Chapter Text
The next day, early in the morning, Finley is already present outside of Ballas’ house. A couple knocks on the wooden door seem to only have woken the co-owner just then. It takes a few seconds before the door creaks and the Typhlosion’s face peeks out from the shady interior of the house, eyes half awake.
Finley greets him with a wave.
“Hi.”
The door closes.
“Wait, no. I’m from the guild.” Finley rummages through the pouch for her badge, but it takes too long so she shows her scarf instead. “See?”
“What is it?” He grumbles.
“I’ve got…” she puts her hands together. “A few complaints, coming from the town’s residents, especially those within the Anchor region. You are the co-owner of Opto’s—”
“Workshop, that is correct.”
“Oh?” Finley’s eyes widen. “Glad to know… Ballas, are you aware of the recent complaints about the island’s supply being shortened—”
He cuts her off with a grunt. His glare intensifies, but reflects more tiredness than boredom.
“So you do know.”
“Check the mailbox.”
“Ah…” She turns her head towards the heap of mail, which has unsurprisingly remained intact since the night before. “All of this?”
“Do me a favor and block all mail coming to my address. You are…?”
“Finley, sir.”
“Not the first.” He sighs. “Yes, there have been many before you. The workshop has been suffering from a shortage of materials, and, yes, we have been working to remedy this issue.”
“I’d like to disagree, sir.”
His pupils narrow.
“Why?”
“I’d like to believe your workers are… overworked.”
“How so?” He presses on his words. But that doesn’t faze Finley in the slightest.
“Frankly, I believe no one should be assigned to satisfy over a dozen orders in a single day.”
He pauses, and glances down to her pouch.
“Did you have a warrant?”
“I did not.”
“Then it was hearsay.” The Typhlosion scoffs. “Please do not hurl such baseless assumptions at our workshop.”
Ballas is about to end the conversation with the door in Finley’s face when she steps forward, raising her voice:
“I have full confidence in what I say, Ballas. I happen to know of an eighty thousand poke deposit buried behind your house?”
It took a second, but he immediately dashed out the door and then towards the spot.
“By the way, I’ve already sent the money back to the guild.” She strolls to the front of alleyway. “All eighty thousand poke worth of those silver mint coins. You won’t find anything.”
Ballas reappears around the corner with a face distraught, forcing her to back up. His eyes look like they can kill.
“How did you… You, You’ve been… Not only have you stalked me, you’re trespassing… Y-You’re—this is theft!”
Finley pretends a surprised face. “Theft is it, sir?”
“This is my savings! How dare you!”
“We’ll find out once I have the transactions cross checked with the archive, sir.”
“You’re a guild hire… I’ll let you know I’ll have you fired! Do you know what I can—”
“Sir, I’ve already been suspended indefinitely.” Her head tilts slightly downwards, remaining stoic. “They’ve basically been using me for unpaid work, so I don’t really have much to lose at this point. You, on the other hand, sir…”
Finley looks up and stares back. Ballas’ expression is mixed with a violent rage and fear.
“I suggest you not drag your reputation down any further.”
The sun picks up.
“I told you! I never touched that cabinet!”
Axe, the guild receptionist Haxorus screams at a Dodrio from the lobby, who has just emerged from the backroom. Their heads look at each other in confusion, but none seem willing to dispute.
“I only went back to find old letters.” Axe leans back with claws folded. “Check everything. I’m sure it’s buried in there somewhere.”
Just busy doesn’t cut it—the guild’s never not been busy. It only takes Finley’s morning package of a few hundred silver-minted Poké to summon all archivers to duty, and Ballas’ signed confession letter to send the guild down a deeper frenzy.
This same morning, the guildmaster talked to the Kirlia secretary, the Kirlia secretary talked to the Noctowl supervisor Khamul, and Khamul has now scheduled a direct conversation between him and Finley this afternoon. Finley enters through the front door attracting a few glances, some of which immediately averted. At this point, there surely can’t be anyone left in the guild who has yet heard of her solo investigation. To anyone else that wasn’t Gengar, it might just seem like the case was busted by complete happenstance, and involved at least a major degree of trespassing and theft. The nervous Machop walks up to the counter, wondering whether she’ll be torn apart in the office.
“… Forget about it. You just recovered eighty flippin’ thousand.” Axe leans down, placing both of his claws on the table. “He’ll yell but he won’t lay a claw on you. Those archivers upstairs, on the other hand, are going to be sent to the Void if they don’t manage to uncover everything by tonight.”
Muffled yelling and stomping can be constantly heard from upstairs.
“You think I might get back to work soon?” Finley asks.
Axe displays an uncertain look. “Giratina knows… That’s something you can ask Khamul—no, the guildmaster yourself.”
She figured from the start, but every step of the way counts.
“Either way, you might get on his good side. Next time you venture out far, he might cover any crimes you intend to commit.”
A smile grows on her face. The gambit worked out well after all. Even if Axe’s being sarcastic, his words hold a degree of truth. Now she knows the administration is unlikely to prove troublesome if she’s only being let go with scolding.
Finley nods goodbye, and intends to head upstairs in valiance. But before she leaves, she bumps into something. The hard fluff of feathers suggest it was not something but someone she bumped into.
“Ah,” she looks down, immediately apologizing, “sorry—”
“How did you find out about it?”
That is Spade, the guild courier Murkrow speaking. Finley finds it odd, but she reasons that it shouldn’t be surprising that the courier would be a little curious.
“Haha, well… I had a few clues. I gathered a lot of information from Anchor residents,” she replies.
“Who did you gather from in particular?”
“I…” Finley laughs nervously. “Why do you want that answer?”
“I just wanted to know.” He answers bluntly.
“… Well, I don’t remember specifically… It was like, gossip after gossip creating a trail. There were a lot of people involved, so I can’t really—”
Spade keeps pushing. “So you don’t know?”
“I—” Finley places her right hand on her other shoulder— “I don’t really remember.”
“So how did you eventually find out?”
“Observation… It was just putting two and two together. Y’know, it’s not hard to notice the patterns when it’s so blatant.”
Spade stays silent.
“Um… That’s all, or…?”
He then turns around and leaves down the right wing. Finley thinks he’s quite the character with all the nosing in which, luckily, has not touched on any… particularly sensitive details.
Speaking of which… Gengar wanted to see Opto tonight because he was “sleeping” or something. With such a damning hit to the Workshop’s reputation, she expected the owner to come out and make the second dream walk unnecessary.
So far, however, it’s been completely silent.
Even the aftermath of the situation is unclear. She ought to ask Axe.
“Axe?” She leans over the railing, shouting down to the counter.
“What?” He replies with nearly twice the shouting volume, turning around and making eye contact.
“Did Ballas mention… y’know… how Opto was, or…?”
“Right. We asked about old geezer Opto, but nothing came out of it. Ballas was dismissive of the matter entirely.”
“And have you tried getting Opto’s comment on the whole situation?”
“We sent a scout to do just that, but no one answered the door. Spade also came back with a newsdraft only briefly mentioning that Opto doesn’t want anything to do with it.”
That’s…
Finley still doesn’t know what Gengar meant, but somehow all the clues are relevant to his vague hypothesis.
“Alright, thanks.”
At last, she heads upstairs to face Khamul’s inferno. But she knows the case isn’t over yet.
The moon shines again upon the empty streets of Lakkee.
This time, after meeting up, both Finley and Gengar travel deep into the sprawling alleys of Anchor Lake. The further they go east, the more sparse and spaced apart buildings are, and, from there, the Workshop is in clear view, distant and nearly even with the height of the guild’s bell, watching over the tranquil horizon.
On the other side of town, where the forest encroaches on steep coastal cliffs of the southeasternmost edge of the island, Opto’s house lay in between, nearly indistinguishable from the others. It is humble with its exterior, and resembles more of a hut with how limited its space is. Similar to Ballas’ residence, there are letters practically overflowing out of the mailbox. In addition, there is a small note stuck on the door clarifying Opto’s absence.
“When was it posted?” Gengar asks from behind Finley as she inspected the front. Under the faint glow of the moon, the tiny characters become frustratingly illegible.
“There’s no date…” She squints. “But the note itself is almost torn apart.” Her fingers run across the surface of the paper. “It’s not very rigid. Must have been up for a few days, at the least.”
“No time, then.”
Gengar swerves around the corner as soon as those words leave his mouth. It takes a moment before Finley recognizes his absence.
“You…” Her words trail off as she locates where Gengar has gone. She pops her head around the corner, reaching out, “You don’t need to check?”
“His house is small enough that I can locate his Sapling without issue,” he says while hidden from view.
“You sure?” Finley asks again.
“… Yeah. I’m sure.”
With the affirmation, she is essentially free of duty. All that’s left now is to join Gengar and accompany him in whatever business he may have inside Opto’s Dreamscape. While this is no longer an obligation of hers, there is no reason not to pass up another wacky adventure inside someone’s head. Besides, she’s still useful. She can probably assist Gengar in locating husks and using Doors to travel between memories and whatnot.
It’s the least she can do after relying on him for so long. Though, in immediate retrospect, the more she thinks of his character, the less she feels confident about her ability to help…
“Hi Finley.”
“Ah!”
She frantically looks around for the source of the voice and sees…
Meze?
The Espeon approaches from a distance. Her bright pink fur stands out against the dark.
“H-Hi…” Finley meekly waves, to which Meze waves back with her ears.
“What are you doing out so late at night?”
She can ask the same question. “Ah, well I… I’m not sure either. I guess I just couldn’t sleep.”
“I see.” Meze looks past her. “Might I ask why you’d be out in front of Opto’s residence?”
Finley spins back around. Her eyes fixate on the corner.
Shoot.
Meze looks at her with curiosity. “Looking for something?”
“I…” Finley hastily turns around. “I thought I was… Um…”
“Hm?”
“It’s about…” She continues mumbling without a word being said. At this point, the Espeon must have grown wary.
“I came alone.” Meze giggles. “If that’s what bothered you.”
“Ah. Yeah. I just…” Now that is a lot of pressure off her back. Finley decides to push the assumption further, just to be safe. “Sorry. I’m just a really paranoid ‘mon. Heh…”
Meze nods, and stares past her again. Afterwards, she turns the other direction.
“Guess I’ll be taking my leave.” She smiles subtly.
“What?”
“The case is over, Finley. I don’t think you’re getting much from investigating Opto further.”
“Oh.” She exhales, secretly out of relief. “Well… I don’t know… What if he skirts his way out of responsibilities somehow? I have to—”
“The guild will take appropriate measures.”
“Yes, sorry.”
The Espeon stops momentarily on her leave and turns back.
“Don’t be so casual with trespassing, Finley.” Meze smirks. “Talk about skirting the rules… You’re lucky the guild’s bank is concerned.”
She walks away, down the slope and back towards Lakkee. Finley waits, confirming herself alone for a good second or two before turning back.
“She’s persistent.” Gengar whispers out from the back of the house.
“I don’t think I’ve seen her walk around this late…?” She adds.
“Given how big of a ruckus you’ve caused at the guild, she, out of anyone, would be the most curious.”
“… Fair enough.” But for now Meze is no longer nearby.
The dream walk can now begin in earnest. Finley prepares herself and sits down beside Gengar. She will wait for his signal.
A few seconds pass, then a minute, then two, but still nothing at all. That’s weird. She glances towards Gengar, and his eyes are still open…?
“Actually, Finley.” He mutters. “I should go alone.”
“Wait, why?”
“It’s… a risk. Bigger than what you and I have encountered so far. I don’t think I feel comfortable guiding you in.”
Finley feels like reassuring him and pleading, but… fair. She doesn’t gain anything from delving into Opto’s mind anyway. This is Gengar’s stuff.
And so Gengar goes through the process again. This time, only he falls asleep while Finley just… kind of sits there, during which time her mind starts to wander, asking questions—the sort she only finds herself asking now that she’s an outsider looking in. Does time dilate while you’re inside a Dreamscape? Can Gengar still move or talk during this special state of sleep, or perhaps even sleepwalk? How long will it take before Gengar wakes up?
Where she sits, the view is nice. The back of the house directly faces the open sea on a high cliff, and stars glisten above the distant horizon line. The wind hums in gentle breezes, a synchronized movement with the slow lapping of the sea. And yet, presented with the idyllic beauty of the Anchor, Finley can’t help but wonder just what is going on inside Opto’s head. A part of her urges to take a peek—to leave behind the tranquility and join Gengar in the chaos—but she quickly reminds herself that is not the greatest idea. She has pushed the line enough. He’s just too tolerating. None of this would’ve been possible without Gengar, so if he means it, she should probably heed his words—
Finley flinches. A shadow claw grazes her head, pulverizing the grass and carving deep, visible lines in the dirt.
She leaps out and turns towards the direction of the sudden attack. Gengar’s hands glow a deep purple.
Her eyes narrow. “What did you…”
“Shoot—” Gengar quickly turns around. “Finley!”
“Ah—Huh?”
Gengar’s shouting… something. She can’t quite make out what he’s saying.
Suddenly, everything disappears.
𓆝𓆜𓆞
Finley lifted her head.
In the distance,
The crackle of firewood
And distant beats of the drum
Resonate through the air
Their unanimous chants—
The tempers of peoples lost—
Reverberate
As they have for centuries
“I offer fruit and great harvest
For you to part from heavens’ grasp
I offer spine and comfort feast
For you to lend us aid in need
Cresselia! Cresselia!
Dusk is nigh, the sky has fallen
Dusk is nigh, their eyes have lulled
Tomorrow the sun may not rise again
So I pray tonight you may be with us
Cresselia! Cresselia!
I offer fruit and great harvest
I offer spine and comfort feast
May you relinquish the Nest comfort
Protect us from dark, and from its ravage”
…
She is not by herself, even while inside her own head.
𓆝𓆜𓆞