Dawn watched something in her friend break.

His fragile sense of self fell away, its protective shell laying shattered on the ground, unable to protect the embers that had burned beneath; though they still glowed [adj] as ever, the [flame] of hope behind his eyes was instantly snuffed.

Several long minutes passed, disturbed only by a stiff, “Please excuse me. I… need to consider this matter in further depth.”

She felt like she should stop him.

She didn’t know how.

—

If it were something he was doing of his own free will, then Dawn would have respected it. It wasn’t, though– so, while she’d play by his rules out loud, nothing could stop her from stubbornly seeing him as Warden Ingo.

No matter what he said, it wasn’t anything like her own alias. She’d panicked, had seen the people looking at her with fear and distrust and wanted a shield to hide behind. Ingo himself confessed that he’d woken up with his name and little else, and that was one of the many, many reasons Dawn wouldn’t buy into his belief.

Who, after going through something so transparently traumatic, would remember the name of a Facility Head in favor of their own? Oh, she knew what he’d say– ‘someone with deep rooted issues that he’d strive to correct’– but that was another thing!

There was absolutely no way, hundreds of years in the past and without any working memory, that Ingo had modeled his behavior after the Subway Boss. The kindness he’d showed her wasn’t a mockery of someone else or some kind of front; he was a sweet person who genuinely wanted to see people and Pokemon [prosper]. Unless something in his personality had drastically changed upon falling to Hisui, Dawn refused to believe the man she knew would have tried to become someone else. Even completely amnesiac, he’d been too secure in his conduct to let the past change him.

So… fine. She’d go with this whole ‘Warden’ thing, but Arceus damn it, she was going to get to the bottom of this.

—

“You uh… you good?” She asked, well aware of what the answer should be. Nobody holding a knife in a grip like that could call their mental state ‘good’.

It was the first thing he dropped when her presence clicked, followed shortly by one of the tufts of hair that hung down by his face– mussed by the way he’d been holding it. At the very least, he had the dignity not to lie to her. “I’ve found myself at something of an impasse.”

“You look too much like him, huh?”

There was a short nod in response. “It shouldn’t be so difficult to change tra– to [idk], but committing to the change is… harder than I had expected.”

“So… don’t? I mean, it’s just hair, it’d grow back eventually, but you don’t have to cut it off, either. Here,” Dawn said, and pulled him down to her level, keeping an eye on the knife so neither of them got nicked. With one hand, she undid one of her clips and, with the other, seized the much-abused forelock to smooth it back. When she was satisfied with the way it sat, she fastened it into place. It was kind of funny, in a cute way– with the natural curve, it looked a little like he was a Sneasel pinning its ears. “You could probably use hair gel or something, too, but this is the best I’ve got right now. Ooh, actually, wait– do you wanna see how my Survey Corps bandana would look?”

Gingerly, Ingo reached up to touch the clip. For just a second, he glanced to the abandoned knife, but only reached for it in order to tuck it safely away, then straightened up and quirked a not-smile at her. “Whatever course– ah, sorry, whatever solution you think best, I’m willing to [try].”

—

“Ah,” He said, looking away, “Well, yes, but while I do enjoy battling, wouldn’t it be prudent to distance myself from such… commonalities?”

She tossed her hands up, exasperated, “With who? Half the population? Are you going to refuse to use public transport too, just ‘cause this guy works on a train?” Dawn scrubbed at her nose and exhaled deeply, “Sorry. I just don’t see why you have to walk away from something you love because someone else likes it, too. That’s like… what a twelve year old thinks.”

Color rose to his cheeks, but he didn’t meet her eyes. “I simply worry that indulging in such hobbies may… [?] bad behavior.”

There was a beat of silence as Dawn digested that, then moved slightly to the left and crouched down so she could stare him in the eye with the single flattest look she could muster.

“Are you hearing yourself right now? Because that’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard all day.” / “You being in town undercuts Barry’s chaos by, like, two thirds. I know you’re afraid of secretly being this awful person, but if you were, do you really think the idea would scare you that much?”

It was difficult to tell, but he relaxed, just a hair.

“C’mon,” She said, grabbing his hand, “Everyone battles some time or another. Like you in the next ten minutes– let’s go find someone who wants to fight.”

—

Dawn slapped her hands down on the kitchen table. Without missing a beat, Ingo mirrored the gesture with his free hand, still intent on what Dawn assumed was the budgeting he’d been working on earlier that day.

“The PWT’s coming up.” She announced, and didn’t wait before prefacing it, “The Pokemon World Tournament.   We’re going to compete in it.”

“That’s quite the bold assumption.” He said mildly, jotting down another string of numbers.

“No, think about it, it’s perfect!” / “I’ve been gone for a while, so I need to prove I’ve still got it, right? And you can make a name for yourself! You can show everyone who you really are! That’s what you believe battling does, right?”

Ingo paused, pen idling against the paper, and looked up at her, “Yes, but doing so in a public forum seems counterproductive. I’m a private citizen, not a professional trainer. That distinction feels rather important.”

“But–! Warden. You were a warden!”

“I recall. My memory hasn’t deteriorated that far, yet.” / “My position as warden was a matter of keeping humans and Pokemon alike safe. The fact that it necessitated the occasional battle isn’t relevant at this juncture.”

He caught the lapse after the fact, made to find a substitute, and– as Dawn was already speaking– resigned himself to the original phrasing.

“Oh? So what you call whatever that was at the training grounds?”

“Understimulation does strange things to a person. I’m certain you’re well aware of that fact, having grown up alongside Barry.”

[…]

…it would be playing dirty, in her opinion, but Dawn realized how she could spin this.

“You said you’re not a pro trainer,” She said slowly, carefully picking her words, “But you already battle for a living. I think that’s the definition of professional battling– and the tournament would be a great way to [capitalize on it].”

Not that it was really a concern; Twinleaf was hardly the most expensive place to live, and she and her mom made more than enough to live comfortable lives. And, to be completely honest, the amount of fussing Ingo did around the house, at the Pokemon and at them already justified his presence. She felt a little guilty for insinuating that it didn’t, that him being there wasn’t already enough.

Ingo didn’t look away from her– not so much meeting her eyes as much as looking through her, and the intensity of his stare certainly made her feel transparent.

“I’ll take it under advisement.” He eventually said, and turned back to his paperwork.

—

Her eyes caught on a set of matching hair ties and clips, clearly meant for small children. The pale pinks and purples were what had drawn her in to begin with– so similar to the way they’d fashioned the headkerchief she could spot across the store– but what kept her attention was the shape. Somewhere between Skitty and Glameow, they were an ambiguous suggestion of feline, unwittingly the spitting image of a Hisuian Sneasel, minus the crest feather.

She grabbed it without hesitation and went to present her find.

Only to stop in her tracks, smile going from gleeful mischief to [???] when the sight before her clicked.

“What’cha got there~?” She singsonged, hiding the clips behind her back so as not to distract from what was clearly the higher priority, eyes locked on the belt in Ingo’s hands.

She understood why it might appeal to him, mimicking the functionality of a satchel, but it didn’t change the fact that it belonged to a very particular– very contrary– aesthetic. His expression didn’t twitch at the [teasing], either unaware that he could have been embarrassed, or wholly unrepentant. Her money was on the former.

“I was considering replacing my current belt. It’s still perfectly functional, but the fact that it was from my previous uniform is a bit irksome. This is rather flashy, but… oddly appealing.”

Color her surprised. It had been the latter.

“Get it.” She said instantly, imaging how the studded black belt might contrast against the soft greys and purples he’d been favoring. Bold, but not necessarily at odds. Honestly, Dawn was just in awe of the fact that he’d picked out something that also fastened around the leg to steady its pouch. It had shiny silver eyelets. And a chain.

It was so far from mild-but-practical that she had to keep herself from laughing.

Ingo coiled the bit of chain around one finger, considering it. “I think… if I hadn’t been wearing the uniform, I might have liked this kind of thing.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Dawn reached over with the pack of hair clips still in hand and grabbed him by the face.

“Get it.” She repeated, more emphatically– and yes, a part of her said that because the thought of ‘Warden Ingo, closet goth of the Highlands’ was a hilarious one, but the rest of her was ecstatic that he could recall something distinct from the Subway Boss’s public image. This was something that could really be his.

He hummed, amused, and slowly extricated himself from her grasp.

Almost as an afterthought, she shoved the clips at him and, prior to scampering off to find Lucas, said, “By the way, I’m buying these whether you want them or not. Non negotiable.”

There wouldn’t have been any change on his face, anyway, so she was completely satisfied with the delighted bark of laughter that sounded behind her.