Back at the inn, Margery and I retreat back to the room she rented earlier. She took a quick stop to drop off her three hundred shell purchase at her cart, where she hid it between two rolls of clothing mixed with other items in her possession. I find myself sitting on one of the two beds in the room, which turns out to be more comfortable than I imagined. Margery however sits on a wooden chair at a desk on the far end of the room that's as far as it can possibly be from the door. She seems focused on some sort of document in her possession, which she appears to be writing on.

I clear my throat. "Ehem." I say. In response, Margery turns to me quickly with a raised eyebrow in suspicion. Seriously? She's the one who brought me back here. If it was my choice, I would have continued exploring more of Mahogany Town.

"Yes?" she asks, clearly perturbed from my disrupting her work she has out of my sight. Well I'm sorry for interrupting you despite you being the one who dragged me here in the first place.

"You said you're going to explain things? Whatever they are?" I remind her. She pauses for a moment, thinking to herself. She turns back around to her work, and, in about the same amount of time a Sudowoodo spends in the rain, she whirls back around to me. She leans forward in her chair, scooting it away from the desk with her feet while making a grinding against the wood floor. She looks at me, crossing her legs, while crossing her arms.

"I did, yes. And explain I shall," she says to me. She holds her hand out at me like a handshake. "Go on, ask away."

I pause for a moment. There is so much I don't understand that she can shed a little light on for me more than the inn's lobby downstairs. Where do I even start?

"You, Margery. What about you?" I ask her. She thinks for a moment, and then replies.

"That's strictly confidential information. Rule number thirteen is never go into a lady's private life unless she allows you. And I am not allowing you at this moment in time," she explains to me. Well, great. There goes one mystery that probably won't ever be explained to me.

"Okay..." I start, attempting to change the subject, "what about the whole souvenir shop? The look on your face when you walked in indicated to me you know there's more to the place than just a souvenir shop."

"Ahh, that. I'm not entirely sure of what's going on with that place. But it's intriguing, mysterious. Some place I would be willing to visit again, and a place I feel we will visit again," Margery explains, nodding to herself. She turns to the door, then back to me.

"I should also mention one important thing you might've just brushed off as insignificant, Celebi. And that's the shopkeeper of that souvenir place himself," Margery states, "I'm not sure if you recall, but do you remember his features?"

I pause for a moment, recalling the encounter earlier. "Yeah, he had brown hair and dark shades if my memory is correct," I tell her. Due to being a Psychic-type Pokemon, I have faith in my memory at least. That and my affinity for nature, but that's more of the Grass-type attribute.

"And do you remember this?" she asks, reaching back and grabbing the paper on the desk. She shows me a rough sketch she has on a piece of parchment: a circle with four spokes surrounding a textured inlaid oval. After thinking for a moment and adding a bit of color to the image in my head, the pieces connect.

"The necklace, right?" I ask her. She nods as she crosses her arms again.

"This is a difficult story to tell, but I guess I can just cover the basics for now. We'll visit this topic soon, I bet," she sighs, looking back towards the door. She reaches into her outside jacket pocket and produces a small white book that's about the size of the average Joltik. She tosses it to me, where I catch it in my lap. It has a single gold stripe near the spine and a small inlaid oval in the front center, like the symbol the man had around his neck. In fancy font, I barely make out a phrase.

"C-H-U-R-C-H-O-F-A-R-C-E-L-L-A," I spell out. Margery nods as she looks to me.

"The Church of Arcella. The dominant religious group of the region, if not the world, at the moment. You can have that book there, which are some supposedly sacred scriptures written by some bishop near the beginning of the formation of the group. In the most simplest explanation, these people worship Arceus as if it created everything and protects everyone who offers their worship and devotion to it. And anything else that's questionable is basically an enemy," Margery explains to me. I take a moment to process the information. If what she is saying is true, then she could only mean...

"Basically, your existence is probably some sort of blasphemy against the church. Which also happens to be very influential and a powerhouse in the world right now. So yeah, dangerous for you to even walk around if I had to say so," Margery says to me. A chill runs down my spine. Taking a step back and looking at it all in my mind, I realize just how much danger I'm in. I'm not sure how devout the church followers can get, but if it's as treacherous as Margery insists it is...

"Is my life at stake?" I ask her. She simply nods. I feel a drop of sweat slide down my cheek. This isn't my old self. I can't just time travel away on a whim if I'm in danger. There is a threat looming large, and I'm potentially a target.

"Any other questions?" she asks me. I think for a moment, swaying slightly on the bed. As it creaks from my shifts, one thing does pop in my mind.

"There is one thing that's been bothering me since the beginning..." I start, "Why in the world of Pokémon do you even trust me? Seriously, I'm a walking target for a church. My story is next to unbelievable. Sure, I found Roscoe, but is that seriously enough?"

Margery sits silent for a moment, as if trying to answer without any sort of misunderstanding. She scratches her head as she mulls over the thoughts I can't begin to comprehend.

"Truthfully, no. I do not trust you. Just like you said, your explanation is certainly passable as a tale taller than an Onix. A Pokémon turned human? Well if that isn't potential blasphemy, I don't know what is," Margery admits. "In the end though, we're together. I owe you the trip, and I'll see it through because my pride as a merchant always settles a debt. There is no requirement stating I have to trust you the whole time...or any time for that matter. Showing you the ropes of being a merchant merely amuses me, and that's all at this point in time."

"In the end, I was going in that direction anyway. You're along for the ride. And you do come in handy sometimes. And I'll be sure to inconspicuously extort that as a means to earn a profit. That has to be the best part about being a merchant," Margery finishes. I look down at the Church of Arcella book, its pearl white cover a stark contrast to my hand and the thin, drab bedsheets. I flip it over, feeling the smooth material of whatever it's comprised of slide on my skin. I flip it open, my eyes poring over the pages of the church's history, affairs, and scriptures of stories of saints and bishops of the past. Funny thing is I don't recall any of these important events happening in my time travels.

"Anything else?" Margery asks me. I teeter slightly, thinking to myself. Though there is so much in this world I've yet to understand, is there anything else at this moment I need her to explain? The information that I can recall goes through my brain from the last day. First I woke up as a human. Then I saved a Sawsbuck. I was taken to a city, walked around the shops, and now I'm here.

I look to the doorway. I notice the sky is dark and I realize just how late it is. When I turn back to Margery, I already see that she's already turned back to doing her own thing on the desk, whatever it may be.

"I think that's it," I say aloud to Margery, but not in any particular direction. I fall back, landing on the bed with a soft thud, the comfort springing back like a Spoink's tail. I notice the faint odor of something foreign, like this bed was used recently and not washed. I have no idea about its origin, but I realize that I can't escape it at the moment. I feel the small sprouts on my head Margery claims that exists repulsively curl from the scent.

"So I assume you're going to turn in for the night?" Margery asks me. I look up to her and see she's still working on something in the corner with what little light is left in the day.

"What does that mean? Turn in?" I ask her.

"It's a saying. It means to go to sleep. You're on what we call a bed. People sleep on it so they don't have to sleep on something hard," she explains. Well, the snarky attitude isn't necessary. I know what a bed is, thank you very much.

"Then yes, I'm going to turn in for the night. Hmph," I grumble as I stretch out on the bed while still in my clothes and shoes. Margery waves from her corner as I lie there staring at the ceiling again. There is so much going on in this world even without my predicament of trying to return back to the time period I belong in. From the church to people trying to claw by to make a living, I honestly have no business being here. I realize that Margery, what I can only describe as cunningly tactful, finds ways to make business instead.

I turn my body on its side to face the wall. It's a sleeping position I've done before, but it feels so different in the new body. Yet despite the awkwardness, I find myself falling fast asleep.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

At the crack of dawn, I feel someone jolting me awake.

"Rise and shine, Renault! The early Pidgey gets the money!" Margery gleefully shouts at me, rustling my body awake. She grabs my arm and pulls me off the bed, where I land on the hard floor with a thunk. A wave of pain shoots from my backside, where I pull myself, now sitting up on the floor. I massage the spot on my lower back where the impact felt the most severe. As I look towards Margery, I see she's already mostly dressed. Her jacket, pants, and shoes are already on. At the moment, she seems to be tying back her hair to finish off her usual clean merchant appearance.

I place my hand on the bed—which is just as hard as I remember—and stand up fully, realizing I was still in my clothes from yesterday. Unfortunately, now they had the same funky odor I distastefully remember the bed having. I hear Margery snicker from the other side of the room.

"Hehe, that's what you get for sleeping in the bed," she snickers, pulling the last strands of hair back and finishing off her style. I scratch my face as my eyes adjust to the dim sunrise seeping through cracks in the wooden wall. I stretch my arms out and realize just how long my reach is when my fist hits the nearby wall to my left. With a yawn, I make my way over to Margery, who appears to be as energetic as a Pokémon after a Refresh. She beams with a smile like the joy of a Happiny.

"So what's your plan for today?" I ask her. In all honesty, Margery has an agenda I feel only she knows and no one can really figure out. It is especially true if that individual is a Pokémon transformed into a human.

"Isn't it obvious? Profit!" she exclaims happily. She then motions towards the door and ushers me to follow her back into that world outside of Mahogany Town. I shrug as I'm basically at her mercy to whatever she wants until we get to my final destination. She bounds out, the bright sunlight filling the room as I walk after her in an attempt to not get left behind. As she dashes down the stairs back to the ground floor, a pleasant aroma fills the hall (a delightful change of pace in my opinion). Thankfully, it's something on the appetizing side of the aroma spectrum.

"Jericho! Is that food I smell?" Margery calls out. I hope it is too.

"For paying customers only! Not for freeloaders!" the old man calls out weakly. I say weakly, but it's probably his strongest voice he has. As I turn the corner of the stairs into the "lobby" downstairs, I see Margery grabbing whatever Jericho has prepared, as if she's using Snatch. On a plate, it seems to be some sort of brown, square rectangle that I can only describe as some sort of solid object. The flesh within is a lighter shade of brown, which I have no idea what happened.

"What's that?" I ask, pointing to whatever Margery is ingesting. She looks at me while chewing, confused by my question.

"This? It's bread," she says to me. She grabs a section of it and offers it to me. "Have a slice."

I take the "slice of bread" from her and inspect it. It's soft and springy, warm to the touch, and with pleasant aroma. I do what she did and put it in my mouth. It tastes...

"Fantastic," I say, using no other words to describe it. Margery grins as she grabs another slice from the plate. The substance she calls bread is sort of shaped like the bricks that make up the inn we're staying at. In my time travels, I can't recall ever coming across this bread object.

"You're absolutely right. Nothing beats freshly baked bread. Well, except for maybe making money. And from it, no less," Margery chuckles, licking the tips of her fingers. I look down to see an indentation of my bite from the slice of bread. It keeps its shape, despite being so soft. I wonder when this was created?

"You're lucky. Bread like this is hard to come by. Usually what I end up purchasing is what's called black bread, which is mostly made of rye-wheat grains. It's a dark brown, hard, and heavy. It's tough and bitter, but it's inexpensive and easily made due to the ingredients growing in colder weather. When I'm on the road, I bake it over and over until it solidifies so it lasts longer," she says, taking another bite of the slice in her hand.

"What we have here is fluffy, pure white bread, which is made from high quality wheat flour specially treated by a process called sieving. Due to that, it's harder to come by and more expensive. It's good stuff no matter how you slice it. But when you know the right innkeeper, you can get lucky and have a taste while you stay for a few days!" Margery exclaims. "Isn't that right, Jericho?"

The old man walks over slowly, his cane tapping against the floor each limping step of his gait he takes. He looks in Margery's direction, eyes closed. Is he actually looking at her?

"For paying customers only," he says simply. Margery scoffs at his comment and rummages through her jacket pockets. She produces a single, shining gold Pokécoin, and drops it in an open hand of the innkeeper. His face lights up in the dim room as she slowly turns around and walks away.

"Sheesh that guy can be so shrewd," Margery mutters. I find myself thinking that the comment is rather ironic coming from you, the merchant, isn't it Margery?

"Anyway, it's time to go out. Are you coming, Renault?" Margery asks me. I nod eagerly as the two of us bound outside for the second day in a row for whatever adventure, or profit in Margery's mind, has in store for us.