Interlude III: Nameless

*click, click, click*

There we go.

The old man took a deep breath through his freshly lit cigarette, the choking, reeking smoke calming. Moments later, a drawn out exhale; the light gray plume immediately destroyed by the constant downpour.

He shouldn't be doing this, not anymore, at least.

He knew that well, but the habit always got the better of him when he had to visit the city. The people, the smells, the noises, the fucking noises. He was supposed to take some pills to keep him from going bonkers in here. They kept making him lethargic, unable to function.

After nearly pancaking a pedestrian and ending up only totaling his car, he chose the easier option of moving out of Mistralton.

Wasn't a problem all those years ago when he left the army, was even less so nowadays. Guess that whole 'internet' thing that cost him an arm and a leg to get installed was good for something, after all. Dealing with paperwork nonsense remotely was just his favorite kind of efficiency. Can't handle everything like that, though.

Especially not what he was in there for right now.

It was more than worth it. He knew that well, too.

But fucking hell if it wasn't nerve-wracking.

Even more than the city, the man was deeply unused to having to stress about anything. Stress was something reserved for people who didn't plan enough. Something to be dealt with through drills, practice, lists, charts.

Criticality incident, do this. Feral mon attack, do that. Hell, they even had a step-by-step plan in the event of a terrorist operation. None of these possibilities phased him in the slightest, but what he was here for today did.

Because of just how badly he could hurt someone if he messed it up.

Because there weren't drills for this.

Because there couldn't have been drills for this.

The last of the cig was gone with a shaky inhale; the butt joined the six others before it and swiftly crushed under his work boot. He'd stalled enough; he'd have to get moving soon. And yet, he wavered, arms and breaths alike shaking like twigs. Maybe one more?

...

Fuck's sake, that was the last one.

The bus ride back home was going to be hellish, but that was then.

And now, it was time to repay for all the hurt he'd caused. To pass the little good he could forward.

With the shakiest breath of his life, the man corrected the cap on his bald head and stepped out from underneath the grocery store's awning. The frigid rain immediately hit him with all its intensity, almost making him buckle there and then. But he had to keep going.

One glance to the side, another, the steady beat of thick boots splashing in the water as they crossed the street. Straight to his destination, in all its colorful, friendly intimidation.

HEART STAMP POKÉMON SHELTER

The melodic chime took him off guard as he walked in, almost as much as the rain did. A couple moments later, the din of rain finally faded with a click of a door. At least, a moment to soothe his nerves and prepare for what was about to happen next.

...or just stand there like a dummy.

All the pastels on the walls and floors contrasted greatly with the mon in the corner. Their mostly black body stood out like a sore thumb, and the white, bow-like... growths on their front didn't help with that impression either. Name was 'Goth-something, something', he didn't remember how it ended.

Plans might've been his thing, but he was never good with names.

Including his own.

As spooked as most passersby would've been by the psychic, the old man's attention was squarely on the young woman behind a nearby desk. Her expression wasn't any less confused by his sudden entrance than that of the Gothitelle beside her, but it was easier to recognize as such.

Especially when accompanied by words.

"...can I help you, mister?"

The words were enough to snap him back to a semblance of composure. A part of him wanted to chuckle at the question, absurd and justified at the same time. He sure as hell didn't look like someone who'd decided to just visit a shelter focusing on psychics; he knew that well. More like a person who'd be protesting the construction of a facility on the news, shouting slurs every other word.

And yet, here he was.

"Good- cough- good afternoon. I'm... I'm looking to adopt."

The clerk and the psychic beside her looked at each other for a brief, confused moment before the latter nodded first. It was all the reassurance the human needed, immediately getting to clacking away at the keyboard as she replied.

"Sure! Your name, mister?"

A faint noise was her only answer. She glanced away from the bulky monitor to see his ID on the countertop, nodding wordlessly as she typed the name in.

He didn't care about names, especially not his government one. If anything, he cared about it the least out of all the other ones he's had. 'Hyde' in grade school after a character from a book they had to read. 'Razor' in his platoon after a particularly traumatizing incident.

Then, for the past thirty-odd years, just 'boss'.

And now... nothing. There wasn't anyone left to grace him with a name that would be truly his own.

"Alright, that's all done. Would you want me to give you a tour around the place, mister?"

The man nodded thoughtlessly as he swiped the plastic card back into his pocket, eyes continuing to glance around the shelter's lobby. He only paid enough attention to not make even more of a fool out of himself than he already was.

Brief rundown of psychics in general, and of species they were housing here in specific. He knew all that already. Those were the parts that he could prepare for, make mental plans, and research further. So many things that sounded outright absurd when stated outright, but which he jotted down as true all the same.

He'd dealt with enough absurd yet true things in his life to know better. Freaky military tech, the stupid complexity of a nuclear power plant.

Growing to think of what initially was a tool to use in case of emergency as a son.

Realizing that Geiger's presence finally made his own life worth living.

"If it's alright for me to ask, mister- why psychics in particular?"

The question was less disbelief than it was suspicion, and not an unearned one either. Those with ulterior motives gravitated to psychics for many reasons, but one stood tall above the rest. One that the old man coincidentally shared, too.

"I heard something about them having the hardest time getting adopted."

Very easy to wrap a vulnerable being around one's finger simply by being their only source of affirmation.

The piece of trivia stung the woman in its truth; a weak nod was her only response. A couple more obvious instructions later, they finally took off into the nearby corridor. Clerk ahead of him, the Gothitelle behind.

Flanked as if seeing prisoners.

The truth was more gilded than that, but only just.

His eyes examined every room they walked past as his attention remained withdrawn, the anxiety of making a choice getting to him again. He remembered checking the news a few times a day just to see a report of a wild Electivire getting caught by the League for weeks afterwards, but not even the worry of that came close to this.

It was much easier to be confident in Geiger than in himself.

The hubbub of the higher-ups' response to him reporting the Electivire as missing was little more than a murky memory by now. Pointed letters, shouts, threats. He didn't care, never could, not this close to retirement. Couldn't nail him with anything in particular. Eventually, the League got involved, sent a snotty kid, and found nothing.

Guess a stray, untrained Electivire wasn't worth the effort beyond putting out a wanted letter just in case someone runs into them-

"^That's a pretty beard.^"

The boyish voice finally broke through the surrounding murmurs. Hearing voices on their own didn't phase him; he was already long used to them. Someone being interested in him, even if for the most banal of reasons, was a different matter, though.

He hadn't run into this specific species in his research, but it didn't matter. They were a person first and foremost, and as far as the old man was concerned, anything beyond that was trivia.

Though their top half being almost an exact match for Geiger's shade of yellow was appreciated.

"Thanks."

"^What's that hat?^"

The man's damp, bald head shone faintly as he took the white cap off and crouched beside the short fence that blocked his access to the small room. The Drowzee on its other side quickly walked over, sleepy eyes going wide with curiosity as they followed the unremarkable headgear.

"Just a cap from a place I used to work at."

Before he could finish passing it over, the cap was surrounded in a faint, yellow glow and immediately lowered onto the psychic's head. Only for them to let out a sudden, nasal squeak and fling the item away, its wet cold catching them off guard.

The old man had no idea if he should laugh at that, but opted for the safer option, limiting himself to a held-in chuckle. Even if he didn't express it with outward laughter, he still found it funny, and the Drowzee could tell.

And so, the cold, wet hat was lightly flicked over back onto his face, splatting against it.

The startle made him fall backwards onto his rear, old joints not appreciating it one bit. He couldn't care less about his body's complaints, though.

Not when he was laughing this hard.

"Hah, you got spunk, kid!"

Soon enough, both of them were laughing, be it at the absurdity of the exchange or at the old man acting silly.

"What's your name?"

The change in the atmosphere was almost palpable. It even took the man aback, his brain trying to figure out what had just happened. He could tell the psychic in front of him was left uncomfortable by the question, their body language shrinking and eyes shifting to look down at the floor.

Right as he was about to ask what was wrong, he felt a sensation as if someone was pushing his attention towards one specific spot, at the small plaque beside the door frame. The one that would've normally had the names of all the occupants written on it.

Blank.

"No name, eh? I don't have one, either."

The admission snapped the Drowzee out of their encroaching funk; sadness suddenly replaced with confusion.

"^Really?^"

"Yep."

"^But I thought humans had names.^"

"I don't, haven't had one for a while."

He watched the revelation unfold in the lil' psychic's mind, his own following shortly after. A terrifying one that almost sank his heart, the earlier anxieties creeping back in force. The way forward lacked the certainty he was so used to, the certainty he thought he required for the longest time.

But, as he discovered with every passing day, life only really began with that certainty gone.

"We could come up with names for each other if you'd like."

So he best got used to dealing with its absence.

"^Y-yeah!^"

He had a life to make worth living, after all.