MEAN AND GREEN
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SATURDAY
He wasn’t exactly sure what drove him to check out the Blue Claw Inn. Maybe it was a sense of morbid curiosity sparked by the destruction his colleagues were apparently responsible for. Maybe it was an attempt to stave off the ennui that had been creeping over his day to day life. Maybe he just had nothing better to do. Whatever it was, Ross found himself staring down a wreckage that in no capacity could be called a stage.
Most of the central platform had been reduced to a vaguely intimidating pile of pointy wooden scraps. The support beams, ironically, seemed to have fallen and crushed more of the stage than had been saved. A velvet green curtain, once a striking centerpiece to the gorgeous platform, now laid crumpled on the brick floor, covered in dirt and wood dust. The ropes used to operate the curtain had snapped, and came apart in frayed ends. Most dishearteningly, the mangled remains of some string instrument had been set aside, perhaps to be cannibalized for parts later.
The exposed lumber had a smell that vaguely reminded Ross of Home Depot.
Still, not everything was destroyed. A few intact, albeit dust-covered instruments appeared to have been pulled from the wreckage. One such instrument was an acoustic guitar, which leaned against the wall of the Blue Claw Inn.
It was clearly handmade, especially compared to the mass-produced, near identical guitars he knew from the human world. The handle was crooked, like a branch ripped straight off a tree. It was shaved to be flat to allow the strings to be pressed—there was even a tiny leaf still hanging off the end. The tuning pegs looked as though they had been carved from a completely different type of wood, and were more rugged than smooth. Most recognizable was the body, which kept the hourglass shape and flat front remarkably close to a human guitar. The material was odd still—a light green colored wood that resembled the interior of many Capim Town houses. The edges of the body were thicker, as though a sap or a wax had been hardened to glue the pieces together, forming a dark green frame. The strings seemed to be made of fibers from a vine, refined to be usable as guitar strings.
Before he was aware of what he was doing, he’d reached out toward the neck. The weight of the makeshift guitar felt familiar to Ross as he hoisted it up. The finish on the body was surprisingly smoother than he’d expected, and holding it felt comfortable. Wrapping his fingers around the neck, he attempted to strum out some chords, feeling out the sound. A horrific twang rang out as an issue became immediately apparent—the muscle memory he was trying to channel had lain dormant for many years, cast aside and left to stagnate like much of the knowledge he’d gained at school. As well as that, said muscle memory was expecting the possession of five slender digits, rather than the three stumpy ones Ross now had.
It’s awkward, to say the least. He doesn’t have enough fingers on the fret to hit the usual chords comfortably, and moving his thumb around from the back of the neck means he isn’t supporting the neck and can’t really press down on the fretboard without pushing the guitar into his chest. Strumming is the easy part, but even then, with no fingernails or a pick to use, it’s uncomfortable.
Emboldened by nostalgia, he was undeterred. Finding a stable piece of wood, he sat down, resting the guitar on his knee. This would do until he could fashion a strap somehow. The stability his knee lent to the guitar meant that he didn’t need to strain to support the guitar and have his fingers on the fret. The wreckage around him started to blur away as he focused on his fingers, feeling out the fretboard and playing around with positions. After some time lost in his own world, the uncomfortable slowly became comfortable. The sound wasn’t exactly the same as he remembered—it sounded like he was playing a fancier instrument than the cheap $50 guitar he owned as a kid—but eventually the music started to flow.
“Oh! Fancy seeing you here.”
Ross is broken from his reverie by the unmistakably flamboyant voice of Clover Guild’s own enigmatic guildmaster, Lliam.
“Huh? Oh, hello.” he replies.
“I’m guessing you’re here to inspect the wreckage. What a mess!” He tuts, looking over the ruined stage, “I’ll need to write up a quote on building a new one.”
Stroking his chin, Lliam takes note of Ross, who is holding the guitar with practiced familiarity. “Oh my~! I didn’t take you for a guitarist, Ross.”
“Uh…” Ross mumbles sheepishly, “Well, I have a little experience. As a human-”
“Oh, that’s marvelous!” Lliam interjects loudly. “I was wondering who could fill our closing act. You should have said something! This saves me a lot of legwork, you know. Screening candidates, scoping out talent… Such a chore!”
“Wait, you want me to play at the festival?” Ross protests. “I can’t do that!”
“Nonsense~!” Lliam replies, scribbling something on a notepad, “Thinking about it now, it’s obvious we need a Clover Guild representative to close out our festival. Perfect, perfect, perfect~!”
“It’s not that-”
“Thank you Ross, you’ve made this a lot easier for me! Well, I won’t bother you any longer. I’m sure you’ll need plenty of time to practice, yes? We’re all counting on you, after all! Good luck~!”
“Wait!” Ross calls out, but the lofty guildmaster is already prancing off. He follows the cat around the corner, but as quickly as he appeared, he vanished.
Ross stands there in the street for a moment, unsure how to react. The realization of his situation quickly weighs on him. All he wanted to do was strum a few notes, and now Lliam’s expecting him to give a live performance? On stage? In front of who knows how many people?!
“Fuck,” he thinks to himself. He’s not a guitarist. He had barely more than one summer’s worth of amateur experience, and zero formal training. How the fuck is he supposed to translate that into an actual performance? This isn’t some first-grade talent show either, it’s the finale performance for a paid event. At best he’ll be laughed off the stage, utterly humiliated, pelted with a tomato or two, and never again be able to show his face in town. At worst he could compromise the entire event for the guild and get the whole lot banished from Capim Town by an angry mob with pitchforks and torches.
“Fuck,” He repeats, this time aloud to no one.
Ross falls back, leaning against the wall of the Blue Claw Inn. One hand he holds against his forehead, the other still grips the guitar that got him into this mess. It isn’t as though he had a better idea to contribute to the festival, but this feels more like a suicide march. Should he beg Lliam to reconsider? Should he search for a guitarist to replace him? Could he learn to play on his own? Or is he dead in the water without another musician to guide him?
In his panic, a mundane memory from the past emerges in Ross’ mind. Last week, during a regular guild lunch, that shady fox Kiyo played a few songs on his harmonica. It was a welcome surprise at the time, breaking up the monotony of his routine, and the songs themselves weren’t bad; it was a short set of pleasant and surprisingly complex songs. It was enjoyable, even if it was more ‘bluesy’ than Ross would normally like. Case in point: there was a musician in the guild who could potentially help him. The problem of it being a particularly ornery fox aside, it seemed to Ross the fox was his only hope for salvation.
Ross picks himself up off the wall and takes a breath. It’s hardly a solution, but it’s better than nothing, and as slight as his hope may be, it’s better than dwelling in distraught.
He hurries off towards the guild, the guitar left leaning against a wall.
After the announcement of the summer festival, the varied members of the Clover Guild spurred into motion. It was a monumental task, preparing a large scale festival in just a week. It brought about an air of nervousness, but also excitement, which was evident in the bustling, chatter-filled main hall. It was an opportunity for the Guild to organize something good for the community, have some fun, and maybe even make a little money too. As stressful of a situation as it was, many of the guild members seemed enthusiastic.
Cassie was one such guild member, much to Kiyo’s disdain. The white fox sits on his haunches behind the Sandshrew, who was animatedly conversing with KFC. The rather stoic Combusken was effectively second-in-command around the guild, and as it turns out, he had a talent for woodworking. Although Cassie’s experience lies more with construction than carpentry, there was unsurprisingly plenty of common ground for the two to discuss plans for the festival.
The truth is, Kiyo’s no good at building things. He knows this—that’s why he’s always off gathering materials or doing unskilled grunt work while Cassie chops lumber and drives beams into the ground. Even then, he can’t lift as much as her, and he can’t even begin to chop wood the way she does. More often than one might expect, large scale construction is a necessary part of planning and performing a heist, but unless it’s going to result in fantastic wealth and riches, it can be hard to stomach.
In short, it’s a complete waste of his strengths, and worse than that, a reminder of his weaknesses.
Kiyo droops, laying his head atop his forepaws on the ground, unsure how long these two could be chattering for. Bean, the tiny orange bird who rounds out his team of three undercover outlaws, hops into his vision, and tilts his head at the fox.
“Ready for more construction work, Bean?” He grumbles.
Bean looks to the side, and shakes his head slowly. He looks back towards Cassie, then exhales silently, though the gesture comes across the same. It’s tiring work, and it hadn’t been too long since they finished Tropius’ house. A break would be nice.
“Yeah… Me neither.”
Suddenly, a startling “CAW” rattles the guild. Kiyo bristles in surprise, and Bean becomes poised to launch himself in the air. The chattering of the crowd cuts off into silence as the guild members jump in their skin and look for the source of the sound. Cassie is looking around as well, though KFC looks more annoyed than startled. A booming announcement follows.
“By order of Guildmaster Lliam: I, Percival, am to head security operations for the summer festival. As designated by our guildmaster, I shall be working with Bean, Mustel, and Serpes! Please meet me on the third floor."
The message ends as abruptly as it began. Slowly, and with a few chuckles, conversation returns to the lobby.
“Wow!” Cassie says, holding her ears, “Percival’s voice sure carries. Did you sign up for guard duty, Bean?”
Bean hops up into the air and swoops onto Cassie’s shoulder. She hums, “Really? Huh. I wonder why you got recruited.”
Kiyo uses context clues and scoffs. “You didn’t volunteer? That’s not fair.”
Bean opens his wings in a crooked shrug, and speaks into Cassie’s ear once more. She giggles. KFC observes the nonverbal conversation with curiosity.
“Hehe… Yeah, I guess you are pretty small and unassuming. And observant! I can see the logic. Still, are you sure you’re okay going off and doing this without us?”
The bird gives it due thought, but nods. Kiyo isn’t surprised—every time Bean stares into what should be a mundane scene, he ends up drawing deductions and making observations Kiyo could never make himself. Monitoring a festival for suspicious activity would be a game to him. In fact, it would be inconsiderate to keep him from it.
“Well, don’t forget,” Kiyo says, “If things get hairy, you can always drop out and find us. We’ll deal with it together.”
“Of course!” Cassie adds, “You know we’ll always have your back, but don’t let that stop you from having fun on the security team! I’m sure you’ll do great! And meet back at the Inn before midnight!”
Bean nods, waves one wing to both Kiyo and Cassie, and launches himself out of the guildhall through a window.
Cassie sighs wistfully, then turns to KFC.
“Alright, what was I saying?”
“I think we’d just about finished up. I’ll leave you to plan the construction efforts. I’m not quite an expert, but I’d be happy to lend my carpentry experience to your team.”
Cassie gives KFC a hearty, exaggerated salute. “Aye aye! I’ll keep you updated.”
KFC nods. “Alright, I’ll let you get to work.” He bows his head slightly to Cassie, then Kiyo, and departs silently towards the stairs.
“So…” Cassie starts, looking towards Kiyo inquisitively, “You got any plans?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Me?”
“Yeah. For the festival, I mean.”
“Uh… No,” He admits with a scowl, “I don’t know why I have to help in the first place. It’s not my fault a fucking dragon went on a rampage through the town.”
She waves his comment away, blowing a raspberry. “Don’t be such a downer! This is gonna be so much fun! I can’t wait to see what we put together. Games… Amusements…” She pauses and gazes towards Kiyo with big hopeful eyes, “Maybe, even… music?”
He glowers. “Cassie, this is a paid event. I’m not gonna noodle with my harp like an asshole on stage.”
“Kiyo, if you perform for the festival you can borrow whatever instrument you want! We never get to hear you play the more expensive instruments! Maybe we could finally hear you play violin!”
“Eugh… Violins are so dainty though.”
“I knoooow~, but the sound is so wonderful! Ooh, maybe the guitar? You never play guitar. Or whatever!” She shrugs, smiling wide, “Look, just give it a ‘lil thought. I know you’d blow everyone away with your talent, and I’d love to see you up on the stage. And I know Bean would love it too!”
Kiyo sighs. That much is true. It’s a bit of a cheap-shot, bringing Bean into the equation when he can’t speak for himself, but in truth he’d be on Cassie’s side anyways. She’s brought up solid points, but the fact remains, he has a love-hate relationship with musical performances.
Mechanically, Kiyo loves playing music. There’s something uniquely satisfying in translating thoughts, feelings, or even just plain sheet music into sound. It’s almost like a game that can be played alone, with an immense skill ceiling that is endlessly enjoyable to pursue. On the other hand, playing for others means expending his energy and years of experience to serve the group of people he hates most; everyone alive except Cassie and Bean. And… Fatty? Is there anyone else?
As much as he’d hate to admit it, there are a few faces in the guild Kiyo might be growing fond of. Booker isn’t completely insufferable, for example. Somehow, the cute little bug managed to wriggle his way into Kiyo’s heart—and even somehow managed to get the fox to open up a bit about himself. He feels he’s starting to soften up, and let other Pokémon into his tightly-knit world. It’s a worrying thought.
Kiyo sighs, weighing the possibility in his mind. “I’ll… think about it.”
“Yaaay!” Cassie squeals. She rushes forward and grabs Kiyo in a hug before he can evade. Thankfully, she pulls away before he can complain, though he does have to rub away his blush, checking if anyone witnessed the frightful attack.
“Okay! I’m gonna go find Rasmus, he might wanna join my team. You comin’?”
He scoffs, “Ugh… No. I think I’ll just mope around here.”
“Are you still mad that he called you ‘twinkletails’ at the bar last night?”
“Yes,” he replies darkly, and quickly.
Cassie giggles. “Fair enough. Meet back at the inn before midnight, yeah?”
“Yup.”
“Alright, I’m off then!” She waves and turns to leave, adding in the last moment, “And don’t kill anyone without me!”
With Cassie hunting down Rasmus, Kiyo is left alone. Some of the buzz about the main lobby had died down, as the guild members either finished discussing their ideas or decided to move elsewhere to do so. Still, the noise is more than Kiyo wants to bear, so he gets up off his haunches and walks towards the stairs. The second floor lobby is more like a lounge than anything, with a haphazard arrangement of mismatched seats, cushions, and couches salvaged by various guild members over time. There was no point in organizing it—things are too often accidentally destroyed and replaced to bother trying to keep order. While the first floor is larger and more open, the second floor always ends up being more cluttered, though someone else might equally describe it as homey.
From a glance, Kiyo notices three guildmons he’d seen around before playing some sort of a board game. An oddly colored Wooper rolls dice with his tail, and the result must be noteworthy, as the Corphish (with a frankly badass scar) groans openly while the soft-spoken Politoed gasps in surprise, then shrieks, as the chair slips from underneath her. She laughs it off, and the others join in.
Kiyo rolls his eyes, not at all interested in joining the ‘fun’. Instead he reaches the third floor, which is much quieter than the two below. There isn’t as much to do on the third floor, besides sleep. There’s a few chairs for those who enjoy the relative quiet but can’t stand the dust of the library. Kiyo notices Percival, Bean, Mustel, and Serpes congregating at the outdoor landing. He turns away, not intending to spy on Bean. Despite this, his ears twitch, and he overhears a bit of the conversation, which is merely simple instruction on preparing for the festival. Exactly what he expected.
Instead he sneaks towards a specific room in the back, through a curving hallway lined with dorms. The rooms aren’t numbered, but he knows which one is which—his destination this time is a room square in the center of the hallway. He peeks his head in and finds it is, as usual, empty. There are some bags and a few miscellaneous belongings around, but that’s none of Kiyo’s concern. If he wanted to play detective, he could surely figure out who’s dorm he’s creeping through, but truthfully he couldn’t care less.
Instead, he crosses the room quickly and finds his true target—the window. He hops up and slips through with more grace than he’d ever admit and is rewarded with a sweeping view of the guild grounds and the wood surrounding it. Preventing Kiyo from falling down and into the flowerbed below is a thick-cut branch of the Clover Guild building. It’s relatively flat on the top, and easy to balance on. It allows Kiyo to posture himself like a gargoyle and watch over the guild, if he so pleases.
Kiyo lays down on his belly and enjoys the wind, which partially relieves the heat of the summer sun. He likes this spot for being isolated and quiet. Sometimes he needs to pass time in the guild alone, and seeing as how he and his team live at the Blue Claw instead, this is his best bet.
For a minute or two he watches the Pokémon muck about below, unaware of his presence above. It’s more busy than usual—the morning meeting grouped the whole guild up, and everyone’s still in the process of dispersing. Kiyo quickly gets bored, though, and carefully removes his cap to examine the contents within.
He’s still not particularly happy about the outfit Cassie picked out for him months and months ago when they first arrived. Back then, he got along with the understanding that it’d be a quick affair: stealing the treasure hidden beneath the guild. Instead, it ended up being a monumental task—one they’re still not sure how to complete. As a result, his disguise became an iconic look, and it’s still far too ‘cute’ for his liking. That being said there is one upside—having hidden pockets for storing small objects.
The fox digs around his cap’s folds for a moment, enjoying the wind on his usually-covered hair, and grabs his trusty harmonica from it. It’s well worn from age, made of steel and wood, fastened together with dull spikes and practically fossilized sap. He puts his hat back on, and sighs. Cassie’s request still sits heavy in his mind. Instead of tackling it directly, he decides to play a tab or two.
He closes his eyes and starts playing an old bluesy tune he’d heard on the road, long before he met Cassie and Bean. Once he starts, it's like clockwork, and his hands slide the harmonica across his lips without a thought. This song is easy—it’s the sort of song that a novice could play with practice, but it sounds half decent nonetheless. Normally it’s not what he’d go for, but it leaves room for his mind to wander and contemplate.
The music simply flows, the sound traveling through the air to those with sharp enough hearing to notice.
Meanwhile, three floors down, Ross finally finds himself back at the guild. He wipes sweat from his forehead—the long, rushed walk combined with the hot summer sun was unforgiving. He’s about to ask the nearest guild member if they’ve seen the white fox, but he hears a strikingly memorable sound—the exact sound he’s seeking, actually.
Following the noise, and with some trial and error, he manages to spot the source. From afar and below, he looks more like a clump of sheets waving in the wind, but Ross can still make out the tips of Kiyo’s ears, if only barely.
Why’s he got to sit in such a precarious spot? Ross wonders to himself, entering the guildhall and beelining straight towards the stairs. Not sure how else to reach him, he goes all the way up to the roof and, ignoring the sense of vertigo, he carefully peeks over the edge towards the source of the music.
Kiyo hasn’t noticed him, to no surprise. Now that he’s closer, Ross can recognize the song as something distinctively western. He’s not sure of the name, but it’s very reminiscent of human music. Not wanting to interrupt, he waits for the fox to finish.
In due time, Kiyo’s song begins to wind down with a conclusive outro. Then, it ends.
“Hey,” Ross says, nonchalant but loud enough to get the fox’s attention.
Kiyo immediately springs up like a startled cat. His limbs flail for a moment as he goes into a standing position, locked onto the branch he’s up on. His tails flare out, as though to instinctively make himself appear larger. He looks back at Ross with tiny, shocked pupils, and a genuinely hostile expression.
“What the fuck did you do that for?!”
Ross blinks. “All I did was say hi.”
“You snuck up on me! I could have fallen off!”
“You’re the one standing on a branch. What did you expect?” Ross asks. When Kiyo doesn’t have an answer, he continues, “It’s a bit precarious.”
“Forget it,” Kiyo replies, now more irate than startled. “What do you want?”
“I’m sorry for startling you. I, uh… I need some help.”
“From me? Why me?”
“You play music. I, uh…” Ross rubs the back of his head sheepishly, “I don’t. Not since I was a kid, anyways, but Lliam’s got it in his head that I do. He’s making me perform at the summer festival.”
Kiyo raises an eyebrow at Ross. “You can’t play?”
He sighs, “I can do a little, but I’m nowhere near good enough to perform as I am. I need help.”
A realization begins to form in Kiyo’s head. Most of the instruments he’s familiar with aren’t exactly suited for solo performance. The ones that are, he feels, are at odds with his preferred appearance. The violin, for example, can be enchanting, but it’s terribly sophisticated. The same is true of a piano, though as far as he’s aware Capim doesn’t have a piano to spare anyways.
On the other hand, there are a few instruments that fit his (internal) rugged and powerful demeanor, but they’re poorly suited for a solo performance. The harmonica is obviously his go-to, but for a large stage performance it would be completely out of place. A guitar or a lute could work if he was willing to sing as well, but he very much isn’t. It’s out of the question.
Lastly, there’s the drums—a simple, violent instrument. Kiyo loves playing drums, as it combines two of his favorite things: music and beating things with sticks. It’s an excellent way for him to release his seemingly infinite supply of pent-up aggression. The only problems with playing drums is how rare it is to come across a full drum set, and the fact that playing drums solo is, in Kiyo’s opinion, incredibly pretentious.
That’s why the gears in his head are starting to turn. Maybe he won’t have to play alone.
“...What do you play?” He asks Ross, hints of caution in his voice.
“Guitar, but I only really know the basics. Can you teach me?”
“...Yes.” Kiyo says, as though he’s expecting to regret his words.
“Wait, really?” Ross says, with disbelief, “I thought you’d be… more apprehensive.”
“Okay, look,” Kiyo starts, still speaking up at Ross from below, standing on a branch three stories high, “It’s not that I want to help you. If this stupid festival wasn’t coming up, I’d tell you to fuck off and that’d be that. However, seeing as I don’t have a choice but to find some way to contribute, the easiest way to do so will be teaching your dumbass how to play guitar.” He looks away for a moment before quickly adding, “And I can play drums.”
Ross blinks away his surprise. “You can play drums?”
“I can play everything,” He snarks, obviously exaggerating, “But that’s beside the point. I’m not gonna go up on stage and let you embarrass me. If I’m gonna work my ass off teaching you how to play guitar, you’d better work your ass off learning.”
It’s a reasonable, yet shocking offer. Ross wasn’t exactly expecting to play alongside someone else. Though to be fair, he can’t recall exactly what he was expecting when he came looking for help. Looking down at the small fox with nine fluffy tails from above, he doesn’t look particularly intimidating, but it's no secret how aggressive he can be. Is it worth dealing with such a volatile little creature to get a musical partner?
It’s not as though I have a choice, Ross reasons to himself. And if nothing else, at least I won’t be alone on stage.
“Alright, that works for me.” Admitting this lifts a weight from Ross’ chest, though it brings new sources of nervousness. “Uh… How about you get off that branch so I can introduce myself properly?”
The fox rolls his eyes, slips his harmonica into an inside shirt pocket, and nimbly hops back inside. Ross heads down the stairs, and finds Kiyo is already waiting for him.
“You’re Kiyo, right?” Ross starts, not sure if he should go for a handshake.
“Yeah. You’re, uh… Ronnie?”
Ross scoffs, “No, I’m Ross. We’ve… met before.”
“Yeah, yeah. Nice to meet you yadda yadda yadda.” He stomps his paw impatiently, “So you wanna learn guitar? You’re gonna need one to start.”
“R-right, we can get one from…” He slaps himself on the forehead with a sigh, “At the Blue Claw Inn… Where I just came from.”
“Well I guess we’re going back, genius!” Kiyo teases with a smirk, “Unless you can magic one outta thin air.”
Ross groans. “No… This is fine, if you’re playing drums we’d need to pick those up too. Let me just get a drink of water before we leave… I’ve been running around all morning.”
Kiyo rolls his eyes. “Fine. I guess I don’t wanna have to carry your heatstroke-ridden body all the way to Capim.”
Like you could, you tiny gremlin, Ross thinks to himself. “Your patience is appreciated. Let’s go.”
“Daaaaaanger
IiiiiIIIIn each paaaaassing stranger…”
A voice echoes out from a forest clearing off the beaten path of a Capim Town road. Small beams of light pierce through the forest canopy to dimly illuminate the otherwise shady grotto. In its center, a large Pokémon named Tropius rests, his voice carrying through his verdant surroundings.
“Why do you always make me waaaant you so?
When you’re still leading him where liiiights are low”
His eyes closed, he sways his head in sync with the tune of his song.
“You vowed your love to me
Buuut IIII knooooow theeeerrrre coooould be
Daaaaaanger
IiiiiIIIIn each paaaaassing stranger…”
His baritone voice strains, going slightly out of tune as he makes his best effort to hit the high notes.
“What happened to the girl IIII uuuused to know?
The one girl that I loved aaaand truuuusted so
Now when you walk with me
Each time we pass could be
Daaaaaanger
Daaaaaanger…”
The serenading Pokémon’s long neck and wings droop dramatically, and he opens his eyes as he angles his head to look at the ground below.
“Everyone knoooooooows
It’s him you chooooooose
When are you goooonna tell meeeEEEE?”
He raises his head, and looks towards the canopy above. He shakes his head in tune with the sustained notes.
“Uh I can seeeeee
TeeeeEEEEARS for meeee”
Bobbing his head and wings in rhythm with the lyrics, he rises to his feet in a similar fashion.
“Cause me you were just teasin’
His lips you were pleasin’“
Lost in the trance of his own singing, he closes his eyes, and starts shifting his weight from one side to the other as he bellows out.
“ooooooAAAAAAaaaaaaaa…
ooooooAAAAAAaaaaaaaa…”
His shuffle picks up in tempo, evolving into a full-on boogie. He doesn’t realize it, but as he jigs he slowly rotates, lost in his reverie.
“You vowed your love to me
Buuut IIII knooooow theeeerrrre coooould be
Daaaaaanger
Daaaa-”
The serenade is cut short as he opens his eyes, and sees two small Pokémon looking up at him from the clearing’s entrance. He yelps loudly, and the previously melodious behemoth suddenly and clumsily scrambles backwards. His back left foot quickly catches a rock protruding from the earth, causing him to stumble, though he quickly regains his balance. His eyes go wide as he stands there dumbfounded, as color begins to flush into his face.
Kiyo looks at the startled singer with a blank expression, “...What? Don’t stop on our account.”
“H-h-how long have you t-two been standing there!?”
“Four songs back,” Kiyo lies immediately.
Ross corrects him, “Just a bit ago.” Kiyo, peeved, thwacks Ross on the back with his tails.
“O-oh.” The large Pokémon looks off to the side, avoiding eye contact with Ross and Kiyo. He pauses as he anxiously rubs one of his front feet into the ground. “Why are you even out here? Nobody’s come down this trail before!”
“We could hear you singing from the path. You’re… pretty loud,” Ross says.
“Very, very loud,” Kiyo adds, no doubt aware of the green giant’s bashfulness, “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to be heard.”
“Wh-wh-wh-what!?” Tropius locks up with realization. Overcome with dread, he stares off into the distance for an uncomfortably long time without saying a word.
Ross clears his throat, desperate to disperse the awkward atmosphere. “Um… You’re a pretty good singer, though.” He spins his hand around, as if trying to will the words into reality. “Dunno if you knew that, but you’re not bad. You’ve got those karaoke bar fiend vibes.”
Tropius snaps from his stupor, and looks towards Ross and Kiyo once more. “R-really? You think so?”, a cautious smile forming on his face. He blinks blankly a few times, then tilts his head questioningly. “Hold on, karaoke bar fiend?” After a brief pause, Tropius’ face lights up for a moment, then adds “Wait, I know you two! You’re both from the guild, aren’t you?”
The two speak up simultaneously,
“Yeah.”
“No. …Oh, wait, yes,” Kiyo realizes, correcting himself after hearing Ross’ answer.
Tropius furrows his brow at the comparatively smaller Pokémon. “Do you have to lie every other sentence?”
“N-yes.” Kiyo catches himself, maintaining his cool demeanor. “Enough about me, though. What’s the point of singing all the way out here, alone, in the middle of the woods? You can’t be that ashamed of yourself.”
Tropius’ unwavering expression speaks volumes.
“Or you can, I guess. For such a big guy you sure are bashful.” Tropius timidly looks away as Kiyo finishes his sentence.
“You know,” Ross interjects, turning to Kiyo with a hushed voice, “We could use a singer, couldn’t we?”
Kiyo tilts his head. “This guy?” He looks back at Tropius, who is still ashamedly looking off, and lowers his voice, “Is he even gonna fit on a stage? Without it collapsing?”
Ross scratches his head, and whispers back, “Well, I dunno about that, but maybe he can stand off to the side. We need someone to sing, after all.”
Kiyo scoffs, “Yeah, that’s true. I’m sure as fuck not singing.”
Tropius watches the two mutter between each other and squints, unsure how to feel. After extended discussion, they turn towards him. Ross steps forwards and extends an arm for a handshake. Tropius gives him a vaguely disappointed look, and Ross pulls his hand back sheepishly.
“Uh… I’m Ross. This is Kiyo,” he points to the unscrupulous fox behind him, “I think we’ve met before, but I don’t know your name.”
“I’m, uhh, Tropius. It’s… nice? To formally meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, Tropius. Me ‘n Kiyo here are going to perform at the summer festival. Did you have any plans for that? We could team up.”
“Perform? What do you mean, perform?”
“A musical performance,” Kiyo replies, a bit snappy, “Music. With fuckin’ musical instruments.”
Tropius shoots a bewildered look at Kiyo. “Instruments? Even if I knew how to play one, I definitely can’t play one anymore,” he says, looking at the air where his arms and hands would be.
“No shit,” Kiyo spits, “We were just complimenting you on your singing, remember?”
“Yeah, you can just sing,” Ross adds, a bit more lighthearted. “I mean… We know you can sing. We heard it across the woods.”
Tropius looks away, bashfully. “O-oh, uhhh, I don’t know…I’m not really comfortable singing in front of others. There’s a reason I came out here to do it,” he says, now staring accusingly at Ross and Kiyo.
“So what,” Kiyo barks, “Everyone on the road hears you sing every day. You may as well get some recognition for it. Or are you gonna wilt at the slightest critique?”
Tropius shoots a dirty look at Kiyo. “I can take critique. What I can’t take is…” Tropius’ gaze wanders off as does his voice. “Ridicule…”
Ross shrugs. “I don’t think anyone’s gonna ridicule you, besides Kiyo. If you can take that, you may as well join. Unless you have some other plan for the festival?”
“Well… I was planning on either helping move cargo around, or giving… pony rides to younger Pokémon…” Tropius grumbles, a disturbed expression on his face. “I hate the idea of both, but I’m not sure what else I would do.”
Kiyo expects Ross to reply, but instead Ross is looking toward the sky, completely lost in thought. The fox sighs.
“Look pal, I’m not gonna beg you to join, but you’re a half decent singer. You can jam with us if you want,” he says, shrugging dismissively, “Otherwise, have fun working a carousel.”
A horrifying mental image blooms in Tropius’ mind; a merry-go-round populated by larger-than-average four-legged Pokémon such as himself, strapped to the amusement machine. In the absence of complex mechanics, the ride is powered by the monotonous marching of the involved Pokémon, all while a short repetitive loop of calliope music plays. Worse yet are the screeches and yelps of the snot-nosed brats crawling over the indentured servants. Tropius can’t help but imagine himself in that position, his already battered humanity taking an unforgivably humiliating blow.
The disturbing train of thought is derailed by an exclamation from Ross. “...but how does the saddle fit?”
He’s met with bewildered expressions from the other two; Tropius isn’t exactly sure what Ross was thinking of, and Kiyo can’t figure out how a saddle fits into anything at all.
Tropius clears his throat and continues, “Aaanyways… I don’t really like the idea of performing for a crowd… But anything is better than being a living carousel ride. Plus, I think I owe Kiyo a favor.”
“Damn right you do!” Kiyo snides.
He sighs, and attempts to come to terms with what he’s agreeing to. “Fine, I’ll sing for your guys’ band.”
“Happy to have you onboard!” Ross says, relief in his voice. “Kiyo and I were on our way to pick up our instruments when we heard you singing. You could come along if you want to see the wreckage.”
“I haven’t actually seen the wreckage myself yet, so that works for me.” Tropius shudders, a worried look on his face. “Besides, I don’t think I want to be in this clearing ever again…”
“Let’s go, before it gets any later, then.” Ross concludes.
The band to be, now joined by Tropius, leave the secluded forest grotto and head back towards the bustle of Capim Town.
The stiffness in the air is palpable as the newly formed trio travel toward the Blue Claw Inn. The three of them barely talk as they awkwardly shuffle to their destination. The group creates a very distinct contrast as they walk through the town—a bipedal dog, a quadrupedal fox and a comparatively gargantuan sauropod uncomfortably marching through the town is enough to make even the most stoic of heads turn. Tropius especially makes the journey inconvenient; his large stature causes him to move slowly and carefully to avoid any accidental tramplings, even more so as he follows behind Kiyo and Ross. This is further exacerbated by his insistence on hugging the buildings on the outside of the pathway through town.
Halfway to the inn, Kiyo stops and turns back towards Tropius. “Can you move any fucking slower?”
“I’m trying, but this is harder than you think when you’re as large as me. “ Tropius says, a hint of frustration on his face and in his voice. “This will be a lot worse if I’m careless. Trust me.”
“What, have you flattened someone before?” Kiyo teases, “Should I be worried?”
“No… but I’ve come close. If I’m not careful, that’ll change, and I’d like to avoid that.”
Kiyo huffs with a roll of his eyes before turning back towards the path in front of them. “Whatever you say, big man.”
Ross, having quietly observed this exchange, then takes a somewhat exaggerated step to the side to put more distance between Tropius and himself. The three then wordlessly resume their tedious march.
After a short while continuing at this pace, the group arrives at the remnants of the Blue Claw Inn’s stage. If there’s meant to be a clean-up crew, they haven’t shown up yet. Ross notices the guitar leaning against the wall just as he left it, and the rest of the mess similarly untouched.
“Alright, I’ll admit it,” Kiyo says, looking over the splintery mess, “It looks just as bad as before.”
“At least nobody’s stolen the instruments,” Ross says with a shrug.
“I had heard the damage was bad, but I didn’t know it was this bad,” Tropius says, contorting his neck in different ways to view the rubble from different angles. “It’s a miracle anything survived. I’m just glad the Misfits also survived their encounter with the Haxorus that caused this.”
Kiyo’s face works itself into a snarl as he glares up towards Tropius. “You mean Phanpy’s crew? I’m mad they weren’t hurt by that stupid dragon. They fuck up royally and now we have to jump through hoops to put on this dumbass carnival? All this hassle would be worth it if Cyndaquil ended up in a full body cast.”
Tropius’ expression hardens upon hearing Kiyo’s comment. “Hey, don’t say things like that about them. They’re not so bad.”
Kiyo’s eyes roll. “Phanpy and Torchic, maybe, but we both know that pervert has it coming. If I were that Haxorus I’d have left more than the stage broken beyond repair.“
Tropius suddenly lowers his head and gets eye-level with Kiyo, a decidedly serious look on his face. “I know all about Cyndaquil’s… ways. I don’t like it either. But there’s more to them than that.”
“Hey,” Ross interjects, pointing past the stage’s remains towards a debris-covered drum kit. “We need that.”
It resembles a human drum kit in spirit, though much like the guitar it’s far less industrial. Each of the drums in the kit appear to be shaved from a variety of upturned tree stumps. Ross hadn’t noticed it before, since the drums themselves blended in Capim town’s iconic green tree-stump housing architecture.
Kiyo briefly props himself up on two legs to see above the ruins. “Oh, yeah,” He mutters, “That’s the ticket.”
He scurries off around the cramped side of the debris pile, and his ears appear poking up from beneath the kit. He starts cleaning off the kit, throwing the debris covering it away haphazardly.
“The fuck is all this litter?” he says, holding a tattered piece of paper in his paw. He wipes wood dust off it, revealing a rectangular poster for a musical group, with a Cherrim as the major focus. There’s a Hakamo-o and a Pawniard behind her, drawn with far less effort. “Some sort of poster for a band called CHP?” Kiyo crumples up the paper, then resumes his cleaning duty. “Must be short for chumps, cuz those suckers aren’t gonna be playing here ‘no more.”
Eventually, Kiyo cleans the drum kit off enough, and he awkwardly stands up and raises one of the larger drums above his head with his forepaws. Even though it’s large enough he could sleep in it, Kiyo hobbles back towards his bandmates with the bass drum, and drops as lightly as he can with a huff.
“I don’t suppose you knuckleheads were planning on helping, were you?” Kiyo snarks.
Ross chuckles, “I just wanted to see how you carried it.” He climbs over the rubble, towards the drums.
“I don’t know what you expect me to do. Unless you want to play a drum kit with my drool all over it,” Tropius sneers.
“Just use your teeth!” Kiyo makes a biting motion, clicking his chompers together, “Whatever.”
Kiyo runs back to the drum set and finds a smaller drum to carry. He looks it up and down, and opens his mouth, trying to position it around the drum as if to demonstrate his point to Tropius. He gives up quickly, looking annoyed that it couldn’t remotely fit. Instead, he picks it up just like the last and places it by the other. Ross does the same, carrying two drums at once, stacked, until they’ve got a complete set.
Ross gingerly picks up the guitar that got him into this mess, and scratches his head. “Alright. How are we getting this all back to the guild?”
Tropius moves his head around to inspect the different pieces of the drum kit before turning his attention towards his companions. “If you can somehow secure the drums to my back, I could carry them to the guild.”
“Hm…” Ross hums, looking over Tropius’ wings, “I don’t suppose you can wrap your leaves up like a burrito, can you?”
“Um, no?” Tropius replies, bewildered at Ross’ lack of understanding of basic anatomy.
Kiyo scoffs. “Forget that, I’ll be right back.”
He walks around the corner, into the Blue Claw Inn, which still stands next to the stage’s remains. Just a moment later, he returns with a thick bundle of rope balanced atop his tails.
“Where did you get that rope from?” Ross asks Kiyo.
“I just grabbed it from my room.” He looks between them, slowly understanding their confused expressions. “What? You think I’d sleep in that stinky guildhall? Where all the weirdos and creeps live?”
“I’m more confused as to why you have that rope in the first place…” Tropius puzzles, thinking about the possible implications.
“What is this, an interrogation? It’s for when we do rescue missions, obviously. Who the hell goes into a dungeon without rope?” Kiyo retorts confidently, despite having absolutely no idea if rope has any practical use in a mystery dungeon.
“Enough questions,” he continues, “Let's get these drums secured.”
The three get to work. Ross finds a relatively solid crate and pushes it beside Tropius, who does his best to lower himself. Kiyo, with some struggle, passes up each piece of the kit to Ross, who balances them on Tropius’ back as best he can. As Ross is about to stack two drums atop each other, Kiyo shouts, “Don’t stack them like that! You’ll ruin the head! Use this between ‘em!” and passes him a thin sheet of salvaged wood. In three small stacks, Tropius’ back manages to fit one bass drum, three toms, a snare, and four cymbals. Ross then tosses the rope above the drums, Tropius steadily rises to standing height, and Kiyo nervously scurries beneath him to make a loop. The process is repeated until the rope is taut across all the musical implements.
At the last minute, Kiyo squeezes two mossy drumsticks inside the rope, cheekily. This causes Tropius to look down at his sides looking for the source of the new sensation rubbing against his skin. He spots Kiyo acting nonchalant close to his right side. “What was that you just stuck in?”
“Two drumsticks. Wooden sticks. For drumming.”
Tropius inspects his side to confirm, quickly spotting the two wooden implements. He looks back at Kiyo and replies, “Alright, but next time, can you warn me if you’re gonna do that? It’s…” He looks around bashfully, trying to find how best to phrase what he wants to say. “...Uncomfortable suddenly feeling something rub up against my stomach.”
Ross freezes, and slowly moves the guitar and his other hand away from the rope on Tropius’ other side.
Kiyo shrugs, “I guess so. I could just carry ‘em myself if it’s gonna be a problem.”
“No, it’s fine. Just let me know if you’re going to do that next time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kiyo looks towards Ross, who appears content to simply hold his guitar, “Let’s get a move on already.”
Ross nods, hanging back to watch the drums on Tropius’ back in case they might start to slip. The three of them begin their exit just as they came. They move more slowly than before, which annoys Kiyo until he realizes the survival of the drums relies on the massive dinosaur’s balance and patience. In an attempt to subdue his boredom, Kiyo starts barking at passerby to “Get out of the way! Heavy load coming through!” Tropius bashfully avoids eye contact with those who consequently relinquish the road to him, but it does wonders for clearing the path through the Capim Town streets.
Before long, they escape the confines of the city and start on the road towards Clover Guild. After due contemplation, Ross decides he’s seen enough of Tropius’ backside and feels confident in the ropes to hold the drums tight. He paces up to the dinosaur’s side.
“So…” Ross awkwardly looks around at his surroundings as he searches for the best way to break the ice. “Frankie Valli?”
Tropius takes his eyes off the road to look at Ross. “You actually know what I was singing?” He quickly faces back towards the pathway. “Oh lord, you know what I was singing.”
Ross shakes his hands dismissively. “No, no! I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just surprised to hear someone from the guild sing something of his. I didn’t expect anyone from the guild to have… taste like that. I always figured everyone at the guild was in their twenties or something like that.”
Tropius stops dead in his tracks and cranes his head in front of Ross’s face. He squints his eyes accusingly. “Do you think I’m not in my twenties?”
“Um…” Ross looks away and scratches the top of his forehead. “No?”
Tropius cranes his head back forward and resumes walking again. “Well, you’re right about that. Just because I like some older songs doesn’t mean I’m an old man…”
Ross shrugs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come off like that. I just heard that song at my grandma’s house once, so I kind of assumed.”
“It’s alright,” Tropius sighs. “I’m used to it by now…”
“So, why Frankie Valli then?”
Tropius looks around as though others are listening in on the conversation before craning his head down towards Ross. “...You’re not going to make fun of me if I tell you, are you?”
Ross shakes his head. “Of course not.”
“...And you?” Tropius turns to Kiyo.
A few seconds later, Kiyo turns to Tropius looking confused, “Wait, were you talking to me?”
Tropius rolls his eyes upwards briefly. “...Never mind. Don’t worry about it.”
Hesitating, Tropius looks at the side opposite of Ross, before leaning his head in Ross’s direction, eyes still on the road. “... I don’t know. I guess I like the emotion and range in his voice? It’s cool how he pitches his voice all over the place and still harmonizes as well as he does. I don’t particularly care for what he’s singing about, it’s pretty played out, but I really respect the passion behind it.”
Ross nods his head. “I can respect that.” He clears his throat before continuing. “Y’know, my tastes aren’t as… let’s say vintage as yours, but if there’s an artist I really like, it’d have to be Meat Loaf.”
Tropius shoots a disbelieving look at Ross. “Meatloaf? Is that really the name of an artist?”
“Yeah,” Ross continues, “Meat Loaf. Y’know, the Bat Out of Hell guy? I think he’s got a good voice.”
“Hold on,” Kiyo swivels around, “What the fuck is a ‘meat loaf’?” He continues pacing forward, though his expression is contemplative. He mutters under his breath, “Actually… That could be good…”
Tropius watches Kiyo for a few seconds, then leans in towards Ross with a sly look. “Hey Ross, any other bands like Meatloaf that you’re a fan of?” Tropius begins to sideeye Kiyo, expectantly.
“Uhh,” Ross pauses for a second, deep in thought. “Meat Loaf was a solo artist, but for other bands I like, I can’t say I don’t enjoy Hoobastank.”
“Okay, now I know you’re fucking with me. Hoobastank is not fucking real.” Kiyo sputters.
Upon seeing Kiyo’s reaction, an opportunity presents itself to Ross, and he seizes it almost immediately. He turns back to Tropius, shit-eating grin plastered over his face, and continues speaking. “I’m a huge fan of Little White Bastard too. Do you have any other favorite bands, Tropius?”
“Hey!” Kiyo fumes, “Do you even hear yourselves?”
“Oh yeah, I love… uh… Legume Casserole‘s music. I’ll tell you who I hate to listen to though.” Tropius steals a glance at Kiyo, and then replies: “The Dinky Paperboy.”
“Y’know, I liked their stuff, but they weren’t the same after Steve Jobs quit.”
“Stop ignoring me!” Kiyo stomps the dirt, “Who the FUCK is Steve Jobs?!”
They laugh lightly at the fox, who shoots a profound glare, undermined by the size of his eyes. Ross defuses the situation, waving his arms, “Naw, we’re just messing around. Hoobastank is real though.”
“Yeah, sure,” Kiyo spits, and they all continue down the path.
Soon enough, the trees begin to thin and the three spot Clover Guild in the distance.
“Finally,” Ross huffs, “I’ve been walking all day…”
The afternoon sun is still two or three hours from setting. The commotion from earlier has seemingly settled, and the guild exterior feels almost serene.
“Alright,” Tropius says, “Where am I taking this stuff?”
Ross sighs and looks around hesitantly. “Uh… Where should we practice? Somewhere outside?”
“Fuck that,” Kiyo spits, “We’ve been walking all day, and it’s been hot as hell. Let’s start tomorrow, we wouldn’t get anything productive done tonight anyways.”
Ross breathes a heavy sigh of relief, “G-good point. Yeah, tomorrow.”
Tropius nods. “Fine with me. Is there anywhere we can leave this stuff for tonight, though?”
Kiyo points a paw to the side of the building, “We can take the ramp to the storage room. There’s plenty of room, and I’m sure Toge won’t mind.”
“Oh…” Tropius mumbles sheepishly, “I can take it to the ramp, but I can already tell you I can't fit in there.”
Kiyo makes an inward hissing sound, like he just watched someone trip and bite the dust. Ross sighs, “Oh come on. We can just carry it the rest of the way, it’s not that bad.”
“Yeah yeah,” Kiyo grumbles begrudgingly.
They reach the entrance of the ramp which leads down into the Guild’s basement storage room. Kiyo heads down the tunnel while Ross unties the knot in the rope on Tropius’ side. Tropius then gingerly lowers himself to the ground, taking care not to shake the now precarious cargo on his back. Kiyo re-emerges from the relative darkness of the tunnel pushing an empty wooden crate. He leaves the crate next to Tropius which Ross then climbs up on top of. Ross begins passing the different drums from Tropius’ back down to Kiyo, who places them in a neat fashion on the grass.
Tropius stands up and stretches with a few flaps of his wings. “I’m glad to have that stuff off my poor wings,” he says with a relieved sigh.
With the items neatly removed from Tropius’ back, Kiyo and Ross begin dutifully transporting the items downstairs. Soon enough, all of the instruments and their accessories have been tucked away into the guild’s storage room. Everyone regroups outside, and Ross runs a hand down his face.
“I’m exhausted,” he says, “I’m going to lay down and I’m not getting up. Uh, what time should we meet tomorrow?”
“I’m gonna go ahead and assume you’ll need all the practice you can get,” Kiyo says, “So let's meet around 8 in the morning, before it gets too hot. We can meet here at the guild. I don’t think it’ll be hard to find you two knuckleheads.”
Tropius nods. “That’s fine with me.”
“Agreed,” Ross says. Before the others can start their departure, he adds, “One last thing. I, uh… I wanted to thank you both for joining me for this music thing. I’m… Still pretty damn nervous about it, but I know I’d be in a much worse spot alone. So… Thanks.”
“I’m nervous too,” Tropius corroborates. “I’m still apprehensive about singing in front of others, let alone a crowd… but I’ll take anything over being some kid’s mount. And who knows, maybe we’ll actually put on a good show!” He flashes an unsure, but optimistic smile.
Kiyo looks between the two awkwardly, then sighs. “Yeah, I guess I am looking forward to playing with a group. Hopefully you two aren’t complete dogshit and we don't get assaulted every time we show our faces after the fact.”
Ross chuckles nervously. “Y-yeah. Hopefully. Alright, see you both tomorrow. Eight in the morning.”
The three part ways, thoughts, fears, and dreams of music lingering in their heads.
SUNDAY
“Are you sure this is a good spot?” Tropius says, looking around nervously.
“Sure it is,” Kiyo mutters, without looking away from his work. The fox is crouched against the drum set, meticulously adjusting the placement and height of each individual part.
Ross takes a breath, having pushed aside dining tables to open up space in the guild’s relatively new outdoor eating area, which is fortunately shaded beneath a large triangular tarp. Extra fortunately, there’s just barely enough room for Tropius, though the giant banana-tree of a Pokémon doesn’t seem comfortable with the arrangement.
“But… we’re right outside the guild,” he says, “Aren’t they going to hear us?”
“I’m a bit worried about that too,” Ross says, finding a seat on a rounded stool, “I’d hate to be woken up at eight in the morning by amateur music. But where else can we play? There’s not many other options, considering…”
Tropius shoots an annoyed look. “What, my size? I know, but that doesn’t mean I want people to hear us…”
“Okay, look,” Kiyo announces, “We’re performing in front of a crowd in one week. If you’ve got any shame about that, you’d better get it out now. People are going to hear us play music, that’s the entire fucking point.”
“You think I don’t know that!?” Tropius sighs. “Okay, okay, fine. I just hope the walls are soundproof…”
They really aren’t, Ross thinks to himself, strumming the guitar tentatively. “Alright, where do we start?”
“Tuning,” Kiyo says, as he hops up onto his stool. He tests the placement of his kick pedals and drums, making a small racket in the process. He then nods with satisfaction, and swivels to face Ross, making a ‘grabby’ motion with his paws.
“Give me that. Unless you can tune it?”
Ross shrugs and hands it over. “I’d better not. I’ve been meaning to ask- What kind of music experience do you have?”
“I’m a jazz-level multi-instrumentalist,” Kiyo responds, as though that would answer Ross’ question, “And before you ask, yes, I play drums and guitar, so I’m perfectly suited to teach you.”
“Jazz level? Isn’t jazz a genre?” Tropius asks.
“Yeah, the hardest one,” Kiyo replies, strumming and tweaking Ross’ guitar, “If you can play jazz you can play anything. That’s why I learned it first.”
Ross tilts his head. “That… feels like cheating.”
Kiyo smirks, “I’m not saying it was easy. Each instrument was its own hell to master, though at a certain point skills start to transfer over. Like going from guitar to bass guitar.”
“Kiyo,” Tropius asks, disbelief in his voice, “where did you learn to play all these instruments?”
“Not here, I’ll tell you that much,” Kiyo snarks, “Back where I come from, you’d have an entire orchestra’s worth of instruments in every tavern. Here, the town has to pitch in to share a couple.”
Before Tropius can grill the fox for evading the question, Ross speaks up. “So what kind of music would you recommend?”
“Well, we could start with the classics,” Kiyo strums all the strings on the guitar, and nods with satisfaction, “You guys know Devil Sun, right?”
Ross and Tropius look at each other—neither appears confident. Kiyo sighs, and rests the guitar on his thigh. He plays out the song, strumming out a plucky, repetitive melody that evokes a sort of steadfast march. Tropius perks up—“Hey, wait, I know that song…” Tropius pauses as he searches his memories trying to attach a name to the song, before lighting up again. “Oh! That’s Northern Desert! I’m surprised you’re able to play one of those songs that well from memory!”
Kiyo stops playing the song, and tilts his head. “Is that what they call it here? That’s such a shitty name. Everyone I know calls it Devil Sun. Which is correct. You must be thinking of a region, not a song,” He adds with a condescending tone.
Tropius shoots a confused look in response. “Well, yeah, I know there’s a Northern Desert region here on the Grass Continent. But that’s the song that, uh…” He gets a weird look on his face like he can’t believe what he’s about to say. “...plays there.”
He looks towards Ross, hoping to see a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. “Ross, surely you remember that song from Northern Desert, don’t you?”
Ross just shrugs. “I’ve never heard of Northern Desert, region or song, before today.”
Tropius tilts his head in disbelief. “Really? I can’t be the only one who remembers it from there…”
Kiyo sighs, “I guess that’s more of a Sand Continent song anyways. How about "Save a Dance For Me?”
He plays another tune. Like the first, it sounds as though the notes are cut off, perhaps not designed for an acoustic guitar. Tropius recognizes it as a goofy, lighthearted underdog theme, also from the games.
“That’s… Heartwarming.”
Kiyo turns to Tropius and looks at him with a terribly forced smile.
“It is, isn’t it?” He says, nodding sagely.
Tropius sighs. “No, I meant that Heartwarming is the name of that song.”
Kiyo sighs, “Where the fuck do you keep getting these names from?”
“Obviously from Explorers. Where else?”
“Which explorers? I should beat them senselessly for spreading misinformation.”
Tropius takes a breath, ready to correct the ignorant fox, when his eyes suddenly go wide with realization. This guy fell for the Steve Jobs bit yesterday, there’s no way he’s a human. Tropius avoids eye contact with Kiyo as he nervously lets out, “O-oh! Uhhh… Just some, err… passing explorers I met one time… I never caught their names. ”
“Dumbass explorers,” Kiyo scoffs, shifting his attention to Ross, “Tell me you didn’t meet those jokers too.”
Ross shrugs again. “I have no idea who he’s talking about.”
“Um,” Tropius interrupts, “naming issues aside, these songs don’t have lyrics. I’m here to sing, remember?”
“The fuck do you mean?” Kiyo says, “Of course they have lyrics. Which screwed up versions did you hear?”
Tropius shiftily looks away. “Uh, the instrumental versions, I guess?”
Ross just shrugs. “Don’t look at me. I have no idea what either of you are talking about.”
Kiyo growls, “Why am I not surprised? Alright, geniuses. Either you’ve been living under a rock or you’ve got dementia. Are there any songs you do remember?”
“I know plenty of songs!” Ross says. “From uhh, back home.”
“...such as?” Kiyo says, gesturing towards Ross wildly.
“Uhh… Foo Fighters, Learn to Fly! That’s a classic.”
Tropius looks flatly at Ross. “Is that supposed to be a joke at my expense?”
“Huh?”
Tropius starts to speak, then lets out a huff. “Never mind. Just pick a different song, please.”
“How about, uhh,” Ross taps his fingers against his forehead, trying to recall a name. “I think it was by Goldfinger, I can’t remember the name but it was in the Tony Hawk games. The ska song!”
Kiyo’s hackles raise instantly, his teeth grit, and his many tails curl around himself defensively.
Tropius raises an eyebrow at the alarmed fox. “What’s wrong, Kiyo?”
“I don’t know what ska is,” he growls, “but I hate it.”
“Okay then,” Ross says, disheartened, “What about that one Billy Joel song, We Didn’t Start The Fire?”
“Hey, that doesn’t sound half bad,” Kiyo says, his interest piqued, “I’m guessing it’s about committing arson but getting off scot-free?”
“Um, not exactly.” Tropius says. “I don’t remember how it goes exactly, do you know how that starts off, Ross?”
Ross looks up and scratches the back of his head. “I think it’s something like…”
“James Dean, Mister Bean, Doris Day, JFK, Richard Nixon, uhh,” he pauses, failing to recall the actual lyrics.
“Wait…” Kiyo falters, “Those are just names. Is that the whole song?”
“Pretty much.”
“Bullshit,” he scowls, “Got anything else?”
“If you guys don’t like any of my ideas, how about you come up with some then?”
“Um… I don’t know what would be a good song for us to perform,” Tropius says, looking up, trying to come up with something. “Isn’t Wonderwall supposed to be easy for beginners?”
“I mean,” Ross scoffs, “yeah, I can play Wonderwall, but I don’t really want to. You know the reputation that song has.”
“Yeah, I know…” Tropius gives a somewhat ashamed look. “I just figured it might be simple enough for us to play.”
“What about Buddy Holly?” Ross suggests, “You know, Weezer?”
Kiyo scoffs, “Eugh. Why would I ever want to play a song named after a stinking god-damn Weezing?”
Ross takes a moment to comprehend how wrong that is. “No, it's Weezer, not Weezing. And that’s the band anyways, Buddy Holly is the song.”
“What?” Kiyo lets out a frustrated snarl, “Why are all these stupid human-continent songs so ass-backwards? Is it at least a decent song? Not a bunch of names?”
“I think it’s good, and it only has two names. Repeated twice.”
Kiyo weighs the pros against the cons, and seems to come up short. “Ugh… Don’t you have anything better?”
Ross gives the fur-capped side of his head a good scratch. “Hmm… How about ‘The Middle’?”
Tropius tilts his head, “The Middle? I think I know that one… Jimmy Eat World, right?”
“Yeah, that’s them. Shouldn’t be too hard, I think.” Ross turns to Kiyo, “I don’t suppose you know that song, do you?”
Kiyo glares at him. “I haven’t known the past, what, five songs? And what’s with their name? Jimmy Eat World? Isn’t Jimmy, what, a single coin tall?”
Ross shakes his head, “This is a different Jimmy, who is much taller.”
“A lot of human artists have strange names Kiyo, I wouldn’t get hung up on them too much,” Tropius interjects, “Besides, I think this might be a good fit. It goes like this, right?”
The leafy sauropod clears his throat, and after checking his surroundings for eavesdroppers, he sings in a lowered voice,
“Hey,
Don’t write yourself off yet,
it's only in your head you feel left out
or looked down on.”
He stops there, and looks towards his bandmates. It wasn’t exactly a belting performance, but the rhythm was right, and the words themselves seemed correct. Ross gives a thumbs up, “Yeah, that’s it. Glad you remember the lyrics.”
“I mean… It doesn’t sound terrible,” Kiyo huffs, “Okay, look, we can’t spend all day looking for a song to play. If you two think you can play this one, The Center or whatever it’s called, let's do it. I’m sure I can figure out the drums.”
“Then it’s settled! We’ll play The Middle!” Ross declares, before they can waste any more time deciding on a song to practice.
“Wait,” Tropius says, “Just one song? Is that gonna be enough?”
“We can figure that out later. Right now I need to get an idea of how shitty you both are,” Kiyo spits, “I can probably find more songs for us to play, depending on your skill levels.”
Ross shrugs. “Fair enough.”
“I wish you wouldn’t say it like that…” Tropius looks upwards with an unsure look. “But, you’re the expert, so I’ll trust your judgment.”
“Great!” Kiyo responds, with a snarky smile, “Now we can finally start playing.” He strums across all the guitar’s strings slowly. Satisfied with the sound, he holds it out towards Ross.
Ross takes the guitar and sits down, testing the instrument just as he did back in Capim Town. Once again, he isn’t immediately familiar with it—he takes a few moments to adjust his form so it works with his inhuman set of digits.
“Right,” he says, looking between his bandmates, positioned on either side. Kiyo is perched at the drum set, looking at him impatiently, while Tropius looks around awkwardly. Ross finds his composure.
“It goes something like this….”
He gives his best attempt at strumming the basic melody of the song. It’s slower than it’s meant to be, and there’s a few extra notes here and there.
“That sounded… off,” Tropius says, “ I think you were too slow there, for one thing.”
“Yeah,” Ross agrees, “Let me try again.”
Ross gives another earnest attempt at the song. He strums a little faster this time, but it’s still too slow and riddled with superfluous notes.
Kiyo tilts his head, trying to dissect the song, “Is it supposed to be that repetitive?”
“Uh… Yeah. The vocals do a lot of the heavy lifting.”
Kiyo glances towards Tropius expectantly, then plays a few hits on his drum. “So, I’m guessing the drum is pretty basic too, right?”
“I guess so. It goes like… Uh…” Ross sheepishly makes some half-hearted drum sounds with his mouth to mimic the song. “Then the middle part is more intense, I think like…” He beatboxes a more energetic rhythm, getting into it a bit. He slows down and loses the energy when he notices Kiyo’s subtly pained expression.
Kiyo shakes his head, allowing his ears to flop back up and the second hand embarrassment to pass. “Alright, I get it, but don’t be surprised if I do some improv on this. Playing from memory is one thing… Playing from your memory is… another.”
Ross tilts his head and looks down. “Yeah, that’s a good point.”
Kiyo turns away and plays the rhythm Ross described as best as he can, though it ends up being about twice as fast as intended.
“Kiyo, that sounded way too fast. This song doesn’t go that crazy,” Tropius comments.
Kiyo rolls his eyes, “Okay, how’s this.” He lowers the tempo by a quarter, though it still sounds terribly rushed.
“Um… that’s still too fast. Maybe tone it down by like…” Tropius looks upwards as he does his calculation, then looks back at Kiyo. “...35 percent?”
“Seriously?!” His arms droop, and the drumsticks slap against his stool. “THAT slow? You’re sure people like this song?”
Kiyo would like nightcore… Ross thinks to himself. What a nightmarish thought…
“It was pretty popular as far as I remember,” Tropius says. “I used to hear it on the radio all the time growing up.”
“What the hell is a radio?” Kiyo says, “Okay, whatever. How about you sing so I can get the timing right?”
Tropius looks all around with an anxious expression on his face. “Do I have to?” He sighs, then adds, “Yeah, yeah, don’t answer that.”
Tropius looks at Ross expectantly, who begins his unpolished rendition of the guitar line.
Tropius begins to sing along to Ross’s playing, but he vocalizes so quietly that his lyrics can barely be heard, let alone interpreted.
Kiyo leans in an exaggerated manner, putting his paw to his ear. “Uh, hello? You’re supposed to be singing, not whispering. We’re playing at a concert, not a lullaby.”
Tropius looks down at the ground sheepishly. “We’re right next to the guild… they’re gonna hear me, it’s the morning, and I haven’t exactly rehearsed this song or anything…” Tropius eeps out.
Kiyo smacks one of his drums quickly, creating a startlingly loud bang. “Nobody’s gonna be able to hear you over the sound of my drums! You realize you’re not gonna whisper on stage, right? You’re wasting your time if you aren’t singing like you mean it.”
Tropius’s eyes go wide as his mouth begins to tighten into a rigid frown. He looks up and away from his bandmates, and doesn’t say anything. Kiyo scoffs, and turns to Ross with an impatient glare. Ross assumes it’s meant to communicate something along the lines of, “can you believe this guy?”
Ross instead looks towards Tropius with sympathy. He can understand the stage fright, but there’s only a week before the festival. They don’t have time to ease into performing live, but ripping off the bandaid here isn’t going to work either. How can he ease Tropius’ nerves?
“Here, Tropius,” Ross says, positioning himself to strum, “I’ll sing too.”
“Y-you’re gonna sing too?” Tropius looks down at Ross, his mouth uncurled from the stiff frown.
Ross nods, then starts strumming the intro again. When it’s time to start singing the lyrics, Ross and Tropius begin to vocalize together, though Tropius still bashfully murmurs his part. Ross raises his own voice with an encouraging upwards motion of his head, and Tropius in turn does the same. He’s still a bit quieter than Ross, but Ross recognizes Tropius’s improvement with with an upwards curl of the corners of his mouth. Accordingly, Tropius’s sheepish demeanor dissipates a little bit, and he matches Ross’s smile while raising his volume a little more.
They go through the first verse, the chorus, second verse and chorus again, and it’s almost vaguely sounding like music. The tempo of the drums is inconsistent and it’s hard for the two vocalists to keep time, but the guitar keeps steady, the rhythm being plucked throughout.
Then comes the solo. Or rather, then should come the solo. The only sound filling the area is Kiyo running wild across the drum kit. Ross sits there, staring holes through his guitar. He knows he should be playing something. It takes a few moments for Kiyo to realize that he’s performing solo, after which he gradually slows to a stop.
“What the FUCK guys!” Kiyo spits. “Why am I doing all the work here?”
“There’s supposed to be a guitar solo here.” Ross responds, gaze still locked onto the guitar.
“Okay? Then why aren’t you playing it, dipshit?”
“Because I can barely remember it!” Ross yells. “It’s not super complex or anything but I’d need to practice it.”
Kiyo groans loudly, dragging a paw down his face. “Well, you can’t just go comatose when that part comes on, so do your worst.”
Ross grimaces. “It’s going to sound bad.”
“Great!” Kiyo spits, visibly annoyed, “It’ll fit in with the rest of our trainwreck.”
Ross sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose—or, where that would be if he was still human. He knew he would be dealing with excess aggression from this little fox, but that doesn’t make it any more bearable.
“Okay, you got it,” he mumbles, “from the top. Let’s go.”
Ross starts them off with his intro, once again. This time, they manage to play through the entire song, for better or for worse. Ross goes off pitch a few times, and his guitar still squeaks more than it should. Tropius sings above a whisper, thankfully, though he seems to mumble quite a few of the lyrics. Kiyo spends the whole time trying to limit his tempo, which fluctuates between what he wants to play and what he needs to play. This makes it borderline impossible for Ross and Tropius to keep a consistent rhythm. Still, the three persevere through the shaky performance, and finish with a repeat of the chorus that’s slightly better than the first.
Tropius lets out an awkward, relieved laugh, “H-hey, that wasn’t too-”
“YEOWZA! Check out the Diarrhea Brigade over here!” A voice erupts suddenly.
The three look towards the source of the disturbance and find a small green spider clinging to the wall of the guild.
“I came as fast as I could when I heard someone gettin' their guts kicked outta them!” he continues, “Pretty sure what you're doin' to those instruments can get you 20 to life!”
“FUCK YOU RASMUS!” Kiyo shouts, seething with rage. He throws one of his drumsticks towards the spider, but it clanks against the wall lightly and falls to the ground.
“Suck the silk outta' my ass! I was hangin' out with all the babes in Dreamland until you nincompoops decided your cum cavalcade was more important than my weekend beauty sleep!”
“Don’t be like that,” Ross retorts, as politely as he can, “We won't get any better if we don’t practice.”
“You don’t need practice, you need a good look in the mirror, a toaster, and a bathtub! Geheheh…” Rasmus chortles.
Tropius grimaces angrily at the spider on the wall, who happens to be about eye-level. “Don’t you have some water spout to get washed out of?”
“Hey Fruit Fucker, you’re the singer, yeah?” Rasmus spits, “Too bad your vocal range isn't as expansive as that NECK!”
“Too bad that…” Tropius pauses. “..You… …Uuuugh…” He deflates, his ire dissipated, now replaced with self-consciousness. He lowers his head and angles his eyes downwards, his frown from earlier returning.
Suddenly, Tropius feels a light tapping against his back, like light raindrops without the moisture. The tapping travels up his back, then scrambles up his neck. He recoils immediately, but in that moment he feels what ends up being Kiyo jumping off his head and straight towards Rasmus, who scuttles up the wall to a safe distance. Kiyo smacks flat against the wall, limbs outstretched. Although he hugs it tightly with his claws, he still slowly descends.
“FUCK OFF RASMUS!!! Nobody asked for your dumbass input!” Kiyo snarls fiercely.
“You gotta reach me first!” Rasmus taunts, “Maybe if you stand on your tippy-toes you could—SHIT!”
He swings to the side, narrowly dodging an ice shard which bursts into bits upon contact with the wall.
“Jeez! I've had my fill of bad sports! Adios!”
Rasmus flees the scene, hurrying into a window where he’ll be safe from further attack.
“Augh…” Ross groans, covering his face with his hand, “Well…”
Kiyo reaches the ground and separates himself from the wall with a glare. He picks up the drumstick he’d used as a projectile with his mouth and returns to his stool.
“Fuck that asshole!” He growls, crossing his arms tightly, “I don’t even know the fucking song we’re playing. No shit my rhythm is off!”
“Th-this was what I was afraid of…” Tropius mumbles, slumping to the ground. “I know that Rasmus guy is an… ass.” He scowls, but it quickly fades back into a somber frown. “But still…”
Ross clears his throat. “I dunno what that guy’s problem was, but we need to focus.” He looks towards Tropius in particular, “Seriously, don’t listen to him. It’s our first rehearsal, it’s not going to be perfect yet.”
“Yeah,” Kiyo adds with malice, “We need to get our shit together so that six-legged dunce can eat his words at the festival.”
Tropius rises from his prone position, a somewhat determined look on his face. “You’re both right. We just need more practice. Let’s try the song again.”
“Wait, before we do that,” Kiyo interjects, “Let me get the main beat down for sure. I’m guessing this song is four-four? It sounds like it by the vocals.”
“Four-four? What does that mean?” Tropius asks, his head tilted in confusion.
Ross looks at Tropius. “It’s the time signature. It basically amounts to the number of quarter notes there are in a measure.”
Tropius squints, his confusion only exacerbated.
Ross sighs. “Don’t worry about it, it’s not really important for you to know.” He turns to Kiyo and says, “Yeah, it’s four-four. It’s a very simple drum beat. Sorry if that’s disappointing.”
Kiyo rolls his eyes, “It is, but it’ll be easier to pick up. And besides, I can still go hard for the fills.”
Ross nods, and Tropius tilts his head. He’s not quite picking up the terminology they’re using, but he doesn’t want to needlessly waste time by asking.
Kiyo nods, and starts tapping the drum with a consistent rhythm—one note over and over. Ross waves him forward, as though requesting progress, “That’s the speed, but in the song it alternates two different notes. Not sure which notes they are, but they’re different.”
“Fine, just tell me what sounds right.”
Kiyo goes across his instrument, tapping each of his drums for Ross to hear. He listens in carefully, wracking his brain to recognize the correct pattern. After just a bit, he points at two different drums, “It’s those two. That one, and that one.”
“That’s the floor tom and the snare. So, like this?”
Kiyo plays the same rhythm as before, but this time, alternating the notes between two specific drums. Ross nods.
“Yeah, that’s right! Just add an off beat to the end and I think you’ve got it.”
Kiyo does just that, and suddenly it’s incredibly familiar. Tropius perks up, recognizing the beat clearly from the song last heard so long ago. It helps how simple it is. After a bit Ross gives a thumbs up, “Yeah, that sounds right.”
Kiyo leans his head into his paw, expressing boredom, “It’s… pretty lame. We’re really gonna depend on the singing.”
“It’ll all come together, trust me. Ready to try again?”
“Sure,” Kiyo says, “But promise to wake me up if I fall asleep in the middle.”
Tropius takes a deep breath, but nods. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
Ross nods and begins strumming out the intro to the song. He still has trouble getting all the notes right with each swing of his arm, but once Kiyo’s drumming kicks in, he does feel more comfortable keeping time. Tropius notices his and Ross’ singing is much more in-sync than their previous attempt. In between sections, Kiyo slams out as many notes as he can without it being detrimental to his health, then resets back to the same proven beat. Notes slip in and out, voices crack, and the chorus feels emptier than it should, but it’s still marginally better than before.
As they’re playing, Tropius notices out of the corner of his eye a lanky beige figure appear and stop to watch the performance. His breath catches, but Ross and Kiyo don’t stop, so he quickly attempts to recover. Afterwards, he looks towards the wall and pretends he didn’t see anyone at all.
They soon after reach the final chorus.
“It just takes some time
Little girl you're in the middle of the ride
Everything, everything will be just fine
Everything, everything will be alright, alright”
Tropius and Ross’ last syllable hangs in the air, until it is interrupted by a cheerful squeal. The spectator is identified as Furret, and she bounds towards the band excitedly.
“That was awesome!” She says, waving her paws and looking over the band, “Oh my gosh! You three make such a cute band!!! Are you gonna be at the festival? OH you totally are!!! That’s gonna be so fun! What is that song, by the way? It’s so unusual! But it sounded really great.”
Tropius can’t help but crack a smile, though he does his best to hide it, thinking Furret is simply trying to flatter them. As she continues gushing about the band, Smith, the more reserved bow-tie wearing Skorupi and companion to Furret, walks up beside her with an uncertain expression. She turns to him, eyes full of hope.
“You agree, right Smith?” She says.
“Uh… No, that was kinda dogsh-”
Furret’s composure shifts like a switch, and she smacks the top of Smith’s head.
“Be nice!!!”
“Y-yeah, it was pretty good!” Smith says, sweating bullets, the risk of facing Furret’s ire lingering over him, “It could use some work, but it’s a great start!”
Furret returns to her cheerful demeanor, “I agree! I can’t wait to hear how much you improve before the festival!”
Kiyo fakes a laugh, no doubt at the scorpion’s expense, “Well, looks we have our first two adoring fans.” He says, smirking towards Smith, “You want a signature? How about I sign that dainty bow of yours.”
Smith scoffs. “That’s funny. I was thinking you look more like an orphan living in that drum set than an actual drummer.”
Before Kiyo can escalate the situation, Ross interjects, “I’m glad you liked it. We still have a lot of practicing we need to do, though.”
Furret gasps, “Oh, right! Smith, we shouldn’t bother them anymore, they’re very busy! We were just heading into town anyways.” She waves enthusiastically, “See you later! Good luck practicing!”
She turns to leave, and gives Smith barely a moment to bid farewell. “Uh, yeah. See ya.”
They depart from the guild’s outdoor eating area, leaving the band alone once again.
“Tsk. That punk,” Kiyo mutters to his team, “What does that even mean? I don’t look like an orphan… right?”
Ross and Tropius look at each other for a moment with a knowing stare, then turn back to Kiyo.
“Of course not,” Ross lies, “He was just teasing.”
“Yeah,” Tropius adds, supplementing Ross’ lie with his own, “Don’t worry about it.”
Kiyo huffs, satisfied.
“Good. Now let’s get back to it,” he points a drumstick towards the others, “We’ve gone through the whole song twice now, but we need to polish the individual sections. It’ll take fucking years if we just brute force the entire song, and you’ll both lose your voice.”
Ross nods, “Alright then. Where should we start?”
Kiyo hops off the drums and sits down right in front of Ross.
“Let me see you strum the intro. It sounds a little… off.”
Tropius leans in as well, and they begin their focused practice.
Using their combined memory of the song, they tweak it until each slow note sounds correct. Meanwhile, Kiyo gives varied tips and tweaks to Ross’ form. When Ross accidentally strums away from the sound hole, Kiyo pushes his hand into the correct position, and Ross adjusts so it’s still comfortable. Despite the attention on him, he stays focused and absorbs the comments as best he can.
Eventually Ross gets a relatively clean run through of the song’s introduction, and the three move away from the intro towards the bridge. Tropius begins to sing again, starting quiet but gaining confidence when Ross joins in. They stop in the middle of the song often, either to discuss the accuracy of the lyrics or retry from the start. After what feels like hours of practice, The two singers begin to feel the wear on their voices, and they take a short break, during which Kiyo and Ross roll a barrel of cool water from the guild’s cold storage to their practicing spot.
The hours of the day pass, and eventually the three are focused on Ross again, who finds himself determined to get something of a solo down. Tropius and Ross cross reference each other’s memory, with Kiyo providing hardly-useful commentary. Although they get the idea eventually, pulling off the solo ends up being far harder than expected. Still, the only solution is practice, so he tries over and over again to play the riff.
As the sun goes lower in the sky Kiyo gets impatient and recommends playing the whole track once or twice to test their competency. They compose themselves and do so, allowing Tropius to sing the entire song at length. He does better than before, remembering more of the lyrics and showing a less wavering vocal range, but he still manages to mess up his timing a few times and de-sync with the rhythm. Meanwhile Ross’ notes range from off to shallow, missing the impact needed often, and the solo can still only be described as ‘sad’.
They finish off another attempt, with a halfhearted twang.
“That was… something!” Someone suddenly says, with clearly forced cheerfulness.
The three bandmates finally take note of the talking trashbag who’s been listening. It’s Maxi, with Maddi on his shoulder. The two hard-working janitors have a full dustpan that needs emptying—they must have come outside to dump it in the woods and become side-tracked by the worse-than-mediocre performance.
“I can tell you’re trying, but it’s…” Maxi starts.
Maddi, the tiny Joltik on Maxi’s shoulder cuts in, “It’s not great… But it could be worse, I suppose.”
“It could be better, you mean.” Ross appends, trying his hardest not to stare at the sentient trash bag that’s talking to him. “The drums and vocals are fine, but I’m just strumming single notes here.” His eyes drifted back down to the guitar he was holding, and he began clutching it tightly. “I need to do better.”
The air was uncomfortable to say the least. Maxi looks away sheepishly, “Ah, sorry… Let’s get back to work, Maddi.”
The two janitors make themselves sparse. Kiyo and Tropius both turn to Ross, who is silent. It takes a moment to build the courage to respond.
“Hey… I wouldn’t beat yourself up too hard, Ross,” Tropius says with a look of understanding on his face. “It’s hard enough to play the guitar, let alone with your stubby… err… digits. I’m sure you’ll be able to do the tougher bits with more practice.”
“Yeah, even if you’re shit, at least you’re not as shit as you from this morning,” Kiyo says, expecting it to help. When Tropius glares at him with disappointment, he raises two paws in defense, “What?! I’m saying he’s improving! And so long as he keeps improving, we might survive the festival!”
“Kiyo!” Tropius shouts, looking as though he’d be cradling his head in his palm, if he still could.
Despite this, Ross can’t help but chuckle at Kiyo’s piss poor excuse for a pep talk. He shakes his head.
“That… is a terrible way to say it, but you’re right. I know I’m a little better, it’s just… not enough, is it?”
“We still have five days,” Tropius insists, “That’s plenty of time.”
Ross looks down at his guitar, still tight in his grasp. He eases his grip, and allows the instrument to slide into his lap.
“Yeah,” he says, “You’re right.”
“Hey! ” A familiar, chipper voice suddenly calls out.
Practically skipping back towards the band’s location is Furret, with Smith following close behind. The two have wooden sticks hanging out from their mouths like cigarettes, and there’s a thin paper box balanced on Smith’s back, held down by his pincer, which also hangs onto a paper bag- Kiyo catches the smell of something delicious on the wind and perks up more quickly than he’d like to admit.
“Hiya guys! How did practice go?” She says.
“It… didn’t go poorly.” Ross says. It wasn’t a complete lie, but nevertheless Kiyo crosses his arm and bites his tongue.
“That’s wonderful! I’m so happy to hear it!” Furret’s voice changes to a more sympathetic tone, “You guys have been out here all day… you must be exhausted!”
“Yeah. We’ve been playing all day and it’s hot as FUCK.” Kiyo complains, tails whipping with annoyance.
“Well it’s a good thing we brought…” Furret leans over and reaches into the box Smith’s carrying, and pulls out three paper-wrapped popsicles. “These! Delicious ice-cream treats, delivered straight from Capim town!”
Tropius’ eyes widen with unmitigated interest. “Ice cream?”
Alternatively, Ross squints, “They’re… leaking.”
Furret looks at the dessert she’s presenting and gasps, “YIKES! It’s too hot! …But wait, that’s okay, because Kiyo can freeze them, right?”
Kiyo rolls his eyes, but nods, “Bring ‘em over here.”
She hops over, careful not to fling the ice cream away, and presents the three popsicles to Kiyo. He leans over and purses his lips, blowing freezing cold air over the treats for a few seconds.
“Okay, they’re good.”
Furret testingly presses down on one of the popsicles. It has very little give to it, so she nods enthusiastically. “WOW, they really are! Thanks Kiyo, you’ve saved the ice cream for today!”
“Does that mean I get first pick?” He asks, deadpanning.
“Sure!” She says. Tropius appears mildly stressed out upon hearing this.
Kiyo looks over the options Furret’s holding out before him, and lightly bites into the sky-blue, mint flavored ice cream. Once it’s secured, he sits back on his haunches and uses both paws to unwrap the paper surrounding it. It looks almost comically large for the fox, but if he’s worried about looking small he doesn’t show it. He bites off a chunk, and his pupils quickly expand. “Oh damn…!”
Cannibal, Ross thinks to himself before speaking, “What other flavors do you have?”
Furret turns to him, now with one popsicle in each hand. “I’ve got chocolate and vanilla flavored here! Both are fine flavors, if I may say so myself, though my favorite is Pecha. I already had mine though, hopefully you didn’t want Pecha too. Smith took the purple one, I forget which flavor it was…”
Beside her, Smith meekly adds “Wiki flavored.”
“Right!” She continues, “He said it was dry and I was like what?! ‘Cuz how can ice cream be dry? It literally melts in your mouth! It was still okay though, I tasted a tiny bit. I still like Pecha best but it’s fun to try new flavors, you never know when you might find something you like! Anyways I’m rambling, which flavor do you want?”
Ross can feel Tropius’ eyes staring a hole through the back of his head. He turns around, and can tell the giant Pokémon is eyeing one of the flavors in particular, though it’s hard to tell which.
“I’m fine either way,” Ross says, “Which one do you want, Tropius?”
“Chocolate.” He says without pause.
“I’ll have vanilla then,” Ross says, graciously taking that popsicle. “Thank you Furret.”
Tropius looks with longing intent at the still-wrapped chocolate popsicle in Furret’s paw.
Furret scurries over to Tropius and unwraps his before holding it up as high as her elongated body allows. Tropius carefully takes it from her paw with his mouth. He quickly realizes that the ice cream is too cold to leave flat in his mouth, and scrambles to relieve the chill by maneuvering it to his teeth, leaving him looking a bit strange in how he holds it.
Once Tropius has more comfortably positioned the ice cream, he closes his eyes and savors the flavor. It’s delicious—very reminiscent of chocolate flavors from the human world, but somehow more gourmet.
“Mmm… Dis icthe cweam ith tho good…. Thankth…?”
“Furret! And my little buddy, Smith!” She says, proudly hugging the Skorupi to her side. He blushes, and looks towards the ground.
Tropius moves the partially-eaten popsicle to a less awkward position in his mouth. “Nice to meet you Furret,” Tropius says warmly, still relishing the cool, chocolate flavor in his mouth. “Thanks for the ice cream, it’s really good!”
“Yeah, thanks!” Ross says, taking a few licks of his own, “This is great. Where’d you get it?”
“There’s an ice-cream shop back in Capim Town,” Smith says, “Bergmite’s Bites.”
“It’s a great way to beat the heat!” Furret looks between the band members once more, then notices the bag Smith is still holding, “Oh! Well, I hope you enjoy the ice cream, Smith and I need to try on some new clothes!”
Smith groans, “I thought you might have forgotten…”
“Nonsense! I could never forget!” She waves a nubby paw at the group, “See you guys later! Good luck with your music!”
“Take care,” Tropius says.
Ross waves. “Bye bye.”
“See ya,” Kiyo mutters, still entranced by his ice cream. He takes another nibble. “This isn’t half bad… I wonder how much it costs.”
“Doesn’t matter, I’d pay any price for this,” Tropius adds on, a deep smile on his face as he savors his frozen treat. “I love ice cream, but it’s been so long since I’ve had any… This chocolate ice cream is so good I think I could die happy right now.”
“Really?” Ross says in between licks of his popsicle. “If you love it so much, why haven’t you bought any before?”
“You saw yesterday how much of a hassle it is for me to move through town. Besides… I can’t even fit inside the parlor to buy any.”
Ross tilts his head. “Oh, right.”
Ross looks off into the distance for a bit while continuing to enjoy his type-appropriate icy delight. “It sure is tough being like… Uh…” He pauses for a moment, trying to find the word, before he gestures to himself and Tropius broadly, “like this, isn’t it?”
Tropius raises an eyebrow while he side-eyes Ross as if to inspect him. “Uh, not that it’s a competition or anything, but I think you got the better deal here by a wide margin. At least you still have something resembling fingers, let alone hands.”
Ross nods gently. “Probably. But it’s not like I don't have issues of my own.” He motions towards his tail, which is nestled between the fanny pack that he wears and his back. “I have to be careful to not let this tail drag everywhere I go or it leaves a messy trail.”
Craning his head towards Ross’s back, Tropius more closely inspects Ross’s tail and his fanny pack. He then moves back to look at Ross. “I didn’t wanna ask but… I was wondering why you were wearing something that… uh… practical.”
Ross motions dismissively with his free hand. “Yeah, yeah. But its usefulness outweighs its… garishness.”
Tropius chuckles lightly. “Well, maybe you have it worse after all. I may have lost my hands among other problems but at least I don’t have to wear a fanny pack.”
Kiyo laughs while Ross rolls his eyes, but lets a laugh out in the end. He turns towards Kiyo with a mildly smug look on his face. “I don’t know why you’re laughing, Kiyo. At least we don’t look like an orphan.”
Kiyo slams his two front feet down, his popsicle stick protruding from his mouth. “You guys said I didn’t look like one! I knew you assholes were lying! FUCK YOU!”
Ross and Tropius lightheartedly laugh together. Kiyo leans back to rest again on his haunches, glaring angrily at the two humons in front of him. He reaches up to grab the popsicle stick from his mouth, now barren of the minty frozen dairy that once graced it. He looks at it disappointingly for a moment before flicking it away nonchalantly onto the ground.
“I guess good things really can’t last,” he says, faking a wistful sigh, “That ice cream was ridiculously tasty.”
Ross in turn takes the stick out of his mouth, it too devoid of any tasty treat. He twists his hand and the stick as if to highlight its emptiness, and says “Agreed. Though I don’t know how I feel about eating dairy from a… cow? Goat? Uhh… thing, that could actually hold a conversation with me.”
“I wouldn’t think about it too hard.” Tropius sticks the wooden implement out of his mouth as far as he can—it’s also empty. He looks down at the stick longingly before adding, “I just wish I had more, it wasn’t very much for someone as big as me…”
Kiyo walks up to Tropius and taps him low on his side, close to his stomach. “I don’t think you need any more, mister ‘heavy load’.”
Tropius expression turns concerned. “Mister what!? I’m not fat!”
Kiyo shrugs nonchalantly. “Coulda fooled me, given how the ground shakes every time you take a step.”
Tropius looks around bewilderedly before focusing on Kiyo again. “I’m a Tropius! Just look at me! Of course I weigh a lot. That doesn’t mean that I’m fat!” He looks over at Ross for support.
“…You really leapt at the chocolate ice cream,” Ross says with a bit of a smirk.
Tropius frantically searches for a rebuttal, the barren popsicle stick dropping from his mouth in his panic. “But… I just… What do you…” He blushes, and the other two laugh lightheartedly in response. Tropius smiles a little and lets out a chuckle once he gleans that they’re just joking around.
“Heheh, I think we all wanted some. Kiyo must have wanted it even more than you, considering he asked for first dibs.” Ross muses, pointing towards Kiyo with his popsicle stick.
“It’s hot as fuck!” Kiyo takes off his hat and starts fanning himself with it. “You guys whine endlessly! ‘I’m too big!’ ‘I wear a fanny pack!’ ‘Waaah, waaaah, waaah!’ Try being an Ice-type in this summer heat, then you can come crying to me!”
“Is it really that bad?” Ross asks, “You didn’t seem to mind it earlier.”
Kiyo smirks, “Yeah, well, I guess I just don’t like bitching as much as you two. Not about the weather, anyways, even as fucking abysmal as it is.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tropius says, as he closes his eyes and stretches his wings, almost resembling a cat just waking up from a nap. “The climate lately has been perfect, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more at home in my life. I could do with more cloudy days, though.”
Ross shrugs, and looks towards the sky. “As long as we don’t get soaking wet, clouds would be nice. Maybe we’ll get lucky tomorrow.”
“Speaking of,” Kiyo says, stretching himself much like Tropius moments before, “It’s been a long day of lecturing you two nimrods. Are we done for now? I’ve got some things to buy before the sun goes down.”
“I’m not sure how much more singing my throat can take today,” Tropius adds, “Or my confidence for that matter…”
“If that’s the case, I suppose we are,” Ross says, “Let's store the drums and call it.”
The three nod dutifully and get to work disassembling their temporary setup. For a moment, Ross entertains the idea of rolling the drums down the ramp and into the storage room, but he is immediately chastised by Kiyo for ‘potentially damaging the shell’. Instead they carry the drums one-by-one again, placing them in the same spot as yesterday. Still too large to fit inside the storage room, Tropius manages to help by carefully scooting the dining stools and tables back into place.
With the eating area looking as decent as before, the three go their separate ways for the evening, planning to reconvene tomorrow morning to continue their dysfunctional discord.