. "Besides, look at her. She regrets it, doesn't she?"