[r] rise

[mikuri]

He kept his eyes on the fallen petal on Steven's hand.

"It was a long time ago. People had changed. Perhaps they've learned to appreciate a different spectrum."

He went silent. Briefly, he watched the man sitting opposite of him from his peripheral vision, hiding the solemn gaze that studied the ghostly smile.

"What's truly amazing," he began, leaning his back on the chair, "is how the zinnia remains to be the same flower hundred of years ago. No matter what name it was born as -" (the child's smile answered to one name) " - what label people have given it - " (the child's smile answered to one name) " - the mockery and distaste it went through, the zinnia - " (it isn't stev-) " - remains to be the same flower, the one and only of its kind."

(It's the only name he called him)

"Do you know what zinnia means in the language of flowers?"

[daigo]

"so its name hadn't changed, nor its appearance? that's pretty interesting, but i wouldn't put it past you to know all these," a quiet chuckle, "alright, enlighten me, wallace the botanist."

[/font]

[mikuri]

He didn't smile.

The wind blew. Another petal slipped off from the rest and flew past Steven's head. For a moment, Wallace thought he heard a voice come with the wind. He followed the stray petal where it landed on the palm of an absent child, an absent friend, and they - the petal and the ghost - were gone with the wind.

"Now you flatter me. I wouldn't know."

He smiled mournfully.

"That's why I was asking."

[daigo]

"well, you could always look it up. pokénav's handy."

he dipped his hand into his pocket, then pulled out a phone-like device and pushed it across the table.

[/font]

[mikuri]

"Couldn't do it yourself, could you?" he said, shaking his head and taking the device.

When Wallace held on the Pokenav, the item's weight doubled on his hand. A blank text area stared back at him, his reflection on the screen, younger, fiercer, scared.

Then he buttoned in the keys. He wasn't anywhere near the search engine.

He looked up, still onto the device, still unable to let go.

His voice almost sounded small.

"Steven?"

[daigo]

"yes?"

[/font]

[mikuri]

The words had been written but they could also be said.

The part of him that was still alive could bring him back.

If it were him, if it were Mikuri.

Maybe, just maybe...

He stopped.

"Good morning and welcome to Shore Stones! What would you like for breakfast?"

"Oh." Wallace unfolded the menu, almost surprised to see it there. He set the Pokenav aside, the unsaid words disappearing as he closed the application. "Ah, yes." A small grin returned as he turned his head to the waitress. "Could we have our meat cooked at a specific temperature?"

[daigo]

"wallace, i am not having raw meat."

he caught the eye of a woman sitting alone at a table, and nodded at her in acknowledgement while wallace presumably ordered their meal. he turned back to the waitress, smiling as he enquired, "now, what did he order for me?"

[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[lurker2]

Remember when you left? Before all this? You were gone seven years.
Seven years I waited, hoping that you wouldn't come back.

Taking a break from the Undella Ruins, a small group of researchers walked through the streets of Undella town. Juniper excused herself from them, promising that she'd make up for missing whatever event they scheduled.

Every year, I took a holiday. Every year, I went to Undella.
There's this small cafe out there, by the water.

She found the familiar hut and followed the path up. There were several others who arrived before her, leaving only a table or two empty.

Every evening, I'd sit there and order a Furret Bianca. I had this fantasy,

The professor thanked the waiter and took a seat at one of the lonely tables. Her paper "thwaped" open quietly.

that I would look across the tables and I'd see you there.

Hearing a familiar voice, she stopped reading. Her paper lowered just slightly. She recognized that silver hair at an instant.

You wouldn't say anything to me, nor me to you.

The professor subtly concentrated not on the paper but on the man and his friend.

But we'd both know that you'd made it, that you were happy.

They were laughing, grinning. Then he spotted her. She'd seen enough. Finishing the rest of her drink, she placed several pokedollars on the plate and stood.

I never wanted you to come back. I always knew there was nothing here for you,
except pain and tragedy. And I wanted something more for you than that.

A waiter came by, asking if she wanted another. She shook her head and walked out of the hut, all the while a small smile appeared on the professor's lips.

I still do.