[Those who are familiar with the island may remember a beach on the southern side, one that overlooks the Hoenn region; usually it was quiet, sometimes there were people, sometimes it was fairly quiet even with the people, and sometimes the people would come back to this place to try to sort out what they'd lost.
Now seems to be one of the latter times; there's someone crouching down near one of the rocky outcroppings, fingers of his left hand buried in the sand for support. The ocean's rolling in this evening, soaking the long edges of his coat, asymmetrical red-and-black standing out against the starkness of the rocks and the darkness of the waves.
The first thing that he'd noticed about this place is, perhaps stupidly, that his coat has been fixed.
One of his sleeves had been torn off back home, the jagged edges flying loose and frayed at his side if he moved too quickly; not much else seems to have changed, as far as he can tell. He's still hungry as hell and his hair is a mess, and he's twitching quite a bit as he tries to get his bearings.
He's been here before.
Oh, not recently, he doesn't think; the last thing he remembers is Hoenn, the car and the electrical field and something that was probably a crash - admittedly, he doesn't really remember the crash, but there was a sudden stop and impact and then he'd awakened here so he's just going to venture a guess and assume, for a moment, that he's died. It would make this make so much more sense (how?) somehow, and it's a thought he doesn't mind. After all, if he's dead then his rival is dead, because surely life wouldn't kill him in a freak accident and let his rival default to a win, and if his rival is dead then really, they're still even.
Something like that.
But he can't shake the idea that he's been here before, that this beach holds significance to him outside of the view, but for now the memories are hazy, dreamlike (he's had battles on this outcropping, two-on-two and the place below it used to be full of quicksand and he'd won both times but hadn't killed his opponent, and he's battled here one other time but it wasn't so much a battle as it was a start to something and he'd won then too and he had killed his opponent and he'd received what he thinks is the Red Orb but that's ridiculous, isn't it?) and when he tries to force them it just scrambles them a bit, and what's more important is that he's feeling weirdly cut off.
He can't feel Groudon's presence anymore, and it unsettles him.
But he remembers being unable to feel it for a long time, despite the fact that he'd felt it and then there'd been the crash with no time inbetween back in Hoenn; it was...here, that he'd been unable to feel it, despite there being no logical timeframe in which he could have been here...
He's shaking a bit by the end of it because, inexplicably, he's laughing quietly to himself, and he's standing up and brushing the sand off his legs and thinking nonsensically that at least he can see out of his left eye this time (why? that's never been a concern before, his vision is good).]
Quite the piece of work, this place.
[He doesn't seem displeased with that notion; he rakes a hand back through his hair, mussing it a bit as he flicks the front locks of it back out of his eyes.
He'll worry about whatever dreams he's had about this place later, surely.]
It'll be just fine, I think.