Every once in a while, lying in bed half awake, Hilda would wonder where the sun went.
The sky’s been dark for so long (has it been five years already?) she hardly remembers life with it. But she can remember, vaguely, how bright the days used to be.
The weather in Castelia was more or less normal, though the few plants living there had just about died off. It was still warm, though there was no discernible source of heat, it rained on occasion (it was a port town, after all). Sometimes they’d get black sludge from the sky. It felt almost like oil, but most Pokemon weren’t afraid of oil. The weather guy had said it would happen when the wind blew West. On days like those, Pokemon and people alike locked themselves inside, wondering just what the hell had happened to their eastern neighbours, in Almia.
The TV stations couldn’t broadcast too well these days. It didn’t help that all Almian media seemed to just disappear overnight. It didn’t help that the same occurred with portable communication devices. It didn’t help that any bird Pokemon sending messages by flying through or to Almia didn’t come back. Hilda knows that from experience. She misses her Swanna more every passing day. It’s not like she could just cross the border and bring her back, people have tried. All the entrances to Almia are blocked.
Walls of 20 feet thick ice, fierce sandstorms and tornados that stayed in place, there’ve even been accounts of lava plumes spraying up on the forested border.
She didn’t like this at all. Most didn’t, but Hilda is reminded of a future where Team Plasma might have succeeded. Where Pokemon were under no one’s control but Ghetsis’. A dark future like this one. Something bad had happened in Almia, and even though it affected the entire world, Hilda felt like no one cared enough to try and fix it.
Her doorbell buzzed. Groaning, she reluctantly pushed her blankets aside to get up. She wasn’t expecting anyone. She shuffled out of her bedroom, through the small kitchen/dining room combo to get to the door.
She wasn’t expecting N.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” he said softly, smiling. She grinned. He cared. She knew that from experience.
“I may rise, but I refuse to shine,” she managed to joke, glancing warily at the sky outside. N’s smile faltered, and he shifted his weight.
“May I come in?” he asked “I think we should talk.” Hilda looked down at her Bewear print pyjamas.
“Let me get changed first.”