Snippet #2734463

Radegast gazed at his wallet. Most of the cards he kept inside were non-identity-related things. Business cards he had accumulated over the years, gift cards for specific services- most are likely empty- and membership cards under the pseudonym “Dreads”.

The only other thing was his trainer card/passport. He stared at it for a good long time. He looked so different then. The Reginald jawline, the brown dreadlocks, the strong, defined neck. The only thing that was the same now were the blue eyes, often filled with curiosity and serenity.

Radegast sighed as he returned the cards to their proper place. “Guess we’re stowing away then,” he said as he slipped the wallet back into his leg satchel.

The rest of the Treehouse caretakers, as well as Radegast’s friends, were eating lunch. Radegast could hardly eat. Even after a few days, he couldn’t work up the appetite to eat. Everything was so different now, it was completely surreal.

It was difficult working with such different hands, even if he did manage to fit the Limiter properly. Projecting phantom fingers like Vorpal suggested was harder than it looked. It was like trying to move a sixth or seventh finger after having lived with five for so long.

“Imagine you had your human hand back,” Vorpal had suggested. Radegast managed to manifest them with little effort, and they made the fingers on the Limiter gauntlet move, but he lacked any real control, let alone enough to make it second-nature.

The past four days were spent learning to take the foot off the gas pedal for the typical “mind-ear”. Radegast had mastered that quickly, but it was nothing worth bragging about. It was, after all, the first thing all Psychic-types learned.

Now, he was having difficulty manipulating a fork to pick out another leaf from the fresh jungle salad. It was almost like being an infant again. “Cmon…” Radegast growled as he stabbed the leaf and began lifting. “Cmoooo- Damn.” The fork dropped as the fingers suddenly outstretched to a neutral position.

Suros hopped over and grabbed the leaf with her beak, and offered it.

“Thanks,” Radegast grabbed the leaf between his teeth. The Talonflame seemed joyful about it.

“The Lord-Regent needs to practice,” Vorpal said.

“The Lord-Regent needs to eat too,” Suros snapped.

No one was about to start anything with the Demonslayer. Elder simply smirked knowingly, as did the rest of Radegast’s closest friends.

“You’re both right,” Radegast replied as he stroked Suros’ head with one hand and picked up the fork with the other. He then continued the long arduous process of reclaiming his old fingers. He needed to turn this ability into something entirely natural if he was to be able to properly wield Reggie. The thing Radegast missed most about his old hands was his dexterity, which he used for cooking proper meals for everyone. The past several days, he’s had to get help from pretty much everyone.

Doc Holiday returned one day after a long leave of absence, and returned with some synthesized electrical circuitry. Radegast took the wiring as excellent practice for his learning. Within a few more days, they had added some electrical lights to every room, all powered from a single battery charged by North.

The larder was also resupplied, and the group even had several visitors to the Pokemon bed & breakfast. Whenever there were visitors, Suros often isolated herself in Radegast’s room to avoid the attention being the Demonslayer often brings.

The Lord-Regent himself continued practice day in and day out. By the seventh day, he was naturally gripping things and letting them go. However, he knew it would take another two weeks to completely master everything, and another two weeks after that to make it completely second-nature. For now, he can grip properly.

Reggie, as always, watched over the entrance, always on alert. He was an unmoving sentinel, even when Pokemon approached, the most Reggie would do was turn around and call for Jakob or whoever else was present at the time.

Elder, Rage, Chrome, Crystal, and the Operative kept busy by bringing materials up to build hammocks and decor to populate the otherwise barren cavern floor. They made sure to keep everything a respectable distance from the Felwinter memorial, however. Jolder, Jakob, and Thoth simply maintained the rest. In the case of the Dartrix and Salazzle, they handled all visitors. Metronome, who was already laying low, remained laying low.

For all the time they spent together, they made a busy, yet quaint lifestyle. However, as Radegast trained to use his phantom hand again, he was constantly reminded of the boisterous laughter. The Marine. Radegast grit his teeth every time he thought of the creepy visor, the salt-and-pepper beard, and the malice in his face when he ordered the Necrozma to…

“Score!” Elder called one morning as he and Thoth returned from a food trip, “We got ourselves potatoes!”

“I’ll skin them,” Radegast said matter-of-factly. They could use the peels in the new compost, and Radegast knew he needed more practice.

The Treehouse experienced an overall transformation with the extra hands on deck. Within a mere couple of weeks, the place had its own underground farm, with UV lights synthesized by Doc Holiday. “Took me a while to research all the components for that,” he had said.

—

"Margriet and Logan have returned home," A guard announced.

"Send them in, quickly!" Marcus barked. His wife and elder brother sat at the board room table with bags under their eyes.

The daughter entered, with Logan behind her. The bodyguard had a cast around his arm, but Margriet's cuts and bruises were incredibly faint.

"Did the Psychic Rebellion do this to you?" Marcus called as he stepped forward.

"I'm fine, daddy." Margriet sat down in a chair. "Uncle, did you feel it?"

"I did," Tarma admitted, "He's barely escaped death, however."

"Who did it?" Margriet asked sharply, "Was it the Rebellion?"

Tarma shook his head, "I feel the Coat's familiarity with the term... Regicide Crew... but I was under the impression that they were low-level thugs."

"This Regicide Crew nearly killed our son..." Celadon spoke coldly, but she willed herself not to speak further.

"He is alive and recovered," Tarma added, "That much I can tell... But there was something different. Margriet, I wanted to ask you: have you seen him?"

"No," Margriet replied, "He sent the Coat of Arms to tell me, but he refused to tell me what happened."

"I don't understand," Marcus growled as he sat down in a different chair, "We're his family, why would he be so stubborn after what's happened to him?"

"I think I know," Tarma replied, "I can feel it even now- the boy is fusing with Reginald."

The room fell silent. "Is he stupi-" Margriet snapped.

"But I don't feel the Coat's presence absorbing any power." Tarma added.

"You mean he's..."

"He's fusing... without risk." Tarma leaned his head back, "I wish I knew how... I could've used such an ability."

"We all could," Marcus hummed, "But that means he's keeping this breakthrough from us."

"We're simply missing context," Tarma replied, "For now, we can only continue the course as far as the Family's concerned. Margriet," He turned once more to his niece, "Please debrief on your mission to Alola. Spare no details, no matter how irrelevant. If there is anything that could tell us what happened to Radegast, I want to hear it from you and Logan."

—

“Come in,” Radegast spoke as he sat, unmoving, on the edge of his bed. He was clenching and unclenching the Phantom fingers on both hands, constantly practicing.

Metronome strut in, her music sheet hair rolled up and red. “Lord-Regent.”

“Call me Radegast,” the Gallade replied. Now that he knew exactly what they were calling him all this time, the idea of an immensely important title like that began to bother him.

“Radegast,” The Meloetta smiled softly, “How’re your hands?”

“Still a bit stiff,” Radegast replied, “It’s weird, this sorta thing was so natural before.”

“You’ve accepted this new development pretty easily.”

Radegast huffed with a smirk, “I’ve always been a wildling at heart. This just seems fitting… but this… How do you guys do it with less than five fingers?”

“I’ve seen some humans who were missing their arms entirely,” Metronome replied, “They get along quite well.”

Ruulan cybernetics were quite advanced, but Radegast imagined he wouldn’t be able to afford mechanical prosthetics to fit on a specific Gallade. Not to mention the medical care required to get the body adjusted to the existence of the prosthetics. Radegast always thought of such things as out of the question while out in the wilderness beyond civilized regions.

Radegast nodded in response. “How can I help, by the way?”

“You’ve helped plenty enough,” the Meloetta smiled, “Those guys with that airplane.”

“Oh yeah!” Radegast leaned back as he chuckled, “Man that was crazy- I had no clue how to fly that thing!”

“Good thing I helped.”

“That’s for sure,” Radegast nodded as the Meloetta stood at the end of the bed and crossed her arms over the bracing. “I wonder what those guys are doing, if they’re still around.”

“They were after you for a while,” Meloetta replied, recalling the story of how Radegast and Doc Holiday met.

Radegast continued curling and uncurling his phantom fingers. The left hand- havng no Limiter gauntlet to show, was instead adorned with a series of wooden rings set along where Radegast matched the joints.

“Is it tough?”

“Not terribly,” Radegast shrugged, “The key is to make it something I don’t think about.”

“And after that?”

Radegast jerked a thumb to Reggie’s wood-finished pokeball. “All I wanted was just to be a friend.”

“You can’t make hundreds of friends without making a few enemies.”

“I don’t believe in that.”

“And yet…”

“That guy… he made that Necrozma…” Radegast’s left arm trembled, and the wooden rings dropped to the ground. “I have to free them,” he picked up the rings again and continued practicing the phantom hand. “It’s my fault this all happened.”

“I can’t pretend to know alternatives,” Metronome pulled herself up and sat next to Radegast, “I’m no Celebi. But I do know that you interrupted their music. From what I’ve heard reported from that sword, you guys did a real number on the Crew’s ship. You’ve bought time.”

“I know that already,” Radegast replied, “That’s why I’m training now, more than ever.”

The Meloetta nodded, “Just make sure you take your breaks, kid,” She put a ball-like hand on the Gallade’s shoulder- uncharacteristically thicker due to Radegast’s original build going into the form. “Overwork has the opposite effect.”

Vorpal entered once more. Meloetta moved to a chair in the corner as she watched the Alakazam tutor the new blood on intermediate psychic projection.