The Question

A series of loud thuds on the door, jarring PK out of a peaceful sleep. Great.

She opened her eyes and stared straight ahead at her desk. Light was making its way in from the window, but not a whole lot. It was maybe... 6am? Who the hell was bugging her this early? It was supposed to be a day she could sleep in, it wasn’t like every other day--

Another few thuds. “PK, you promised you’d go today. You can’t put this off any longer! Please, get ready and let’s go, all right? PK? I already told them you’d be coming!” spoke the Peaceful Sleep Assailant.

She groaned. She had forgotten, but it was coming back to her quickly. “Just a sec,” she croaked at the door, her morning voice still caught in her throat. She’d definitely need a cup of water; her tongue felt dry and papery. It was kind of gross. No matter: she would be ready in a moment, even if the thought of her chore for the day bored her to tears. Now that the village was done being built, she was unable to find any more excuses to delay the inevitable. There were no more Pokemon doing grand tasks to really manage... it was all just a bunch of planting for that confused little fairy girl. Well, at least that didn’t require a whole lot of supervision anymore. It was giving PK a chance to recuperate from all of the long days and nights that a devastated village had brought with it. Unfortunately, because it didn’t require a whole lot of supervision, Malt was apparently feeling more entitled to PK’s time. This really wouldn’t have been a problem, except she, well..

“PK come on! I told everyone at the ranch we’d all eat breakfast together! They all eat really early if they still do it the same time as before! You don’t want to waste their cooking do you? Come on!” This managed to pull another groan out of PK. She slid out of bed finally, looking back at the sheets longingly for but a moment more, then stretched. First her tail, then her arms (up and down, left and right), and then did a split. It was important to remain limber and alert. She was even more conscious of this after her period of... “deep purpleness,” as she liked to think of it. Black wasn’t a very nice color, so she wouldn’t think of herself as having been such. In any case, she found stretching a nice way to become more aware of your body at the start of the day.

After this quick physical and mental wake-up, she felt ready to go face Malt and see what he had in store for her. She was sure she wouldn’t like it. It was hard: she wanted to be positive, she really did, and that was no lie, but... but she rather disliked ranches. Stories of her father’s ranch put an immensely grotesque and horrid impression in her mind on what such places were like. She was sure that if he had owned Tao Ranch instead of it having started off separately, well, that it would have been run in some similar way as to the ranch of his young adulthood. Even after she was well aware that Tao Ranch was simply not like that, she had avoided it without fail. She always took giant detours around it whenever the situation called for travel near it. It was just not somewhere she wanted to be. It would have been impossible for her to do proper business with them at all had Malt not always visited the village. Her former partner had offered to go to the ranch in her stead, but she much preferred getting to see Malt face to face. It wasn’t for lack of trusting Shroomsworth’s judgment; she simply felt the desire to oversee everything that happened between the village and the ranch.

But that was enough of that. She answered the door to her bedroom, and it had really only been five or so minutes, but Malt’s expression still said that she took too long. Well, whatever.

“PK, you don’t need anything, right? I mean I know you don’t, but I don’t want you to make up an excuse to come back here again and--”

She cut Malt off, tired of him already. “I don’t. I mean, I won’t. Need anything, that is. Let’s just get this over with.” Even if he was perfectly justified in thinking she would try to wriggle her way out of her obligation, she hated it regardless.

They silently made their way down the stairs leading to the main corridor and exited the hut. PK would have griped that no one competent was running the place, that they could be robbed, and so on and so on, but Malt had specifically secured a few of the teams PK trusted at all to run the main shop (and even the stall outside). She was certain he had handpicked only the teams on the very best of terms with her. This was agitating. She had been robbed of the only complaint she could think of. It seemed, unfortunately, that Malt had thought ahead quite a bit for this particular date.

---

PK trailed slowly behind Malt as he made his way over the footbridge and to the ranch portion of the village. It was, in truth, a mile or so away from the village still, and that was pushing the limits of her comfort zone. As they got closer, her heart started to pick up the pace. She felt a little faint upon reaching the main entrance. A good look at the setup should have put her at ease, but it did not.

Malt tried to push back his thoughts for the duration of their trip, but it seemed he’d had enough of the silence... and apparently also of whatever expression PK didn’t realize she was making. “Come on... You look like we just arrived at a, a torture camp or something. PK... you can’t be grimacing like that the whole time, you’ll make a really bad first impression on these guys... We’re supposed to be a whole unit now, and you haven’t even met a good nine-tenths of the ranch populace! You need to--”

“Yeah yeah, save the spiel. I’ll smile or whatever.” She grinned. Malt cringed and shook his head. Well, so much for that.

Along the way to the first building, they passed several rows of tiny trees. PK recognized them as the berry saplings they were. That was nice, at least. She even saw the Payapa berry bushes she specifically requested. Even better. Past that, she saw a little pond with a few Ducklett and Psyduck lazily floating about. Did those guys do anything for the place? Were they workers? Maybe they provided eggs? She wasn’t all too sure. Maybe they were freeloaders, for all she knew.

It was exactly for that reason, for her lack of knowledge, that Malt had continually urged PK to check on the ranch, meet its inhabitants. She really did know next to nothing about how it was run! Only the bare essentials had been gleaned from all of her business with Malt before they joined forces. It was probably a really lousy decision on her part, but it was her resolute decision for over a couple of years nonetheless.

It was looking to have been a poor decision on all accounts, though. Even if the ranch stressed her out for no real reason of its own, she was starting to really, actually see that it was just a normal place where Pokemon lived and worked. The houses were mostly the Pokemon-head motif, but there were some more practically shaped buildings, which she guessed held most of the supplies. The two Merchants were making their way toward a plain brown and tan building, so there was no telling who or what lay inside.

Malt pushed open the door, bringing about a little tinkle from the bell. PK followed suit. There was a long table, fully set with dishes and napkins and plain glasses, enough to seat a couple dozen Pokemon at least. She was sure there were more staff than that, but supposed they didn’t all eat together. At first, it seemed that it was merely for show until PK actually took a good whiff. Someone was cooking! Now that she was fully inside and the door was shut, she heard sizzling coming from the other room. Moments after they had stepped in, a Combusken had emerged from a far room.

“Oh! You guys made it a little early, I wasn’t expectin’ you guys for another... hm, I dunno. You’re early anyway. Everyone’ll show up on time if you give ‘em a few minutes,” she said. She seemed genuinely cheerful and pleased to see them both. “I hate to be rude, but I gotta get back to cookin’. It’s good to see you again Malt, and to meet you, Miss PK, but, you know how it is. These eggs can’t cook themselves!” she said with a laugh. She returned to what PK presumed was the kitchen.

“Well, why don’t we sit down?” Malt suggested. “Everyone usually shows up right as the cooking’s finished, so you can meet them as they enter.” He took a seat closest to the entrance door, looking at PK expectantly. She ignored him for a brief moment further, choosing to look around at the austere decor of the place. There was really not much to be seen at all in the plain, white room. No pictures, no china, nothing that a normal dining room might contain... A sad thought overcame her. Why didn’t the place have decoration? It should have; it’s not like Sorbet personally had smashed the previous ranch and all of everyone’s belongings up. Perhaps they had been robbed when they fled? She decided she would ask.

“Why’s this place so uh... modestly... decorated? Do they just not have the money, or...” she asked, trailing off at the possibilities. Best to let Malt just answer.

“Er, this? This is the same sort of room we used to eat together at in the previous place. We kind of like it that way here.” With half-lidded eyes, he placed his elbow on the table and leaned forward a bit, propping his cheek up with his hoof. “You’d have known that if you’d ever visited yourself, you know,” he said flatly. This grated on her nerves.

“Maybe you guys were poor then too! It’s not like I gave a crap what your finances were!” She spun around to face him. “And where are all the suckers, anyway? Why are we even here so early? I could have slept in longer, and you just go and bring me here early. Great!” She pulled out a chair suddenly with enough force to make it scrape loudly against the wood. She took her seat and imitated his semi-bored look, propped cheek and all.

Malt rolled his eyes and was about to speak when PK’s eyes moved to the door. Someone was about to come in, she could hear the commotion. Malt turned to look at their visitor as well. The door opened to reveal a Flygon with a great, big ribbon around her neck, carrying a couple of giant eggs with tiny painted ribbons on the shells to match. For an instant, a spec in time, PK and this visitor locked eyes, leaving PK to feel a very drastic, very distinct pang of intense sadness. She had no idea if the Flygon felt anything in return, only catching the slightest twitch at her mouth. Their strange encounter lasted for such a minute period of time that Malt completely missed the moment of silent grief felt by PK. “Hey Ruben!” he greeted, obviously pleased to see her. “You look well!”

“Oh Malt!” she said, laughing. “You always say that! I’ll talk to you in a bit, Puzelle told me we needed these. They’re special, you know!” she told him before twirling off to the kitchen.

Malt smiled sadly when she left. He turned to PK and whispered once he was sure Ruben was out of earshot. “She’s... got some issues, but we don’t really talk about those. Please, please be polite to her. Don’t ask about her eggs if she says anything funny. She’s really nice though.”

This caused PK to feel a pit form in her stomach. For some reason, she couldn’t imagine ever being very grumpy toward that particular Flygon. It was rare, but something she was sure was the absolute truth. It made her upset to think that Malt was telling her to not act up around someone she had already decided she liked and felt for, but she let it slide. She had one of those rare moments of understanding someone else’s point of view, and knew Malt must have cared about Ruben as much as she suddenly decided that she did, too. This made him a little less detestable. For the time, anyway.

---

PK was to have another timeless moment of recognition shortly afterward, causing her to all but forget about Ruben for the rest of the day. The door jingled once more. This time, two fruit-filled baskets suspended by two separate vines entered first. Then came their sole owner, a Meganium in a funny little white hat, adorned with a red flower and stripe (though flat, and not the kind that PK wore around her belly).

This fellow was quite pleased to see Malt, smiling in good cheer to accentuate this fact. He spoke with earnest happiness. “Hey! Really glad you could both make it this--” he started, cutting off as his gaze switched to PK. He stared, mouth unable to finish the sentence it had started.

Malt paused for a moment, giving him a chance to continue. He didn’t. “Iceburg? Something wrong?” Malt was confused, trying to figure out what had so raptly stolen the friendly gardener’s attention. Malt followed Iceburg’s vision to... PK. It was then that Malt was overtaken by a bizarre sense that something was going on here that he just wasn’t in on. She was staring back, mouth agape, attention every ounce as stolen away. “PK?” he asked.

This was enough to break her from her trance. “What?” she snapped. “What do you want now, Malt?”

“Er... nothing. You two know each other?” he asked.

Iceburg, normally a happy and open guy, suddenly gained an extremely timid posture. He seemed to have shrunk into himself. Malt wondered if something had gone wrong during one of the rare times Iceburg ventured to the village.

“Nope,” she snorted. “Don’t got a clue who this guy is. He’s got a dopey name for a grass Pokemon though, don’tcha think?” She closed her eyes and reclined, as if Iceburg wasn’t there at all. Malt found it incredibly rude, and was already partially starting to regret having PK visit the ranch. He was rather tired of her running her mouth and no one saying a thing.

“Well, it’s not like your own name is incredibly creative,” he said dully. “Payapa Kiwi? Really?”

“Shut up! Shut the hell up. Don’t bring that up again or I’ll... I’ll brand your ass,” she said quite seriously. Malt wasn’t sure if it was a bluff or not and sighed in response.

He turned to apologize to Iceburg, but instead found himself deciding perhaps he ought to ask if Iceburg was feeling well. The poor Meganium looked pale and faint, and even his knees had begun to wobble. What a sight he had become! “Hey... hey, what’s going on? You all right, buddy?”

Iceburg turned to Malt. Faint recognition gleamed in Iceburg’s eyes. He opened his mouth, as if to voice whatever ghastly thought had overcome him, but thought better of it. He turned and left the building and the door jingled shut. PK placed her feet on the table and reclined further, rocking the chair slowly on two legs. She finally opened her eyes to look at Malt again. “Sounds like the guy pussied out of breakfast. Speaking of, when’s it gonna be ready?”

Thoroughly baffled at the whole experience, Malt was dumbfounded. He wanted to ask what the hell had just happened, but didn’t really know how to go about that. He didn’t at all know how to even address it. Perhaps it was nothing, and his mind made a connection where there had been none. Weirder things had happened, he guessed.

---

In reality, Malt wasn’t satisfied with knowing nothing, but his confusion was interrupted by yet another Pokemon entering the building. Puzelle hadn’t been kidding when she said Pokemon would start showing up. This time, it was a great big... bug. PK’s first reaction was that she wanted to smash it, and she knew it was a pretty awful reaction to have toward employees. It was twice as big as she was, partially incurring that immediate response in her head.

“Oh! You’re Clover, right?” Malt asked.

A droning voice answered, giving PK the creeps. “Yes. You are Malt, correct? Ovaltine told us about you.” The giant, yellow... thing... turned to face PK. “And you are... ah, forgive us, we are not the best with names. Who are you, again?”

Though her interest had been piqued for a second there, PK hardly wanted to talk, but found it inevitable. She was just going to have to deal, for the time being. “Uh, PK. You can just call me that. Just PK.” She was sure disgust would crawl all over her face if the thing kept talking to her, and then what? Would it take offense? Try to pull some hideous move? Her mind ran wild with thousands of disgusting bug-related horror scenarios before it spoke again.

“It is my pleasure to meet you both. I actually wanted to tell Puzelle a couple of things about the honey out back, so I will not be joining breakfast this morning. I believe my partner will be, though.” Still that almost echoing voice, like the voice of a thousand Beedrill--

Oh ugh, the species dawned on her after she made the connection. It-- no, more accurately she-- was a Vespiquen and was good at providing lots of honey. Which was to say, lots of money. PK finally managed to recall that much. They were sort of a rare sight. You might see Combees flying around, pollinating flowers... but one of these? They were usually hiding out in a big old tree somewhere. For good reason. They were creepy as hell, and not often met without a little hostility.

“No problem at all. We’ll be here for a lot of the day, so I’m sure we can find some time to visit you while you work!” Malt said. PK wished to groan in response to this (among other things), but Clover’s mere presence was making PK extremely uneasy. She found herself remaining polite, if only because she was too bothered to respond.

Clover swept past them and made her way into the kitchen. PK could still feel that incredibly thick presence from her spot in the dining room, and waited until the horrendously large bug had made its exit to exhale her relief.

“Oh come, she’s not that bad,” Malt (attempted to) assert.

“Bullshit. She’s really freaky and you know it.” PK crossed her arms, as if this posture would leave no room for debate.

“She’s actually really nice, from what I hear. And from what I’ve seen. There’s no reason to be nervous... though I really do understand. But you just need to set your feelings aside for once, all right? I know you think they’re super important and all, but... you have to think about these things too sometimes. She can’t help how she is, and you might be passing up knowing someone really nice just because of that!”

PK sighed. Thoroughly bored with the direction Malt was taking the discussion, she feigned sleeping in her chair. Malt was not very impressed, but that hardly mattered to her. Malt couldn’t possibly understand what it was like to resist the urge to smack down a natural enemy.

Eventually more of the farmhands started showing up and sitting around the table, and Malt introduced all of the ones he knew to PK. There were only a couple that he hadn’t met himself yet, only the newer recruits who had come in after the place had been rebuilt. It was mostly the old staff coming in for breakfast. Malt wondered when his sister might show up, and found it odd that Iceburg had not yet returned. Iceburg and Ovaltine usually showed up together though, so he surmised that they might both have had some chore to take care of first. Ah well. Sometimes that was the case, and he’d just wait to see them until later if they failed to show. It wasn’t PK was going to up and leave during their breakfast or anything.

---

It was a fine breakfast, even by PK’s standards. Puzelle cooked up a whole array of foods, catering to each of the specific tastes dining that morning. Berry syrups for pancakes, eggs cooked in a manner of ways (poached, over easy, scrambled), bread with honey and butter, big glass bottles of milk... among other things. It was delicious, and this was nice. It wasn’t as fancy as some of the dinners she’d been out to recently, but it was still a quality experience.

Unfortunately, some of the workers didn’t show up for the meal (Ruben was cleaning up the kitchen the whole time, and Iceburg never returned). This was no matter, Malt said, as they would simply meet the rest out in the field. So, he and PK excused themselves when they had finished eating and chatting and went to survey the rest of the ranch.

After the two visitors had left, Ruben poked her head in from the kitchen. Puzelle caught her goofy gaze (when did Ruben not wear such a thing?) and went after her.

“I remembered this long series of dreams I kept meaning to tell you about but would forget before I had the chance,” Ruben stated excitedly. She reached the sink and began filling it with water from their newly installed tap, then looked back over her shoulder to assess Puzelle’s expression.

Puzelle brought in the last of the dishes and placed them neatly on the counter, hardly with a clink even. “Oh? The ones you keep forgetting about the, you know, the place... or was that something else?”

“Oh! This was uh, well, yeah it was there. But it was different! This is different. These dreams feel like, um, you know! Different!”

Ruben was clearly having problems expressing herself, but Puzelle was ever patient. “Well, why don’t you start off by telling me what was different? What made you remember them?”

“W-well, I remembered when I met PK! I mean, she made me remember. Er, seeing her made me remember, is what I meant.” Ruben seemed a bit anxious, but was always happy to share things with her best friend. Puzelle had a gentle way of coaxing Ruben to talk more and feel less nervous, so they made a very nice match. She was never too hard on Ruben, who’d been through much.

How much? Well, she had lived in Prismatic Jungle for much of her life under the rule of Tivoli. She kept the big ribbon around her neck as proof she had survived it all. It was a harsh existence, and Ruben had endured stresses that many Pokemon in Tao wouldn’t ever know. Puzelle knew, though, and that was enough. Most of Ruben’s dreams were often implied to have taken place in the jungle, though she never called it such. Puzelle understood this.

“When you met PK, huh? She’s a character, isn’t she?” Puzelle said, grinning. She started to sort the dishes that Ruben had already washed in the short span of time.

“Yeah but, I mean, well, I looked in the lake, right? And I saw PK!” Ruben declared, as if this would reveal everything to Puzelle.

“So... as your reflection? So you were her?”

“Well, no, no not really... oh, I don’t know. I mean I looked like her, I think. And it was that place, but it wasn’t now. It was some other time.”

“Oh. Did anything else happen?”

Ruben paused in the middle of washing a particularly syrupy plate and closed her eyes. “Hmm... well, I... there’s always snippets, and it always ends poorly. Actually, you know what...” Ruben reopened her eyes and looked sidelong at Puzelle. Her expression turned unbearably tragic. “I don’t really feel like talking about my dreams anymore.”

“It’s all right. We don’t have to if you wouldn’t really like to.” Puzelle gave a moment for Ruben to silently reflect before changing the topic. “You know, everyone loved the eggs today.”

This worked in cheering up the forlorn Flygon in a jiffy. “Did they? I’m so glad, so glad! I love them, I love them so! So I’m so, so glad they loved them too!”

---