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"Absolutely not."
Jacq stops tapping his Poryphone. The boxy handheld continues bleeping with a twirl of its extended antennae, even as Jacq finds his golden-haired merchant companion standing far from the sliding doorway that he just passed through.
"Hm?" Jacq thumbs the bridge of his lavender honeycomb spectacles.
"I will not be following you into that almost-certain deathtrap."
Volo crosses his arms nearly as tight as the squint constricting his sharp, gray eyes — underscored by dark shadows from long evenings surveying by candlelight. He sneers at the gangly professor hunching inside a room no bigger than a storage closet.
"That looks like a perfectly fine place to sheath a ceremonial blade in my ribcage."
Jacq overlooks the time-traveler's suspicions, instead focusing on the whimsical accouterment of a single finger waggling instructively off the side of Volo's elbow.
He responds with a smile, tucking the bulky red-and-blue Poryphone into his periwinkle lab coat's sagging pocket. The device is simultaneously more inconvenient and less automated than the Rotom Phone snuggly clutched in the chest pocket of his faded striped tee; this is perhaps the greatest achievement of Prince Lear, a man with bottomless coffers to levy against any problem.
"This is where you choose to draw the line, Volo?" Jacq chuckles, his phone-free hand now rustling up a few licks of bedridden hair. "What is it you always say?" Another hand forms a familiar checkmark, thumb and index fingers extended. The professor's jovial, elongated tones morph into a facsimile of Volo's manicured, perfectly enunciated reservations: "'Investigating the odd and novel is key to any good merchant's success'?"
Volo closes his eyes and looks away in the same breath.
It's hard to argue with a man who's right.
"… Productive curiosity and a keen sense of self-preservation are not mutually exclusive, my fine-follicled friend." Volo's predatory peripheral vision scans the chamber, bathed in the uninviting glow of a red bulb above its entryway. "One would not make it far in Hisui if they ran headlong into the maw of every Alpha stalking their camp."
Jacq lets loose a longer chuckle as he moves the checkmark fingers to his chin. The lilting expression ends with a gentle snort.
Hairs rise on the back of Volo's neck.
"You're overthinking this!" Jacq recedes further into the room, his back resting against a sliding door on the opposite side. He ushers the merchant with a grasping, curling hand. "Weren't you the one who wanted to learn more about photography?"
They stand at an impasse, Volo's one exposed eye dilated as he stares intently at Jacq's beckoning hand. Then, with a deep breath, Volo pulls the visor of his wooly Ginkgo cap further down the crest of his bang.
He ducks inside the room.
Where Jacq stands at a hunch, Volo is practically doubled over; any sudden movement would undoubtedly bash his head against the ceiling. Years of plundering ancient tombs and seeking the ruins of long-departed civilizations mean that Volo isn't uncomfortable with his current accommodations. Much more infuriating is the fact that he has rarely — if ever — been under such conditions with a partner. The hearty musk of Jacq's Smoliv-scented modern shampoo burns Volo's nostrils and worms its way into every fiber of his being. It's hard to imagine ever ridding himself of the man's scent, no matter how long he scrubs his skin raw in the rushing waters of Obsidian Falls. What a cruel, underhanded act of preemptive revenge by the perfect idiot to whom his hips are attached for the time being.
The smell pervades evermore when the entryway slides closed as Jacq addresses a wall-mounted console. A smooth "whoosh" traps them in a vacuum, uncomfortably still and quiet.
Those occupants are basted in the fiery glow of the carpet-lined antechamber now that fluorescents from the hallway are completely snuffed out. Then, it flickers from red to green. Volo's terrifyingly sinister loom is transformed into the visage of a goofy green giant here to (perhaps literally) sell you some medicinal leeks.
Jacq's nonplussed smile suggests he likely never clocked a difference.
"What does this have to do with photography, exactly?" Volo asks in a soft tone that booms against hard walls.
"Ah! It's actually quite important." Jacq adjusts his hexagonal eyewear, heavy pockets swaying with the gentlest motion. "Unlike digital files that can be printed from any technological device, older methodologies required the photographer to develop their shots on light-sensitive paper using negatives. Darkrooms are kept in a special red light to avoid overexposure, and this facility uses an airlock to ensure nobody can accidentally let in anything harsher!"
Volo balks at the use of "older methodologies" as though photography weren't a bleeding-edge science in his own time. Still, he nods with the accumulation of new knowledge, coming as it may from puffs of minty breath that are almost nauseating within this enclosure.
"I see, I see." Volo's lips curl into a smile as he holds up his hand, twitches, and puts it back. He thinks better than to fall ass-backward into his own parody. "I believe Jubilife Village had a similar sort of 'red light district' for its Photo Studio, though the old coot in charge never budged on letting me explore it."
Jacq's face contorts into concern-masked laughter. He shakes his head.
"Let's just stick with 'darkroom' for now, hm? Hehe…"
Before Volo can ask anything further, Jacq returns to the wall of buttons. It beeps in acknowledgement of his request, and then doors behind the Paldean professor slide with the same smooth "whoosh" as their partner set. The antechamber is flooded with blood-red light so intense it may as well be black, a sickening metallic splash in the grassy green console light that Volo recognizes all-too well. His companion's faceless silhouette against the backlight also looks familiar, perhaps due to those billowing coat frills, but Volo can't quite put his fingers on who comes to mind.
The smell is even more putrid, an assailing chemical slurry that has no basis in nature for Volo to compare. It's pungent, like all the metal monstrosities of decor on Jubilife's Galaxy Hall breaking apart in an acidic puddle.
Volo's nails dig into his palms to avoid visibly gagging as the scent rewrites his DNA. It makes him miss the sterile atmosphere of the hallway outside — or even Jacq's shampoo in the antechamber. He'd bury his nose in the man's head for some relief right now if that were all it took.
Still, he follows the cloaked shade into this bloody tomb.
The darkroom isn't much bigger than anywhere they've traversed today; it's maybe as long and wide as the length of the airlock and hallway put together, perfectly squared. At least Volo can stand normally here. Left of the entrance is a flat, wall-mounted table fitted with unrecognizable devices. Most notable to the merchant is something microscope-esque, fitted with accordion leather folds around the headpiece. On other side of the table is a cabinet stocked with reams of paper and other supplies, as well as a pair of disposal units (one marked with a symbol that Volo has learned to mean "hazardous waste"). Ahead of them is an alcove with tiled floors and an eyewash station almost identical to those found in the many scientific laboratories he's accessed via carefully cultivated ties with Pasio's most elite guests. To the right, three deep tubs sit in individual cubbies.
A young woman with smooth hair falling into quarter note ringlets stands at one tub, where she finishes shaking a few droplets of what looks like liquid mercury from a sheet of paper back into the container's murky water, a dark mirror frothing with marbled swirls. Then, she hooks the page onto a pair of clothespins that are pre-attached to a spider's web of fishing wire.
Instead of Bug-type Pokemon, the web has ensnared a variety of images in various stages of development: landscapes of Pasio's picturesque artificial environments, Pokemon living their myriad idiosyncrasies, and a strange many shots of a young, short-haired trainer surrounded by Gym Leaders, Champions, and other powerful figures from all over the world.
The woman turns to her visitors with a grin so bright it practically cuts through the darkroom's ominous red wash.
"Bonjour!"
She skips over and throws her arms around Jacq — as best she can, given their gulf of a height difference. The bulk of the hug hinges upon her wrists; her gloved hands bend at awkward angles to ensure no residual chemicals bleed onto Jacq's coat. He bends down as she gets up onto the toes of her ribbon-tied boots, that way she can pepper a quick kiss to each of his cheeks.
"Hola, mi Flamigo!" Jacq looks pleased as they separate, and then swings open like a doorway to reveal the merchant with bloodstained gold locks. "This is my friend with the interest in photography. Viola, meet Volo. Volo, Viola."
Viola quickly flitters to Volo, further dwarfed by his sheer height and the broad collar of washed-out Mareep wool on his uniform.
Volo briefly reflects upon how easy it would be to crush this young woman like an insect. She's such a slight, delicate thing… The image only exaggerates his sharp-grinning mask.
"Bonjour!" Viola announces, her heavy Kalosian accent filling her cheeks like trilling mandibles. "Always a pleasure to meet a friend of a friend, and one who's interested in my art? Utterly fantastic!"
Volo mimics her greeting, one that he recognizes from a small number of Jubilife Village immigrants. However, when he reaches out to shake her hand, she pulls both extremities away.
"Careful! This process involves some nasty chemicals."
He nods. A quick pivot later, he's patting Viola's shoulder like a Growlithe pup.
"Well, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance all the same. I'm always on the lookout for new loyal customers!" Volo delivers his checkmark pose without a hint of self-reflection. It almost looks like he hasn't rehearsed this song and dance dozens of times in the mirror. Almost. "Consider me the go-to choice for your mercantile needs!"
Viola giggles and looks toward Jacq, who matches her smile with an adjustment of his glasses.
"Fantastic, truly fantastic." Volo's ear twitches. He's already sick of the way she repeats that phrase and its obnoxious "-tique" suffix. "I'll be sure to keep you in mind the next time I need some DSLR batteries!"
Her deepest laughter is more squeaky than full-bodied. The merchant echoes a halfhearted laugh, pretending to understand what that means.
"So," Volo clears the air with a cough. "How do you two know each other then?"
Jacq and Viola both appear similarly excited to tell the story. Volo can't help but appreciate the Destiny Knot between them, both bent inward with their arms shaking eager fists.
"Well." Jacq begins, leaving Viola to bubble over quietly. "On top of being a Gym Leader, Viola is one of the foremost photographers on Earth—"
"Oh, stop! You're far too kind—"
"Nonsense!"
"Who else would you send me to, Burgh?"
"Non, non. Not unless you need tips for watercolor and fresco."
Jacq snorts.
Volo needs them to get to the point. His head is already pounding from the novel sights and smells in this new environment. The added mundanely of their back-and-forth threatens to make his brain throb out through his left eye.
"Anyway. A few years back I found out about this app called éNaturalist during a convention in Hearthome City. It lets users send pictures of any Pokemon they find in the wild for crowdsourced categorization and use by researchers. Um, not important — That's a whole other tangent. The point being, I found out Viola consulted on its photo-analysis features."
"So, Jacq reached out about his own project!"
Viola steps out of the circle to remove her nylon gloves. Volo finds the care taken for her hands to be ironic given this Gym Leader has no problem walking around the darkroom with an exposed midriff and ankles.
"Mm! I was beta testing a feature in which users could upload images for their own specialized database in my Pokedex app."
"A fantastic feature!" Viola chimes from across the room.
"I certainly think so!" Jacq snorts another laugh.
The devil-may-care smile that Volo kept during the bulk of the duo's explanation cracks, and he straightens out his posture.
"I see, I see." The merchant's smirking is even more sinister in bloodmoon light. "You're a veritable rolodex of expertise, Mr. Jacq."
Jacq rubs his neck, emanating a cheery glow as he swoons from the compliment.
Sometimes it's too easy.
"Well, it only takes one contact! Expertise begets expertise, you see."
Viola joins them again, brushing her hands together.
"Oak and Mirror were more useful on technical stuff. Those two — they're fantastic!"
"And a couple of laugh riots at that!"
Jacq treats Viola's shoulder as an armrest, all the while rustling his two-toned hair, now black with shimmering metallic highlights. The way this darkroom equalizes all, Jacq and Viola could pass as siblings. Modern-day boundaries between Kalos and Paldea are rather close to one another, as Volo understands it, so perhaps there is something to be said for their similarity.
The merchant glances at his own skeletal fingers, their padding more the color of twisted muscle than pale flesh. Perhaps he, too, can escape the alienating blood of the ancients that runs through his veins. It might not be so bad to blend in for just a moment, he thinks to himself. Though that thought quickly dissipates.
He doesn't want to forget who he is.
He doesn't want to forget what was taken from his people.
He will never put his mission on hold; it will continue regardless of how many kind folks he meets along the way.
That train of thought derails as the automated doors "whoosh" behind him. Volo twirls gracefully for his height, more used to being the one who sneaks.
"Oh?" Jacq remarks casually. His hands rest on the waistband of his torn-up sweatpants. "We're not going over our appointment time, are we Viola?"
"Non, non. Do not worry, my friends!" Viola claps her hands and glances between the towering men. "I should have mentioned; my partner and I were planning to meet for lunch this afternoon, so I invited her along. She's a fantastic photographer, I figured she could help with the lesson!"
Jacq immediately overtakes the reservations that Volo wants to express about this unplanned variable:
"Not at all, that's great! The more the merrier."
Volo grumbles. "Yes… The more, the merrier…"
All three watch with bated breath as the airlock sounds. Someone on the other side is rustling more than Jacq and Volo did, and — is that barking?
Its source squeezes through the doors before they finish sliding open. The Growlithe, its shaggy gray mane shimmering black in the lurid light, cries a string of immature yips as it bounds toward Viola in a long arc that completely circumvents Volo. It leaps repeatedly up onto its hind legs, forepaws waggling excitedly as they fail to get a grip on Viola's pouched cargo pants.
Viola squats to give the little guy a break, expression effervescent as she starts brushing fur on Growlithe's head and neck at once. The Pokemon sits at attention, tongue panting, leaning into every side of the affection.
"Bonjour, mon cœur." Viola's baby voice cracks with giggles, especially when Growlithe starts licking her hands.
While Jacq watches the petting session with a broad grin of its own, Volo's pleasantly blank expression remains locked to the woman stepping out of the airlock. She sighs, holding an exasperated hand to her head.
"Sorry about that," she mutters. "My bud over there gets almost as excited to see Viola as I do."
With a breathy laugh, the woman pulls her hand from her head and offers it to Volo.
"The name's Perrin. Just a traveler with a bit of a thing for photography." Perrin cracks a cocksure grin, and tilts her head so a lock of purple-gradient hair over her right eye wafts aside. "Nice to meetcha!"
Volo hesitates for only a second before returning her smile with pearly whites (or reds, in this light) of his own. He clasps her hand tight and shakes it eagerly, jostling the camera strapped around Perrin's neck. His other hand pops up to checkmark the air.
"I'm Volo of the Ginkgo Guild, the go-to choice for any of your mercantile needs — even here on Pasio!"
"Ginkgo?" Perrin breathes another surprised expressions. "You know, that sounds familiar. You MUST be good at what you do!"
The time-traveler's exposed eye narrows as he keeps up pleasantries. There was, indeed, something familiar about this woman: her soft features, her almond eyes, the slit cut into the typically hidden patch of eyebrow behind her curving bang. Not to mention her sultry, deep voice, which blows through every sentence with nary a pause.
Volo continues to mull over this mystery as Perrin greets Jacq next, the two figures being relatively comparable in height once they're standing side-by-side. Her posture then loosens comfortably into her flexible jeans and subtly striped tank top as she approaches Viola with broad arms.
"Heya, shutterbug!" She sings.
Viola jumps to her feet and glomps Perrin in-turn.
"Mon amour~" They share a brief, intimate kiss. Volo arcs an eyebrow.
More than just a project partner, Volo thinks to himself.
Even when they separate, Perrin keeps her arms hooked around Viola's shoulder blades. They sway in the glow of the bloodstained moon, surrounded by a dozen romantic getaways hanging from Viola's geometric web.
"Sorry for being late. Little bud down there has immaculate vibes; he just can't stop making friends." As if right on cue, the girls both turn to find Jacq demolishing Growlithe's nicely combed mane with a barrage of pets. "… Guess I can't say that's time wasted, right kiddo?"
Viola giggles, and then uses Perrin's chest like a pillow.
When Jacq stands and fixes his glasses, he gestures Volo over. Volo supposes it would only be right to play along and show this cub a little affection, if only to continue blending in. However, as he approaches the Hisuian Pokemon, it doesn't appear to agree. Growlithe pads back a few steps, whimpering as it stares up at the looming merchant. Volo pauses for a beat, and then makes another move, reaching down. This time, Growlithe scampers away, going to hide behind Viola and Perrin's legs.
"Whoa!" Perrin scoffs as her gaze follows the nervous Pokemon. "That's awfully rude of you, bud!"
"I'm very sorry, Volo." Viola presses fingers to her sternum with a frown. "Growlithe is usually fantastic with strangers."
Volo swallows back the despair that claws down his long face. He hopes the odd lighting is enough to cover the gaping cracks in his mask before he's able to stand straight, smiley as ever.
"Oh, it's no concern!" He forces a laugh. "Perhaps it's just the caustic musk in here. I know my nose hasn't quite acclimated."
"That would make sense." Jacq drifts from Volo to the girls, nodding over crossed arms. "Growlithe do have keen senses of smell."
Perrin isn't convinced. She watches Growlithe curl onto his side behind her legs, whimpering. Something is up with him.
But she can't give it too much thought.
She merely sighs and turns her attention back to the crowd. "Don't worry, I'll have a nice talk with him later." A smile breaks the funk written all over her face. "For now, what say we get developing?"
Over the course of their darkroom session, Viola and Perrin work through some of the world traveler's roll of film to show Jacq and Volo how the process goes. Her pieces are more eclectic than Viola's, with a backlog full of scenes from distant lands: the blanketed ruins of Snowpoint City in Sinnoh, hulking sedimentary teeth from Oni Mountain in Kitakami, a shimmering opalescent light basking the Terarium's beach biome deep below the sea at Blueberry Academy, fields of autumn leaves coating Ecruteak's ancient brick paths, and a great many shots of Growlithe living his best life in every imaginable scenario.
By contrast, Volo's camera reel is squarely focused on the wonders of Pasio. They're clearly amateurish, the team sorting through blurry moving shots and set pieces that are wildly out of focus — not to mention the occasional snap of Rei accidentally captured from behind. But the gems are genuine: Volo's Togepi filling up most of the frame as it stares at his camera, confused but endlessly curious; the almighty Sinnoh legends Dialga and Palkia standing tall above their trainers (who are conveniently cut in half at either side of the image); and approximations of ancient ruins built by architects only a few years ago that still manage to inspire those deep-pitted feelings of awe in one's stomach.
All told, the photographers' images create a beautiful collage in red and black.
Once Viola flips the studio's regular lights on, a full rainbow of environments and Pokemon bloom.
Volo takes longer than the rest to reacclimatize his eyes, holding them in the crook of his arms. As he lowers his ocean blue sleeves down past Ginkgo's logo on his apron, the first thing he's drawn to isn't the web of photographs.
It's the mop of blue-to-green gradient hair bobbing down Perrin's head as she stands admiring the field of memories, one arm around Viola's back. The Gym Leader's own light blonde hair makes his comparison even more clear.
"Aha! I thought you looked familiar!"