Inspiration

Missy was done. Fed up. She simply could not handle another moment of those awful Zorua children.

It wasn’t their fault, of course. She had to keep telling herself that. They’d been raised by a bad, a very bad Pokémon; a Pokémon mean-spirited enough to harm a small and defenseless creature like that Jasmine, a Pokémon with enough hatred to demolish half the village and almost kill Sorbet. These children needed more support than any other children would, and Missy the Blissey would be damned if anyone was better at supporting children than her.

But it was so hard.

It was so hard to be understanding when every time she turned around, another normal, good kid was trapped in some delusion of blindness or deafness. Normal, good kids play normal, good games, eventually get tired, and fall into normal, good sleep. They don’t steal toys or pick locks or make you think the kitchen caught fire only to lock you in. Missy could deal with normal, good kids. But when it came to those evil-hearted Zorua, she was done.

Fed up.

In fact, the Blissey’s only reprieve was the upcoming visit from that nice painter from the studio by the memorial. Palette the Zoroark, while not particularly good at painting herself, was the student of the renowned Pal, and she was supposed to paint a beautiful mural for the kids of the daycare. Now, Missy was hardly the catty type, but she couldn’t help from overhearing some juicy rumors. Apparently that Zoroark had been involved with some really suspicious things in the past, embezzling or fraud or something official and criminal-sounding like that, and on normal circumstances Missy would hardly allow a criminal to approach her impressionable charges. Oh, no, not at all.

But Palette had changed, now — she spent her time doing honest (though maybe not the most stylish) business, and even a bit of community service. And even besides that, nobody could really bring themselves to dislike her anymore, what with all that presumed-dead nonsense. In fact, she made the Blissey feel a bit guilty; she’d just been through so much!

In short, despite her reservations about Palette’s talent, Missy simply had to give the Zoroark a chance. It just wouldn’t be very charitable of her not to.

She could only hope the artist would show up soon.

~~

Palette hesitated, then rapped twice on the dainty wooden door with two out of three claws on her open hand.

“Miss Michelle? It’s Palette, I’m here for the mural?”

The daycare had already been emitting quite a ruckus, even outside, but the noise level suddenly spiked. Palette imagined the complaints of fifty tiny assailants being suddenly shaken off in favor of the undeserving doorbell and the undeserving Zoroark behind the undeserving doorbell. It was kind of awful, actually; all those kids, forced by curiosity to stay awake while some strange ‘mon fooled with paints for what would seem like days.

She was interrupted in her musings by a jolt to the snout when Missy finally pushed the door open without much regard to the position of Palette’s face.

“Oh... oh dear, did I hit you there? I’m terribly sorry, please come in, I’ll fetch you some ice...” Missy nearly fell over apologizing, as if her entire reputation was staked on how polite she was to her guest. Palette picked her easel up and let herself be dragged across a small front hallway and off to the right, into some sort of homely, white-tiled kitchen where Missy quickly began digging in a brand new walnut ice chest.

“I’m fine, really, Michelle...” Palette glanced nervously back at a sudden throng of curious children, peeking out from behind the doorframe. Wait, were... were some of those eyes staring at her with... malice?

“No, please, call me Missy!” Missy demanded, oblivious to her guest’s discomfort. “Ah, here we are.” She straightened and thrust something freezing and hard into Palette’s face.

“Hold that, would you?” Palette tried, but it was difficult to juggle an easel and a crate of paints in the same hand. She ended up surreptitiously leaving the pack of ice on the counter behind her. “And, uh, come with me, I’ll show you to your wall...”

---

“You what?!”

“Ce n’est pas grave, Michelle told me that the daycare required a new touch. Something to give it the warmth it used to have. And I have so many commissions, you know?” Pal had looked away from his canvas for a moment, then occupied with an almost-complete portrait of a serene-looking Persian; the Smeargle had seen Palette’s expression, and his voice had softened considerably.

“Listen, ma petite chou, you will do fine! You have been improving rapidly lately! Just make sure you remember what I have been saying about the anatomy, and you will not fail.”

Palette had been unconvinced then, and she was even more unconvinced now that she found herself in a staring contest with the area Missy had chosen. The wall was completely monstrous; it dwarfed her by two high and ten wide at least, despite her height, and it was clear-cut that same barren white as the rest of the circular, carpeted play area. No, there was absolutely no question that something had to be done about it. She set her crate of paints down by her feet, and her easel in front of her, and hesitated before lightly unleashing her pencil on it.

But before she could really get properly started on her design, her mane was tugged hard: so hard the painter actually crashed backwards onto the floor, and hit her head. The carpet was soft, but it still hurt, and she instinctively curled into a ball, terrified.

“Hey, lady, stop that!”

Palette cracked her eyes open.

“P-PK?” she whispered.

The Merchants’ leader disappeared (as if the first time wasn’t enough), and an imperious-looking Zorua was standing over her. The markings on the Zorua’s eyes were the dark sides of two half-moons, and the little tuft of fur on top of her head — bound by a huge, iridescent bead — made an almost perfect paintbrush point, just like Palette’s had. She poked at Palette’s face like a Delcatty playing with her prey.

“What’re you doing, lying on the floor like that?” Palette’s assailant demanded. “I was just trying to ask you what you were drawing. Stop being a baby and get back to work.”

Palette was flabbergasted, but she sat up.

“I am... sorry? It was very rude of you to startle me like that!” She held her knees and stared at her assailant. “But, for your information, I’m trying to paint a mural.”

“You don’t look like you’re painting a mural. You look like you’re fooling around with a pencil!”

“Yes, well,” Palette chose her words very carefully, “looks can be deceiving. You looked like a Kecleon just then, but you weren’t really, were you? And you don’t look very cruel, but you did just interrupt an artist in the middle of creating.” The Zorua looked away.

“Yeah... whatever...” She stared back at Palette with a sudden ferocity. “You should just give up! This wall is huge, you’ll never paint all of it, and besides, us kids will mess it up in no time! You should give up, and get out of here, and leave us in peace!”

The Zorua’s tirade left her breathless. Palette leaned backward just a little bit less.

“Excuse me,” she ventured, “but, what is your name?”

“Name’s Charcoal,” the Zorua said, “and don’t you forget it, ‘cause me and my children– I mean, me and my siblings’re gonna drive you right out the door!”

“I highly doubt that, Charcoal,” said Palette. “Siblings?”

---

“Yeah, Hatch n’ Tohne are somewhere around here...” Charcoal looked around. “Hatch! Tohne! Get out here, boys!”

“You don’t have to shout,” said a quiet voice from behind Palette, “I’m right here, you know.”

The Zorua across her had the same round eyes as Charcoal, but with an extra maroon crescent around the outside of each one, as if his eyes were being forced constantly downwards and inwards by his markings. His fur swirled around like a stylized candle, but his face couldn’t be more put out.

Charcoal breathed out. “Oh... Tohne,” she said, explaining the panic out of her eyes, “I didn’t see you there.”

“That’s,” Tohne stated matter-of-factly, “because I wasn’t here. Who’s this?” he demanded, gesturing at the Zoroark between them.

“She’s our new target. Duh!”

“What’s her name?”

“You can’t properly antagonize someone if you know their name, idiot!” Charcoal jumped on Palette to emphasize her point, and looked the painter straight in the eye.

“You! What’s your name?”

But Palette was dumbfounded. She hadn’t worked with kids since fighting that Heatran when Sorbet attacked, but there was more than that. These children... were they familiar, somehow? She never knew many other Zorua, but those gold beads and yellow eyes...

Charcoal got bored of the older Pokémon’s unresponsiveness, and turned to Tohne.

“Where’d your brother run off to? I called both of you! He better not be jumpin’ off tall things again.”

Tohne sighed. “I don’t think he’s gone that far, this time. I think he’s tryin’ to see if he can ‘splode those kids outside with his mind.”

The female Zorua bristled noticeably.

“That little... Tohne, I’m gonna go deal with Hatch. Don’t let this,” she jerked her head at Palette, “get too comfortable.” Then she jumped off Palette and strutted toward the door.

“You can just leave whenever you want?” asked Palette.

“Yeah,” said Tohne, “I mean, it’s not like that Blissey’d stop us. She pretends to be all kind and understanding and everything, but she can’t wait for us to be gone. We cause way too much trouble.”

“So why don’t you leave?”

Tohne was indignant.

“Yeah, and where would we go? We ain’t got no home, nowhere! Not since Momma disappeared!”

“Oh, your mother was one of the Pokémon who disappeared? I didn’t hear about a Zoroar–”

Palette stopped. She knew why the kids seemed familiar.

Tohne laughed bitterly, and looked down at the floor.

“You mean you haven’t heard? Her name’s Shade, she’s the one who caused all this. Kidnapped some green fairy thing, and was gonna kill her, till the fairy screamed real loud and everything got all weird.” He paused to look back up at the Zoroark. “What’d you say your name was?”

“I’m Palette,” she said in a daze. “The painter...”

Tohne’s mother... she knew who that was, perhaps. Sometimes, when it was very dark, and she was very alone, she still thought about that dread ritual in the dead of night, when she’d almost died. When she’d met Pal.

If she was right, Tohne’s mother was an evil Pokémon; the sort that’d stoop to killing an innocent Zorua in a desolate patch of woods, or getting a poor painter violently exiled from her village, or making a talented artist break down in tears. But looking at this Zorua right then, and knowing why she felt so uncomfortable, she couldn’t be afraid of him anymore.

She just felt kind of sorry for him.

“You okay, lady?” Palette realized she was making faces, and got her snout under control.

“Yeah, sorry, I just... erm...” She groped and grappled for her next words. “I’m sorry, but... if you know that you need to stay here, why do you make it so hard for Mich– for Missy? She’s only trying to help, and it seems a bit...”

“Ungrateful?” Tohne offered. Palette nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “It is a little, I guess. And everyone thinks we’re acting this way ‘cause Momma never taught us how to be nice, or something, but that’s not true at all! Momma taught us to be a lot better than this.”

“Then why are you–”

“Hatch n’ Charcoal think if we scare all the other Pokémon off, the nightmares’ll go away.”

Nightmares?

Tohne studied the carpet again.

---

“I don’t wanna talk about the nightmares. I mean, not that you don’t seem nice and all, but it’s just hard to talk about. Especially with them here.” Tohne gestured at a group of children playing Sharpedo and Finneon. The Sharpedo were winning.

Just when Palette was about to retort, Charcoal returned, dragging yet another tricky fox behind her. When the newcomer saw Palette, he broke from her grasp. Hatch?

“HEY! Whatcha takin’ me to the grown-ups for, wench? You tryin to get me interrogated?” Hatch looked Palette up and down with an expression of screwed-up, hateful disgust. His left eye was identical to Charcoal’s, but his right eye was emblazoned with an enormous burgundy five-point star. There was something distinctly unbalanced about the way he carried himself, like at any moment he’d be equally liable to dive for Palette’s throat or topple over.

“This one’s our new target, ya dummy,” Charcoal retorted, “and don’t you dare talk to me that way! Just cause you’re the oldest don’t mean you can treat me like dirt!”

Tohne shrank behind Palette a bit.

“Yeah, yeah...” Hatch rolled his eyes and turned them on Palette. “This is what you interrupted my extra important experiment for? Some stupid menial worker just come to make the walls even whiter?”

“I’m not–” Palette tried to defend herself, but Hatch cut her off.

“Don’t care! Don’t care. Waste of my talents, you are. I still gotta figure out what the deal is with my new powers.”

“New powers?” Charcoal bristled, but Palette was curious now.

“Yeah, my new powers! You stupid or something? We gotta get something for all them Pokémon that disappeared, that’s how sacrifice works!”

Charcoal completely lost it. Her thick fur was enveloped in hot, roaring flames, her half-open eyes went wide with rage, and her face twisted into a snarl. She flew at Hatch and tackled him to the ground, catching him by surprise; he couldn’t avoid it if he tried. Then, she stood over him with a paw on his throat.

“Momma’s. Coming. Back.” Her voice quivered and shook, like it was holding back a tidal wave. “I don’t wanna hear anymore stinking lectures about the way it’s s’posed to be or the sacrifices we gotta make cause it’s just wrong. Momma wouldn’t leave us like that, and you know it!”

“Well,” Hatch grinned, “maybe she wouldn’t’ve if she’d had a proper choice.”

Charcoal shifted more of her weight onto Hatch, as if hoping it’d persuade him to stop talking. It didn’t.

“Not like she was plannin’ on any of this happening in the first place. And I mean, I guess it’s true that fairy was like some kinda ticking time bomb, but maybe it wouldn’t’ve escalated all as it did if it wasn’t for all those enemies...”

“Shut up!” Charcoal shouted, clocking Hatch straight across the snout. “Shut up! It’s not my fault, okay? She was going to kill it, I had to get help! I couldn’t just... let that happen, I couldn’t, it’s not...” The fire went out, and her legs shook. “Tohne! You believe me, right? You don’t think it’s my fault Momma d– Momma disappeared, do you?”

But Tohne couldn’t say anything. Charcoal’s voice quavered.

“A-alright, I need... I’ll just go over and think about things for a bit, maybe. Be– be good, Tohne...” She wandered off toward the door. In another part of the room, Missy noticed the disturbance, and hurried off after her. Hatch just chortled knowingly.

“‘Coal thinks she’s gotta replace Momma, seeing as she’s the one who made her go away.” He laughed harder. “Haha, she’s too young to know much about sacrifice or anything, but she’ll learn. So will you,” he said, with a pointed stare behind Palette, “as soon as you stop hiding behind the enemy.” He turned his nose up at her.

“I got some more tests to do. Let me know next time I’m supposed to babysit.” He put careful emphasis on the last word, like it was absolutely imperative to convey with complete accuracy how childish he thought his siblings were being. Then, he strutted off with the air of a Liepard that had found much bigger game to hunt.

Tohne emerged from his hiding place and lay down, sulking. He must have been the saddest creature in the world, just then; she almost went to comfort him, but she had another job to do. Even if she couldn’t remember why it was more important.

She stood up slowly, picked up her pencil once again, and tried to visualize her stark section of wall exploding into a thousand bright colors. She tried to imagine something that would stimulate young minds, fit the space, and fill the void, but she just couldn’t get past its sheer size. How could she, an unremarkably young ex-Rogue without a past or future, make something beautiful out of so much nothing? A portrait was difficult enough, but this... this was impossible.

“Hey, Palate.” Apparently Tohne had been curious enough to come out of his funk. “Or, whatever your name is. If you’re not here to paint the walls, what’re you doing, anyway?”

Palette sighed and put her pencil down. She wasn’t exactly getting anything done with it.

“I am kind of here to paint the walls,” she admitted, “but not white, like the rest. I am going to turn this whole area into a gigantic painting, called a mural.” She frowned. “At least, in theory.”

“Oh,” said Tohne, investigating Palette’s crate of crafts, “what’s the difference between a painting, and painting?” He peered inside. “And how come you got all these different kinds of paint here? Don’t you just need one to change the color of something?”

Palette froze. No, he... he wouldn’t know about that, would he? Of course, how would he know if nobody ever told him? The only reason Pal hadn’t had to teach her from scratch was... well.

“Er, a painting is like... it is kind of similar to an illusion, because both of them can look like anything you want, you know? But an illusion goes away the minute you stop concentrating it, and a painting stays on the canvas...” Something occurred to her, and she backtracked. “You can produce illusions, right? That is, most Zorua can, but I do not want to assume.”

Tohne shifted. “Well... kind of. I’m not very good at them though, not as good as Momma or Hatch or Charcoal.”

“Why don’t you show me?”

---

And just like that, Devonshire was there, in the daycare. His wide grin, his shining cravat, his perfect hips were unmistakable. But... it wasn’t a perfect Devonshire; his eyes still retained that unnerving feral yellow, and the Sableye hadn’t had a grey-black tail the last time she’d seen him. But, if Tohne could disguise himself as Devonshire...

Wouldn’t that mean he was the one who ordered the Rogues to knock over PK’s item stand? Wouldn’t that make it his fault that she was exiled?

“Yeah,” Tohne said, still in disguise, “I can’t figure out how to get rid of the tail, or the eyes.” He reverted in an instant. “And I think I got his laugh wrong, too, all that time ago. I don’t think I’ll ever really be as good as Hatch,” he mourned. He looked up at Palette, quizzically. “Is something wrong?”

“I, er...” she stammered, “I just thought of something awful, actually, but it’s not something I want to talk about at this moment. Anyway... anyway, you can’t just use white and black for a big mural like this, because people do not like looking at things that are in black and white! Color makes everything much more interesting.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Tohne admitted, “but why would you just use those three colors, then? Other than white and black, I mean.”

Palette was confused for a moment, but when she looked in her crate, she realized what he meant.

“Oh! You mean the primary colors, right? Red, blue, and yellow are very special to a painter, actually. You see,” she fumbled around for a clean palette, “I can make any other color by mixing two or three of these together.” Palette demonstrated by just barely touching the tip of her braid to the bucket of blue paint and making a little dot on the wooden board. “You see, this is blue, but if I add a bit of yellow...” She wiped her hair off on a rag and dipped it in the pail of goldenrod, though maybe not quite as thoroughly as with the blue; so, when she mixed it into the azure dot, it made a decidedly teal shade of green.

“Oops! Haha, I suppose I didn’t proportion that exactly right. But this is a great demonstration of something I was about to say anyway, which is that if you experiment with how much of each primary you use, you can paint with just about any color in the rainbow!”

Palette looked down at Tohne to gauge his reaction, and she half-expected him to look bored and apathetic. But, she only saw wonder in those wide yellow eyes of his. He reminded her of–

Well.

“If you want,” she said, “I could take you back home, to the studio I share with a... with a friend. Not for a very long time, you know, just to show you some more of the things we do as artists. It isn’t as though I’m making very much progress here anyway,” she sighed. “And... also, maybe...” she added hesitantly. “There are not so many Pokémon living at our studio, so maybe, if the three of you did sleep there, you would not have such awful nightmares?”

Tohne shivered.

“You’d do that for us, really?” he said, looking down bashfully. “I’ll definitely ask Hatch and Charcoal if they’re okay with that... I mean, sure, they pretend to be tough and all, but really they’re just as scared as I am. Even Hatch, I think... I don’t think Hatch is tellin the truth right now. I mean, not to me, or to you, but...”

Palette nodded. She understood.

---