By the time they reached fifth grade, Emmet and Ingo were relatively certain they’d heard every twin superstition this side of Galar. Every year, without fail, they’d have to go through the same motions, put up with the same jokes, and try to convince their new classmates that they were just like the rest of the group.
No, neither of them was the evil twin. Yes, Ingo’s face was like that. That was mean. Shut up.
No, they couldn’t read each other’s mind. Ingo knew his brother was on the other side of the yard talking about trains because he’d picked up a recent interest; Emmet had guessed at his twin’s anxiety over the scheduled spelling test because he’d spent the previous evening studying for it. It was logic, not magic.
No, Emmet couldn’t feel it when some jerk walked over and punched Ingo in the shoulder, but if he had his way, someone was going to.
The list went on and on, somehow growing more ridiculous with each passing iteration.
—
“It’s too dark. Send Chandelure out so I can find you.”
Ingo looked around himself in disbelief, “Did– did you hit your head? If you’ve lost your vision, we need to [regroup] and find a station immediately.”
[they waste enough time arguing that the power comes back on its own]
The lights flickered, and then the car resumed operations. Emmet breathed a relieved sigh and turned to coordinate how they’d determine the source of the malfunction, but stopped short of giving voice to the [thought].
He was alone in the car.
As the train began to move again, one of six scattered pokeballs rolled over and bumped into Emmet’s shoe.
“W-where did you go?”
His brother made an indistinct, worried sound, “Can you stand? I can’t make your coat out in the snow.”
“Ingo.” Emmet said with a forced calm, “I am standing. There is no snow here. I’m in our car on the Multi Train. Where are you?”
“On the…?” / “I– I don’t know.”
—
“Emmet…? Is that you?”
He turned away from [whatever] in a heartbeat, “I am Emmet. What do you mean?”
“I– I thought I saw…” / “Yes, right there!”
As soon as the original thought came to its conclusion, Emmet’s eyes were closed, trying to understand what his twin was seeing. It was difficult, however; traversal of the tundra was [taxing] in many ways, and, as soon as the world around Ingo phased in, it became clear he was suffering from a degree of snowblindness.
In the near distance, though, Emmet saw the point of confusion: a white shape just distinct enough to pick out from the snow around them, marked with two even, brown stripes.
His breathing hitched. “That is not me. I am [wherever]. Get away from there immediately.”
Though there was no verbal response, Ingo slowly inclined his head and began to back away, keeping the entity in his blurry sights. The distance between them widened, and then shrunk again– not only that, it was swiftly becoming [shorter and shorter]. Ingo abandoned the attempt at subtlety and turned in full, running through the snow he’d already tamped down and, as the sound of [running] grew louder, couldn’t help but cast a look over his shoulder.
Whatever it was, it had been using Emmet in an attempt at trickery, but no more; in the half second Ingo spent [looking back] its features twisted into something animalistic and bloodthirsty.
[…]
His brother needed help. High up on a narrow, icy cliff, half blind, injured and unable to stand, Ingo had reached his limit– and there was nothing Emmet could do about it. He felt something in his hand creak as he clenched his fists, and took a measured breath so as not to [return himself to his reality].
[…]
“…are you there?”
“Who do you take me for? I am Emmet. Of course I’m here.”
—
“Play dumb.” Emmet said, and Ingo faltered on whatever he’d been about to say.
“What…?”
“Let them underestimate you. If you do not pose a threat, they may be more lenient. It may also give you the opportunity to collect information.”
He couldn’t respond without Irida taking notice, but the resigned sigh said everything Emmet needed to hear.