Obvious exits:
Way around City <WAC> leads to Pokemon Route 3: Pewter City.
North <N> leads to Pewter City: Southern Pewter.
South <S> leads to Viridian Forest - Route 2: Almost Out.

Wesley arrives from Pewter City: Southern Pewter.
Wesley has arrived.

Everything is grey, veiled by mist. It's chilly and the air feels damp. There is no wind. In the forest, only the nearest tree branches, half-bereft of leaves, show their full color; more distant trees and branches are colorless and indistinct in the pallid grey fog, looking ghostly and not quite real. While at the coast, the sea is sluggish and grey as fog lays on its surface like a thick wet blanket.

The island is covered in fog this afternoon, and the air is stuffy and cold; it's difficult to breathe. Choking. The rocky fields south of Pewter are a dangerous place today, as the hindered vision undoubtedly leads to stumbles and trips.

Shoes clomp through the grey grass. Grass hisses against scales and rustles against fur. Travelers amble towards Pewter today. <Cold,> speaks a low, hissing creature. "Yes, I know." Those words, at least, come from a human, and a soft-spoken young one at that. These voices are barely audible, but they're there. More easily heard are two high-pitched voices which speak in almost perversely cheerful "Pika!"s and "Chuuuu!"s. Where exactly are the travelers in this landscape, with its obscuring fog? It's difficult to say. Even the lights of Pewter City are hard to distinguish. The owners of the voices travel in the fields of boulders. One of them moves towards one rock in particular, but the pokemon the boy has out know it not. And, indeed, this is a boy that walks through the mist, slowly and cautiously. His name is Wesley Brier. His age is twelve years old, and he doesn't even know it. He travels in hopes that he will meet with his friend, Melissa Barlette.

Though she has made no attempts to actively pursue him, Melissa has been thinking about Wesley - a lot. Predominantly. Whether it's been good thoughts or bad thoughts only the girl knows, but she's thinking about him right here - on her rock. Perhaps she needed a place to be alone. Perhaps the solitude of her "own hangout" would relieve her. Or perhaps she knows that this is where Wesley might first come looking should he wish to find her... In the distance, Melissa swears she can hear some muffled pokemon voices. Jerking into a fully upright position, the teenager's attention is entirely focused upon the noise in the distance, her head twitching back and forth more like a cat than a human. Her chest soon, however, drops - a Pikachu. She knows Wesley has a Pikachu, but he never uses Sparkheart. This is some random trainer. Melissa adjusts her glasses, leaning further into the rock.

Wesley takes a deep breath, his eyes fixed mostly on the ground as he moves. One might think he's using his memory to get to where he needs to go, yet another person who knows Wesley well would know that he's probably just trusting in chance to guide him. His memory isn't good enough to pick out a specific rock, and even memory fails in this weather. Two sun-burst yellow Pikachu, one a male adult and the other a female barely two months old, scamper ahead of him. The youngster babbles meaningless words at her father, and the father responds with adoring verse such as, <A whole new world for you to see, and you can ex-plore it with me!> Such a happy couple in such gloomy weather. Such a happy couple in contrast to the two humans. Two young Ekanses slither behind Wesley, their tongues the main way they sense their trainer and the Pikachu. Wesley raises his eyes for a second and he stops walking. His head turns smoothly and steadily as he tries to pierce the grey. "M-Melissa?" Wesley calls out. It's a soft call, and the fog barely needs to muffle it for it to be rendered inaudible. <Melissa, Melissa, you must here be! Our trainer needs you to see!> That is significantly louder...and much too joyous for the situation. The youngster glares lightly at Sparkheart, though the Pikachu now ignores his trainer in favour of dashing around with his sweet little girl, who giggles as she runs.

For as quiet as Wesley is, Melissa feels - oh God, she feels it - that he's close. She can almost hear him, a faint breeze detectable only because of the stillness of the grey. Though Melissa remains quiet, she has a more active stance. She leans forward a little off of the rock, her eyes fixed in the direction of the cheerful 'Chus. Some of her thinks that she misheard one of the Pikachus; another part of her determines that she's probably just hearing things, hearing what she -wants- to hear; but most of her believes Wesley really is out there, really is only a couple yards away, and the only thing stopping Melissa from diving out into the gloom - besides her own paralyzed surprise - are those two small parts that believe that the little whimpered "Melissa" never existed.

<Cold,> comes another hiss from Purple. "All right," the boy grumps quietly, his hand going to his pokeball and returning the snake. The ball is then minimized and stuck back onto his belt. A slash of red light shoots through the grey like a scar. After a slight pause, Wesley realizes he should return his other Ekans, and does so with no fuss or explanation. More light. Melissa would easily see that there is someone out there, in the dank. Though his possibly former friend cannot see him, there are a few changes to the boy. New shoes, a new backpack that appears less crowded, and slightly shaggier hair. There's also a tenseness, one that wasn't there before when the thought of Melissa came up in the boy's mind. This fear-heightened nervousness plays through the boy's body, shaking his sense of courage like a dog shakes a rat. This the pale trainer tries to fight. If Wesley were looking for any other person, he would have left by now, convinced that they weren't there. But this is Melissa. She means so much. "M-Meh..el..." She means so much, yet her name sticks in his throat until he forces it out with some previously undiscovered level of bravery. "Melissa!" It's a bit louder this time, more an impassioned plea than a lowly whimper.

That much she definitely heard - as though the pokeball's light wasn't enough of an indication. The girl tenses, her left fist clenching together tightly into a fist as though it's a way to curb her nervousness - her anxiousness - her downright fright. Raising her left arm to tap the glasses quickly, as if reinforcing their position on her nose, Melissa halfway-slides down off of the rock, her white sneakers causing a light, wet-sounding thud as they smash into the muddy ground. With her head held high and her eyes half open, the girl stands tall, bringing her arms up to cross them over her breast. To the average onlooker, it would merely look like she's trying to keep herself warm. She opens her mouth, and her eyes widen as she realizes how difficult it is to speak. With an inaudible choke, Melissa closes her eyes, summons the strength from the depth of her soul, and lets forth with a loud, "Wesley!" Her fingernails dig themselves into her skin. This is it. She's had some time to think. Here he is.

Wesley waits for a response, doubts dancing through his head. He's thought so much about what he's going to say to Melissa that he can't possibly conceive of her being anywhere else - not today, not while he's here. Perhaps Wesley is learning to trust his instincts more, or perhaps chance and fate have just thrown the two kids together at the right time. The boy isn't proved wrong; when Melissa calls his name, he's not shocked. He's afraid. The thrill of fear shoots down his spine and mingles with the boiling pit of agitation in his stomach. In rebellion at these feelings flowing through it, the stomach clenches painfully. Wesley tries to convince himself these pangs are pangs of hunger, and that might be true; the twelve year old didn't eat a good lunch today, nor a good breakfast. Thoughts about Melissa, ones as deep and murky as this fog, have preyed on his mind. Wesley exhales sharply, and sticks his gloved hands in his pockets. "Stay close..uh, but not too close," he orders of Sparkheart, who's rather happy to obey. It means more time with the precious Pikachu that shares part of his genes, who has now decided that daddy should give her a piggy-back ride. Wesley strides towards the sound of Melissa's voice, his body as straight as ever, but his steps slow and fearful.

October means Kats come out to 'play', save the data! Right away! (Saving)

Everything is grey, veiled by mist. It's chilly and the air feels damp. There is no wind.

Melissa is struggling to control her breaths. Her heart is thumping, her lip is quivering, and her fingers are scratching nervously on her folded arms. What does she feel? She feels... anxious, scared, intimidated, nervous, excited, maybe even relieved. Why doesn't she feel what she -should- feel? Because she doesn't know what she should feel, and that's exactly where Melissa's thoughts have derived themselves from these past few cold, rainy days. The girl stands there. She does not approach Wesley, nor make any indication to greet him as he gradually manifests from the fog. He looks... different. Or perhaps it's because she hasn't seen him in a while... or maybe it's the fog... ... No. He looks different. Melissa does not smile, does not wave, does not even cock her eyebrows as Wesley comes closer. One would think she'd be willing to make the job easier for the poor boy.

Sparkheart the Pikachu wanders a good five feet behind Wesley; only his keen ears keep from completely losing his trainer, who blends in rather well with the fog in his grey jeans and dark grey jacket. His face is as pale as ever, and the area, or perhaps the boy's wardrobe, make his eyes even more granite-coloured than usual. As Melissa becomes visible, the young boy stops dead in his tracks. Wesley's head raises sharply as he suddenly realizes just what he's going to be doing; now that Melissa is in front of him, the scenarios that he's played out in his head are dashed to pieces. Wesley scrambles to find the words he had prepared earlier, but they're gone from where he left them. Only a few scrambled sentences remain; the rest are in tatters. But, he reminds himself, that doesn't matter yet. Though his heart leaps in his chest, he continues moving to Melissa. He'll stop around seven or six feet from her, if she doesn't move first. His eyes begin to drop lower to stare at his friend's feet, but, quick as a flash, he forces his gaze to her face. "Melissa," he repeats softly. The boy clears his throat and swallows. "We..need to talk," he says. A simple statement, but a loaded one. Fortunately, no one else appears to be listening, or none that Wesley can see - Sparkheart tromps around with his daughter on his back, "Chuu"ing happily as the baby talks nonsense words.

Melissa feels like a statue. A slightly shaky statue in an awkward position, her eyes wide and fearful, her lip being bitten so hard it's a wonderful she's not drawing blood, but a fully erect and petrified statue nonetheless. And yet - and yet, remaining yards away from her, Wesley still puts his own little engravement, a chip off of her face as the sides of her mouth curl up into a smile. It's entirely involuntary - chances are, she doesn't even realize that her cross mouth has faded into the fog. "H... hi, Wesley," the older trainer greets her friend, trying to nod but barely coming off with more than a quiver. "We... um..." The girl exhales here, her eyes submissively dropping off of Wesley's face and directing themselves to the side. She huddles into herself further. She shudders. She really does look like she's cold. She knows better. Maybe Wesley does, too.

Wesley watches Melissa's reactions like a hawk, searching for any sign of an emotion he can understand. If anger or hatred, he'll leave. If kindness and understanding, he'll rejoice. If hesitation and uncertainty, well...part of Wesley's grand plan for this confrontation crumbles. He /needs/ Melissa to be the strong one, because she's the only one who can figure this situation out. Wesley knows himself well enough - he knows that Melissa has a higher grasp of understanding about emotions than he does. Wesley's face is despairing as Melissa fails to come through, fails to try and talk rationally and explain to him what's going on. His spine curls just a tad before the boy straightens abruptly. This means he has to speak, because discussion is the only way to clear this fear-stinking air between them. "I...I'm sorry, Melissa," is Wesley's soft apology. Quiet, but sincere. Sincere but desperate. "I didn't mean to..to..." Wesley sighs, a hand moving from his pocket and running through his light blonde hair. He needs a moment to compose his notes, to properly execute his speech.

The misty light dims slightly.

For as much thought Melissa's been doing, it's been entirely abstract: little fragments of thought floated around in her mind. Thousands and thousands of little fragments, but still only small pieces nonetheless. As a result, she, unlike Wesley, has no "notes", no "speech" - so anything she says from here on out is entirely genuine. "You..." The girl shifts her weight onto her left weight, and she embraces herself further, uncomfortably, shyly. The way Wesley's standing there, obscured in the fog... it seems like his home. Melissa feels best on a sunny day in a flowery field - but this, to Melissa, seems like Wesley's rocky terrain, Wesley's dark weather. The smile on her face slightly broadens. "... You... shouldn't have to be sorry. It was..." Here Melissa shrugs slightly, but it seems to be more of an action for the sake of acting than anything else. It's definitely not an "I don't care" or an "It's not important" shrug.

Wesley doesn't think in abstract; child though he may be, he's a logical one. Emotions fade and change over time, but logic remains constant, is the boy's private mantra. Though Melissa doesn't look at him, Wesley manages to keep his eyes on Melissa's face, stopping himself from glancing away the many times he feels like doing so. He's scared that if he looks anywhere else, all his desperately needed thoughts will be gone. Especially if that 'anywhere else' happens to be other parts of Melissa's body. ... He still can't forget how it felt to hold her. It's a guilty pleasure, that he liked that hug as much as he did, and this painful conversation must be payback for it. "But..I am sorry," Wesley says. His voice is still quiet, but it drops lower as his guilt rises. If you close your eyes, it sounds like an older person speaking. "I'm sorry because I really didn't mean to hurt you. I would /never/ intentionally hurt you, Melissa." That was why she left, right? Because he hurt her? His tone changes again; he now uses the voice of a lost child, stumbling over his words. "I thought...I thought I might have..ah, brought up some...memories that you might not want...to remember." There's a light pause there as Wesley prays Melissa understands him. "But," he adds before the pause becomes too long, "that's just what I thought. I have..no idea what /you've/ thought." A light query finishes off Wesley's speech. Now Wesley expects Melissa to try and put into words what she experienced.

As Wesley speaks, Melissa remains with her weight on her left foot, still-cross armed, still smiling - though this time her eyes appear worried, and her smile is more of a sad one. Once Wesley mentions that he would never hurt her, the girl's head slowly rotates, bringing her eyes over to land on the boy's face, where they remain until he's finished speaking. She's silent, that hurt smile still visible on her face like a scar that won't go away. "Oh... Wes..." she half-exhales at last, her head shaking slightly, almost unnoticably. She's never referred to him as 'Wes' before now, has she? She hesitates for a few moments longer, and though she still feels depressed, she no longer feels quite so uncomfortable. This is her best friend she's talking to. Her best friend. "No... you... you d-didn't... -hurt- me," she mumbles, glancing down at the ground. Where is she going with this? It's unlikely she herself knows. "... ... Well... It... wasn't... it's not your... not your fault, Wesley." Is she going to cry again? Her smile is beginning to fade, and her voice is dropping in pitch rapidly.

October means Kats come out to 'play', save the data! Right away! (Saving)

Twilight deepens the grey of the fog.

Wesley is busy, though he doesn't look it. He looks like a frozen little boy, with one hand in his pocket and another hand limp and useless by his side. His eyes don't even move. But what he's doing now takes a supreme effort of will on Wesley's part. He's busy thinking about what Melissa means by her reaction, busy fighting down the shivering in his gut, busy fighting to keep from glancing at the ground or the sky or anywhere but Melissa's face. But most of all, he's busy trying to think of what to say. He evaluates Melissa's statements: While he does notice that Melissa called him 'Wes', he doesn't think much more of it than that it's part of her usual stuttering problem. When she says that he didn't hurt her, he feels a trickle of relief that is soon sucked up into a well of caution. Maybe..Melissa didn't quite understand what he meant? But after that..Melissa says its not his fault. Wesley still feels like he's playing a game where he doesn't know the rules and the clock is ticking down. "Then...what happened, M..Melissa?" he questions, a bit more desperate an edge to his voice. He needs to know so he he won't do it (whatever that means!) again by accident. Wesley is looking for a simple answer.

God. How do you tell somebody this? How do you look somebody in the eye and tell him you can't like him because he's a boy or because he's white or because he's blond or because he's short? What if the only reason you can't like him is because everybody else thinks it's weird, everybody else thinks it's dumb, everyone else thinks it's silly? How do you tell somebody this - when that somebody doesn't seem to realize it?

Wesley hangs on Melissa's words, gripping on to every syllable she utters as if it were a life line. His breathing is still quiet, but his breaths are shaky, unreliable. His legs seem so too, at her first words. "I can't..." Melissa says. Wesley doesn't trust his imagination, mostly because at times it can be horrible. Immediately the words "be your friend," flash through his mind, making his lips purse and jaw clench. The very thought causes him to assume a lifeless aspect - he's a walking corpse in this foggy day, and this is a terrifying horror movie for the young boy. His emotions are obvious on that childish face of his. The rest of Melissa's words sound dully in his ears. He hears them, but he can't listen to them. That part of him has shut down. Now his rapidly beating heart is the only thing speaking. "Melissa," he croaks. "I..I /need/ you to be my friend. I...I had a speech," he says suddenly, though his overall fearful tone doesn't change. "To make you be my friend. If..." His eyes are tearing up. No, this can't be happening, it wouldn't be if he could only remember what he wanted to say...! "If you give me a moment, I'll..I'll remember it," he squeaks out.

Everything is grey, veiled by darkening twilit mist. There is little wind. It's chilly and the air feels damp.

Fog and darkness shroud the world.

Melissa's head jerks up. Her eyes were wide before; now they're even bigger. Her arms fall limp to her sides, and he jaw goes limp as she looks at Wesley. Friends... make him be her friend... love? Does he mean friends like they were before? Or... or... Melissa tenses up, both outwardly and inside. She... might have just made a big mistake. "Wesley!" she almost hisses, her voice almost panicked, most definitely worried. "Oh, no, no..." God, he's so sweet. Writing her a speech to win her friendship back... "Wesley... you... I..." Look, he's starting to cry. Poor thing. "I need... I thought... oh, no, Wesley..." Poor naive little guy. "I..." She can't get it out. She's been on an entirely different level as her friend altogether - did she not realize she was risking her friendship? Melissa continues stuttering, but doesn't say anything of real value.

"Make you be my friend" could have been phrased better. What Wesley actually meant was "To make us friends again," but the 'you' for Melissa came out first. Wesley has been thinking so long and hard about this, and all he's figured out is how little he knows. With that in mind, he thought up plans for the worst possible outcome and, yes, he thought up a speech to prevent Melissa from breaking off their friendship. It was logical, and it had points and even a bit of a conclusion at the end. And when the moment came...it all disappeared. It left, and all he has now are those distrustful emotions. And two tears that snake down his face. Wesley sniffles as he watches Melissa intently. The space where his eyebrows meet becomes furrowed as he tries to figure out just what she's trying to say. Melissa can make so many things clearer sometimes and confuse him so thoroughly at others. Maybe..she's trying to tell him that they're still friends? ...Or maybe she didn't think he knew that she was planning on breaking off their friendship, and now she has to try a different tact? Wesley's imagination is sometimes cruel, and right now he's subject to it. That and his fear, his pain, and that small bit of rising hope. Wesley doesn't start his speech, he doesn't change his position - he waits, frozen and confused and scared and...needing.

The fact that Wesley doesn't reply gives Melissa mixed feelings. He's not denying anything, but he's not affirming it, either. "...W... Wesley," Melissa stutters. Her hands - they have to go something. Now. Her left hand levitates up to her hair to stroke it, running her fingers through her tangles and knots, a consequence of paying little attention to it these past few days. Her right hand simply fiddles around her body - adjusts her glasses, tugs at her shirt, scratches an itch on her thigh, rubs her chin. "I thought... thought... ... no... when I hugged... but it's... kind of..." Melissa's eyes sort of roll up into her head at her frustration at her inability to get out what she wants to say. And perhaps it's simply this intimidation, this anger, this desire to not be that timid, stuttering little antisocial girl that pushes out her feelings now. "When I... when I said you were my best friend, Wesley, I... I... I was serious. Oh, God, if... if... If anything happened to you..." Her right hand's occupation is currently now covering her mouth, as if her thought hurts her that greatly. "I'd... I'd... You're like everything, more than my... my pokemon, or even my parents... s-so much to me, I couldn't... don't... Don't cry, Wesley." It's only now that Melissa realizes that she - she herself - is crying. She didn't even realize her blurry vision, her hot cheeks, the salty water dripping down the side of her nose and touching her upper lip. "Oh..." she mumbles as she comes to this realization. Left hand still rubbing her hair, her right hand works on rubbing her eyes and wiping away the tears.

October means Kats come out to 'play', save the data! Right away! (Saving)

Though Wesley isn't aware of it, he steps closer. He needs to see Melissa and maybe if he comes closer, he'll be able to figure out the enigma that she is. The boy takes another unconscious step, physically expressing his desire to be close to her, to be by her side as her friend. And then she speaks. Melissa speaks of friendship, of fear, of devotion. Golden words, blasting through the mists clinging wrapping up his head. Relief finally blossoms in Wesley's chest - his heart beats even faster. For the first time tonight, a smile wells up on his face. His tears stop coming. It's such a soft smile and it's not just on his mouth; it's in his eyes. If only the smile didn't go away as he sees that Melissa crying. Wesley's face clouds with concern. "Melissa," he murmurs. The distance between them grows less and less, until Wesley stands only a foot or two away. His other hand slips out of his pocket and reaches out towards the girl, to touch her face with his gloved hand.

Understanding is visible in her friend's face, and that's all Melissa can ask for. Exhaling a tiny relieved sigh, it only comes clear now that Melissa seems exhausted - like she's been climbing uphill with something strapped to her back for hours, and only just now the weight has been lifted. And she feels great - but tired. Oh, so very tired... Though Wesley recalls his hand before the two can make any contact, the feeling is there. Melissa knows what she must do - and also what she cannot under any circumstances do. A hug would hurt her too much right now, not now. A kiss, even on the cheek, would probably cause the poor boy to drop into a faint. But... to... Melissa moves. The first steps she's taken in hours. The taller girl has to bend down slightly as she approaches her friend, but, with her eyes twinkling behind her glasses and her face transfixed in a smile, the teenager will attempt to grab Wesley's right hand with her own. Should this be successful (should Wesley not yank his arm away and run screaming into the fog from fright!), she will place her left hand on top of his own, creating a kind of hand sandwich.

Wesley takes a deep breath, slowly releasing it from slightly parted lips. Then Melissa grasps his hand. Her attempt is successful - and it seems to be what sets his thoughts in motion. Wesley peers up at his friend. Does he see hatred, as he expects? No; he sees weariness and relief. And what does Melissa see, once his questioning look disappears? Determination, with a fair amount of weariness as well. Wesley speaks once again from the heart, but this time he gains strength and courage as he presses on. Such a strong tone, and such a solemn face. "I, Melissa..you mean more to me than I ever thought possible. I...as I train and walk around...I mean, as I travel, I meet so many people. I don't even remember their names. I remember yours. I always will. You turned my journey into...I went on my pokemon journey to learn things about pokemon, not to learn people. Then I found you..or you tripped over me," he smiles briefly at the hazy memory "and I began to learn about people. And myself. But mostly about you. I don't even see my own..father, as much as I see you."

There's so much power Wesley has put into that only simple gesture.

October means Kats come out to 'play', save the data! Right away! (Saving)

Wesley closes his eyes for a second and breathes in her words. He's been cold during the night, though he hasn't shown in, and he certainly wasn't as cold as Melissa. But now the very notion of being cold sounds foreign to him; he knows he's experienced it before, but it doesn't seem like it will ever be important to him again. All he feels is warmth. Feelings of friendship - one day they might be more, but for now, this is all Wesley wants and needs. That voice in his head that called Melissa a girl before is silent now. "Thank you," is all the boy can think of to say, but it's a testament to how much this friendship means to him. But..hmm. You know, what with all his speaking about pokemon..."Oh," Wesley says blankly, his eyes snapping open as both eyebrows rise in shock. He completely forgot about Sparkheart. He turns his head from Melissa to look around, slipping his hands from her as he does so. Good things don't last forever, unfortunately. "Spar--" <I'm here, I'm here, don't make a peep - my baby girl is fast asleep!> Sparkheart waddles slowly forward on all fours; it's soon apparent his daughter is nestled in the fur on his back. Wesley sighs. "Good," he murmurs. The boy then plucks two pokeballs from his belt and turns around to recall his pokemon..before stopping. He points at the baby curled on Sparkheart's back - though she's mostly ears and tail in the position that she's in. "/That's/ a baby Pikachu," he says. He remembered that Melissa wanted to see one.

The world is dark and foggy. Everything is half-hidden, nothing clearly seen. It's chilly and the air feels damp. No wind blows.

Melissa just keeps smiling at Wesley, but she has nothing to say. Perhaps all words are unnecessary now, all words are too much, any words no matter how intense or passionate are simply like the fog the two are standing in: murky, hindering, obscuring. But indeed it's true - nothing good, like nothing bad, ever lasts a long time. Sparkheart's little squeaks somehow penetrate into Melissa's ears. She's a little more aware of the world now. It's dark. She's cold. There's fog. Baby Pikachus. Baby Pikachus? Melissa's eyes slowly, very slowly, make their way to the tiny Pikachu on her father's back, and her heart swells up. It's a different kind of swelling, of course - it's much more shallow, much less intense - but it still feels nice. "Ohhh," the girl mumbles, raising her hand to adjust her glasses as she peers at the baby pokemon, an almost mischievious grin forming on her face. "He's... so sweet." Melissa never was very good at picking out pokemon genders...

Wesley doesn't bother to correct Melissa. Instead, he grins one of those soft smiles of his that light up his round face. He's not actually smiling at his friend's ignorance, though it may appear that way - the smile is one of fondness. Because now that Melissa said it, the sweetness of the sleeping baby means so much more. And he was the one who pointed it out to her. He made her smile, brought her happiness, /brings/ her happiness through his friendship. He can also bring her pain, fear, nervousness...that was evident enough earlier tonight. But that is the price humans pay when they get close to one another. Sparkheart smiles up at Melissa like the proud papa that he is. <Sweet, sweet - her claim to fame! Now we only need a name!> Wesley doesn't respond, though he makes a mental note to address that naming issue later. He lets Melissa look over the two pokemon for a few seconds more before recalling both of them and sticking his pokeballs on his belt. Naturally, Wesley doesn't give a 'good bye'. He still has a long way to go to being a considerate or kind trainer, if he'll ever be one at all. But for now he's just trying to be a kind and considerate friend. One who remembers rituals as well. "I'll walk you back," he says softly, before glancing towards Pewter. Or where he /thinks/ Pewter is. It's hard to tell in this fog.

Maybe Melissa's not so unlike other girls after all. Sure, she doesn't follow trends. Sure, she doesn't like talking to anybody who isn't Wesley. Sure, she spends most of her free time at the library. But, as much as she might not care to admit it, Melissa is an absolute sucker for baby pokemon. Though nothing - *nothing* - could take her mind off of Wesley entirely, part of her attention does focus on the sleeping baby Pikachu, a type of pokemon which is absolutely adorable even as an adult. "Aww," she emits gently, even as the two pokemon are returned to their pokeballs. Glancing over at Wesley, giving him a small nod and a gentle, gentle little smile (how awful she was feeling hours ago; how wonderful life is now), the girl whispers, "I'd like that." Should Wesley look at her, she'll gesture in the direction of Pewter - he was right after all - but not make the first step. By placing his hand on hers tonight, Wesley already decided who's going to stand up for who. And even if he might not realize it - she wouldn't expect most anybody to - she's making a concious effort to wait for him to move before she herself takes the first step.

Words from his shattered speech float through his mind, but this pleases him rather than saddens him. He managed to get the message across without saying it. Speaking from the heart - odd and unpredictable organ that it is - seemed to work fine. The twelve year old boy smiles over at Melissa and her affirmative response, his face relfecting a bit of the weariness he's just now allowing himself to feel. As Melissa gestures over to Pewter (and yes, the boy does have his eyes on her - she's as bright as the sun on the grey night), Wesley blinks in surprise. He was right. How 'bout that. And then he waits for Melissa to move. She changed the ritual on him, and once again Wesley doesn't get it. His smile falls a bit in his confusion. "Uh?" he questions. There's a pause before Wesley decides he can't go on staring at her like this forever. He takes a short, hesitant step towards Pewter. ..Maybe Melissa is so exhausted she forgot how to walk? Sometimes after the Techno Dome tournaments, Wesley's felt like that, and he can kind of understand if Melissa feels that way now. Another step is taken, and his hand extends as he gestures lightly towards the city in the distance. Will she come now?

Yes, she will come. After Wesley catches the point - she didn't expect him to even notice that he's going first this time - Melissa gladly follows right beside him, walking briskly but consciously matching his pace. The walk home will likely be decisively uneventful. Perhaps Melissa will make a little pointless comment about needing to dress to better suit the weather, maybe Wesley will ask her if she's tired, but the walk home will likely be predominantly in silence. Verbal silence, at least - the girl's mind is completely aware, processing thoughts about Wesley, about emotions, about friendship and family and love and life and future and experiences. Melissa's glad Wesley was there for her tonight - she realized how much she suffered without him.