Abandoned Fic: Siebold x Sick Reader (Pokemon XY)

It feels strange to walk up to the castle and veer off, but you do. The tall, ornate doors that you entered before stand there, beckoning you, but even if you walked to them, you knew they wouldn’t open. The lights in the center of the castle are out, a hollow space of darkness aching to be filled with light, but it’s not to be today. As you walk along the curving path, away from the fountain, you feel wetness in your boot, and you aren’t sure what to curse: the snowy weather or the construction of your footwear.

But soon the path lifts you out of the snow, onto a long bridge meant to suggest the flying buttress of the cathedral into which the League headquarters are built. As you ascend, you finally see sparkles of light peeking out of the drab stone ahead, and you get a whiff of something in the air. As you walk on, unfazed, part of you wonders what it is. It’s savory, but that’s all you can tell with the cold in your nose.  The icy air burns your throat, your lungs, as you make your way across the bridge into a small doorway, less ornate than the one you’re used to.

The corridor is familiar, not unlike the one you passed by, the one you passed through before. The neutral grays, the neutral artwork on the walls, all seem familiar. But this passageway is not the same. Some of the gray photographs on the gray walls have a weak attempt at chiaroscuro, or a little color in them. The ceiling is lower. Springs of mistletoe and lights can still be seen near the doorway, and near one of the doors.

On the left is Siebold’s chambers. On the right, Malva’s.  You think. You decide to follow the lights, instead. As you get closer, you find yourself following the ghost of a smell instead.

You knock on the door and it opens almost instantly. Before you can say anything, there is pressure all around you, warmth, as he sweeps you up into a hug. “Welcome,” he speaks into your ear, nose brushing your hair as he moves out to kiss you on one cheek, then the other. Then he looks down, and his gray eyes sparkle as he says, “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t come.”

Automatically, you try to answer, but only a hoarse crackling sound escapes your throat, igniting a flame in it. Horror washes over his features briefly, and he presses a warm, soft fingertip ever-so-gently to your lips. “No talking, young lady,” he chides in that serious way of his, his expressions deadpan, nearly indistinguishable from real fury. “You need to rest your voice. I shouldn’t have even summoned you out here in the cold, but I couldn’t be sure you were eating.”

You can’t help yourself. You chuckle briefly, at that.

“Gourmet food nourishes the body and the mind. But so does good company. Get out of those wet things and make yourself comfortable while I finish the meal. Bathroom is first turn on the right past this room.”

He turns, dramatic, and saunters out of the room, to where the air seems heavy with humidity and umami, his white apron swinging as he walks.

You take off your boots first, assessing the damage. Your socks are wet, and many of your friends claim that was what got you into this trouble in the first place. Still, it isn’t comfortable, so you peel them away, bringing instant relief from the cold. You can only hope Siebold won’t mind a barefoot dining companion, but then you see something there that makes your eyebrow jump up: a pair of white fluffy slippers, pristine, not even the slightest indentation of someone’s foot. You dismiss them, thinking they must be Siebold’s, but then you see a little bow on the side. It’s pink. For a second you wonder if they’re another woman’s, if Siebold has a sister, a girlfriend here in his chambers at the League Castle, but then you realize they would look worn in, and they wouldn’t be setting out toward you in the entryway. You look at it again, just to be sure they’re pink, as Siebold does not seem to be above ribbons if they happen to be blue.

But he ribbon is pink, the slippers are unused, and they seem to be your size.

You slip them on. They feel warm, even warmer than the carpet beneath your feet, and a small moan of relief escapes your lips. How thoughtful.

Then you go back to removing. You take off your hat first, which is wetter and colder than you like, though in this weather you almost feel naked without it, and there’s no speaking to what it’s done to your coiffure. Then the gloves come off, stuffed into the pockets of your coat, bringing relief from the cold with them as they go. You unfasten and remove your jacket, hanging it on the hook there, and of all the things you’ve taken off, it’s the only one that makes you colder and not warmer in its absence, though Siebold’s living quarters are warmer than you expected. You tuck your bag under your arm and make your way toward the bathroom, or at least, where you think the bathroom is.

Your first step brings you into a lavish living room, though perhaps not as lavish as you expected. The centerpiece of it all is a lovely white sofa, and there seems to be a small block of something blue and shining in front of it. It takes you a moment to realize that that block is an aquarium, with a large gap between the sidewalls and the flat glass top. Siebold’s purple Starmie suddenly rises from the floor of it, giving a little wave of its arm to you. It is then that your eye is drawn to the wall behind the couch, which is made of glass, behind it, an even larger tank of water. Siebold’s Gyarados watches you from within, its blue coloration almost blending in, caution in its eyes.

Then you find the path on the right. There are two doors there, and you find you cannot remember which way Siebold said to turn. You try right again, and you are rewarded: a bathroom, and a lush one at that. Lush, dark blue towels hanging from gold towel racks, a marble countertop, and a classic porcelain bathtub with gold-tone feet, surrounded by a blue curtain complete the room. You do what you came to do, freshening up, trying to splash away some of the puffiness of your face with the cold water and doing what you can to breathe clearly, at least for a while.  As you turn to leave, something rises out of the tub. A scream catches in your throat, but then you realize it is only the Clawitzer you’ve defeated before, who  seems almost to laugh as he settles back down into obscurity. You take a deep breath, and head back to the living room.

Starmie has emerged from beneath the table, and it’s aglow now, hoving in an undulating pattern as it points with two arms toward a doorway. You can hear the water dripping off it into the tile floor, and look down as you pass, mindful not to get the slippers wet.

You find him there in the kitchen, which is alive with smells of herbs and spices, vegetables, meat. It’s easier to breathe in here, no doubt the humidity, and at this distance there’s no mistaking the aroma of chicken and spices. He’s standing there, stirring, humming tunelessly, a splatter of yellow broth on the high collar of his jacket. Suddenly, you realize that he is dressed the same as he would be if he were in his chambers in the main entrance, as he would if he were accepting challengers. That’s when he looks up at your, smiling.

“I hope you found the slippers. I had a feeling your boots might leak, and I happened to have an extra pair of slippers lying around.”

You stare at him a little harder, and he shrugs.

“Malva seems to be under the illusion that I enjoy the color pink. Not on myself, non,” he complains, turning his attention back to the pot. After a moment, he says. “The soup is almost ready. Once it’s off the pot, I’ll get you something to drink and we can eat. Until then, please have a seat in the dining room. The door is directly behind me.”