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 Posted: Tue Sep 20, 2011 7:43 am
Unexpectedly, the little red device bound around Luke's wrist lit up, a slight sound indicating the arrival of a notification. He glanced at the device, pressed a brief series of buttons, and held the small screen within reading distance. A transferred pokemon awaited him in the nearest Pokemon Center. He raised a brow at the notion. Who would be transferring him pokemon? Surely it wasn't Natalia; she would have told him before sending him something she knew he didn't particularly want...
With an expulsive breath, Luke fell backwards onto the hotel bed. Maybe it wasn't a matter of what he did or didn't want anymore. Even if he had been at the contest when Team Rocket made its attack, would he have been able to do anything to strike against them with only Mieu? Reluctant though he was to admit it even internally, the Flareon was weak. He had said something silly about training and becoming stronger on the spur of the moment, but he had yet to actually make any actual effort toward that end. Had he been present, he almost certainly would have been defeated, perhaps even injured, and embarrassed horribly. It was mortifying to even entertain the thought.
These thoughts were second to the situation at hand, he recalled. An unknown individual had sent him an unknown pokemon, and he intended to put identities to both of these elements. Stretching his arms, he departed from the comfort of the mattress and snatched his jacket from its unceremonious heap beside the room's dresser. It was a short trip from the hotel to the Pokemon Center, just long enough for Luke to note the slight chill creeping into the summer air and the single tree mottled with orange leaves. He had already been in Kodo for nearly the whole of summer. How much longer was he going to stay?
He was reminded of his home, of the manor's staff, and of his mother. He had overcome persisting feelings of homesickness, but the thought of his long stay in the foreign land brought his concerns back to everyone's well-being. He hadn't contacted his home since arriving, but the fact that Guy had come after him implied that they at least had an idea of where he was. Was Guy in contact with the fon Fabre household? Or was he communicating with Natalia? Had he come on his own lead and was keeping their location and activities secret?
Thoughtful, Luke punched the keys of the computer to input his login information. There was no telling when some envoy from Grande Ile would show up to bring him back to the island. For all he knew, the pokemon he had received would facilitate that in some way.
The transfer station flickered to life, and the boy seized the pokeball that materialized upon it. He stared into the glossy red and white surface. He didn't want to go back. Not now. Not with all this Team Rocket business going on. He had friends here whom he had promised to protect, to avenge. His mother would understand that, even if no one else did. He had sworn on the criminals' defeat, and he intended to carry through with that, even if his own pokemon turned against him.
Steeled by the thought, he pushed his thumb into the release switch and waited for the ensuing light to take form. What appeared was a small thing: shining white and gold, but only a few inches higher than the ground. Luke recognized the shape as one he had seen before, when he'd met the so-called master trainer Steven What-was-his-name. He leaned down, elbows on his knees, and met the thing's red gaze. It stared back at him, unmoving, as if it were an ornate sculpture.
"What are you supposed to be?" Frowning, Luke inspected the pokemon, attempting to recall its species. It was something simple, something that sounded like a person's name... In his investigation, he noted a cord tied around the thing's neck, securing a rolled-up scrap of paper. Luke reached a careful hand for the presumed letter, half expecting the quiet creature to suddenly snap at him. His expectation was not met, however, and he took the note into his hands with no resistance. He unbound it, unrolled it, and studied its contents:
Luke,
If you're reading this, it means Tartarus has reached you safely. Unfortunately, I'm much too busy to contact you directly, but I've been keeping an eye on the news, and I worry that you're being caught up in something dangerous. I know this is probably the last thing you want to hear, but you must remember that you are the heir to the fon Fabre name. I am not asking you to shy away from the situation, though. You are a skilled swordsman, and you have the ability to bring about good. With this in mind, I entrust to you this Aron. His name is Tartarus, and I personally oversaw the lineage of his breeding. Train him well and he will grow to become a powerful ally in your battle. Be warned, though, that his disposition will not tolerate half-hearted efforts.
Stay safe. Use your head before you use your blade. You're up against a powerful foe, but you have the ability to combat it. Fight wisely and well.
Unsigned though it was, Luke recognized the author with little hesitation, swelling slightly with pride at the words. He hadn't heard from his master in ages, nor had he expected to hear from him any time soon. If anything, he would have predicted that his master would be the one to bring him back to Grande Ile. But no, he was validating him, even encouraging him. Posture somehow straighter than it was before, Luke lowered the letter and met the red gaze of the Aron patiently waiting for his attention.
"So your name is Tartarus, huh?"
"Ron."
"Guess I'll take that as a yes..." He stood to his full height, pulling the luxury ball from his waist and releasing its occupant. The teal and white Flareon shook itself with a quiet "fieuu" before noticing and turning to Tartarus, large tail waving enthusiastically.
"Mieu, this guy is our teammate from now on." The addressed voiced his understanding and gave said teammate a bright smile, the latter responding in stoic indifference. "Master's counting on us, so we're gonna start working a lot harder from here on out."
Heartened by the encouragement of his teacher, Luke stood before the pair with an air of confidence, deftly commanding their attention. He didn't necessarily know where to begin or how to go about it, but he had the means before him to grow stronger, and damned if he was going to pass it up now.
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Posted: Sat Sep 08, 2012 8:41 pm
The inky blackness of the room was stifling; the window, its shade slightly raised, revealed only a clouded night sky and the tangerine glow of an unseen lamp post. The air was breezeless, evidenced by the unmoving branches of the trees that decorated the apartment's surrounding area, and the summer daylight lingered enough that the temperature could be called warm even at this late hour. The room was slightly cold nonetheless, but Luke was too tired to depart from his bed and fiddle with the thermostat.
He couldn't sleep. He could never sleep. Every evening was a vicious battle between his exhaustion and his worries, each increasing almost exponentially with every passing day. Concerns about his brother, about his friends, about Team Rocket, and about Mieu were joined by concerns about his health and the vivid memory of the warnings he had received in the clinic. And now, on top of that, he had the imminent reunion with his parents weighing down his thoughts. He'd spent only a few days preparing since he reached his resolution while speaking with Yuri, and he had arrangements to board a ship to Grande Ile the next day.
He didn't want to go. He didn't want to speak to his parents knowing that they had lied to him, that they would still be lying him from the first words they said to him, and that those lies had essentially caused his present situation. In spite of all his fear and worry, he couldn't let go of his anger against his parents.
His heart beat suddenly, briefly shortening his breath. He lay a hand on his chest as if he could soothe his body into a state of normalcy. His heartbeat paused, it doubled, it returned to normal, it doubled, it paused.
He drew a long, deep breath. It was worrying. It was frightening. The more he thought about it, the more he unsettled himself. Trembling, he wrapped himself tightly in his sheets, compressing his form. His heartbeat continued to surge randomly.
"Stop," he said, his voice muffled by the sheets. "Stop it already. Just leave me alone. Please."
Luke turned his face to bury in the pillow, shuddering, fighting in vain to keep his despair internal. He was eighteen years old. He had eight years' worth of memories and just over one year's worth of experiences in the world outside his home. How was he supposed to accept the possibility - the likelihood even - of his death?
He opened his eyes suddenly and was greeted by the quiet sound of rainfall, a pale light seeping through the window in indication of a drizzly early morning. His eyes were dry and tired, and he came to understand that he had fallen asleep and been woken abruptly by a nightmare whose contents he had already forgotten. He pulled his poketch from the nearby desk and glanced at the clock that ticked along on the digital screen. 6:40. It was a good few hours earlier than he had intended to wake, but he didn't expect he would be able to sleep again. He disabled the alarm he had set the night before and departed from the bed, preparing for the day ahead.
The apartment was quiet and still, and Luke moved silently around the small space. Once again he didn't really have a significant appetite, but he at least understood that he would probably make himself ill if he didn't put something in his stomach. He partook halfheartedly from a bowl of cereal and, on finishing, checked over his belongings to make sure everything was in order. On deeming things fit to do so, he departed.
He was out much earlier than he had anticipated, but the morning air was cool and pleasant, if not damp and dreary. The trainer, wearing a hooded jacket to shield himself from the weather, made his way to Camphoreon's piers and folded his arms on the boardwalk's railing to take in the salted breeze. There was nothing to fear; his worries were all his own creation. Perhaps if he repeated it enough, he could come to believe it were true.
His hopeless hopes were interrupted suddenly by the appearance of a pair of bright copper eyes staring into his own of green. Luke started backwards with a slight shout of surprise and blinked at the small white and yellow creature that had taken up a place in front of him.
"Oh. It's you." The odd creature that he had often found following him around in the past, a Mew or something. "Are you still spying on me? You really ought to cut that out. It isn't exactly polite." Though really, he'd been so caught up in his own thoughts lately that he wouldn't have known if the pokemon was watching him or not.
The Mew tilted its head, blinking its large eyes once. It shifted slightly to lower itself so that it was peering up at Luke, its tail waving faintly in intrigue. The boy sighed.
"I sure hope you haven't been watching me this whole time. Talk about boring." Well, it was sort of a relief to have someone for company, even if it didn't seem that they were exactly listening. He watched the gray sea in silence, noticing how the Mew blinked out of existence whenever someone walked by. Strange, but he did remember when Seraphine pulled up the creature in her pokedex; there were references to its ability to disappear and records of how it was once thought to be a mere mirage. Luke asked the pokemon why it was so quick to hide itself around others but was perfectly willing to show itself before him, but of course it did not respond.
Before long, a ferry's horn sounded the vessel's arrival in port, and a quick note of the time suggested that it was likely the boat for which Luke was waiting. He made his way to the pier proper - the Mew vanished as he joined the small amalgam of people that were gathering, but he remained aware of its presence - and made the motions through the lengthy and tiring boarding procedures. When everything was taken care of, he sank into a seat wearily; his sparse and fitful rest from the night before had easily caught up with him, and he was quick to close his eyes. He was roused before too long, though, by a sharply dressed woman his groggy mind perceived as a part of the ferry's staff.
"Sorry to disturb you, sir," she said, "but I just wanted to confirm that this is your pokemon."
Luke blinked in momentary confusion, turning to look towards the attendant's gesture. A yellow and white Pidgey, its forehead marked with a star shape, tilted its head and returned the boy's gaze.
"Ah..." Yeah, Mew did that sort of thing, didn't they? "Yes, this is mine. Sorry, should it be in a pokeball?" Since Mieu wasn't with him, he hadn't looked into the service's policy on accompanying pokemon. He was in trouble if she mandated as much, given that he had never actually caught the thing and wasn't carrying any spare pokeballs on him. The woman replied with a smile, though, so it seemed her response would be favorable.
"No, that's quite all right. I just wanted to be sure it wasn't unattended. Please do make sure it doesn't bother the other guests, though."
As the attendant departed, Luke turned to the disguised pokemon with a half of a smile, "Yeah, don't bother anyone."
The apparent Pidgey puffed itself up indignantly.
The trip itself was pleasantly uneventful; as uncomfortable as it was to sleep in a chair, Luke was able to pass most of his time in respite due to the overwhelming volume of his exhaustion. The ferry ran overnight, and at some odd hour of the morning - around 5AM, according to his poketch - the trainer woke sharply and was consumed by a sudden anxiety. This was all for naught. His parents would confirm that his search was in vain or even refuse him outright. They would confine him to the manor again, strip him of all means of contacting Kodo. He would fight with them, argue with them, shout at them until he upset himself so much that he died.
He doubled over, trembling slightly with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. It wasn't too late to turn around. He could just wait at the boarding area in Grande Ile and take the next boat back to Kodo. But what then? Would he shy away from conflict out of fear for his life? Would he give up fighting Team Rocket to avoid the physical stress such a fight could produce? He couldn't imagine Rosie respecting that, after her praise of his bravery in the past. He couldn't imagine himself respecting that. Maybe he would live, but wouldn't he simply be miserable with himself? Or maybe he wouldn't live and he was doomed no matter what he tried.
A slight weight appeared on his shoulder, and he lifted his head to see what it was. The yellow and white Pidgey stared avidly into his eyes before fluttering its wings and taking off down the walkway. Luke almost called after it before remembering that he was surrounded by sleeping strangers, so he instead stood and moved quickly to pursue the pokemon. The Mew had been well behaved up to that point, but flying around the ferry as it pleased probably fell under the qualifications of bothering others.
Luke's pursuit brought him to the ship's deck, and his movements slowed as he took note of the scenery. He'd been in the passenger area for the duration of the trip and hadn't even considered that they were in the middle of a great ocean. The sky had cleared away its gloom, be it due to the passage of time or the difference in location. The night sky was aglow with starlight that faded at the reach of the slowly lightening horizon, the dark waves glistening in a peaceful euphoria alongside the sky's colors. Somewhere in the distance, a Wailord lofted a spout of water into the air. Luke moved silently to the deck's railing, staring into the sea. The faint shadow he cast was joined by a second form, and he looked to his side to find the Mew, its false shape discarded, looking at him once more with that same intent curiosity. He smiled.
"You're kind of a pain, huh?"
The Mew moved around him to watch from his other side. What it was watching for remained a mystery, but Luke decided it couldn't hurt to offer a little entertainment. He breathed in, turned to the horizon, and sang. He hadn't really felt well enough to sing lately, and indeed he wasn't exactly feeling up to it now either, but the hymn he had heard since his childhood came to his voice as if of its own volition. He'd been told time and again in his curiosity that the lyrics were gibberish, merely an alternate version of a musical scale, but he had begun to understand its meaning nonetheless.
The song was a prayer, a wish that happiness would always follow times of trouble. It was hope that the world itself would find happiness. It was a wish that the child it lulled into slumber would grow to be someone that could smile in spite of the adversities they faced.
It was difficult to smile, but he could at least take hold of the prayer and keep it in his heart. His voice trailed off in a slight breathlessness with the end of the melody as the bright disk of the sun began to emerge from the distant waves, and when he looked to the Mew for its reaction, he found that it had disappeared. He frowned. Definitely not the most polite pokemon he had ever known.
The ship pulled into port; the Mew never reappeared, likely because it couldn't find a pokemon from which to source its disguise. Disembarking from the vessel was a substantially less involved process than boarding in Kodo had been, and it was late in the morning of a mild summer day that the trainer set foot in Grande Ile proper.
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Posted: Sat Sep 08, 2012 8:43 pm
The capital city Devoirue - it felt as though it had been ages since Luke had last seen its streets, and even when he had last seen them it had been only in passing. Somehow, even in his defiance, he had always expected to return home some day, but he never would have guessed it would be under such circumstances. The familiarly unsettling anxiety returned to him as he stood ready to face his home, and he drew his hood up to conceal his telling red hair so that he would not be recognized before he was perfectly ready. Now more than ever, he badly wished to avoid meeting with his parents, but if he were to return to and remain in good health, he needed documents that only they could locate. One of the doctors' words echoed in his thoughts: Avoid sources of stress. He drew a long, calming breath. Avoid stress indeed. Passingly he wondered if the Mew was still with him or if it had been distracted by the excitement of the new land.
Devoirue was vast, and because Luke had never been properly acquainted with its infrastructure, it took him some length of time to find his way back to the manor that had been his prison for seven years. The boy stood at a distance and stared at the manor's gates. This was his last opportunity to turn around, but that wasn't, he supposed, really an option at all. Without his parents' assistance, he would have to contact every clinic in Grande Ile for the information he needed - information from more than eight years ago under a name he didn't even know. Luke had no intent to remain in the country long enough to carry out such a search, and so he pulled his halfhearted disguise away and sullenly approached the manor.
"Master Luke?!"
Predictably, he was recognized almost immediately by the manor's guards. He'd been gone for some time, but certainly not long enough for the guards that almost daily reprimanded him for trying to leave the grounds to have forgotten his face. The two men posted at the gate were instantly at the boy's side, gesturing him insistently towards the manor.
"Where in the world have you been, young master?! Lord Fabre and Lady Suzanne have been absolutely beside themselves with worry!"
"Were I you, I would steel myself, young master. Your father is going to be livid..."
He gave a vague nod in acknowledgement of the words but offered no further response. He had to contain himself; it was imperative that he remained calm. One of the pair hurried ahead and murmured something to a startled-looking maid who darted off into the manor. The remaining guard continued to escort Luke through the courtyard. Everything happened as though he were watching it through someone else's eyes, and he found himself wondering just who all the maids were greeting so enthusiastically. He wasn't the Luke that had left the manor. He was a throwaway doll wearing someone else's name, he was a murderer, he was a frail stranger desperately pursuing the only thread of life he could find. Just who were they all smiling at so brightly?
"Luke!"
The disconnect between what he saw and what he perceived was suddenly reconciled by an unexpected embrace. Wide-eyed, he slowly came to understand the situation. His mother. Hesitant hands raised as if considering returning the gesture, but they settled instead on the woman's shoulders and gently pushed her away. He met her gaze with a somber expression, but he lost his words the more he studied her. She was paler than he remembered her, her features gaunter and eyes wearier. She had been unwell, likely because of him. His grasp on her shoulders tightened briefly before falling away altogether, though her hand in turn raised warmly to his face.
"Where have you been? We've been so worried... You never put any details in your letters, so we didn't know what to think. Has Natalia come back with you as well? Goodness, you're so thin..."
He stepped away from his mother's welcoming hand and worrying words, but the swiftly approaching form of his father drew his attention before he could find a reply. His mind slowly registered the man's evident anger, and he was left with no time to react to the fist that crashed against his jaw, his mother's cry of distress falling on him the same as silence.
"What do you have to say for yourself?!" the lord demanded, brandishing his fist against the boy who had been forced to the ground from the sheer unexpectedness of the impact. The young noble pressed his palm to the bruising area with a pained frown, by and large unaware of his mother crouched at his side. Dazed, he looked back to his father as the man shouted, "You are the heir to this family! Do you have any idea what that means?! You have no right to behave as you did!"
Luke became mildly aware of the heat of tears in his eyes, an unsolicited response to the culmination of the pain of the blow, the weariness from his persisting illness and his fitful rest, the instinctive sense of guilt imparted by his father's anger, and the knowledge that they were lying to him even now. Grimacing, he passed a hand over his eyes to clear them. His father's response came in short order.
"And now you have the gall to weep? Do you know how your mother wept as she worried for your well-being? Do you know just how much trouble you've caused? Speak up! You have the responsibility to tell me just what was going through that thick skull of yours to think it such a good idea to pull off a stunt like this!"
And so did good Lord Fabre have the responsibility to explain what made him think it was such a good idea to deceive his son for seven years. That, however, was a matter that would move Luke to anger, and so he avoided it. He pulled himself to his feet and, his expression cold, met his father's gaze, "Tell me the name of the cardiologist that treated me when I was a child."
The sudden demand disarmed the vehement lord, and all at once his anger was replaced with speechlessness. Suzanne stared similarly baffled at her son, her hands folded delicately at her chest. It was her that finally broke the silence, if only with a single word, "Luke..."
The addressed looked to the speaker, his icy demeanor thawing into wounded regard. "And tell me the name I should give when they ask whose records they're looking for."
The noblewoman brought her hands to her cover her mouth, lowering her head and shuddering momentarily. When she failed to raise her eyes again, Luke returned his attention to his father, who flinched under his son's stare. Anger soon returned to his disposition, though the words that followed were distinctly flustered.
"Don't change the subject! You still have a lot to answer for before you earn the right to ask any questions yourself!"
Luke's voice was firm when he gave his reply, "That's stupid. Before I have to answer anything, I think the duty falls to you to explain what the hell made you think it was such a damn good idea to raise me to think I was my brother. You thought I'd never find out, didn't you? You probably weren't counting on the fact that Asch-- that Luke is still alive. You probably never had any idea just how much you were ruining both our lives." His volume had been steadily increasing as he continued, and he expelled a short breath when he had concluded his tirade, raising a cautious hand to his chest. Remain calm indeed. He paused only briefly, though, "I didn't come here to talk about that. Just tell me who my doctor was. The cardiologist in Kodo won't treat me properly without seeing my medical records first." Arceus, what a mess his life had become.
Silence filled the entrance hall, amplified by the baffled stares of the present maids and guards. Finally, the lord spoke, "Let's discuss this somewhere else." He moved to offer a hand to help his wife rise before proceeding with her towards what Luke recognized as the meeting room. The boy followed reluctantly, his eyes down as he moved. There wasn't really any avoiding this discussion now, he supposed.
The single guard stationed to watch over the meeting hall was dismissed from their presence. Lord Fabre took his place at the head of the long table, Suzanne placing herself diagonally at his side. Luke took a seat for himself opposite his mother, separating himself from his father's vicinity, and turned to the man to await his words.
Luke's father breathed a long sigh before he finally spoke, "I'm not sure you ever fully understood the kind of position House Fabre was in politically. We've come under a lot of fire ever since we defected to the new duke at the time of his uprising. We couldn't afford the criticism that would come from admitting that we lost our heir. We would have risked losing the trust of the other Parliamentary houses altogether, if not outright expulsion."
"Maybe if you had earnestly explained the situation, they would have helped you look for him," Luke countered, his tone and expression tired.
"Outwardly, certainly. But the political repercussions would have been dire."
Luke shook his head slightly. "Why were we separated in the first place? Did you anticipate the need to have a replacement on hand?"
It was his mother that answered next, her words carrying a slight offense, "No! We were terrified of losing you! Luke was born healthy, but you inherited my weak heart and were sickly even as an infant... Then the revolution began, and we were so scared that something would happen to you..."
"And after the revolution ended?"
"Things were tense even after the new duke declared the revolution over," Lord Fabre replied. "Houses that defected to the new government without resistance were under immediate criticism and drew a lot of negativity from supporters of the old regime and the former Parliamentary lords. The threat of kidnapping or even assassination was very present for some time to follow."
Suzanne picked up where her husband concluded, "Even when that threat had subsided, there was your health to consider. The environment we had sent you to was mild with pleasant weather and open spaces, and you had some of the best physicians in the country overseeing your well-being."
"I was there for ten years, though. My earliest memories are of being healthy, and I don't remember being seen by doctors often, so I must have improved sometime during my childhood. Even after that...?"
His parents answered with silence and a refusal to meet his gaze. "At that point," his father admitted at length, "we were thinking of the future and what we would do if something happened to Luke. With Suzanne's condition, we couldn't afford to lose our heir."
Luke averted his eyes to a window, watching idly as a bird alighted on the sill. "I see." His voice was distinctly wounded, as if he had been expecting some better explanation. Truly, he had not wanted to hear that he was ultimately intended to be a replacement for his brother, a fail safe in case something happened outside his parents' control. This was nothing short of exactly why he didn't want to return. "Where will I find the records?"
Suzanne, sensing her son's rejection, buried her face in her hands. It fell to Lord Fabre to continue the conversation, "You... said that Luke is alive? You've met him?"
All at once, his hands drew into fists, a scowl sprang to his face, and he rose abruptly from his chair. "Shut up about my damn brother! I came here because I want to live. Do you have any idea what I've been through because of this stupid back-up plan of yours?! Did it never cross your mind to tell me that I had an arrhythmia and that I'd have a heart attack if I pushed myself?! I don't wanna hear your dumb excuses or explanations; just tell me who my cardiologist was!" He was struck by a wave of dizziness that forced him swayingly back into the chair, leaning against the table with a hand pressed to his forehead and his breathing suddenly ragged. His heart pounded unevenly. Avoid stress. He was trying, dammit.
As he recovered awareness of his surroundings, Luke came to realize that his mother's arms were wrapped tightly around his shoulders. He sat unmoving for several moments to follow. It seemed in that instant, for easily the dozenth time, that everything would have been better if he'd never left Grande Ile in the first place. He would still be safe at home, shielded from the world and its cruelties. He would be perfectly healthy and none the wiser. Would things really be better that way, though? The young noble stood, pulling away from his mother's weakening embrace, "I'm going to rest in my room. If you could send a maid by with information about the cardiologist and any other physicians that could have information I need, I would appreciate it."
Neither of the parents said a word to their son as he made his way away from the table and through the door. He answered the maids that greeted him with as kind a smile he could produce but stopped to speak to no one as he continued across the courtyard to the small building that housed his room. It was exactly as he had left it, he discovered on passing through the door, if not perhaps a bit more neatly organized. Luke lingered in the doorway only momentarily before advancing the few paces required to bring him to his bed. The little anxieties that had accumulated throughout the day bade him quickly to sleep, and the boy remained still and silent for hours to come.
Slowly, he became aware of the sound of knocking at his door. Luke stared at the source of the offending sound for a few moments before pulling himself upright, seating himself on the side of the bed, and granting the visitor permission to enter, "Come in." He expected the maid bearing the information he had requested and was nothing but surprised when his father opened the door.
"Lucien," he said, "I'd like to speak with you, if that's all right."
Luke stared, slowly realizing that the name was addressing him. Lucien. It sounded... foreign. Unknown. It evoked a feeling of dread, a realization that not knowing the name had afforded him some refuge from the truth of his situation. He eventually nodded, silently acquiescing to allow his father to speak, though not without a question of his own, "Is that my name?"
Lord Fabre took a seat on the end of the bed, fixing his eyes forward and away from his son. "You really don't remember anything before the kidnapping attempt, do you?"
He shook his head slightly despite knowing his company wouldn't see it. "Was that part of your plan too? Erase my memory so you could just turn me into someone else?"
"Of course not." He sounded gravely offended. "We would never put you through something like that. It was just... If it hadn't happened, we would have told you the truth and asked you to live as Luke voluntarily. As things were, though, you were ten years old with the capacities of a toddler... We didn't have the time to raise you as Lucien again, tell you the truth, and let you decide for yourself. We did what we could and what we had to do."
"Were you just going to let me grow up like that, believing I was someone I wasn't?"
A spell of silence. "I would have liked to tell you someday. I'm sorry you found out the way you did."
"Asch told me." But that was a name his father wouldn't recognize, wasn't it? "Luke. He calls himself Asch now, saying that I stole his name and his home and his family. He said he came back once only to find that there was a boy who looked just like him running around being called by his name."
"No, that isn't..." Even without seeing his expression, Luke could tell that the words pained his father. "We hoped for so long that we would find him or that he would come home. Even after we brought you to the manor, we still hoped. And when you ran off all of a sudden... We thought maybe there was a chance you would bring him back with you when you returned... We've been hoping all this time."
"I always thought you hated me because of my amnesia," Luke admitted, his voice low. "I thought you were mad because I'd forgotten everything you taught me and couldn't relearn it quickly enough. But the harder I tried, the less you and Mother looked at me, and I just felt like I was letting you down more and more..." Of course he was letting them down. He was letting them down every time they called him Luke and he failed to be his brother.
"No, absolutely not. It was just... hard on us, coping with the possibility of our son's death while pretending that he was still right in front of us."
Luke turned to face his father's back, wearing a distinct frown. "Your son was right in front of you."
Another long pause, and Lord Fabre turned to regard his son with a sidelong glance. "I suppose a mere apology won't suffice."
"I didn't come here for an apology or to make you or Mother feel bad. I just... want to feel normal again."
His father faced him more fully now, his expression bearing a growing concern, "What's all this about medical records? What happened?"
It was with a waning reluctance that Luke explained his activities in Kodo: the threat of Team Rocket, the impact the criminals had on himself and his friends, the time spent in Hoenn to challenge the League, the numerous clashes with the villainous organization, the effort he put into training himself and his pokemon, and events that precipitated into the unexpected heart attack. He told of his visit to the hospital and the numerous meetings with the numerous doctors on the subject of his lifestyle and medical history, of their encouragement that he undergo surgery as soon as possible to repair the damage to his heart and their refusal to proceed with said surgery before he produced the requested information. Lord Fabre listened openly and earnestly, and when the explanation was completed, he volunteered his own knowledge.
"Suzanne always had a weak heart herself... It was a concern throughout her pregnancy, not only for her own sake but also for the children. We were overjoyed when Luke was born healthy, but there was an immediate and very real threat that he was the only of our promised two sons that would survive. By the time your health had stabilized, the revolution was beginning to take hold, and as Suzanne said earlier, we were worried about the possibility that something would happen to you." He paused. "It was a choice neither of us wanted to make, but ultimately we decided that the best for you was to be somewhere safe where your health could be carefully monitored. Our every effort to visit you was thwarted by some political agenda or another, and it became clear for the same reasons that it wasn't wise to bring you home yet.
"Around the time of your fourth birthday, your health had deteriorated to the point that your life was in danger, and you underwent a surgical procedure to strengthen your heart. You don't remember, of course, but I visited you that Christmas. You didn't know who I was and didn't seem to believe me when I said I was your father, but I left an Eevee with you for company, and I was happy to hear that you became friends with it. The surgery was successful, and your condition steadily improved thereafter. I suppose it's around then that we should have introduced you and Luke and allowed you to live as brothers, but with the future as uncertain as it was... We just wanted what was best for everyone. For you, for Luke, and for House Fabre."
The long silence that followed eventually begged the question, "Do you hate me, Lucien? Do you hate your parents?" His tone suggested that he expected the worst.
At length, Luke shook his head. "No, I... I was angry. I was so angry I couldn't even think about it, that I never wanted anything to do with you or Mother again. I thought that if you'd just told me who I really was from the beginning, none of this would have happened." He bowed his head, resting his forehead against his hand. "But for everything bad that's happened, good things have happened too... I've met good people, some of the greatest people I've ever known, and I'm just... glad to be alive. Thank you for raising me so that I could be alive today... I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused."
There was a sudden presence on Luke's head, and he found that his father had placed his hand there. "When did you grow up so much?" he said, smiling bitterly. "It seems like you're always growing up in places where I can't see you... Come with me; Suzanne and I will find a name and address for you."
The pair stood and, joined eventually by Luke's mother, made their way to Lord Fabre's study. Some length of time passed as they sorted through various documents and notebooks before the relevant information was located. Their findings bound Luke towards Terreval, one of Grande Ile's more suburban towns nestled quietly between the western mountain range and the nation's large lake. Before he made plans to depart, however, Luke chose to address a persistent curiosity, insignificant as he knew it was.
"Where exactly was it that I lived for those ten years?" he asked, his eyes absently following over the words on the slip of paper in his hand that spelled out his destination. In response to his parents' quizzical gazes, he elaborated, "I always felt like I should have remembered something by being around the same people and places that I always had been... I guess I understand why that wasn't the case, but even if I don't remember anything from it, I think I want to see the place where I grew up."
His mother answered with a wistful smile, "The villa by the lake in Terreval. The town has probably changed since the last time we were there, but there's a large area of property owned by House Fabre near the lake that should still be meadowland."
Luke nodded, noted the location, said his farewells, and turned to leave, but he was interrupted as Suzanne spoke again, "Lucien, please come back to see us again before you return to Kodo." The smile had faded from her features, but Luke restored it with his own.
"I will."
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Posted: Sat Sep 08, 2012 8:45 pm
Leste, who had grown accustomed to Kodo's geography, was thrilled and amazed by the lay of the land of Grande Ile, and so the flight between Devoirue and Terreval was best described as leisurely, leaving Luke with ample time to consider everything that had transpired between his parents and himself. Even now, he mused, they were probably discussing the meeting with their son and determining the things they wanted to say when he returned. He had things he still needed to say to them as well, but that was something for later.
Lucien. He leaned forward to recline against the Pidgeot's soft feathers. The name held no memories, no feelings or thoughts. It was as empty and impersonal as 'hey you.' His imagination didn't recognize the name in his friends' voices. Was he supposed to be able to call himself Lucien now after being Luke to everyone he knew for as long as he could remember? And was he supposed to forgive his parents after witnessing their shame and grief? He wasn't even sure they realized the full implications of their actions. He couldn't doubt his father's story, but even so...
The Pidgeot afforded protection to her rider from the harsh winds of flying, and the cool breeze lulled Luke into a half-asleep state void of coherent thought. The bird's cry, alerting her trainer to the large lake that colored the ground below a deep blue, drew him back towards wakefulness. He surveyed the valley to locate the villa his parents had described and, on finding it, appointed Leste with the task of remembering its position. That accomplished, the pair wheeled down out of the air and alighted in the commercial district of Terreval, drawing several startled stares from civilians - pokemon training was not a significant practice in Grande Ile, and the country's people were not accustomed to seeing the creatures used for everyday practicalities like transportation. Luke brushed off the unspoken criticism and set to work locating the address he had been given.
Terreval was larger than it looked from the air, and it was late in the afternoon by the time Luke located the clinic he sought. Fortune sided with him for once, and the same cardiologist that had treated him as a child was confirmed as an employee at the office. He made short work of the meeting, ultimately receiving assurance that the requested documents would be forwarded to the doctors in Kodo as soon as possible. The process was completed painlessly and without unnecessary questions, much to Luke's relief. That was one massive burden freed from his thoughts. The records existed, he had found them, and they were already on their way to Kodo. He rewarded himself with a great sigh of relief.
This productivity left him ample time to make his way to the villa before nightfall, though he hesitated to proceed. The guards at the manor had recognized him easily enough, but it had been nearly ten years since he'd last been at the villa, and he had no memory of his time there. It wasn't as though he had much choice, though; Leste wouldn't be able to return them to Devoirue before the sun set, and he hadn't really planned to find a hotel for the evening. It was this thought that conveyed the young noble to the shores of the great lake just as the sun began to set it aflame.
A modest gate guarded a sizable yard full of flowers and colorful trees, but the front of the villa was largely unmanned, leaving Luke to cross the walkway unescorted for once. He paused at the door to stare out at the lake, unfamiliar to him despite an alleged decade in its vicinity, and drew up a hand to knock. Several moments passed in silence before the door was drawn open, revealing an expectant-looking maid who gave an expectant-sounding, "Yes?"
"Um..." He didn't recognize her either, though he supposed he couldn't hope to immediately have all his memories restored at a single glance. "My name is Lu-- Lucien. I used to live here, when I was little."
"Lucien?" the maid repeated, tilting her head slightly askance. The sound of footsteps followed the echoed name, and a sharply-dressed older man pulled the door fully open.
"Master Lucien! Is that really you? We were told you'd never return here...!"
Luke stared, taken slightly aback by the sudden enthusiastic display. As predicted, he didn't recognize the evident butler either. "Uh, yeah, I--" His words were cut short as the man pushed past the baffled maid and seized Luke's hands in his own.
"Master Lucien! Just look at you; the last I saw you, you were just a boy! They told us you had amnesia and wouldn't return again, but I always believed you'd come back someday! Look," he maneuvered aside to display Luke for the still-startled maid, "it's the young master! You weren't hired until long after he left this place, but--"
"Wait, wait a minute!" The sudden interruption earned him the attention of both members of his company. "Well, the amnesia thing is sort of true, so I kind of don't remember you at all. Sorry..."
"Ah..." The man was visibly disheartened. "I see. I apologize for being so forward. My name is Ramdas. I was your primary caretaker from the time that you first arrived here until you were summoned back to the main estate."
"Ramdas..." Definitely unfamiliar. "Thank you for looking after me for so long." The smile he offered was apologetic, knowing full well that his absence of memory wounded the man. "I came here to see if I could remember, but it took longer getting here than I thought it would. Is it all right if I stay for the night?"
Ramdas appeared placated by the expression of gratitude and the possibility that the young master would remember him after spending some time at the villa, and he assented with a very professional bow, stepping aside to grant Luke entry, "Of course, Master Lucien. We would be honored to have you."
He gave a word of thanks and stepped through the doorway, taking in the entryway in its entirety. The dying sunlight spilled in through windows, warming ivory wallpaper, blue carpet, and rich hardwood floors. A spiraling staircase reached up to the higher floors and cast a long shadow over the archway leading into the next room. Luke regarded the architecture intently. Everything looked as though he were seeing it for the first time, but there was a strange sense of nostalgia to it all. Ramdas's sudden words pulled him out of his half-reverie.
"Feel free to explore the villa as you like, Master Lucien."
Luke turned to address the man, "Thank you, Ramdas. But, uh, I have a request, if it's not too much trouble..."
"Anything that is within my power is yours to command, young master."
"Well it's just... After I left here, I was always called Luke, so it feels kind of weird hearing people call me Lucien..."
Ramdas stared with an unreadable expression for a few moments before dipping forward in a compliant bow, "Understood, Master Luke." Luke watched with a building remorse, understanding that his request had somehow wounded the butler. He was probably lamenting, the boy decided, just how much his young master had changed. If he had indeed been waiting nearly ten years for the boy to return, he was probably nothing less than disappointed by the individual that had finally shown up. He found himself worrying about Mieu again. Certainly the Flareon's bright disposition would have cheered up the man, and unlike Luke, Mieu would even recognize Ramdas. It was an empty wish, however; Luke was not yet prepared to hope to see the fire-type again.
The whole building felt like a place he had seen in countless dreams, he mused as he began his explorations. He felt the sensation of laying in the neatly-kept grass that covered the broad field behind the villa or traversing the long dock that stretched deep towards the lake's core. The halls had a summery aroma at one turn and a wintry one at the next. Closed windows offered breezes as though they were open, and the scent of flowers lingered in a dining hall that lacked any bouquet. It was disconcerting but inexplicably comfortable.
The second floor opened up to a large, open space occupied only by a glossy white piano. Luke gravitated towards the instrument as if on instinct, pulling open the case gently. A hand lingered hesitantly over the keys before eventually pushing down onto the ivory, sounding a sweet note. "Did I play this...?"
Much to his surprise, Luke's aimless query received a response, and he turned to find himself joined by Ramdas, "Not as much as we had hoped you might. You received lessons, but you never took to them well. You always seemed much happier listening to the instructor play than playing yourself."
He laughed. "Yeah, that sounds like me."
"Have you seen your study yet, young master?"
"Study?" Luke was somewhat taken aback by the thought. He couldn't imagine himself making regular use of anything like a study as a child.
"Well, 'reading room' might be somewhat more accurate." He gestured to the hallway, and Luke followed as he pushed open a door and ushered him inside. The room was flanked by bookshelves, a small couch settled beneath a window facing the lake and a pile of pillows scattered in the middle of the floor. Ramdas continued, "You developed into quite the avid reader during your illness and recovery."
"Really?" Luke was skeptical as he pulled some political history book from the shelves, flipping idly through the pages. "Didn't think I'd ever have described myself as studious..."
"Well, those were the books your parents sent; you were educated the same as any young lord-to-be. The books you read voluntarily, though, spoke of grand adventures and legends. When your health turned, you took on countless ambitions to be a knight or a hero or a valiant prince." Ramdas smiled fondly, caught up in memory. "You were a very kind child with an incredible will, even if you were a bit of a handful from time to time."
"Ramdas," Luke closed the book and returned it to its place on the shelf, "thank you for looking after me for all those years. I still don't really remember it, but I know I couldn't be who I am today if it weren't for you."
Ramdas, clearly caught off guard, cleared his throat and folded his arms stiffly behind his back. "Trying to move an old man's heart, are you? Maybe you haven't changed quite as much as I thought." He exited the room, lingering momentarily outside the doorway, "It's getting late. I'll prepare a meal for you, young master."
Luke nodded and gave a parting word of thanks as the butler descended the staircase, and he moved to take a nostalgic Mareep-shaped pillow and into his arms. It was all so strange, as if he were meeting himself from the past. Though he didn't have any of the sudden flashes of memory he might have expected from visiting the place where he'd grown up, he still knew more about himself. The lakeside villa felt more like home than the manor ever had.
The remaining hours of the evening passed uneventfully, comprised primarily of sitting with Ramdas on the veranda and recounting his story of Kodo - excluding, of course, any unpleasant or unsavory details that would worry the man up to and including his present condition. A guest room was prepared - the room that had been his as a child was, of course, scaled too small for his current use - and an impossible nostalgia from the song of the meadow's nighttime life, the fresh scent and soft texture of the bed sheets, and the cool light of the moon as it finally appeared from the high horizon of the mountains lulled the boy into a quiet, dreamful sleep.
The next morning, the most refreshing he had had in ages, farewells were paid to Ramdas and the maid that assisted him in maintaining the villa, and Leste was called from her pokeball to give her services in the journey from Terreval back to Devoirue; Luke fully intended to make good on his promise to return home before leaving for Kodo. More important than the need to honor his word, perhaps, was the request he needed to make of his parents.
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Posted: Sat Sep 08, 2012 8:46 pm
The guards stationed at the manor's gate seemed to expect him and welcomed Luke with none of the theatrics of the previous day. He was greeted by Lord and Lady Fabre in the courtyard, the latter carrying a small backpack and a black case in her arms; it was a much milder and more pleasant encounter than their last. Pleasantries were made regarding how fruitful his search for the clinic had been, conditions at the villa, the nature of Luke's rest the previous night, and whether or not he had had breakfast. Suzanne presented Luke first with the bag she carried and explained that its contents were a light meal for his return to the foreign region; he graciously accepted and shouldered the bag. The case, however, necessitated a more thorough explanation.
"This is Luke's-- your brother's violin," Suzanne said, her words quiet as she passed the parcel into Luke's hands. "We kept it in hopes it would reach him again someday, and if you know where he is, maybe you could see that those hopes are fulfilled."
Luke felt the weight of the instrument carefully, regarding both of his parents with a slight uncertainty. It had always seemed strange to him that they had removed the violin from his room without ever asking him to try and play it. He had even asked for the opportunity before, frustrated with his repeated failure to remember the things it seemed he had ought to know. It was no large wonder they had denied him the chance. He had learned piano, not violin; attempts to use the instrument invited the risk of breaking it.
"Well, actually," he finally replied, "there was something I wanted to know if you could do." He pocketed his hands, leaving a moment in case either of them wanted to interject. When their only replies were faintly startled stares, he continued, "I want you to meet with Asch... with my brother. I've told him to go home, but it's not like he's going to listen to me... So I thought, maybe if I could call him out, and you were there, then he wouldn't have any choice..."
Suzanne raised a surprised hand to her lips, "My goodness, must we really trick him like that?"
"I sort of think if we're honest about it he'll just get mad and refuse to meet you..." It wasn't really his intent to speak about Asch or his temper, but he simply didn't have the resources to bind the man and force him to see their parents if he indeed refused.
"I agree with your mother that I would prefer not to deceive him," Lord Fabre said, "but if it's really our only choice..."
Luke nodded, "I'll see what I can do." Convincing Asch probably wouldn't be easy, but he was willing to try if nothing else. The thought was pushed aside by his mother's sudden embrace.
"Take care of yourself before anything else," she said, burying her face against her son's shoulder. This time Luke fought no hesitation before returning the warm gesture.
"You could stay here, you know," his father commented uneasily, as if voicing something that had been lingering in his thoughts for some time. "I'm sure our family's physician could treat you just as well as any doctor in Kodo, if not better. You could recover here, in your own room." Suzanne, releasing Luke, looked to her husband with an expression of mild surprise as he spoke, though her attention returned to Luke when the boy shook his head.
"Thanks," he said, "but I really just think that, you know... Kodo's like home to me now. I've been there so long, and I have so many friends there..." Rosie, Yuri, Emil, Seraphine... Even Guy and Natalia were in Kodo now, and of course that was also where Asch was. "I appreciate the offer, but..."
Suzanne clasped her hands in pursuit of a small hope, "What if we came with you, then, to Kodo?"
Lord Fabre shook his head lightly, preempting Luke's response, "No, that won't do. Not with how often Valois has Parliament assembling recently." Disappointment hung heavily in his words, but at least he wasn't fighting to force his son to stay. "At least keep in touch then, yes? Maybe start putting a return address on those letters of yours? A phone call or two never hurt anyone either."
Luke nodded, "Will do." Final assurances were given for the future and final farewells shared, and after much deliberation, he turned and departed the manor, his next destination the port and the next ship bound for Kodo.
The most difficult parts were yet to come, but his shoulders felt just a little bit lighter nonetheless. As he walked, a familiar song came to his voice, and he granted the melody expression. He sang in an unabashedly clear voice that ignored the possibility that others might overhear. Even if there were frightening things still yet ahead, it seemed appropriate to honor the happiness he had achieved, small as it was. As his tune faded, he became aware of an almost expected presence at his side.
"Do you like that song?"
The Mew bobbed happily in response.
"The name of it is 'Lorelei.' If you keep following me around all the time, I'm gonna make that your name too."
It sounded as if it were purring as the creature looped around to Luke's other side, its eyes bright and its tail waving in excitement. The boy laughed at its enthusiasm.
"Yeah? Have it your way then."
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Posted: Wed Mar 06, 2013 9:30 am
"Mr. Fabre… Oh, sorry, Mr. fon Fabre?"
"Luke is fine."
The elderly cardiologist had been warning the boy for a while of his imminent retirement, so Luke had not been particularly surprised to be called in to meet the hospital's new specialist. He was still in the midst of his rehabilitation, after all, so it made sense to acquaint himself quickly with the doctor. She was a young woman of apparent Asian descent, frameless glasses resting on the bridge of her nose and a short, dark ponytail pulled over one shoulder. She seemed personable enough so far, at least.
"Luke it is, then. I've been reading over these records Dr. Howard left." She turned a page on the clipboard in her hand, her eyes raising to meet her patient's for their dialogue. "It looks like you're due for an examination next week, but since you're here now…?"
He nodded. "Sure, that'd be fine." It wasn't as though he had anything else to do.
"All right, sounds good." The short woman rose from her chair, moving to collect the small assortment of tools that were employed during a check-up while Luke reluctantly followed his own half of the procedure and discarded his jacket and shirt on the nearby table.
"Looks like your incision has healed well," the doctor commented, looping her stethoscope around her neck and raising it to her ears. "How have you been feeling lately? Deep breath, please."
The method for speaking and inhaling deeply simultaneously continued to elude him, but he had learned to manage. "Uh, about normal I guess."
There was a light frown on her lips as she moved the cold metal incrementally, "Details, please. We've only just met, so I'm not sure what normal for you is."
He would have liked to groan or sigh, but he restrained himself. "Tired a lot of the time, but I think that's mostly because of the medicine. I've had problems sleeping normally ever since we settled on the prescription."
"Deep breath again, if you would." He did. "And a slow exhale." Again he complied. "Tired in what ways?"
"Umm…" He'd always thought Dr. Howard asked unnecessarily vague questions, but maybe it was just a doctor thing. "Just worn out, like my stamina sucks. I usually take a break after walking around for a bit or climbing stairs or something."
"Hm. What about other things? Nutrition, for example; how are you eating?"
He fidgeted awkwardly. He'd been given a diet to adhere to and ignored it most days to avoid aggravating medicinal side-effects. "Uhh, to be honest, I never really got much of an appetite back, not since before the first diagnosis. Eating much usually makes me kind of nauseous."
A curious frown. "Your records show that you tried a few different prescriptions and these yielded the least severe side-effects…"
"Yeah," he nodded to confirm, "that's true. There were anxiety problems with a lot of them, bad headaches with others, irregular heart rate with one…"
At last a change in her expression as the doctor smiled in sympathy. "You've done stress tests before, right?" She waited for his confirmation before continuing, "I'd like to set you up with another one of those, if that's all right."
It was indeed all right, so Luke allowed himself to be fitted for the stationary bike and the ECG machine - though not before allowing the woman to draw a blood sample to send to the hospital's lab for various tests. Shortly into the stress test, though, his breathing failed him and he was forced to stop to accommodate a sudden fit of coughing. The doctor looked quite displeased, allowed Luke to recover his clothing, and asked him to wait in the small, white room while she went off to consult with someone about something. And so he sat, waiting with a rapidly escalating anxiety over the situation. He disliked the strange concern in the woman's features. He was supposed to be recovering already; what cause was there to make faces like that?
When the cardiologist finally returned, it was with a new set of papers and a dark disposition. "Luke," she said in gentle tones, "I'd like to say a few things, so if you'd just listen for a little while that would be great. Questions after, if that's all right with you."
He got the impression that if it wasn't all right with him it would just be too bad, so he nodded stiffly.
"At this stage in your recovery, you should already be returning to a semi-normal lifestyle, so the fact that you're still experiencing things like fatigue, nausea, and shortness of breath is a big concern to me. During that examination earlier I detected some irregularity with your lungs, which would account for the sudden coughing problem during your stress test and also why you feel worn out even after only light physical activity. I'd like to have you undergo an MRI just to be completely sure, but all your symptoms as well as the results of your blood test point towards congestive heart failure."
She paused. He waited. Neither said anything for a few moments, and then she continued, "I believe that the surgery Dr. Howard administered repaired the effects of your heart attack but failed the address the larger cause. I know that a phrase like 'heart failure' can sound intimidating and ominous, but there are any number of treatments that can be employed to ensure your health."
Finally he spoke, albeit numbly, "My mother passed away not too long ago, from heart failure."
"I'm sorry; you have my condolences." The woman's expression was sour. "Though I hate to say it like this, that's another tick mark against you. But, it's still not set in stone. Honestly, though the chances are against it, it could very well just be an adverse reaction to your medication. Would you like to set up an appointment for an MRI? We can start thinking about what to do from there."
The dialogue that proceeded from there was primarily one-sided with Luke listening wordlessly to instructions and recommendations made by his cardiologist. A time to conduct the MRI was set for the following day, and when Luke arrived for the appointment, the doctor confronted him briefly about his disposition. In matters related to one's health, she reminded, it was of all importance to remain optimistic. Skipping out on meals and rest, of which he was all too obviously guilty, was ill-advised. The short lecture complete, Luke was led off by the technologist, preparations made, and the scan conducted. The cardiologist, who assured her patient that the results would be ready for them to discuss in the afternoon, encouraged him to return home for a few hours of sleep and something to eat.
He couldn't comply with the instructions, however. When he departed from the hospital, it was move himself to one of the city's many small eateries, specifically the tiny bakery that usually took a bit too long to serve food that was redeemably tasty. He placed the simple order for a slice of oat bread and a cup of tea and took a seat at a table near the window to watch the passing pedestrians.
Optimism. Yeah, right. How was he supposed to be optimistic when it seemed that all the world was conspiring against him? How many good things had happened in the time he had been in Kodo? Rosie had eventually recovered her stolen Vaporeon. That was one - one little white mark against a sea of all black, one speck of goodness swallowed up by the bad. It could only barely pass for a good thing anyway, since it only came to pass after months and months of heartache from Vahy'n being lost.
The oat bread was eventually served with peach and pecan preserves and was accompanied by a sweet, fruit-flavored tea. The pleasant flavors seemed a cruel irony, but he tolerated them out of partial respect of the cardiologist's mandate. She probably would be able to detect whether or not he had skipped eating again, and he wasn't interested in hearing another lecture about it. He wasn't sure he was interested in anything she had to say; he was beginning to doubt whether or not he would be able to tolerate more bad news. It was always bad news, as though no other kind of news existed. And yet it was "of all importance" to remain optimistic. Get over it, then. Get over all the pain and fear and sorrow and anger and embrace everything with an honest smile. How could anyone talk about that like it was something plausible?
The hours passed in contemplatively despondent silence, interrupted briefly by a lie to the curious or concerned waiter that he was fine and a truth that he was just killing time, until it came time to return to the hospital to hear the results of the MRI. His footsteps were heavy with reluctance, his name on the appointment sign-in sheet at the front desk written in small letters. It took less time than he would have liked for the cardiologist to appear at the door leading to the back rooms. She raised a hand in greeting and beckoned him to follow back to one of the consultation rooms - a more comfortable place than the examination room they had used earlier - and they each took a seat in one of the available recliners.
"Hello again, Luke," she greeted. "Did you manage to get any rest?"
He shook his head, forgetting that he had been trying to avoid a lecture. The expression that responded to him, though, was of understanding and sympathy.
"Yeah, can't say I blame you. Unfortunately, I have to admit that I called you back here to talk about bad news."
Big surprise. Luke listened wordlessly, hope draining from his features.
"There's no gentle way to say this, so I'm just going to lay it on you. As far as heart failure cases go, yours is already pretty advanced. Judging from your history and all the test results, I'm afraid that chemical treatments are already out of the question." She produced a pamphlet from the various papers in her hands and passed it to Luke. It was a small trifold brochure with a pleasant watercolor illustration of a heart on its cover and a bolded title: Heart Failure and Transplant Program. "There's only one facility in Kodo equipped for heart transplantation, but that doesn't mean you have to use it. You're welcome to look into clinics in other regions or countries, and I'd be happy to help you if that's what you would prefer. I would really recommend that you make your choice soon, though, so the testing to ensure your candidacy can begin as soon as possible."
Finally he spoke, "So basically my heart's no good."
"Well, that would be the simplest summary, yes."
"What happens if I don't do this?"
Her brow knitted lightly. "As with any serious illness or injury, your condition would gradually worsen until your heart could no longer sustain your body."
"So I would die."
Breathing a subtle sigh, the woman stood, took a paper cup from her desk, and filled it with water from the tap, offering it to her patient and drinking of it herself when he declined. "That's why medicine exists," she said. "So you don't have to die. I don't know what kind of care your mother was under, but her death was preventable. Yours is too. Your records and examinations show no physical reason for you to fail the qualifications for transplant candidacy." She paused, her eyes falling to the cup in her hands. "I'll warn you that those qualifications don't just look at your physical condition, though. If they decide that you're emotionally incapable of handling the psychological stress of the transplant, you'll be rejected."
He crumpled the unopened brochure lightly in his hands. "I don't… know if I can do that."
The doctor crossed the room quietly, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder and crouching to approach his eye level. "It's a huge burden, I know. I'm not telling you to run down to the transplant clinic right away and sign yourself up for an examination. Go home and get some rest. Take some time to talk to your family and your friends. When you're ready to make a decision, let me know. Let's just take it all one day at a time, okay?"
Hesitantly, insincerely, he nodded. Prescriptions that were running low were written in for a refill, and a few more publications were put in his hands. And with that, unceremoniously, he left the hospital, forced to confront a world that was suddenly bleak and terrifying.
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Posted: Tue Mar 26, 2013 8:36 pm
Luke had no awareness of opening his eyes, but he did have a slowly building recognition of a blur resembling a familiar face. There was a sensation on his fingers that he came to understand as the touch of another hand. His thoughts waded amidst the muck and mire of the years' worth of dreams he had dreamt in the days that had passed before arriving shakily at the solid shore of the real. The words he managed to produce were spoken uneasily on a voice hoarse from ventilation tubes and general disuse, "Am I dead?"
His response was a laugh through which was visible more relief, gratitude, and rejoicing than his eyes could perceive from the speaker's features, but there was also a heavy pain to the sound. "No," the answer followed. "You're alive. You're very much alive." The touch at his hand became a pressure, green eyes focusing to see two hands clasping it as if to act as a lifeline. Dazedly his gaze found and identified his company's face - his father. Memories staggered back to him: fear, pain, desperation, resignation. He remembered dying, but he was alive. Breath came easily. The warmth bound around his hand was unmistakable.
"You had a successful transplant procedure," his father said. His expression was taut and unhappy despite words Luke perceived as positive. "You're expected to make a full recovery."
Hospital. That explained the unremarkable whiteness of his surroundings. He wasn't surprised. Awareness and the connections it wrought began to work its way through his weary head. His vague inquiry was made weakly, "Asch--" wrong; he was speaking to his father, "Luke?"
The tightness on his hand loosened and withdrew. "He was here." The words were cold and contrite, and their tone only further dredged up memories of the dark dreams that had haunted him before his waking. Unease settled over his person, a soft worry emerging in his expression.
"Now?"
Lord Fabre was suddenly standing, turning his back to his son, "Get some rest. I need to speak to the staff about your waking."
Luke's fingers flexed weakly after his father's departing form, green eyes blinking in growing suspicion and concern. What the hell…?
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Posted: Thu Mar 28, 2013 6:57 am
Luke awoke once more to his father's company, unaware of the time or even the day. He was immediately seized by earlier memories and the panic and distress that came with them, and he suddenly sat up as if to escape somewhere.
"Lucien, that's enough!"
He stopped at his father's words, staring with wide eyes. The name had never felt so cutting.
Lord Fabre sighed, leveling a severe expression on his son. "I was informed of earlier events," he said. "This behavior is unacceptable." Despite Luke's attentive staring, he failed to find the sorrow and the sleeplessness the presided in the man's features. "You are not the only one suffering. The loss of your brother is the loss of my son. I know that it's painful, and I kept it from you because I wanted to prioritize your recovery."
Luke trembled lightly, hands clenching the sheet that covered his lap. When he offered no reply, his father's harsh disposition softened.
"I'm not trying to invalidate your grief, but I implore of you to express it another way. You are the sole heir to this household, and more importantly you are the sole heir to your brother's legacy. You owe him nothing short of a quick recovery and a long, good life." The man stood, regarded the wordless boy with a momentary solemnity, and turned to depart the room with a sigh.
Gradually the stupor faded from Luke's expression, leaving in its wake a dull despair.
It was his fault Asch had died, and he had to bear that.
He had to bear that for the rest of his life.
The understanding crushed and consumed him, hollowing him of his remorse.
"It's your fault," he accused, eyes locked blankly ahead. "It's your fault. You idiot. You useless garbage. You deserve it."
The room's vacuous silence inhaled the words, and the young heir surrendered to it.
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Posted: Wed Apr 03, 2013 1:57 pm
What was born as an earnest resolution to put an end to the insults and accusations Luke constantly launched against himself had gradually declined into the desperate combat of a losing battle. Repeated failure to stop his self-deprecating thoughts only gave them more ammunition to use against himself. He would speak when spoken to, but his answers were short and distant. Any semblance of sleeping habits fell into utter disarray, the beginnings and endings of his days marked more by the presence or absence of his ability to move than by the time. The longer he went on, the more persistent and autonomous the thoughts became.
So you're giving up here, huh? That's as far as your stubbornness goes?
The view of the courtyard from his bedroom window was already becoming a familiar sight, and as he stared out at the early morning's foggy sky, he faintly remembered a day in years passed when the view had been so stifling that he had finally made up his mind to do something about it. Sneak out, get to the pier, and board a boat. The land beyond would be new and exciting, and he would be free to go anywhere he wanted within it.
You're pathetic. Two years ago you were unhappy, so you packed up and left.
And now he was simply resigning to it. Come December he would be old enough to be recognized as an adult, but even that didn't feel like it would bring release. Was he really just going to stay at his father's whim? He really was pathetic.
Do you plan to be depressed for the rest of your life?
He moved from the window, determining as he turned towards his room that he wasn't yet tired enough to sleep despite spending several hours watching the slow shift of the stars. He subsisted in a constant state of exhaustion but had eventually learned that no amount of rest would alleviate it. There was no relief to be found within the walls of the manor, but nor could he imagine any relief outside those walls or across the ocean in Kodo.
This isn't even about Asch anymore. You're just being selfish.
Luke leaned against the windowsill stiffly, his hands clenching at the surface, ignoring the watchful gaze of the ever-present Repede as if there were nothing strange in his behavior. It wasn't fair of him to feel as he did. At least he was alive. With only that, he had more than Asch or his mother or the criminals slain in the warehouse or the man he had stabbed or any of the thousands of people dying in thousands of cruel and hopeless ways. There was a healthy heart in his chest that beat red blood throughout a body that was whole, warm, and alive.
A hand came up to his face, a slight grimace befalling his expression. He should feel grateful, but he couldn't convince himself. Not long ago, he had wanted to live so badly that he had fallen to despair. Why had his feelings changed so harshly? Why couldn't he force them to change back?
Something to drink. The kitchen wasn't exactly a significant distance from his room, and at this hour he would have to convince the busy cooks to give him access to the glassware cabinet while they worked to prepare breakfast for the household, but moving himself towards some sort of goal, even a miniscule one, sounded appealing. He crossed the room and moved to pull open the door, pausing as the mirror suspended on the nearby wall caught his eye.
In that moment he would swear that the reflection moved independently of him, taunting him, "If you hate living so much, stop."
Luke was startled by the abrupt sound of the mirror shattering, shards of it gathering uselessly at his feet. Pale, frightened features regarded the broken reflection that remained, and he instinctively raised his right hand to his damaged left. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he became aware of the sound of the sentinel Growlithe's barking, then the fact that Repede had left the room. He would return with Yuri, no doubt. Luke flexed the cut fingers with some difficulty, watching the blood well up and run from the wounds. Trembling, he began to pick the fragments from his skin, his mind frantic for an explanation.
An accident. It was just an accident. He wasn't paying attention and ran into the mirror accidentally. That was all.
That had to be all.
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Posted: Wed Apr 03, 2013 11:11 pm
Luke had moved past the need to use the heavy painkillers that had been prescribed for him after his surgery long ago, trading them out for milder generic equivalents, but nonetheless he had drawn one of the capsules out from the amalgam of medicine he owned. The pain in his wounded hand had already dulled, but he no longer trusted his conscious thoughts. The sedative effect of the medicine kept him either asleep or too sluggish to move around much in the days that followed the incident with the broken mirror. For now the medicine had already worn off, but still Luke remained on the sheets of his bed, green eyes staring absently at the ceiling. For the time being, he was able to subsist without thinking, and for that was grateful.
Eventually, however, a familiar sound filled the silence of his room, a quiet cry he recognized as the voice of a Mismagius. Indeed, the ghost appeared at his side, and he lifted himself slightly from the bed with an expression of pure surprise on his features, "Giselle?" He'd seen his reflection move independent of him. He couldn't exactly be sure that the ghost was indeed there.
The Mismagius grew excited, nodding and voicing confirmation enthusiastic, but her sounds became dampened as her gaze fell to his hand. He remembered the soft gauze bandaging protecting the many cuts and withdrew it as he sat up fully, shaking his head, "Just an accident." More importantly, "Did Sera come here…?"
The ghost seemed to remember something and nodded vigorously in response. When she stopped, it was to hold up one of her appendages and indicate it with a sound. She held up another and indicated it similarly, then looked to Luke in search of his comprehension. His brow furrowed in confusion as he failed to understand the charade, but he could at least hazard a guess, "Sera and someone else?"
Another nod and an apparent pantomime, the ghost-type spinning bouncily. Luke wasn't sure what to make of the hint, but there was a slight hopefulness to his tone and expression as he hazarded a guess, "Rosie?"
He was answered with more excitement indicating a positive response, and while Luke felt that he should have been glad to hear that his friends had come, he was more worried about the fact that he was learning of this from a Mismagius that had sneaked into his room. His father had already taken his pokedex and forbidden him from leaving the manor; did he intend to cut him off completely from everything he had known in Kodo? Mildly perturbed by the thought, he moved to rise from his bed, "I'm going to go talk to my father."
A sound followed him as he began to cross the room, and Luke turned to look back at Giselle's questioning expression. He hesitated for a moment. "Can you take a note back to them?" At her nod, he searched out a paper and penned his message, I'll try talking to my father. Come again tomorrow. He didn't know what it would take to convince Lord Fabre or how long the inevitable argument would endure, but he certainly wasn't going to waste any time.
As Giselle disappeared through the window, Luke turned and started down the hall in the direction of his father's study. The fact that Rosie and Sera had come and he hadn't heard of it was of incredible concern to him. He could accept not returning to Kodo, but cutting off all contact with his friends? That was too cruel. His friends had been all that had kept him afloat for this long. Before he realized how far he had gone, he was drawing open the elaborate door that separated his father's study from passing distractions, staring into his father's surprised expression. Luke stood in the doorway unsteadily, looking for all the world as though he had just been betrayed in the worst way.
"Did my friends come here?"
The expression that replied to him was pitying, and Lord Fabre breathed a quiet sigh as he set down the paper he was reviewing and stood to approach his son. "Lucien," the name still stung, now more than ever, "have you thought at all about why I've forbidden you from leaving the manor?" He didn't await a response. "Did you ever realize that the seven years you were protected here passed almost entirely without incident? When you were a child in Terreval you were safe as well. Then you left that environment, and almost immediately an attempt was made against your life, and your memories were lost." His expression softened in bitter nostalgia. "When you went to Kodo, you returned with nothing but stories of hardship. I allowed you to go back out of guilt for having denied you that independence for so long. But as your father, I've had enough of watching your suffering."
Luke clenched his hands lightly, his features pleading. "What does that have to do with seeing my friends?"
"Would that make you happy?" He paused to await a response, continuing when the response he received was nothing but confusion, "My decision for you to remain here in Devoirue isn't going to change. I assumed speaking to your friends while knowing this would be unpleasant for you."
The young noble lowered his head, his voice quiet, "If you know that, then why are you forcing this on me?"
"Lucien--"
He shook his head defiantly, "Do you have to keep calling me that? I was always called Luke before."
His father regarded him incredulously, apparently deeply offended. "Luke is your brother's name," he reminded sharply. "I know that your mother and I made a mistake, but that doesn't excuse your selfishness."
Luke's eyes snapped up to Lord Fabre's face suddenly. This isn't even about Asch anymore. You're just being selfish.
"Have you mourned Luke at all?" The accusation came on a voice that was pained and heavy. "I can't begin to imagine how you feel being in the situation that you are, but have you even once put your feelings aside and grieved for the brother that's passed away?"
Luke moved as if to retreat, but his father took hold of his left wrist, indicating the bandaged hand, "You're alive, Lucien! You're alive, and you're destroying yourself! Luke died, and he did so so that you would survive. Do you intend to forsake that?!"
Trembling, Luke held his gaze away, controlling panicking breaths to the best of his ability. Noting this, his father shook him lightly to maintain his attention, his words beseeching, "You cannot keep running. You disrespect your brother, your family, and yourself in doing so. Face it and move forward."
Desperate to escape the conversation, Luke ducked his head in a single nod, turning to leave the way he came when he felt that his wrist was free. He returned down the hallway at a clip that eventually slowed to a stop, holding onto his hands to prevent them from shaking. The demon that was his own mind began to spill its poison, but the thoughts were for once comforting.
It's not selfishness. You're free to live your life as you like.
He compressed into himself slightly. "Anything but this. I can't do this anymore."
You don't have to. You're free to die as you like as well.
For a time he remained rooted to that place, staring blankly at the floor as if the words were foreign - as if he hadn't already considered them several times in the past. "That isn't…" What wasn't it? What reason did he have to fear or hesitate? He could foresee no future in which the taunting of his own thoughts subsided, in which sleep came easy and without the threat of nightmares, in which the guilt of living in his brother's place felt any less agonizing. None of that could haunt him if he weren't alive to feel it.
It was selfish.
It's not selfish.
He didn't really care anymore. Slowly Luke coerced himself to move, returning to his room. If he was surprised to find Giselle waiting there, it didn't show in his features. He accepted Giselle's small parcel, reading over it more out of obligation that interest. If there was anything that could help him now, he thought, it was Rosie's warm handwriting, hers and Seraphine's signature, the knowledge that he had friends somewhere in the world that wanted to see him. Luke was vaguely relieved to find that no such sentiments were stirred. The note he gave in response was curt and mechanically written: Never mind. Don't worry about me and go back to Kodo. I'm sorry. He left the message with Giselle and sent the Mismagius back towards her trainer.
Was this really okay?
"It's fine."
Exhausted, he returned to the disheveled bed, throwing back one of the sedatives to encourage his mind to blank. With daylight came risk of discovery and intervention, so he saved his thoughts for the coming night.
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Posted: Sat Sep 14, 2013 9:28 am
It was with great hesitation that Luke dialed a number into his pokegear, resting his elbow on a collection of pillows so that he wouldn't have to support the raised arm himself, and it was with heavy anticipation that he listened to the other end ring…
…and ring…
…and ri--
"Yes? Who's calling?"
The number went directly to Lord Fabre's personal phone, and Luke was accustomed to being greeted without typical pleasantries when he called. Still it took an unnatural length of time for him to find his voice, "It's Luke."
An uncertain pause replied to the introduction. "I see," the man replied at length. "It's been a while since you called. Usually if you need something you simply show up unannounced on my doorstep."
Luke offered a faint, unseen smile that faded as he spoke, "That… wouldn't really be possible now."
"Hm? Why is that?"
The trainer's throat filled with cotton, his chest clenching with dread. The words tumbled incomprehensibly through his thoughts as his lips moved silently as though they could catch and voice the meaning.
"Lucien?"
"Sorry." The apology was automatic, rekindling his breath and reviving his ability to speak. "Uh. I've told you about Team Rocket before, right?" He remembered telling the story of the organization and the island of Kodo's struggle against it, and he remembered explaining his position amidst everything. "We finally started to make some real progress in getting rid of them. Their base was discovered, and a few days ago a bunch of us went out to try and stop them as they were evacuating."
There was a deep sigh in response. "Are you going to tell me you became involved in something dangerous again?"
"It-- Well…"
"When are you going to stop putting yourself in harm's way?" The man's tone was exasperated. "If you think I haven't noticed the various governing manuals that disappear from the estate whenever you visit, you're quite wrong. Surely you must know by now that a politician's place isn't fighting on the front lines."
"Politics aren't going to help anything here," Luke replied, frustrated. "It's not like Kodo isn't protected by its own laws. They're criminals. Policies don't matter; they have to be stopped by force."
"And that's what law enforcement is for. What right do they have to push civilians into battle?"
"We weren't pushed, Father," the trainer countered. "We volunteered. They told us exactly what to expect and gave us every opportunity to back out if we wanted to."
"Then why did you fight nonetheless?" The facade of anger and disapproval began to chip and unravel, revealing a genuine concern in Lord Fabre's voice. "Why is it so difficult for you to make yourself safe? Don't waste your brother's sacrifice!"
The words stung, and Luke gave no reply, frowning quietly at his lap.
Eventually, there was a sigh. "I take it you were wounded in this confrontation, then?" Silence. "Severely?" Silence still, followed with another exhale and a softer tone, "There isn't much I can offer if you won't explain what's wrong."
Luke shook his head - albeit pointlessly. "It's not that I wanted anything," he murmured. "I just thought I should let you know."
"I see." There was yet another long pause that neither party quickly moved to break, though it was Lord Fabre who finally broke it. "Winter is a ways away, so I trust you will be well enough to visit?" he hazarded. "Your birthday this year is special, I'm sure you recall."
Luke saw no point in concealing the desolation from his expression, though the strength of his voice suffered for it, "Yeah. It'll be fine, probably."
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Posted: Wed Nov 06, 2013 4:17 pm
Certainty in the face of uncertainty: No matter how the physicians insisted that the possibility still existed, that there would be no confidence until the lacerations had all healed and the inflammation had subsided, Luke chose to believe in the fact that his fate was sealed. The self-imposed sense of finality had been instrumental in the gradual ebbing of his temper - though the fading pain of his injuries contributed substantially to his mood as well. Interacting with anyone other than his closest friends, despite his best efforts, was difficult; there was a pervasive feeling of being incomplete and inadequate, and it was not something that he could convince himself that others would overlook.
He dulled his fatalistic perceptions through occupying his thoughts with active pursuits such as reading the boring government books he kept out of obligation. It felt somehow closer now than it ever had before, perhaps due in part to the fact that he knew his situation would have no impact on the implications of his bloodline. He made the most of it, though, investigating what sorts of steps would need to be taken to build Grande Ile into a trainer region, what sort of arguments would need to be made to convince the League to install pokemon centers in the country. If he was going to be forced to hold a seat in the government, he certainly wasn't going to pass on the opportunity to introduce the other governors to his knowledge and experiences.
Much as he tried to motivate himself, it was dull work. The limits on his understanding of Grande Ile's politics blocked him at every turn, and each of his pursuits necessitated far more research and reading than he was willing to invest at any given time. He was often led to the piano in his frustration, chased thence by a curiosity to hear the sound. It wasn't comfortable to play for extended periods of time, though those periods did gradually elongate as the rotator cuffs began to regain strength and stamina. There was a stereotype, he knew, that those who had known painful experiences often turned pain into music, and as he learned to command the keys, he came to understand the reason for it. There was catharsis in turning thoughts into sounds, in freeing words he didn't want to - or couldn't - say.
More than cathartic, however, it was sweetly nostalgic, reminding him of the old white piano and the comfortable library he had seen in the house near Terreval. He understood why his thoughts were called back to that place, knowing well the story of his youth, but it was somewhat frustrating to know only the story. He wondered how his child self had felt being confined by illness to beds and chairs and how the stories on the shelves and the sound of the piano had changed those feelings. Those distant memories felt every bit as lost to oblivion as his hopes of standing again.
And then oblivion was suddenly made to feel far less unattainable.
As the threat of reopening wounds disappeared, the physicians recommended escalating movement, such as adopting a stretching regimen to begin to limber up the healing muscles. It wasn't without some pain that Luke performed the exercises, but given what he was recovering from, he expected at least that much. What he didn't expect was the sudden hot, sharp sensation that pierced the sole of his foot and shot up towards his waist, pursued by the pricking of thousands of creeping needles. It was not at all a pleasant sensation - it was, in fact, nearly unbearable, immobilizing him even more thoroughly than had his injury - but it was thrilling, exhilarating to feel something from the limbs his body had deserted. The worst of it slowly began to subside, and Luke dared to test his range of motion.
It felt erratic and haltingly responsive, but there was the unmistakeable sensation of muscle tensing and shifting. There was the soft friction of fabric on skin, the quiet, shuffling sound of slight movement. It was all so dull and faint, but it was there.
A plethora of physical therapy opportunities suddenly became relevant once more, and the doctors were more than eager to make recommendations. A month of stifling dependency slowly began to crumble, replaced by a promise - not just a hope or a possibility, but a promise - of independent motion, and Luke was prepared to invest every effort towards that end.
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Posted: Fri Jan 31, 2014 6:23 pm
"Lord Fabre. It's good to see that you could make it to our appointment today."
When Luke's father had explained to him that they were going to spend Christmas Day putting in appearances with the other heads of the noble households, he had had no reservations about skipping out of the meetings to spend time with Rosie and Seraphine in the city, enjoying a birthday with his friends before inevitably being roped into formalities later that evening. What he hadn't realized until he was later told was that one of those meetings was with the nation's duke, an interview to confirm his suitability as an ambassador of Grande Ile. The duke, according to his father, had graciously agreed to reschedule for the next day, and Luke would be foolish to stand him up a second time.
Luke wasn't terribly concerned with the family reputation, but he was ashamed that his flippant attitude had inconvenienced the duke - as well as he was worried, to a degree, that his behavior had jeopardized his appointment as an ambassador, a position that would allow him to keep his residence in Kodo with his father's rare approval. Not that he had any intent to leave Kodo even if his father disapproved, least of all now, but it would be nice to give the man a reason to stop complaining about his life choices.
Being addressed as Lord Fabre, however, was something he couldn't accept so easily.
"Yes, Your Grace," Luke replied, squaring his shoulders and meeting the duke's damask gaze. "I deeply apologize for my actions yesterday. I had no intention of disrupting your schedule."
Duke Valois stood with his hands folded behind his back, his expression cool and unreadable. "Might I ask what prompted those actions, exactly?"
The younger noble drew a silent breath before uncomfortably voicing his response, "My father dismissed my questions about the nature of my appointments without explanation. I selfishly decided my time would be better spent with my friends-- with my fiancee and our friend." That was an unfamiliar word, fiancee, though it was far from one he disliked. On the contrary, it was a warm, pleasant, and surreal word that he rather looked forward to repeating.
A grin broke over the duke's features, and his posture relaxed with a laugh. "You know, I always thought that a person should be able to decide how they want to spend their own birthday," he said, gesturing towards a pair of chairs arranged on either side of a coffee table and moving to seat himself in one. "I've fled my own share of appointments throughout my life. Sometimes you just take a look at your schedule for the day and say to yourself, 'I don't think so.'"
The duke's sudden amicability relaxed Luke slightly, but it was with some lingering hesitation that he advanced into the room to take the offered seat, sitting stiffly on the plush cushion. Unsure of how to reply, he remained silent. His company didn't seem to mind the lack of response, continuing on his own accord.
"So, then, Lord Fabre-- Lord Fabre the Younger? Lord Fabre, Jr.? How are people addressing you these days?"
A slight color to Luke's complexion indicated his discomfort, "Uh, just Luke, Your Grace. If that's okay..."
"Oh! Of course, no problem." The duke waved a hand dismissively, then raised a single finger, "Well, on one condition: No more of this 'Your Grace' business. Luke for you, Leon for me. Fair?"
"Uh..." The issue wasn't whether or not it was fair; it was the blatant disrespect behind the idea of addressing the duke, the representative of the nation as a whole, by his first name as though he were a friend of years. "I... Yes, sir."
Leon's brow raised slightly, and he tilted his head askance. "You know," he said, "the last time I met you - or, beg your pardon, the last time I visited your estate and saw you there - you behaved quite differently. Granted, that was some time ago. Before you turned up in Kodo, if I recall correctly...?"
The younger of the pair nodded once, stiffly, "Yes, that's accurate. I-- Not to try to make excuses, but I was very frustrated with my living conditions at the time, and I was very, uh... spoiled. Rotten. And self-important, and ignorant, and generally disinterested in anyone but myself. Honestly I'm kind of embarrassed I was ever allowed in front of strangers." He laughed a fading, awkward laugh as the duke leaned the side of his face into his palm in intrigue.
"That truly wasn't all that long ago, though, I believe," he said. "Culturally, three years is the difference between a 'boy' and a 'man,' but there certainly isn't some magic switch that gets flipped to activate a sense of maturity and responsibility. Yet it seems that you found your way there - presumably in Kodo?"
He initially thought to deny it, to say that anywhere that wasn't the manor in which he had been confined for seven years would have had a similar effect on his emotional development, but he found the suggestion to be untrue. Kodo had precipitated nearly every major event in his life, and Luke very much doubted that that his life would have progressed similarly in any other place in the world. And so he gave his confirmation, "Yes."
The duke nodded thoughtfully, an intimidatingly keen interest in his expression. "Well, Luke, it sounds like it might be kind of a long story, but could I ask you to tell it?"
Luke, surprised by the request, shook his head reflexively. "Are you sure...? I mean, I've already messed up your schedule..." He wasn't really sure how much time was allotted for this sort of meeting, but he felt like there were probably more important things to discuss.
"Oh, don't worry about that," Leon dismissed. "You know, when I received word of your nomination for ambassadorship - and please don't take offense to this - I was honestly very doubtful. Thus far I've been pleasantly surprised to find that you're not at all the person I was expecting, but the fact that I was so incredibly off the mark has left me with an understandable amount of curiosity, you know? So, if you're willing to tell the story, I'd love to hear it."
Luke drew a deep breath, his eyes on his hands in his lap, as he faced the daunting task put before him. Three years was an awfully long time to summarize as a story, especially considering how much had happened only in the past year. But the duke's gaze was expectant, and so Luke spoke almost without thinking.
"Kodo is a League region-- or, no, when I first arrived, it was only just starting to become a League region, which means that there was a sort of growing prevalence of pokemon training. Grande Ile seems to sort of categorize pokemon as either pets or wild animals, but in League regions they're trained to work together with people called trainers, and the Pokemon League regulates everything. Uh..." Only just started and he was already off track. "It took a long time for me to get used to the environment. I thought it didn't have anything to do with me, but... Well, there's an organization based there that calls itself Team Rocket, and though the name sounds like something out of a children's story, it's actually a serious problem. The League refers to them sometimes as a terrorist organization, though their intentions seem to be more sophisticated than that.
"They're notorious for stealing pokemon, and the first person I met in Kodo had recently had a pokemon stolen by them." He paused briefly. "Incidentally, that person became an irreplaceable friend, the person I loved, and, eventually, my fiancee."
"Oh," the duke said, blinking in faint surprise, "the second fiancee?"
"Uh, well... technically speaking, I guess? The 'first fiancee' wasn't really something I knew about, so..."
"An arranged marriage?" Leon shook his head disapprovingly. "Positively archaic! Honestly, if there weren't so many public welfare issues to take care of, I'd have half a mind to propose legislation to outlaw the things, or at least impose some restrictions. Probably for the best that I don't, though... With the timing, the implications are bound to irritate Absolon. Of course, Parliament is always so much more fun when Absolon is irritated... Ah, I'm sorry, I'm rambling. Don't mind me; please, continue."
"It's fine," Luke assured, traces of amusement in his features. The nation's duke was lauded for his charisma and personability, after all. "That person - Rosie - I learned a lot from her. For the previous seven years, I'd never left home, even just to look around the city, so I was fortunate that the first person I met was someone so kind and patient. So when Team Rocket stole from her again and took the pokemon that was her mother's memento, I couldn't pretend anymore that it wasn't my problem or didn't have anything to do with me. One by one the people I'd met all started to put in the effort to become better trainers. I think it was the first time I ever took something so seriously.
"It was around that time that my perspective really changed. As it turned out, 'Luke' was the name of the brother I'd never heard about, who'd disappeared when we were both young and who I was intended to replace." He ran a hand through his hair uncomfortably. "That sort of... turned everything upside-down. I couldn't feel so special and important after that, knowing that I was just the back-up who wasn't even worth telling the truth."
"Your parents never told you?" Leon's expression was incredulous, and Luke shook his head in confirmation, faintly suspicious.
"...Did they tell you?"
"Oh, umm." The noble frowned in careful consideration. "Not directly, no. My... A relative of mine who lived in Kodo met your brother - or perhaps she met you, actually. She asked why the Fabre heir would be in Kodo, so I tried asking, but your father was always so strict about exactly what he talked about. You could say that there is a chance that I learned of the circumstances of your childhood while investigating the matter on my relative's behalf, but I would appreciate if your father never heard about it." He coughed into his fist awkwardly. "Anyway! When was all this then?"
Luke blinked, momentarily baffled, and searched his thoughts for an answer. "Quite a while ago," he said. "Around two years, I think...?"
Leon responded with a low whistle. "Then that's only the beginning!"
With a quiet laugh and an apologetic nod, Luke proceeded to summarize the events that had transpired in Kodo: the difficult relationship that developed between himself and his brother, the loss of Mieu at the hands of Team Rocket, the illness that threatened his life, his mother's and brother's deaths, the betrayal of Rosie's sister, his waxing and waning will to live and fight, his reckless defense of Nicolette, Seraphine's injury, the distrust that grew amidst the trainers following the convention, the fight in the desert, the threat of paralysis, the relief of recovery - and between it all, he told of the bonds he formed with the people he met there and of the earnest love that had grown and come to fruition. By the time he finished, he felt like he was nearly out of breath.
Leon, having listened dutifully and done his best to keep his interjections to a minimum, sat with his fingers tented and a contemplative expression in his features before he finally spoke, "Do you really think you're suited to be an ambassador?"
The words caught Luke off guard. "Sir?"
"There are some qualities in you that are good for that sort of thing," the duke continued. "You have a noble spirit: a will to seek justice, a desire to serve and protect, a tendency to chase what's right. Honestly, you're ahead of many of the politicians I've known - you know, the ones that do it because they like feeling important - and I trust that you'd do your best with all your power. However," he raised a finger in punctuation, "it sounds to me that that noble spirit of yours was forged in fire and is fueled by flame. Do you really want to commit yourself to politics, of all things?"
Luke's eyes fell to his lap, his expression uncomfortable. "I don't know what else I would do," he answered honestly. "I don't really have any other skills. I was raised to be the heir to my family."
"But is it what you want to do?"
It was a question that Luke had considered before, and he never found an answer. Asch had left to him the title of heir, and now he had already been named a lord. He was the successor of a name with generations upon generations of history. It wasn't an option to just turn all that down and walk away, so why was it being presented like one...?
"Ah, you know, never mind," Leon said suddenly, apologetic, as he waved a hand to dismiss the subject. "I'm sorry; I said something unnecessary again. Honestly, it would be great to have such a straightforward guy representing this country. Everyone has their own motivations, but you really feel like someone trustworthy, you know?"
The sudden change in topic was strange, and Luke wondered if his discomfort had shown so clearly as to elicit it. Nonetheless he ducked his head modestly, "Thank you..."
The duke nodded in satisfaction. "Well then, it all sounds good to me. If you're happy, I'm happy. I'll pass along the word that your nomination has been approved." He stood, holding out a hand, and Luke stood to match him and accept the gesture. "It's been a pleasure meeting you properly, Luke. Do you have any questions for me?"
Luke shook his head automatically, "No, sir."
Another nod. "Very well. In that case, how about I see you back to the lobby?"
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Posted: Thu Feb 06, 2014 8:54 pm
Luke had never been particularly put off by the curious attention he garnered carrying a sword around the city; it was an uncommon sight, and he accepted that it would probably turn a few heads. It was difficult not to be uncomfortable, though, arriving at the embassy with a sword strapped to his person and bruises crudely concealed by bandages on his face. (The only facial wound that required a bandage was the stitch on his forehead, but he covered the other discolorations as a courtesy, or perhaps out of simple shyness.) He kept his eyes ahead as he moved through the building towards the department of diplomatic relations, arriving at his desk with a quiet sigh and removing his coat from his body and his scabbard from his belt as he cursorily glanced over what papers had been left for him in his absence.
"We took care of most of what would have been assigned to you," a voice suddenly spoke from behind Luke, and he turned abruptly to find the department's supervisor, Victor Beaumont, standing there with his hands in his pockets.
"Um-- Thank you," the younger ambassador replied, trying to give due attention while hanging his coat on the back of his chair and propping the sword in a corner. "I'm really sorry about all that, and for any inconvenience my absence caused..."
"No major inconveniences. It wasn't much different from before you... um..." The man raised an eyebrow at the weapon as it was placed. "I'm sorry, is that a sword?"
On reflex, Luke moved to a side, bringing himself partially between Beaumont and the object in question and answering awkwardly, "Yes, sir." The expression in the man's face clearly begged an explanation, and so Luke resigned himself to giving it. "I just don't feel completely safe walking around unarmed, after what happened. I know it's kind of... unconventional, but..."
"Now, wait," the older ambassador interrupted, holding up a hand and looking puzzled. "I think I must be misunderstanding exactly what happened. Were you not taken hostage?"
Luke answered with equivalent confusion, unsure where the alleged misunderstanding was, and decided it might just be best to summarize in whole, "I was attacked in the forest... I tried to fight them off, but I was outnumbered so--"
"Tried to fight-- Wait, wait." Beaumont wore an incredulous frown. "You said before that you fell, right? I thought the wounds were from the fall?"
Luke shook his head, "I fell, but into a snowbank. I wasn't injured from the fall at all." Did the guy think that the fist-sized bruises were from the ground...?
"Why on earth did you fight, then?"
He couldn't understand the source of the man's bewilderment; Luke was beginning to think that he himself was missing something essential from the explanation he gave. "Because I was attacked...?"
"But you were taken hostage?"
"I-- Yes...?" As the conversation seemed to stall out in the absence of comprehension, something one of the Rockets said returned to Luke, and the faintest spark of understanding illuminated his thoughts. "I'm more used to fighting than most people, I think... If I'm attacked, my reflex is to defend myself. I have little doubt that I could have escaped if I had been armed."
Beaumont's features were those of a person who understood but strongly disagreed. He began to shake his head but stopped, breathing a sigh. "Well, what's important is that you made it back safely. Unfortunately, we don't have the luxury of taking things easy; since it looks like you've recovered, I trust you're prepared to get back into the swing of things?"
Luke's posture straightened. "Yes, sir."
He received a nod in reply. "Good to hear. You can start with what's on your desk now - they came in yesterday evening, just before we locked up for the day."
"Yes, sir."
Alone anew, Luke exhaled deeply. The embassy's interior was beautiful - its spaces lit by tall windows and decorative fixtures, its walls papered in luxuriant patterns, its flooring equal parts rich hardwood and plush carpet - but still it felt repugnant. He realized, as he pulled out his chair to seat himself, how his heart had just slightly swelled with pride as he had explained his willingness and ability to fight. He had been in Kodo now for three years, and for nearly the entire time, he had been fighting one way or another, be it with his pokemon or with his own body. He could find no comfort in the ostentatiousness of his surroundings.
Yet this was the place that he had been granted, the place for which he was supposed to show gratitude for having received. This place was his foothold to the world that contained his inescapable future.
He tried not to think about it as he thumbed through the documents left for his review.
_____________
Luke felt that he was likely a slower worker than the other ambassadors, most likely more than even the other bureaucrats under him that staffed the building, but he hoped the fact that he was still so new to it all would excuse him of his temporary inefficiency. In his passing consideration of how desperately boring it all was, he was reminded of his bitter amusement about being kept from the embassy while in combat with the Rockets; at the time it had just been humor to keep a sliver of positivity about the situation, but now it was starting to feel genuine.
He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms against the desk and exhaling a dissatisfied sigh. A permissions request... It looked pretty simple, but there were pieces of the attached form that he wasn't familiar with. It seemed that every time he came across something new, sometimes even when dealing with something he had before, he had to ask someone else about it - his prior studies, diligent through they were, had taught him essentially nothing about how the embassy functioned and what an ambassador's duties were. It frustrated him; it was for this exact reason that he had become so accustomed to being treated with minor acts of disrespect in his workplace. Sighs, rolling eyes, disapproving frowns - nothing that felt undeserved, however, despite how it whittled away at his confidence. The simple fact was that he wasn't any good at this yet, and no one could argue that.
Luke wondered if he really wanted to become good at this, though. Sitting at a desk all day and wishing to be outside with his pokemon... This certainly wasn't what he had wanted, but it was what his father had approved. Someday he would preside over House Fabre. He at least had the duty to try and learn about political matters from a practical standpoint.
Reluctantly he took the form and request in hand and pushed to his feet. He wouldn't get anywhere just sitting there staring at it and thinking about how much he despised the prospects of his future. He pointed himself in the direction of his superior's office and started forward.
"Tell me that isn't... isn't... I don't know, barbarous." Beaumont's voice, slightly muffled from distance, was audible from the kitchenette ahead, intermingled with the burbling sound of the coffee maker belching out expensive coffee into its pot. Luke slowed and paused, hesitant to interrupt.
"I think that's a bit harsh," a female timbre responded, the faint click of heels suggesting an adjustment to her posture. "Barbarian is what you would call the people who carried out the act, no?"
"Certainly, but must we limit the term so strictly? What would you do if someone attacked you?"
The woman sounded taken aback, "How should I know? I can't even imagine!"
"You wouldn't fight, though. I think we both know that well enough."
A noncommittal, though vaguely disagreeing, sound. "I don't know, Ambassador. I think you're just nitpicking for more reasons to dislike the poor child."
"Exactly!" The emphasis in Beaumont's voice was accompanied by a chime from the coffee maker signaling that it had finished brewing, and the clink of cups followed. "He's a child! Twenty years may seem like adulthood to an infant, but it's still infancy to an adult. The only reason he got a nomination was because of his father. While he was enjoying his little carriage ride, the rest of us had to crawl up this far by our teeth and nails. It's disgusting."
"Honestly, Ambassador, you are positively bitter about that boy." The shaking of her head was nearly audible in her words. "If you must complain about something, at least make it something legitimate."
"Fine," Beaumont spat. "He's slow, he's inexperienced, he's-- He's-- He's not even trying! Does he even want to learn, or is he content to just have someone spell it all out for him every time there's something he doesn't understand? It's not like I'm giving him anything difficult! Anyone in this building besides him could do it! The secretaries could! The janitors could!"
"Exaggerating. Again."
A sigh. "Exaggeration or not, the fact is that all the other ambassadors - and all the other administrators, even - earned their place. We received our nominations based on our experience, our success, and our overall merit. And what's Fabre's merit? That he's the successor to one of the Houses of Parliament. That's it, and that's simply not enough. I have half a mind to file a complaint with the duke. We were more productive in the time that he was gone than when he was here."
It had become increasingly more difficult to pretend that they weren't talking about him right up to the moment that he heard mention of his last name, and Luke stood uncomfortably in the hall a short distance from the kitchenette. Welcome back, Ambassador Fabre. Good to see you're all right, Ambassador Fabre. What a farce they were all putting on.
He knew the accuracy of Beaumont's words, though. Even now he was standing there with a paper in his hands and the intention in his thoughts to ask to have it spelled out to him. His father had put him up on a throne too high for his feet to touch the ground, and there wasn't a moment that passed that he wasn't anxious about falling to his death.
"Ambassador Fabre?"
The named started, looking over his shoulder at the bureaucrat that had appeared behind him with a questioning look in her features, expressing her curiosity, "Is there something you need?"
The words were a biting invitation, and Luke automatically shook his head. "No," he said, his throat dry. "No, I was just going to make a copy of this. Excuse me."
He'd do it. He could do it himself. Anyone could. He would do it somehow. He had to.
He hated this.
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Posted: Sun Feb 23, 2014 3:18 pm
It was no mystery how Luke felt about his work at the embassy; it showed easily through his disposition any time he spoke of it or any related matter. As much as he wanted to persevere, though, it was obvious that something would have to change. After more than a month wearing the title of ambassador, it still didn't suit him in the slightest. His work was slow, uncertain, and often incorrect, and learning his job one question at a time was hardly efficient. Everyone was frustrated with him, and, moreover, he was frustrated with himself.
There was a growing understanding within him that he wasn't suited for politics. The work felt dull and insignificant, passionless. Sitting quietly at a desk and dealing with administrative matters was outside of his character, and when he considered this, he remembered the duke's words: a spirit forged in fire and fueled by flame. He wouldn't go as far to say that he was sustained and fulfilled by fighting, but the ideal of fighting for the sake of those who were unable to do so themselves had been what had driven him for so long. He couldn't imagine being content to sit back in his plush office chair and let others fight for him while his sword rusted in the corner. Kodo had raised him, and it had raised him to fight. It had raised him with the conviction to defend others at any cost.
And yet, as he stood just around the corner from Ambassador Victor Beaumont's open office door, it was not to submit the news of his intent to resign. Asch's death had been in part so that Luke could claim his birthright and protect their homeland. It didn't feel like he really had the choice to renounce that birthright even if he wanted to, never mind the consequences it would have on his relationship with his father...
Luke drew a long breath and turned the corner, placing himself in the doorway, "Excuse me, Ambassador Beaumont?"
The addressed, pulling a binder of papers from his shelf, turned to his visitor mid-motion with a brow raised. He passed the binder to his desk and returned to his seat. "Yes?"
"Uh..." He recited his words mentally once more before voicing them, "I'm not satisfied with the quality of my work, and I'd like to learn more about the job so I can improve my productivity. Are there any books or classes you could recommend?"
Beaumont looked sufficiently surprised, but only for a moment; a frown quickly took to his features. "I can appreciate the initiative, but I don't think you can find what you're looking for. There's no simple reference manual or introductory course that could teach you everything you need to know. If you're interested in returning to Grande Ile and taking a degree in political science, that's one thing, but..."
Luke shook his head, confirming the implication of the trailing words. Formally studying politics abroad was nowhere near his list of things to do. "That's not really an option," he replied, reluctant to reject the solution he was offered but seeing no alternative. "Is there anything else...?"
"Well, you could start from the bottom, like the rest of us." The sharpness in his tone was momentary, and Beaumont raised his hands to count off the steps on his fingers, "First you familiarize yourself with the overall political atmosphere, such as the current social issues being debated. Identify your affiliations and align yourself with politicians with whom you're in accord. Support them, and become active and visible. Become a name that people know. Make connections. Build a platform of your own. Launch campaigns, get elected, climb the ladder." He leveled a steely gaze on the younger ambassador. "A decade or two later, maybe you'll qualify to be nominated for ambassadorship again."
Luke breathed a silent sigh, his brow furrowed. "I understand what you're saying, Ambassador, but that doesn't help me now. I already have this position. What can I do to deserve it?"
"That order seems a bit backwards." Beaumont's frown was bemused. "Usually you work to deserve something and then obtain it, rather than obtain something and then scramble to justify your having it."
"The proper order obviously isn't an option at this point. I'm here now. Please, just tell me what I can do."
"I don't know, Fabre," the older man replied, exasperation in his tone. "You obviously aren't qualified for this position, and the qualifications aren't so simple that you could just pick them up in a month's time. Even if I assigned someone to train you intensively, it would probably be a solid six months minimum before you were brought up to speed - and that's excluding the time and effort it would take to plan out training that thorough." He gestured with his palm facing up, "This isn't your sandbox. It isn't your little personal classroom. No one here has the time to coddle you and hold your hand until you're ready to do your job correctly."
"This isn't helping," Luke said. An exasperation not dissimilar to Beaumont's was by now building within his own words. "Look, I know I'm bringing everyone down - you don't really go to any lengths to hide that. What I'm asking is how I can stop. I don't want to be this useless bother of an ambassador who just wastes everyone's time. What can I do? That's all I'm asking!"
The other ambassador wordlessly folded his arms on his desk's surface, the expression in his features suggesting that Luke already knew the answer he would give. Luke recoiled slightly from the unvoiced response, his posture tense and unreceptive as he realized exactly why his request for a means to a solution was being deflected so diligently.
"...You think I should just quit."
Beaumont, his features cool, shrugged. "No one in Kodo has the authority to fire you," he said, "but if I may be frank for a moment: Were it within my jurisdiction, I would have done so some time ago. If your father weren't one of the authorities responsible for appointments, I can't imagine that you ever would have been nominated."
"You know, I didn't ask to be placed here." The hurt in his voice was poorly concealed. Despite his lack of experience, despite his difficulty in understanding, and despite his near total disinterest in the work, there were none who could honestly and truthfully say that he wasn't trying. Maybe it wasn't worth much, but he put forth his best effort in his every pursuit. "Yes, this was my father's decision, but he made it without taking my feelings into consideration."
Beaumont raised a finger to discourage Luke from going any further. "You're telling me," he said, "that you accepted ambassadorship not only without having any experience, but without even really wanting it...?"
"Saying 'accept' implies that I had the opportunity to decline," Luke countered.
"And exactly what kind of opportunity were you looking for? As far as I can recall, there was no one holding you at gunpoint when you signed your name, though I can't speak for any of the other countless moments that came before that during which I wasn't present to observe personally."
Luke's expression was increasingly offended. "You don't know my situation."
"Now, look," Beaumont shook his head, evidently disinterested in whatever story Luke could tell, "if you want me to complain to your father, I'll do so gladly - honestly, I'd like to have a discussion with him anyway about misuse of authority. If you would prefer that I file a formal complaint through the proper channels, that is what I will do, but understand that the result will be the same one way or another."
The younger ambassador gave no response, his brow knit and his eyes down, and the older broke the uncomfortable silence with a sigh, "I'm not trying to antagonize you, Fabre. As ambassadors of Grande Ile in Kodo, your duty and mine is to keep this embassy running correctly and efficiently. Your presence here, to be blunt, is an impediment to that duty. Now, you can either take responsibility for that yourself, or I can take the matter into my own hands. If you really want to be an ambassador, please put in the time and the effort to become one based on your own merits. This embassy will gladly welcome you back at that time."
Luke felt like a scolded child - it was demeaning. In preservation of his dignity, he squared his shoulders, raised his head, and met Beaumont's gaze with dissatisfied resolve. "Understood," he said, his tone cold and formal. "Then I'd like to submit my resignation."
Beaumont seemed to relax visibly at the response, nodding and leaning over to shuffle about in a filing cabinet adjacent to his desk, "Very well. In that case, I'll need you to read and sign a few things. Here - a pen." He presented a few papers, a simple black pen pinned with them under his thumb.
Luke accepted the offering unwillingly, leaning slightly to bear on the senior ambassador's desk while he barely skimmed the papers in search of blanks to write his name and the date. Each stroke of the pen expelled a breath of anxiety from his aching chest. This wasn't the worst thing that could happen. He didn't want to be involved in politics. Even when it came to his ambition of introducing training to Kodo, it wasn't for the sake of being a part of something significantly political so much as it was sharing with his homeland something he loved and that had greatly benefitted him and everyone he knew. In the end, the only reason he was involved at all was because of his father's interference. But for all his reasoning and logic, the feeling of failure stung no less sharply.
He became aware, as he penned his approval of the severance, that Beaumont had already returned to what he had been doing before Luke entered. This was nothing but a relief to him, and knowing that made it all the more frustrating. He'd always made every effort to avoid burdening or inconveniencing others; it was baffling that things had gone so horribly wrong, but at the same time, it was perfectly understandable. His father had appointed ambassadors before, so he had to be familiar with the job's qualifications. What in the world could he have expected?
Stiff silence permeated the room until the time at which Luke dropped the pen onto the signed papers, his shoulders rising and falling slightly with a quiet, resigned sigh, "I'm finished."
Beaumont raised his eyes from his work and nodded, then reached across the desk to gather the papers in question. "All right then, I'll have this sorted out soon." He paused for a moment, the words hovering at his lips nearly tangible, before he added, "You're welcome to go home if you like."
Luke's eyes fell away. "Right." That was that then: the end of his very short career in politics. He turned and departed from the office to return to his own, avoiding interaction with anyone on the way back. He gathered up the few personal possessions he had stowed at the embassy and directed himself towards the exit and towards home.
By Pidgeot, the way home was short, but it left enough time for Luke to evaluate where he stood now. As a capable trainer, losing his job wasn't as big a financial concern as it could have been, and it opened the option of looking into that Special Ops organization - from what he understood of it, he was far more suited to something like that than to anything political - but it left a gaping void of uncertainty.
His father had made it very clear that he didn't approve of Luke's engagement to Rosie, but it seemed like he was willing to tolerate it for the sake of maintaining familial ties. Whether the reason for that was because of genuine paternal care or because of the eventual need of an heir to succeed his political pursuits stood to be discovered, and the thought of making that discovery was troubling. But it had to work out, right? Political interests aside, they were each others last remaining blood related family. That wasn't meaningless, or at least he very much hoped it wasn't.
A quiet house welcomed him home, and the Mew that resided at his shoulder at most times of the day dispelled its veil of invisibility and, reassured by the familiar safety, meandered away from its trainer. It wasn't unusual for the house to be empty this time of day, though it was a sort of dismal greeting. He thought of sending Rosie a message but decided against it; as long as he had some time to himself, he felt that he might as well get the unpleasant task of breaking the news to his father out of the way. And so with a heavy sigh, he discarded his belongings temporarily beside the couch, took a seat, and navigated through his pokegear's contacts until he found the one he needed.
The line rang and rang, each short span of silence that interrupted the sound leaving him slightly more anxious. It wasn't long before the ringing abruptly stopped.
"Yes? Who's calling?"
He drew a breath. "Luke. I-- There's something I wanted to talk about."
"...Are you going to tell me you've been wounded again?"
"No--" The memory of the fresh scars on his arm and forehead came to mind, stopping the sentence temporarily. He shook his head, "No, it's nothing like that."
There was the faint creak of a chair indicative of someone readjusting their posture. "Well, that's a pleasant change. What is it, then?"
No beating around the bush now. "Uh, it's about the embassy. I... kind of quit."
"Quit?" The response was immediate, and the tone was severe. "You've only been there for a month. That's a very coveted position, you know. It's not the kind of thing you can just quit on a whim."
"Well that's what happened," Luke retorted, his anxiety replaced by a budding irritation. "Father, you have to know what that job demands! And you have to know that I'm in no way qualified to meet those demands!"
"Don't take that tone with me, Lucien," the older lord reprimanded. Luke's skin crawled at the address. "I know very well what the ambassadors in Kodo do. In fact, I helped specify what their duties should be. It's nothing you can't learn."
Luke was temporarily at a loss for how to respond. His father either had the wrong impression of the willingness of the other ambassadors to teach, or he had severely overestimated Luke. He shook his head, "It doesn't matter. I already signed the papers."
"What?" Luke recoiled slightly from the suddenness and harshness of the response. "Honestly! Your little impulses and outbursts-- Ugh, never mind. I'll stop the paperwork. You go back tomorrow, apologize, and perhaps actually put in the effort before just giving up."
In a moment Luke was on his feet. "Don't you dare! Would you please for just once in your life entertain the idea that maybe, just maybe, I actually know what's best for me?!"
He was met with a voice that equaled his in indignation, "How is this what's best for you?! How are you going to take up your place as head of the household with no political experience?!"
"I'm not going to!" He didn't realize what he was saying until the words were already tumbling out. "I don't want to be involved in politics! I don't want to head the household! I don't want to set foot anywhere near Parliament! There's nothing you can do to force me - I've already made my choice!"
His throat clenched in the silence that followed as he awaited a response. That wasn't exactly how he had pictured making that confession. Eventually, though, words came.
"So in the end you're walking away from this family after all."
Luke's veins chilled. "That's not what I said," he insisted. "I don't want to be involved in politics. How does that mean I'm walking away from the family?"
"You refuse to acknowledge your birthright."
"I acknowledge it, I just don't want it. I'm not suited for politics. It's not what I want to do with my life."
"Then you'd leave the history and prestige of the family name to die!" There was a sudden flare of anger to the man's tone, acrid and accusatory. "Tell me exactly how that's different from abandoning the family?"
"It's completely different! I don't even understand what you're saying!" Luke paced as he spoke, running a hand roughly through his hair. "You keep saying family, family - what the hell kind of family are you talking about?! Do you even consider me family, or am I totally worthless if you can't use me as a successor to your-- your-- your stupid little political whatever-it-is?! Do I have any value to you as your son?!"
"Apparently not. I don't remember raising a son who would act this way, and frankly, I don't see that I have a need for a son who would selfishly destroy everything his father worked to achieve."
Something important was slipping away, and it felt like a stone was laid upon his stomach. "Is it really so unacceptable for me to be selfish about the life I have to live? I'm the one who has to put up with it, not you."
"Do you have any idea how much time and effort-- No, actually, it's easy enough to see that that doesn't matter to you. Honestly, I've had just about enough. I've tolerated whim after whim from you, from your running off to Kodo to this asinine engagement of yours. I can't believe that this is how you choose to repay me."
"I didn't know toleration of someone's personal life choices was something that deserved repayment."
"Well, that would explain why, after everything I did to protect you, you ran straight back to Kodo to throw yourself into, what was it exactly? Some kind of civil war?" Luke began to counter with a correction but was cut off, "Stop, the specifics aren't important." There was a pause and a weary, agitated sigh. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't see this coming. I thought I'd raised you to have a sense of responsibility, but you've shown me over the last three years that that simply isn't true."
"You didn't raise me at all!" Luke snapped. "It's not that I don't have a sense of responsibility; it's that the one who raised me to have it - the one who raised me to be the person I am now - was Kodo itself! Don't try to act like you even had an interest in trying to raise me for the entire seven years I lived in that house!"
A snort, almost contemptuous in its sound. "If you're so smitten with Kodo, then you can just stay there. Don't bother returning to Grande Ile again. In renouncing the place you had here, you've destroyed it. I hope you're happy."
Luke floundered for a response, and the one he gave was weak in his desperation, "You don't mean that." His father was angry; they were always angry when they spoke to one another. They were both somewhat impulsive, they were both stubborn, and they both had tempers that would flare wildly with the right trigger.
"I beg your pardon?" The voice on the line was cool, distressingly devoid of the impulsiveness and stubbornness that Luke had expected to find behind his previous declaration. "I don't need you to tell me what I do and don't mean. I know what I said. I've been preparing myself for this possibility since you ran off years ago. I'm sorry it comes to this. Now don't let me hear from you again except to report that you've come to your senses."
"You can't--" A quiet click silenced the other end, signifying the end of their dialogue. Luke continued nonetheless, even knowing his words wouldn't be heard, "You can't be serious! Is this what a family is supposed to be - the child just blindly going along with what the parent wants to-- to repay toleration? So, what, you decided that a child would be born, so that gives you the right to decide how the child lives? The one living my life is me! The one feeling happy or sad or angry is me! The one deciding what I do is me!" He drew his arm back as if to throw the gear in an expulsive fit of rage, "Not wanting to sit at a desk and sign papers and talk about dumb policies with a bunch of pampered, ignorant, self-absorbed politicians doesn't mean I'm--"
He paused, his hand and the gear it held falling harmlessly to his side as the fury in his features was overtaken by wretched misery. His posture stiff and tight, he bowed his head, wearing a grimace, and forced the words from his throat, as if in doing so he could prevent himself from disagreeing with them, "It doesn't mean I'm worthless."
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