Drayden’s home wasn’t usually so imposing, but Emmet hadn’t been here in months. He hadn’t seen much use in socializing, and while he knew he had an obligation to their family now, he had to admit that it didn’t sound any more appealing than it had back then. The problem was the same as always: he didn’t like the attention it put on him. It felt like so much more when he was by himself, without someone diverting it by virtue of simply being present at his side-- which was to say nothing of the fact that he just wasn’t one for small talk.

On the bright side, he’d had time to prepare for today’s meeting, and had all of his resources at the ready. He’d gone through the backlog of messages to select the ones that helped explain the situation best-- and, in the process, he’d found himself surprised at just how many he’d accumulated. It was kind of sad if he thought about it for too long: he’d received the voicemails in batches, but each set had been sent over the course of days, and sometimes weeks.

It made it that much harder to stomach when their content had changed so suddenly the previous evening, turning into nonstop appeals for him to respond if he could, just so Ingo could be sure he was safe. The first few had been placed back to back, but even if the timestamps hadn’t confirmed that twelve hours passed between those and the next, the change in his brother’s voice would have. A good half of them had been mostly-silent tests, desperate for the chance to get through, each culminating in the same request: give him a sign, any sign. Emmet didn’t have any idea what had caused the fervor, but it scared him. After nearly succumbing to a blizzard, being impaled by a Rapidash, pursued by Parasect, and poisoned by all manner of Pokemon, what could possibly instill that kind of fear in his twin? None of the messages-- be they verbal or text-- so much as hinted at the inciting incident. He thought any answer, no matter how awful, had to be better than not knowing-- and the fact that he couldn't offer Ingo that peace of mind, in spite of his best efforts, weighed on him.

In the moment, the sentiment did make him regret his previous choices-- but he had the chance to ease Drayden and Iris’s concerns, now, and that seemed like a solid apology.

He tapped his fingers on the lid of his laptop and thought back to the dozens of ways he’d scripted this. Iris watched from the other side of the table; Drayden was slightly more merciful, affording Emmet his attention, but making a point of looking past his shoulder instead of his eyes. Elesa had opted to take a seat at the table's right edge, keeping herself from being visual opposition without aligning herself at his side. It made sense in his mind, creating a spectrum of who had how much information… and he was quietly grateful for the fact that she hadn’t put herself any closer. He still didn’t do well when people tried to stand or sit right beside him.

Emmet decided to address the subject point-blank. He didn’t want anyone to misunderstand, and if he tried to introduce it gradually, it would only raise red flags.

“I have a lead.” He said, establishing the topic of discussion. Surprise flashed over Iris’s face, but Drayden’s eyes moved down to where Emmet’s hands restlessly moved across the laptop. In conjunction with time he’d taken to speak, he could see how that would read poorly, and moved along to clear the matter up, “I hesitate to say that I figured anything out. The answer was essentially handed to me.”

His hands moved from his laptop to the notebook he’d been using to keep names and details straight, and-- even without looking-- immediately found the pages he’d added in for today. He flipped it open to the offending section and finally glanced down, to a picture of a grassy, fenced off area. A handful of Pokemon milled about in the background, but the focus was on the Luxio in the center of the frame-- or, at least, that was what the viewer was supposed to focus on. It reared up on its hind legs, craning to look off into the distance, using the person crouched next to it to get a better vantage point. Ingo had a hand buried in the side of its mane, near its far ear, and was looking to the cameraperson with a gentle sort of encouragement. That was how he held his eyes when dealing with lost or frightened child-- dragons, it was the exact same way he would demonstrate that Haxorus wasn’t really that scary. In the photograph, his other hand rested on the back of a Bibarel that was leaning into his leg, seeking attention.

Emmet’s best guess was that the photo had been taken around the same time as the Unown discussion. Ingo was turned in such a way that it was impossible to tell if there was a tear in the upper half of his coat, but the hem was worn, and the Pokemon he’d captured as a test of skill had evolved, so some time had to have passed.

It was all too easy to imagine that tableau playing out at home: Excadrill pressing close, begging her trainer for pets, while Archeops tried to scale him and scout the apartment from a higher perspective. He shook the thought off and took the picture from the thin pile he’d prepared, turning it over to the other side of the table.

Drayden accepted it and Iris leaned dramatically forward, trying to get a look as soon as she could. Elesa turned her head, too, getting an idea where they were starting. Before anyone could pose any questions, potentially leading them off track, Emmet picked up the lead again.

“I recently began to receive voicemail messages. From Ingo.” He said, and purposefully glossed over the exact timeline involved. It was something he'd have to address eventually, but he wanted to start with the good news-- to put off the inevitable for just a few more hours. “One of them explained his situation in full. He was in the Hisui region--”

“Hisui?” Iris echoed, scrunching her face in thought. “I’ve never heard of that.”

While he didn’t blame her for her confusion, Emmet felt something in his cheek twitch at the interruption. “It is unlikely that you would. If you had never moved to Unova, you likely would not have learned that it was called Alleos before the war. It is the same principle. We now know Hisui as Sinnoh.”

“Then why wouldn’t you just say that?”

Drayden put a hand over one of hers. “It’s shorthand; Alleos refers to both a time and place, the Unova of the past. What he’s saying is…” He stopped there and moved minutely, just enough to look the photo over for a second time, “Did you notice the camera quality in this picture? It’s a much lower definition than we’re used to, and the colors are extremely muted; this wasn’t captured with modern technology.”

“It could still be a filter.” Elesa put in-- apparently just for the sake of playing Kyurem’s advocate-- and leaned forward to get a better look at it. After a second she added, “You’re right about the quality, though-- it’s probably not just an effect. That looks way older than the SLRs and Polaritas that are back in style.”

“Because it is.” Emmet said, grateful that the extent of his exasperation wouldn’t come across in his voice. He shuffled past the picture that sat on top to find the singular drawing he’d prepared for the occasion: the Sneasler study, replete with its caption. Without another word, he passed it over.

“What’s an Ohnyula Warden?” Elesa asked, finally abandoning her neutral seating so she could look over Drayden and Iris’s shoulders. If they’d noticed the important part-- the dates attached to the piece-- none of them commented on it. Maybe he should have expected that, when presenting a trio of professional battlers with an unrecognizable Pokemon. No matter; he could make it work.

“’Ohnyula’ is a word for a specific Sneasler. A Sneasler is the evolution of an extinct Sneasel variant. These are sketches of one. It’s likely Ohnyula herself.” He reported, and that much was easy-- it was just reciting Pokemon facts, which was a hobby he’d kept since childhood. “A warden is more complicated. It’s a title for a person who cares for a special Pokemon. I’m not sure I understand the exact significance of these so-called ‘Noble Pokemon’, however.”

Elesa gave a small “huh” but didn’t go any further for now, which left space for Drayden to say, “You’re getting ahead of us. Your theory is that Ingo found himself in the Hisui region, is that correct?”

“Not a theory.” Emmet said shortly, refraining from rolling his eyes; he tapped pointedly-- upside-down-- at the date on the sketch. “There is documentation from multiple sources.”

He could practically see Drayden take a mental note to revisit the claim and verify it after the fact. It might have been insulting, but he wasn’t really bothered; it was good that Drayden liked to fact check, especially in his lines of work. He looked up at Emmet, reading his expression in turn.

“How do you propose that happened?” He asked.

Emmet felt his foot start tapping beneath the table, but it wasn’t making any noise, so he didn’t stop himself. “I don’t know. He’s mentioned an interaction with an unknown Pokemon, but nothing identifiable. His working theory is that he was brought to Hisui to help complete a Pokedex.”

To demonstrate the point, he tapped on the illustration again, in a more general area. “Historical records indicate that he fulfilled this goal. I do not know where that leaves us.”

“Part of the Sinnoan pantheon deals in time, doesn’t it?” Drayden followed up, and it wasn’t hard to follow his train of thought.

“Dialga.” Emmet answered, “It’s not impossible. Ingo never named it as a suspect, however. He should have known enough to connect it if it had something to do to his situation.”

“That’s great and all, but how does it help us now?” Elesa cut in, perhaps sensing that the conversation was taking a turn for the theoretical. “Unless we can recreate whatever happened, I don’t think this is going anywhere useful.”

Iris jumped onto the cue immediately, “Yeah! Knowing where he is changes everything-- what can we do now that we know about it?”

Emmet sighed and, reluctantly, turned his head to concede his ignorance; this wasn’t his primary reason to delay telling them, but to say it didn’t play any part would be a lie. He didn’t have a good answer, and he hated it. “As of right now, it’s unclear. It’s impossible to gain a full understanding from the surviving records. I’ve been listening to Ingo’s messages for any clue how to proceed.”

“We could help.” Elesa offered, expression earnest, looking for anything to do, but…

No.

No, absolutely not. It wasn’t just Emmet jealously guarding the tenuous link to his twin this time; it would feel like a betrayal of his brother’s trust to let anyone else go through his messages. Ingo may not have expected privacy in sending them, but they weren’t meant for their family. Even though Emmet could rationalize listening for himself, there were still moments where it felt like an invasion of privacy.

He shook his head-- at first, just a slow creep to the side, but it picked up speed into something more assertive. It wasn’t his intention to make them feel useless or left out, but that wasn’t his highest concern right now.

“I do not believe he realizes they’ve sent. He addresses me in many of them, but as a… sounding board. It helps him think and process his emotions.” He added, and the hackles that had begun to rise at such a blunt refusal smoothed over. “I’m not saying you can’t be involved. Just… not with that.”

To Elesa, it must have seemed that he’d fulfilled the promise of sharing information, only to hold something key back at the last moment, but now a light grimace tugged at her lips. He was glad she understood. It was one thing to scream into a void-- sharing thoughts kept hidden from the world-- with the expectation that they would never resurface. The idea of spilling the worst of himself, only to learn that it had been carried to his most important people… it was a terrifying thought, and one that Emmet was still coming to terms with. He was going to have to face it once Ingo was home, which made that the singular conversation he wasn’t looking forward to in some capacity.

With the brunt of the information quite literally on the table, Emmet decided to lay the rest of what he’d selected out, too. A couple more pictures-- one taken with a field camera, depicting Sneasler casually toting his twin over a shoulder while Ingo accepted his lot in life, and one in a more formal studio, where he was standing with a finely-dressed woman-- and then the message wherein Ingo had spelled out the facts. That was probably one of the only ones Emmet didn’t feel any guilt in sharing; it had been addressed directly to him, acknowledging that he may or may not receive it in the future.

Watching their family go through the evidence he presented them was hard. On one hand, it was a validating reminder that he did have support in this, and that the questions and thoughts he posed were reasonable-- but, on the other, it was another example of how incomplete the tableau was. Sitting together like this was so familiar that Emmet wanted to turn and look to his twin for insight into the problem at hand, but… then he remembered.

With his laptop and the photos on the other side of the table, that left Emmet with his notebook and Xtransciever; even though it was rude, he turned to the latter, scrolling up to his newest messages. He spent several long seconds staring at them, wracking his brain for anything he could do, and came up empty handed.

It doesn’t need to be much.

I just need to know that you’re alright.

The plea overlapped an overly-long message he'd sent around the ‘same’ time-- that whatever had happened to make his brother leave, he didn't care, they could work it out, and he just wanted him to come home-- but Emmet wasn’t concerned with that. He’d stared these particular messages down time and time again, trying to understand what lurked beneath them.

Ingo was worried for Emmet’s wellbeing. Why? They hadn’t been anywhere near one another when Ingo was taken, and he knew that perfectly well-- so what could have made him believe they’d both been targeted? Did he learn what the Pokemon had been, after all? Or was it all a part of some greater, failed plan? If he was so worried for Emmet all of the sudden, then what did that say about his own situation?

As per usual, the texts failed to provide any further insight. Emmet held back a sigh and started typing again, and his Xtransceiver automatically skipped down to view the most recent additions to their conversation.

I’m okay. Are you?

What’s going on?

What’s wrong?

I’m okay.

I’M OKAY.

I’m sorry. I promise I’m trying.

He didn’t have much to type, but paused halfway through, looking across the table. When he hit send, the screen updated to say:

Keep yourself safe. We’re going to get you back.