There was an impossibly loud sound, somewhere between [idk] and a whip crack, and then a heavy impact behind them. Before she’d even turned around all the way, Elesa’s hand found Emmet’s wrist, keeping him from using it as an excuse to bolt.

There was a Pokemon on the ground. A lankly mess of light purple fur, presumably quadrupedal from its low-lying stance. It seemed dazed.

Instinctively, Skyla looked up. When asked later, she’d describe what she saw as ‘[idk] breaking, but backwards’.

“Is that a… Mienshao?” [idk] asked.

“That’s the most punk rock Mienshao I’ve ever seen, then.” [idk who]

At the sound of voices, the Pokemon’s head snapped up, inciting further confusion. Definitely not a Mienshao, at least. Maybe the world’s gangliest Espeon, if it had lost an ear and someone had let exactly one tuft of fur grow out of control, then dyed it for good measure.

Elesa spared a glance to her left. Assured that, with this new development, Emmet displayed a low risk of leaving his brother’s funeral, she let go to dig through her bag, blindly trying to find her Pokedex.

While she was doing that, Iris took a step forward. The Pokemon bared its teeth and hissed at her. Somehow, it simultaneously heaved a heavy sigh.

Wait. No, it wasn’t a quadruped. It was just splayed in a protective stance over a second, darker shape. There was no telling what that was supposed to be, either. Without moving any closer, Iris squatted down to get a better look at the first Pokemon’s teeth. It was more than happy to give her a repeat viewing, projecting an impressively loud growl from deep in its throat for good measure.

Whatever it was guarding seemed to give up, going limp underneath it. Most of its vocalization was lost beneath its protector, but there was a fairly clear, ‘Sneasel’, which, at least, solved one mystery.

[…]

Belatedly, Elesa became aware of the empty space at her left side.

[…]

The Pokemon’s eyes locked onto him; it gave a short bark and pointedly jerked its head to the side, almost beckoning him. It was a far cry from its earlier hissing and spitting. Maybe it was a psychic type, and could sense some kind of emotional distress? But that didn’t make any sense. This was a funeral, nobody was happy to be here; Emmet didn’t even believe it should be taking place.

He paused, regarding it.

[…]

The Sneasel beneath it made a conversational noise, only to be more thoroughly flattened to the ground. There was a beat of silence, and then a muffled follow up.

The purple one… kind of looked like a Sneasel, if you could get past the color and size. It was more Sneasel-like than it was a Mienshao or Espeon, at least. [it’s (theoretically) protecting a Sneasel, maybe it’s a mutation and this is just a mother protecting its kit.]

Emmet, meanwhile, seemed to have come to some kind of conclusion. He stepped closer– warily at first, but when the Sneasel made the second noise, something in his expression shifted, and he tossed his own script out the window, safety checks and all. The Pokemon made a crooning noise at his approach, which contrasted sharply against the way it reared up and seized him, dragging him down with to join its original ward.

There were two discrete reactions to this. One was to lunge forward and ready a Pokemon in retaliation, inciting more aggressive behavior from the purple one. Other, less trigger happy, attendees took the opportunity to note that the ‘Sneasel’ designation on the dark shape may have been premature. Regardless of what the Pokemon on top was, it was did not have the body mass to conceal what were clearly two adult men.

Drayden took a third option. While attention was on the [idk], he walked up from the side and physically pried the Pokemon up. It yowled in protest, limbs flailing wildly as it tried to claw its way back, but couldn’t find purchase.

Without the Pokemon pinning it down, the dark shape sat wearily upright, unintentionally dragging Emmet with it. Now more than ever, it was obviously not a Sneasel.

“What the fuck?” Skyla asked under her breath.

Cilan tilted his head, brows furrowed in an incredulous line, “That seems… improbable.”

And both assessments remained applicable as Ingo scrambled to his feet and started trying to talk Drayden down in another language. Even as he reached out to try to settle the Pokemon’s trashing, one hand was reserved for the manic shadow at his side.

[…]

Elesa tossed her hands up.

“What am I even supposed to say about,” She gave them a flail for emphasis, “That?”