[Half Time pub, 12:45 PM global time. Local time 3:30 PM.]

The evening rush has yet to kick in. Mute, Ellis, Max and Snowy are on duty. However, just because the rush hasn't started doesn't mean there aren't customers.

Aside from the Manaphy who Snowy is serving, there is another that has sat to eat. One Mute has been eyeing, as Ellis took their order just minutes before. Sitting in the seat Doom loves to lounge in, the green 'bi stares at the customer.

They look familiar. But she hadn't met anybody like them before - not in this life, at least. Not in the least bit because they were human.

Snowy, finding a break from the Manaphy's gluttony, swings over near Mute in smooth fashion. "You look like you've seen a Gastly, girl. What's up?" His sudden voice causes her to eep in surprise.

"Ah! Oh, I shouldn't talk about customers while they're here..." She turns towards the counter, trying to hide her face. Poorly.

"Nonsense. That's a friendly conversation waiting to happen." He shrugs with a shine in his smile.

"N-not like that. I'm just...confused..." She peers behind her at the human. Snowy, too, looks over at them. They look like a stereotypical go-getter teenager, dressed almost entirely in red, with a cap that obscured their face in shadows. So much so, that it was hard to tell what they were looking at, or even doing, with their body acting as an outlier to the shading in the pub. They look as if they were from another dimension entirely, sticking out like a sore thumb.

Though he spoke of being bold, Snowy adopts a hushed voice. "Them? Ah, a trainer...is that what you mean?"

"You could tell?" Mute looks back at Snowy. He nods.

"That's regular attire for them. We've had a few of them in before. What's caught your eye about this one? You think they're..." He makes a motion with his hand, as if he were holding a ball. Just then, he could feel the trainer glancing at him, and so he glances back, only for them to look elsewhere - their eyes were totally obscured, but Snowy could feel that gaze from anywhere.

"No. Max is already on alert enough. It's just..." Mute glances away, then leans forward and her voice becomes little more than a whisper.

"What *is* a trainer?"

---

[New Jonston, 3 biomes west of Gusty Acres. 8:00 AM global time. Local time 3:30 PM.]

The sky is a light gray, but not a cloud dots the sky. The land sits at a permanent twilight at day, as if the whole biome were cursed to an eternal night. Yet, locals are out and about as if nothing were wrong. Such is the state of the world, that they should make with what they have.

They are lucky, for they do not need the cover of night nor the excuse of the sun to be active. The undead do not need sleep to function, nor do they need sunlight: in fact, they are able to do well with or without either, with some working around the clock. But some undead are luckier than others; some gain psychic powers to make up for their shortcomings, but others do not, and others still merely lack communication skills or even the ability to communicate. Despite this setback, many have made a name for themselves, including the city architect, who lacks an opposing arm and leg, as well as a good section of their upper body.

For such individuals, not all is lost. Among the available options, Ellis from the Half Time pub offers one solution.

By evening, Ellis is merely a waiter. But at all other hours, he flexes his connection to the Unown, now sporting green eyes, to assist with undead otherwise incapable of certain tasks.

He sits on a gravestone, green-eyed Unown surrounding him. His home, a small graveyard near the edge of the biome, is one of the landmarks visitors coming from the direction of Half Time would first see. As they should, as an accompanying Unown can make translating the brainwaves of the undead possible, should they lack the means to communicate physically.

Without the need for sleep, Ellis talks to the Unown, ensuring all of them are orderly. It would be a problem if the individual members were to not act in concert, so he resolves issues as they come up, leveraging his connection to them even at Half Time to ensure the Unown across the many biomes they are spread across are translating correctly. Due to them existing in many biomes, the transfer of information across psychic wavelengths is barely hindered by the biome borders and their otherworldly properties.

The alignment of so many Unown takes its toll on his Psychic abilities, so he spends a good amount of time in a 'sleeping' state to recover, often appearing as if he were dead with how his eye darkens and his dull colors wither even further than they already are. (After all, rest is important no matter if one is alive or undead.) After some time, though, he springs back to life, his eye glowing green to reestablish his Unown connections before adjusting to the new time he wakes up in. He has a personal Unown, who jolts him with a bit of its own Psychic power to awaken him if he were to oversleep for his shift at Half Time.

Ellis is not without protection as well, with a good number of Unown serving as his guardians as he travels. Levitation is quite taxing in and of itself, so he often recharges with their energy after a shift to make the trip back, usually waiting right outside of Half Time's biome for his return. He's susceptible to physical damage, so he ensures his Unown can paralyze or otherwise dissuade attackers from getting close, from land-based critters to the flying birds diving from above, as well as warding off Psychic attacks from afar.

Such connection isn't without reciprocation, as Ellis treats his Unown as if they were pets, going so far as to give them nicknames based on their letters.

Ellis' personal Unown, an A-shaped Unown named Andy, floats around him and wriggles, making a dulcet tone.

The Celebi looks over at it. "Hm? What is it, Andy?"

It motioned with its body over to the left - Ellis' bad side. He turns his body so he could see, and from that way there was a rather frightened human travelling down the stone path of the cemetery. They lacked an Unown, and coming from the direction of downtown New Jonston, it's likely the traveler had no way of communicating with a good portion of the undead. More than that, they looked rather out of place, and the spooky environment likely wasn't doing them or their nerves any favors, as the half 'bi could tell from their body language.

Ellis tries waving his hand to flag them down - his gory, torn body would be nearly invisible from the person's angle, considering how dark it was. His sitting spot, close to the entrance of the graveyard, also helped with his visibility. "Hey! Things go fine in town?"

The human made a yelp upon seeing the two glowing green eyes. But, at least to them, it was someone who could talk back. It's not as if they haven't seen the Unown before as well. "AH! I-I mean, uh, hi. No, not fine. It's like everyone's speaking a totally different language here."

Ellis chuckled. He's gotten used to people being frightened of him on first sight. "I guess it's hard for them to tell people to come here first if they can't, huh? I keep telling the mayor about putting up signs...anyway, I can set you up with an Unown so you can speak to all of them if you want."

"Oh, uh, n-no thanks. I'm just passing through, really. The next city's a few biomes over, right?"

He expected the refusal. Likely the last thing on their mind is going right back where all the bloody, gory zombies are to strike them up for conversation. His service-oriented mind didn't miss a beat. "Yeah. Just keep following the road east 'til you pass a pub, then take the next left." The instructions were burned in his mind. He sighed, trying to keep his half-smile on. "Buuut, if you want, take the first right in the next biome and there's a small fishing village right across the border. They don't keep too many amenities for travelers so don't expect too much, but it's a nice place to rest."

It takes the human a few seconds to process the information. "Got it, thanks." They promptly turn and go on their merry way, not giving even a single glance behind them.

With their back turned, Ellis slumps with his arm on his knee, exhaling. Another trainer who chooses to remain uncultured. He tells himself not to blame them, but, shaking his head, he can't help but feel a little frustrated.

Andy chirped and flashes its green eye a few times. No time to ruminate. "Hm? Oh, Oreo, what are you doing?" Picking up a signal on the special wavelength he shares with the Unown, he enters a trance to explore it, an out-of-body experience he's gotten used to as he becomes one with his Psychic abilities. An Unown had nearly fallen back on its old habits, failing to obey and translate for the person it was with. Ellis' eye became entirely green as it spoke to the Unown, borrowing its sight and realigning its Psychic wavelength. It appears the Unown was spooked by a passerby trainer, different from the one who just passed the undead Celebi. The sight of Pokeballs being enough to disrupt an Unown's activities was a common problem Ellis needed to tend to, and one which is easily solved by quelling the Unown's fears. They are, after all, still wild Pokemon. They are afforded very little protection from poaching, beyond Ellis' guarantee and whatever power he can muster.

Pokemon in this new, split world are divided amongst a few categories. There are the ones that existed before the Merge, who retain all their abilities from before, down to carrying the same restrictions the world they came from imposed on them. Then there are the ones who continue to evolve, becoming monstrous and mutant, often acting on wild instincts but are still Pokemon and can still be caught and tamed. Few trainers dare take on these newly evolved and dangerous Pokemon, with many a story ending due to their rampages.

The trainers that roam the world are taught to run if they value their life, and thus many become much like the human that passed Ellis: afraid, evasive, unwilling to give things a chance. It was a wonder that human made it through New Jonston to reach Ellis at all, considering how the undead are often cited as the source of the contempt in the world, and unjustly at that, so the undead say. Whether or not they are the cause of the mutant evolutions, they are their own category: undead Pokemon cannot be captured. Ghosts - not the type, but actual ghosts - also cannot be captured, though this is more due to them not having a physical form with which the ball can hit.

Technically speaking, Pokeballs carry all the same limitations they held before: a Pokemon must retain at least some energy for it to be captured, as fainted targets cannot be captured. Undead Pokemon are, at least to the technology inside Pokeballs, considered to always have zero energy, no matter how powerful or attentive an undead Pokemon is. A Pokemon that dies and becomes undead while captured will be released, though trainers can become undead and still be able to catch and own Pokemon.

However, that does not mean there hasn't been progress in attempting to rectify this. A "Grave Ball" is being developed and promoted publicly as "the only way" to capture undead Pokemon, which is causing upset within the zombified caucus. Ellis, with how useful he is to the social structure of New Jonston and the connections he has, is all too aware of the dangers he puts himself in. Without a foolproof way of remaining wild, he could very well become captured once again should the ball become public. It is a worry that he puts off for the future, hoping to catch wind of it so he knows ahead of time to think of a plan.

Ellis knows how trainers work, being captured himself in the past. He doesn't remember much of how exactly he was captured or what part of his memories weren't tarnished with blood and death, but he holds contempt for other trainers who so coldly block out the world and seek personal enrichment at the expense of others. The undead Pokemon of the merged world are a rather close-knit bunch, having relied on the ability to not be captured to thrive as they are. Settlements of living Pokemon are rare, and humans own the largest and most prosperous cities. And yet, they are the greediest, seeing the undead as a nuisance at best when they are simply trying to live their new life.

The half-Celebi gets up from the gravestone he was sitting on. Based on the darkening colors of the dreary sky, it was about time for his shift, an early one today. Fortunately for him, living in a graveyard does not mean he has to go without amenities and privacy, with several boxed-in gravestones providing the perfect cover for him to get dressed. It is a familiar feeling, but he chalks that up to having been dead before.

Fully dressed, he whistles over to his Unown. "Come on, Andy, it's time to go to work." It chirps and floats to, then around him. Still, there was a few loose ends to tie up: he activates the neon lights he had set up at the entrance to the graveyard advertising his Unown-providing services, saying his services were closed and would be back "soon." As he knew how long the shifts could get at Half Time, considering the time in his biome, he was perfectly fine with "soon" rather than explicitly writing out the time he expected to be back.

With that taken care of, his eye glow green, summoning a few more Unown to his side from the depths of the graveyard. "Wade, Archer, Yin, it's time for work again." The three green-eyed Unown trill and shake about in their unique, personal way, encircling Ellis as he floats towards the border of the biome.

He's hoping that trainer didn't stop by the pub. Maybe he shouldn't mention it to the trainers he meets in his line of work, just in case something were to happen...

---

[Half Time pub, 11:30 AM global time. Local time 2:15 PM.]

Ellis gives one last pat to his Unown before phasing through the border to Gusty Acres, the biome the Half Time pub is located in. As space has warped, what causes wind in the world is but a mystery as it seems to be the only thing able to pass a biome's border without passing through to the next, still existing in the 'world' the biome is in. Land and objects beyond the border are unreachable, as if but an illusion, and yet wind exists. Ellis feels a gust push him forward as he enters, adjusting so he doesn't stumble into the overgrown grass flanking the path.

On a small nearby hill devoid of grass, an overgrown green hand and gold ring float. Ellis holds out his hand towards the ring, emitting a small Psychic attack towards it, not even physically larger than a pin needle in size and most certainly not taxing on his strength, even as an undead conserving his strength. The hand jolts from the micro-sized hit, waving at Ellis as it stirs to life. Not knowing if his boss is looking or aware of his actions, he waves back before going about his way.

Almost at Half Time, and he's already spotting trouble. The sound of the grass rustling in the breeze is masking the sound, but he can tell a fight is happening ahead, sparks of light from clashing weapons and distinct pressure changes in the air that Ellis is all-too-susceptible to. His torn body is both a blessing and curse; as he doesn't register pain, his body lets him sense the more minute changes in the air, with the reverberating clanks and blasts of energy being felt in their intensity before getting close, sometimes before they can be heard.

The half-Celebi comes up the straight path to Half Time, curious about the fight and not the least bit surprised when he identifies the parties responsible. By the time he reaches the scene, the brawl had moved to the street, as it appears to have started near the side of the pub. He keeps his distance, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire, but he didn't need to be a scientist to correctly guess who was fighting or why. It was all too predictable.

"Take it BACK!" Stabs pierce the air, deftly dodged. The sharp edge of a stake, still stainless, cut the air more than it cut flesh, advancing forward on its victim.

"I meant what I said!" Quick flashes of a pale pink being pushed back, before taking the green attacker by the arm and judo-throwing them away and hopping back, only gaining a slight advantage as the attacker comes back for more after righting themselves.

A squabble between Doom and Anne was, unfortunately, quite common during the pre-opening hours. It would be fine if it was simply a battle for the sake of battling and improvement, but such a concept would be too much to expect from them. Likely an argument as always, Ellis thought, having to travel around the two in a large circle just to get to the pub, and having his eye trained on them in case an energy blast comes his way. Best to remain uninvolved.

Anne keeps on the offensive, with Doom snickering with each failed attack. The strikes with the stake were all-out pokes and stabs, leaving her open for a moment after each attempt, though she was quick to pull back and strike once more. She did not hesitate, nor did she have any real strategy beyond trying to strike where Doom had dodged to, never predicting. Doom grabbed the stake after one strike, herself predicting where it would come to, and with it in one hand she put an elbow up to Anne's face to keep the arm extended.

"You couldn't hit a herd of stampeding Tauros with aim like that, fry cook." Doom attempts to yank the stake from Anne's grip, but the green Celebi's hand was practically glued to the wood. Anne motions to knee Doom in the stomach, which succeeds with a thud, allowing her to throw the shiny 'bi down, though both their grips remained on the stake. Downed, Doom kicked up, keeping Anne's arm extended from her new position by planting foot to chest.

Anne growls like a savage beast. "You don't know the FIRST thing about-"

And that's when she noticed Ellis staring at them from in front of Half Time. "Ellis!" She says in a sweet tone, her skin already becoming a brighter hue, and with her halo glowing. She and Doom kept their deadlock going, though Doom too glances over.

A tug on the stake jerks Anne down. "So what? You gonna give up after all that?" She returns to her angry look. She takes Doom's leg with her free hand and twists, sending Doom spinning to the side. In the time it took for the bloody-teared fairy to recover, Anne regresses to her innocent personality and slowly approaches Ellis.

"So sorry you had to see us fighting like that, Ellis! That WITCH-" She breaks her façade for a second to stare daggers into Doom. "-attacked me out of nowhere! I had to fend for myself!"

"You absolute...ugh. Who the hell are you trying to win over with that performance?" Doom angrily slaps the back of Anne's head as she tried her puppy-dog eyed look at Ellis, causing the green 'bi to jolt forward and nearly brought to tears...in exaggerated display.

"Oww-www! That huuurt!" She walks a little bit aways from Doom, holding the back of her head, ensuring to keep her stake out of sight. She sobs loud enough so all could hear, as the other two kept quiet and merely watched with their own opinions.

"...You are one messed up son-of-a-bitch." Doom sighs, slumping slightly as she winds down from the fight.

All Ellis can do is watch. The door was still locked, and the boss has yet to show up. And yet, perhaps being a known spectator would get them to settle. "Oh, me? I saw nothing. Absolutely nothing."

Anne's mouth twitches as she turns her head eerily towards Ellis. "S-surely you saw her ASSAULTING me..."

"And for what reason would she do that?" His deadpan delivery did not waver. Even with his half-face, it was easy to tell he was smirking, cocking his head to the side as if he knew. Despite not knowing the reason for their fighting this time, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to guess.

"B-because she's mean, and-"

"She hasn't eaten an Eevee egg omelet in weeks." Doom brings a fist to her own side and held her head up with a smirk. "Not my fault that damn breeder keeps changing his mind. Always some excuse why he can't give me some."

"And maybe if SOMEONE were to be more PROACTIVE..." Anne grits her teeth, trying to keep her cheery innocent look despite being clearly stressed. For Ellis, that look was scarier to him than her expressing her true emotions. Why she chooses to act this way is still beyond his understanding, despite how little it works in her favor.

"Like I'd show up with eggs of Pokemon you don't like. Last time that happened, you burnt my face with a frying pan and Max nearly waterboarded you to calm you down. Remember that?" Doom repeatedly pokes her own head with a finger. "Honestly, it all tastes the same to me. Don't blame me for YOUR bad cooking."

Anne was having a hard time keeping her smile, having to widen it uncomfortably large. "You un-cul-tured...those were STUNKY eggs. If you were to bring the RIGHT EGGS...I wouldn't need to ASK YOU NICELY...!"

Ellis was quite enjoying their tiff, though his smile turns down slightly. "Have you thought of asking ol' Feti where they get their eggs?"

Doom scoffs. "Feh. Black market breeders who ain't worth looking into. They'd sooner trash their whole stockpile before handing them over on a random request. Only reason that goopy Manaphy gets 'em is because he's got a bottomless wallet."

"And they don't have much flavor...Eevee eggs, though, they're delectable. So malleable, you can cook them with only minor changes each time and get a dish of so many varying tastes!" Anne practically breaks out in dance, quite enjoying the thought. "My taste buds SING each time I discover something new with them.... You MUST get me some!" Quick to get back on Doom's case, she does her best begging impression...without getting on her knees.

"If he doesn't have any prepared, I can't. He can't just - well, he CAN whisk them out of thin air. Sometimes. But he's stubborn. You want eggs, get them your damn self." Doom crosses her arms and turns away.

Unable to take rejection, Anne raises her stake-holding hand and rushes to Doom without making a sound, even with Ellis watching, and readies her stake. She throws her voice, disproportionate to her actions.

"Oh, I think I-GRRK!"

The Celebi is thrust into the ground, bringing up a small cloud of dirt. A green energy holds her down. Doom doesn't even turn around, while Ellis merely glances over. Max had arrived from the eastern path. He held up his arm as he floated forward, a green glow surrounding his hand.

And not even seconds later...

"Alright, break it up." A ring materializes from the south, a purple swirling vortex within. Hands reach out to grab the ring from the outside, and from it emerged Galiana, as casual as could be. "If you have energy to fight, you have energy to clean up your stations. And you, Doom," Gali glances over as she floats up a key ring from her pocket, "I trust you have a shorter route in mind today, since you're still hanging around?"

"Pssh." Doom, who was facing Gali with her back still to Anne, turns away again and walked past the downed Celebi, placing her arms behind her head as she did so. "I think I might speedrun it today. My wings could use the exercise."

Anne glances back at Doom the best she could; Max let up a little, so she was able to get her face off the ground. "So you WILL get some eggs, right?"

"..." Without even a grumble, Doom stretches her limbs before taking a step back, with her wings pointing up, and after a few seconds, flaps down and leaps into the air, zooming towards the north.

In the time it took for her to lift off, Gali had found the right key and opened the door with a click. She holds open the door, slightly shorter than she was in height, motioning with her hand for her employees to go in. Ellis, who had been waiting patiently and quietly near the door, says a quiet "thank you" before whisking himself inside. Max let up on Anne to let her in, watching her from the door, as was his post. An angry stare while she passed by was his reward.

Gali then ducks her head down to get in the door. Max speaks up. "...Mute. Is she...?" Stoic as ever, he takes the same pose he's held for hours at a time. His eyes are fixated on Gali as she entered, though she stops halfway, slowly blinks in thought, and then looks back down at him.

"She's needed for the evening shift. Ellis will fill in for the afternoon. ...She wanted to prove she can be independent."

Max nods. "...First time, I've seen. Not together."

Gali looks away, before hefting herself forward and in the door. "It will not be the last." She says under her breath, just barely loud enough for Max to hear.

---

[Glacial Citadel biome, 5 biomes north-west of Gusty Acres, 5:00 AM global time. Local time 9:20 PM.]

The air is thin. There is no sound beyond the falling snow and the light wind that pushes it along, and even then, the sound burns. The cold, too, burns. The snow against one's skin cuts like daggers; one would beg to fall in the snow, as even that would be warmer.

No life can survive in such conditions. And so, life does not; the undead, however, do. So it is that this biome would be where Snowy finds his home, a portion of the castle occupying a good majority of the biome's space. A crumbled wall separates the outside from in, with an expansive courtyard surrounding the castle proper. The moat around the front has all but iced over, with the drawbridge in disrepair, affixed with large pieces of wood to bridge the gaps. Flames on torches mark the main path through the biome around the castle, though the path itself remains covered in an eternal blanket of snow.

Snowy, arriving after a night shift, floats eerily along the path towards the castle. Around his shoulder, a pack with his belongings is slung, but he is otherwise still dressed; his figure is unmoving as it floats forward, though his icicle-shaped wings slowly flap and flutter in the wind. Even his red eyes have disappeared to conserve his energy; the shark-tooth smile remains, however. His back is hunched over, and his arms hang low, appearing as if he really was reanimated from the dead.

A human-shaped figure, wrapped in multiple layers of clothing, walks opposite. Snowy remained cloaked in the snow until the two were close, at which point the human instinctively backed up upon seeing the angel-like figure floating towards them. The color seeps in: the icy blue tie, the pale skin, the totally white head, black eyes, and most unnerving of all, the smile. The smile. The human turns, stumbles into the snow, and makes a mad dash back from whence they came.

A Pokeball falls to the snow as the trainer flees, opening as it collides to reveal its empty insides. Snowy floats above it, still unmoving. He doesn't react to seeing, or sensing, the human, nor the ball that had fallen. As he passes, the ball is covered in snow. Another victim claimed by the winterlands.

The Celebi takes a hard turn once at the bridge, then resuming his slow, motionless trek. Below, in the carved-out moat walls, using the frozen water as an ice rink, the few undead choosing to live here make their home in excavated caves. After the bridge is the courtyard, then the dilapidated front gates. Snow covers the debris of the torn gates from the outside, but inside, it appears as if the iron bars were forced open. A battle long since passed, not even from the merged world, yet its carnage remains. Most undead would turn back here: such a landmark would attract many vandals and visitors looking to pillage, and there would be little in the way of assuming they were there to protect whatever riches there might or might not be. It would not be worth it to make such a daunting castle one's abode, even if it were relegated to a simple room in a far-off corner. Not Snowy.

He is the lone figure floating through the corridors. Torn tapestry, drab and gray stone bricks, banners of a kingdom long since separated from its world, disbanded in a history that no longer exists, or perhaps, one that did not exist at all. The cold pierces the skin, the inner walls of the citadel offering no protection from the cold that has long claimed it. Icicles dot the ceiling, with crumbled parts exposing the outdoors offering light where candles and fires would have in the past. Snow filters down through cracks and openings, piling on top of rubble.

Snowy's destination lies ahead. A private study, whose only light sources are the hallway and the crumbled wall of the room above, a hole in the ceiling connecting the two. Yet, in the faint light, or even in the darkness as the sun sets, the icy Celebi is at home, with the darkness unaffecting his vision.

When he enters, his eyes come to life once more, and then the rest of him. The cracking of bones fill the air as he lifts his arms up, as if stretching after a long nap. It is then that he undresses, cloaked in darkness and in total silence. A rack of similar outfits, as well as a small basket for dirty clothing, rest in a corner, with him tossing his worn clothes in the basket. He will soon have to venture to New Jonston to clean them; he trusts Ellis' judgement on undead-accepting laundromats.

Then, after he tosses his pants in, Snowy is fully exposed, though his is an even more gruesome sight than Ellis in light. Beneath the clothing he wears, most of the Celebi's body is destroyed and decayed: a good chunk of his torso is entirely missing, with only his upper back being mostly intact. His bones are visible, from his right ribcage all the way down to his hip and legs, though there are at least some tissue remaining to connect them all together. By far the most striking detail of his decrepit body is not that he is without most of his organs, but that there is something there that should not be: a large piece of Nevermeltice, right where his heart would be. A light cyan color, its soft glow is nothing compared to the cold it generates.

Yet, despite his body's state, he moves around just fine. He floats over to his favorite chair in the study, flanked on the left by a giant bookcase that reaches the ceiling, and to the right by a table with which he has set up so that he may pursue his favorite hobby: reading. The objects are much too big for a Celebi his size, though: as he sits in the chair, his head barely reaches above the table, and the books can span beyond his full reach when opened. Even so, he's able to heft a book down from it, one he has placed a bookmark in. He then opens it on the chair, resting the spine against the desk, able to read from there in a sitting position. It's during this time that his face relaxes, no longer showing off his off-white teeth, but a simpler, smaller smile. One of being content.

As he never tires, he spends most of his time here. Of all the rooms to explore, all the places he could be, all the stories he could be out there making, he chooses to remain secluded to read tales of eras beyond his understanding, fiction and non-fiction. He has gone through a good few of them already, choosing to store ones he has read on a separate unused shelf, and with many more unread ones waiting on the desk that he has chosen from the high shelves.

With his untiring body, he can spend hours upon hours reading in the pitch-black darkness, utterly enthralled, entranced, and mesmerized. He forgets that he is undead, living vicariously through the characters he reads about. He never is too cold or too warm, almost never disturbed, and the sunlight peeking through the door and the ceiling hole is all too telling of the time. So long as he glances up every so often, he can generally tell what time it is, though he does rely on another way: a small watch he had originally purchased to wear while on-shift, but has since been relegated to alarm duty. He loses himself while on the job so often that he almost never checks the time, and the few times he is curious, there are always clocks available for him to glance up at in the pub. But here, in this dark room, the watch gets more use reminding him of his shift times than telling him what time to go home.

Every so often, a wary interloper will make their way through the castle. The footsteps echo through the whole building, and voices carry far despite the cold. Very few, of the scarce amount that even come this far in the citadel for which the biome is named after, enter the study, choosing to pass it by. Still, Snowy pays them no mind. Cloaked in darkness and without a hint of light that they can see, the room is written off by most as not being worth the trouble to explore.

Those that do interrupt Snowy soon find themselves against the darkness itself. He lets his voice ring out, warning the stranger to leave, before singing his own version of Perish Song should they stay. He is all too aware of the power of song bringing death, so he has tamed it to simply cause fainting, or at the very least knocking whoever hears it unconscious while remaining unaffected himself. It is enough for him to drag them out to the front entrance, though he risks being seen in the light by others. So far, he hasn't had anybody come back for seconds, nor stay once his gruesome form is realized in their vision.

He cannot take risks, the world as it is. He hopes that by scaring people off, they wouldn't dare try catching him in a Grave Ball, nor know of his existence or whereabouts. He could take risks for sure - exploring the world, being an upstanding member of society. But in truth, knowing as much as he does, with how often he hears of the world and its many facets, he is afraid. Afraid of his own story being cut short. Afraid of becoming someone he is not. The face he wears is a proud and arrogant one, but inside, he is but a husk, clinging to what little he has.

So he escapes. Escapes into other worlds, other realms, other fantasies. The tales he tells and those that has been told to him intertwine, with it never being clear what is real and what simply was words on a page. But, of course, only he knows the answer. He is aware of the differences, of what category they fall in, but occasionally he will tell a white lie. So what if he does? It makes the world livelier, he thinks, if people can, but for a moment, believe the unbelievable.

Yet that is also what drives him further into isolation, knowing that the unbelievable is coming. He might be captured in the future. The string that ties him to this realm of light might snap, and he may once more return to the ether that calls to him. Once there, he will have no more books to read, no coworkers to mingle with, no chance meetings with random strangers. The quiet life he lives and the adventurous spirit growing within him are at odds. Until he can fully realize that potential within him, to finally break the barrier holding him back, he reads. He makes drinks. He converses, gathers ideas, tells stories.

He is a king with no castle. He is a castle without a king. For that king has since long since left this world.

---

[Eastern Falmaire, 1:30 PM global time. Local time 11:15 AM.]

Doom turns the corner around a building, the last before the straight shot to the outskirts. The human city feels awkward to navigate, having been used to more free-form dirt paths and smaller structures, whereas these bipedal giants create massive structures that block the sky. It's a wonder they are as sophisticated as they are, but that's none of Doom's concern. They make good booze, and their machines are otherwise useful - some of them, at least. If she never passed over a smokestack again, it would be too soon.

Her aerial mobility is not to be underestimated. She's nearly collided with edges sharp enough to slice her in two, nearly rammed herself into rock walls fast enough to flatten her like a pancake, threaded needles between moving trucks. All of it is second nature. Intuition, reflexes, knowledge of her abilities and the environment, wind and air pressure...she probably couldn't calculate it all, but moving around as she does is a science she's perfected over the many years of being on the run.

Of course, there are times where she likes to take it slow and simply walk. Getting her exercise in to remain in shape and keep her strength up is a priority. But so too does she need to practice her dodging and movement otherwise. She can't be caught slacking when she inevitably gets caught in a dangerous situation. Thus, being fast on her route.

She has only one reason to go as far as eastern Falmaire: the daycare at that far side. The breeder she usually goes to for eggs set up shop in the middle of the whole biome, prime real estate for anybody looking for safety against the creatures that may show up from other biomes or just across the border in general. A pain to get to, but at least it's easy to find in relation to other biomes. Doom's mental map of the world is vast, but even she can get some locations mixed up; fortunately, the cities that dot the region make it easy for her to remember where places are.

Doom speeds down the road, a proverbial pink bullet. Her destination was close. She flips forward, bringing her feet in front of her as she stopped exerting her levitation powers on herself. Her heels hit the sidewalk, followed by quickly vaulting forward, waving her arms and transitioning into a bouncy run as she slows down. Right on target as well: she was mere feet from the entrance she needed.

With a flick of the wrist, she opens the door and strolls in with an egotistical gait, even closing her eyes since she knew the place well enough. "Yo, BAITH! You got eggs for me?"

Doom walks into a rather large, well-lit beige-colored room with a large green carpet sprawling across most of the floor, with a counter on the opposite end and two computers in the corner of the room. There's a blue couch and a wood table set up off to the side, though to Doom it's as if the room was made for giants - much like the pub, but the coziness makes it much more appealing. With distance between the door and the counter, the Celebi's shoulder-swaying stroll was looking more cutesy than prideful. That's how Baith would describe it, if he didn't know better.

A closed blue door behind the counter moans out. "Ah jeez," a faint voice from beyond. It opens, a bulky human in a red-plaid undershirt and blue overalls peering out. "That you, Doom?"

"In ze flesh." She had barely made her way across half the floor when Baith came through the door. The heavy-set human, a noticeable confidence in his step and looking much the part of being both jolly and hardened, rests his arms over the counter.

"Well, if you've come for eggs, there's one thing I just gotta ask ya first. An' I want you to be truthful." There's a certain sternness to his voice.

"Shoot." Doom continues her strut, looking up at him. He seems to get taller the closer she gets to the counter, in her eyes.

"See, the thing is...I know these eggs are mighty nutritious and all, but...you ain't workin' with no zombies, are ya?"

Doom kept eye contact. "Pssh. Perish the thought." She almost broke out in a giggle. Almost - her voice reached a higher pitch than it usually would, though she had enough confidence that she'd not show worry on her face.

Baith sighed. "Wish I could believe ya. But I got to talkin' with some folks from the city, and it's all second-hand talks mind ya, but they're saying you hang around with a lot of them deadun's."

"Tch." Her face takes on an angrier expression, stopping in her tracks right before the mat next to the counter where the humans would usually step onto. "They don't know what they're talking about." Her eyes shift away, and she puts her hands to her hips.

The breeder shakes his head. "Now, that puts our whole relationship in a big ol' pickle. You remember the agreement, right? You gettin' eggs from me is up to my discretion."

Doom's face sours. "So you believe them over me?"

"'Fraid so. The folks I talked to don't got a reason to lie about ya. Said you hang around a pub to the west of the city, and that's zombie territory that ways. A buddy of theirs passed by and...well, let's just say he saw things he shouldn't." The whole time, he was looking down on her. He didn't seem aggressive, merely disappointed.

She sneered. "The eggs are cooked by someone among the living, if you're worried about that. They're popular with people that have stomachs too, if that clears things up."

He tilted his head up, shaking it. "No...no, that doesn't. It's that yer establishment over there's infested with them zombie folk. And I'm sorry to say, but, our relationship's terminated, effective right now."

Doom slow-blinked. "You're kidding. Over working with them?"

"Yeap. Sorry, Doom. I don't want to take chances with them zombies infecting the place with their germs, their smell, all that. You know how it is."

"I'm afraid I don't." The Celebi crosses her arms. "I've been here how many times before? You're still in business, you ain't got problems with the eggs."

"It's not...ugh." Baith uncrosses his arms, standing upright. "I've made my decision on it. I'm sure there's other breeders out there that can serve you zombie-lovin' types. An' I don't wanna hear another word about it."

Doom can feel her blood pressure rise. Angered, her bloody tears roll down her cheek quicker, as if she were crying, though her gritted teeth and furrowed brow tell another story. She turns away with a huff. Of course, she has to have the last word.

"Fine! Be that way! But when you get trainers with Grave Balls on their belt, you'll find yourself out of a job sooner than you think. Turn away everyone while you're at it!" She spits ferociously with a side-eye to match.

Baith stays silent, merely watching Doom storm off.

Her pouty stomps on the carpet are muffled, but carry their weight. Instead of using her hand, she swings her head, opening the door violently, and then swinging her head again to shut it behind her. She puts a good amount of her body weight into palm-striking the door, as if ensuring it was shut. All the while, she grits her teeth with blood staining her torso and feet as it dripped from her face, even the welcome mat below.

Under her clearly angered look, thoughts were brewing. She needed a new breeder to go to. But who, and where? Now she needed to reformulate her routes, again. There's never a shred of consistency in this world. As she was thinking of a new plan, with her palm still on the door, she tried to calm herself with deep breathing. She didn't dare wipe the blood from her face, with her blinking away most of it so it doesn't cloud her vision. It at least feels cooler when it stays on her cheeks.

As she faces the door, continuing her deep breathing, she rests her forehead against the frame. It didn't occur to her that she'd leave blood there, but she just needed a moment to gather herself.

Then, out of nowhere, she's thwacked on the back of the head. She jerks her head from the impact, and is enveloped in a red light...before the light fades. Behind her drops an open Pokeball, malfunctioning from a short circuit with steam erupting from its innards.

With her anger returning, she slowly turns her head around. She felt as if she were to focus any harder with her eyes that they were liable to pop out of their sockets.

That anger turns into contempt and disappointment fast when she sees the culprit.

"Aw, darn! Why'd the ball not work?" A kid, who couldn't be more than 13 years old, dressed in rather casual clothing, snaps his finger. He strikes a rather dramatic pose as he openly admits to his plan; and, in not-so-subtle fashion, procures another Pokeball from his pocket.

"Then I guess I need to weaken it first. Go--!"

"Hooold up." Doom turns around, de-escalating now that she knows who she's dealing with. "Were you trying to capture me? Sorry to say, but-"

"Poochyena!" The kid throws his Pokeball, and out comes a Poochyena, giving a quick bark and snarl at the Celebi. "Use Tackle!"

Doom sighs. "Kid, you need to listen better. You can't-" She nonchalantly flicks the hyena on the nose and sends it careening backwards, not even fazed by it barreling towards her and certain not by its force. "-capture me. Save yourself the humiliation."

"Oh, no! Poochyena, Howl!" It responds by howling in turn.

Doom crosses her arms and walks off towards where she came from. "Hm, I wonder if there are any breeders to the south. That area's usually pretty locked down, though..."

"Alright! Use Bite!" The Poochyena, ever faithful and unwavering, rushes towards the Celebi. It leaps, attempting to clamp down on her head.

Within a split second, she turns and grabs the dark mutt by the neck, using its momentum to slam it down to the ground behind her. "Listen here and listen good." She kneels towards its head; it whimpers and whines, struggling to either get on its feet or to escape, and failing to do either. "If you were any other Poochyena," she tightens her grip on its neck, "I'd have you skinned for your pelt, and have the rest of you chopped, cooked and served as a full-course meal. You will feel every bite gnash and tear into you until there is nothing left but bones for the Murkrow to pick on."

She gets her face even closer to its own, practically staring daggers into its eyes. Some of her bloody tears drip down onto its snout. She can see the fear in its eyes build up, and its struggling weakens as it takes in her words. "Get back in your ball before I change my mind." With that, she holds up the Poochyena by its scruff, still with one hand, and tosses it back towards the trainer. It tumbles onto the pavement, rolling a few times.

Without missing a beat, it whimpers and gets on its feet as fast as it could, scampering towards its trainer and leaping towards its Pokeball. It disappears in a red light as it recalls itself. Doom stares at the kid with contempt for a few moments as he processes the whole interaction.

"H-hey, wait-" Doom blinked and turned her head away. With a straightening-up of her wings and a bent knee, she took off down the road again. The kid barely had time to reach for another Pokeball before she had gotten far beyond a throw's reach.

What an annoyance, she thought. Not the kid, or nearly being captured; that she would need to find another breeder that would be more sympathetic towards the undead. It was bound to happen eventually, as even the most stalwart humans fear zombies like they fear death. Despite them retaining most of their functions if they were to become undead, it's still a matter of class and rank. The primitive understandings of the world baffle the mind, and yet they exist as they do because of fear alone.

Whatever. She can go without eggs for a while yet. Might get a mouthful from Anne, but there's other things on the menu to get. She zips down the road, wings fluttering as she makes a hard right towards the brewery and berry fields to the north. There will be plenty of time for ruminating when she gets back to the pub.

---

[Half Time pub, 12:15 AM global time. Local time 3:00 AM.]

The pub has since closed, the last of the patrons escorted out. All that remains is the slow melodic strings plucked from an oboe accompanying the remaining staff as they cleaned up.

Mute floats above one of the tables, dragging a cloth on it and wiping back and forth as she goes along. With a sigh, she straightens herself up and stretches, a satisfying pop reverberating from her back, before leaning over and wiping some more. Snowy wipes down his countertop, and there's clattering sounds coming from the kitchen as Anne too finishes up for the night.

"Hey, Mute." Snowy wiped all but a spot in front of a chair. He reaches down beneath the counter and comes up with a Pokeball - the same broken one that fell in the snow from after one of his previous shifts. He playfully tilts it so the top flops open, then back to shut: it was broken and dysfunctional, so it was able to open and shut without the button being pressed.

The dark green Celebi looked over, wiping her brow. Upon noticing the ball, she blinked and her eye(s) widen with curiosity. "That's one of those balls that trainers have, isn't it?"

A ring suddenly appeared from the ceiling, expanding and with a dark spiral in the center. A blob appeared in the center, drooping from it. Twin glowing eyes take shape, staring right at Snowy. Hair forms behind the eyes as a grisly voice erupts from it. "You know how dangerous those are."

"Yeah, yeah, boss, I know. See, this one's broke. Besides, I can't be captured." He retains his smug grin once more, twirling the ball on his finger. He fumbles it as it flips open mid-spin, clinking against the counter. Totally unintentionally.

"...You will dispose of it between now and when you come in next." She retreats into the ring, which disappears as quickly as it appeared. Mute could do little but worriedly look up at the ring as it shrinks into nothing.

"A-ny-way..." Snowy picks the ball back up, holding it closed, jutting it out as if he were a trainer himself. "These're the things that capture Pokemon like you and me. Alive ones, that is."

Mute approaches the counter, resting her rag on it and lightly reaching for the ball. "It's broke, right? Huh...how do, uh..."

"Ah." He pulls the ball back and wags a finger. "I know what you're thinking. And...it's best not to think on the why." Snowy then brings the ball closer to Mute, whose eye(s) are glued to it. "The gist of it is, a trainer can carry up to six Pokemon with them, and the ball is meant to help form bonds between 'mon and trainer."

Mute looks at the ball for a few moments, gears turning in her head. The expression of wonder slowly turns to worry, and she straightens up. "Does the Pokemon have a choice?"

"Heh, well-" The frostbitten 'bi flips the ball open, showing the inside. "The balls themselves are rather fragile. A strong will can break them open from the inside, but only in the capturing process. After that, though...nope. You only get a few moments to muster your strength to break out before the trainer claims you as theirs."

"That's rather...morbid...w-what if I'm asleep, and..."

A shadow forms behind the bartender, another ring materializing, though it is more formless than before. "Snowy."

"Right, right, I get it. Tch." He sets the ball down on the counter. The shadow quickly disappears. "Like I said, we're dead, you and I. We can't be caught. Just one of the perks."

"For now." Doom makes her presence known, having been slumped over at the far end of the counter at her usual spot. She doesn't, however, get her head up, and remains half-asleep. "Those humans are trying to make a ball that can capture the undead."

Mute backs away further from the ball. "H-how could they...? Aren't there enough alive Pokemon for them to capture?"

"Used to be." Doom rolls her head around on her arms. "With all the strong invading 'mon, there's not enough weak ones. And, well, humans think you have untapped potential. So they want to explore that, I guess."

"Like they wouldn't DIE instead of FAINT." Anne's voice from the kitchen.

"Tch." Doom grumbles under her breath, with Snowy catching some of it involving Anne taking a nice, long vacation.

"Either way..." Snowy clears his throat. "I suppose we'll be relying on Max for catching trainers looking to, uh, catch us."

"Unless he gets caught first." Doom teases with a higher pitched voice.

The office door clicks open. Gali emerges hands first to propel her through. "Alright, I'm going to put the kibosh on this." She floats a hand up, beckoning with it. The Pokeball rises from Snowy's grasp, floating over to it. "I will not have these what-ifs terrorize my staff."

Snowy gives off a chortle. "I'd say that would be chivalrous, but aren't you a Pokemon as well? What trainer wouldn't want to catch-"

"THAT is why I'm investigating that badge of Doom's." Gali's massive hand envelops and grips the ball tight, shaking as if she were trying to crush it. "If we can somehow copy its Pokeball-neutralizing capabilities...then we wouldn't need to worry about those of us that haven't been captured yet."

At the door to the pub, Max's eye twitches, going unnoticed by the rest of the staff.

"Pass." Anne speaks from the kitchen window once more. "If some poor sap catches me again, that's their funeral."

"And I'll always have the original on me when I go out." Doom lifts her head up off her arm, looking over at Gali with as much bite as ever. "Call it personal preference, but being told what to do by a snot-nosed brat is a fate worse than death. Or whatever it is you guys live like." She casually waves off towards Snowy.

Gali turns her head up. "...I simply wish the best for our establishment, as weak as our bonds already are."

Snowy slides over smoothly from the other side of the bar counter. "You could just catch us and remove that worry entirely." There's a hint of desire behind his voice, which Gali quickly brushes off.

"Out of the question." Green eyes glare down at the frozen 'bi, but he remains unperturbed. "I have no business entrapping any of you here. Besides, only humans can be trainers."

"It sounds like no matter what happens, the threat is always there..." Mute, sitting on the table she was at before, looks down as she wipes her hand on her outfit.

The pub falls silent for a few moments, save for the running sink in the kitchen. Gali is at a loss for how to respond. Snowy crosses his arms and rests on the counter.

"...Not to ruin your mood, but there's a million other things to worry about." Doom looks rather exhausted just listening. "I can't say I'm sorry for adding to that list, because I'm not. But if you really wanted to keep out of the eye of trainers, you'd be on the run for the rest of your life. Take it from someone with experience with something similar: it ain't fun."

Gali stares at her from across the room. She sighs, looking down at the ball in her hand. Even just moving a finger causes the top to shake in its broken state. "Before the world became what it is now, I too was running. The past I had before, the present I lived in. And then the merge took it all." She clamped her hand down harder on the ball. It can be heard straining to hold together.

She looks back up to the pale Celebi. "How long until I snap like you, Doom? Or have I already? When everything falls around me, that thought keeps me sane."

"I prefer the term enlightened." She mischievously grins.

"That's nice and all, but," Snowy rights himself up and floats above the counter, getting closer to eye level with his boss, "you've still yet to address the real issue. Not to say you don't have passion, but you sound like you're ready to bolt."

His serious tone drops as his smile creeps back up, and his pitch rises. "What's stopping you?"

Gali closes her eyes, looks down and smiles too, a single "hah" emanating from her throat. "Mute would kill me if I left you all to dry." She looks over to Mute.

The half-Celebi smiles, and for a moment their gazes met with gentle smiles being shared.

"Now," Gali glances back over to Snowy, "are we all set to close up or are we going to keep Doom awake for another hour?"

---

"You didn't have to do that."

"What?"

"Stick up for me. I...I'm not scared of being caught. I've been caught before, right?"

Gali and Mute travel south from the pub, entering the more forested part of the biome. Lost and Found's spirits are riding on Gali as they have done many times in the past, with Mute floating alongside.

"I suppose you're right. Technically, you do come from a world where that was possible."

"Not that it led to anything good." Lost laments. His ethereal, galaxy-like body with pure white eyes droop sadly on Gali's shoulder.

The Hoopa-Celebi sighs. "...There's a part of me that thinks this whole Grave Ball business might be good for the relationship between alive and undead in this world, if done right."

"That's a big if. You seen how thrilled they were at the prospect." Found 'stood' atop Gali's head. "Not that I have any leg in that race, but wouldn't it be whacky if those balls could catch ghosts like us? That'd be pretty neat, wouldn't it?"

"..." Gali stops in her tracks. Mute stops as well and looks up at Found as if she said taboo. "...You're going to make me waste time looking into this, aren't you, you little devil?"

"Waste time? Pssh. We do that all the time. It's like what Doom did, calling it by another name. You're not wasting time, you're...uh, always wasting time! With us!"

Gali shakes her head, continuing to move. "Sometime I wonder if that's true, Found."

"Um, Gali..." Mute's voice, behind Gali. She had not moved forward with her. Gali turned around to face her, with the smaller 'bi looking coy. "If they can...catch ghosts--I mean, I know you said only humans can be trainers, but..."

"Mute..." Lost was first to notice what she was getting at.

"...if you caught Lost and Found in them, you...could go back to normal. They wouldn't be...gone, then."

Gali slowly blinked down at her, trying to process if such a thing was possible. She had her hopes dashed one too many times for her to be positive, but considering their circumstances and the existence of ghosts in their world already, Lost and Found's case as spirits inhabiting her Hoopa rings might be a case not too far off from the reality of their world. Thus, if ghosts could be captured, so could they.

A finger from one of Gali's massive hands met her lips as she thought about it. "If we come across one of those Grave Balls...and hopefully not have it be used against us, perhaps we can test it, then." A pause. "But that will be after looking into what they can do. There are too many factors at play here."

She reaches out towards Mute with an open palm, and a sincere smile, demented as it was. "Please...don't be mad if I can't pull off this miracle, too. I don't know if my heart could take losing much more."

Mute floats up and places her hand on one of the fingers. Another smile from her, warming their souls under the night sky.

"I won't. Because, Gali...I still have you."
