The words seemed to stab into Lance, because Giovanni was right--what could a ten-year-old do, to save his father, to save anyone, to stop Giovanni ... but he wasn't a ten-year-old, he was older than that, or he was supposed to be, and he had--
He'd helped stop the Rockets' rise in their tracks--
You're a strong trainer, that doesn't mean you can lead; people got killed for you, performing your orders!
Desperately Lance yanked himself away. Giovanni let him go and he stumbled backward, his heel catching on something and making him stumble.
A second later his back hit a cold brick wall, and when he blinked his house was gone and he was in a narrow alley. He'd never been there before; he'd bet on that. But when there came the abrupt sound of gunfire and the shriek of pokemon fighting, his heart lurched and he knew where he was, even though he'd never actually been there.
A door slammed open just down the alley and a man stumbled out, limping and with a gun in his hand and a noctowl on his shoulders. He hit the wall, catching his balance and breathing hard. For a moment the dim light reaching between the looming buildings on either side, illuminating the face Lance already knew he'd see: Arlie Arrington, gym leader of Violet City, Falkner's father ... soon to be killed in the line of duty.
And once again, Lance stood frozen, raging against whatever facet of his dreams which made him have to always watch people die over and over again because he wasn't strong enough or he just hadn't been there even when he should have been ...
Arlie started limping down the alley. Behind him the door exploded outward beneath the force of a charging rhyhorn, and Rockets spilled out after it.
Lance took a few surprised, stumbling steps forward, gazing at the vaguely surreal tableau of the Rockets starting their pursuit and Arlie, leaning on a wall, half-turned around to count them, his face grim.
Lane looked at the Rockets and his hand automatically went to his back. He didn't have his dragons with him--of course not--and there were too many to really take care of himself when he didn't know whether they'd start moving again (because of course they would). Instead he went for Arlie, fully intending to drag the man away as far as he could before the scene restarted. He reached for the gym leader's arm--
His hands went through it.
"Nononono," Lance hissed, trying again to find a grip on Arlie's shoulders, but his hands always just faded through the man's body. The redhead's stomach lurched and he looked down at his slightly-shaking hands, his breathing slightly ragged.
It's because I wasn't here, isn't it? He turned to look at the Rockets behind them, black-clad and furious, frozen still in positions of attack and pursuit, ready at a moment to kill the gym leader with the guns a few had in their hands or the pokemon ready to be unleashed. I can't save him because I never did.
"I'm sorry."
He took a step back, and another, and another, trying to breathe through the obstruction in his throat. "I'm sorry!" His back hit the wall and as if that was the cue all movement began again. The Rockets lunged forward. The alley was lit with the red light of released pokemon. Arlie turned to face them head-on, raising a pokeball of his own. Gunshots rang out. Pokemon roared.
Lance slid down the wall to sit at its base, shaking and unable to look away.
Lance found himself in his study in the League's headquarters at the Plateau. The abrupt shift from noise and battle to silence and solitude left him disorientated, and for a moment he just sat there, pressed against the wall with his eyes closed, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself. The sound of indistinct voices made him look up and out his window, and he saw black figures winding up the path toward the building: reporters. Press conference?
Had to be. Automatically he pushed himself up and found he was already in his uniform--not his battle outfit, his dress blues--and equally automatically made for the lobby. He tried to think of what it could be about, but his mind was blank. It didn't matter; when they started asking him questions he'd know when he was.
It was in a slight daze that he came to the lobby and stepped into it without really thinking, so he was already several feet in before he really registered who was standing before him. He stopped short and stared as the entire gathering fell silent and turned to face him--
Including himself.
His heart pounded as he gazed into grey eyes that were exactly like his own, except in them he saw determination, and in that face he saw cool composure, and in that bearing he saw nobility and strength.
He unstuck his tongue. "Who are you?"
"Excuse me?" Karen demanded, standing beside his doppelganger. "This is the Dragon Master Lance. Who are you?"
"But I'm--"
His words failed and his heart went cold as he looked at his doppelganger's calm face. He wasn't the Dragon Master anything. He never had been.
Lance pressed a shaking hand to his face, the voice's words swirling around in his head. How could he answer that?
Both.
Neither.
"You failed."
His eyes snapped open and he found himself looking into his doppelganger's intense, accusing, somehow pitying gaze.
"You were supposed to protect them. You were supposed to protect them and you gave him free reign."
Something tightened in his chest. "I didn't know."
The response was simple: "You should have."
He shook his head automatically--he'd thought Giovanni was a friend, everyone had thought Giovanni was a friend, how could he have known--
"You're supposed to be me. You're supposed to see these things."
But I'm not you, he wanted to say. I'm not you because you're just a story. They think you're real and you aren't, and I've tried ...
He'd tried to be the hero, but he wasn't. It wasn't a matter of what he wanted to be. It was never a matter of what he wanted, except that he didn't want to be like him--like Giovanni. It was a matter of what he was ... and what they thought he was.
"You didn't fail. Why do you have to live up to a legend? There are a lot of heroes who aren't perfect." This time, it was a new voice, as another figure stepped out of the crowd. "You did everything you could. That's all anyone can really ask."
Her words penetrated, and for a moment he didn't know how to answer them. He couldn't live up to the peoples' expectations; what else could that be but a failure?
But as for why he had to live up to those expectations ...
He couldn't remember the last time he'd asked himself why. When had he started? When he'd first entered the League it had been because he had realised he had the power, he wanted to direct it in a worthy direction, and he wanted to atone. He wanted to be everything that Giovanni was not, everything that wasn't what he had come so close to being. And somehow that had turned from being the best he could be into being everything the public had begun to think he was.
He could only ask himself when that had happened; in all truth, he had no idea. There was a difference between not being evil and being perfect ... it was that difference which was killing him. But he couldn't have said when it started.
"I just didn't want to disappoint anyone." He barely noticed when he started to speak, directing the words to Yellow as if his doppelganger and the audience didn't exist.
"Nothing wrong with that, if you can remember who it is you don't want to disappoint," Yellow said and gestured around the crowd. "Do you really need to get the approval of everyone? All these people who only see him," Yellow said, gesturing to the doppleganger. "Instead of you?"
Lance's gaze followed her gesture a little helplessly. "That's not how politics works," he found himself saying. "I need ... I need their approval if I'm going to be able to help ..." He trailed off.
It was somewhat true: in the beginning it had been hard to get people to obey, even with his position, because they hadn't trusted him. His age had had something to do with it, but it didn't change the fact that anyone in his kind of position needed the support of the public.
"But if you let it all hold you down, then you can't do what you can to help them. Some people will be unhappy with you sometimes, but if the greater good is achieved, because you don't have everything bringing you down trying to be something you're not...isn't that better?"
It was just that ... he wasn't sure how to be anything else. He wasn't even sure what constituted himself and what constituted the myth. And he wasn't sure if he could separate the two.
"I just ..." He stared at her helplessly. "I don't know how."
What did he know about being normal? He never had been. But even though it felt strange and somehow shameful to admit that out loud, at the same time it felt ... relieving ... to be able to say it to someone and not be afraid of being judged or letting his friends and family down.
Yellow smiled gently. "No one does," she said. "That's why you have to find it. It'll take some time and it'll be a struggle, but I believe Lance-san can do it. Because even if Lance-san isn't this one," Yellow said, gesturing to the Dragon Master, "I believe Lance-san is a capable, strong person. And even if you don't succeed at first, in the end, you will. Just give it some time, right?"
It was one of the biggest things his sensei had tried to teach him as a preteen in training, but something he'd only really learned afterward while trying to survive on Silver Mountain.
Choose your battles.
He could and did fight the Rockets, with everything he had, but here he was fighting against his own mortality, and it was killing him inside. And maybe that was the point: not to fight his own lack of control, but to fight despite it. Realisations, Lance decided, were a little like being hit by a thunderbolt. And about as painful. "Okay," he whispered a little huskily, hugging himself, wrapping himself in his cloak. "I think ... I can try that."
"Does that mean you're going to fight me?" The voice sounded amused, almost mocking, and Lance looked back at his doppelganger, nearly surprised by the matching expression on the man's face.
He'd helped stop the Rockets' rise in their tracks--
You're a strong trainer, that doesn't mean you can lead; people got killed for you, performing your orders!
Desperately Lance yanked himself away. Giovanni let him go and he stumbled backward, his heel catching on something and making him stumble.
A second later his back hit a cold brick wall, and when he blinked his house was gone and he was in a narrow alley. He'd never been there before; he'd bet on that. But when there came the abrupt sound of gunfire and the shriek of pokemon fighting, his heart lurched and he knew where he was, even though he'd never actually been there.
A door slammed open just down the alley and a man stumbled out, limping and with a gun in his hand and a noctowl on his shoulders. He hit the wall, catching his balance and breathing hard. For a moment the dim light reaching between the looming buildings on either side, illuminating the face Lance already knew he'd see: Arlie Arrington, gym leader of Violet City, Falkner's father ... soon to be killed in the line of duty.
And once again, Lance stood frozen, raging against whatever facet of his dreams which made him have to always watch people die over and over again because he wasn't strong enough or he just hadn't been there even when he should have been ...
Arlie started limping down the alley. Behind him the door exploded outward beneath the force of a charging rhyhorn, and Rockets spilled out after it.
Reply
And Lancer felt an invisible force push at his back to make him move.
Reply
Lane looked at the Rockets and his hand automatically went to his back. He didn't have his dragons with him--of course not--and there were too many to really take care of himself when he didn't know whether they'd start moving again (because of course they would). Instead he went for Arlie, fully intending to drag the man away as far as he could before the scene restarted. He reached for the gym leader's arm--
His hands went through it.
"Nononono," Lance hissed, trying again to find a grip on Arlie's shoulders, but his hands always just faded through the man's body. The redhead's stomach lurched and he looked down at his slightly-shaking hands, his breathing slightly ragged.
It's because I wasn't here, isn't it? He turned to look at the Rockets behind them, black-clad and furious, frozen still in positions of attack and pursuit, ready at a moment to kill the gym leader with the guns a few had in their hands or the pokemon ready to be unleashed. I can't save him because I never did.
"I'm sorry."
He took a step back, and another, and another, trying to breathe through the obstruction in his throat. "I'm sorry!" His back hit the wall and as if that was the cue all movement began again. The Rockets lunged forward. The alley was lit with the red light of released pokemon. Arlie turned to face them head-on, raising a pokeball of his own. Gunshots rang out. Pokemon roared.
Lance slid down the wall to sit at its base, shaking and unable to look away.
Reply
Reply
Had to be. Automatically he pushed himself up and found he was already in his uniform--not his battle outfit, his dress blues--and equally automatically made for the lobby. He tried to think of what it could be about, but his mind was blank. It didn't matter; when they started asking him questions he'd know when he was.
It was in a slight daze that he came to the lobby and stepped into it without really thinking, so he was already several feet in before he really registered who was standing before him. He stopped short and stared as the entire gathering fell silent and turned to face him--
Including himself.
His heart pounded as he gazed into grey eyes that were exactly like his own, except in them he saw determination, and in that face he saw cool composure, and in that bearing he saw nobility and strength.
He unstuck his tongue. "Who are you?"
"Excuse me?" Karen demanded, standing beside his doppelganger. "This is the Dragon Master Lance. Who are you?"
"But I'm--"
His words failed and his heart went cold as he looked at his doppelganger's calm face. He wasn't the Dragon Master anything. He never had been.
He was just Lance.
Reply
Just Lance?
Dragon Master?
Which is better?
All of these were ideas floating around, questions that needed to be asked, to be thought of.
Reply
Both.
Neither.
"You failed."
His eyes snapped open and he found himself looking into his doppelganger's intense, accusing, somehow pitying gaze.
"You were supposed to protect them. You were supposed to protect them and you gave him free reign."
Something tightened in his chest. "I didn't know."
The response was simple: "You should have."
He shook his head automatically--he'd thought Giovanni was a friend, everyone had thought Giovanni was a friend, how could he have known--
"You're supposed to be me. You're supposed to see these things."
But I'm not you, he wanted to say. I'm not you because you're just a story. They think you're real and you aren't, and I've tried ...
He'd tried to be the hero, but he wasn't. It wasn't a matter of what he wanted to be. It was never a matter of what he wanted, except that he didn't want to be like him--like Giovanni. It was a matter of what he was ... and what they thought he was.
And he never knew what to do with the two.
Reply
This time, it was Yellow who spoke.
Reply
Her words penetrated, and for a moment he didn't know how to answer them. He couldn't live up to the peoples' expectations; what else could that be but a failure?
But as for why he had to live up to those expectations ...
He couldn't remember the last time he'd asked himself why. When had he started? When he'd first entered the League it had been because he had realised he had the power, he wanted to direct it in a worthy direction, and he wanted to atone. He wanted to be everything that Giovanni was not, everything that wasn't what he had come so close to being. And somehow that had turned from being the best he could be into being everything the public had begun to think he was.
He could only ask himself when that had happened; in all truth, he had no idea. There was a difference between not being evil and being perfect ... it was that difference which was killing him. But he couldn't have said when it started.
"I just didn't want to disappoint anyone." He barely noticed when he started to speak, directing the words to Yellow as if his doppelganger and the audience didn't exist.
Reply
Reply
It was somewhat true: in the beginning it had been hard to get people to obey, even with his position, because they hadn't trusted him. His age had had something to do with it, but it didn't change the fact that anyone in his kind of position needed the support of the public.
And yet now the excuse sounded so hollow.
Reply
Reply
It was just that ... he wasn't sure how to be anything else. He wasn't even sure what constituted himself and what constituted the myth. And he wasn't sure if he could separate the two.
"I just ..." He stared at her helplessly. "I don't know how."
What did he know about being normal? He never had been. But even though it felt strange and somehow shameful to admit that out loud, at the same time it felt ... relieving ... to be able to say it to someone and not be afraid of being judged or letting his friends and family down.
Reply
Reply
It was one of the biggest things his sensei had tried to teach him as a preteen in training, but something he'd only really learned afterward while trying to survive on Silver Mountain.
Choose your battles.
He could and did fight the Rockets, with everything he had, but here he was fighting against his own mortality, and it was killing him inside. And maybe that was the point: not to fight his own lack of control, but to fight despite it. Realisations, Lance decided, were a little like being hit by a thunderbolt. And about as painful. "Okay," he whispered a little huskily, hugging himself, wrapping himself in his cloak. "I think ... I can try that."
"Does that mean you're going to fight me?" The voice sounded amused, almost mocking, and Lance looked back at his doppelganger, nearly surprised by the matching expression on the man's face.
Reply
"He is the image people expect...the one that is 'perfection' in a dragon master," Yellow said and looked at Lance. "Will you fight him? Or...?"
Reply
Leave a comment