Dissonance

A/N: Dissonance – lack of consistency or compatibility between actions or beliefs.

EDIT!: Name change. Simply because Amphigory fits another fic better :D

Nascour / Wes overtones. Because ohGodIcan and this is the sexier, non-anti-gravity-psychopath-having-a-wardrobe-malfunction Nascour.

I believe this is the first NxW ... ? I happily linger to be corrected however.

- Partly alternate timeline to Obrumbrata. As in 'the funeral' being of a character from Obrumbrata; but it's not exactly a tie-in unless I go and edit a chapter or two. Which I have to do anyway but...yes. IF (big if people, mind your heads) this becomes more than one-shot, it will deviate greatly from Obrumbrata.

Disclaimer: If I owned Pokémon, it wouldn't be suitable for small children. At all. Or a stupidly powerful Pikachu (I'm sorry, but just no. Pikachu's are not that special. Really.). And things in Colosseum wouldn't have glided about as if they have rigor mortis setting in. That's just morbid.


After the funeral, they had talked little. Remained civil, Nascour was after all his superior, but he had never read to the child again. Partly because he was no longer a child, mostly because the Snagem hideout was nowhere near the Cipher head offices. Opposite sides of Orre in fact.

The boy would be...seventeen? Thereabouts, he thought, watching the fading sun slip away behind a few lonely rock towers through the haze rising from the sand. His red eyes reflected on the glass ever so faintly, pale skin standing out against a dark waistcoat and blending in with a white shirt. The black slacks made him appear to be floating in the reflection and he amused himself with the thought for a moment until a timid knock detached him from his thoughts. The reason he'd remembered the sandy haired, golden eyed boy to begin with; the usual Snagem crook who delivered the report to him on the weeks capture involved in a shootout and thus 'unable to attend'. Apparently, the trainers of Pyrite were more inclined to retaliate. They would have to learn their place.

"Come in." The timid owner of the timid knock opened the door and bowed, stepping back to allow a tall teen past and then closing the door again, leaving them alone. "Mister Synclairr." The boy had grown, only inches shorter than himself, still lean though his bare arms had curves of muscle with a roguish, boyish charm to him. A soft mouth that would be quick to tweak at one corner in a smirk though currently pressed into a line, a mischievous spark in piercing gold eyes. His hair had grown longer, the bangs brushing the sides of a young jaw line, not yet strongly defined, spikes that stuck up persistently a little tamer as the longer weight held them down. There was now a white stripe across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, a stark contrast to evenly tanned skin.

"Master Nascour." His voice was not too deep, and the older man noticed with a concealed smile that it had a husky edge to it. The girls must love him. Silver hair flicked as he turned and sat at his desk, lacing his fingers together and resting his elbows on the desk, red eyes burning into gold. The teen's black leather encased fingers flexed slightly; he wondered if he made the teen nervous.

"Sit." He nodded to the chair opposite him. Even with the heavy biker boots he was wearing, the teen was quiet, nearly silent, as he crossed the room and sat obediently. Black leather creaked faintly as his trousers met the seat. Judging by the dust that clung to him, he'd only just arrived, the black polo neck (clearly, Nascour was not alone in his love of black) dotted with random specks of sand and dirt.

Roguish, mysterious, cold, terrifying. The snagger was such a mix of juxtapositions; he could find few words that truly fit. "You may continue." Nascour listened to the boy's voice, the words lost to him, glad the mix with Snagem had not ruined his speech. Had ever he known that the boy would grow up to become such a creature as the one before him, he would have undoubtedly kept him close, away from that brute Gonzap. He had been dazed for many a month after the funeral, everything had seemed as nothing and he had become recluse, doing nought but working and lamenting at length to himself. When Evice had approached him with the promise of an immediate head executive position within a highly successful company, it had been an escape from the ever downward spiral into which he had been sinking.

"-which resulted in the death of one of the Snaggers. The Under often poses these risks, but we were unprepared for such violent confrontation in Pyrite. Despite this, all listed Pokémon were captured and have been shipped to Cipher this morning."

"Very well." The teen rose to leave and paused, fingers tapping the back of the seat in thought. "You have a question?" Gold eyes met his without fear, fierce and beautiful.

"...The Pokémon that we catch. What happens to them?" Such a childlike question, Nascour thought, unable to stop himself from chuckling. A dark smile lingered on his lips at the teens frown.

"Would the knowledge make you any wiser?"

"Perhaps." 'Perhaps indeed.' The teen's audacity amused him. He should have shied from the mere thought of questioning someone of Nascour's status let alone reputation.

"Perhaps I would be wiser for telling you, but the repercussions of such would not be well invited, you understand."

"Are they being harmed?" Such a warm heart beneath the ice exterior. Again, so wonderful a juxtaposition it near drove him wild with hunger. Yes, hunger; it was precisely what the boy invoked. Someone who would have everyone close to them envied by those far away, someone – something, for he was above the labels of mere mortals – born of divine fire, entrancing the hapless and burning away their wings. Something that inspired the fire within him to hunger again.

Though...Nascour had to wonder if the boy truly cared or was just acting on his sense of inner-justice. Some in-built unrelenting sense of righteousness that belonged in those foolish martyr trainers who didn't seem to realise exactly the nature of Pokémon. The reason they became stronger and evolved in the first place. Wild Pokémon fought – for fun, for mates, for territory, for food – it was what they were created by the gods to do.

"Elaborate your definition."

"Don't play cryptic, what happens to them when we catch them? Why have you picked out specific Pokémon? Why-" Nascour silenced him with a look.

"Enough. You're forgetting your place." The dark voice was laced with poison, an uncompromising order to back down. He could see it angered the teen to have to do so. But he was not a fool, falling quiet and glaring away from the red gaze. "I do agree with Pokémon not being harmed by human hand. However, is that not what battles are? Or is that just a way of advancing ourselves? Through the strength of the pets we keep?"

"Pokémon battling is ridiculous. Only the spineless hide behind the strength of other stronger beings. The stupid behind ones they can't control."

"Wise words for someone of your years."

"I'd like to think so, but I'm just drawing conclusions from common-sense and observations. When that perfect barrier the fool strove so hard to construct breaks down, the final blow will not be honourable or glorious; it will no comfort those left behind knowing the fool died without courage or strength or wisdom. Anyone who ever believed in that fool will be fools themselves once the truth is revealed. They'll realise they were believing in nothing as all was false. And there will be no splendour for the conqueror, no true battle won. They won't have defeated a warrior, a worthy opponent; they'll have slain a whimpering coward." The final word was spat as though the mere thought of it disgusted the boy. The executive's eyes were alight with mirth and he felt as though the teen had summed up in a few sentences what he'd lived by as dogma much of his life.

"Do not rely on others to protect you when the bells begin to toll." Nascour rose in his seat, ruby never leaving gold. "You and I are not so different, young Master Synclairr; I welcome your next visit." With a slight nod of acknowledgement, the title not going unnoticed, the boy left without another word. The silver haired man turned back to the window with a smirk on his pale lips. He wondered, to himself alone, if this 'coward' would parade with the visage of a short, plump old man by the name Evice.

He allowed himself a quiet chuckle. Playing with fire didn't even begin to describe it; the boy was exciting and intriguing and sharp as a razor.

These reports were undoubtedly to become something to look forward to.


Wes outside office: ... .-. –twitch-

Timid-on-a-stick: You seemed to handle that well

Wes: –knees trembling- that was the single most terrifying event of my life. Ever. x-x –promptly finds a corner to hide in-

Bwhaha. Wes went and got all smart and philosophical. Go Wes :D because I don't think Wes actually likes battling at all. Methinks he'd like to fight his own battles – not to say he hates Pokémon, mind.

Thank you for reading! Big hugs!