replied to your post “a notepad document that I started months ago and found today”
Following Dark should be a Gastly or Sableye for Vimes; the man has a built in Silph Scope now
downtroddendeity replied to your post “a notepad document that I started months ago and found today”
Vimes has an Alola Raticate and an elderly
Druddigon Sybil gave him and I stand by this.
The rooftop was a maze of narrow chimneys and dingy skylights. Candlelight flickered from the windows of the neighboring buildings, dulled by the rain into an ethereal glow. The clouds hung low in the moonless sky. If you weren’t looking carefully, you’d mistake the dark, hunched shape in the rooftop corner for a rogue bit of stonemasonry, or perhaps a gargoyle. If you were looking carefully, you would see a man, peering across the street.
If you were Sam Vimes, you would see an attempted murderer.
“Joseph Miller,” he called out across the roof, and ducked even before he heard the thud! of the crossbow string. A bolt whistled across the rooftop and disappeared into the rain behind him.
“You can’t stop this, Commander!” Miller shouted from the edge of the rooftop. Vimes heard the creaking of a a crossbow being wound up again.
“Well, that’s where you’re wrong, I’m afraid.” Vimes peered through the gloom. Across the street, the office on the top floor of the Guild of Merchants still glowed with candlelight, the window cracked open to allow the cool night air in. Was the light a little brighter, a little bluer?
“I’m only doing what’s best for this city, Commander!” Vimes dropped behind another chimney as the crossbow string thunked! again. He heard the bolt clatter against another chimney a few feet away.
“Murdering its residents, you mean?” Vimes slid out from behind his chimney and advanced again. “Mr. Parker promoted Stronginthearm to Guild Secretary, isn’t that right? Is that why he was attacked last night?” Just a few feet to go. “Is that why you’re outside Parker’s window now?” The glow from the Merchant’s guild was looking more ethereal by the second. Vimes doubted it had anything to do with the rain anymore.
“It’s too late, Commander!”
“No, you’re wrong there, too.” Pressing his back to the last chimney between himself and the killer, Vimes tugged a small, red-and-white sphere from his belt. “I know you’ve taken issue with the number of dwarves there are in the city now, Miller. People with your objections don’t usually take the time to learn about their traditions or beliefs, so… I’ll assume you haven’t heard of what they call the Summoning Dark. You might dismiss it as a superstition – yes, even you, Mr. Miller, a ghost breeder.”
Miller did not answer – possibly he was too busy winding his crossbow – but Vimes was no longer looking at him. He watched Parker’s office window.
“It’s not just a superstition, Mr. Miller. See, I’ve met the Summoning Dark. I’ve fought it. And now, Mr. Miller? Now–” A whistle pierced the night, then again. Carrot’s signal.
“Now it works for me.”
Vimes leapt out from behind the chimney and hurled the sphere as hard as he could across the street.
Halfway across, it burst open, and a shadowy figure – a sphere of darkness, surrounded by wisps of smoke – flew the rest of the way across the street, slipping through the window as though there was nothing there at all.
The already-jumpy Miller gave a strangled gasp and raised his crossbow, finger already tightening on the trigger. Vimes barely had time to turn his head when a dark, powerful blur of fur and teeth shot past him from its hiding place in the shadows and latched determinedly onto Miller’s wrist.
Vimes turned his attention away from the ensuing blur of screams and snarls and snapping crossbow strings as the glow died in the window across the street. It was replaced by a warmer, more natural sort of illumination as Carrot lit a lamp in the window. And there, from the far window, floating menacingly (it had no other method of floating) came the Summoning Dark, grinning its ever-present grin. It was strange, Vimes thought. It was becoming almost a comforting sight.
“Your Chandelure is unconscious, Mr. Miller,” Vimes said conversationally, opening up his pokeball to allow the Ghastly to fly back inside. “My Captain is collecting it now. Don’t worry, it won’t be harmed.” He went over and nudged the man now curled into the fetal position, clutching his wrist and moaning. “Nor will you, any more than you already have been, until you can stand trial. Down, Errol.”
The Raticate reluctantly stopped kicking the skull of his opponent and trotted back to Vimes’s feet. He bared his teeth at Miller (not that he had any other expression) and preened his whiskers.
“Sir?” Cheery’s voice floated over the rooftop, and a moment later she clambered over the edge from the fire escape. “Is it over?”
“All over, Sergeant. He only had the one Pokemon left after last night. Well done.” Vimes knelt and manacled the groaning Miller’s wrists together.
“It was just a hunch, sir.” Vimes could hear the pride in her voice. “You ever notice how, other than the occasional ten year old, you don’t ever see anyone carrying more than three or four pokemon at a time? More often it’s just two or even one–”
“Yes, Sergeant, thank you.” Vimes held up a hand. “Save it for the report, would you? And better send a message to Detritus and Angua. Let them know there will be no more ghosts tonight.”
“Right, sir.” Cheery detached a pokeball from her belt. There was a flash of light, and a large, orange bird flapped onto her shoulder.
“Oh, you, ah…” Vimes gestured at the bird. “That tiny little thing finally got big?”
“Evolved, sir.” Cheery scribbled a quick note into her notepad and attached it to the bird’s leg. “She’s a Fletchinder now.”
“Right, right. Is that one of the ones that…”
Cheery looked up to see Vimes holding out an unlit cigar hopefully, and sighed. “She’s not a lighter, sir.”
“Right, right. Of course not.” Vimes sheepishly tucked the cigar back into his pocket and bent to hoist Miller over his shoulder. “Let’s get out of the damn rain, sergeant.”
“Right behind you, sir.”