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im really proud of how this pic turned out- anyways this writing was a commission i had done by the lovely Fanatic-Rat Commission them! they have a great writing style!

and as always- please read the story! I'd greatly appreciate it!
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I liked the night crowd. Normally. Usually the hours right before closing were the quietest, right after the dinner rush, with the only regulars coming in to have quiet conversations while sipping coffee and nibbling desserts. The last table of the night didn’t get the memo, it seemed. Peeking around the corner from the kitchen, I watched them; a bunch of construction pokemon on the late shift led by an excadrill. All loud, all boisterous, all annoying. They’d been there three nights already, and that was three nights too many.
    I brought out their orders on two trays, coffee and simple sandwiches, as well as a bowl of chocolate ice cream for the foreman. I was brisk, professional, and polite, but it didn’t matter; I knew these guys wouldn’t tip or anything, and as I set their food before them with my usual niceties, I dreamt of the time when they’d just get lost. At least if they had food in their gobs, they’d shut up.
    I was wrong. Before I could even get to the kitchen, I heard a sputtering sound and a rough call of “Hey, waiter!”. Gritting my teeth, I turned towards the one who said it, the excadrill.
    “Aye’m the chef, but yes? Something wrong?”
    “Chef, waiter, whatever,” he said, dropping his spoon carelessly to clatter to the floor. “This ice cream sucks!”
    The ice cream I had spent hours making. My eye twitched as I tried to phrase my question as calmly as I could.
    “What’s wrong with it?”
    “Kinda question is that?” the excadrill exclaimed. “It’s nasty, terrible, crap! You expect me to pay for this kinda junk? Honestly, you say you’re a chef, but if you can’t get ice cream right then—”
    My claws slamming the table shut him up. They all stared at me in stunned silence as I snarled, “If y’don’t like the ice cream, then shuddup ‘n do better!”
    “Why you…!” He stood up to full height, which still didn't meet my chest, and slammed his money down on the table. “Cmon, fellas, guess we're not good enough for this snooty bat.” They all gave me the stink eye as they followed the excadrill out into the night, leaving the restaurant empty and their table a complete mess.
    I looked down at the bowl of ice cream, half eaten and already starting to melt into dark brown mush. Wasteful. These damn construction ‘mons never knew the value of food. If they were so damn content to just shovel whatever they wanted into their gullets, then why couldn’t they just shut up and eat without complaining about every single thing?
    I picked up the bowl, scooping the goop into the trash. I couldn’t do anything with it anyway, but just looking at it was making me want to claw someone’s face off. The sooner it got out of my sight, the better. But it didn’t; the entire evening, it showed up in my vision. Whether I was checking stock or cleaning the stoves or setting the meatflowers in marinade for tomorrow’s customers, the melting ball of chocolate ice cream was a malevolent spectre that refused to leave my head.
    I only snapped out of it when I felt a something from my claws. I stumbled to catch the plate I was was about to clean, but it was too late. It bounced off the edge of the sink, landing on the ground to crash into tens of pieces like it was flung against a wall. “Fer cryin’ out loud…” I bent over, scooping up the pieces. Damn it, this was what that fennekin was for. If only she wasn’t out traipsing who knows where playing hero, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. All the pieces in claws, I threw them roughly into the trash. I’d have to talk to Holly later. What in the world was she thinking, going along with the girl’s schemes?
    The kitchen was as clean as it was gonna get, and the lamps were starting to fade. I only then realized just how much my wings were aching; I must have kept them wrapped up longer than I thought. Feh! Wouldn’t have to work this late if I had more help. Snuffing out the lanterns, I stepped out of the kitchen into the night air. It was overcast, but I didn’t need any starlight to fly. Locking up hastily, I tugged at the bandages with my teeth, letting them fall to the ground as I stretched my wings out. That was much better; it felt like I’d had my wings bound my entire life, and just being able to stretch them was intoxicating.
    I beat my wings, once, twice. It was amazing how much dust they could kick up. Leaving the bandages behind—I could always get them later—I took one step, two, then breaking out into a run, a leap, and with a flap of my wings I was airborne. I’d forgotten how the summer night air smelled; as I rose, I couldn’t help but notice how strikingly crisp the clean, humid air compared to the spice- and grease-laden haze of the kitchen.
    It should have calmed my mind. Flying always calmed my mind. But as I flew over the houses and around the Great Tree, I just felt like divebombing someone and knocking them to the ground. Maybe it’d be that damn excadrill. Oh, how I’d love to send that bowl of ice cream right into his stupid face and watch him stumble and sputter as he tried to wipe it off. The scene played out in my head over and over. Soaring on the updrafts above the city did give me a lot of time for thinking up witty insults.
    Witty insults that I could never use. That I hadn’t used. Whatever previous high I had was gone, like someone had harpooned me and dragged me to the earth. I swooped low, gliding faster and faster. If I said something, he’d just scoff. He wouldn’t listen. He’d yell back.
    I pulled up just above the line of houses, and alighted upon the slate shingles of one with all the grace of a sledgehammer. I pulled in my wings and looked down at the street below, almost completely absent of pokemon, except for one: a small axew, scurrying somewhere. Just a child...was he past curfew, or heading home? Or leaving home? I didn’t know, but he disappeared into an alleyway before I could move to look closer.
    I sighed, sitting back on my haunches and turning my gaze to the sky. A few stars peeked through, barely. It was like they were mocking me, giving me just a tauntingly small bit of starlight before dashing back into obscurity. “Great,” I muttered to myself. “Even th’ clouds’re snooty t’day.” Looking at them was pissing me off, so I decided to close my eyes.
    What a mistake that was. The scene in the restaurant played before me, again and again. But this time, it wasn’t an excadrill, but a hydreigon, screaming at me with all three heads. They flung the bowl of ice cream to the ground, letting it shatter across the floor. I bent to clean it up, looking up to meet their eyes with a scowl and rough words only to see them replaced by a noivern. It was garbage, they said. Worthless. I yelled at them. They screamed at me. Back and forth and back and forth and—
    “Oy!” I opened my eyes, looking to my right. Someone was peering out of a rooftop window—an elderly scyther. He waved his scythe at me with the kind of malice reserved for pokemon half of my age. “Why the hell’re you makin’ all that racket at this hour? Pokemon are tryin’ to sleep!”
    “Then go back t’sleep, y’ol’ doddard!” I screeched back. He didn’t like that. I didn’t want him to. He leaned out further, ire in his eyes.
    “You dern upstart! Landin’ on mah roof like y’own the place! Why I oughta—” I didn’t stick around for what he oughta do to me. With a flap of my wings, I was off again, flying into the air with a string of curses behind me. The rest of my flight was uneventful, but no less frustrating. My wings were free, but it was like someone had wrapped the bandage around my neck with how tight my throat felt.


    When I returned home, the only lights still on were the streetlights. I only landed to pick up my discarded bandages and check the back door once more; couldn’t be too careful after that we woke up one night to find a slurpuff thief rummaging through the pantry. And it wasn’t locked. “Damn it…” I peered in, but a quick check revealed nothing any different than how I’d left it. Did I really lock it? Did Peach sneak back in the middle of the night? I had a number of things to say to that, before realizing it was ridiculous; it was weeks’ travel to the Jungle. Why did I even care? I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. I needed to get some sleep.
    After double-checking that I actually locked up this time, I headed up the stairs. I tread carefully, like a teenager coming back from after curfew, purposefully avoiding all the steps I knew that creaked. I opened the door at the top of the steps; it separated the restaurant from our home and, more importantly, kept the smells out. I stepped through into a dark living room that was as still and empty as the restaurant downstairs. My ears perked up; nothing, only the sounds of the house groaning quietly against the wind.
    I paced back and forth, checking over everything. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, just an uneasy feeling that filled my gut. I didn’t have to wait long; there, sitting on the end table, was a small bowl, dirty bowl. I couldn’t make out exactly what was in it, but bringing it closer I could smell chocolate. Gah, was it Devi or Nan this time? They knew how I felt about eating in the living room, and leaving out dirty dishes. Clutching the bowl tight, I began to march up to the top floor, ready to give them a piece of my mind.
    But when I got there and pulled back the curtain to their bedroom, all my vitriol faded. There, the two of them; Nan perched on her roost, and Devi curled up on his bed. Both snoozing peacefully, like little angels, Nan sometimes muttering in her sleep. I walked forward, laying a claw gently on Devi’s forehead, then Nan’s, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Sleep tight, you two.” It was just a bowl. Why had I been so upset over a bowl?
    I left their room and yawned. It was already way too late, and I had to open up early tomorrow. My feet trudged forward like I was sleepwalking—honestly, I probably already was--carrying me towards my bedroom. Or so I thought. They stopped at the guest room. Reaching forward, I pulled back the curtain…
    And it was empty. Of course it was empty. The bed near the window lay abandoned in the starlight. My feet moved again, involuntarily, towards it. It just looked...wrong somehow, now, without the fennekin girl. I reached down towards it, but like reaching out for something in the dark and finding it not there, my claw passed uncomfortably through the air and landed upon the pillow. The pillow where Peach’s head should be. Ugh, that girl. Off playing hero when she should be helping here in the restaurant. Didn’t she know how much we needed her help? Didn’t she know how dangerous it was doing guild tasks, especially against some sort of huge witch? What if she got hurt? What if she got killed!?
    It took me a second to realize I was gripping the pillow tightly. I let go, but the small tears from my claws were still there. Just like the plate earlier, I had broken something. Shaking my head, I picked it up—I could swap this one with mine, at least. I picked it up and left, this time actually heading to the correct room.
    When I arrived, Holly was already laying down. I thought she was asleep, but when I walked closer she stirred and opened an eye. “Borris?”
    “Aye. Sorry, honey, flew a bit late.” I plopped down next to her, swapping out Peach’s pillow for mine. My wife stirred, turning over to look at me.
    “What’s that?”
    “Ah, this? It be nuthin’, just thought aye’d change up some things n’all.”
    But that didn’t satisfy her. She shook her head and pointed as she said, “No, not the pillow, Borris, though I have to wonder why it’s ripped. I meant that.” I followed the direction of her paw, and realized I was still holding the bowl.
    “Oh, uh, t’was in the livin’ room. Somebody left it there.”
    “Ah, sorry, I had some of your ice cream earlier. I guess I forgot to clean it up.”
    “Oh.”
    Holly giggled and shook her head. “Oh, don’t worry about it; it was very tasty. Thanks for picking it up, but why did you bring it here instead of taking it to the kitchen?”
    Honestly, I had no idea, and all I could do was lay it on the nightstand with a grunt.
    “Not very talkative?”
    “Been a long day.”
    “I know. I heard about the Excadrill.” For a second, fury flared up within me, and I reached up to smash the bowl with a fist, but I caught myself. There was silence, going on for longer than I’d have liked. I felt Holly’s eyes upon me, and I quickly tossed my old pillow to the foot of the bed and laid down.
    “Good night, Holly.”
    “Good night, Borris.”
    I had hoped that would be the end of it. I closed my weary eyes, hoping sleep would overtake me soon. But a minute passed, and then another, and my body refused to rest. Finally, Holly broke the silence.
    “Borris, what’s been going on?”
    “Ah, it’s nuthin’, don’t worry yer head—”
    “Borris.” I felt her paw upon my back, comfortable but firm. She always got like this when she had something to tell me. “Don’t lie to me. You’ve been acting weird lately. Yelling at customers, getting orders wrong, breaking dishes…”
    I scowled and curled up, my voice curt. “Ah, wut, this sum kinda interrogation!?”
    “I’m serious. This isn’t like you, Borris. Come on, look at me.” I really didn’t want to meet anyone’s gaze, but when my eye snapped back open and rested upon that bowl, I could see the half-eaten, melted scoop of ice cream in it. My wife’s glare was far preferable to that, and with some effort I turned over to face her. Her red eyes glinted in the darkness, serious and concerned.
    “Holly, please,” I murmured. “Just been n’off week, ‘s all. Don’t fret yer head ‘bout it.”
    “You’re thinking about Peach, aren’t you?” The way she asked it was quiet, barely a whisper, but the word dug into me like someone had plunged a knife into my heart. I tried to look away, but that didn’t save me from a response. “You’ve been like this ever since she left; look, you’ve even got her pillow! Did you think I wouldn’t recognize it?”
    I could feel the ridges from where the pillow’s case was torn, and the stuffing leaked through against my face. For some reason, it felt like the pillow’s insides would spring up and drown me. “So wut? Holly, please, it’s nuthin’...”
    Her breath was hot as she brought her face close to mind, not accepting anything less than a decisive answer. “Borris. We’re taking care of her, just like we take care of Devi and Nan. But I’ve seen how you act. You yell and berate her constantly, just like when that hitmonchan came.”
    “C’mon, please. You know aye care fer her…”
    “Yes, I know you do. That’s why I’m asking you why. Why do you treat her that way? Do you know how many times she’s been crying in her room? I know you do; you must have heard it.” Indeed I did; how many times had I sat outside her room at night, listening to her sob? I’d always thought of going in to comfort her, but no, that’d be wrong. Right?
    “So tell me,” she said, bringing her paw up to my cheek. She was frowning. This was eating her up. It was eating me up. I sighed, and began to speak.

    It was decades ago. The last night I’d ever seen my parents. My father was a carpenter; it was amazing how he put his three mouths to work shaping rough wood into living spaces for pokemon, something no one expected a hydreigon to accomplish. And my mother, a noivern like me, was an excellent forewoman; not only did she lead project after project, but she pulled her weight in every one, too, often doing a bulk of the building herself—and earning several awards to go with her customers’ praise. They were determined, unwilling to compromise their dreams, and willing to put in as much work as necessary into making them reality.
    I thought they’d feel the same for me. I was there with them, laying bricks and nailing together wood in the hot summer heat. But while for them it was exhilarating, for me, it was just work. Tedious, boring work. The only time I felt alive was when we would break for lunch and head to one of the local food carts or restaurants. While my parents discussed their plans, I fell entranced with how the chef prepared our food. The utmost skill and care they placed into each dish, presenting a delicious plate to each customer like it was an expertly crafted building.
    I loved it. I began to check out cooking books from the library, and I visited restaurants on my days off. I memorized each spice, drilled into my head which foods paired with which, and every night had me slaving over a stove in interminable experiments, working out what recipes would bring profound deliciousness and culling those that were better thrown into the trash.
    At first, my parents found it amusing. Neither of them were particularly good at cooking, so the novelty of having a son who would prepare meals for them was amusing. But the novelty soon wore off; they thought I was spending too much time screwing around with pastries and stews and not enough learning the fundamentals of construction. My father would raise his voice if I even looked at the stove. My mother began throwing away my cookbooks, forcing me to hide them wherever I could.
    When we went out to eat, there wasn’t any joy, but rather an intense jealousy. Watching the chefs filled me not with admiration, but a burning longing, and I began to hate how my parents would scarf down their food without even paying attention to what they were eating. It simmered for years, until it all boiled over one day.
    I thought they just didn’t understand. I thought if I could just show them how I felt, they’d realize my dream was just like their efforts at construction. I saved up enough money to buy an ice cream maker, and even put aside enough to let someone teach me hidden power ice so I could chill it myself. While my parents were away at a meeting, some conference discussing the construction of some new building, I went to work.
    I’d gathered all the ingredients: milk, sugar, cream, chocolate shavings, and rock salt. Everything I needed to make the perfect chocolate ice cream. I went through more batches than I could count, stirring and chilling until my wings were sore and my throat hurt from all the icy breaths I breathed. But finally, it was done: the perfect bowl of chocolate ice cream, the comically large scoop positioned meticulously in the center so that they both could share. When they walked through the door, I presented it to them, eyes twinkling with pride.
    That was my first mistake. Immediately my mother advanced upon me, screaming at the top of her lungs to demand what I had been doing. I tried to explain that I’d worked hard to make it, but that just made her angrier. My father joined in with the accusations, thrice the incensed faces barreling down on me. I tried to stammer and explain myself. I told them this was what I wanted to do, that it took all the care and planning of construction.
    And that was my second mistake. My mother snatched the bowl out of my claws and hurled it towards the wall, the ceramic shattering with a deafening crash as my carefully crafted treat became nothing more than a brown splat. And that was the last straw. I yelled. They yelled. Back and forth we screamed at each other until our throats went dry.
    Mother reached her claw back, saying she’d teach me a lesson, but I was faster, and my boomburst knocked her to the ground. They glared at me, confused, but I’d made my decision. Giving one last derisive cry, I bolted out the door, tears in my eyes as I flew away.
    I didn’t know where I was going, or how long it’d take me to get there. I just flew and flew until my wings were so tired that I almost crashed. I found myself in another town—the first days were rough, living on the streets. No money, no shelter, no food. But I always looked. I asked around every restaurant I could find, until finally, a granbull chef took pity on me and took me in.
    Her training was intense, but I didn’t care. I got to cook. I got to see clients eyes light up when they tasted my dishes. And for the first time, I felt like I’d made something worthwhile.


    Holly didn’t say anything; she just watched me patiently as I described my tale. She knew I’d not seen my parents for a long time, but I’d never actually told her the details. She slid over, pulling me into a hug and nuzzling me, and I returned the favor. It was comforting, but it didn’t answer her question. Not fully, anyway.
    “Aye just...don’t get that girl,” I whispered. “How she’s always so timid ‘n shirkin’ n’ bein’ a pushover. She’s gonna get torn up, Holly, n’ I don’t get it. I know she’s been through a lot. Her ‘n me both. But I got through it.” I pulled back from the embrace, looking into Holly’s eyes, my face hot. “Why does she run away? Why doesn’t she fight back?”
    “You mean, why can’t she be like you?” It was like she stole the words right out of my mind, words I was avoiding saying.
    “I just... if she doesn’t toughen up…”
    “Borris, sweetie.” She stroked the side of my face with her paw. “I know how you feel. But you’re looking at it the wrong way. You want to know why she’s not doing things like you, but that’s because she’s not you. You’re you, and she’s Peach. Don’t you think that’s a little unfair, expecting her to be someone she’s not?”
    The words were soft, but they hit me in the gut like a boxer’s punch. I wanted to stammer for some sort of retort, but my lips wouldn’t move. It was hard enough to meet Holly’s gaze as she continued. “You both went through a lot, but everyone handles things differently. And she’s stronger than you think; trust me. You say she’s running away, but right now she’s with the guild, facing something more dangerous than any of us have ever seen. That’s more courageous than you give her credit for.”
    If the last words were a punch to the gut, then that one was a sword to the chest. I didn’t know much about magic or witches, but I heard rumors that whatever there was to the south was nastier than I could imagine. The fennekin’d traveled all that way to face it, and here I was calling her a coward for not taking orders and sweeping the floors! I felt something hot running down my cheek, and blinked it away as best I could.
    “Holly…” I said, my heart collapsing in on itself. “I’m sorry, I... I just don’t know what t’do.”
    She smiled, softly, that lovely smile, and leaned forward to lick away my tears before she spoke. “Just talk to Peach when she gets back, Borris. You’ve been through the same things, so instead of castigating her, meet her halfway. It will be rough at first, yes, but you can do it. You’ve overcome tougher before.”
    Holly was right. I still felt like I should be thrown in the dumpster, but something about her words filled me with a small measure of hope. I sniffed, letting my eyes dry, and gave her a kiss upon her snout. “Thank you, Holly.”
    “No problem. Now get some rest. We both have big days tomorrow.”
    We laid like that together, and soon she was asleep. Plans for what I’d say were already forming in my mind as drifted off to follow her.

    The next week and a half were probably the longest in my life. The restaurant suffered a little bit of a hit due to the excadrill’s rumor mongering, but it quickly recovered—my food spoke for itself. Still, I practiced making ice cream every day as I anxiously waited for news. Eventually, a flyer came back, announcing the guild had triumphed over the witch and the guild ‘mons were headed back. And a few days later, they were here, coinciding nicely with the summer celebrations.
    The first day back, I didn’t get to speak much with Peach. Not surprising; I wouldn’t be the first person she’d want to talk to when she got back, and that vulpix was nearly smothering her with how close she got to the girl. It didn’t matter. It just gave me more time to rehearse. I’d even borrowed a special insulated box from a beartic friend of mine, alongside a fair amount of ice.
    It was late when she was done, going off swimming. I saw her walking through town as I was at my food cart, and I called out to her. “Oi! Peach!” She turned to face me, and seeing the way she started instantly made me want to kick myself. But it was too late to turn back now. I motioned her over, and she padded forward like I was about to toss the whole cart at her.
    “Um, wh-what do you n-need?” she asked, fretting with her still-damp ear fur. The poor girl. There were a lot of things I wanted to say, but I wanted to be to the point.
    “‘Ere, come with me.”
    “Huh?” Her eyes went wide.
    “I’m closing up shop ‘ere. Just...come with me.” Her eyes darted around, like she was looking for an escape route, but she nodded. Did I really scare her that much? In any case, I drew out the small container from the refrigerated cart and began to walk. She looked to me, then back at the cart, then to me again.
    “Uh-um, d-don’t you think y-you should take th-that back?”
    “It’ll be fine, lass,” I said, trying to smile—I’m not sure if it worked, given her quizzical expression. “Just...come along.”
    She was confused. I honestly didn’t expect her not to be. But she followed, obediently. We paced wordlessly through the crowd, to the edge of town, to the beach. Even in the setting sun, the sand was warm beneath my feet. We walked for a few minutes, passing by droves of partying pokemon, until we reached a quiet part of the beach. Nothing but the two of us and the splashing waves. All the while, I kept looking back at Peach, each step making her look more and more uneasy. I was honestly afraid she was going to bolt off, but she followed diligently to our final destination.
    When we got there, I could see she had questions. I wasn’t going to give her the chance to ask them. Perhaps too abruptly, I reached out to give the box to her. “Here, take this.”
    “Uh-um…”
    “Just open it.”
    Slowly, she took it from my paws and set it in the soft sand, sliding the top of the box off and peering inside. Her eyes widened once more as she reached in, drawing it out: a bowl of chocolate ice cream, perfectly manicured with a spoon resting beside it. She looked up for some explanation, which I was happy to give.
    “It’s fer you. A welcome home present or something. Go on, eat it.”
    Peach looked down at the chocolate ice cream, eyeing it like it was poison. But gradually, she took the spoon and dug out a piece of the desert, popping it in her mouth. Then another. And another. Soon, she was chowing down on the with gusto—perhaps a little too fast, given how she paused occasionally with the obvious signs of brain freeze. I didn’t say anything; I just watched as the lump of brown sweetness disappeared.
    Soon, there was nothing left but the bowl and a content fennekin. Peach licked her lips, giving the smallest hint of a smile—the first I’d ever seen from her. “Th-thank you,” she said, ears down and gaze to the side. “That, um, was very t-tasty…”
    “No problem, you deserve it.”
    She looked out to the waves. “Oh! Um, th-thanks. S-sorry, I know I kinda, r-ran off…”
    “Quit apologizing!” I said, instantly regretting the words. She jolted, and I sighed. “I mean… y’don’t have to apologize. ‘Twas a gift. I’m sorry, Peach.”
    “N-no, it’s okay…”
    “It’s not. I’m really sorry.” I sat down, turning my gaze to the sand like a child who had just been reprimanded. “I haven’t been fair t’you. Ye been workin’ hard and goin’ off doin’ guild work—helpin’ th’ land. ‘N I’ve just been layin’ into ya. You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve dealin’ with me.” I looked up to gauge a reaction, seeing her incredulous face as I continued. “I know...I know you’ve had it rough. ‘N I wanted t’say I’m sorry. I wanna do better, I promise.”
    Peach didn’t say anything. She only stared at me before her composure broke, her face screwing up and eyes watering before she began to cry. I didn’t reach out to her; I knew she didn’t like that. I only sat nearby, tears running down my face too. We stayed like that for awhile, long enough for the sun to set and the moon to come up.
    Finally, I broke the silence. One of us had to, anyway. “Y’know, Peach…” She looked up, fur stained with tears. “Holly tells me y’got a way with cakes. If’n you ever wanted, sometime, I’d love to try some of ‘em. Like, outside of the restaurant.”
    “R-really?”
    I nodded. “Yeah. Heck, I c’n even teach you how to make ice cream cake, if y’want. Chocolate ice cream cake. What d’ya think about it?”
    She looked surprised, but nodded, smiling for the second time ever. “Th-that’d be great!” She seemed genuine this time, and seeing her like that, it felt like someone had pull a crushing weight off my shoulders.
    “I’ll hold you too it.” I stood up, scooping up the dishes and putting them in the box before picking it up. “Now, c’mon. We gotta get back t’the cart. Hopefully, nobody was stupid enough t’run off with it.”
    She seemed to agree, and pulled herself to her feet. We retraced our steps back into the town proper. We’d overcome worse. We’d definitely overcome this.
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Again this was done by Fanatic-Rat !

Description
im really proud of how this pic turned out- anyways this writing was a commission i had done by the lovely Fanatic-Rat Commission them! they have a great writing style!

and as always- please read the story! I'd greatly appreciate it!
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I liked the night crowd. Normally. Usually the hours right before closing were the quietest, right after the dinner rush, with the only regulars coming in to have quiet conversations while sipping coffee and nibbling desserts. The last table of the night didn’t get the memo, it seemed. Peeking around the corner from the kitchen, I watched them; a bunch of construction pokemon on the late shift led by an excadrill. All loud, all boisterous, all annoying. They’d been there three nights already, and that was three nights too many.
    I brought out their orders on two trays, coffee and simple sandwiches, as well as a bowl of chocolate ice cream for the foreman. I was brisk, professional, and polite, but it didn’t matter; I knew these guys wouldn’t tip or anything, and as I set their food before them with my usual niceties, I dreamt of the time when they’d just get lost. At least if they had food in their gobs, they’d shut up.
    I was wrong. Before I could even get to the kitchen, I heard a sputtering sound and a rough call of “Hey, waiter!”. Gritting my teeth, I turned towards the one who said it, the excadrill.
    “Aye’m the chef, but yes? Something wrong?”
    “Chef, waiter, whatever,” he said, dropping his spoon carelessly to clatter to the floor. “This ice cream sucks!”
    The ice cream I had spent hours making. My eye twitched as I tried to phrase my question as calmly as I could.
    “What’s wrong with it?”
    “Kinda question is that?” the excadrill exclaimed. “It’s nasty, terrible, crap! You expect me to pay for this kinda junk? Honestly, you say you’re a chef, but if you can’t get ice cream right then—”
    My claws slamming the table shut him up. They all stared at me in stunned silence as I snarled, “If y’don’t like the ice cream, then shuddup ‘n do better!”
    “Why you…!” He stood up to full height, which still didn't meet my chest, and slammed his money down on the table. “Cmon, fellas, guess we're not good enough for this snooty bat.” They all gave me the stink eye as they followed the excadrill out into the night, leaving the restaurant empty and their table a complete mess.
    I looked down at the bowl of ice cream, half eaten and already starting to melt into dark brown mush. Wasteful. These damn construction ‘mons never knew the value of food. If they were so damn content to just shovel whatever they wanted into their gullets, then why couldn’t they just shut up and eat without complaining about every single thing?
    I picked up the bowl, scooping the goop into the trash. I couldn’t do anything with it anyway, but just looking at it was making me want to claw someone’s face off. The sooner it got out of my sight, the better. But it didn’t; the entire evening, it showed up in my vision. Whether I was checking stock or cleaning the stoves or setting the meatflowers in marinade for tomorrow’s customers, the melting ball of chocolate ice cream was a malevolent spectre that refused to leave my head.
    I only snapped out of it when I felt a something from my claws. I stumbled to catch the plate I was was about to clean, but it was too late. It bounced off the edge of the sink, landing on the ground to crash into tens of pieces like it was flung against a wall. “Fer cryin’ out loud…” I bent over, scooping up the pieces. Damn it, this was what that fennekin was for. If only she wasn’t out traipsing who knows where playing hero, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. All the pieces in claws, I threw them roughly into the trash. I’d have to talk to Holly later. What in the world was she thinking, going along with the girl’s schemes?
    The kitchen was as clean as it was gonna get, and the lamps were starting to fade. I only then realized just how much my wings were aching; I must have kept them wrapped up longer than I thought. Feh! Wouldn’t have to work this late if I had more help. Snuffing out the lanterns, I stepped out of the kitchen into the night air. It was overcast, but I didn’t need any starlight to fly. Locking up hastily, I tugged at the bandages with my teeth, letting them fall to the ground as I stretched my wings out. That was much better; it felt like I’d had my wings bound my entire life, and just being able to stretch them was intoxicating.
    I beat my wings, once, twice. It was amazing how much dust they could kick up. Leaving the bandages behind—I could always get them later—I took one step, two, then breaking out into a run, a leap, and with a flap of my wings I was airborne. I’d forgotten how the summer night air smelled; as I rose, I couldn’t help but notice how strikingly crisp the clean, humid air compared to the spice- and grease-laden haze of the kitchen.
    It should have calmed my mind. Flying always calmed my mind. But as I flew over the houses and around the Great Tree, I just felt like divebombing someone and knocking them to the ground. Maybe it’d be that damn excadrill. Oh, how I’d love to send that bowl of ice cream right into his stupid face and watch him stumble and sputter as he tried to wipe it off. The scene played out in my head over and over. Soaring on the updrafts above the city did give me a lot of time for thinking up witty insults.
    Witty insults that I could never use. That I hadn’t used. Whatever previous high I had was gone, like someone had harpooned me and dragged me to the earth. I swooped low, gliding faster and faster. If I said something, he’d just scoff. He wouldn’t listen. He’d yell back.
    I pulled up just above the line of houses, and alighted upon the slate shingles of one with all the grace of a sledgehammer. I pulled in my wings and looked down at the street below, almost completely absent of pokemon, except for one: a small axew, scurrying somewhere. Just a child...was he past curfew, or heading home? Or leaving home? I didn’t know, but he disappeared into an alleyway before I could move to look closer.
    I sighed, sitting back on my haunches and turning my gaze to the sky. A few stars peeked through, barely. It was like they were mocking me, giving me just a tauntingly small bit of starlight before dashing back into obscurity. “Great,” I muttered to myself. “Even th’ clouds’re snooty t’day.” Looking at them was pissing me off, so I decided to close my eyes.
    What a mistake that was. The scene in the restaurant played before me, again and again. But this time, it wasn’t an excadrill, but a hydreigon, screaming at me with all three heads. They flung the bowl of ice cream to the ground, letting it shatter across the floor. I bent to clean it up, looking up to meet their eyes with a scowl and rough words only to see them replaced by a noivern. It was garbage, they said. Worthless. I yelled at them. They screamed at me. Back and forth and back and forth and—
    “Oy!” I opened my eyes, looking to my right. Someone was peering out of a rooftop window—an elderly scyther. He waved his scythe at me with the kind of malice reserved for pokemon half of my age. “Why the hell’re you makin’ all that racket at this hour? Pokemon are tryin’ to sleep!”
    “Then go back t’sleep, y’ol’ doddard!” I screeched back. He didn’t like that. I didn’t want him to. He leaned out further, ire in his eyes.
    “You dern upstart! Landin’ on mah roof like y’own the place! Why I oughta—” I didn’t stick around for what he oughta do to me. With a flap of my wings, I was off again, flying into the air with a string of curses behind me. The rest of my flight was uneventful, but no less frustrating. My wings were free, but it was like someone had wrapped the bandage around my neck with how tight my throat felt.


    When I returned home, the only lights still on were the streetlights. I only landed to pick up my discarded bandages and check the back door once more; couldn’t be too careful after that we woke up one night to find a slurpuff thief rummaging through the pantry. And it wasn’t locked. “Damn it…” I peered in, but a quick check revealed nothing any different than how I’d left it. Did I really lock it? Did Peach sneak back in the middle of the night? I had a number of things to say to that, before realizing it was ridiculous; it was weeks’ travel to the Jungle. Why did I even care? I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. I needed to get some sleep.
    After double-checking that I actually locked up this time, I headed up the stairs. I tread carefully, like a teenager coming back from after curfew, purposefully avoiding all the steps I knew that creaked. I opened the door at the top of the steps; it separated the restaurant from our home and, more importantly, kept the smells out. I stepped through into a dark living room that was as still and empty as the restaurant downstairs. My ears perked up; nothing, only the sounds of the house groaning quietly against the wind.
    I paced back and forth, checking over everything. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, just an uneasy feeling that filled my gut. I didn’t have to wait long; there, sitting on the end table, was a small bowl, dirty bowl. I couldn’t make out exactly what was in it, but bringing it closer I could smell chocolate. Gah, was it Devi or Nan this time? They knew how I felt about eating in the living room, and leaving out dirty dishes. Clutching the bowl tight, I began to march up to the top floor, ready to give them a piece of my mind.
    But when I got there and pulled back the curtain to their bedroom, all my vitriol faded. There, the two of them; Nan perched on her roost, and Devi curled up on his bed. Both snoozing peacefully, like little angels, Nan sometimes muttering in her sleep. I walked forward, laying a claw gently on Devi’s forehead, then Nan’s, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Sleep tight, you two.” It was just a bowl. Why had I been so upset over a bowl?
    I left their room and yawned. It was already way too late, and I had to open up early tomorrow. My feet trudged forward like I was sleepwalking—honestly, I probably already was--carrying me towards my bedroom. Or so I thought. They stopped at the guest room. Reaching forward, I pulled back the curtain…
    And it was empty. Of course it was empty. The bed near the window lay abandoned in the starlight. My feet moved again, involuntarily, towards it. It just looked...wrong somehow, now, without the fennekin girl. I reached down towards it, but like reaching out for something in the dark and finding it not there, my claw passed uncomfortably through the air and landed upon the pillow. The pillow where Peach’s head should be. Ugh, that girl. Off playing hero when she should be helping here in the restaurant. Didn’t she know how much we needed her help? Didn’t she know how dangerous it was doing guild tasks, especially against some sort of huge witch? What if she got hurt? What if she got killed!?
    It took me a second to realize I was gripping the pillow tightly. I let go, but the small tears from my claws were still there. Just like the plate earlier, I had broken something. Shaking my head, I picked it up—I could swap this one with mine, at least. I picked it up and left, this time actually heading to the correct room.
    When I arrived, Holly was already laying down. I thought she was asleep, but when I walked closer she stirred and opened an eye. “Borris?”
    “Aye. Sorry, honey, flew a bit late.” I plopped down next to her, swapping out Peach’s pillow for mine. My wife stirred, turning over to look at me.
    “What’s that?”
    “Ah, this? It be nuthin’, just thought aye’d change up some things n’all.”
    But that didn’t satisfy her. She shook her head and pointed as she said, “No, not the pillow, Borris, though I have to wonder why it’s ripped. I meant that.” I followed the direction of her paw, and realized I was still holding the bowl.
    “Oh, uh, t’was in the livin’ room. Somebody left it there.”
    “Ah, sorry, I had some of your ice cream earlier. I guess I forgot to clean it up.”
    “Oh.”
    Holly giggled and shook her head. “Oh, don’t worry about it; it was very tasty. Thanks for picking it up, but why did you bring it here instead of taking it to the kitchen?”
    Honestly, I had no idea, and all I could do was lay it on the nightstand with a grunt.
    “Not very talkative?”
    “Been a long day.”
    “I know. I heard about the Excadrill.” For a second, fury flared up within me, and I reached up to smash the bowl with a fist, but I caught myself. There was silence, going on for longer than I’d have liked. I felt Holly’s eyes upon me, and I quickly tossed my old pillow to the foot of the bed and laid down.
    “Good night, Holly.”
    “Good night, Borris.”
    I had hoped that would be the end of it. I closed my weary eyes, hoping sleep would overtake me soon. But a minute passed, and then another, and my body refused to rest. Finally, Holly broke the silence.
    “Borris, what’s been going on?”
    “Ah, it’s nuthin’, don’t worry yer head—”
    “Borris.” I felt her paw upon my back, comfortable but firm. She always got like this when she had something to tell me. “Don’t lie to me. You’ve been acting weird lately. Yelling at customers, getting orders wrong, breaking dishes…”
    I scowled and curled up, my voice curt. “Ah, wut, this sum kinda interrogation!?”
    “I’m serious. This isn’t like you, Borris. Come on, look at me.” I really didn’t want to meet anyone’s gaze, but when my eye snapped back open and rested upon that bowl, I could see the half-eaten, melted scoop of ice cream in it. My wife’s glare was far preferable to that, and with some effort I turned over to face her. Her red eyes glinted in the darkness, serious and concerned.
    “Holly, please,” I murmured. “Just been n’off week, ‘s all. Don’t fret yer head ‘bout it.”
    “You’re thinking about Peach, aren’t you?” The way she asked it was quiet, barely a whisper, but the word dug into me like someone had plunged a knife into my heart. I tried to look away, but that didn’t save me from a response. “You’ve been like this ever since she left; look, you’ve even got her pillow! Did you think I wouldn’t recognize it?”
    I could feel the ridges from where the pillow’s case was torn, and the stuffing leaked through against my face. For some reason, it felt like the pillow’s insides would spring up and drown me. “So wut? Holly, please, it’s nuthin’...”
    Her breath was hot as she brought her face close to mind, not accepting anything less than a decisive answer. “Borris. We’re taking care of her, just like we take care of Devi and Nan. But I’ve seen how you act. You yell and berate her constantly, just like when that hitmonchan came.”
    “C’mon, please. You know aye care fer her…”
    “Yes, I know you do. That’s why I’m asking you why. Why do you treat her that way? Do you know how many times she’s been crying in her room? I know you do; you must have heard it.” Indeed I did; how many times had I sat outside her room at night, listening to her sob? I’d always thought of going in to comfort her, but no, that’d be wrong. Right?
    “So tell me,” she said, bringing her paw up to my cheek. She was frowning. This was eating her up. It was eating me up. I sighed, and began to speak.

    It was decades ago. The last night I’d ever seen my parents. My father was a carpenter; it was amazing how he put his three mouths to work shaping rough wood into living spaces for pokemon, something no one expected a hydreigon to accomplish. And my mother, a noivern like me, was an excellent forewoman; not only did she lead project after project, but she pulled her weight in every one, too, often doing a bulk of the building herself—and earning several awards to go with her customers’ praise. They were determined, unwilling to compromise their dreams, and willing to put in as much work as necessary into making them reality.
    I thought they’d feel the same for me. I was there with them, laying bricks and nailing together wood in the hot summer heat. But while for them it was exhilarating, for me, it was just work. Tedious, boring work. The only time I felt alive was when we would break for lunch and head to one of the local food carts or restaurants. While my parents discussed their plans, I fell entranced with how the chef prepared our food. The utmost skill and care they placed into each dish, presenting a delicious plate to each customer like it was an expertly crafted building.
    I loved it. I began to check out cooking books from the library, and I visited restaurants on my days off. I memorized each spice, drilled into my head which foods paired with which, and every night had me slaving over a stove in interminable experiments, working out what recipes would bring profound deliciousness and culling those that were better thrown into the trash.
    At first, my parents found it amusing. Neither of them were particularly good at cooking, so the novelty of having a son who would prepare meals for them was amusing. But the novelty soon wore off; they thought I was spending too much time screwing around with pastries and stews and not enough learning the fundamentals of construction. My father would raise his voice if I even looked at the stove. My mother began throwing away my cookbooks, forcing me to hide them wherever I could.
    When we went out to eat, there wasn’t any joy, but rather an intense jealousy. Watching the chefs filled me not with admiration, but a burning longing, and I began to hate how my parents would scarf down their food without even paying attention to what they were eating. It simmered for years, until it all boiled over one day.
    I thought they just didn’t understand. I thought if I could just show them how I felt, they’d realize my dream was just like their efforts at construction. I saved up enough money to buy an ice cream maker, and even put aside enough to let someone teach me hidden power ice so I could chill it myself. While my parents were away at a meeting, some conference discussing the construction of some new building, I went to work.
    I’d gathered all the ingredients: milk, sugar, cream, chocolate shavings, and rock salt. Everything I needed to make the perfect chocolate ice cream. I went through more batches than I could count, stirring and chilling until my wings were sore and my throat hurt from all the icy breaths I breathed. But finally, it was done: the perfect bowl of chocolate ice cream, the comically large scoop positioned meticulously in the center so that they both could share. When they walked through the door, I presented it to them, eyes twinkling with pride.
    That was my first mistake. Immediately my mother advanced upon me, screaming at the top of her lungs to demand what I had been doing. I tried to explain that I’d worked hard to make it, but that just made her angrier. My father joined in with the accusations, thrice the incensed faces barreling down on me. I tried to stammer and explain myself. I told them this was what I wanted to do, that it took all the care and planning of construction.
    And that was my second mistake. My mother snatched the bowl out of my claws and hurled it towards the wall, the ceramic shattering with a deafening crash as my carefully crafted treat became nothing more than a brown splat. And that was the last straw. I yelled. They yelled. Back and forth we screamed at each other until our throats went dry.
    Mother reached her claw back, saying she’d teach me a lesson, but I was faster, and my boomburst knocked her to the ground. They glared at me, confused, but I’d made my decision. Giving one last derisive cry, I bolted out the door, tears in my eyes as I flew away.
    I didn’t know where I was going, or how long it’d take me to get there. I just flew and flew until my wings were so tired that I almost crashed. I found myself in another town—the first days were rough, living on the streets. No money, no shelter, no food. But I always looked. I asked around every restaurant I could find, until finally, a granbull chef took pity on me and took me in.
    Her training was intense, but I didn’t care. I got to cook. I got to see clients eyes light up when they tasted my dishes. And for the first time, I felt like I’d made something worthwhile.


    Holly didn’t say anything; she just watched me patiently as I described my tale. She knew I’d not seen my parents for a long time, but I’d never actually told her the details. She slid over, pulling me into a hug and nuzzling me, and I returned the favor. It was comforting, but it didn’t answer her question. Not fully, anyway.
    “Aye just...don’t get that girl,” I whispered. “How she’s always so timid ‘n shirkin’ n’ bein’ a pushover. She’s gonna get torn up, Holly, n’ I don’t get it. I know she’s been through a lot. Her ‘n me both. But I got through it.” I pulled back from the embrace, looking into Holly’s eyes, my face hot. “Why does she run away? Why doesn’t she fight back?”
    “You mean, why can’t she be like you?” It was like she stole the words right out of my mind, words I was avoiding saying.
    “I just... if she doesn’t toughen up…”
    “Borris, sweetie.” She stroked the side of my face with her paw. “I know how you feel. But you’re looking at it the wrong way. You want to know why she’s not doing things like you, but that’s because she’s not you. You’re you, and she’s Peach. Don’t you think that’s a little unfair, expecting her to be someone she’s not?”
    The words were soft, but they hit me in the gut like a boxer’s punch. I wanted to stammer for some sort of retort, but my lips wouldn’t move. It was hard enough to meet Holly’s gaze as she continued. “You both went through a lot, but everyone handles things differently. And she’s stronger than you think; trust me. You say she’s running away, but right now she’s with the guild, facing something more dangerous than any of us have ever seen. That’s more courageous than you give her credit for.”
    If the last words were a punch to the gut, then that one was a sword to the chest. I didn’t know much about magic or witches, but I heard rumors that whatever there was to the south was nastier than I could imagine. The fennekin’d traveled all that way to face it, and here I was calling her a coward for not taking orders and sweeping the floors! I felt something hot running down my cheek, and blinked it away as best I could.
    “Holly…” I said, my heart collapsing in on itself. “I’m sorry, I... I just don’t know what t’do.”
    She smiled, softly, that lovely smile, and leaned forward to lick away my tears before she spoke. “Just talk to Peach when she gets back, Borris. You’ve been through the same things, so instead of castigating her, meet her halfway. It will be rough at first, yes, but you can do it. You’ve overcome tougher before.”
    Holly was right. I still felt like I should be thrown in the dumpster, but something about her words filled me with a small measure of hope. I sniffed, letting my eyes dry, and gave her a kiss upon her snout. “Thank you, Holly.”
    “No problem. Now get some rest. We both have big days tomorrow.”
    We laid like that together, and soon she was asleep. Plans for what I’d say were already forming in my mind as drifted off to follow her.

    The next week and a half were probably the longest in my life. The restaurant suffered a little bit of a hit due to the excadrill’s rumor mongering, but it quickly recovered—my food spoke for itself. Still, I practiced making ice cream every day as I anxiously waited for news. Eventually, a flyer came back, announcing the guild had triumphed over the witch and the guild ‘mons were headed back. And a few days later, they were here, coinciding nicely with the summer celebrations.
    The first day back, I didn’t get to speak much with Peach. Not surprising; I wouldn’t be the first person she’d want to talk to when she got back, and that vulpix was nearly smothering her with how close she got to the girl. It didn’t matter. It just gave me more time to rehearse. I’d even borrowed a special insulated box from a beartic friend of mine, alongside a fair amount of ice.
    It was late when she was done, going off swimming. I saw her walking through town as I was at my food cart, and I called out to her. “Oi! Peach!” She turned to face me, and seeing the way she started instantly made me want to kick myself. But it was too late to turn back now. I motioned her over, and she padded forward like I was about to toss the whole cart at her.
    “Um, wh-what do you n-need?” she asked, fretting with her still-damp ear fur. The poor girl. There were a lot of things I wanted to say, but I wanted to be to the point.
    “‘Ere, come with me.”
    “Huh?” Her eyes went wide.
    “I’m closing up shop ‘ere. Just...come with me.” Her eyes darted around, like she was looking for an escape route, but she nodded. Did I really scare her that much? In any case, I drew out the small container from the refrigerated cart and began to walk. She looked to me, then back at the cart, then to me again.
    “Uh-um, d-don’t you think y-you should take th-that back?”
    “It’ll be fine, lass,” I said, trying to smile—I’m not sure if it worked, given her quizzical expression. “Just...come along.”
    She was confused. I honestly didn’t expect her not to be. But she followed, obediently. We paced wordlessly through the crowd, to the edge of town, to the beach. Even in the setting sun, the sand was warm beneath my feet. We walked for a few minutes, passing by droves of partying pokemon, until we reached a quiet part of the beach. Nothing but the two of us and the splashing waves. All the while, I kept looking back at Peach, each step making her look more and more uneasy. I was honestly afraid she was going to bolt off, but she followed diligently to our final destination.
    When we got there, I could see she had questions. I wasn’t going to give her the chance to ask them. Perhaps too abruptly, I reached out to give the box to her. “Here, take this.”
    “Uh-um…”
    “Just open it.”
    Slowly, she took it from my paws and set it in the soft sand, sliding the top of the box off and peering inside. Her eyes widened once more as she reached in, drawing it out: a bowl of chocolate ice cream, perfectly manicured with a spoon resting beside it. She looked up for some explanation, which I was happy to give.
    “It’s fer you. A welcome home present or something. Go on, eat it.”
    Peach looked down at the chocolate ice cream, eyeing it like it was poison. But gradually, she took the spoon and dug out a piece of the desert, popping it in her mouth. Then another. And another. Soon, she was chowing down on the with gusto—perhaps a little too fast, given how she paused occasionally with the obvious signs of brain freeze. I didn’t say anything; I just watched as the lump of brown sweetness disappeared.
    Soon, there was nothing left but the bowl and a content fennekin. Peach licked her lips, giving the smallest hint of a smile—the first I’d ever seen from her. “Th-thank you,” she said, ears down and gaze to the side. “That, um, was very t-tasty…”
    “No problem, you deserve it.”
    She looked out to the waves. “Oh! Um, th-thanks. S-sorry, I know I kinda, r-ran off…”
    “Quit apologizing!” I said, instantly regretting the words. She jolted, and I sighed. “I mean… y’don’t have to apologize. ‘Twas a gift. I’m sorry, Peach.”
    “N-no, it’s okay…”
    “It’s not. I’m really sorry.” I sat down, turning my gaze to the sand like a child who had just been reprimanded. “I haven’t been fair t’you. Ye been workin’ hard and goin’ off doin’ guild work—helpin’ th’ land. ‘N I’ve just been layin’ into ya. You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve dealin’ with me.” I looked up to gauge a reaction, seeing her incredulous face as I continued. “I know...I know you’ve had it rough. ‘N I wanted t’say I’m sorry. I wanna do better, I promise.”
    Peach didn’t say anything. She only stared at me before her composure broke, her face screwing up and eyes watering before she began to cry. I didn’t reach out to her; I knew she didn’t like that. I only sat nearby, tears running down my face too. We stayed like that for awhile, long enough for the sun to set and the moon to come up.
    Finally, I broke the silence. One of us had to, anyway. “Y’know, Peach…” She looked up, fur stained with tears. “Holly tells me y’got a way with cakes. If’n you ever wanted, sometime, I’d love to try some of ‘em. Like, outside of the restaurant.”
    “R-really?”
    I nodded. “Yeah. Heck, I c’n even teach you how to make ice cream cake, if y’want. Chocolate ice cream cake. What d’ya think about it?”
    She looked surprised, but nodded, smiling for the second time ever. “Th-that’d be great!” She seemed genuine this time, and seeing her like that, it felt like someone had pull a crushing weight off my shoulders.
    “I’ll hold you too it.” I stood up, scooping up the dishes and putting them in the box before picking it up. “Now, c’mon. We gotta get back t’the cart. Hopefully, nobody was stupid enough t’run off with it.”
    She seemed to agree, and pulled herself to her feet. We retraced our steps back into the town proper. We’d overcome worse. We’d definitely overcome this.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Again this was done by Fanatic-Rat !