Thunderlight

The Curator, in the Library, with the Candlestick

Sidling against the wall, or as well as a four-legged body can sidle, Mott creeps toward the sound with Lenny close behind. The moans grow louder the deeper they traverse into the library, echoing through the dusty corridors and raking down his spine. Chills course through him.

Shuddering, he tries to stifle his rapid breathing—to no avail. His heart is pounding too hard and his blood is rushing too fast to control. He feels like he's far too loud, so loud it's a wonder he hasn't been discovered yet. Even the creaking floorboards beneath him seem to scream throughout the room.

Lenny is too light to make much noise. But he nearly trips several times due to his skittish shuffling, and Mott has had to catch him more than once to keep him from falling and making a racket. Evidently, he's just as nervous as Mott. Which means, when they get to the room where the noise seems to be coming from, they both pause at the door.

Mott looks expectantly at Lenny. Hastily, Lenny shakes his head and points viciously at him. Mott gawks and shakes his head even harder. Lenny narrows his eyes.

Wordlessly, they bicker. It's a childish argument that mostly amounts to 'you go first', 'no you', and so on. Eventually, they reach a silent truce and decide to enter at the same time. But just as they're psyching themselves up to do it, the door opens.

All at once, three voices scream.

Mott jumps back, his hackles raised, and throws a punch at the air. Beside him, Lenny bodily clings to his neck, attached like glue. In the doorway, a cinccino clutches her scarf-like fur and looks ready to faint.

Mott and Lenny fall into a pile in the hallway, limbs splayed every which way. The cinccino falls on her butt and scrambles back, pointing a terror-stricken finger at them.

"R-r-robbers!" She shrieks, dragging herself away from them. "Someone, help!"

"We're not robbers!" Mott cries in an equally panicked shriek. "Who the hell are you?!"

"I'm the curator of this museum; I should be the one asking who you are!"

"We just wanted some information!"

"So you broke in?!"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time!"

Lenny shouts, "Why are we still screaming?!"

The curator seems to take his question to heart, quickly snapping her mouth shut. Mott, likewise, shuts himself up. For a while, the only sound is everyone's heavy, terrified breathing. Minutes later, after everyone has come down from their own heart attacks, the curator fixes them with a distrustful, wary gaze.

Then, she bolts.

"Hey!" Mott yells, racing after her even though he doesn't know why. "Where are you going?!"

"I'm calling the authorities!"

Lenny dashes alongside Mott, quickly overtaking him. "Please don't, Miss!"

In a mocking voice, she echoes, "Oh, please don't, Miss—screw you! You broke into my museum!"

She darts through shelves of books with impeccable navigation. Not knowing the terrain as well, Mott and Lenny find themselves screeching to a halt every few seconds to avoid barrelling into a bookcase. Sometimes, they have to completely turn around and backtrack. All the while, she gets farther and farther away, bounding over desks and shelves with swift fluidity.

Mott really didn't want to have to attack her, but he also really doesn't want the authorities to get involved. Muttering an apology under his breath, he shoots a stream of water at her the next time she leaps into the air. It strikes her dead on, knocking her into a wall. She hits the wallpaper with a wet splat and then flops to the ground.

Mott turns sharply to intercept her. "By the allegory genre section, Lenny!"

"The what now?"

"Allegory; it's a literary genre of metaphorical works, and—forget it, just follow me!"

Speeding through a dizzying set of twists and turns, Mott guides them through an endless cavern of bookcases just in time to arrive in the corner where the curator slowly picks herself up. Reaching out a hand, Mott moves to help her up.

Not quick enough. She whips her sopping wet head up and opens her mouth to unleash an unholy screech.

Mott is blown back by the burst of soundwaves. They're so jarring and loud that Mott is sure his ears are bleeding and his brain is rattling. He staggers back into Lenny, crashing against a bookcase and knocking it over with a loud smashing noise. The fallen shelf catches his ankle and trips him, and he and Lenny both go tumbling down.

Paper flies into the air from the impact, fluttering down and covering his eyes. He swats the loose leaf paper away, clearing up his vision just in time to see the curator pull herself back up and hurry away.

"For the love of—we're not gonna hurt you!" He nearly groans, clambering up to give chase. "Let's just talk!"

Tracking her isn't too hard, not when she leaves behind massive puddles of water and strands of wet fur. Following her trail leads him back into the museum, where there's significantly less twists and turns. Out on the open floor, there's a direct path between her and Mott, which is great. There's also a direct path between her and the door, which is much less great.

Fortunately, her soaking wet fur seems to slow her down a bit. Mott is still not fast enough to catch up to her, even in her impeded state. Luckily for him, his teammate can catch up to her even without the handicap.

In swift, long strides, Lenny sprints toward her and closes the distance between them with frightening speed. She dares one look over her shoulder, her eyes widening in horror at their proximity. In an effort to gain some space, she whirls around and blasts them with another wave of violent noise.

Lenny is struck. His body is shot off the ground, soaring through the air and crashing into a statue. The attack hits Mott, too, but he's braced for it this time. When it collides with him, he doesn't go flying back. He doesn't even stop. He charges straight through the staggering force, plowing into the cinccino and bowling her over.

He winces when she hits the floor. So much for not hurting her.

Behind him, Lenny pushes himself to his feet and jogs over. There's a few marks and bruises on his body, but nothing serious. Panting heavily, he looks down at the curator worriedly and asks, "...Is she dead?"

Immediately, she spins around. "No, I'm not dead! But I bet you two wish I were, huh? Go to Hell!"

"Listen, lady, we just wanted to get some information on Zekrom," he snaps, aggravated. She stills. "We weren't gonna attack or anything."

She regards them suspiciously. "Zekrom?"

"Yes, ma'am," Lenny confirms with a nod. "We wanna stop it from ruining the whole region."

Her body still holds a taut hesitance, but her eyes flicker with the slightest hint of interest.

"So," she says, sizing them both up. "You broke in for information on Zekrom. Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Somewhat," Mott answers, meeting her gaze, "but we'd like to know more."

She takes his hint for what it is, sighing. "Why don't we talk in my office?"

He nods.