who hears us when we wish?

[biomagnet]

WHO biomagnet and swatswithdragons.
WHAT Space and time are relative between dimensions. One minute in one world could be an entire month somewhere else. Sefton's grown up, and Lance is about to learn what happened in the interim.
WHERE Dr. Lowell's lab, then the Sevii Islands near the Kanto region.
WHEN 2054 for Sefton; 1999 for Lance.
NOTES We're silly. More crossover 'verses! Sefton is 26, Lance is 24.
WARNINGS So much fluff, you'll probably explode. Not get cavities. Explode.

The lab should have been silent. It was the dead of night, after all, when most of the sensible people had gone home to sleep. Sefton, too, would usually be among them. Instead, he had the CD player humming at quite the respectable volume while he tapped away at the computer in front of him, intent on the readings. It was fascinating. The lab had finally gotten permission to study one of the most mysterious infused artifacts humankind had ever known. The doorknob itself was nothing spectacular, having been made in the 1800s for a mansion somewhere in London. Its mystery was simple but confounding: marks like chickenscratch etched into the metal, humming every now and then with an indeterminable sort of energy. It sat innocently inside the observation booth, with a lead wrapped around the narrowest point to try and catch a reaction when it activated.

How could anyone leave when there was something like this to be studied? Excitement wasn't quite the word to describe how Sefton felt about the opportunity; interest and curiosity would fit better. His interest in infusion was intensely personal, after all, and his connection with the world's greatest puzzle gave him some sort of purpose. Without it, he would probably still be that terrified, isolated kid wandering the country.

Now, he was a frightened, lonely man with incurable wanderlust and government funding. The more things change, he mulled idly. He dragged himself out of the chair with a large yawn, moving to the other side of the room to retrieve the cup he had left there. His journey was halted when the knob began vibrating, its regular hum gearing up into a whine, and he darted back to the console. The readout was going insane, displaying more than Sefton could keep up with. Before he could make the judgment call on whether to retrieve someone else or observe the phenomenon while it happened, the air shifted, tore open, and swallowed him whole.

The sensation (floatingfalling) was brief. Sefton barely caught a glimpse of blackish creatures swimming through the colorful expanse of space before he was ejected quite rudely on the other side. He crashed into the sand below with a pained grunt, rolling onto his chest. Before he could register that it was suddenly day and outside and on a beach, the world twisted, turned, and faded away.

Comments

[swatswithdragons]

The stall next to him still had running water; Lance had been out in the wilderness for days, and he was taking advantage of the nice, hot water. A wet arm poked out through the door, pointing at his bag on the nearest bench, lying length-ways on top of two sets of clothes. There were a couple of bells affixed to one strap, strategically hidden. If anyone tried to steal either bag or clothes, Lance would know.

[biomagnet]

With a silent nod, Sefton made his way to the bag and lifted it to check at the small pile. He couldn't help but jerk his hand when the bells began sounding, then rolled his eyes. "Clever," he said, loud enough for Lance to hear, before he set the whole thing aside and grabbed the set that he assumed was for him.

Already mostly-dry, it didn't take him long to slip it all on; the weirdest part came when he realized how well it all fit compared to his expectations. They were Lance's clothes, and the fact that Sefton had no trouble wearing them now... It just continued to hammer in the point that everything was just far enough out of whack to leave him in a constant, low-leveled state of unsettled.

[swatswithdragons]

"I thought so." Lance's voice came drifting over the top of the stall, a little hard to hear over the sound of the water on tiles. That point became moot not long after, when he turned it off. "Can't exactly bring it in here with me, can I?"

He dried himself off, and when he emerged his hair was a still-damp mass of untidiness, even while he was running his hand through it (the other holding together the towel at his waist). He threw an automatic glance toward the door to the hall to make sure it was still closed and then reached for his own clothes, asking with a nod toward Sefton's outfit, "They fit okay, then?"

[biomagnet]

Sefton fiddled with the sleeve for a moment, then rolled his eyes. "They're—fine. Are you?" he asked quickly, having turned to face Lance midway through his answer. Whatever he could have possibly been expecting to see was not the sight he was greeted with; the amount of scars littering Lance's body nearly caused him to double-take.

[swatswithdragons]

"Much better now I've had a shower," Lance said with a wry smile, turning away slightly as he pulled on his clothes and thus missing the look on Sefton's face--as well what the blunette was actually asking. "Bathing in the ocean is fine on sunny days, but it's still damned cold."

[biomagnet]

"Meant the scars, stupid," Sefton replied automatically, tone defaulting to some sort of petulant irritation to hide his disturbance. It wasn't one he felt the need to use very often in recent years (and chances presented themselves even less), but in Lance's presence it was almost natural. Probably something to do with his head still sorting through all of the tenleven year old memories suddenly knocking about in his head.

[swatswithdragons]

Lance automatically looked down at himself, inhaling and then exhaling with an 'ah'. "I'm fine," he said simply, even as he pulled on a shirt and buttoned it up, covering the last of the scars. Think back, Sefton--how often did you remember seeing him in short-sleeves? "They're all pretty old by now."

[biomagnet]

"I can see that," murmured Sefton. He only had one (two) to go by in previous experience, but even he could tell the scars were aged. "There's still of a lot of them."

[swatswithdragons]

"I had a dangerous job," was Lance's answer as he squeezed out his hair again with his towel and then, dropping it on the seat, reached down to pull on his boots. "It's not so surprising, really."

Just the number and his youth, but he didn't mention that. He'd stopped thinking about it.

[biomagnet]

Sefton took a deep breath, then nodded. "Maybe not. Pretty startling, though." He began to fiddle with the unfamiliar sleeve and sighed. "Fine, whatever. Fine. What next?"

[swatswithdragons]

"I've gotten used to it," was Lance's vague response as he straightened, stretching a bit and then reaching out to pick up the towel. "Now we go see if the dyer's done with our laundry, hang our washing up and go find lunch. Anything you feel like eating in particular?"

[biomagnet]

"I have no idea what my options are," Sefton said, honest and exasperated. He picked at his sleeve before convincing himself that he would get used to the unfamiliar clothes in a few minutes and crossed his arms instead. He was in a completely foreign world and culture, how was he to know what sort of dishes they would consider lunch? "So I guess not."

[swatswithdragons]

"You could say your inclinations and let me tell you if they're an option," Lance answered, mildly exasperated himself as he pulled on his cap and beckoned Sefton to follow. "But if you're not particular then we can see if the Centre is still serving lunch."

They wouldn't get as many looks in there, looking like trainers as they did, and he wouldn't be forced to take off his hat.

He made his way to the laundry; someone else was in there, now, but they ignored each other through mutual agreement and Lance just went to the washing machine/dryer which had finished its last cycle and was now waiting to be unloaded.

[biomagnet]

"I'll give it a try, anyway," Sefton said. He followed Lance at a small distance, willing to let the man lead them around. Helping with the laundry would just mean getting in the way and getting too close, so he waited in an empty spot near the wall until everything was collected.

While Lance worked, Sefton glanced about the room, eventually tilting his head to peer into the hall. "What's after this?" The pit stop had been part of the plan, but he began to realize that the next step was something he was more than a little fuzzy on.

[swatswithdragons]

The trainer still in the laundry--a young woman, of that age where it was unclear if she still was a teen or had just left them--looked over at Sefton curiously. Spoken English wasn't usual around here, and even more so because Sefton's accent made it obvious English was his native language. (Judging by the tiny smile and blush and the way she quickly went back to her own laundry, shovelling an indeterminable scrap of clothing under her pile, she thought he was cute too.)

"Now we hang out the laundry outside and go find something for lunch," Lance said mildly, still in keeping with his Johton accent and nodding at the door which led to the small yard outside. And then he shot an amused look over at the other man. "Or did you mean after that as well?"

[biomagnet]

Her body language wasn't completely missed. Sefton quirked a brow at her, then turned away to regard Lance almost reluctantly. He would have set her straight (best to not even think about it, even if she didn't know him from Adam), but again, the pesky language barrier was in his way.

"What, no driers?" Sefton asked. They were certainly more efficient than hanging things up outside and took precious little energy. Or... they did back home. It was still difficult to reconcile the differences in his knowledge, of his own technology and the existence of so many other types in different worlds. "I meant after that, though."

[swatswithdragons]

Lance quirked an eyebrow at Sefton. "D'you know how many trainers come through the Center in a day?" Almost a rhetorical question; no, Sefton wouldn't know specifically, but it shouldn't be difficult to guess just from what Lance had said. It didn't matter. Lance answered it anyway.

"A Center uses a lot of power to begin with," he said simply. "The washing machines are, on average, used almost constantly. Dryers as well? It's not worth the price to pay for them when they'll dry just as well in the sun. Better if the Centers are kept cheap enough to be free."

[biomagnet]

"Must suck if it rains around here," Sefton commented idly. It wasn't exactly pessimism so much as thinking from multiple angles and coming up with the scenario where such a set-up wouldn't work. He made no movement to indicate that he wouldn't help. It was all just foreign to him, as was everything since yesterday.

[swatswithdragons]

"The occasional storm passes over, but there are ways around it. We're on the ocean, so the rain is always cold. Most people need to put on a heater when there's a storm, so they just use that to dry their things. The Centre, of course, has pokemon."

There was a certain sense of camaraderie, in the Centres; even if one trainer didn't have a fire pokemon, chances were another would. Centres often used fireplaces more than space heaters as well, which actually took less energy than you'd think. Generated electricity had to be bought from the power plants; fires could be burned on the wood and coal shed by pokemon. True, electricity could be had the same way, but that still used up the pokemon's energy.

Lance finished piling the laundry in one of the baskets and then turned toward the door, tilting his head at it in silent question. Get that for him, Sefton?

[biomagnet]

Wordless, Sefton grabbed the door and, purely out of habit, used it to shield himself from anyone who would pass through. "So?" he asked, eyebrow quirked from around the door. He was trying to figure out how pokémon fit into drying clothes, or storms, or... whatever they were talking about now.

[swatswithdragons]

"So they can put them in front of a fire-type pokemon with open flames, or have a flying-type pokemon use a brisk wind to help try them, or use a woodfire made with the shed wood from a grass-type ..."

This litany continued as he strode out into the small courtyard behind the Centre, beside a short cliff. It was at such an angle that the sun either fell directly in the yard or fell straight onto the rock, heating it and thus generating a nice furnace in the area in the heat of the day as long as the sun was out. He knew Sefton would be behind him, and he knew how to make his voice carry besides.

Setting the basket down, he reached for the hefty bag of pegs hanging on one end, glancing over his shoulder at Sefton. "Or even just wring them out thoroughly. Clothes dry surprisingly well if you wring them out well enough. As long as they're well made, at least. Otherwise they just tear."

[biomagnet]

"Shed wood?" Sefton replied, brow furrowed in surprised, interest and confusion. Along with all the other things pokémon were capable of, apparently they were also able to generate natural resources? Strange, but more than intriguing.

He followed, coming somewhere closer to Lance's side than behind him. He gave a pointed, questioning glance to the laundry basket. Did he want Sefton's help in getting everything set out? "They'd still be damp."

[swatswithdragons]

"Well, most grass-types are more like small plants, vines or flowers, or are fauna-flora hybrids," Lance admitted, lifting an eyebrow and making a pointed gesture to the basket. Damn yes, lad. "But there are some--utsoboto, nassy, jukain, daatingu, tropius--who shed various sorts of wood. Sometimes it's only good enough for tinder. Sometimes it's solid enough for a good fire."

He shrugged. "And if not the wood, then coal. Magukargo, donmel, bakuuda, kotasu--they all produce coal naturally. And damp or not, wrung clothes will still dry."

[biomagnet]

Sefton rolled his eyes at the gesture, moving to grab a few pegs for himself before standing on the other end of the basket. He began pulling out pieces of clothing and following Lance's lead for how to put them up on the line.

"So they're more like... venus fly traps than actual plants?" he asked, trying to figure out how else plants could count as pokémon. He didn't know much about botany to be asking the question, yet couldn't help the curiosity besides. He tilted his head in consideration. "Are they made of it, like that... isitsubute?"

[swatswithdragons]

"No, they're plants," Lance said without looking over, "but they're sentient. They eat nutrients from the soil, they give out pollen, some of them grow fruit, many of them have flowers. So yes, in that way they're like the isitsubute, though only a handful are actually tree-like and not comparable to smaller plants, bushes, flowers or fungi. There's also a large group of them which are as much fauna as they are flora, and no one's quite sure how to classify them; scientifically they're considered to occupy a third, separate order of being in comparison."