Chapter Text
"Go away~"
Singsonged Hassel, under his breath. His tone only slightly strained with impatience.
The professor was kneeling in the garden, far below where you were perched up on the roof top. His olive coat blended nicely with the flowerbeds before him. Stooped, as though in prayer, and balanced atop one of those dark green, foam pads- the kind bought at gardening stores, to help preserve middle aged knees while their owners worked upon them.
Bit of mulch clung to those knees, which were stained by dirt, too. For the instructor seemed to forget to keep himself upon that pad. He kept pressing his body forwards, into the flower bed; apparently too engrossed in his work to notice what it cost him.
He did so now. Pressed his front into the leafy embrace of the Hydrangea, pruning sheers in hand. His golden eyes disappearing in its depths.
Clip
Clip, Clip!
A branch trembled, and fell.
He collected it from the earth. Laid it neatly on a nearby pile, atop its fellows. His face still lost from your view, his torso still lost in that Hydrangea. But you could see one of his hands. Cream, amongst the green.
His thumb swiping over the wound that the sheers had made in the plant. The weathered pad rubbing the place, as if to soothe.
Hassel signed.
You saw it, rather then heard it. Watched his shoulders swell, and sag. Shadows, of the branches of the elm tree just beside him, played along his broad back in the stillness.
It was sunset in Paldea, and the air was cool, and still. The high walls of the academy had thrown a dark curtain over the courtyard. The curtain was creeping along the grassy space, as the orange sun set far on the horizon far beyond. Creeping towards him all the time, like a cat stalking through brushland.
It just touched the toes of his fine shoes when he rose, to stand. The brown leather clacked upon the cobbled path beyond the flowers.
"Didn't you hear me?"
He asked, of the open air.
"I heard you. I know you’re out there."
His tone was not unkind. And yet you knew that tone must silence a class in an instant.
You tensed. Crouched, lower, on that rooftop. Sunk further behind the protective, artful iron spire that wrapped along the roof's edge, that hid you from his sight.
"You have come in vain." He continued, "I will not be returning to the Dragon Tamers. You will be the third 'messenger' the Dragon Lord has sent to 'escort' me 'home' by force; and I beg you, for your own sake, to remember the fate of the others who've attempted it!"
Your Pokeball was slick, with sweat, in your palm. You doubled your grip on it, and clutched it to your chest. Forced your breathing slower. Quieter.
"Whatever 'glory' they have promised you is as real as the morning mist." He said, softly. "And the task they have given you is impossible. Your superiors know this. They send you into harms way, anyhow; as though they think you cannon fodder. Ask yourself; is that how a dragon deserves to be treated?"
"MURKROW!"
Shrieked a blackbird.
Hassel startled. The flock of Murkrow in the elm above him were creaking back to life. Stretching their wings, and fluffing their tails... cawing to one another cheerily, as that wall of shadow slid across their branches, and roused them from their sleep.
"I must be hearing things." Observed Hassel. His face in shadow, now, so that it was hard to know how he was feeling.
"Perhaps this old instructor is just being paranoid?"
Hassel smiled, then, as the Murkrow seemed to agree. One fluttering down to land upon the instructors inviting arm.
Hassel skritched beneath the bird's beak, and listened to it 'speak'. Nodded along, as if knowingly, to the Murkrow's 'words'… as it's fellows took flight, one by one; off to their adventures in the night.
The Murkrow followed its friends when it was done comforting Hassel. And Hassel was left down on the earth, to apparently decide that the pruning could wait until another evening. He collected the offcuts of Hydrangea from the ground. Grunting, softly, as he stooped for them. His pruning sheers flashed as they were retrieved, and placed inside his pocket.
Hassel deposited the branches in a dented metal compost bin. He stretched, and he yawned. He brushed a stray leaf from his golden hair.
Made his way for a door, which would take him into the safety of those great, ancient walls. Opened it, with an old metal creek. And disappeared inside.
While you seethed on that rooftop up above him.
Seethed. And seethed, and seethed.
"You don't know what you're talking about!"
You hissed. At the long-gone son of the Dragon Lord.
"They TRUST ME! I have been honoured!"
You rose, to stand over the Courtyard. Caught in the last of that setting sunlight, so that it’s golden beams played over the metal of your Dragon Tamer's uniform. Shining, dully, in the twilight.
"'l'll prove myself worthy of that honour."
You murmured. Much less certainly, this time.
He's right about one thing.
You thought, to yourself.
Doing it 'this way' IS impossible.
You'd suspected all along. The truth had festered inside you, the whole way here. Ever since they’d handed you this mission.
I can't surprise him.
I can't outfight him.
I need a different plan.