Work Text:
Lycan crystal prologue
“I think they like you, Nik. Go on, put away your stress ball thing and give little Salvador a pet.”
The high school senior was only half-listening. Sixteen pairs of eyes — seventeen counting Farmer Nate’s — were scrutinizing him curiously; he had reflexively gone for the stress ball in his pocket and was squeezing it firmly, patiently. Keep going. Keep squeezing. A minute more, maybe two, until your heart slows. Maybe a minute more after that, unless you stop thinking about the loss of signal on your—
“Ah!” Nik yelped and jerked his hand away when one of the Wooloos — the one named Salvador — tried to give the red, foam-rubber ball a nip. His eyes flashing, he drew back his hand to swat the little Pokémon away — but was stopped by Farmer Nate’s strong, calloused hand closing gently — but firmly — around his wrist. Instantly frightened, little Salvador backed up, shivering and giving a pitiful, quavering plea of “Wooloooooo…”
“Now, now, Nik. Be careful with them. Salvador’s just hungry and he’s never seen one of those before, don’t be cross with him. See now, you’ll scare off all of the Wooloos if you do that. Here, try offering him some of these,” the farmer offered the young man a bag of miniature, salted pretzels. “Wooloos love salty treats. They’re very quick to forgive if you give them something tasty. Go on!”
At Farmer Nate’s insistence, Nik put the stress ball in his pocket and accepted the blue foil bag. He hadn’t even managed to open it when he heard Salvador’s sudden, curious bleat of “Wooloo?” As he reached in to take a pretzel, he looked up to see the Pokémon staring at the open bag, clearly recognizing it for what it must contain. Salvador was still shivering in fear, its pigtails swaying faintly, but when it saw the pretzel in Nik’s hand it took an immediate step forward. Then it froze, and its eyes found Nik’s, searching them. Its lips opened in a bleat of “Wooloo…” that sounded like a surrender mixed with a sad complaint, and it trotted forward on its tiny, stubby legs to take the offered pretzel in its mouth.
Nik didn’t even notice his left hand coming to stroke the Pokémon’s head as it nibbled the crunchy snack. It gave another muffled “Wooloo” and pressed its head into his palm, his fingertips sinking deep into the soft, oily wool. He felt the Pokémon tremble almost as though it was crying, and he winced, guilty about having almost struck Salvador just moments ago.
“There, there, that’s better, young man. Wooloos aren’t like the Mareeps you know; they’re very new to the Orre Region. Wooloos are so domesticated that they’re almost helpless; they’ve got no means of defending themselves and can barely even get away if something attacks ‘em. So, their little lives depend on the protection and care of humans — humans just like you whippersnappers, in case you or any of your classmates wanna come back and work here after high school is over. I do appreciate that your private school sends its students out to experience farm life one last time before graduation; we need more of those… but, heheheh, I’m getting carried away with all that,” the farmer snickered before continuing.
“These here Wooloos… heck, if we don’t shear ‘em often enough their wool keeps growin’ until they turn completely immobile. They need us, Nik. And they love us, and they can’t fathom a world where we don’t love ‘em back. So you’d better always be good to Wooloos, y’hear, boy?”
Nik nodded, biting his lip. He gave Salvador another pretzel, touching it to the Wooloo’s lips; with a happy sound it started nibbling anew, its eyes closed in a show of trust. The soon-to-be graduate continued to stroke the sheep-like Pokémon, and when he looked up he saw the other fifteen Wooloos watching, standing closer than before.
So many eyes …
Nik almost went for the stress ball again, but his hand instead stayed on Salvador’s head, petting a tad more firmly. Noticing the change, the Pokémon gave a curious “Wooloo?” and opened its eyes; Nik answered them with a faint, embarrassed smile and gave Salvador’s head a reassuring scritch.
“Tyrannical, aren’t they?” Farmer Nate chuckled. “That’s a thing with prey species, especially the little ones. Very sensitive to the emotions of anything that might hurt them. Especially Wooloos, since almost every Pokémon in existence can hurt ‘em, so they’ll read your body language like a Kadabra reads your mind. Any sign that you’re excited or upset and they’ll get upset too, and they’ll show it, and shame you into calming down so they can calm down again themselves.”
Nik nodded with a smile, already relaxing before Nate had finished his explanation. As he looked again at the farmer, then across the way where his classmates were most likely still slaving with buckets to satisfy the farm’s dairy herd, he felt a pang of gratitude that Nate had taken him to spend time with the Wooloos instead. Heaven knows I could use more help learning to calm myself.
The student gave Salvador another pretzel, though he was surprised to see the Pokémon simply take it in its mouth and trot away. He turned to watch it go but was soon distracted by another Wooloo that had taken Salvador’s place, awaiting its share of pretzels and affection.
In the distance there was a squeal of dismay from one of the classmates who had accompanied Nik on the field trip, and Farmer Nate excused himself to make sure everything was alright between them and the Miltanks. That left Nik alone with the flock of sheep-like Pokémon, who by now had formed an orderly line to be fed and petted.
Funny, Nik thought, why do I feel like I’ve done this before?
The answer hit him soon enough; it was just last month, last time he was visiting his parents. As one of his less pleasant “chores” he had accompanied his dad to the family business, Walker Industrial, early in the morning on a Friday where he played the role of company paymaster. All employees had lined up to each be handed a packet filled with their past two weeks’ wages, and he had watched each of them bow deeply, thank him graciously, then hurry off with the envelope clutched jealously to his or her chest. Nik had been given a notebook to record the name of any employee who failed to show sufficient respect — for the purpose of slashing their pay next time — and he had been tut-tutted at by his father when it was found that he hadn’t noted any employees’ names at all. “You must make sure to keep them on their toes, son, when Walker Industrial becomes your empire,” Nik had been warned—
“W-W-WOOLOO!”
Nik realized that he was snuggling the last Wooloo too tightly, to the point that it was short of breath. He loosened his grip around the Pokémon and patted it firmly, back in the present — back at Nate’s farm. The Pokémon gave another sound, a “Wooloo-hoo-hoo,” as if sobbing while it gasped for breath. All Nik could do was whisper apologies to the Wooloo, ones he doubted it would comprehend save for the conciliatory tone in his voice.
“I’m sorry, little guy, I won’t do it again, you’re not gonna be my stress ball… here, I think I’ve got a few more broken pieces of pretzels, want any?”
Don’t live in the past, Nik told himself. As long as these guys are with you, they’re your world. No matter what happens in your future, don’t ever hurt a Wooloo.