MEAN AND GREEN
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MONDAY
“Hold still,” Ross says, his voice straining as he pulls the wagon’s straps over Tropius’ side.
“I am!” Tropius insists.
Meanwhile, Kiyo throws himself cleanly over Tropius’ back like a ragdoll, clutching a loose rope in his mouth. He lands on his side and tumbles with an “Oof!”, then spits out the rope. “Easy! No climbing necessary!”
The three are just outside the guild’s storage room, attempting to tie a cart to Tropius. After their less-than-stellar reception yesterday, all three were keen to find another, more isolated place to practice. This would require transporting their instruments once again, as well as lunches for all three and clean drinking water, to a location further away than before. To make the process simpler, they’ve borrowed a rolling cart. They’ve already loaded the cart with their supplies; now the only complication is attaching the cart to Tropius, their largest member by far, who wears a discontented frown.
“I agreed to sing…” He grumbles, “But I didn’t sign up to be a pack mule too.”
Ross stops fiddling with the latch in his hands and shoots Tropius a confused look. “You were fine carrying stuff yesterday.”
“That was different. I wasn’t being strapped to a cart like a horse… Being hitched up like this, it’s… embarrassing. I’m not some simple animal…” He mumbles out, looking away from Ross. Kiyo looks up at him, ropes in-paw, with a condescending smirk.
“What’s the matter? Too good for a little manual labor? I didn’t take you for a city slicker.”
Tropius just rolls his eyes at the tiny creature.
“Why do we need a cart for this anyways?” He grumbles, curving his neck to keep an eye on both his bandmates as they secure the wagon, “We did just fine the other day.”
Ross tightens the last strap a reasonable amount and backs up, checking the cart from every angle. He’s no expert, so extra observation feels necessary. “It’s a lot easier to load this stuff onto the cart rather than on to you,” he says.
Kiyo ties together the rope, which hugs Tropius’ middle tightly, and is secured to the cart on both sides.
“Yeah,” he says, “That, and we’ve got way more shit than before. All this water, two stools, all the drums, the sticks, etcetera.”
Tropius sighs. As humiliating as it can be to lug a wagon like a common beast of burden, at least they won’t have to worry about disturbing the guild members. Inversely, they won’t be harassed.
“Fine,” he says. “Are we good to go yet?”
Ross gingerly places his guitar inside the cart, against the wall in a relatively secure location, and gives a thumbs up.
Kiyo nods, “Yup! Just one more thing!”
He scampers up the side of the cart and jumps over the side like one might jump a fence. Tropius watches from above, as Kiyo reclines against the water barrel lazily, using his own tails as a cushioned surface to sit upon.
“Good to go!” says the fox, closing his eyes with a relaxed breath.
“What are you doing?” Tropius says, offended. “This isn’t a carriage ride!”
Kiyo opens his eyes to glare, crossing his paws, “Oh, come on! Do you have any idea how hard it was lugging all this shit into the cart? Including two entire barrels of water for you? I deserve a damn break!”
He leans back and closes his eyes again, “Besides! A big guy like you won’t even notice a difference.”
Tropius glares holes through Kiyo, but quickly relents with a sigh. “Ugh, alright. I guess I can’t argue with that...” He looks over to Ross, who’s surely much heavier. Before he can ask, Ross smiles and answers his unspoken question.
“I think I’ll walk. Not going too far anyways.”
The Grass-type lets out a relieved huff, and turns forward to set off. Getting the cart moving at first is a bit tough, but once the wheels are turning it’s only a bit more strenuous than walking regularly.
They wander off onto a forest path built off the east side of the guild. The path itself is well carved through the woods, though none of them know where exactly it leads. The trees overhead provide a welcome amount of shade, a relief to Tropius. Even with the cargo he’s pulling, it’s an enjoyable walk.
“I guess this isn’t so bad,” he admits.
“It’s a nice stroll,” Ross adds.
Kiyo silently paces to the front of the cart and stands up against the side as tall as he can, which results in his eyes peeking just barely over the wall. “See? Told you I wouldn’t make a difference.”
He huffs, and looks to the side, “Honestly, giant Pokémon like you don’t appreciate their strength. I was busting my ass getting those drums up here.”
They weren’t that heavy… Ross thinks to himself.
“It’s not as nice as you think, Kiyo,” Tropius says, occasionally glancing back at the fox, “I can’t fit inside most buildings. Being stuck outside is… a struggle.”
Kiyo scoffs, “So what? You can do so many things nobody else can. Like, fucking fly. Or flatten anyone who gives you shit.”
“I don’t want to flatten people,” Tropius says with obvious frustration. “Not unless I have to or something. It’s always stressful moving through populated areas like town… I’d hate it if I accidentally stomped someone minding their own business.”
“If someone doesn’t notice you, they deserve to get flattened!” Kiyo shouts, “The pebbles on the road bounce when you approach! Who the fuck is gonna miss a building-sized goddamn walking dinosaur?!”
Tropius shakes his head. “You’d be surprised, I’ve had a few close calls. Besides, you’re talking about how…” He lets out an exasperated groan and looks down. “...The road quakes when I walk. I don’t like all that attention, all those eyes on me…” He cranes his neck back to look at Kiyo. “If anything, you’re lucky to be so small. It’s not like physical strength matters that much anyway if you can just freeze your enemies.”
Kiyo pouts, “Well… I can freeze whoever the fuck I want, that much is true, but I am NOT small. I’m probably bigger than average for my species anyways.”
Ross tosses a quizzical look toward the diminutive fox, before rolling his eyes and saying, “Yeah, sure, whatever buddy.”
Moving his attention back forward, Tropius points his eyes up and gently shakes his head. “If you say so.”
The three continue on, occasionally breaking the silence with light commentary on their surroundings, or something equally menial. Kiyo curls up to take a brief nap, allowing Ross and Tropius to enjoy a few minutes without his incessant sass. Less than ten minutes after their departure, they arrive at a peaceful open grove. Although the trees become sparse, their branches spread wide, creating a canopy to cover most of the area with verdant green light. Scattered beams of sunlight shoot through the natural roof, but overall it is shaded.
Tropius stops and appreciates the location. “Hey, this clearing looks pretty nice. Good amount of space, and plenty of shade to, uh, avoid the summer heat.”
Kiyo perks up, and examines his surroundings. “The path keeps going. Although…”
The fox feels a breeze cut through the trees, and breathes a light sigh of relief. “You’ve got a good point. For once. Should we set up right here?”
“Fine by me,” Ross says, finding a spot with enough of an opening to fit both a drum set, a guitarist, and an extra-large singer. The vocalist in question maneuvers himself to position the cart in an accessible angle, and the other two musicians unload the equipment as fast as they’d loaded it before.
While Kiyo meticulously assembles and adjusts the drum set, Ross unbinds the straps tying Tropius to the cart. He spreads his wings with a breath of great relief.
“Thank goodness… That’s much better.”
Ross, who is neatly piling the cart’s accessories, stops and looks back, “I suppose the cart straps are stuffy, aren’t they?”
“Stuffy? I guess,” Tropius says, loosening up his wings in a manner similar to a human rolling their shoulders. “I just don’t like it when anything messes with my wings.”
Ross nods his head in agreement. “Makes sense. I don’t-”
“Think fast!” Kiyo shouts, chucking a small chunk of wood out from the cart, in Ross’ direction.
Ross turns towards the noise, and sees for a split second the small object flying towards his head. Before he can swing his arm to catch it, it collides with his head, softly slapping off and spiraling onto the forest floor.
Kiyo jumps onto the side of the cart, balancing himself. “Too slow! I got you a guitar pick last night, maybe that’ll help your strumming sound less… infantile.”
Ross squints, with mixed emotion. “Gee, thanks.”
He gives a snide smile. “You’re very welcome, Ross.”
He bends down and retrieves the pick. It’s much chunkier than a pick from the human world, likely easier to grasp with a variety of digits. In a way, it reminds him of a more-polished doorstop.
“I got you something else, too,” Kiyo says, hopping back into the cart, “But this one I’m not gonna throw over. You can come grab it yourself!”
Curiosity not reserved, Ross looks over into the cart and finds Kiyo carefully holding up a matte brown shoulder-strap.
He pauses. “Is that… leather?”
Kiyo blinks. “Uh… No, that’s a guitar strap.”
Ross takes the object of indiscernible material and feels it between his ‘fingers’. It definitely feels a bit like leather, but without the cracks and wear he’d expect. Perhaps it's a plant based alternative? Or do people somehow harvest leather in this world, despite the fact cows and other leather-skinned individuals walk around fully sentient?
“Kiyo, did someone… die to make this guitar strap?” He asks, as though afraid to hear the answer. Tropius leans in with a look of worry.
“Yeah,” Kiyo says plainly, “Me. On the inside, more than a little.”
The others sigh in relief, as Kiyo continues.
“That shit is expensive, but it’s gonna be necessary if you’re playing on the stage. There should be a button with a screw on each side of the guitar, just slip the screw through the hole in the straps.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Ross says, sitting down by his guitar, “It’s pretty intuitive. Uh, thanks. Sorry about the cost.”
Kiyo shrugs, “Eh, I can probably get compensated by the Guild.” He scurries over to the drums and sits himself down. “Tropius.”
“What?”
“Now that we’re out in the middle of the fucking woods, I’m expecting you to really belt it out,” he gestures outwardly with his paws, still grasping drumsticks, “Like, as loud as you were when Ross and I caught you in the act. That’s the kind of energy you’re going to need on stage.”
Tropius looks around shiftily for a moment as though he expects others to somehow be listening in on him. Although he only hears the light shifting of the surrounding trees in the breeze, his nerves persist. “I’ll… try my best.”
“I’m sure we’re alone,” Ross says, putting the finishing touches on his strap. He swings it over his shoulder and adjusts it, testing how the weight feels. He nods, satisfied, and continues, “But if it would make you more comfortable, I could sing too.”
Tropius shakes his head. “No, no, I think I can manage now. I’m just a bit paranoid now, I guess…”
“Great,” Kiyo says, less enthusiastic than he should sound, “Although for the record having a backup singer isn’t a bad thing. But enough lollygagging, let’s get going already!”
He looks at Ross expectantly, who looks down at his guitar and tries strumming with the pick. With how chunky his ‘fingers’ are, it’s actually quite nice. One end is wide and comfortable to grasp, and the other end slims down into a reasonable, flat ‘bit’. It’s more precise, and has the upside of not rubbing his hand raw.
“Alright,” he says, glancing towards his bandmates before beginning, “Here goes nothing.”
Not wanting to waste their time, Ross starts playing the song’s intro. It starts a bit slow, but Kiyo sets the tempo straight once he joins in, though he loses it briefly while attempting to adjust his seat mid-song. Tropius sings with a tiny bit more candor than before, though it still feels a bit cold. Besides the guitar solo that Ross is still attempting to feel-out, the three get through the song without major errors, only making a few minor mistakes.
Kiyo calls it a warmup, and they go again. It’s comfortable to return to the groove of playing their one, simple song. Ross’ instrumentals are only marginally improved by the pick, but he’s sure his ‘thumb’ will thank him later. Tropius’s singing has increased considerably in energy since yesterday, but as a result it’s become more obvious how out of tune he’s been. He seems to recognize this too, as he gradually adjusts his pitch during this performance until it sounds almost correct. Kiyo’s ears perk up, as he notices the change in presence and tone for the singer. Ross notices as well, but he doesn’t remove his focus from the guitar in his hands. Suddenly, as he’s plucking away at the chorus, Ross stops abruptly and stands still, with wide eyes.
After a moment, Tropius stops, and stares at Ross, unsure if he’s still awake. Then, Kiyo shouts an expletive.
“Why the FUCK!!” yells Kiyo, throwing one of his drumsticks down to the ground, “Are we stopping at the fun part?”
“Sorry, but uhh,” Ross starts, trying to think of the best way to word his dilemma, “I think there’s something I’m missing.”
Tropius cranes his neck over. “Really? It sounded fine to me.”
“No it doesn't,” Kiyo interjects, leaping over the drum set to retrieve the stick he’d tossed away a moment ago. “The chorus of a song should hit like a Rhyhorn. Instead it hits like a wet napkin. It’s empty, it needs more oomph.”
“That’s a good way of putting it.” Ross says, agreeing with Kiyo. “I feel like I’m as warmed up as I could be though.”
“You guys wanna take five while I try to figure this out?” Before Tropius or Kiyo can answer, Ross is already moving toward the other side of the clearing, seeking solitude while he tries to brainstorm.
The largest and smallest band members are left sitting awkwardly.
“...You really didn't hear the chorus missing something? I get a pass for not knowing the song, not you.” Kiyo says.
Tropius frowns. “I guess I was too focused on my own part. I’m really trying my best to improve so we don’t get laughed off the stage. Besides, I’m not much of a musician like you are, I wouldn’t be able to catch stuff like that like you can.” He furrows his brow, “Now that I think about it, why aren't you teaching us a song you know? Wouldn't that be easier?”
Kiyo sighs. “I guess. To be honest, I was hoping you'd both be far more competent, and I wouldn't have to teach anything. Learning’s easier than teaching, after all. I can learn anything. Teaching something… maybe not.”
“Well, if we decide to add another song to our set,” Tropius replies, “I’m, um… interested in hearing the lyrics to those PM- er, those songs you mentioned earlier.”
Kiyo squints, “Yeah? I can write 'em down. Don't expect me to sing ‘em, though.”
“You don't sing?”
“No. And that's-”
Eventually, Ross’s voice calls from across the clearing. “Kiyo! Come over here!”
This elicits a groan from the small fox, who begins trotting over to where Ross has isolated himself. “Are you talented yet?” he grumbles, sitting down and staring Ross down.
“Not quite, but I need your help with something.” Ross plucks a single note, letting it ring. “What note is that?”
“That’s D, dipshit.”
“And this one?” Ross plucks a different note.
“That’s A, asshole.”
“And finally, this one?” Ross plucks another different note.
“That’s G, genius. Is there a point to this?”
Ross smirks at Kiyo, before replying, “Yeah, there is, thanks.” He looks back down at his guitar for a second before closing his eyes, trying to recall what he’d learned as a kid.
“Okay, first it’s D…” He thinks about the chord, and his fingers instinctively coil around the neck of the guitar unsuccessfully. He’s missing two of the fingers he’s expecting to have, but eventually after some trial and error he’s able to figure out a way to finger the D chord.
“Then A…” The same thing happens, but he’s able to figure this out a lot quicker since the chord is a lot simpler.
“Then G…” This one’s the trickiest of all, but with some effort he’s able to finger this chord as well.
Once he’s feeling more confident with the positioning of his fingers, he dares to strum the D chord. To his surprise and delight, it sounds like music. Then the A chord. Then the G chord.
Emboldened by the relative ease with which he’s managed to pick this up, he starts playing the chords in sequence, strumming quickly.
He sings softly to himself as he strums, to help himself keep the timing correct. As he’s figuring out the strumming pattern, the sound changes from painfully amateur to surprisingly decent. It dawns on Kiyo that he’s playing the song correctly.
“Oh damn,” Kiyo says, surprised. “You actually did learn something..”
Ross gives a rare, smug smile. “I did. You helped.”
Kiyo’s ears fold back, “I didn’t do shit! Besides, who’s to say whether or not you can actually play those chords in the middle of the song?”
“Only one way to find out,” he replies, standing up and waltzing back towards Tropius.
Tropius smiles at Ross as he returns. “I could hear your progress. That sounds much better than before.”
“Thanks,” Ross says. “I do try.”
Kiyo follows behind and hops into the drummer’s seat, “If you two morons are done smooching, I’d like to hear the song now that Ross un-fucked it.”
Tropius grimaces, “Do you have to say it like that?”
Kiyo glares back at Tropius, and slowly bats the drums with his sticks, making slow, annoyed percussive sounds. Ross chuckles to himself, and begins strumming the song, same as always. The three ride it smoothly to the chorus, and when the time comes, Ross performs it admirably. In the context of the whole song, it feels vastly more complete, and the increased energy either forces or inspires Tropius to sing with more spirit. Even Kiyo can’t help but curl his lips in a slight smile after hearing the, frankly, repaired song. Each member’s individual sound comes togethers more smoothly with Ross’ correct chorus.
Things go surprisingly smoothly for the band up until the guitar solo comes in. Ross utilizes his new knowledge, but it’s still a far cry from a proper guitar solo, and judging by Ross' unsatisfied expression, it still doesn’t sound right. Still, they continue playing and recover, with belting out a stronger, more passionate outro.
Ross twangs the last note of the song, rounding out what must be their best performance yet. He turns to his teammates, and finds them wearing smiles to match his own.
“Well?” He says, “Not too shabby, huh?”
“It’s a huge improvement. I’m surprised I didn’t notice it before.” Tropius says.
“Yeah, it’s way fucking better.” Kiyo admits, “Although you definitely need to figure out that solo. It isn’t supposed to sound terrible on purpose, right?”
Ross’ smile falters a bit. “No, it isn’t. I… I know it in my head, it’s just really tough to play. I’ll keep at it, though, as long as you’re all okay hearing it.”
“Not much of a choice, is it?” Kiyo scoffs with a smug smile. He tries to spin a drumstick and it twists out of his little paw, falling to the ground. He grumbles, and picks it back up, “Okay, more practice.”
“By the way,” Tropius starts, turning to Ross, “If I mess up any of the words, or I sound off tune or I’m too quiet, you should let me know.” You, uh… You shouldn’t be the only one getting critiqued.” He glances at Kiyo, who tilts his head with mock innocence.
Ross nods, shifting into a comfortable playing stance, “I’ll let you know.”
He counts the three down, and they start up again. The song plays through, with Ross’ muscle memory beginning to cement. They all keep an ear out for any mistakes and chip in little critiques. Ross’ solo sounds consistently like it’s stuttering and missing every other note or more, but at a certain point there’s nothing left to improve besides execution. Tropius projects his voice more and more over time, becoming comfortable with his company and the lack of other listeners. It’s repetitive, and borderline monotonous, but it’s practice. Each attempt is a miniscule step towards being skilled enough to perform for a crowd. Everything improves slowly… Except Ross’ solo.
At the end of another set, Tropius lowers his head, looking exhausted, “Guys, can we take a break, please? My throat’s getting really dry.”
Ross nods, “Good idea. Let’s take five.”
He walks over and pries open their barrel of water. It’s perfectly clear, with ripples from the lid being removed, but even just by looking at it, Ross knows it’s warm by now. He turns to their resident snow-white fox, “Wanna cool this down for us, Kiyo?”
Kiyo shrugs, and hops down from his seat. “Yeah, sure. Warm water fucking sucks.”
He walks over and attempts to climb up the side of the barrel, but even on his hind legs he’s far from high enough to access the water. He swears under his breath, attempting and failing to get his small claws deep enough into the tough wood to pull himself up.
Tropius looks away, doing his best to mask a chuckle.
“Uh… I can hold you up if you want,” Ross offers.
“S-shut up! I don’t need your help!” Kiyo shouts, inching his way up carefully. His head snaps to snarl at Ross, “Don't you dare grab me!”
Ross puts his hands up and backs away, jump-scared thoroughly. “Jeez, okay.”
Tropius’s muffled giggles fade as it dawns on him that Kiyo’s current struggle stems from vainly trying to overcome his small stature. Though the situation before him is amusing, he could never laugh at someone who’s genuinely embarrassed about something they can’t control - he knows all too well how nightmarish it is to be on the receiving end.
Now wishing to help Kiyo out of his demeaning situation somehow, he notices Kiyo’s drum kit stool, which would boost the fox high enough to chill the group’s grossly warm water. He weighs the pros and cons- he doesn't have hands with which to grab the seat, so he'll have no choice but to use his mouth, which is always awkward. That being said, it is small enough and strong enough for him to carry in his mouth, which is somewhat unusual. Moving the stool at all could upset Kiyo though, if he thinks that Tropius is pitying him. On the flip side, with every passing moment Kiyo's patience runs thin and his temper grows restless- any moment now he could give up and refuse to cool the water out of frustration. That would be miserable, for him and Ross both.
It’s probably best to help him, Tropius decides. Like a crane, Tropius places his head above the chair and pinches it with his teeth. He lifts upwards, then rotates, then lowers it to the side of Kiyo.
The fox’s ears twitch as he notices. He glares, and growls, “If you're-”
“I don’t mean anything by it,” Tropius bravely interjects, “I just appreciate you cooling the water down.”
Kiyo stares at the giant, looming above. After a lengthy, analytical pause, he steps up on the chair.
“Tsk,” he mutters, standing up and facing the water, “you should.”
Tropius looks to Ross with a look of utter relief. It is mutual.
With a comically drawn out exhale, Kiyo breathes frost atop the drinking water. Before the long surface is covered in a layer of frost and it begins to freeze solid. The fox punches the ice formation, breaking it into chunks which melt quickly. Then, as the warm water rises to the top, he cools it again.
He takes a drink himself, to test the temperature before the water level drops too low. Two tiny gulps later, he turns to the others and gestures with his hands invitingly.
“Doesn't get much better than this,” Kiyo says with a relieved look on his face.
Tropius and Ross both walk over towards the makeshift water cooler. Ross steps up first, cupping his hands to lap up the water, then bringing it to his mouth. He slurps rather loudly. After he takes his fill, he takes the water in his hands and splashes it onto his face in a further effort to cool off. A few steps away from the barrel, Tropius waits patiently until Ross eventually steps back, giving a dripping thumbs up. The sauropod curves his neck down, sticking the tip of his mouth right into the water. Tropius drinks, and drinks, and drinks, his head slowly moving down further and further into the barrel as the water level falls. Finally feeling hydrated, he brings his head back out of the now drained container with a contented “Aaaah!”, his mouth and bananas sopping wet with water.
“Damn, Tropius. What’d that water do to you?” Kiyo snides.
“Oh!” Tropius peers into the nearly empty vessel. “Sorry. But after all that singing, I really needed that.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Ross says, moving over towards the cart. “We’ve got another barrel of water here anyways. You guys wanna break for lunch while we’re at it?”
“Sure,” Tropius says as he approaches Ross. “I could eat.”
“...An entire town’s worth of innocent Pokémon,” Kiyo finishes Tropius’ sentence with a smirk, “And I could too! Drumming’s tiring work, you know!”
Ross takes a bag from the cart and places it next to Kiyo. Impatient, Kiyo immediately digs into it and procures a rice ball from within. Ross then walks over towards a barrel and pushes it a short distance in front of Kiyo. He pops the lid off, revealing that it’s full of berries and other local fruit. Ross goes and plops himself down next to the bag, rummaging through it with one hand and beckoning Tropius over with the other. Tropius, obliging in part due to Ross’s call and in part due to hunger, walks over and lies down on his stomach in front of the barrel.
Ross pulls out a sandwich from the bag and takes a bite out of it. He eyes up Tropius as he grabs a mouthful of berries from his barrel.
“...Berries, huh?”
Tropius stops his chewing and raises an eyebrow back at Ross. “Yeah. So?”
“Just a bit strange, given I got a sandwich from the mess hall but you got a bunch of raw fruit.”
Tropius curls his mouth slightly to signal his discontent. “Yeah, this is usually what I get to eat. I tried talking to Beast once about getting more… normal food. But with how much I eat it’s just not that feasible to prepare all that on top of everyone else’s.” He lets out a sigh. “At least sometimes I can get a small plate of whatever you guys are eating in the hall, and I like fruit better now than I did… before. So it’s not all bad.”
Kiyo shoots a snarky expression at Tropius. “Anyone could see you like fruit. In fact, I think yesterday’s leftovers are stuck to your chin. Need a napkin?”
Tropius, now deadpan, takes a deep breath, then exhales. Without saying anything, he goes back to eating his lunch. Kiyo curls his mouth to the side, evidently wanting a different reaction.
With a smug grin returning to his face, Kiyo adds: “Come on, if you aren’t gonna clean it up yourself, maybe me and Ross could nab a bunch. Say, how much do you think they’d sell for?”
Tropius exhales deeply yet again, but gives no further reaction.
Kiyo frowns, rolling his eyes with a shake of his head. He isn’t getting what he wants out of Tropius. He turns his attention back towards his onigiri, taking a small chomp out of it.
Ross meekly looks at Tropius’s chin, then back down at his sandwich. “...I could really go for a banana-”
“OK, enough about the bananas!!!” Tropius explodes, lifting his head furiously from his portable trough. He glares at his companions angrily.
Ross and Kiyo recoil slightly at the outburst. “Woah, sorry man. I didn’t know they were a sensitive subject,” Ross apologizes, staring down sheepishly at the half sandwich in his hands.
“Yeah,” Kiyo says, as inoffensively as he can, “I wasn’t really gonna take ‘em. I don’t even like bananas, really.”
The rage slowly melts from Tropius’s face. “...It’s fine.” He takes another deep breath. “I’m sorry for blowing up, but it never ends with the banana stuff! ‘Don’t be greedy, share one!’, ‘You ever eat one of your own bananas?’ ‘C’mon, don’t be a j- umm, Kecleon, gimme one of those!’ Why does everyone feel so entitled to my bananas!? Just because I’m a Tropius doesn’t mean I’m gonna go around handing bananas out to everyone!” He shakes his head before placing it down on the ground besides the barrel, a stern but defeated expression on his face.
Ross nods solemnly. “I know what you mean. I get people coming up to me all the time asking me to paint for them. I don’t know how to paint. It gets very tiring after a while.”
“You think that’s bad? Imagine actually being good at something!” Kiyo says, holding a paw to his chest. Ross isn’t sure if the fox meant to be so insulting, but he doesn’t get a chance to retort before the complaints keep rolling, “I mean, I play harmonica in the cafeteria one time and suddenly I’m supposed to entertain an entire crowd of stinking assholes every evening. And another thing! The pricks at Clover Guild always have the stupidest fucking song requests. What the fuck is ‘Ram Ranch’?”
Ross and Tropius exchange a knowing look. “You don’t wanna know,” Ross says, mouth half full of sandwich.
“The guild’s poor musical taste aside,” Tropius says, “it’s nice to know I’m not alone here.” He lifts his chin up and angles his eyes down, as though he’s trying to look at himself. “Though sometimes I wish I got turned into something else, just so I wouldn’t have people pestering me about bananas.”
“Yeah,” Ross sighs, “I’m not too fond of having a paintbrush for a tail. Granted, I’d never cut it off, but… still. It’s a bother.”
“I hear guildies complaining about this all the time,” Kiyo says, chewing a mouthful of rice, “As though there’s nothing you can do about it. Getting pestered for a banana? Just blow them away with your big-ass leaves. Someone asks for a free painting? Write some obscenities outside their house.”
He swallows the last of his riceball. “You HAVE solutions!” he mumbles through a full mouth.
Lifting his head back off the ground, Tropius looks at Kiyo like he’s an innocent child. “As satisfying as that might be, I don’t think it’s as simple as that…”
Kiyo smiles back smugly, “Life is as simple as you make it.”
Tropius rolls his eyes. “If you say so.” He then lowers his head back down into the barrel and resumes his meal.
Kiyo huffs, and licks the remaining sticky rice off his paws. He looks to the sky to gauge the time, then gets up off his haunches and stretches his whole body, shaking off his remaining weariness.
“Ross,” who looks up with a mouthful of sandwich, “once you’re done eating, I think we should spend some time focusing on the solo. Do you know in your head what you’re supposed to be playing?”
He immediately hears the guitar riff playing in his head, note for note. He nods, still chewing. Kiyo continues, “Good, so it’s just the execution. We don’t have time, nor the patience to play through the entire song just for your dinky ass solo, so I’ll get on drums to fill the back beat, and you just feel it out.”
Ross swallows the last of lunch, looking unsure. “Is that the best way to do it?”
Kiyo pushes his chair from the water barrel to the drums. “Sure it is!” He grunts back, “We’ll start slow. Just play the notes out in order. Then faster, then faster, yadda yadda yadda.”
“Alright,” Ross says. He stands up and stretches his body side to side, loosening up.
“You got this, Ross,” Tropius says, after licking berry juice off his lips.
He sits down and lays his guitar across his lap. Closing his eyes and picturing the music, he replicates what he hears in his head note-by-note, at a fraction of the speed. Moving his hand across the guitar’s neck is the hardest part- it’s easy to land past the note, especially at the faster speed at which it’s meant to be played. Kiyo nods his head, as though recognizing the difficulty of the section.
“Do that first part again,” Kiyo commands.
Ross does so, as fast as he can with a consistent tempo. Kiyo hums, “You’re probably better off positioning your paw to cover three strings in different spots, and just move up a string after each note.”
The guitarist pauses, then tries it. It’s not even close to perfect, but it’s much easier to both play and practice. He laughs, “Huh. Look at that.”
Kiyo shrugs, “Technique isn’t everything, but it sure as hell speeds up practice. Now let’s see that next bit…”
The two of them dissect the song’s solo, note-by-note. Tropius observes intently, still finishing the generous meal provided by Beast. Ross finds progress here and there. At first, he finds it difficult to focus with Kiyo staring at him intently, watching for mistakes with his huge, intense eyes. Over time, he gets used to it, and takes the fox’s criticisms in stride. The annoyance of being scorned is outweighed by the satisfaction of slowly getting closer and closer to playing a complete solo. Each note is earned.
Before he’s able to study the entire solo, Kiyo yawns and tells Ross he’s bored, and that he’s surely learned enough to fill in the gaps. Ross isn’t certain, but he agrees they should play as a band once again. They regroup, and after Tropius warms up his voice, they jump right in.
The song, while still rough around the edges, is undeniably improved. With a clean intro, a more-full chorus, and a solo that isn’t obscenely abusive to the team’s ears, the entire thing is more palatable. Tropius gives a small nod towards Ross as he plays the solo, despite the many mistakes. Afterwards, they share a few remarks over their performance, then start again.
They jam for a good long while. Long after drinking their second barrel of water, and after Ross had spent hours slowly inching closer to a perfect solo, the sun began to descend towards the horizon. The forest grows dark faster than the fields, sunlight quickly being blocked by the thick canopy and dense tree trunks.
At the end of another session, Tropius sighs, feeling a distinct lack of sunlight. “It’s… getting dark already? How long have we been out here?”
Kiyo slumps over his largest drum, making a very weak ‘bump’ sound. “All day… Time flies.”
“Huh.” Ross says, examining his changed surroundings as his musical daydream fades. “Yeah, that flew by. We really got into a groove, huh?”
“We really did.” Tropius admits, “We should probably head home before it gets any darker.”
Ross nods silently, and slowly walks himself towards the cart. Kiyo hops off his seat and climbs underneath his drum, lifting it over his head and stomping off towards the cart as well. The two disassemble their borderline-campsite at a slow speed, tired from a day of hard work.
Tropius realizes the two are dragging their feet, but the thought of ordering the two exhausted musicians to work harder is impossibly cringey to him. Instead, he leans his head down and attempts to grab a stool with his mouth. It’s one of the few objects thin enough for him to grip, so he quickly-yet-gently places it in the cart. Ross gives a tired thumbs-up.
With the cart filled, the three work together to secure it to Tropius, who doesn’t bother making trouble. “Alright,” he says, “let’s hurry out of here.”
He looks around, between the forest corridors, and his stomach drops. “Uh… Wait, which way did we come from?”
Kiyo whips his head around, looking lost, “It’s… Um… Shit!”
“Uhh,” Ross utters, looking at his companions expectantly, “Did anyone bring a map?”
Kiyo drops flat onto the ground, like a corpse.
“We are going to fucking die.”
“Kiyo, get yourself together!” Ross exclaims, crouching over the fox, who opens his eyes looking annoyed. He continues, uncertainty wavering in his voice, “I-I’m sure we can find our way home… Eventually.”
“No!” Kiyo responds, “We walked an entire fifteen fucking minutes into this forest and now we’re lost. There’s, like, six different exits. If I have to make a camp with you two lunatics I’m SERIOUSLY going to FUCKING KILL MY-”
“GUYS!” Tropius interjects. The others turn to him, and he turns his head towards one of the forest pathways. A thin line of vibrant green paint marks the ground. It starts further along the path, then moves towards their location, where it spins circles upon circles around their practice range, until it wraps up and leads back to Ross’ tail, which lies on the ground.
Kiyo and Ross look at each other with silent, blank expressions.
“Huh,” Ross says, “There’s our map, I guess.”
TUESDAY
Tuesday morning starts much the same as Monday, with the sun beating down and the three meeting in the morning. They work together to load the cart with their day’s supplies, this time more efficiently, then head towards the clearing.
Kiyo groans, lying flat on his back in the moving cart, spread out like roadkill.
“Can someone put out the fucking sun before I evaporate? Why’s it gotta be nothing but sunny days?”
“That’s summer.” Ross says, plainly.
Kiyo sighs dramatically, and flips himself over with the finesse of a grill cook flipping a patty, to keep his front side from being overcooked.
“Why couldn’t we be playing at a winter festival…” He mutters.
“I could do with some more cloud cover.” Tropius adds, looking skywards. “Aren’t summers supposed to be rainy?”
Ross raises an eyebrow. “Not the good ones. You’d rather it be raining on us right now?”
“Yes,” Tropius and Kiyo say in deadpan unison.
Ross shrugs. “Fair enough.”
Further along the road, as the three approach their secluded clearing training ground, Kiyo’s ears perk up suddenly, and he rises to his feet.
“The fuck is that? Sounds like… drums?”
Ross tilts his head towards the sound, and nods. “I think it is.”
“I don’t hear anything,” Tropius says, looking between the two, “Though I guess my ears aren’t as big as yours.”
“Yeah, there’s definitely someone drumming up ahead.” Ross says.
Kiyo growls, “If someone took our fucking spot I’m going to lose my shit. We didn’t drag our stuff out here for nothing.”
They quicken their pace. Soon, Tropius can hear the drumming as well, then some sort of female vocals, and then a backing guitar. It’s a full band, but something about the music sounds wrong.
The three turn the corner into their clearing and find the source of the noise- a group of musicians sitting in the sunny center of the area. A bipedal, armored lizard is pounding away happily at a fine wooden drum set. Beside him, what looks to be a small metallic beetle with wooden sheathes over his bladed arms strums an fancy guitar with an oddly uncaring expression. Floating around and between both, a joyous pink flower belts out passionate, fittingly cheerful lyrics with her eyes closed.
They hadn’t noticed the three intruders, but it was clear there wasn’t room for both groups.
Tropius mutters, “Should we wait for-”
“HEY!!!!” Kiyo shouts, jumping up and fanning his tails as he does so. The music abruptly cuts off, ending as the singer sadly tapers off into silence. “This is our practice spot. Go find your own.”
“YOUR practice spot?” the reptilian drummer, a Hakamo-o, bounces back, “This here is our practice spot, mates.”
“Yeah, we were here first, but you can, like, totally have it after!” the peppy Cherrim adds. “We’ll only be here for like… five or six more hours or something.”
The grim looking guitarist, a Pawniard, flips his head as though he had hair in the way of his vision. “An eternity for a troubled soul like mine.”
“FUCK THAT!!!” Kiyo exclaims, “This is Clover Guild property! Quit polluting our studio with your idiotic fucking presence.”
Ross leans towards Kiyo and whispers, “Is this actually… Clover Guild Proper-”
“Shut up!” Kiyo whispers back, with a side-eyed glance, “They don’t know that!”
“OH!” The previously bubbly Cherrim announces, with a darker tone. “YOU”RE those amateurs who stole our finale spot, aren’t you?”
“Uh… Yes?” Ross says, timidly.
“Ah…” The Pawniard looks to the sky with a pained expression and a bated breath, “Our years of effort, training, hopes, dreams, pain, and fears, extinguished like a common lantern candle by three lowly, meritless peasants. Alas, wasted potential calls not for mourning, but a silent, meritless passing-”
The Hakamo-o slaps the Pawniard in the back of the head with a metallic Clunk!
“Quit your whining! We ain’t leaving!”
“Yeah, we’re, like, not giving this spot up to you no-talent losers!” Cherrim spits, sticking her chin up.
Tropius steps forward. “Look, I’d be willing to give up this spot, but the shade here is perfect for our group. I’m sorry we took your spot in the festival—I didn’t even know we were replacing another act—but could we please trouble you to move? I could even help lug your gear if you want.”
“As if I’d ever let you get your grubby mitts on my drums!” The Hakamo-o coos, and strokes the side of his beloved drum set, “‘sides, you’d probably just sabotage us. We’ve heard all about you ‘Clover Guild’ types.”
Tropius glares at the drummer. “And what is that supposed to-”
“Hold on,” Ross interjects, before turning to face Tropius and Kiyo. “Why don’t we just find a different spot instead of arguing like this? I don’t think antagonizing anyone is in our best interests right now.”
“What do you MEAN?!” Kiyo whines, “We SHOULD antagonize these morons! They aren’t even good!”
The Cherrim hocks out a high-pitched chuckle, “Oh, that’s rich! Honey, if we weren’t good, we wouldn’t have posters all across town advertising our presence. Honestly, your backwater city of treehouses should be honored to have us here, to enrich your otherwise milquetoast culture!”
“We are shepherds of song,” the Pawniard muses, “and you are but sheep.”
“Alright then, shepherds,” Kiyo returns mockingly, “let’s hear what you got if you’re so great.”
The Cherrim smirks smugly. “With pleasure.” She turns towards her bandmates, and they all exchange nods. “Like, hit it!”
After the Hakamo-o drums four equally spaced beats, their song starts. The beat is fast paced, but the melody on the guitar is slow, deliberate, and more dramatic. The guitar comes across as plucky, moreso filling in the role of a keyboard. Still, it’s impressive how many very different notes the Pawniard hits in quick succession, and the melody is clear. It loses the spotlight to the Cherrim’s overpowering singing, however. She stretches the range of her vocals to their limit, embellishing every lyric. Meanwhile, the drummer, Hakamo-o, happily drums away, adding his own improvisations to the beat, sometimes hitting his scales instead of the drum, for a more metallic sound.
Tropius’ eyes widen slowly, as he realizes they’re playing a vocal version of Amp Plains.
As they finish, Cherrim cheerfully stands on one leg, sticking one arm up while winking. “Yeah, CHP, totally, like, rules!”
“CHP?” The drummer interjects, “I thought we all agreed, right, that it was HCP.”
“Um, CHP is what’s on all the posters I hung up around town, so, like… yah,” the Cherrim chides.
“P at the end, forlorn and downtrodden… Another black streak that rests heavily upon my world-weary soul,” the Pawniard waxes, eyes closed and head tilted.
“Ugh, it, like, doesn’t matter anyways. What matters is how good we sounded!” Cherrim turns towards Kiyo, Ross, and Tropius. “You all can totally start applauding now, but don’t expect any autographs for posers like you!”
Kiyo claps his two paws together with a thoroughly unamused expression. “Yeah… That was…”
“Mid.” Ross adds.
“Yup,” Kiyo says, not fully understanding what Ross meant, “there was no cohesion at all. Do you three idiots even practice together? You’re bumbling over each other nonstop. Who was the lead?”
“Me, obviously!” The drummer and singer exclaim simultaneously.
Moments later, the Pawniard grasps his heart and sings, “What is… a lead? A shimmering star on a moonlit lake, the sole landmark for a wandering vagrant lost amidst their own psyche? If that’s-”
“Shut up!” Cherrim shouts, drubbing the guitarist with her stumpy arm. “Quit embarrassing us with your childish poetry!”
Tropius rolls his eyes. “Geeze, you guys have no synergy. No wonder that was the strangest rendition of Amp Plains I’ve ever heard.”
“Amp Plains?” the Hakamo-o questions, pointing a drumstick at Tropius. “That song’s called Thunderous Twangs, you twit.”
Tropius opens his mouth to protest, but quickly gives up with a huff and a roll of the eyes.
“It doesn’t matter what you call it, I call it SHIT!” Kiyo spits. “So pack your shit up and get out of here, or else!”
The Cherrim strikes a sassy pose, putting a hand on her side whilst sticking it out. “Or like, what?”
White mist begins to seep out from Kiyo’s scowling mouth, his gaze just above the rival drummer. His mouth suddenly opens, letting loose a frigid beam of ice that whizzes right over the drummer’s head, who flinches as the beam freezes the branch of a tree behind him solid.
“Or the next one’s gonna be aimed lower! So get the fuck outta here before I turn you tone-deaf freaks into chumpsicles!”
“Oh my gawwsshh, you’re like, a total psycho!” Cherrim exclaims, backing away from Kiyo towards her bandmates.
Pawniard, seemingly unfazed by Kiyo’s act of aggression, looks off into the distance, bringing one of his blades to his chin, as though to look pensive. “Truly, what does it mean to be psychotic? Verily, do acts of aggression such as those of present vulpine really lay to rest such heavy weights upon our souls? Ruminating, I-”
Hakamo-o loudly whaps the back of Pawniard’s head, with a “Quit it!”. He turns towards Kiyo, Ross, and Tropius with a scowl and says, “Fine, mates, you can have this spot if you want it so bad. But we ain’t gonna forget this!”
With a huff and a grumble, CHP quickly pack their instruments into a claw-pulled wagon and trudge back towards the town. Once they’re out of earshot, Kiyo spits on the ground to his left.
“Good riddance!”
“I feel like this is gonna bite us in the ass.” Ross says.
“It’s not like we didn’t try to bargain with them.” Tropius adds with a frustrated sigh. “I’m just glad we got our spot back. It’s perfect for what we need.”
“Well,” Kiyo says, padding towards the cart, “We’ve wasted enough of our energy on those hoity-toity dipshits. Let's not waste any more.”
The other two agree, and they unpack their load. Ross suggests Kiyo pass him the drum parts from inside the cart, and he obliges. Tropius does what he can, moving Kiyo’s chair with his mouth, and another small drum as well. The water, they leave for the time being. Working together as a team, they set up their outdoor ‘studio’ in record time. They begin warming up, playing basic notes and rhythms. Tropius clears his throat.
Ross strums his guitar and says, “I spent a few hours practicing the solo on my own last night. I think I can do it.”
Kiyo raises an eyebrow, “Did you now?”
“Yeah. I didn’t wanna hold us back.”
“That’s great, but I hope you didn’t lose sleep for it,” Tropius says, bending his neck to look at Ross.
Ross chuckles. “Trust me, I’ve lost sleep for less. But no, I’m fine.”
“Alright, let's hear it then.” Kiyo says, assuming the drummer’s position and raising a drumstick. “From the top!”
Kiyo sets their tempo, then allows Ross to strum out their intro. They jump right into the performance, electing to shake off the morning rust by playing the only thing they know how. There’s a few odd twangs, and Tropius clears his throat before he sings his first line, but other than that they sound as good as always- if not better.
Ross’ solo comes around right at the end of the chorus, and he jumps into it without any hesitation. It’s a frantic solo, much more complex and energetic than the rest of the song’s guitar riffs, and with plenty of notes to miss, but Ross glides through with barely any mistakes. It’s an astounding improvement- Tropius, can’t help but smile in disbelief. Even Kiyo is genuinely impressed, and turns to watch without missing his repetitive drum beats. Ross himself is unaware, focusing entirely on this music. The energy bursting from his guitar is pounding, and after making it through the difficult parts of the solo, he shreds it as a finale.
Invigorated, and relieved to have survived the solo Ross, sways with the music, losing himself in the rhythm. His surprising improvement’s inspired Kiyo as well, his tails swinging like a fluffy metronome to the beat. Tropius doesn’t miss his cue to sing again, but he sounds meek in comparison to the intense solo, and his energy doesn’t quite match the others’. He’s still standing straight, and although he’s hitting every note, there’s passion missing, especially when compared to his solo performances in the woods.
As their performance ends, Ross gives his guitar one last, exaggerated strum, ending with a decidedly performative pose.
Kiyo smirks, pointing a drumstick at Ross. “Feeling ourselves, are we?”
Ross, previously unconscious of the dramatic stance he had taken, collapses to a more normal position. “Woops. Guess I got really into it there.”
Kiyo sets down his drumsticks with an accompanying “Tmp!” from the snares. “Well don't just give it up! You need the bravado! If we don't take ourselves seriously, the audience sure as fuck won't either.”
“I guess,” Ross offers, “Right now it feels pretty corny.”
“Maybe it is!’ Kiyo exclaims, throwing his paws up, “But that doesn't mean you can admit it! Presence is everything, especially if you’re our frontman.” His voice tapers away, as he becomes thoughtful. “...Wait. Are you our frontman? Or is it Banana Tree Junior?”
Kiyo glances back at Tropius with a concerned look. “Might be hard to get around it, with how big you are. That means we’re double-fucked, since your presence is even worse than Ross’!”
Tropius furrows his eyebrows. “Huh? What’s wrong with my presence? I’ve been singing louder, like you asked!”
Kiyo shakes his head. “Being louder isn’t enough. You’ve just been standing like a statue during our practices, and you sound as stiff as one too, even if you’re hitting the notes. You were dancing like a diva in the woods when we found you. What happened to that?”
Tropius sways his head around nervously. “I-I only moved around like th-that because I thought nobody was watching!”
“Well, you’re gonna have to get past that and learn to shimmy.” Kiyo exaggeratedly shuffles in place, doing a little dance to prove his point. “You gotta get into it!”
Tropius shakes his head, then looks away. “N-no way! I’ll look goofy as hell, everyone’ll laugh us off the stage!”
“You were born goofy, but that’s beside the point! How we treat ourselves is how the audience is going to treat us too. Think about it this way- you can stand there looking like you’re ashamed of what you’re singing, and our crowd’ll feel just as uncomfortable the whole way through. Or, you can sway a little with the music and look like you’re enjoying yourself, so the crowd can enjoy themselves too.”
Tropius’s frown slowly intensifies, until it releases with a sudden sigh. “…You’re right. I’ll… try to be more lively. But if I hear any giggles I’m not singing anymore!”
“Of course,” Ross says, with a nod.
“I’ll do my very very best!” Kiyo says, tapping his drumsticks together. “Now let’s keep going. I wanna hear that gnarly solo again.”
An actual compliment from the perpetually negative Kiyo resonates deeper than Ross expects. He grins, and without realizing, stances himself confidently, like a rockstar. The fox counts them in, they begin once more.
As it turns out, Ross’ prior performance was not a fluke. The three slip into another performance, sounding better than ever. The guitar is clean throughout, and the solo is even stronger now that Ross is warmed up. Kiyo’s drums are consistent as ever, but his flourishes and additions are less self-serving and instead compliment his two bandmates. Tropius, meanwhile, sounds only marginally better. Ross and Kiyo bounce with the music as though it flows through them, but Tropius is rigid, fighting the current. Still, even with Tropius’ bashful singing, the band sounds significantly better than before. They run through the song a few more times and iron out more of their little mistakes, until Ross finishes the song with a powerful chord, and lets the note hang.
“At the risk of sounding conceited, I think it’s really come together,” Ross says, a rare, proud look on his face.
“Yeah, I think so too,” Tropius adds. “We sound a lot better than we did a few days ago.”
Kiyo shrugs. “We managed to not sound like complete shit. We might actually survive the performance if we can play this well on Saturday. But…”
Kiyo quickly turns towards Tropius and points accusingly at him with a drumstick. “YOU’RE still holding back! Let loose, live a little!”
Tropius retreats into himself slightly. “I’m trying! It’s not easy for me to be… like that in front of other people.”
“Have you tried imagining the crowd in their underpants?” Ross suggests blandly. After Tropius stares through him indignantly, he bristles, as though he’d offended. “What? That’s the traditional fix!”
Tropius makes a retching sound. “I don’t even want to think about the implications of what you’ve just asked me to do.”
“You’re making it worse than it needs to be!”
“Okay, whatever the fuck you two are yammering about is beside the point,” Kiyo interjects, leaning back as he realizes pressing Tropius further won’t accomplish anything. “Just keep it in mind, Tropius. You’re running out of things to improve on, besides your weak presence. You can’t shirk away from your jolly-and-fat-opera-singer persona forever.”
Tropius’s expression quickly switches between annoyance and confusion, as he tries to determine whether that was a compliment or not.
“So…” Ross starts, cradling the guitar hanging from the strap laid around his neck, “Should we keep practicing?”
Tropius sits down and slumps. “I could use a break.” He opens his mouth wide and gives a dry exhale. “My throat’s getting worn out.”
Kiyo gets off his stool and stretches himself. “Now’s as good a time as any for lunch, I suppose.”
Ross nods and, in a similar manner to yesterday, grabs the lunch bag from the cart and puts it in front of Kiyo. He then lugs a barrel off of the cart, popping the lid with one hand while motioning Tropius over with the other. Finally, he walks over to the bag in front of Kiyo, who’s already procured his onigiri from the bag, grabs a sandwich from within, then plops down next to him. While the other two begin digging into their meal, Ross looks disappointingly at the sandwich, rotating it around in his grip.
“This is the same kind of sandwich I had yesterday.”
Tropius side-eyes Ross, his mouth full of berries. “So?”
“So, I like a little more variety in what I eat. Don’t you?”
Tropius frowns slightly. “Yeah… But at this point, I’ve sorta accepted I don’t get to be picky. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“We could swap?” Ross says, extending the sandwich towards Tropius.
Tropius squints at the relatively miniscule sandwich. He then squints at Ross. “Um… no?”
Ross shrugs, then begins to wildly gesticulate his sandwich in Kiyo’s direction. “Swap?” he asks, his attention solely focused on the onigiri the fox is holding.
Kiyo pulls away just before biting into his rice snack. He squints. “...Depends on the sandwich.”
Ross holds up the sandwich like an infomercial host. “It’s a caprese sandwich. Two big slices of mozzarella cheese, fresh tomato, pesto sauce, a little vinegar and oil, and basil straight from Beast’s garden, all on a toasted parmesan brioche bun.”
“No protein?” Kiyo tuts, biting into his plain white rice, “No thanks. Couldn’t be me!”
Ross sighs, and wistfully takes a bite of his delicious sandwich.
Tropius stares at Ross in bewilderment. “Wait wait wait… Beast made you this artisanal Italian-ass sandwich from scratch, and you don’t want it!?”
“It’s about variation!” Ross exclaims, as Tropius shakes his head in defeat.
Kiyo laughs. “That’s rich coming from you. Or any of us. Haven’t we been playing the same fucking song over and over again for the past 3 days?”
Ross stares at Kiyo blankly for a moment.
“...What’s that got to do with me wanting a different sandwich?”
“It’s the same shit!” Kiyo exclaims, “If you really need variation, we should add another song to our setlist!”
Tropius pulls his face out of the berry barrel. “Yeah, Kiyo’s right. We haven’t practiced any other songs yet. We can’t just get up on stage and perform only one song.”
“We sure can’t,” Kiyo snarks, “but unless you have faith in yourselves to learn another song, we’re stuck.”
Tropius and Ross exchange glances with each other. They nod and unison, then look back at Kiyo.
“I think it’s worth a shot. We’re close to perfect at The Middle,” Ross says.
“Yeah, I think so too. Besides, I really want to learn the lyrics to some of those songs you played for us the other day,” Tropius adds, with an uncharacteristically invested expression.
Kiyo scoffs in between bites of his rice ball. “I guess you two have improved. I don’t think we’ll be driving our audience to ritual suicide anymore. As for those songs, I can write the words down for you, but don’t expect me to sing it for you. No way.” Kiyo motions at Ross. “Did you pack any paper or charcoal?”
Mouth full of sandwich, Ross simply shakes his head.
Kiyo pulls down on the side of his face with his free paw. “Ugh… Fuck my lack of foresight. I don’t wanna walk all the way back to the guild.”
Tropius tilts his head disappointedly. “What are we gonna do, then?”
“Well, I’m gonna have to tell you the lyrics, aren’t I?” Kiyo huffs.
Tropius gives a cautiously optimistic look. “If it’s not too much trouble… If you’d prefer, you could just write them down later, after we head back for the night.”
Kiyo shakes his head. “If you two dolts are certain you want to add a whole new song to the setlist, then we’ll need every minute of practice we can get. And besides! I need some goddamn variety!” He huffs, and puts his paws together, as though psyching himself up. “This has got to be the stupidest way anyone’s ever taught a song, but I guess I’ll try and explain it… With words. That is, if we can decide what to play in the first place.”
Tropius tilts his head. “I think I can help out with that. I get the feeling I know a lot of the same songs that you do… minus the lyrics.”
“I still don’t understand how those explorers fucked up the names so badly,” Kiyo grumbles as a pensive look grows on his face.
“O-oh, I w-wouldn’t worry about that,” Tropius replies, nervously glancing away before quickly looking back. “But it does mean that we can’t just suggest the songs by name.”
Kiyo nods, polishing off the last bite of his onigiri. He gets up, walks over to Ross’s guitar, grabs it, then sits back down next to Ross once more. “Any suggestions?” he says, motioning with the guitar.
“Hmm…” Tropius cranes his head upwards, thinking. “Well, the fiiirrsstt song that comes to mind is of course Beach Cave.”
Kiyo gives an annoyed look, making a forward circling motion with his paw.
“R-right.” Tropius clears his throat, then begins humming the song’s melody that is beginner friendly in every way - a relatively slow, simple, and amicable tune that Tropius knows as an introduction of sorts to the world he now lives in.
Kiyo raises a pause, signaling Tropius to stop. “Yeah, I know that one. Again, it’s not called Bitch Cave or whatever the hell you said, it’s called Seaside Serenade.” Kiyo leans back, motioning dismissively. “Either way, that song SUCKS! It’s way too slow, we need something faster or I’m going to die of boredom.”
“I thought it was nice.” Ross adds between bites.
Kiyo rolls his eyes. “Whatever, grandma. Here, how about this one?”
The fox starts strumming a frantic yet upbeat and catchy tune on the guitar. The high tempo and swinging momentum of the melody invokes feelings of chasing - or being chased.
Tropius stares at Kiyo as he plays the song, slowly arching his neck and head in closer, looking more and more lost and thought as he squints, until suddenly, he speaks up.
“Outlaw!”
Kiyo suddenly freezes up and stops playing. His eyes widen and, without turning his head, slowly move to meet Tropius’s gaze. “...What?”
“You heard me. Outlaw!” Tropius repeats, eyes locked on Kiyo as he waits to hear what the actual name of the song is.
For Kiyo, time slows to a crawl. He knows, he thinks to himself. His panicking heartbeat thumps loud in his chest, and he becomes acutely aware of his surroundings. He glances around searching for escape options- but is escape enough? Somehow Tropius became privy to Kiyo’s criminal status. Is this damn green dinosaur planning to blackmail him? Or just report him to the authorities and collect a nice paycheck? Is Ross in on it too? Can he knock the two out and make it back to Cassie and Bean before they’ve warned the entire guild? Or is he going to have to-
“...Are you alright? Is Outlaw! really such an off-putting name for that song? I thought it was pretty fitting…” Tropius’s previously concentrated look has turned worried.
“Yeah Kiyo,” Ross says, “You look pale.”
Kiyo slumps. Fucking idiot. He thinks to himself, about himself.
“I’m fine, I was just… Trying to remember the song. …And what do you mean, I look pale? The fuck do I look like normally?”
Ross shrugs. “I dunno. Not… as white, I guess?”
“Whatever,” Kiyo grumbles, and looks towards Tropius, “No, the song is not called Outlaw. It’s called Fleet of Foot. How fast can you sing?”
“Uhh…” Tropius thinks hard, “How fast are we talking?”
“Like… four-point-thirteen syllables per second?”
Tropius raises an eyebrow. “...Are you asking me to rap? I know I’m big but I’m not notoriously big…”
Kiyo throws his paws up. “Could have fooled me!”
Biggie doesn’t even rap that fast, Ross thinks to himself.
“If you can’t spit bars then I don’t have much hope for a high tempo song…” He taps a paw against his cheek, searching his memory. “I guess there are some slower songs that I don’t hate. Here, this one’s easy as shit.”
Kiyo plays another song on Ross’ guitar- something almost self-referentially goofy. Instrumentally, it’s rather simple, which lends itself a childish feeling, but the melody is strong, and the progression is satisfying.
Tropius listens attentively to Kiyo’s guitar cover, until he suddenly pieces together what song he’s playing. Tropius sucks his teeth and says, “Uh, this song is definitely a bad idea.”
Ross tilts his head. “Why?”
“That song’s called Apple Woods. I don’t think it’s a good idea to play music associated with that place given that… well, you know…”
Kiyo shrugs, “Eh. You’re right, this song is boring anyways. Makes us look like school children instead of real performers.”
After a moment of thought Tropius hums, “Hey, you want something more up-tempo, right? What about Dusk Forest? It goes like this…”
He hums a somewhat foreboding but jaunty tune, tapping along with the quick beat.
Kiyo tilts his head, unconvinced. “Doesn’t sound awful… but I’ve never heard that song before in my life.”
Tropius frowns. “Really? You don’t know this one?”
He shrugs. “Should I?”
“Well yeah. Isn’t it famous around…” Tropius’ expression goes dark. “Uh… The future?”
Kiyo and Ross look at each other with utter confusion, then back at Tropius.
“N-never mind,” Tropius says, suddenly concerned about starting a time-bending paradox.
“Is now a bad time to mention that I also don’t know any of these songs?” Ross chimes in.
“Yes.” Kiyo states firmly. “How about this one?”
The fox adjusts the guitar in his lap and plays a tune. It has wariness and danger to it, but still sounds upbeat. It’s not too slow, not too complicated, and has a nice melody to it. To Tropius, it’s easily recognizable.
“Oh, I know! That’s Spring Cave.” Tropius pauses, furrowing his brow. “Wait, no, it’s Magma Cavern.” He pauses once more, then shakes his head. “Well, actually, I guess it’s kinda both…”
“Actually, that one’s called Caves and Caverns.” Kiyo looks disgusted for a moment. “I always wondered why the name was so weird. I guess your dumbass ‘explorer’ friends named it.”
“I kinda liked it.” Ross says. “Sounded jazzy.”
Tropius nods. “...Not really a fan of the name, but I do like the song too. It’s one of the better PM… err, songs that I know.”
“Alright!” Kiyo shoves the guitar in Ross’ face, who hastily finishes the last of his sandwich, wipes his paws off on his legs, and takes it. “We’ll play that one. No more time to muck about and consider alternatives.”
“Fine with me.” Tropius says. “But… what are the lyrics?”
“If I tell you, will you remember?”
“I mean… I’ll try.” Tropius replies flatly.
“Well, you’ve got the weight of four elephants. Let's see if you’ve got the memory to match.” Kiyo snarks. “After the intro, the first line is…”
Kiyo monotonously lists lyric after lyric to Tropius, who stares at him studiously. It’s a big ask, to recall an entire song from word of mouth alone. They end up stopping at the first chorus, so Tropius can recite the beginning to himself while Kiyo steps Ross through the guitar melody. When Kiyo takes a break to try the drums, Tropius hums the backing strings of the tune so Ross can copy it. This song has its own intro, more complicated than the last but within reason.
Tropius realizes that the vocals of the song stand in for the main melody. To that end, he already knows very well what pitch to aim for, and how to deliver each lyric, which is handy. Alternatively, this also requires both his lyrics and his pitch to be correct. In a sense, his voice is serving as both narration and an instrument, more so than in The Middle, where small pitch deviations might go unnoticed. That, and even just correctly recalling each lyric is a challenge of its own. Understanding that the song itself is a story makes it a bit easier, but still, every missed detail disrupts the flow.
On the other hand, Ross is finding his role in this song is blessedly simple. It’s more like playing a repetitive bassline and allowing Tropius’ vocals to carry more weight. There are a few moments where the chords mix up but largely he’s learning just two different bars to use throughout the song.
“Okay!” Kiyo claps his paws together. “Let’s fuck up the whole song.”
“Are you sure?” Tropius says, “It feels like we’re going to mess it up.”
“That’s what I said! Let’s fuck it up! That way, we can start doing it better!”
As always, Kiyo counts them in, then Ross plays the intro. For once, Kiyo gets to participate, laying down the consistent drum beat from the get-go. Tropius slips into the song- he focuses hard on recalling the lyrics, but this leaves his voice half-hearted, even by Tropius standards. On top of this, he misremembers a good chunk of the words, completely blanking out at times. Even Ross, for how much he’s improved, flubs a few chords, and misses his changes.
After they close out the song, Kiyo places his drumsticks down on the kit. He brings his paws together, and looks at each of his bandmates. “Ross. Tropius. That was total shit.”
Tropius rolls his eyes with a huff. “Thanks.”
Ross laughs awkwardly. “Well, at least we aren’t lying to ourselves.”
Kiyo shrugs. “No point in lying. Ross, you missed a chord change.”
“I noticed.’ Ross replies, with a shrug. “My bad. Got it for next time.”
“Spectacular.” Kiyo says, “Tropius, lets go over the lyrics again.”
They take a break to reexamine the smaller components of the song. Ross practices his chords idly while Kiyo and Tropius get the order of the lines straight. Afterwards, the three jump back into it with another full performance, and it goes much the same as before with small improvements. Despite this, as they play, Kiyo realizes something crucial about the nature of the song.
“I’ve figured it out,” Kiyo announces, just as they finish. “why this song sounds so shitty compared to our last. Our problem… is YOU!!” He shouts, pointing towards Tropius with an accusatory digit.
“Wh-what? Me?!”
“Yes! But it’s not your fault that it’s you!”
“...It’s… not?” He asks, utterly confused.
“No! It isn’t! The problem is that the song puts a shit ton of responsibility on the singer to carry both the main melody and the story. Comparatively, me and Ross are in the background, so any mistakes you make are amplified. That, and the fact that your heart is still somewhere else compounds the shittiness of our performance even further!”
The fox catches his breath. “Basically, you’re the star of this one, so…”
Tropius deflates as he sighs deeply. There’s something tragically poetic about that, he thinks to himself.
“This is just really tough. Melodizing my voice properly, learning an entire ballad about some adventurer… d-dancing in front of you guys… individually they’re challenging but all together… it’s a nightmare,” he adds, dejectedly. After a moment, he takes a deep breath. “Alright, run me through the song again…”
They play the song many times, sometimes better than before, other times worse. Tropius tries his best, but it feels as though he’s hit a mental block - a limit to how much emotion he can insert into his performance. With how simple the song’s instrumental is, Ross and Kiyo make small improvements until it feels they have nowhere to improve.
Ross twangs out the last notes, finishing another run through. “Any better?”
Kiyo slumps over his drums, dejectedly. Even his tails are limp against the ground. He groans. “...No. Not… Not really.”
Tropius similarly slumps to the ground, and nestles his head into his chest, trying his best to cover his head with his stumpy legs, but it doesn’t work very well. “Uuuggghhh, I know, I know! I’m trying, but this is impossibly hard!”
Tropius slumps further, his prone wings spreading out further along the ground.
“I’m sorry guys. I’m holding us back...”
It feels as though some of the air has left the clearing - like the determination is at risk of going limp. Ross shakes his head. “You’ll get it. Just takes time.”
“...Yeah,” Kiyo says, picking himself up, his voice oddly lacking barbs for once, “and besides, it’s not your fault we didn’t bring any paper. This is such an ass-backwards way to learn a song.”
Their singer seems unconvinced. “Still… We only have three more days to practice before we perform live. Is there any chance we can get this song down before then?”
“There's no harm in trying, right?” Ross says, despite sounding unsure.
Nobody responds for a bit, and it's telling how exhausted all three are. The silence only hangs for a few seconds, but it feels much longer. Kiyo is about to make a half-hearted jab when he perks up suddenly, ears pointed out. He looks away from his bandmates and peers back into the woods from which they came.
“Is that…?” He mutters to himself.
The others follow Kiyo's gaze expectantly, as heavy footsteps on the grass become audible.
Cassie the Sandshrew skips down the path with her regular blissful smile. She makes her way right in between all three musicians, then stops. Her expression flushes, and she looks from one to the next, perplexed.
“...Did I interrupt the pity party?” She says, her nubby hand covering her mouth.
“No, we just finished.” Kiyo says, rolling his eyes.
Tropius huffs in response, melancholically turning his glance away. “Hey Cassie.”
Cassie waves enthusiastically. “Hiya gang! I hope your practice has been going well!”
“Could be worse, all things considered.” Ross admits.
“That's one way to put it.” Kiyo says. “Did you need something Cassie? Or are you just visiting?”
“As a matter of fact, I do!” She puts her hands on her hips with pride. “Me and the boys finished putting together the main stage for the festival. We need y’all to come make sure it’ll hold your weight.”
Kiyo smiles, raising an eyebrow “Our weight?” He motions at Tropius with one of his digits. “I think you mean-”
“My weight,” Tropius interrupts, dejectedly. “Yeah, yeah, very funny.”
“Hey, I don’t think he was trying to be mean this time, he’s just being realistic,” Ross chimes in. Tropius simply rolls his eyes in response.
Ross then stands up, readjusting his guitar as he does so. “So… do you want us all to go with, or just Tropius?”
“Weeeell,” Cassie drawls, “It’s a matter of weight AND size, so we need everyone. Gotta be certain everyone can fit nicely!”
Kiyo shrugs, “Honestly, that works for me. We’re not making great progress at this point anyways.”
“Fine. I doubt I’m gonna get outta this rut today anyways…” Tropius adds.
“Here, let me help!” Cassie says cheerfully, trucking over to Kiyo’s drum kit.
With the extra set of hands, the band makes quick work of their outdoor studio. Kiyo follows behind Cassie worriedly when she lifts a stack of three drums, but she does so without breaking a sweat. The rest is loaded up like clockwork.
After hitching Tropius up, Ross sidles up next to the cart as Kiyo hops in. Tropius cranes his head over towards Cassie, who is off to the side, curiously looking at the scene before her. “Want a lift?” He motions towards the cart with his head.
“A ride? That’d be great!” She primes for a jump, then launches herself up into the cart. She lands with a massive thud, which rocks the cart back and forth. Kiyo tenses, sprawling his limbs out to balance.
Cassie lays down beside Kiyo, unknowing of his worry, and lies her hands behind her neck. “Thanks Tropius!”
Ross raises his paw to his chin. “Hey, how come you offered her a ride, but didn’t offer to let us ride?”
“I owe Cassie a lot. It’s the least I could do for her.”
“Tsk, you mean the house?” Kiyo whines. “What am I then, chopped liver? I helped out too, and I had to argue to get a ride!”
“Cassie doesn’t give me attitude.” Tropius curtly looks away from Kiyo. “Besides, if I’m giving you a ride already, I may as well offer the same to her.”
Cassie giggles. “See Kiyo! I told you! Customer service is everything!”
Kiyo slumps further along the cart’s wall. “Yeah, whatever.”
Ross stares timidly at the cart. Tropius, noticing, sighs, and cranes his head over towards Ross.
“At this point, more passengers won’t make a difference, why don’t you hop in too, Ross.”
“If you say so,” Ross acquiesces, climbing into the cart. “But let the record state that I’m fine with walking.” The smile on his face betrays the fact that he’s looking forward to the ride.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” With everyone and everything finally loaded up onto the cart, Tropius turns, facing forward on the path back towards the guild. “Let’s just get a move on already.”
Having now navigated the path between the clearing and the guild a few times now, Tropius manages to bring everyone and the instruments back to the guild in record time. As he pulls up towards the entrance of the guild, Tropius pauses then looks back at the cargo and his passengers.
Tropius sighs. “So… do I have to ferry all this stuff to town and back? I’d… really rather not be attached to this cart if I have to travel through town.”
Cassie hums, “I guess not. We could use some stand-ins for the drums, it’s just important that you’re all there in person.”
Kiyo huffs. “I was looking forward to a nice taxi ride to town and back…”
Cassie chuckles. “Oh, shush! We’ve walked for miles! You’ve been a star musician for, what, four days and you’re already going soft?”
“I’m not going soft!”
“Yeah,” Ross interjects, “He’s been soft since day one.”
“Oh, shut up!” Kiyo says, standing up to unload the cart.
The banter continues lightly as they work, and before long they’re back on the road - this time, headed to Capim Town proper. As they pass through the woods, Cassie chatters about how well the construction has been going, and how great all her local hires are. Due to his large stature and tendency to stay near the edges of the road near the trees, Tropius lags behind a bit, but hustles enough to not slow the group down.
They reach the town soon enough. With his drastically long neck, Tropius is granted a pristine view of the skyline, and the setting sun casting long shadows over Capim Town. He stretches out his neck and wings with a slight smile on his face, as if to bask in the fading sunlight. Various Pokémon wander about with an end-of-day sort of leisure. A sunset breeze cuts through the buildings here and there, which brings Kiyo a relieved smile. Between Cassie’s friendly chit-chat, the light whistle of the wind, and the varied ambient Pokémon activity, the town is utterly relaxed.
Ross notes to himself how starkly the vibe in the town contrasts band practice. He knew it would be tough- he’s not a complete stranger to music, after all, but it’s more non-stop work than he’s done in a long, long time. It’s not light work either- while it is fun, it’s also stressful, repetitive, and grinding. The calmness of the town soothes him somewhat. It’s a nice break.
He is broken from his reverie when notices something out of the corner of his eye, and comes to a stop. Tropius notices, and stops as well, which brings everyone to a halt.
“What’s the hold up?” Kiyo grumbles.
Ross points at a colorful poster pasted to the wall. “This poster. That’s us, isn’t it?”
“What?!” Kiyo exclaims. Everyone gathers around the poster, with Kiyo standing on his toes and Tropius bending his neck down to see.
“It is!” Cassie squeals. “Wow! Did you guys make this?”
“Hell no!” Kiyo snarls. “Why the hell do I look like that? My eyes are NOT that big!”
“Aww~! Look how cute Tropius is!” Cassie points towards the dinosaur’s exuberant caricature. “So happy! So gleeful!”
“R-really?” Tropius examines the poster more closely for a moment, then looks away bashfully, a hint of red in his cheeks. “U-um, I don’t know, I feel it doesn’t quite capture us properly…”
“It’s honestly not bad, all things considered.” Ross states. “They could have spaced the text better, and I’m not sure about the name, but besides that, it’s clearly us three. They even got Kiyo’s trademark scowl!”
“Fuck you!” Kiyo scowls, “I do not have a trademark scowl!”
“Who made these anyways?” Cassie asks. “I didn’t know y’all had an advertising budget!”
Ross laughs. “We don’t.”
“Yeah… Whoever made these didn’t give us any heads up. I didn’t agree to that name…” Tropius says.
“Did you have something better in mind?” Kiyo asks, side-eying the dinosaur.
“Well… No.” He admits, after a pause.
“Well I think it’s GREAT! Free advertising like that is tough to come by!” Cassie beams, “Although it’s tough luck for whoever’s posters these are. They’re getting completely outdone!”
She tilts the edge of the poster, and peeks beneath. “CHP? Never heard of ‘em.”
The three bandmates look towards each other instantly with recognition.
“Aren’t those…” Tropius starts.
“The three dipshits who tried to take our spot in the woods? Yeah, it must be. The poster’s only got that Cherrim broad on it, though.” Kiyo spits, looking around. “Now that you mention it, these posters are everywhere!”
True to Kiyo’s word, the three realize there are posters for the band littered everywhere- just about every flat surface that isn’t strictly opposed to being used as an advertising space has one or more CHP posters plastered on it. Plenty more seem to be crumpled up on the ground.
“You’re right. How did we miss this?” Ross says. “...Maybe they’re too common? So they blend in, like garbage.”
“You met them? Huh! Small world.” Cassie says. “I think they’re performing at the festival too, sometime before you three.”
“Great.” Kiyo whines. “We’ll have to endure another evening of those pompous amateurs spouting their moronic drivel.”
“I think they’re mad that we get to play the finale,” Ross says, to give Cassie more context.
“Oh, phooey!” Cassie replies, “Everyone’s gonna get along fine at the festival. It’s all about having fun with your friends! Spoilsports need not apply!”
Kiyo rolls his eyes. “We’ll see about that.”
The four continue on, leaving the poster behind. It’s not long before they come across another, and another. Whoever was ‘gracious’ enough to paste their likeness around town distributed the posters throughout the town, though not often enough to be obnoxious.
Their short walk through Capim reaches its destination- The festival grounds were on the edge of town, in a large clearing. At one point it was probably empty, but right now, the clearing is filled with scattered construction materials, wooden place markers, and fairground stalls. The amount of work-in-progress wooden structures is impressive, and harshly contrasts with how quiet it is. The absence of loud construction noises combined with the long, late evening shadows creates an out-of-place feel.
“Where is everyone?” Tropius asks, looking around.
“They went home!” Cassie states. “The working day is over after all. We’re on track to have everything finished well ahead of schedule, so there’s no use in overworking anyone. Never let it be said that I’m a cruel employer!”
“I dunno…” Kiyo mutters to himself.
Further into the clearing, the main stage lies in the middle of the construction mess, surrounded by scraps, yet perfectly clean itself. It’s relatively simple—a large rectangular shape rising just a foot or two above the crowd. Although the design itself is more functional than visually appealing, the clean craftsmanship makes up for it. The pillars in the back have ropes attached, which remind Ross of the destroyed stage in Capim Town proper—the ropes are there to hold curtains that aren’t present at the moment, he deduces.
“The stage looks nice,” he says plainly.
“Of course it does!” Kiyo spits. “Cassie made it!”
“Aww, you’re too kind!” She blushes.
“It looks large enough, but is it strong enough?” Tropius seems worried.
“That’s what we’re here to find out! There’s steps in the back, go ahead and get on!” Cassie leads them up towards the stage.
Kiyo quickly darts up to the stage floor and hops a few times. “Feels sturdy to me!”
Ross rolls his eyes and follows behind, waiting tentatively for Tropius, who slowly steps up as well. To his surprise, the wooden floor doesn’t so much as creak under his weight. He continues, listening to each step with caution, until he’s squarely in the center of the stage.
Tropius lowers his head down towards his feet. He steps around in place, his head tilted parallel with the stage to better listen for any potential creaking. “Hmm… it seems pretty solid.” He raises his head back up, then starts to rear up, as if he’s about to raise up onto two feet. “Should I…?”
“No! You’ll kill us all!” Kiyo cries sarcastically.
“Unless you plan on jumping during the show, that’s probably not necessary!” Cassie says, sounding confident. “Is it large enough? Is that where you’re all gonna stand?”
All three of them look around at each other- Tropius is in the middle of the stage, with Ross to his right and Kiyo to his left.
“I mean… Maybe?” Kiyo says. “I don’t see why not. It’d probably feel unbalanced to put anyone besides Tropius in the middle.”
“Works for me,” Ross says, and pats Tropius on the side. “You’re our frontman, after all.”
Tropius closes his eyes and frowns deeply. “Don’t remind me…”
Cassie watches them from the crowd, and makes a frame with her stubby claws. She nods. “Yup, looks good! There’s plenty of room for the drum kit too.”
She claps her hands. “It’s perfect! You three look great up there! Like a real band!”
“Yeah… A real band.” Ross looks out at the vast, empty venue in front of him, picturing it full of screaming Pokémon clamoring for an amazing show.
He’d known he’d have to get up in front of a crowd the whole time, but it’s only hitting him now just how many eyes are going to be on the group’s performance. A lot rides on how well the trio performs—if they screw up and botch the concert, how many people are going to be angry with him? With the band? With the guild? What’ll happen to him and everyone else?
He looks up towards Tropius with a concerned look—Tropius returns it with a similarly worried grimace of his own. Tropius, in turn, looks towards Kiyo, who is scratching his ear with his hindpaw, oblivious to the nerves of his bandmates. He notices Tropius’ gaze, and sends an evil-eye back.
“What?” He spits.
“N-nothing, it’s just… Standing up here, I’m starting to realize what we got ourselves into.”
“You mean a live performance for an adoring- or antagonistic- crowd? What the hell did you think being a ‘rockstar’ meant?”
“It’s not that,” Ross interjects, leaning from around Tropius’ torso to address Kiyo, “It just felt so far away before. Up here… I guess it just feels more real.”
“Yeah.” Tropius adds. “You’ve never felt afraid of performing in front of a crowd? Never?”
“Buddy, I’ve played for a crowd since before I knew there was a word for music. I was born to play music.” He says, sly at first. Then, his expression changes, as though he’s revealed more of his hand than he meant to. Then, he’s sly again. “And so were you, pal. That’s the mindset you need up on this stage.”
“Yeah!” Cassie chimes in from below. “You guys have been practicing so hard! You’ve got music in your blood at this point! You just need to believe in yourselves!”
“We’ve practiced, but not for an audience…” Tropius mutters.
“Oh, quit worrying! They’re gonna love you! You look so cool!” Cassie beams. “All you’re missing is rad outfits!”
The dinosaur turns to Ross, and imagines the dog in a gaudy, 70’s rock uniform. Purple vest, red highlights, golden tassels- the works. Ross does much the same likewise, and can’t help but snort with amusement.
“Heh,” Tropius says, with a slight smile from his own imagination, “I don’t know about that.”
“We don’t have the budget for that anyways.” Ross says, as though he’d know.
Cassie sighs wistfully. “Missed opportunity...” She pulls out a clipboard and makes some marks. “Either way, the stage is perfect, and you’re perfect for the stage, so that’s all I needed you for. Thanks for the help!”
“Glad I could help,” Tropius says.
“Now, I’ve got to check with a few contractors back in town, so I’d better run. Kiyo, are you going to be home for dinner?”
Kiyo startles, as though embarrassed to admit he has some kind of a home life. “I wouldn’t count on it. There’s always some bullshit with these guys.”
He looks back at his bandmates. “What’s the bullshit tonight?”
Ross coughs into his hand. “Uh… I was gonna ask if we had time tonight to write down the song’s lyrics. You know, put ‘em on paper so Tropius doesn’t have to keep them all memorized.”
“That…” Tropius says lightly, “Would be really helpful.”
Kiyo turns back to Cassie, “See? Told you.”
Cassie laughs. “Alright, that’s fine. I’ll see you tonight!” She waves towards everyone as a group, “And I’ll see all of you on Saturday, on stage! I’m looking forward to it!”
With that, she trots off back towards the town, leaving the three alone once again. Now, the sky is glowing orange, and the shadows are quite long. A warm summer breeze blows through the clearing.
“Well, that’s that.” Kiyo says, jumping off the stage deftly. “Back to the guild, then?”
“Suppose so.” Ross climbs down more carefully, hanging his legs off first, then dropping.
Tropius simply turns around carefully, then exits using the stairs on the back of the stage, meeting the others.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
The three once again make pace through the city streets. Tropius is careful as always to avoid stepping on anyone, but this late in the day the streets aren’t as busy. It’s a calmer, more muted bustle. Ross can’t help but look up as he walks, admiring the sky as the orange hues marking sunset spread across.
As they pass through the streets, Tropius notices a building with stairs leading up towards an adorable seating area on the second floor. A colorful, icy-blue banner catches his eye—on it, a small, pointy Pokémon is smiling and holding out what appears to be a popsicle.
“Hey!” He says, stopping the others in their tracks. “This building… It looks like an ice cream shop.”
Ross looks up at the banner. “Hmm, seems like it. What’s this place called?”
Kiyo huffs in his typical, incredulous fashion. “I still don’t understand how you bozos can’t read. It’s called ‘Bergmite’s Bites.’”
Tropius squints pensively. “Bergmite’s Bites… Isn’t that the name of the place that Smith and Furret got us those ice cream treats from?”
Kiyo nods. “Yeah, it is.” Suddenly, Kiyo gets a feeling like someone’s drilling a hole in the back of his head. He looks up at Tropius, who is staring intensely at him. The unusually intense stare makes Kiyo feel small for the first time all week. “...What?”
“Can we please get some ice cream,” Tropius immediately answers.
“You say that like I’m your parent! Don’t you losers have your own money?”
Tropius raises an eyebrow. “Yes, but I don’t have my bag with me to carry it. Besides, I can’t fit inside to buy it myself.”
Kiyo grimaces derisively. “Isn’t buying ice cream a little… childish?”
“You’re never too old for ice cream…” Ross states, timidly kicking the dirt, making puppy-dog eyes without realizing it.
Kiyo glances up towards the ice cream banner, and recalls the tasty mint popsicle from before. It’s been a long day, and he could use a little pick-me-up…
“Well… It WAS really yummy…” he says, despite himself. He shrugs nonchalantly and says, “Fine, you win. Let’s get some ice cream.”
Hearing this, Tropius smiles widely, letting loose a “Yes!”, and absent-mindedly flaps his wings a little bit in glee. Suddenly, he tenses up with an embarrassed look on his face, quickly jerks his head upwards towards the now orange sky, then relaxes slightly before looking back at Kiyo, who’s raising an eyebrow. “U-um, I mean, y-yes…?”
Kiyo rolls his eyes with tectonic force. “Easy, Tropius, your inner Snorlax is showing. What do you want, exactly?”
“Get me a chocolate, the biggest size they have. Oh, and in a bowl or cup or something if you can - I don’t want to carry it all in my mouth if I can help it.”
“And I’ll take a-” Ross starts.
“Hold the fuck up!” Kiyo shouts, interrupting Ross, “This isn’t free delivery! You’re able-bodied, you’re coming inside too. I need your help if we’re going to carry Tropius’ triple-extra-large sundae. It’ll probably be twice my weight, after all.”
“You know you could just ask for help, right?” Ross tuts, shaking a finger disapprovingly at Kiyo. “Besides, it’ll give me an excuse to look at the menu.”
Kiyo stutters. “D-don’t get it twisted, I don’t need your help… But you’d better help anyways! I’m not breaking my back over something as trivial as ice cream.”
He turns towards Tropius. “And you better pay me back after. Enough ice cream to fill your gullet’s gonna cost me more than what Cassie spends at the tailor.”
Tropius bashfully looks away. “O-of course! I can pay you back once we get back to the guild. S-sorry for the trouble.”
With funds secured, Kiyo and Ross enter the ice cream parlour- the door opens with a chime and a wave of sweet aroma sweeps out into the street. Tropius’ mouth begins to water from the smell alone. He’s left alone for a spell, standing awkwardly outside the store. A few Pokémon pass by, cueing him to move to a small alcove to the side of the ice cream parlor so that he no longer blocks the main road. It’s a tight squeeze, but he manages to somewhat comfortably settle in, much like a dog left outside a store while its owner shops inside.
Soon enough, a door opens on the second floor, about at Tropius’ eye level. Kiyo exists first, standing upright with two paper-wrapped treats in his forepaws. He leans against the door so Ross can hobble past, carrying a large steel bucket with a gargantuan serving of chocolate ice-cream.
“Order up!” Kiyo says. Ross shuffles towards Tropius, who can hardly contain his excitement. He quickly uses his cheek to push aside a wooden chair, clearing a spot for his treat by the railing.
It falls with a clang and a thud, potentially rattling the decor downstairs.
“Woah!” Tropius exclaims. “I wasn’t expecting nearly this much, thank you!”
“No problem.” Ross says, in between catching his breath.
“Yeah, they had a fat fu– ...friend discount.” Kiyo adds, with a smugly forced smile.
Tropius rolls his eyes. “Haha, very funny.”
“No, really,” Ross adds, “They had a special deal for extra-extra-large Pokémon. It was only 250 poke.”
“Oh. That’s… convenient.”
Tropius begins to lean in to dig into his ice cream, mouth open and eyes gleaming, but stops himself as his manners get the better of him. He reels his head back, then moves it back in to push some chairs around in an effort to better arrange them for his friends.
Ross smiles at the considerate gesture and takes his seat. He takes a treat from Kiyo and unwraps it- it’s a well sized vanilla popsicle, same as Furret brought him before.
Kiyo sits down similarly, though his legs don’t quite make it off the seat. His dessert of choice ends up being a small ice cream sandwich– mint ice cream wedged firmly between two fish-shaped chocolate cookies.
With everyone now situated properly at the table, Tropius’s manners no longer hinder him and he begins to dig into his ice cream bucket… sloppily. After a short while, he raises his head from the bucket, a huge, chocolate-stained smile on his face, before plunging back in.
Ross looks over at Tropius in between licks of his popsicle. “I know people love their chocolate, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone in love with it as much as you, Tropius.”
“Yeah,” Kiyo says, nibbling on his own ice cream patiently, “You’re grinning like you died and went to junk food heaven.”
Tropius raises his head once more from the bucket, his now reddened cheeks barely visible through all the chocolate. “W-well, I’ve just always really liked chocolate, but I almost never get to have it anymore. This is like…” Tropius pauses, rolling his eyes upwards as he searches his memory. “...the third time I’ve had chocolate since… well.” He gestures at himself using his head. “On top of that, it somehow tastes even better now compared to… then.” Tropius pulls himself back from the railing as a melancholy look overtakes him.
“Yeah, I think I get what you mean.” Ross says, looking down at his own body. “Sometimes I wonder if I can eat chocolate without dying. Cuz, you know…”
Tropius turns towards Ross with a shocked expression. “Oh my lord, I didn’t even consider that! That’s awful, I’m so sorry!”
Kiyo looks between the two with a bewildered expression.
“Okay, what the fuck are you two on about?” He finally asks. “Why are there so many esoteric insider details between you two? I know I’m not the most cultured asshole around, but half the things you two say sound like complete and utter bullshit. It’s the same deal with how often you both bitch and moan about what you are like you haven’t had a lifetime to get over it. It’s all so fucking…” He pauses, looking for a good word.
“...Malcontented?” He finally decides.
The two exchange a glance. Tropius motions encouragingly towards Ross, before both turning back towards Kiyo.
“...Kiyo, how much do you know about humans?” Ross asks.
Kiyo furrows his brow, and bites the tail off his fish-shaped ice cream.
“Well,” he says, while chewing, “I used to think humans were just asshole immigrants from a different continent, but when we first joined the Guild, Bean told me they’re actually fairy-tale assholes who fall from the sky, or wash up on the beach.”
“That’s… sort of true,” Tropius starts. “More accurately, humans come from a completely different world from this one. The worlds look kinda similar - the grass, water, trees, sky, all that’s the same more or less. But we have much, much more advanced technology, incredibly tall buildings, a completely different society, etcetera. ”
Kiyo squints. “So you really are fairy tale assholes?”
“Actually, from our perspective, you’re the fairy tale asshole.” Ross says, slightly amused.
The fox rolls his eyes. “Bullshit. How does someone like you end up travelling between worlds? That’s unreal.”
Ross shrugs. “Dunno. Most of us just woke up here one day. It sounds unlikely, I know, but you can ask around the guild. It’s the same story for everyone- err, all the humans, anyways.”
Kiyo crosses his forelegs. “Okay, fine. Just for the sake of conversation, let's say I believe you, and that some humans accidentally teleported themselves here-”
“It’s not usually like that. We don’t really have any magic or special powers in the human world.”
Kiyo tilts his head, to a comical degree. “What do you mean by ‘magic’, exactly? And special powers?”
Tropius reels slightly, as if surprised. “Really, you guys don’t consider your abilities special or magical at all?” He shakes his head in confusion before looking at Kiyo. “You know how you can breathe ice? There’s nothing like that where we come from. Nobody breathing fire, shooting electricity, or controlling things with their mind.”
“What?” Kiyo says, surprised. “What type are you then?”
Tropius shakes his head. “Well, humans don’t have types like Pokémon do. I mean, obviously there’s different kinds of humans, but there’s no water humans, or grass humans, or rock humans. At the end of the day, there’s just… humans. If anything, I guess we’d be normal-type since we don’t have any special abilities or traits like that, but even that seems wrong to say.”
“You don’t have types? How the hell do you survive?”
“Humans… live very boring lives.” Tropius says, with a tinge of sadness. “For most of us, we’d just go to work at a job everyday, then buy everything we need with money. It’s very unfulfilling. It’s very rare for a human to get into any sort of physical fight.”
Kiyo’s eyes widen, then he looks to the side. He recalls his previous experiences with humans- as few as they are, he’d always considered them almost unequivocally incompetent at baseline, functional Pokémon skills. For example, Booker not being able to fly, or Gus not knowing how to spray water. It astounded and confused him, and he wasn’t exactly forgiving of them. Hearing this, that humans aren’t made for battle, explains it completely.
This brings him some small amount of regret.
“Ah,” he says, “that explains a lot.”
Ross shrugs. “It’s not all bad. Humans have built lots of technology that blows what you guys have here out of the water.”
Kiyo hums. “I did hear about that. Human technology, prized treasure here, I guess. I’m not sure why, it never seems all that impressive.”
“It was pretty mundane to us, but compared to what you guys have, it’s not even a contest,” Tropius says. “You could pull a phone out of your pocket and instantly talk to someone on the other side of the planet, go on the internet and look at, read, or listen to anything you could possibly think of, or get on an airplane and fly anywhere in the world in less than a day.” Tropius notices Kiyo’s unimpressed stare and turns towards Ross. “Anything else I’m not mentioning?”
“Uh,” Ross says, as he brings a paw to his chin. “Guns?”
Tropius squints at Ross. “...Really? That’s what you choose to mention?”
“Gun? You mean like water gun?” Kiyo questions, head tilted.
“Well, those do exist, but that’s not that I meant. They’re these weapons that, when you pull the trigger, it makes an explosion, and then a metal bullet flies out.” Ross makes a nubby finger gun with his paw. “You could kill someone really easily at range with one of those if you aimed it well or just shot enough times.”
Kiyo’s pupils expand. “Oh, cool.”
Tropius glares at Ross. “Don’t give him any ideas.”
Ross shrugs. “What’s he gonna do? Buy a gun?”
Kiyo takes another bite of his ice cream- halfway gone now. “So humans don’t have types or abilities or anything. All you have is guns and items. That sounds… Really lame.”
“That’s one way of looking at it, I guess.” Ross clears his throat before continuing. “It might be more mundane than the nonsense that goes around here, but it’s simpler. I wouldn’t walk down the street and have to worry about whether the people in front of me could set me on fire, or freeze me to death or spit acid at me.”
Tropius makes an attempt at a shrugging motion using his forewings. “I don’t really see how it’s any different. There was nothing stopping humans from pulling a gun on you on the streets, but that doesn’t mean it was something you had to worry about all the time.”
“Well, yeah, but not everyone had a gun. And nobody had blades for hands or was a gigantic dinosaur.” There’s an awkward pause before Ross speaks up again. “No offense.”
With a slight frown, Tropius returns his head to his ice cream bucket. “It’s fine.”
“So wait, this guy,” Kiyo says, pointing a digit at Tropius, “Wasn’t there? Or he wasn’t a dinosaur?”
Ross tosses an almost quizzical look at Tropius, before looking back to Kiyo. “Don’t you know what a human looks like?”
“Well, you’re both humans, right?” Kiyo smirks, “Using my context clues, I can determine that all humans look like dopes.”
Tropius gives Kiyo an unamused look. “...So that’s a no, right?”
“Yeah, no. How should I? It’s not like-” Kiyo almost admits that he didn’t go to school, but quickly diverts the sentence, “anyone talks about humans. Fairy tale bullshit, remember?”
“I figured being around a guild full of ex-humans as long as you have, you would have picked up on a detail like that by now.”
Kiyo shrugs. “I think you’re vastly underestimating the lengths which I go to avoid interacting with the bizarre motherfuckers at the guild. Most of my experience with them goes something like ‘hey Kiyo can you play some music for us?’, or ‘hey Kiyo can you sit on my face?’ I’m not exactly clamoring to mingle with those types.”
“...Fair,” Tropius says with a flat, yet understanding look on his face. “But if you’re going to try to understand me, Ross, or anyone else at the guild better at all, you’re going to need to know what we used to be like. Humans are…”
Tropius pauses for a moment, thinking of how best to illustrate to a native like Kiyo what humans look like. Suddenly, he lights up, and turns towards Ross. “Ross, could you paint a human for Kiyo?”
“Ugh…” The smile leaves Ross’ face, and his shoulders drop. “Do I have to? Just because there’s a paint brush sticking out of my-”
Tropius frowns and cuts him off. “It’s going to be really hard to describe it for him. I know you don’t like being asked to paint, but if you could even draw a stick figure it’d make things a lot easier.”
Ross scowls for a moment, before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Even if I felt like it, what is there even to draw on? I’m pretty sure graffiti’s still a crime here.”
Tropius looks around the rooftop patio for any sort of large, disposable item for Ross to paint on. Not spying anything Ross could conceivably draw on without being brought up on graffiting charges, he looks down at his half empty bucket of chocolate and sighs.
“...Does your paint wash off easily?”
“Fuck no it doesn’t.” Kiyo interjects, recalling his brief stint as a janitor, “Unless you’ve got a mop on hand, that is.”
“So it cleans off fine with water and a rag or something?”
“I guess so?” Ross states with the confidence of someone who hasn’t ever had to clean up his own mess.
Tropius sighs once more and rolls his eyes. He reluctantly leans in, pointing the top of his head towards Ross. “Paint on me, then.”
“The fuck?” This question catches Ross off guard, probably more than any other he’s been asked in his time here. “Why’d you want me to paint on you?”
“You think I want to be painted on?” Tropius scowls. “But there’s nothing here you’d be allowed to paint on, and it’s important that Kiyo understands what we used to be, even if it’s a crude drawing. Besides, I have to wash up later with all this chocolate on my face, I can just wash the paint off then.”
Ross grimaces at the idea. He turns towards Kiyo, to get his input. The fox simply shrugs. “I mean, I wouldn’t do it,” He says, “I’d just graffiti the wall and accept the three months of community service you’ll be charged with.”
Not finding any help from the fox, Ross shrugs, before reluctantly standing up and pulling his tail out of the belt. “Why do you know the specific charge…”
He leans over to Tropius, wielding his tail, before realising the stupidest issue sitting in front of him. His paint. Tropius’ head. They’re both green. “This is stupid. This isn’t gonna work. It’s green on green.”
Tropius closes his eyes and exhales deeply, holding back a combination of anxiety and frustration. He steps up a bit closer to the building, arcing his head upwards, exposing his neck to Ross. “Paint here, then. Just don’t touch the fruit!”
“The whole thing’s a fruit…” Kiyo mutters to himself snidely.
With a deep sigh of disappointment, Ross lifts his brush (and tail) towards Tropius’ neck. Resisting the urge to prank the dinosaur with a crude drawing, he slowly traces a simple stick figure- a head, a line for a body, and similarly simple lines for the arms and legs. All the while, Tropius glares at Ross, carefully surveilling the artist to make sure his prized bananas go untouched. Every once and a while, Ross glances at Tropius with an indignant look, as if silently saying, this was your idea, pal. As he continues the drawing, Ross is occasionally distracted by Kiyo, whose barely suppressed snickers add to the uncomfortable feeling hanging heavily in the air.
Ross presses forward despite the embarrassment, adding rudimentary details such as fingers, feet, and hair to the figure. He finishes the stick figure with a smiley face. All in all, it doesn’t look half bad, in a childish sort of way.
“There you have it. The spitting image of humanity.” He says to himself, sarcastically.
Tropius squirms slightly trying to look at the drawing himself, before quickly realizing how futile of an effort it would be, on top of potentially ruining the drawing by smushing it.
Kiyo studies the figure for a moment, eyes flicking around as he finishes the last crumbs of his ice cream sandwich. “Alright,” he starts, “So, you used to look like this… How long ago?”
“Umm… I don’t know, a year? It’s hard to keep track these days,” Tropius guesses.
“Alright. How tall is this human?”
“Uh,” Ross ponders, “it varies, but an adult is usually five to six feet, plus or minus a few inches.”
“Six feet?!” Kiyo exclaims, “I thought they only had two feet!”
“No…” Tropius says, shaking his still vertical head.
“Uh…” Ross scratches the back of his head. “Not those kinds of feet. How do you measure things here?”
“We measure length in tiles, duh.” Kiyo says. “For reference, I’m exactly one tile tall. Tropius is, what… five tiles tall?
Tropius sideeyes Kiyo unbelievingly. “Tiles. You measure lengths in tiles. You’re kidding me.”
“Pfft. What else would you do? Measure in walls? Dumbass.” Kiyo hocks out a laugh.
“But…” Tropius sighs. “Never mind. But if you’re one tile-” he says, mockingly, “then a human would be two and a half to three tiles tall as an adult.
“That tall?” Kiyo says disbelievingly. He focuses on the drawing once more, “Okay. So, humans walk on two legs. They’ve got hands, clearly…” He tilts his head. “No tail?”
“Nope,” Ross says as he snugly secures his tail back into his fanny pack. “I mean, there’s a tail bone, but no actual tail.”
“...Weird.” Kiyo mutters. “No horns? No ears? What about fur? Claws?”
“Uhh, no horns, no claws but we have fingernails. We have ears, but they’re on the side of our heads not the top like yours, and no fur but we do have hair. Most of it’s on the top of our heads, but the rest of our bodies have very fine hair.”
“...Huh. The human world must be…” Kiyo says, perplexed, “very safe.”
Tropius attempts a shrugging motion with his wings again. “Depends on where you came from, but it seems most of us at the guild came from the safer parts of the world. Regardless, I think you can see now why so many of us struggle with what we are now.”
“...Yeah, I kinda can.” Kiyo says, sounding truly sympathetic. “I’m not gonna pretend to totally understand, and for the record you still complain way too fucking much, but I can at least get why you always act so uncomfortable.”
Ross looks down at his hands thoughtfully, flexing his digits. “I miss my other fingers.”
Tropius motions with his head at the air his hands would be, if he had any. “At least you have fingers.” He turns towards Kiyo. “I’m just glad you understand us a bit more now, even if it took Ross painting on me with his tail gunk,” Tropius says with a warm smile. “...Um, can I lower my head back down now?”
“Yeah, sure. I was told it was paint though.”
Tropius lowers his head back down. “Certainly doesn’t feel like paint…”
“So,” Kiyo asks, plainly, “You and all the other weird-ass humans just woke up here one day, against your will, in a completely new body. Aren’t you trying to go back? To the human world, I mean. It sounds like a completely different life you’d be living.”
A contemplative look comes across Tropius’ face. “That’s… tough to answer. There’s a lot I miss from back home. Technology, friends and family, my hands. Life certainly was much more easy and convenient as a human.”
“But, even though it was easier, life was a lot more constrained. It felt like how I lived was decided by other people. Here, even though I struggle with my size and, um, other things… I feel like I have so much more freedom and agency. I’ve made new friends, I have a house to call my own, and I’ve gone on adventures and experienced things I never would have as a human. And, u-um… even with all its issues…” Tropius looks away timidly. “...I think I even like being a Tropius, even if it may not seem like it. Being this big dinosaur that can shoot leaves, whip up strong gusts of wind, and even fly (one day)... it’s the kind of stuff I would fantasize about as a human.”
Tropius looks back at Kiyo, then startles and begins to blush as he realizes he’s been rambling about his personal thoughts. “O-oh! U-um… M-my point is, I actually kind of like it here, but there’s a lot I left behind that I still think about.” He looks at his mostly finished, partially-melted chocolate ice cream. “It’s part of why I freak out over chocolate so much… It brings back good memories of home.”
Kiyo resists the urge to undermine Tropius’ heartfelt word-of-mouth autobiography with yet another creative reminder of the dinosaur’s extreme weight, and instead nods silently.
Tropius looks over at Ross. “What about you, Ross? Being a Smeargle’s gotta have its perks, right?”
The question hangs in the air for just a few seconds, before Ross shrugs and responds curtly.
“...Naaaaah. I’d go home.”
Tropius frowns. “O-oh. Really? No hesitation or second guesses?”
"I mean... No offense, but I never asked for this. Sure, I've met some cool people and I've had fun here, but I never asked to be thrown into a completely different reality. I never asked to be pulled away from everything familiar and thrust into a completely alien society where everyone's talking animals with superpowers and I didn't get the memo."
There's a pause.
The unattended popsicle gripped tightly by Ross continues to drip onto the table below, quickly being rendered unfit for consumption.
Ross' attention is focused not on the popsicle, nor his two companions sitting aside him. It's focused on the horizon, his stare casting out as if trying to catch something invisible, ephemeral, something the other two can't see.
His eyes start to shimmer.
"There's too much I miss from back home. I miss the internet. I miss my bed. I miss Taco Bell. I miss video games. I miss hitting up the bodega on my way to work and having my coffee ready to go because the owner was cool like that. I miss the cute girl at the coffee shop whose number I never was brave enough to ask for. I miss getting my paycheck and having to budget for the month. I miss the days when I could recognise my own reflection."
His hand comes up and rubs his eyes, casting the shimmer away and letting their regular, listless sheen return. His rumination over, he glances over at his companions, before sheepishly looking down at his popsicle.
"I'm sorry. It's not fair for me to just dump all of that on you guys. I'll stop talking now."
A pause hangs in the air as Ross’s uncharacteristically candid words settle with neither of his compatriots knowing how best to respond. Tropius looks to Kiyo for support, who returns his gaze with a shell-shocked look. The sauropod then looks off into the distance for a moment to collect his thoughts before swaying his head back in Ross’s direction.
“No, it’s fine. If anything, I should be the one who’s sorry. I know none of us asked to be here, and we all miss home to some degree… but I didn’t consider that there might be someone who wasn’t into this at all,” Tropius says, frowning sympathetically and slumping back slightly. “It must be really rough for you, having been dragged to this world you don’t vibe with at all… I feel like a jerk for assuming you’d be enjoying it more.”
“You’re okay, don’t stress over it. It’s a fair question.” Ross looks down at the melted ice cream, and starts to drum his fingers on the table to try to fill the awkward air. “So uhh, how about that ice cream?”
Tropius stares at the pristine metallic bottom of his ice cream bucket. For once, he feels like he’s eaten his fill of sweets. Ross peers over into the bucket, and takes note of how spotless it is.
“Wow. They won’t even have to clean it.” He says, amused.
Tropius scoffs. “I’m just getting my money’s worth…”
“Well then, if you two are done lecturing me on just how shitty humans are,” Kiyo interjects, his bravado returned, looking at the early night sky, “we still need to head back to the guild, and put today’s bitch-ass song lyrics down on paper.”
“Hey, what did the song lyrics ever do to you?” Ross jokes.
Tropius pushes the empty bucket away, towards the others. “I’m good to head out. Um… Can we leave this here? Or should we bring it back in?”
Kiyo jumps off his seat and shakes himself off. “They said we could leave it. Now let’s get outta here! I finished my ice cream hours ago!”
The three brush themselves off and depart from the humble creamery towards the guild.
Later that night, while others sleep, the three occupy the guild’s library. Papers are sprawled across the table Ross sits at and Kiyo lays on.
“Tumbling, turning, falling…” Kiyo recites their new song, voice lowered in the quiet, evening library.
“Tumbling.. turning… falling…” Ross repeats, etching the lyrics onto paper with a thick pencil.
“...Paramour slips away.” Kiyo continues, emotionless.
“...Yup.”
“Champion rises bravely, ready to save the day.”
“Champion rises… Bravely? I thought it was ‘gravely’?”
Kiyo shakes his head. “Fuck no. It’s ‘bravely’.”
Tropius sighs, his head sticking into the library through an open window. “I think I’ve been saying ‘gravely’. Sorry.”
Ross shakes his head, as he writes. “It’s not your fault, man.”
“I know, I know…” Tropius mutters. He glances down at the lyrical sheets Ross is filling out. “This’d be easier if I could just read Pokémon… Pokelese? Pokespeak?” He turns towards Kiyo. “What do you guys call your language, anyways?”
“Uh…” Kiyo squints. “Writing? And speaking? Why do you need another word for it?”
Tropius tilts his head. “Humans have hundreds of different languages. Is there really only the one here?”
“Hmm…” Kiyo thinks back. “I guess there’s some old, weird written languages, but for the most part everyone just… writes.”
“...I don’t really get it, but okay.” He gives a forlorn sigh. “Maybe it’s about time I actually learn the written language. It would certainly come in handy, and I’d be less of a burden that way.”
“Sounds hard,” Ross says, “Is it worth the time? Most everything I need to read is already in English.”
Kiyo shrugs. “Your call. It’d make writing your song lyrics easier, if you’re gonna keep singing.” He pauses, then looks over towards Tropius with an eyebrow raised. “Are you?”
Tropius looks off to the side, mulling over the fox’s words. “I dunno…” He looks back at Kiyo with a hopeful glance. “Do you think we’ll still play music together, once all this is over?”
The fox blinks, and looks towards the others. The question lingers in the air for a moment. It seems none of them had given it thought- caught up in the rush of preparing for this Saturday’s event above all else, there was little time to spare considering the future.
“I… Guess it depends on how the show goes on Saturday.” Kiyo says, hesitantly. “If we fuck it up so bad the good folks of Capim Town want us publicly executed, we’re probably out of luck. If not…”
Kiyo looks away, to the side, as though ashamed. “I guess… I haven’t hated doing this as much as I expected. It is nice to play in a band again… And unlike most other Clover Guild morons, you two don’t make me want to commit violent suicide. So…”
He ends with a shrug. “Sure. I’d keep playing.” Despite the crass delivery, it’s one of the most genuine compliments Kiyo’s ever given anyone. He and Tropius both look towards Ross, the one who got them into this mess to begin with.
Ross looks back up at the pair, and smiles gently. “I don’t see why we couldn’t. It’s been fun.”
A big smile appears on Tropius’ face despite his best efforts to play it cool. “It’s been scary these past few days singing in front of you two, but…it’s also been a lot of fun performing and hanging out, so I’m happy that you want to keep playing together.”
“Glad that’s settled,” Kiyo says, lightly clapping his paws together, “And just in time too! I’d puke from the sappy feelings talk if it went on any longer.”
Ross glances towards Tropius, and murmurs loudly, “That’s just how he shows love.”
“S-shut up!” Kiyo whispers loudly.
Tropius snickers, “If that's how he shows love, I'd hate to see him be mean.”
The fox falters, slumping as though thoroughly unimpressed by his current company.
“You two are idiots.”
“Wait. Do you think…” Ross barely contains a chuckle, “It's, like… reversed?”
They process the ridiculous idea for a moment, and then the two attempt and fail to conceal laughter. Their mirthful chuckles, still half-heartedly bated, echoes through the otherwise silent library. Even Kiyo can't help but giggle under his breath.
“Fucking stupid.” He mutters with an overpowering grin.
Eventually, the trio calm down, and manage to return to their original task. They manage to tack down a few more lines, but it's not long before another playful jab is thrown, and a witty (or witless) retort is given. More juvenile giggles follow, and the cycle continues. It is clear to all three, they're being far from efficient, prolonging their work later and later into the night, all while making quite the ruckus, yet they simply do not care.
Between exhaustion from days of hard work, the excess of sugar from their ice cream pit-stop, and the lateness of the evening, the three cannot find the motivation to put serious effort into the transcription. Instead, they share in their newfound friendship - a rarity for each of them - laughing, joking, and enjoying each other’s company beneath the midnight stars.