“Would you prefer to wait for the bus or walk the route? We’ll arrive before dark either way...”

He doubts he’ll have a particular need to walk — it’s such a manicured route that there are barely any wild Pokémon to be found, and he’s probably walked the distance hundreds of times before, given one can do it without any protection. Best to ask, though.

"I like walking better than waiting."

“A good quality in a Pokémon trainer! Walking it is!”

And they head off, towards the pleasant stone path that leads to Aquacorde town.

Feunnec puts her front paws on Tiernan's head to lift herself up so she can see where they're going.

He giggles again.

It’s a gorgeous day on the road. Occasionally, someone passes them walking back from Aquacorde, some with Pokémon at their sides even on the safe path. Children just old enough to travel without a parent move in packs, talking amongst themselves.

After a minute of walking, he speaks, carefully.

“I think you would know best. If your parents happen to speak to me again, should I mention some of the care requirements for Froakie — having him taken out to battle, that sort of thing — or shall I leave it to her judgement?”

He’s more used to talking around this sort of question than he would like.

"Oh, Seph's really good at that kind of thing. I'm sure she'll get it all sorted out herself."

“Of course.”

No word to the parents about the Pokémon, then.

“As long as we’re out here...do you have any questions for me?”

"I... probably should but I can't think of any?"

"Well! You can always reach me if you think of something. It can be difficult before you've even begun."

He's content to walk with him towards Aquacorde in companionable silence, if there's nothing he has to say, occasionally pointing out a Pokémon's cry or a particularly lovely bit of greenery when it strikes him.

Tiernan follows cheerfully. He seems to enjoy the occasional nature commentary, although he doesn't offer any of his own.

They arrive just as the sun begins to dip.

Aquacorde is a quiet little town, but compared to Vaniville, it's a metropolis. They walk down a long row of stucco houses and low apartments, past the occasional row of tables set outside a café or a grocer sweeping in front of a corner market.

Sycamore stops them to duck into one of the little cafés, and comes back out with a paper-wrapped sandwich apiece.

Sandwiches!! Tiernan welcomes this news with a delighted bounce, and tears off a corner of sandwich to offer to his passenger before he has any himself. It seems polite.

"Here, d'you want—" and then he pauses, hand halfway raised, to glance at Prof. Sycamore for confirmation. "Or, should I not? Is people food bad for her?"

Friendship!

He takes a moment to look the sandwich over.

"Don't give her chocolate, grapes or onions — ah, or walnuts — but this should be just fine for her."

"All right, I'll do my best." He finishes raising the morsel to a passenger-accessible height.

She sniffs it dubiously, nibbles, then snarfs the rest and curls up happily atop his backpack.

Friendship achieved, he munches on the rest of the sandwich.

He laughs, charmed.

“You’ve made friends quickly!”

"I like her! She has a personality. And tiny feet."