(part 3/4/2)
Haru's adjusted, being around the ghost girl, the girl with the eyepatch, the girl who never talks -- except to that rock of hers, now on Chrome's corner of the towel, its runes facing the sea. Haru makes a face unconsciously, a mild grimace, and wonders idly what would happen if she suddenly picked it up and flung it as far towards the surf as she could.
Probably she'd break her toes, unfortunately. She'd got the chance to search up some things when they'd stopped in Mauville, just after the girl had returned with /that houndour/ and /that shuppet/ (the two in question currently a bit down the beach, the hellhound apparently attempting to bite the lapping waves as they recede and race them up the coast when they lap up, the teru-teru bouzu watching disdainfully from the shadowed protection of a nearby beach umbrella) and everything she'd found had confirmed that spiritomb were not good choices for playmates. It was a wonder the whispers of over a hundred trapped souls didn't drive the poor girl crazy, if she really was able to hear them. Unfortunately, one of the details of its pokédex entry confirmed that the rock that served as their talisman was usually about the mass of the two girls put together, so wasn't it interesting that the scrawny girl could carry it freely. It was more than likely the will of the pokémon that managed it, and she highly doubts the same courtesy would be extended to her.
Haru reflects for a moment on alternate histories, paths less traveled, what-ifs -- what if Chrome-chan hadn't become a ghost trainer, but was something more ... sane, more ordinary, like a bird tamer, or bug catcher, or teeter dancer. Would they be better friends? Would they be friends at all? Would Chrome still... be Chrome?
Probably not, she answers sadly to all three. Haru spoke to her because she seemed lonely, followed after her to be her friend, and the encounter wouldn't have happened if Chrome-chan was more like Haru. The girl is who she is, and her steadfast ways could even be rooted in her affinities towards the spirits, who were not exactly known for an easy-going malleability themselves. Perhaps it is for the best, she considers ... and her eyes once more run over the girl's demon dog, and malicious puppet, and soul-stealing balloon, and devious lying rock, and she revises her conclusion to declare that this could certainly not be the /best/ in any possible world, but...
But it was enough.
/('What Type Are You?', the sign read brightly on top of the curtained kiosk, and Haru paused in front, sucking on her dratini-shaped popsicle she'd bought from another nearby booth at the school festival. The question presented intrigued her, so she pushed aside the opening and stuck her head in to check it out.
"Yes, yes, come in!" the man said brightly from his spot behind a table covered in purple cloth. She stepped inside, looking around the tiny tent with interest -- the smell of incense filled the air, amethyst-colored beads hung in a curtain at the back, a maneki-nyaasu posed off to the side. She sat down on the stubby stool in front of the table, eyes wide with interest, and licked around the stick of the ice cream to catch the drips running down her thumb.
The old man wore a funny-looking outfit involving chiffon and a gold-tasselled hat. "So, you'd like me to divine your element for you? Knowing your affinities can aid you in matters of luck, health, pokémon training... even /love/." He gave the girl a sideways wink, which she accepted with a blank stare.
She bit the head off the dratini. "'Kay," she said, a little shy towards strangers at her age.
The man asked for a hundred fifty yen, and she paid him out of her quickly disappearing pocket money. He released an abra from a pokéball hidden up a poofy sleeve. The psy pokémon looked on all accounts to be sleeping soundly, but Haru had already learned that appearances were often more than they seemed.
Haru's adjusted, being around the ghost girl, the girl with the eyepatch, the girl who never talks -- except to that rock of hers, now on Chrome's corner of the towel, its runes facing the sea. Haru makes a face unconsciously, a mild grimace, and wonders idly what would happen if she suddenly picked it up and flung it as far towards the surf as she could.
Probably she'd break her toes, unfortunately. She'd got the chance to search up some things when they'd stopped in Mauville, just after the girl had returned with /that houndour/ and /that shuppet/ (the two in question currently a bit down the beach, the hellhound apparently attempting to bite the lapping waves as they recede and race them up the coast when they lap up, the teru-teru bouzu watching disdainfully from the shadowed protection of a nearby beach umbrella) and everything she'd found had confirmed that spiritomb were not good choices for playmates. It was a wonder the whispers of over a hundred trapped souls didn't drive the poor girl crazy, if she really was able to hear them. Unfortunately, one of the details of its pokédex entry confirmed that the rock that served as their talisman was usually about the mass of the two girls put together, so wasn't it interesting that the scrawny girl could carry it freely. It was more than likely the will of the pokémon that managed it, and she highly doubts the same courtesy would be extended to her.
Haru reflects for a moment on alternate histories, paths less traveled, what-ifs -- what if Chrome-chan hadn't become a ghost trainer, but was something more ... sane, more ordinary, like a bird tamer, or bug catcher, or teeter dancer. Would they be better friends? Would they be friends at all? Would Chrome still... be Chrome?
Probably not, she answers sadly to all three. Haru spoke to her because she seemed lonely, followed after her to be her friend, and the encounter wouldn't have happened if Chrome-chan was more like Haru. The girl is who she is, and her steadfast ways could even be rooted in her affinities towards the spirits, who were not exactly known for an easy-going malleability themselves. Perhaps it is for the best, she considers ... and her eyes once more run over the girl's demon dog, and malicious puppet, and soul-stealing balloon, and devious lying rock, and she revises her conclusion to declare that this could certainly not be the /best/ in any possible world, but...
But it was enough.
/('What Type Are You?', the sign read brightly on top of the curtained kiosk, and Haru paused in front, sucking on her dratini-shaped popsicle she'd bought from another nearby booth at the school festival. The question presented intrigued her, so she pushed aside the opening and stuck her head in to check it out.
"Yes, yes, come in!" the man said brightly from his spot behind a table covered in purple cloth. She stepped inside, looking around the tiny tent with interest -- the smell of incense filled the air, amethyst-colored beads hung in a curtain at the back, a maneki-nyaasu posed off to the side. She sat down on the stubby stool in front of the table, eyes wide with interest, and licked around the stick of the ice cream to catch the drips running down her thumb.
The old man wore a funny-looking outfit involving chiffon and a gold-tasselled hat. "So, you'd like me to divine your element for you? Knowing your affinities can aid you in matters of luck, health, pokémon training... even /love/." He gave the girl a sideways wink, which she accepted with a blank stare.
She bit the head off the dratini. "'Kay," she said, a little shy towards strangers at her age.
The man asked for a hundred fifty yen, and she paid him out of her quickly disappearing pocket money. He released an abra from a pokéball hidden up a poofy sleeve. The psy pokémon looked on all accounts to be sleeping soundly, but Haru had already learned that appearances were often more than they seemed.