Chapter Text

The new coat is long, black and delightfully heavy. It can’t- nor will it ever- replace his shredded coat, especially not considering the memories attached to it, but it’s a good substitute for the time being. The warm, black fabric is soft and pleasant to the touch, and there are a pair of large pockets adorning the sides. A perfect place to pop a pokeball or a snack, he thinks, something Ingo had to reluctantly admit to be an improvement over his actual coat (there only had been a handful of smaller, tiny pockets lining the insides). 

Still, this was a temporary measure. Just a little layover. Ingo usually would not be keen on leaving that one little bit of his past behind, but in this weather, he’d rather be warm and toasty, rather than stubborn and chilly.

For now, Ingo decides to turn his attention onto the current surroundings. Getting distracted now could be dangerous (or would have been dangerous in Hisui, Dawn assures him that the region is relatively safe now- a fact that Ingo is rapidly growing more aware of with each passing minute). 

Route two-hundred-and-one is a peaceful place. Despite his concern, it does appear that the pokemon are surprisingly far more tame than they were back in Hisui. Very relieving. Ingo finds himself starting to relax as he meanders along the dirt paths, walking beside Dawn. 

It’s a short route, one that shouldn’t take more than a handful of minutes to clear.

Time to enjoy the scenery?

Sandgem Town is a quaint little town nestled between the trees, just a little ways off from the coast. Townhouses line the streets, each one crowned with a nice, bright little roof. Blues, pinks, a rare purple and that one deep maroon- how vibrant! - that Ingo finds to be terribly pleasing. As Ingo wanders down the paths, guided only by Dawn and the brightly-coloured signs marked with ‘laboratory’, he takes the time to truly relax. The air is clean and carries a brisk chill. Flowers bloom in little patches between the trees and fields, adding lovely little specks of colour to the otherwise very, very green countryside. The roads are dusted with sand, likely from the creeping swathes stretching out from the coast near the south. 

The town is also incredibly quiet, other than the faint whooshing of waves lapping against the beach. This isn’t a negative, not truly, but it is surprising considering how many wild pokemon seem to be skittering around the place. From Starlies nesting in the trees and rooftops, to the rare Bidoof and an even rarer little purple fellow that Ingo did not know the name of. Jarring, he thinks, as he watches the wild pokemon just meander around, unbothered by the handful of humans going about their day. Even more jarring, he thinks, that no one seems to be reacting to the wild pokemon. It’s strange, almost as though… As though they don’t appear to be afraid, or even concerned?

How odd. 

How delightful .

If Ingo had to describe Sandgem Town in one word, he’d likely settle on scenic. Indeed, Ingo has no doubt would be very much at home on a postcard (if only he could work out what that was meant to be), or perhaps a nice little painting.

Long ago, this piece of land once was the territory of a fearsome alpha Alakazam- now, it’s home to a not-so-fearsome array of low-level pokemon and even less fearsome older folk. 

Times have certainly changed. 

“How much further, Miss Dawn?”

“ Just Dawn, Ingo - and the lab is just about a minute or two away. Lucas sent me a text, we’re stopping there first instead.”

“Oh?”

“Professor Rowan has been manoeuvred successfully.” Lucas had managed to schedule the man to be out of the way through dubiously ethical means and had texted Dawn with even vaguer responses when she’d asked for a little bit of clarification. How can one schedule something in a dubiously ethical way? “Quicker than expected. Lucas said it would be best to get the pokedex first anyway, to help with your ID.”

Ah, that does seem logical. Best to prioritise 

“I see.” Ingo doesn’t quite see why they need to be so low-key about pokedexes, but it’s not as though he remembers much about anything, and therefore decided that he was just going to follow her lead. “Then the ID?”

“Yep. Going to get a nice picture of you, Mr Scrunkle Man.” 

Ingo suppresses a sigh. Scrunkle. Is that his title now? It sure feels like it.

“Thank you..?”

“You’ll have to remove the hat, sadly.” Ingo opens his mouth to protest, but Dawn beats him to the punch. “ I know! No hats, what is the world coming to?” She dramatically sighs, seemingly personally offended. Considering how almost every trainer Ingo has met so far (Barry not included) had been wearing a hat. Yes, Ingo might be performing a little bit of the old opportunistic sampling, but hats do appear to be worn by a good majority of the population. Dawn huffs again. “We had hats in our IDs when I was a girl. Good old days.”

(Hats in IDs… That does sound right. A matching pair. Black and white.

There had been two. Why were there two hats?)

“Preposterous.” Ingo agrees, having decided to base his entire worldview on a small percentage of people he had seen this morning. “Awful.”

A building starts to come into view. Large, slightly long and a juxtaposition of old and new. Half of the building appears to be some sort of traditional wind-mill, turning gently in the breeze. The other half, slightly cylindrical half, appears to be a fantastical mish-mash of metal, lights and glass. Small spikes extrude from the top, dotted with even smaller lights, and piece the sky. 

It’s as though the past and what Ingo assumes to be the future have come together to form some sort of magical, unified hybrid. Hisui never had anything that could ever compare to this. There, it was cabins, wood and stone. Metal, outside of Galaxy Hall, was never really part of Hisuian architecture. Truly a magnificent sight.

This, if the signs are trustworthy, must be Professor Rowan’s laboratory.

Ingo’s glad that the Professors appear to have much nicer looking labs now, times have changed since the days of poor Laventon’s messy, cramped room. 

“We’re here.” Dawn points forward, directing him towards a final path. She eyes Ingo, and smiles as she realises he’s utterly fixated on the futuristic part of the lab. “The lab. Cool looking, isn’t it?”

“Very much so.”

The doors (made of glass?) come into view now. Ingo spies more shiny, metallic surfaces beyond. He’s hesitant to actually go into the building, though. It feels a bit like trespassing. The Professor isn’t even here. He comes to a stop, just a few paces off the doors.

Dawn doesn’t notice the hesitance. She’s already moved on ahead of him, standing just before the doors. She knocks on the door, rapping her knuckles against the glass rhythmically. Then, when no one answers, Dawn instead goes for a small metal box just beside it and hits a button.

A faint, electrical buzz rings out.

No response.

Another button hit, another buzz.

Then another.

And another.

Another.

Another.

And-

A figure comes into view. The door slides open, and Lucas appears, looking utterly unamused. “I heard you the first time, Dawn.” He grumbles, much to Dawn’s delight. Then, Lucas blinks, leaning to the side so he can see behind his giggling sister. His expression brightens.  “Good morning, Ingo. Here for the pokedex?”

“Yes.” Is there anything else that Ingo is here for? That sounds a bit like a question, but not one Ingo knows the answer for if so.

Lucas nods, pleased, then beckons him forward. “Good. Come in.”

The inside of the laboratory is somehow even more magnificent than the outside. Panels cover each wall, and machines of unknown purpose and origin beep and bop quietly in the corners. Sofas, chairs and plants dot the inside, and the walls are lined with desks and goodness knows what. There’s even a second floor with a balcony overlooking the main hub of the laboratory below.

Fascinating. Technology really is amazing.

Notably, a team’s worth of pokemon (and then some) seem to roam the lab. There’s a Gliscor hanging from the guardrails of the balcony. An Alakazam drifts around the lower floor aimlessly, followed by a small horde of Eevee. To the right, Glaceon on the sofa. To the left, an Espeon napping in the sunlight. Upstairs? There’s an Infernape. Mmm, monkey.

What is truly exciting, however, is that there are even a few pokemon that Ingo has never seen before wandering the lab. One strange, knife-handed fellow that ambles along without a care in the world, followed by a knife-headed fellow that looks like it’s on the verge of the pokemon equivalent of a panic attack. Oh dear.

“One moment, I’ll get the dex for you. Would you like a guide?”

“That would be helpful.”

Lucas pays no mind to whatever appears to be going on with the knife fellows, so Ingo decides to follow his lead and let the Professor (or professor in training?) carry on. He watches as Lucas plucks something off a desk, and then opens a cabinet and rifles through it until he produces a little paper booklet.

(Dawn, on the other hand, had decided to go pet the Eevees. She doesn’t have the heart to ignore the sweet, little, baby cuties.)

“Right, got it. Here, cousin.” Lucas turns to him, one palm holding a smooth, shiny box (not a phone, but close?), the other holding the booklet. Ingo takes the pokedex, and then eyes the booklet. “The booklet has a set of instructions on how to use the pokedex…” He flips through a few pages, finally coming to a stop with one with a load of instructions and numbers decorating it. “Here. There is a Galarian translation there too, if that helps at all.”

It probably will. Ingo hasn’t quite gotten the hang of modern Hisuian  (“Sino-ransei dialect,” Dawn had told him.) yet.

Ingo takes the booklet and slips it into one of his pockets. “Excellent. Thank you.” He pauses, unsure of what more to say. Ah, yes! “I very much appreciate it.”

Lucas smiles back. “No worries, now would you- Dawn don’t touch that! ”

Oh, that's a Voltorb, isn’t it?

White light. Explosion. Too late.

“What have we learned today?”

“The orbs are off limits?”

The camera booth is a little too cramped, and a little too bright for Ingo’s liking. The chair is a bit too small too, he finds, as he wiggles around in an attempt to stabilise himself. Why does it swivel? Chairs shouldn’t do that.

“You good, Ingo?” Dawn pops her head into the booth, curtain lying flat on her head. “Need a hand with the screen?”

Well, he hasn’t gotten to the whole ‘screen’ part yet, but if the chair is an indication, then the answer is a-

“Yes.” 

Dawn leans in, now awkwardly hovering over Ingo’s shoulder. She taps at the screen, revealing a myriad of options now available. Ingo has no idea what any of them means, so it was probably good to ask for help. 

“So, see this one? That’ll get us a ream of pictures. The code on the back allows for easy set-up.” Dawn taps the screen. A mirror image of Ingo appears, however this one is haloed with an oval-shaped ring, and text prompts appear at the bottom. “I don’t know how it works, so don’t ask me. But-” She points to the text. “This means you are not aligned. You need to angle yourself so that your face matches with the outline. It should turn green if it’s done? I think it does, anyway.”

Dawn leans back out of the booth. He’s alone now. Just a screen, the Ingo on that screen and himself.

Obediently, Ingo follows the little instructions, watching the screen carefully for a colour change. It changes from white, to red, then after another reposition- green. That’s good, right? “It’s green, what now?”

“Keep your eyes open, it should take a picture in a moment.” 

The booth flashes white. Ingo reflexively jumps back, hands reaching to cover his eyes. The flash is faintly reminiscent of the light show that had followed after Lord Electrode’s frenzy. Coronet had never been brighter.

Once the shadows clear from his eyes, Ingo finds himself greeted by a slightly owlish mirror copy of himself. He looks horrified. Or like he’s being threatened. Well, Ingo isn’t sure which description matches better, honestly. At least they might be yet passable?

“I have taken the picture.” Or perhaps, the picture has taken him. No, that doesn’t make sense. “Dawn, what do I do now?”

The curtains shuffle, Dawn pops her head back into the booth. Only, she stumbles once she sees the photos and slaps a hand to her face, covering her mouth. There’s a noise that sounds suspiciously like a giggle that escapes from Dawn, which quickly turns into a half-hearted cough.

(Well, that confirms that the photos are probably not passable.)

Ingo just flops. Almighty save him.

“Not very photogenic, are you?” Dawn eventually forces out. “They’ll do. But everyone ever is going to think that you’re a Hoothoot that somehow turned into a human.”

Hoothoot. There are worse pokemon to be compared to, he supposes. That one feels a bit mild. “I see.” A pause. “What now?” Ingo repeats once again.

He receives an answer in the form of a handful of taps and a beep as Dawn taps once more at the machine. That must be the next bit? Another noise, this time a sort of squeal-like hum, and then a roll of pictures pops out from a slot Ingo hadn’t noticed prior.

“All done.” Dawn announces. “We’ll need to go upstairs now.”

“Very well.” Finally, freedom! Ingo’s boxy confines cannot hold him for any longer. Choo choo, this train is out of here! Ingo rises up, bangs his head against the ceiling, and then eventually half-tumbles out. Truly the epitome of grace. Pointedly ignoring that whole bit, he mimes a whistle, then points to what he hopes is the direction of the stairs. 

“All aboard!”

The Nurse Joy handling his paperwork squints at Ingo, in a manner that is very much reminiscent of a Paras moments before attacking. “You look familiar.”

Ah. Someone studied history. He shakes his, raising a hand to sort of physically attempt to dismiss the predatory gaze. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Hm.”

The trip to the doctor goes about as well as Ingo was expecting.

That is: it went terribly.

Turns out, Ingo should be on a specialised diet. Pizza and refined sugars apparently could kill a Hisuian man. Or at least, give him a tummy ache. That might as well be the equivalent of death.

“Hunting isn’t necessary any more?”

“Nope!”

“Oh, bravo!”

Meeting Johanna for the first time is quite the experience, in Ingo’s opinion. 

She’s a lovely lady. Very lovely, in fact. Ingo can see exactly where Dawn and Lucas inherited their helpful streak from, once he sees it perfectly mirrored in their mother. Still, braving that first ‘family dinner’ was rather difficult for him due to one tiny problem. A problem that Ingo decided to wait until after he left Johanna’s house to discuss.

“What do you think of Mom?”

“Very lovely. However-” How does Ingo word this? “-there was a problem.”

Dawn stops in her tracks right then and there. She turns to him and raises a brow, borderline threatening. “What do you mean by ‘problem’ , Ingo?”

“Ah, well. Do you remember our days in Hisui?” Ingo starts, awkwardly tugging at his shirt collar. “You once suggested that I could, quote: ‘meet with’ your mother frequently. Something along the track of ‘she is lonely and could do with companionship’?”

Ingo pauses, waiting for Dawn to make the connection.

One.

Two.

Three-

“ Oh Arceus !” 

When Ingo got to the modern era, he was surprised by how everyone and everything seemed to be gearing up for a battle. Something about meeting another trainer’s eyes was some unspoken way of challenging someone. One glance- then bam! You end up facing another trainer for the sake of battling because you can.

Now, Ingo does like battling. Ingo loves battling. It’s great.

But this?

This sounds like a nightmare in theory. In execution, it’s somehow worse! No wonder so many fellows have tried to end the world (and or remake it), Ingo has only been around for about a week, and he’s already considering villainy. Eye contact was bad enough before, now it has stakes!

At least the first one was fairly mild. A lad of ten at best and his low level Starly had challenged Ingo while he was on a quick trip to the local corner shop. Ingo had tried to wiggle his way out of battle (“I’m being honest-I don’t make a habit of scaring children, Dawn. The youngster started it.”) but the lad had refused and called him old. 

Ingo couldn’t stand for that. He accepted the battle and refused to hold back.

(And, admittedly, the look of terror in the boy’s eyes as he was faced with a three metre long, max level, alpha Gliscor had been comical in a horrible way. Could an old man do that?)

Dawn makes a good roommate. 

She is always incredibly patient with Ingo, answering every single question he can come up with, even if they do seem rather silly. Modern technology is a mystery to Ingo, which often means that the simplest task can be gargantuan when handled by a man who didn’t even know what electricity was outside of pokemon typing. So, Ingo appreciates it when Dawn takes the time to explain the intricacies of microwaves, plumbing and household cleaning products. 

(Ingo’s first time handling a microwave was a scary time indeed. The ping had startled him awfully, and he had embarrassingly taken cover under the kitchen table. He hadn’t expected the noise at the time.

After the fear faded and the machine stopping making noises, he eventually had crawled back out from his hiding place, and asked Dawn a single question:

“Why do they call it oven when you of in the cold food of out hot eat the food?”

“ What ?”)

It took about a week and a couple of tutorial videos, but Ingo could confidently say that he was now ‘able to do basic housework’ and therefore was no longer a well-meaning problem. He had even learnt how to hoover! That was impressive. Really impressive. It made many bad noises that Ingo was initially a bit concerned by.

After a good two weeks after returning to the modern era, he had managed to work out the complexities of all household chores. Success!

Now that Ingo was confident with basic modern life skills, he had vowed to make sure to find a way to repay Dawn. She refused payment (which, admittedly, was a good thing because terrorising the locals with battles didn’t actually reward him with much), but Dawn was noticeably weak when it came to baked goods. 

So, as a form of repayment, Ingo decided to learn how to bake sweets. Once he was done with the household chores, the oven and mixers would be fired up. Everyday. All the time. Most days. Sweets. Fancy desserts. Honey candies. Rose nougat. Berry jams and fresh tarts. Cakes, croissants and cookies. Ingo would master them all.

It meant that there was always a well-stocked fridge and pantry to come home to, and their partners had no shortage of poffins to enjoy. Ingo had even managed to find some ‘Hisuian man friendly’ foods.

Dawn was a good roommate, and Ingo was determined to be one too.

Computers are fickle beasts. They’re like pokemon, except they happen to be much less fatal if the taming goes wrong. Well, usually. 

It had taken a few weeks, but Ingo had finally managed to understand how a PC worked. He even managed to figure out the keyboard!

Learning how to use technology opened up a new world to Ingo. One that was bright and overflowing with knowledge and cute Skitty videos. If Ingo wanted to, he could even search up pictures of trains in an instant! Magnificent.

The internet had granted him many opportunities and even a small inkling of hope. Just a few searches, and perhaps Ingo might have a chance to even… To even learn about himself.

Just a few searches. 

Ingo types his name to begin with.

The first query comes up with a myriad of information, but none of which seems relevant. Charities, acronym definitions, a book or two and some architectural terms. Ingo doubts that his identity has any links to that.

He hums. Maybe he should add a few other key words? Dawn did say that it can help.

Ingo types his second query, and hovers his mouse over the search button. Will that be specific enough? Maybe, maybe not. Worst case scenario, Ingo might need to brute force the searches. He goes to click the button, but before he does, Ingo is interrupted by a call.

"CAN I HAVE A HAND?"

It’s Dawn. Somewhere in the house (downstairs, he thinks, based off the muffling).

Ingo pauses his searching. “Of course, will it take long?”

"IS THAT OK?"

“YES!” He turns the computer off, watching as the screen fades to black. He’ll return to his research later. “Coming!” Ingo calls, as he makes his way out of the study.

He did not return. Ingo got a little too busy and forgot.

Dawn teaches him about the pokemon leagues, after Ingo spots a new, shiny poster advertising the opening of battle season. He knew some bits (such as Dawn being the champion! Super bravo!) already, but the sheer magnitude of everything hadn’t truly hit him until Ingo was confronted with it. 

Long ago, Ingo had proposed the concept of ‘type specialists’ to Professor Laventon. They originally were meant to become mentors for the upcoming generations and guide them. Eventually, Ingo had suggested that mentors, alongside a personal trial (inspired by the Pearl Clan’s coming of age ceremonies) would be a new way of encouraging unity between people and pokemon from an early age. A chance to learn and explore. That’s all Ingo’s concept was ever meant to be.

Apparently, Professor Laventon must have kept that concept in mind, because he would later propose the concept to Hammerlocke University. He had even credited Ingo for the idea, and had published their messy letters and brainstorming sessions in the form of a formal paper.

Who would’ve thought?

Contests are fun!

It was nice of Dawn to introduce him to them. He doesn’t participate, mind. No, he’d rather cheer on his friends. 

(Besides, he’s not sure that the dresses would fit him.)

Years from now, Ingo would describe the day that changed his life to be ‘oddly benign’ at first. It had been pleasantly quiet, in fact. A great change from the usual domestic chaos that occurred in a household that contained two impulsive adults, a menagerie of apex predators and highly trained pokemon and a handful of young, excitable puppies. Ingo had been enjoying the peace with great fervour, having decided to use the time to try and perfect his scone recipe (inspired by the ones sold by a nice Galarian bakery he had ambled into after being hit with a hankering for tea).

He had been half-way through kneading the mixture when he heard a faint yell of glee from upstairs, and then a slightly less faint call of his name. Kneading paused, Ingo had waited for a moment or two to see if he had correctly heard his name. Once the second call had rung out, Ingo had gently deposited his bowl on the counter top and had washed his hands before heading upstairs.

Dawn was waiting patiently for him in the study. She had sprawled herself out on the office chair, one leg hanging off an arm, the other settled on the corner of the desk. Her attention immediately switches to focus on Ingo as he enters the room, and she waves him over. 

“Ingo, hey-” She giggles as she takes in his messy form, the result of a small tussle with the hand mixer. “-Oh nice powder, flour the in look right now?”

Ingo bobs his head, seriously. “Yes. I decided to revolutionise high fashion, a new line awaits. What do you think?” 

“Baker-core.” She waves a hand with a grand motion that resembles an antsy Gliscor. “Cool. Cool. Anyway, back on track. Look at this!” She points a manicured nail to her computer screen, which is facing the opposite direction. 

Ingo glances, pointedly, at the back of the computer monitor. “Very interesting.” 

“No- Oh come over here.” Dawn flops her legs back to the ground, then moves for Ingo’s arm, grabbing a slightly dusty sleeve (the flour did not take prisoners) and drags him over to the other side of the desk. There, on the screen, is a brightly coloured jumble of pictures and words. “Here. Look. The World tournament is being hosted in Sinnoh next year!” She announces, with a cheerful smile and a twinkle in her eyes.

“World Tournament?” Ingo echoes, curiosity sparked. He leans over further and squints at the screen, intending to try and identify any information about it. “What is that?”

Dawn drops back into her chair with a thump. “It’s a huuuuuugggeee tournament.” She stretches her arms out wide for emphasis. “Super big. All of the champion class or gym leader class trainers compete. Every champion. Every elite four. Every gym leader.” Dawn bangs at her desk with each word, drumming out a rhythm. “It’s the most televised event in the world. Everyone watches it. Anyone who competes pretty much gets catapulted straight into minor celebrity levels of fame.”

“That sounds… Good.”

“Yeah it is! Let’s say, you happen to be looking for someone, is there a better place to advertise?”

“Maybe?” Ingo isn’t quite sure. He isn’t quite yet certain he understands where this is going. “I couldn’t tell you for sure, however.”

“Ingo,” Dawn stands back up, and takes him by the shirt. “Ingo. You can’t be this oblivious. Ingo what do you think I’m saying here?”

Is this a test? Ingo hates tests. Oh goodness please don’t be a test. He doesn’t know the answers. Help.

“That the tournament is happening?” 

Wrong answer. Dawn shakes him a little. “Ingo, I’m saying that you should compete.” What? “Think about it. You’re missing, right? No one can identify you at the moment, but!” She lets go, and steps back. She points to the screen once more. “If you compete in the tournament, everyone- no, the whole world- will see you.”

Everyone. The world. Oh, that would mean-

“My family.” Ingo whispers. “I could find my family.”

“Yes. They’d surely recognise you.” Dawn grins, pleased that the dots have finally been connected. “You’re a good battler Ingo. One of the best trainers I have ever met. People like you don’t stay anonymous for long.”

Chest tightening in response to a combo of anticipation, joy, fear and delight, Ingo finds himself struggling to breathe. This could be it. This could be his ticket to the past- to home .

The room feels too big and too small all at once, Ingo wobbles slightly, until he steadies himself against the desk, hands gripping the edge. A solution is here, and all Ingo has to do is battle.

“I-” What to say? What to do? “I… Dawn, how do I compete?” Ingo eventually forces out, breathless. His lungs feel empty but his chest feels oh so full.  “Can I compete?”

“Of course you can, Ingo. As I said earlier, it’s for champion class and elite trainers.” Dawn pauses, thinking in a manner that seems strangely loud. “And our league season has opened now. We even have an elite league track.”

“Then-” Ingo falls silent again. Isn’t Dawn the champion? Would that mean- “Dawn, do I have to battle you ?”

There’s a glimmer in her eye that looks oh so similar to the one she had when she was little Miss Akari and he was Warden Ingo. Bloodthirsty, but also a look she gave as a silent challenge. Ingo watches as she produces a pokeball from what appears to be the aether. She holds it out, swinging it forward at great speed.

“Yes! Train your pokemon!” Foot stomp. “Defeat all eight gym leaders!” Another foot stomp. “Gather the badges! Travel through Victory Road!” Thump. Thump. “And! Challenge the elite four. Then, if you dare.” Dawn meets his eyes, settling into a firm, bold stance. “Challenge me. Fight me for my title.”

A league challenge. Gathering badges. Beating the elites. Becoming champion. 

Blinking, he glances elsewhere, lost in thought. Ingo has done this before, hasn’t he? Long ago, when he was young, he must have set off on a journey too, right? Yes, he must have. This feels familiar. Right.

He breathes in. Then out. Then in. Out.

Ingo meets Dawn’s eyes once more. Here he goes. Here it is. This is where his true journey begins. This is the day that everything changes.

“Very well.” Ingo straightens up, rising to full height. He’s covered in flour and dressed in mis-matched loungewear. Ingo thinks that he must look utterly ridiculous, yet he carries on anyway. He nods, then twists his lips just a small bit into a phantom of a Purrloin-like smile. “I look forward to battling you, Dawn.”