Work Text:
The bell had rung a few hours ago. Most of the students at the academy were either hanging out in Mesagoza's many shops and cafés, doing homework at the school library, or training their Pokémon in the schoolyard. It was late enough that even teachers were not in the classrooms anymore. Still, in one of them, a student remained.
Atticus diligently scrubbed the paint and permanent marker off his desk. He had been at it for some time, but it was on his desk, chair, and even the floor. Soap from the bathroom and water, wet wipes, sanitizing gel... he was nowhere near done. Lady Mareanie could pressure-wash it off, but it might be even more of a bother to clean up. He was already dripping wet, after all.
He remembered something suddenly and fished his design sketchbook from his bag. All the concepts for his projects now soaking wet, he stared at them dejectedly. He would not care if they humiliated him to their desires, but destroying his work was way too far. Opening it up, he gently shook it to loosen up the pages and set it aside to dry.
Normally, he would talk to himself as he was doing a task, but after today... his soul was far too crestfallen to even know what to muse about.
Before he finished his train of thought, however, his Rotom Phone started buzzing. The cheery little phone with a poison-themed case flew directly into his line of sight, eager to answer a caller.
Atticus did not remember giving his number to anyone at school. It did not look like anyone from home either, as nary a contact name nor a number could be found. He pulled his hood up, just in case it was a video call, as he did not want anyone he knew to see him in this state.
The call did not even give him the option to hang up or answer, as it connected the line autonomously... as if someone was controlling it.
"Hello? Is this Atticus?"
Instead of the usual Rotom Phone call background, a dark screen with green lines appeared. He was not well versed in phones, but could tell something was off. He did not recognize the voice, nor could he tell if the entity on the other end could see him. It sounded almost deliberately obscured and unnatural, but now he was certain it was not anyone from home. He decided the call was not a priority and reached for the phone to hang up.
"Don't hang up, please. I want to talk to you about something"
Is this another one of those cruel practical jokes, he thought. Cautious, he assumed a defensive stance and performed a hand seal. He then brought one hand to his chin and theatrically outstretched the other, palm up, towards the phone.
"State thy name, mysterious disembodied voice! What obligation dost thou hast towards mineself?"
There was a brief silence on the other end, as if the caller was dumbfounded by what was just said. They mumbled an almost inaudible, "Huh?" as they were thrown completely off guard.
"Uh,” the speaker composed themself, “Okay, uh, hi... My name’s not important but—"
"Then what is thy business?" He queried, as he put his hand down.
"I'll just... get this out of the way first." They cleared their throat as if they had rehearsed saying this, and shifted into a softer tone. "It was just a glimpse, but I saw what they did to you… and I think it's bloody cruel. I'm not here to humiliate you even more... if that's what you were thinking. Far from it."
A short silence.
"Please trust me."
Atticus's tense shoulders finally relaxed. He wondered if he could believe this mystery caller. Trust is a double-edged katana for a ninja, after all.
"I'm sorry for what those delinquents did," they continued. "Um... I want to know what exactly led up to this, if that's okay. Do you want to talk about it for a bit?"
While a hint of skepticism remained, he decided this mysterious caller was not a foe, for now. He sat down on his chair after making sure it had no paint residue left, and recounted the events.
Palafin's Pelagic Adventures #12. Poké Jump. Cetitan the Giant.
It was only an hour after the last bell of the day rang. Dozens of comic book pages littered the floor outside the classrooms. A young boy with black hair and a dark complexion knelt in the corridor, helplessly trying to pick them up. His sad little Shroodle fussed by his side, futilely trying to help.
"Pfft. Yeah, go pick it up! Loser," a bully jeered as she played with her side ponytail. "You seriously read those nerd comics? Why don't you focus on training that Shroodle so you don't get washed in every battle?" She kicked the pile, further scattering them across the corridor.
"I... I spent my allowance on these!" The young boy sniffed. He put his fists up, but it looked obvious he was trying not to cry. "They aren't yours to destroy! You’ll pay for this!"
"’Ya know what you should spend on instead, kid?" another bully piped up. Compared to her, he looked rougher, with his sleeves rolled up to his shoulders and tie untied. "A new jacket. 'Cause yours is mine now!" All of the other bullies around him laugh. "Get up!" He pulled the boy up by his jacket.
"Wh... What? No!" The boy stood up, hands clutching the pile of comic book pages, desperately clinging to them. He shrank in fear as the bullies surrounded him.
"Leave these premises at once, or ye shall be dealt with by mine hand, wretches!" A loud, commanding voice boomed throughout the corridor.
Garbed in a purplish magenta and green cloak, a figure stood opposite the bullies, his hood obscuring most of his face, bar a single eye.
"Ugh, great. The old-timey weirdo’s here," a bully with one pant leg rolled up scoffed. "Hey Attie, nice cloak! Did you make it in the Home Ec room, or did your blind granny make it for you?"
The bullies laughed.
Atticus furrowed his brows and stood his ground, unwavering.
“Do not call me Attie,” he said through gritted teeth. In one hand, he performed a hand seal and placed it by his mouth. On the other, he held a Repeat Ball. "Fiends, dost ye know what I hold?" He asked, holding it up.
"Whaaat? Talk normally, delusional freak," a bully mocked while chewing her gum, imitating his pose.
Atticus moved forward, doing a backflip at the end to meet them. One of the bullies flinched, much to his embarrassment.
"I have spent catching various Pokémon over the past sennight. Multiples of the same kinds," Atticus's free hand motioned to his other five Pokéballs, "All of the Poison variety. In my current person, I have those with the best of qualities. Leave now, lest your presence be considered an invitation to duel with me."
"P-Poison?!" A bully panicked. "Ya got any antidotes on you?" she asked another.
“En garde!” Atticus exclaimed.
"No, stupid!" the other bully replied. "Man, this is embarrassing. I don't even wanna deal with this freak. Let's go!"
He and his posse quickly left, letting the boy fall to the floor.
"I trust you are unharmed?" Atticus reached his hand out to help the little boy up. "You have my deepest apologies for what has happened to these comic books."
"Oh, uh... Thanks. It's fine... I'll just try taping them together. They're all mostly intact anyway, don't worry!" The boy awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.
"I'm Youssef, by the way! Um," the boy stopped for a moment as if he already thought about what he was about to say. "To whom do I owe the pleasure, kind defender?"
"’Tis Atticus," he put his hand by his heart. "No need for any repayments, I merely do what is just."
"Atticus..." Youssef smiled, "Then, can I call you 'Don Atticus' from now on? It's only fair to give a mighty name like yours a title!"
"Don Atticus," he mused, "Of course, how splendid is the sound of that."
Youssef bid Atticus goodbye, and off he went to his dorm room to spend the rest of the day patching up his comic books. Meanwhile, Atticus had to stop by the Home Ec room and his classroom before heading off to the dorms.
From the Home Ec room, he picked up his schoolbag and his fabrics to continue sewing his project, a full ninja-inspired suit with a Poison flair. He had only finished his hood, pairing it with matching fabric as a makeshift cloak for the time being.
He then headed to his classroom, hoping to retrieve the extra spools of thread. Instead, Atticus was greeted by the sight of his desk area, entirely vandalized.
Splotches of paint everywhere. Hurtful words were written on his desk with permanent marker that his brain refused to even register. Even the spools of thread inside his desk were doused with paint. Atticus was devastated.
Could it be the work of those bullies from earlier? He did not even get to battle them, so this was no fair trade at all. His desk had been vandalized before, but it was never this bad.
He headed to the bathroom to get some soap and water to wash it off. He was so greatly upset by the vandalism that he did not even think about putting his things down before leaving. As it turns out, it was a huge mistake.
As Atticus opened the door, a pail of water someone had balanced on it landed directly on him, soaking his clothes and getting his bag wet. It took him a moment to even process what had happened, too much in disbelief that a group of people would do such a thing.
He noticed there was some watercolor paint mixed into it, so he took his hood off to see how much it ruined. Though his cloak was dark enough that the stain it made was not noticeable, it made his white uniform underneath look like a kindergarten mess.
The bullies were not as completely unintelligent as he expected, but one thing was for sure. They were full of pure cowardice, not even having the courage to face Atticus despite outnumbering him.
They did not see him get soaked, but the mere thought of their cruel plan working by noticing the floor from the bathroom to his classroom being wet the next day was enough for them. Humiliating as it was, Atticus decided he would not give them the satisfaction and grabbed a mop.
He inched backward to his classroom, soap and the same pail in one hand, mopping his wet trail like a ninja covering up his footsteps in the snow... Something like that. He looked utterly ridiculous, and for the first time, he was well aware. Fortunately, nobody was around to see him, he thought.
Although it was not his fault, Atticus started cleaning his desk area, as he believed it was futile to tell his teachers about the incident. After all, the teachers never did anything when his sewing supplies kept getting stolen, so why would he expect them to do anything else now? He started scrubbing the paint off, even with other things he had on hand, hoping it would be clean for the next day so it would not catch anyone’s attention. It was only his side that was vandalized, as his seatmate’s table remained untouched, much to his relief.
"My art, poetry, fabrics, desk, even my schoolwork..." Atticus shook his head, "The art of repetition hath prepared me for this, perhaps." He sighed, almost chuckling.
"Oh no... I'm so sorry, Atticus. You didn't deserve any of this." The voice on his Rotom Phone may have sounded stilted and artificial, but something about it expressed so much sadness. "I’m sorry, I’m out of words. I'm just utterly gobsmacked. You didn't even fight them."
"’Tis all right. I am fine, though I thank thee for thy concern." Atticus lowered his head, looking at his sketchbook, still damp but at least dry enough to flow in the wind. "I was outnumbered. This is the preferable outcome to putting the young boy in peril."
They did not reply, as if the person on that end was thinking about what he’d said.
“Now, it is my turn to ask a question. Perhaps I shall use this opportunity to address the Donphan in the room.” Atticus stood up.
“Be honest. How did you get my number?”
For a moment, he dropped his old-timey speech. He was not angry, but there was a hint of command in his voice.
“Perchance I was too caught up in recounting the events that transpired today that it did not even occur to mineself ‘til the end.” He went back to normal.
“Ah.” The caller took an audible deep breath. “I’m sorry, I know I already said this at the start, but please trust me again.”
Atticus furrowed his brows.
“I... hacked into your phone to talk to you.”
Atticus’s mouth fell open in shock, but before he could say anything, the voice on the Rotom Phone quickly added, “B-But! It’s just for that! Promise! I'm not looking into your files or anything! I don’t even know your last name! It's just, um… for reasons, I can't really meet you in person, so I thought—"
"Thou thought invading mine privacy was greatly preferable," he said dryly. They squeaked.
Atticus smiled and shook his head. "I simply jest. Though it is true, I curiously do not take offense as I should have." He looked out the window, the academy now getting much darker outside. “It has already happened, I have already shown thee my vulnerability, so let us see how it plays out in the end.”
Atticus adjusted his desk, "Pray tell, is there a reason thou hast taken an interest in talking to mineself?"
The caller cleared their throat again. "Remember when you said you were alone mopping up the floor in the corridors?"
They hesitated for a bit, then continued.
"Actually... you weren't. Not really. For a moment, I mean. I was there, and I um, watched you mop the place up for a bit. From afar. Your body language looked really dejected… so I wanted to check on you."
They were trying to relay this information gently so as to not embarrass Atticus, but he did not feel embarrassed at all.
"Curious," was his only reply before adding, "Strange, though I am grateful nonetheless. Is there a reason thou hast chosen not to approach me in person?"
"Oh." They thought for a bit, but ultimately changed their mind. "I'm sorry, but I can't really tell you... It's too personal."
The last part was almost too quiet, but Atticus heard and nodded, muttering a small, "Very well," in case the caller could not see him.
"I can tell you, though, that I understand. And I'm truly, deeply, appreciative of your bravery. It's not something I can pull off myself, and... you're a stronger person than me, Atticus. Even before the incident earlier."
Atticus looked at his phone.
"Oh? Elaborate, please."
"Ah, okay, I have to be a little blunt for a moment. Even though I've kept my distance from you in the time you've been here, I couldn't help but notice you being yourself. You were called 'Ninja Geek' by everyone in school. You didn’t wear the vests or jackets, you wore masks and scarves you made. At first, I thought it was some kind of act or something. Like performance art or some sort of social experiment.”
Ninja Geek… Atticus crossed his arms and frowned, as he remembered the mocking tone people used when they called him that.
The voice on his Rotom Phone continued, “All this time I was listening to you, I was waiting for you to get tired of the way you spoke and drop it. I was waiting for you to break character. While you, um, almost did for a moment there, you were otherwise consistent. Even after everyone has mocked you for how you talked. Even after you got called names for your interests. It’s for real and much more, I guess. You’re dedicated to what you love doing, and nothing will force you to change that.”
The skies were turning purple. The classroom was getting darker as the lights weren’t on. The wind blew in from the singular open window at the end of the room. Atticus stayed in place as they talked, his wet shoes squeaking as he shifted his posture, listening to the caller.
“So I started to think, maybe, what if there wasn't really any 'character' to break at all? Maybe that's just what you are. And then my heart sank a bit, thinking about the people who ridiculed you for how you were programmed, possibly pressuring you to become someone who hid their passion to avoid ridicule."
Atticus just nodded, though admittedly he did not understand what they meant by 'character'.
"Programmed," he smiled. "Quite a humorous word choice, considering the hacking."
"Ah?!” The Rotom Phone jerked a little, “O-Oh. Heheh… But, yeah! I think you’re really cool, Attie.”
Atticus widened his eyes for a moment, almost like he was offended.
“I know you’re the artsy type, but I’ve never seen your stuff up close. I would love to get to know you and your work more.”
He kept silent, trying to subdue his sudden deep breaths. He fidgeted with one of the Repeat Balls in his pocket.
“Did I say something bad? Um, you don’t have to show me your art if you don’t want to. I’m sorry.”
Atticus snapped back to reality, realizing they did not intend to upset him. “Please, no, it is not that. I apologize.” They weren’t aware. “I do not like that nickname. I associate it with unpleasant memories.”
“Oh, okay. I’m sorry. I won’t use it then, Atticus.”
They seemed to be satisfied without an explanation, but Atticus continued anyway.
“The mai— the girls who asked me out as a practical joke have called me that name. As well as students who thought calling themselves my friend, when they were not, was comedy. Though, I am used to it, for these unrefined rabble do not understand.”
He said he was used to them, but there was a slight hint of resentment in his words.
“Those evil buggers…”
Atticus widened his eyes again, this time at that peculiar word the caller used.
“Yeah, they don’t understand. This damn world will stay stale and boring if not for people like you. Hell, I’m more of a tech whiz myself, but I can’t even imagine tech or science ever going anywhere without the work of eccentric visionaries.”
He could not help but notice them humble-brag despite being shy initially. Though, he did not anticipate their… colorful vocabulary, either.
“Looking at your phone’s UI, you like Poison types, right?” the caller asked. “I get it. Toxic Pokémon are leagues better than toxic people anyway.”
Atticus did not answer, staring at the bright neon green lines glowing against the black screen on his phone, but he did not disagree either.
“I hope you won’t let them wear you down, Atticus. I see a lot of potential for what you can do, for yourself and for others.”
Atticus smiled softly. Although the other end could not see him, he finally put his hood down. While still a little damp, he did not even realize it had dried out until he touched it.
Both sides went silent for a while.
“Hey, Atticus?”
“Hm?”
“I still really want to get to know more about you and your work. Is it okay if I save my number on your phone?”
“Of course. I suppose ‘tis what friends who do not exploit phones’ security systems would ideally do.” Atticus chuckled, “I jest again. It would be a pleasure to get to know you as well, kind confidant. Perhaps starting with your name.“
The caller let out a small giggle. “Thank you. The Cassiopeia on your list is me.”
An audible tapping on the keyboard can be heard from the other end, revealing to him that they were communicating with him from a computer the whole time.
“And um… I hope you don’t get sick tomorrow. Take a vitamin C pill from the nurse’s office and get some rest, okay? But change your clothes first.”
“I will live.” Atticus let out a hearty laugh. “And you are free to call me any time! You may even inspire me to create a piece one day. What say you?”
“Well, I can’t be against that. That sounds lovely, Atticus. Take care.”
Cassiopeia hung up.
Atticus grabbed his phone to check his contacts as he placed his things back into his bag. Surely enough, a Cassiopeia could be found. There were not many people in it anyway, so he saw it quickly.
He exited his contacts and opened his RotomNote app. Before he left the classroom, he wrote his haiku of the day to inscribe in his journal later.
bright constellation,
a confidante of misfits,
cassiopeia