Teenage Wasteland: A Sinnoh Adventure Fic

Thank you so much for the review, and all the feedback! You definitely have a point about the weight of the prose, especially with this chapter. Honestly that's probably the main reason this ended up being 4,500-ish words; still my shortest chapter, but all things considered probably my least eventful; even so, I didn't notice the clunkier phrasing you pointed out, or the sentences that don't make much sense, when I uploaded this. What you made out from some of the iffier lines, such as the owner line, is pretty much what I was going for, but I'll be sure to go back, read it more carefully, and make amendments so that the chapter reads easier; thank you so much for pointing it out!

I'm glad that you think Connor is an endearing character, and that you've taken such an interest in the start of his journey; my only hope is that you enjoy how these themes actually end up being explored in future chapters (particularly with what you touched on at the end of your review). There is a lot of story that's still to get through before all of this is explored in depth, but I hope you're not disappointed with the chapters immediately following this. As for the jacket thing... admittedly, I think I got a bit carried away with my metaphors and didn't stop to think about the logic, in all honesty. It would be on brand for Connor to get it online, realise it's too big for him, and then get all anxious about it and end up not returning it, though. He definitely spends too much time in his head for his own good.

Thanks once again for the review!

Author's Note: once again, thank both of you so much for the feedback! I'm glad that you are enjoying the earlier stuff, and I appreciate your (honestly, correct) comments on the prose. Apologies for the delay with uploading this chapter; a lot of it was down to editing my draft and deciding whether or not to upload that version or the original. I decided to go with the original, because as imperfect and unpolished as my older stuff is, it's still the oldest material that exists of this story, and I would feel bad tearing them up and replacing them with something else (at least while this fic is still in progress; I don't want to get mired in editing until the whole thing is done, lol). I hope you understand, and I'm afraid this means there'll be more of the same for the next couple of chapters (though these ones are a bit more polished in my opinion), but at least you'll get to see how my writing has developed naturally, I suppose? (Besides, I have kept your wonderful feedback to heart when writing more recent material; your extensive commentary meant a lot). So, without further ado... 


 

---

Hawley stood over Connor, his spiked crimson hair casting a shadow over his eyes, solid amber in hue as they looked daggers at the trainer on the ground before him. His mouth formed a self-assured smirk, the right side of his mouth arched up. His skin was clear, unstained by stress or hardship, his eyebrows neatly trimmed. His teeth were flawlessly white as they peered through his soft, unchapped lips. His arms were carelessly crossed and his shoulders were relaxed as he stood tall and straight, his lean frame casting a long shadow in the rising autumn sunlight. A shadow that surrounded Connor, suffocating him in its authority and sheer commanding presence.



More than a little unnerved, he slowly came to his feet, repositioning himself to cover Aron as he stood to look up at Hawley in the face. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't help but feel deterred by the stare Hawley was giving him. The height difference between the two was only four inches, but even in the out and open, the new trainer felt as if he were only two feet tall, gazing up at a world-eating monster before him as its glimmering jewels for eyes stared back. His mere presence was enough to send shivers running down Connor's body, the hairs on his body standing on end.



"H-Hawley," greeted Connor, gulping as he forlornly gazed at the floor, backing away from the pair's game of ocular chicken. The tension in the air grew thick, smothering him as a brief silence ensued.



"Hawley what? Answer my question, ingrate!" demanded his rival in explosive response, his arms crossed, his voice unwavering as his grin shifted into an enraged frown.



"R-right, right, Pokémon, yeah… yeah, that's Aron. Just got him today," replied Connor quietly, squirming to avoid his rival's leer. He cast his mind back to his childhood, back when he was eight or nine, when he used to hang out near Lake Verity. All he wanted was to see the Pokémon out in the wild, get a view of nature, have a place to relax. But not if Hawley and his friends had anything to say about it. They'd berate him, terrorize him with Pokémon, call him names, push him in the water when he was caught unaware. He recalled why they stopped, of course - that mystery Pokémon attacked them. Knocked them right out without ever revealing itself. The Pokémon he'd been dying to find out about, striving for years to meet; perhaps one day, if he was lucky, he'd even become its trainer. But that was beside the point - more importantly, Hawley definitely hadn't forgotten that, either. He'd gone out of his way whenever he had the chance to make Connor's life a living hell, it seemed, and it looked as if today was no different.



Connor felt a coldness on the back of his leg, and turned around, looking down to see Aron hiding in his shadow, avoiding the opposing trainer. The Steel-type's soft blue eyes gazed back up at his trainer, and as their gazes met, Connor felt two things. One was a warmth, a certain fondness in the Pokémon's eyes as he regarded his trainer. The other was something of a plea - he noticed his Pokémon's pupils contract, stubby legs quivering. Aron was scared. Scared of the intruder of this peace standing before him. He didn't want to face him - and, truthfully, neither did Connor. As far back as he could remember, Hawley had always been the bane of Connor's existence. At every opportunity, he'd treated him like dirt, crushed his spirit for no discernible reason, stomped on him and kicked him when he was down. Anything Connor could do, Hawley could do ten times better - they both knew it, and his adversary wasn't afraid to let him know this.



"Hmph." Hawley peered around Connor's leg to get a look at his opponent's Pokémon, scrutinizing Aron with an unimpressed frown on his face. The Pokémon met his gaze and quickly backed down, retreating back into the shadow of his trainer, much to Hawley's amusement as he looked back at Connor with a smirk. "You're calling that a Pokémon? I'm not sure whether I should laugh or cry, to be perfectly honest with you. But of course, why do I - why should I - expect any better from trash like you?"



Connor gritted his teeth and began to fidget with his fingers, clenching his right hand into a fist as his Pokémon glanced back up at him, beginning to tremble all over now. "Well, m-maybe he's not the strongest right now, b-but-"



"Buh, buh, b-but w-what, d-dickweed? By Arceus, you'd think you had a stutter!" called out his rival in mocking response, the sound of harsh, cackling laughter poorly masked in the second half of the sentence.



Connor's fist clenched tighter, knuckles beginning to whiten as he took a deep breath in, pausing to consider his words before he spoke, standing up straighter and looking up at Hawley, staring him in the eyes. "But a Pokémon's fighting ability isn't everything, y'know. Me and Aron, we'll get stronger, trainer and Pokémon alike; and maybe I'll catch some other Pokémon on the way, too! Whatever happens, mark my words - I will become stronger than you! Just you wait until I kick your ass someday - and then we'll see who's smiling."



Hawley listened attentively to this, giving a flat and unimpressed look as Connor went along, without breaking his stare. Except for that last part. The ridiculousness of what he was hearing was too much to not react to, as he recoiled in shock, blinking in sheer disbelief. Connor, defeating him? Connor? Defeating him? It was an insult, a slight on his honor, that such an outlandish thought had even crossed his rival's mind. Quite frankly, such insolence could not go unpunished - it would seem, Hawley realized as a smirk began to blossom, that this worthless pile of human refuse needed to be cut down a level or two. Indeed, Connor's balloon of new-found confidence quickly deflated as Hawley approached him. Like a popped balloon, he stood down, sweat beginning to run across his head as his rival, a wry grin on his face, stepped towards him, before beginning with a chuckle.



"Oh, you'll kick my ass, will you? Hah! At least you seem to have grown a pair of balls, I'll commend you for that. Yet I don't think I've heard anything so… so naive, so moronic, so stupid in my life. Do you want a repeat of the lake incidents? Do you need me to beat you again? When will you get it through your thick skull that you are nothing to me? Wh- what has it been, now; eight years, and you still haven't realized that you are completely and utterly beneath me. How can I put this in Pokémon terms, so that maybe for once you'll understand - people like you are like a... like a Magikarp, helplessly struggling along the waters of life, swimming along and going on with your pathetic excuse of a life with no means for growth. You are, and forever will be, trapped in permanent stagnation, doomed to nothing more than painful mediocrity. I, on the other hand, am a glorious Pidgeot, gliding along in the skies of glory and ascending to heights you could not even comprehend if you tried - and I've yet to even begin to peak. Naturally, like a predator and his prey, it would seem the two of us are bound to meet, and naturally, I outperform you in every way you can imagine, and I always will. You're destined to be beneath me forever, and nothing you can ever do will ever change that. So when I tell you to grovel at my feet, it would be much easier for you to stop splashing at my feet, and it saves me the effort of beating you dead, and therefore, when I tell you to grovel, you will fucking grovel! Am I perfectly clear?!"



Connor was silent in response to this relentless tirade, finding himself leaning back, struggling to avoid falling over his diminutive companion as he began to wave his arms about to remain sturdy. With one eye, he glanced back down at the Pokémon. Despite the clear threat imposed by Hawley, Aron was standing tall. He was no longer quivering. He seemed ready to battle. It had seemed that he'd been roused by Connor's speech about growing stronger together and his seeming defiance to bow down to him. Truth be told, he was caught off-guard by his newfound ability to go against Hawley, to defy him and to not feel threatened by his constant rants. Could it be, he thought, that he was more confident because he knew he had a Pokémon on his side? But that was unreasonable - it had only been an hour since they'd first met… yet, try as he might, he couldn't think of anything else it could have been. As cliché as it sounded, Connor reckoned that it was having someone who relied on him, a newly-met friend, that was giving him this sense of confidence. No matter how hard he was made to squirm, no matter how much Hawley loomed over him, he wouldn't back down. After all, he seriously doubted his rival could say the same about having someone to care about, that self-centered asshole?



"Alright. If you're not going to show me any respect, then I suppose I'll have to kick you and your pile of rocks' asses," Hawley declared, no remorse in his voice as he fumbled in his pocket, grabbing a Pokéball of his own as he turned and took a few paces back. He swiveled around on one leg before standing tall, legs wide and shoulders relaxed, staring him in the eyes. Authority emanated from him, the brutality and swagger in his body language giving the impression of complete and impenetrable superiority over his foe.



"Wh- wait, no-"



"Oh, it's too late to back down now, you worthless sack of shit. Croagunk, go!"



Putting an arm out as he hurled the ball overarm, Hawley sent out his first Pokémon. The Pokéball hit the ground with a soft thud, bouncing once before opening to release a flow of brilliant blue light. The light materialized into a frog-like Pokémon, standing about a foot taller than Aron and staring down at him, passive and unaffected. Its red sacs were like bubbles of gum as they inflated and deflated, its mouth an indifferent smile as it prepared to attack.



This was bad. This was very bad. Panic began to set in, slowly eroding Connor's spirit, as he took a step back, sending Aron forth. Alright, Connor, focus - Croagunk. Bands high up - female; quieter than males - perhaps less aggressive? Poison-type, fighting-type - Aron resists poison-type moves completely, but fighting-type? Entirely different story. Equally proficient in physical and special attacks. Mostly only naturally learns physical moves at the early stages of life, but… but… dammit! Think! Was there a-



"Mud-Slap!" called out Hawley, a brutal enthusiasm accompanying his voice. With a nod and a guttural croak, Croagunk took a couple of lumbering steps towards Aron before effortlessly shooting her hands into the Earth with deceptive speed.



"Gah- uh, counter that with a Headbutt, Aron!" blurted out Connor, uncertainty in his voice as he hoped Aron knew what Headbutt was.



Indeed, Connor's hunch proved correct; the Pokémon let out a quiet yet determined 'ar!' as he charged at Croagunk, eyelids narrowed, pupils determined, legs carrying him forward with all the speed and urgency they could handle. Croagunk didn't seem fazed by this in the slightest. But this didn't deter him. Hawley had threatened him, threatened his trainer, the human who seemed determined to protect him. So what if they'd only met a very short time ago? He could tell that his goals were noble, that he had his best interests at heart, that he was going to protect him and look after him - and besides, with the speed at which he ordered that attack, he clearly had everything planned out. Now less than a foot away from the Croagunk, Aron reared his head back and leaped at the Poison-type before him.



Before he had the chance to made contact, his opponent swiftly removed her hands from the ground, scooping up an armful of debris and hurling it at Aron. A wave of mud and earth smashed into his head and body, as he let out a pained screech, scoops of dirt getting into his eyes. The attack threw him off balance and sent him hurtling backward in the air. It was only mud, and yet it felt like something was prying Aron apart as large particles of dirt got in between the steel and rock of his torso.



"And beat it whilst it's down! Wake-Up Slap!" he continued in a triumphant roar, with more than a hint of ruthlessness and harshness present in his voice.



"SKREEEE!" called out Croagunk as she surged forward, hurling her left arm back as she lunged towards the airborne Steel-type. With the speed of a bullet, she brought that arm forward, the backside of her left hand smashing into Aron's torso and sending him flying further backward, utterly helpless and unable to harden himself in time for the attack. The poor thing was barely able to move after it slammed into the ground with a heavy crash, heaving to flip itself over and hide his badly bruised torso, purple from the Croagunk's attacks.



No, no, no! Of course Croagunk learns how to use Mud-Slap when young! Dammit, I should know this! Wake-Up Slap, too - inherited moves! Dammit! There's no way you'll be able to keep up with him if I keep making these brain-dead mistakes - it's taken him two attacks, and Aron's already on the verge of passing out! You utter moron! You absolute cretin! You're a poor excuse for a trainer!




"What was that about kicking my ass earlier, eh?" called out Hawley, smugness oozing from every pore as he gazed menacingly at his adversary, his Croagunk slowly marching towards her wounded enemy, an air of calmness surrounding her as she prepared to finish him off.



Connor wasn't willing to give up, though. He was still willing to fight, and it seemed as though the same was true for his partner. A rebellious smile lit up his face for a split second as he had a thought - Aron, too, was capable of Mud-Slap in the early stages of his life - and whilst it was super-effective on Steel-types and Rock-types, it was also super-effective on Poison-types, too. His eyes shot to Aron, fixing on his Pokémon. "Aron, we can still win this! Mud-Slap, as fast as you can!"



A pained, less enthusiastic nod was Aron's reply as he grunted under his breath, urgently digging his legs into the ground as he launched uprooted soil and dirt at Croagunk's skin, burning like acid as it sunk into her poisonous sacs. This caused her to writhe in pain, clutching at her face and letting out an audible screech of discomfort. Her relaxed look at the Aron turned into one of fury, as her brow furrowed and her expression became a vengeful squint. Hawley became visibly annoyed as a result of this attack, his voice going hoarse with rage as he ordered his next attack.



"How dare you even think that such worthless scum as yourself can even try and defeat my beautiful Pokémon?! Croagunk, show them what we do to garbage like your opponent!"



Roaring with anger, Croagunk took a moment to compose herself as she launched from one leg at Aron, flattening her hands and crossing her arms whilst she propelled through the air. With the fury of a storm, she chopped at Aron, her hands hitting like bricks on her foe's head. The force of the impact was enough to annihilate Aron's defenses, crashing against the steel of his head. The impact was enough to shatter a massive amount of capillaries, and in an instant, it felt as if a hammer was pounding against both his torso and his head, agony pulsating around his entire body, much to Connor's visible shock and despair.



"Hah! Beat me?! You couldn't even beat a drum, you worthless piece of trash! What makes trash like you think you could possibly stand up to someone as powerful as me? The weak must fear the strong, Connor, my boy! That's just the way the world works!"



Connor shot his head down to the ground, shame and disgust enveloping him. With a defeated sigh, he picked up his Pokéball and clicked the button on it. There was no use in persisting - it was clear Hawley would crush him if he tried to fight back, and there was no knowing what he'd do to Aron. He couldn't let his Pokémon get hurt badly so early in his journey - what sort of trainer would gamble their Pokémon's well-being for the chance to settle an old rivalry? The guilt of letting Aron down, the weight of defeat pulled him down like chains on the ground, but for now, he just had to swallow his dignity and take this loss. "Aron… return. We'll work on it, partner."



The heavily bruised Pokémon was enveloped in light as he returned to the safety of his ball, Connor tucking it away from the world and into his pocket as Hawley let out a dry chuckle, doing the same with his Pokémon. "Excellent work, Croagunk," he muttered, not taking his eyes off his defeated foe, as the ball opened, the Poison-type returning to it. "That'll show 'em who's boss."



With both Pokémon off the field, he marched towards Connor, sharply grabbing at his collar with both hands and lifting him up despite his sharp recoil. The air was ripped from his lungs as he was dragged up to face his aggressor at eye level, not daring to fight back as he felt the sanctity of his soul penetrated by that horrible glare of dominance, those pupils dilated like a frenzied shark, and that self-assured smirk. "So, am I clear now?"



"Grk- y, yes," choked Connor, an air of complete desolation falling over him.



"Yes what?" replied Hawley, stern and unblinking, his tone harsh like that of a drill sergeant's.



"Y-yes, Hawley."



"Will you try and beat me? Will you try and kick my ass?"



"No, Hawley."



"And propose you were that much of a damned idiot to do so - would you succeed?"



"...No, Hawley."



With that, he practically flung his opponent back onto the ground, leaving him in a pile of crumpled limbs and broken dreams on the soiled grass below as he marched off.



"Good. Now, stay out of my way, trash. Know your place in future," he called back, running his hair back with his hands as he began to whistle a venomous tune.

---

About an hour had passed, and yet the self-loathing persisted.



Connor's triumphant, proud stride towards Sandgem had quickly shifted into a defeated, slow trudge; the adventure he had set out to enjoy had turned into a shameful chore, the feeling of defeat weighing a tonne as his feet shuffled down Route 202. Of course, he couldn't throw his toys in the pram and give up after two hours of being a trainer - even by his standards, that was beyond laughable. It was what Hawley would want, too; any failure of his would please that cocky asswipe. As much as it sucked, Connor knew he had to - as his father would say - "build a bridge and get over it." But that didn't make it suck any less. If anything, the comfort of knowing he had a way out would have been a mood lightener in this situation. At least that way, Aron wouldn't have a trainer who let it get hurt badly in some ill-fated attempt to settle a score, a trainer that was so utterly hopeless when it came to people, a trainer who even thought about giving up after losing one battle.



But Connor wasn't about to surrender just yet. No, he'd prove his parents wrong, prove Hawley wrong, prove the world wrong, and he'd be the trainer he dreamt he could be, the one Aron deserved. So what if that asshole was a trainer too? With enough hard work, determination, and practice, any obstacle could be overcome - sure, that was easier said than done, but nothing was impossible.



He knew that these were empty platitudes, of course, but right now, they were all he had. All he could do now was lift himself up, move on and keep repeating them in the outlandish hope that perhaps one day, they were more than just words.



As he trundled along his path, riddled with far too much guilt to check on Aron, he was focused on clenching his teeth; his breathing was deep, each breath in slow and each breath out heavy. Anything to help cope with this awful feeling, so long as it wasn't crying. Tears were a sign of weakness, and whatever he did, no matter how hard things got, crying was absolutely not an option. What would Hawley do if he saw his sixteen-year-old rival blubbering like a baby? He had to suck it up and keep going.



Move on, Connor. Just move on.




He continued to trudge along down the road, despondent as he trudged over a ledge as he continued in much the same line of thought. As he approached Sandgem, he decided it would be more appropriate to head to the Pokémon Center first - after all, he had to be sure Aron was alright. What was more, it gave him a chance to smooth things over with his Pokémon before he headed out to the professor's lab, in case the battle against Croagunk had left a bad taste in the poor guy's mouth; to add to both of those, what sort of impression would it make on the professor if he turned up with a badly bruised Pokémon asking for a certificate? These thoughts still whirred through his mind, wracking his brain as his shoes made their first steps onto the grass of the seaside town.



The freshness of the beach air, whilst coming from a route over, did a pretty good job of lifting the crestfallen trainer's spirits. Whilst there was, admittedly, sparse amounts of sand for the self-proclaimed "Town of Sand," the scenery was still rather quaint; the air complimented this perfectly, clearing his mind as he took a few deep breaths in and out. It felt as though the great burden weighing him down had gone. Of course, it would have been irresponsible to take in the sights for too long - where was the sense in this lingering around when Aron was in the state that he was? No, the Pokémon Center had to come first, followed by a trip to the Professor's lab, then he could relax. A sense of solemn duty overwhelmed him as he marched towards the Center, his hand firmly on his Pokéball as the door whirred open.



"Hi, welcome to the Sandgem Pokémon Center!" chimed the nurse as this young man approached her, beaming widely and raising a waving hand. "How may we help you today, young man?"



What if she sees the state he's in and refuses me service? What if she thinks I beat him? I can't disprove her - and what if she refuses me service because I don't have a license? What if she confiscates him? This is bad - but I can't run out now! What if she thinks I'm some sort of terrorist?! Oh, you've REALLY gotten yourself into a sticky situation now!




He tried desperately to mask the dread he was feeling, a lump in his throat growing as the nurse loomed over him from the other end of the room.



Agh! Snap out of it, Connor, you're overthinking this! All I have to do is take a deep breath, compose yourself, calmly let her know that my Pokémon needs healing, go get your license, come back and I'll be alright.



With that, a fake smile spread across his face. Maybe, just maybe, that'd do it?



"Um… young man, are you alright?" enquired the deeply concerned nurse, getting a closer look at Connor as he shuffled closer. "You're sweating. Is there something I can help you with?"



Why.




His mind went into a frenzy and it showed, much to the increasing disquiet of the worried nurse. Silence as Connor approached the nurse's desk, and silence when he stopped moving, turning towards the nurse. It was as if the word "panic" was etched on his face as he strained to think of a way to phrase his problem, failing with each attempt. The nurse could only tilt her head, struggling to guess what was wrong, as silence still saturated the air.



"Are you a new trainer?" finally asked the nurse, warmly smiling at him in an attempt to get to the bottom of the problem.



"Oh, uh, yeah, I am," stuttered Connor in reply. "How- how could you tell?"



A kind chuckle. "We get them all the time, often just after they face their first loss. They usually come in with expressions just like that, but I've got to admit, you might just be the most nervous one I've ever seen. Please don't fret so much, though. I'll do everything I can to help you. Would you mind telling me your problem, then?"



"I… I got my Aron hurt, because there was this one trainer, who I've known since I was a kid - right - and he made me fight him, because I think he hates me, and I didn't want to, but I did, and he had a Croagunk, and, uh, it got really mad that I-"



"Slow down. Take a deep breath," reassured the nurse, gesturing for him to stop. "You got your Aron hurt because someone made you fight him?"



Connor nodded.



"And you couldn't say no?"



"I guess not? He probably would've killed me if I tried, knowing him, I suppose. I didn't trust him to not attack me with his Pokémon, b-but… I shouldn't have brought mine into it," he said, with a little more confidence than before.



"I see. What's your name, young man?"



Not good! What if she thinks you're lying? What if she thinks you hurt Aron?!




As she waited for a response, the nurse's eyes widened and she awkwardly spurted something out. "Oh - don't worry, I'm not going to get you in trouble or anything! I'm asking so I know who to call when I'm done healing your Pokémon, that's all."



"Oh, haha... uh, my name's Connor, ma'am," he sheepishly laughed.



"Okay, Connor, could you please pass me your Pokéball so I can heal Aron?"



"Huh? Oh, of course, yeah."



Connor, having had a hand on the ball the whole time, still somehow fumbled the ball as he pulled it out from his belt in one swift movement. It slipped from a sweaty palm and over the nurse's desk, much to his horror. "Oh, nurse, I'm sor-"



"Don't worry about it, honestly!" chuckled the nurse. "Your Pokémon is still in the ball. Now, would you mind waiting in the Center whilst we heal your Aron? It should only take a couple of minutes - after all, I doubt a first battle can do that much damage to a Pokémon, so I wouldn't worry too much."



He nodded, giving a thumbs up as he retreated to a seat, spending the next several minutes contemplating the journey that lay ahead of him. It had dawned on him that having roughly the same social skills as a chair was far from the best of plans. Perhaps working on that was a bigger priority than training he first thought. Sure, sticking to what he was good at wasn't a bad idea, either (although using the word "good" to describe his skills was probably a stretch considering the beatdown he had just received), but something had to give - if the first hours of his adventure had been anything to go by, meeting other people was an inevitability, and an inevitability he feared more than most Pokémon. I mean, being afraid of a Pokémon Center nurse? Come on, Connor! You had no problems getting friendly with a creature made of steel and rock that can eat through steel - what gives?!



It only took ten minutes for the waiting to finish, but it felt like much longer before the nurse called out to Connor, gesturing him over to the desk.



"So, uh… is he okay?" asked Connor, his voice flavored with concern. "I really had no idea he'd get hurt so bad, and I know I'm repeating myself, bu-"



"Oh, relax, relax, he's fine. Out of curiosity, though… how long was that battle you had with that other trainer and their Croagunk?" inquired the nurse as she handed the Pokéball back. Her lack of a smile worried Connor.



"They landed three attacks before I called Aron back. Why? What happened? He is alright, isn't he?" he responded, starting to panic.



"I have to say, that's quite a lot of damage for three turns. And you recalled Aron before the fight could go on, did you?"



"I did - look, please just-"



"It's a good thing that you did, then, otherwise your little buddy might've been out of commission for a while. But please, stop fretting, he's absolutely fine! How long have you been traveling with Aron, Connor?"



"About two hours, but the fight happened in the first hour."



"Wait, really? That's… that's genuinely impressive that you already feel so strongly about your Pokémon, then," chirped the nurse, warmly smiling. "I'm also warranting a guess that the Croagunk and its trainer had significantly more than an hour of training. So please don't beat yourself up about it, guy. This seems a lot more like bad luck on your end."



"I… I mean, I'm flattered you think that, but… I shouldn't have let myself get involved in the first place," Connor sighed, abject as his head hung low. "Like, obviously I care about my Pokémon, but a good trainer wouldn't have let himself get involved. I messed up badly."



"Well, nobody can become a good trainer after an hour, Connor - and you did a good job, recalling him before serious damage could have been done. Being a Pokémon trainer is a learning curve, and anyone can do it if they're determined enough. Besides, you said yourself that you don't think you had a choice to get involved, so why blame yourself? My advice to you would be to stop being so hard on yourself, young man. Losing is hardly the end of the world."



He carefully considered these words. Whilst the nurse was right, it still didn't justify putting his Pokémon in danger like he did - however, that was beside the point. He had promised himself that he'd move on, and so far, he was doing a pretty poor job of that. With a half-smile, he looked at the nurse and nodded, faint determination visible on his face. "Alright. Yeah. I'll bear that in mind. Thanks."



"Anytime!"



On that note, he took a seat at one of the tables in the Center. One of the perks of starting on a Tuesday was that most people were at work or school; as such, Pokémon Centers would often be quite empty, as they were now. Indeed, aside from the people that worked there, the only other person in the Center was a trainer with an… interesting fashion sense, who seemed to be trying to gain the trust of his Gible (and failing). Connor couldn't help but wonder what someone with a Gible was doing in Sandgem - or any Dragon-type, for that matter. Not wishing to intrude, he pulled out the Pokéball and released Aron onto the table.



"Hey, Aron," he uttered quietly, radiating a soft smile - one that he couldn't help feel that came off as brittle and weak, and caused Aron to flinch slightly, shoot a somewhat uncomfortable glance to the side. His trainer inhaled through his nose, pausing briefly to thinking of a plan of action. The first time he and Aron had met had ended in Aron getting hurt - so it wasn't out of the question to assume Aron associated him with getting hurt. The solution was obvious, then; he had to prove that he was not, in fact, a threat, and had his best interests at heart.



Connor carefully lay out an open palm in front of the Steel-type, looking him straight in the eyes as he tried to strengthen his smile. "Look," he began slowly, his tone as though he was talking to a small child. "I'm sorry, bud. I didn't mean to get you hurt so bad. It was stupid on my part, and I'm truly sorry. It won't happen again, I promise. You might not be the strongest now, but with a little hard work and training, you can become way stronger than that Croagunk."



As he finished his monologue, the emotion in his voice became more and more evident, the determination in it raw and clear. "I believe in you, little guy, and in future, I'll try to keep you out of stuff like that, and we'll work on getting me smarter and getting you toughened up so that we can kick mean old Hawley's butt together, because one day, there'll be nothing we won't be able to do! Does that sound alright to you, Aron?!"



Aron considered this. Of course, being a Pokémon and lacking any telepathic skills, he understood very little of what his trainer was saying, but the overall message he got was a positive one. His words were warm, his body language friendly, and his delivery full of emotion… Aron couldn't mistake it. It was clear to him that Connor meant no harm; rather, he was just a little green; for now, he was definitely worth placing his trust in. The Steel-type chirped an excited 'ar!' as he approached the outstretched palm, placing a little stub of his own on it.



Connor laughed in relief, reaching into his pocket to pull out another piece of iron. As he did so, he noticed the Gible's trainer was giving him a half-bemused, half-impressed look. Nervously, he raised a hand as if to apologize, before putting the iron on the table before his Pokémon.



This was going to be hard work, Connor thought, but he might just make it yet.

Man, even the narration acknowledges that Hawley is completely OTT, huh. Like that introduction makes it very clear what we're getting ourselves into right at the start, with the bombast with which it introduces him – but even then, I'm not sure I was totally prepared for the actual fact of it. This guy isn't just a pantomime villain, he's like … actually a cartoon character who's somehow made the jump off the screen and into Connor's life, huh. There were a few places where I really questioned how credible he is as a character – especially when he delivered like a whole paragraph of invective without pause, replete with overdone metaphors and a weird self-positioning that made him seem like he saw himself as some kinda older authority figure (who calls someone their own age 'my boy'?) – but then again … if I was asked who of everyone in the world was most likely to be Like That, then I'd have to say a big-headed teenage boy would probably be on the list. I'm sure I've known teen assholes who are like Hawley, though of course not quite to the same degree. Some of it is probably due to exaggeration by Connor, I suppose? Like when he says Hawley would have killed him, that's clearly not actually literally true, after all.

Anyway, he's certainly amusing, if not always totally plausible as like, a person, but perhaps there's more to him than meets the eye? Someone who's trying this hard has got to have some kind of motivation; sure, he could just be trying to feel bigger than Connor, but like, the kid's so spectacularly weird that I feel like there has to be something more than that behind all this. I guess I'll look forward to finding out what!

It is, however, a little repetitive – especially in the two consecutive paragraphs that end with a description of how Hawley's always been the bane of Connor's existence, which seem to be doing double duty. But I wasn't going to repeat previous criticisms, since I've made them already and you've said that you're going to be focusing on new content rather than editing older chapters (which is totally fair and reasonable!), so I'll move on from the style critique to something different: I'm not so sure about the way you drop in and out of other people's POVs. We live really deep in Connor's head for most of this fic, following the winding of his anxious thoughts as they pace round the edge of his skull, and it's really pretty jarring to just drop into Hawley or the aron's head for fifty words and then immediately go right back to the depths of Connor's again. To make it work, I think you'd either need to double down on having multiple POVs, and spend time consistently in each, or keep us firmly in Connor's – because honestly, he's an empathetic, observant kid; everything that we see through the aron or Hawley's eyes is something that I'm pretty sure he could've seen (even if he wasn't always confident that he'd identified it correctly) in their body language or faces or whatever, and you don't need to rely on the crutch of alternative POVs to get it across to us.

I do like how you set things up so that you think Connor's going to lose, and then he does. Decisively. That's pretty good. I think it's pretty much impossible to set a thing like that up so the outcome is a surprise – you expect people to turn around situations like this, and you also expect them to not turn them around and just fail, and you also wouldn't be startled if they just sort of slugged it out to a draw – so the key thing has to be making the outcome feel both deserved and satisfactory, and that's what you do here with this one, I think!

I'm also a big fan of the calm, friendly, and above all reassuring characterisation of the Pokémon Centre staff. These are people who've dedicated their lives to helping kids do something really weird and hard and potentially very rewarding, and that's the vibe I get from the nurse. And okay, I enjoy that interpretation so I'm biased, but you do it well, and it's a pleasure.

Anyway! Some tiny nitpicks and also blow-by-blow reactions to round things off:



That should be 'he' and 'himself', not 'it' and 'itself', to be consistent with your usual usage. Also, while I appreciate the way this low-level battle reads a lot like two animals smashing haphazardly and rather viscerally into each other, which, let's face it, is what battles between novices are, I'm kinda wondering how these bruises are visible on the aron's armour, which is presumably made of metal and therefore not something that can bruise.



Not a criticism, this just made me smile. :V



I have less tan no idea what that is, but I kinda wish I could do it myself.



The expression is 'to throw one's toys out of the pram', not into it.



These two consecutive 'as he did X' clauses tacked onto one another read really weirdly.



Some things are universal, it seems: trainers do just have a tendency to dress weirdly. :P

Connor's journey continues! And this time we're meeting the resident professor. I don't know whether 2007 is like, pre- or post-canon events of DPPt in this interpretation, so I can't say if he's a successor or a predecessor to Rowan, but he certainly has much stronger people skills. Rowan is one of the most characterful of the professors in-game, but like, he's characterful because he's a crotchety old man given to pontification and theatrical asides that prop up his sense of self-importance, so I have to admit I've never thought he would be very good at starting people off on their journeys. Murphy, however, is! Despite his lack of a tree name, which is presumably a difficulty when it comes to getting funding, he's definitely good at this part of his job: he's warm, encouraging and just a tad too loud. His is a strong and forceful personality, but one that takes care not to drown out those around him; he asks Connor all the right questions and does his best to set him up for future success.

I think it's very clear that he does this without jumping POVs to his own, by the way; you give a strong enough account of who Murphy is that there's no need to resort to jolting us out of our immersion in Connor's story like that. In general, though, I have fewer stylistic complaints than previously – your assessment of this chapter as being where things start to get a bit less florid and more composed is right on the money, I think.

The one thing I do have a bit more of an issue with is the great big infodump that comes with the gifting of the pokédex. Like there's nothing wrong with all this interesting lore, but I'm not sure having it all tossed at the reader in one lump like that is the best way to introduce it; Murphy could have given Connor a quick introduction, and then the rest of it could have been brought in bit by bit as and when it became relevant to the story. I think it grates a little more than it otherwise would because he's just finished getting set up, and as a reader you're kinda waiting for Connor to get out there and get on with things, you know?

Anyway, I also very much liked the opening here, with its strong seafaring metaphor going all the way through, but I did think that 'trainwreck' sorta derailed the metaphor (… pun not intended, but now wholeheartedly embraced) partway through before it resumed. Jumping from opening to ending (that's … not a great segue, but okay), I wholeheartedly approve of the fact that Connor's making friends! Also that it's literally just his own nerdery that leads him to break cover, lol. Poor kid just couldn't help himself, huh?

As per usual, I'll round things off with some typos and nitpicks and stuff:



That should be 'laid', not 'lay'.



The phrase is 'people person', rather than 'people's person'.



This is a bit tautologous – you've just repeated the clause about why he did it twice.



I feel like there's a 'was' missing between 'body' and 'draped' here. As a side note, this is one of the more overwrought sentences in the chapter – there's a lot of information compressed into one sentence here, and it makes it a bit tough to chew, so to speak!



It reads like a word is missing here after 'black'.

Also, on the matter of the author's notes – it's up to you! It'd be neat to see them, I guess, but there's no need to worry about it if it's going to be more work than you feel it's worth, haha.

Author's note: this is the first of at least two chapters I will be posting tonight. I'll try and post as many as I can over the coming days to try and get this version of the story up to speed in the next month or two. Also, this chapter is named after the song "The Seeker" by The Who.

---

CHAPTER FOUR: They Call Me The Seeker, Part One

---

October 9th, 2007, 10:42

"So, where did you learn to deal with Pokémon like in the Center?"


Connor turned to face his newfound companion with a soft grin in response to this question. He wasn't sure what Reyes considered so impressive, if he was being honest; his speech at the Center was simply him getting stuff off his chest, and the way he handled Ronnie was just what he felt was natural. Besides, this guy had a Dragon-type in his arms - and a Dragon-type that seemed perfectly happy with him at that. Those were a lot harder to get the respect of than, say, his Aron. He was intrigued.


"I read about Pokémon behaviour a lot in my spare time, but I hadn't really put it into action before then. Why'd you ask?"


Reyes seemed a tad bemused at this. "I see. How long have you been training for?"


"About three hours."


Reyes blinked in surprise, as if he wasn't sure he'd heard that right. "Three hours?!" he shrieked incredulously, and perhaps with a hint of exaggeration. "You were an Aron yourself in a past life, surely? We have plenty of them at home, and I don't think I've seen one so good towards a person in… well, ever, really."


Connor considered this. "Perhaps I just got lucky with him?" he shrugged.


The two had been walking along Route 202 for about ten minutes, mostly in an awkward silence before this. The euphoria Connor was feeling about becoming a trainer was still present, a fuzzy warmth of some sort still lingering within him, and whilst the reality was beginning to set in, he still had a spring in his step. Reyes, meanwhile, had been spending the walk to that point whistling and minding his own business, his Gible quiet and generally pleased with the state of things. The sight of this reminded him that his own Pokémon was still in his ball, and he decided that it'd probably be a good idea to actually let him out - it'd be good to get some fresh air, and Connor still needed to test whether Ronnie was actually an okay name or not. "Yo, hey, would you mind if I get him out of his ball? I wanna run some stuff by him, and try and see how he is around other people."


"No problemo, friendo!" was Reyes' upbeat reply, a sparkling beam of a smile spread from ear to ear.


He grabbed the ball at the front of his belt and gently pressed down the button on its front, releasing a stream of blue light onto the ground below. The Aron that materialised from the light was greeted with the sight of his diminutive trainer squatting down until he was only a couple of feet taller than the Steel-type.


"Hey, buddy!" gently began Connor, his opened hand facing the Pokémon as if to ask if a pet was okay. The Aron let out a content "ar!", waiting for his trainer to rub his face, to which he obliged with a chuckle.


"Would you like a name, little guy? I don't know about you, but it'd be a bit dull if I didn't give you a nickname, y'know?"


The Aron let out a soft, questioning grunt as he tilted his head, eyes fully open and returning Connor's gaze.


"How does Ronnie sound?"


There was a brief pause, as it seemed almost as though Aron was mulling it over as his trainer watched closely. To the onlooking - and quite visibly impressed - Reyes, this pause seemed to last for about a minute before Aron let out a content chirp, lifting his head up and giving a pleased look to Connor.


"That's what I like to hear! Ronnie it is," rejoiced Connor, rewarding his Pokémon with a head rub before continuing. "Now, do you mind if we bring a friend along with us for a bit?"


Ronnie gave Connor a questioning look, before he was gestured to face Reyes, who was standing a couple of feet away. The sight of this young man, quite notably taller than his trainer and bearing his teeth in a wide grin, caused the Steel-type to hesitate somewhat, giving quite a disapproving, frightened glance at Connor.


"This is Reyes," began Connor reassuringly, pointing his open palm at his colleague with a soft grin. "He'll be traveling with us for the rest of the day or so, because he's new to this place and we're gonna show him around. You don't mind that, do you, little guy?"


Ronnie seemed unsure, glancing up at Reyes with a tentative expression. He waved at the Steel-type, his emerald eyes glimmering and a somewhat disconcerting smile etched on his face, seemingly immovable. The Aron took another look back at Connor. There was just something about his trainer that the Steel-type couldn't put his finger on - and not just because he didn't have a finger to speak of. No, he wasn't sure what, but something about him just seemed to make trusting him easy. Was it his gentle hazel eyes? His warm smile? His soft face? No, that wasn't it. Was it the way he spoke, the compassion in his voice? Or was it the way that the trainer just seemed to be able to read him like a book? Whatever it was, thought Ronnie, it gave him a feeling of security, of safety, of a warmth that he wasn't really familiar with. Sure, he had gotten into quite a nasty fight with that damned Croagunk earlier, but to the Steel-type, it felt as though he had someone who cared about him, someone who truly had his best interests at heart. From what he'd seen growing up in the caves of Oreburgh, this was a trait he hadn't seen in humans before - not least to this extent. He wasn't sure why it was that he felt this way, but why question it? He trusted the human, and that was that.


"You... are sure that he won't try to attack me or anything, no?" asked Reyes, getting increasingly nervous as he felt sweat begin to run down his brow.


The Steel-type let out a content grunt, nodding his head slowly at Reyes before giving a fond look at his trainer.


"Nice one, little guy!" chirped Connor, giving Ronnie another strong head rub in thanks before turning to Reyes. "Yeah, you should be good, but, uh... I wouldn't approach him until he's more familiar with you, if I were you. Just to be safe."


Reyes gave a relieved sigh and thumbs up at the Aron, trying his best to make a better impression than his first, before giving another look of disbelief with a raised eyebrow at Connor. "And you've been a trainer for how long?"


"Kahaha... it's just what reading does to you, I s'ppose," replied a flustered Connor.


"Gib!" chimed the Dragon-type in Reyes' arms, giving an eager wave to greet its new Pokémon friend. The Steel-type waved one of its stumps back, before the group decided to continue walking down the route.


"So, Connor, would you be from around these parts? I've heard Jubilife is pretty damn big," asked Reyes, curiosity tinging his voice.


"Aye, Jubilife," replied Connor, his attention fixed on the path and looking around for any nearby wild Pokémon. "You said you were from Hoenn?"


"Correct. More specifically, my home is about a mile away from Ever Grande City. You ever heard of it?"


"Isn't that where they hold the League?"


"Ah, it is! Do you know much about the Hoenn League?"


Connor rubbed his chin as he jogged his memory before he answered. "...Not particularly, no. I've heard it's decently strong, and there are some very solid Steel- and Dragon-type specialists in the Elite Four, but other than that, nah. Not really my specialty."


"So it's true that even you guys over here know Antonio! Him and his Salamence are... I guess you could call them national heroes? Is that the word? Eh. If you ask me, he should be Champion. He's probably a lot stronger than the one we got now, but the head of the League has something personal against him. You should watch him in battle! He's really a thing to behold," gushed Reyes, his eyes sparkling.


"Interesting. Thanks for the tip," remarked Connor.


"No problem," said Reyes, before continuing under his breath. "Man, what I wouldn't give to be as good as that guy."


"Anyone else in the Hoenn League you reckon I should give a watch?"


"Not really. Antonio really is your guy to go to. Everyone knows it!"


Connor got the feeling that Reyes quite liked this Antonio fellow.


"Oh! But if you want to know more about Aggron, I suppose you cannot go much wrong with Thomas. He's our resident Steel-type master, and you can probably find some of his clips online."


"Ah, gotcha. Thanks again."


"Don't mention it, my friend!"


The pair continued to walk onwards down the path, uninterrupted until Connor spotted a Starly perched in a nearby tree from the corner of his eye. This prompted him to whip out his Pokédex, aiming it at the Flying-type. As the gadget's camera focused on the Pokémon and scanned it, so, too, did Connor; he made a mental note of himself of some features of the Pokémon. The 'dex mentioned that the average height of one of these creatures was almost exactly one foot, but the newbie trainer hazarded a guess that this was about two inches smaller than that - it looked a bit uncomfortable up in that tree, too. Perhaps it still had pin feathers growing in? It seemed like a youngster to the Connor. The dex's readings seemed to support this hypothesis: the Pokémon was a mere level 2 on the scale - considerably weaker than Ronnie's 10 or this Gible's 15. His next move was to consider a way to safely get the Pokémon down for a closer look. It seemed unlikely that-


"Oi!"


Connor shot his head to the side, seeing that Reyes had continued for a bit without him. It occurred to him that he'd been completely distracted for about a minute, almost drawing an "eek!" out of him as he sprinted towards his new companion in a panic.


"Sorry! Got a bit distracted. Trying to get a good start on my Pokédex, is all," said a slightly embarrassed Connor, putting his hands up to apologise.


"Don't worry about it!" replied Reyes. "What Pokémon do you have around these parts, anyway? Are they like Hoenn's?"


"I don't think so. That Pokémon you saw me scan in the tree was a Starly, and on this route you'll also find a lot of Bidoof and maybe some Shinx or Kricketot, I believe. I don't think you have any of those much in Hoenn, do you?"


"I haven't heard of any of those," remarked Reyes with what could almost be described as a dry chuckle. "We just have Zigzagoon and Wurmple on our Route 102."


"That brings up something else I've been wondering, actually, if you wouldn't mind answering?"


"I don't mind, no - ask away!"


"Where did you get that Gible? Does he have a name?"


"Oh, this little guy? This is Garra. I got him as a gift from my family before I set off for here."


"...When was that?"


"I think it's been two, maybe three weeks? I've just been in Hearthome until recent. Wanna see something?" asked Reyes, preparing to roll up one of his sleeves whilst still firmly holding his Pokémon.


"Sure, go ahead," said Connor with a small, curious grin on his face. He was quite amazed at how he'd gotten Garra to behave so well in such a short amount of time. What was his secret? Could he speak the language of Pokémon? Was he actually a telepath who had been hiding it this whole time? Or was he just naturally that good?


Reyes pulled up his sleeve to reveal an array of bite marks, each with varying amounts of freshness and power put into them, as he let out a slightly worried chuckle. "I have no idea why he hasn't bitten me in the past few days, honestly. Is it normal if he doesn't do that?"


"Um... right," began a bemused Connor. So that was his secret - he had not, in fact, managed to get Garra to behave. That made sense, but it did raise some questions about Reyes' understanding of Pokémon training. "I think it's pretty normal for a younger Gible to bite its trainer a lot - don't quote me on that - and I believe it happens a lot with rescues, too, but this many? Have you been taming him?"


"I've been trying, that's for sure. Success? Eh... not so much. But you're saying this isn't normal?"


"Well, I mean, it might be," replied Connor, hesitant. "I really don't know enough about Garra to judge. Have you had experience with Dragon-types before?"


"Yep. You know Bagon?"


"Uh-huh."


"I've got one travelling along with me."


"...Is that one any better towards you?"


"Not really, no."


Connor seemed shocked. Another thing Dragon-types were renowned for was being quite unforgiving towards trainers who were unfortunate enough to not bond with them - this was even true of those like Gible and Bagon - and yet, here stood a man who had two of them, neither of which he'd managed to decently tame, with an arm that had become a victim of several attempts to apparently eat it, as confident and upbeat as he'd seen any trainer. This begged the question of "why," but he decided against that, fearing that it might upset this new companion; there was also the possibility that, perhaps, he was missing some details. Instead, he thought his next response through carefully.


"Um... Reyes?"


"What is it, dude?"


"If you don't mind me asking, what made you pick Dragon-types?" hesitated Connor.


"Well, they are the strongest type usually, aren't they? It's nothing that I, the great Reyes Vasquez, cannot handle - if becoming a great dragon master requires a baptism of fire, then I'll gladly learn to cope with the burns."


Connor was stopped in his tracks by Reyes' rather ballsy remark, almost from nothing. This attitude was an impressive one, an attitude that the young man sort of wished he shared himself. Of course, it was also quite an irresponsible one - not least in this context, considering the state of Reyes' arm - but there was definitely wisdom in those words. He nodded his head after mulling this over for a brief moment, before continuing on down the route.


Around ten minutes later, the pair arrived in Jubilife City. Admittedly, Connor hadn't really planned on stopping back so soon, but that was an inevitability considering the size of the city - outside of maybe Hearthome, it was the jewel of the Sinnoh region, and where at least four different routes led to. Reyes, however, seemed much more excited to be here, his eyes lit up as if by stars as he looked around at the towering buildings around him.


"Have you ever been here before, Connor?" enquired Reyes, captivated at the sights around him.


"Hm? Oh, yeah. I live here."


"You do? Nice! What was it like?"


"About as interesting as living in any big city would be, I guess. Nothing particularly bad about it, but after a while, the novelty wears off. Jubilife TV's a pretty neat place to go, though."


"Oh, I see. Whereabouts is your home?"


"Eh, I'll show you it if we walk past it, but it's towards the southwest of the city."


"And your folks? What are they like?"


"Well, they're not bad, but... I dunno, they're just my folks, I guess, if you get what I mean."


"Mmm."


"So," continued Connor as he turned around to face Reyes, "you got any plans? What brings you to Sinnoh?"


"Wellll... it's just nice to go on an adventure, isn't it, haha?" replied a sheepish Reyes.


"Cool, cool," said Connor, interested. "You got family here or something?"


"Nah. Just good to travel the world, do you get me?"


"Yeah, I get you. You got somewhere to stay?"


"I have a tent and a sleeping bag. That's all I need, I suppose. Just that, my Pokémon and the wilderness. The big, empty wilderness, haha," replied Reyes, his laugh somewhat hollow.


"Well, you can't go too wrong with your Pokémon, can you?", asked an optimistic Connor in response.


"I suppose not," shrugged Reyes. "Say, where are you headed?"


"Me? Oh, I'm just gonna train a bit in this area, I suppose. I wanna take on the Oreburgh gym in the next couple of weeks, hopefully see the Pokémon around these parts, y'know? How 'bout you?"


"I guess I will probably do the same, then."


"Really? Your Pokémon could probably take on the gym as they are now and give 'em a good fight, maybe even win," remarked Connor, tilting his head slightly.


"If you say so, but at the same time... I'd like to know more about them and get them to behave a bit better before I take on the gyms. How familiar are you with... how do you say it, Gible behaviour?"


"Well, I've read about them; I think I know a bit about what they can be like. Why do you ask?"


"Would you mind if I message you on the 'dex if I have any questions?"


"Oh! Me? Really?"


"Sure! Why not, hehe?"


"Are you sure there's nobody else? I'm not really too familiar with actually looking after them hands-on, to be honest..."


"Well, you do seem to know your stuff..."


"I do?" responded a slightly reddened Connor, a small, crumpled smile having grown on his face.


"Yeah! You've clearly done your reading, and I won't lie, but it's really damn neato how you are with your Aron. You wouldn't mind, would you?"


"Um... well, I mean, I wouldn't, but... me? Are you absolutely certain?" beamed Connor, his expression a mix of glee and disbelief.


"Yes, you. Are you sure you don't mind?" pointedly asked a more deadpan Reyes.


"S... sure! Do you know how you get email up on this thing?"


"Yeah, give it here," requested Reyes with a grin, to which Connor obliged. He then proceeded to fiddle with the controls for a bit, before continuing. "Yeah, it's the mail icon on the home screen," he offered, "and you can find your email address if you press the four bars on the top left. I shall just send myself an email so I know your address... and voila. Here you go!"


"Cool. Thank you!"


"No problem!" chirped Reyes. "Where are you going now?"


"Well, it's about half twelve now, so I'll probably just head down to Route 203 - that's the one to the east, 204's to the north - and do some training for a couple of hours, have a look around, get to know Ronnie a bit more," replied Connor, being met by a "ron!" from the Steel-type travelling alongside him.


"Sounds neat! I am going to go head north in the meanwhile and try bonding with my Pokémon. I'll try and email you when I can, dude; thanks for showing me around a bit!" said Reyes, heading off with a smile and a wave.


"Don't mention it! See you around, Reyes!" chirped Connor in response, before heading off on his own way, turning to Aron and smiling as he did. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"


Despite the fact that the two had travelled together for a brief while purely because Connor was too afraid to say "no" to this random stranger, he had to admit, he was quite fond of Reyes. He was a pretty fun dude to hang around with, and he had some interesting tidbits about Hoenn; not only that, the way he went about things intrigued him. If his Pokémon grew to trust him a bit more over time, then with a bit of training, he figured that Reyes would certainly become a force to be reckoned with in battle - and he also imagined it certainly wouldn't be boring to watch.


Connor couldn't really recall the last time a person made such a strong first impression on him. Whilst travelling alone on this adventure was still the ideal option, he reasoned that if he wanted to travel with anyone, it would probably be someone like Reyes.

---

After about an hour of walking, Connor found himself strolling down Route 203. His first plan of action was to avoid the beaten down path most people this way headed down - he didn't think he was ready for a fight with another trainer after such a short amount of time, not least so soon after the fight with Hawley. No, he'd need to practice away from other people, on wild Pokémon. If he remembered his map correctly, there was a large stretch of grass in between two groups of trees just north of a fence not far into the route. He headed to find this stretch of grass and find some Pokémon of a similar level to Ronnie, who was content as he chowed down on some more iron his trainer had from Jubilife.


Indeed, after another ten minutes of walking, he found this stretch of grass. "Alright, bud, you good?" asked Connor, turning to the Steel-type with a soft smile.


"Ar!" replied Aron, giving a nod with a determined look in his eyes.


"That's the spirit, little guy! Let's go!"


Connor took his first step into the tall grass with a crinkle, being as quiet as possible by practically tiptoeing so as to not to alert any nearby trainers. Indeed, the vast stretch of grass before him seemed to be empty of any other humans - given how most trainers in this area were still at the Trainer's School, which wouldn't end until about half-past three, he reckoned he'd be good for another couple of hours or so before people started coming and would try to fight him. Good enough to get some practice in, reasoned Connor.


As he made it further into the grass, he scanned the trees for Starly. There were plenty surrounding him - he'd have to try not disturb them, lest they all swarmed on him at once. Of course, in these parts, it was pretty much an inevitability that he'd end up coming into combat with one of them. After all, Starly were not renowned for being peaceful in the wild; rather, Connor recalled that they tended to hang around in large flocks, preparing to attack anyone they felt threatened the flock. Whilst he had no intentions to enter combat other than to defend himself against a flock, the prospect of combat was something Connor was perfectly fine with - Ronnie, a Steel- and Rock-type, had a double resistance to both Normal- and Flying-moves, which Starly tended to specialise in; moreover, but Bidoof, another Normal-type prevalent here, had a similar situation, as did Kricketot (albeit only a single resistance to Bug-types). Therefore, he reckoned that with about a week of having Aron training on these Pokémon, the Steel-type going up by about five or six levels was pretty likely.


More steps. Connor felt the eyes of a fair few Starly glaring right at him - he figured that the vast majority of them had the Keen Eye ability. He took care with his next moves.


There was still the matter of what him needing more Pokémon for the Oreburgh Gym, though. A Rock-type gym. A gym that most of the Pokémon on this route would have a bad time against. So he had a backup plan: the trade station in Jubilife. If he was lucky, someone would be looking for a Starly or a Shinx and offering a Fighting-type - best-case scenario. Of course, Starly and Shinx weren't exactly something most other trainers would marvel at, and something felt a bit morally off about having to go through with catching Pokémon for the sole purpose of giving them away. Hence why it was a last-ditch plan.


More steps. Connor heard some angry cooing directed at him from the trees around him. He glanced down at Ronnie next to him, trying his best to protect his trainer and letting out a soft growl, ready for battle. Adorable as Connor found the tiny pile of rocks trying to intimidate the Starly out of a fight, he knew that it wouldn't have too much of a practical use, and the Starly apparently agreed, aggressively cooing.


This was it. Connor was about to battle his first wild Pokémon. "You ready, Ronnie?" he enquired under his breath, turning to face his Aron as he gave the Steel-type an encouraging look.


"Aron!" stealthily chirped the Pokémon in response, giving a nod. Any opportunity to prove his worth to his trainer was one Ronnie was absolutely willing to take, and besides, the Steel-type figured that it would perhaps warrant a good petting or two as a reward.


Connor took another step.


"SKREEEEEEEEE!"


A Starly roared as it dove out of the tree, a heat-seeking missile as it locked onto him and prepared to fight.


Connor launched himself a step backward, as the Aron propelled itself into the air with a leap, shrugging off the impact of the Starly's dive and subsequent flurry of wing flailing as it let out a triumphant "ar-rooon!" for a battle cry.


"Nice work! Now, Ronnie, if you're familiar with the Metal Claw move, try it on the Starly!" he called out as this exchange went down.


With an affirmative nod, the Steel-type gritted its teeth as it rose one of its stumps. The limb seemed to sharpen as it glimmered a brilliant, sparkling silver, before slashing at the Starly's belly. The attack connected, prompting the Pokémon to screech.


"Excellent! Nice going, buddy!"


The Starly was displeased with this, to say the least; whilst the cut didn't draw blood, it left a nasty scratch on the Flying-type's skin and did a good job of plucking off a good chunk o its feathers at the area of impact. In response, it thrust its head back, its beak clenched shut as it prepared to go for a Wing Attack at the Aron's head.


Whilst this attack also connected with a light thudding noise, it was much less successful than the Metal Claw, achieving little outside of annoying Ronnie.


"Nice job taking the attack! Wait for Starly to attack you again, and then more of the same!" called out Connor, giving a thumbs up in encouragement. He realised that Aron was still pretty young and inexperienced to battling; as such, it probably didn't know moves that were particularly effective against Starly, nor did it serve much of a purpose to concoct a proper battle plan with Aron's limited moveset, but hey, Connor reasoned; if it worked, why complain?


Ronnie once again sharpened one of its stumps as Starly propelled its wing backward, before once again slicing at the Flying-type as it went for another Wing Attack. The Starling Pokémon did not have enough time to dodge.


This attack had a similar effect as the last Metal Claw, and it became evident that after about three rounds of combat, Ronnie was in a far better position than this Starly - another attack would finish it for certain. Out of curiosity, Connor pulled out his Pokédex to scan this particular Flying-type. This revealed that the Pokémon was level 9 and knew Tackle, Wing Attack, Fury Attack and Quick Attack with the Keen Eye ability - alright, Connor thought, so they do mostly have Keen Eye. More importantly than that, though, he figured most Pokémon in this area would have a similar moveset, and of these moves, Wing Attack was probably the most effective, giving the novice the impression that the Starly he was currently against would yet again use the move. Complacency was not something Connor was particularly keen on, of course, but he figured he probably wouldn't have too many issues here.


"Alright, Ronn-" began Connor, before looking towards the action to see Starly collapsed on the ground, defeated and unconscious with Ronnie looking back at him for more orders. It occurred to him that perhaps he spent a bit too much time distracted by his own thoughts.


"...Ar?"


"...Never mind. Good job, buddy!"


He fell into a squat, gesturing Ronnie over for another head rub, much to the Steel-type's delight. "You good for more?" he asked, glancing all over Ronnie's body to check for any bruises - there were none to speak of as the Aron gave an affirmative grunt.


With that, Connor ventured further into the grass.

---

"Say, ya know where Jimmy's been today?" came a squeaky voice in an alley in the north of Jubilife City, around the corner from Jubilife TV.


"He was s'pposed tah be on Route 202 duty, but tah be honest witcha, I dunno why he ain't reported back tah us, yet," replied another voice, rough as a Graveler.


It was about three o'clock in the afternoon, and these two voices belonged to a duo gathered around a fire in a can awaiting the return of their third member, as they had been for the past half an hour or so. The more high-pitched voice was that of a man in his early thirties, short and hunched over with beady eyes and a nose bright pink in coloration; the rougher one belonged to a much taller, older and well-built man, built like a ton of bricks with a five o'clock shadow grown across the valleys of his chin.


"Ah, well, Jimmy can prolly handle himself. Nothin' tah worry about. 'Sides, it means more marks for da rest of us, don't it?" added the first voice again, a wry smirk on the man's face.


"Heh heh, I guess yer right. Da boss oughtta be lit. Up. With joy when 'e sees the haul we can get, just da two of us," chuckled the older man. "And dere's no use in restin' on our laurels, ain't dat right, Jerry?"


"Keheh... yeah, ya got that right, Paulie."


"Speakin' o' which... ya see those guys over dere?" remarked the older fellow, pointing to two figures in the distance - one in a purple outfit, the other apparently in a tuxedo of some sort. "Reckon 'ey'll make some prime dough, if ya get what I mean? Seem tah be dah rich snooty types, too; prolly won't be much of a fight tah get dah Pokémon."


"Ay, I like your thinkin', Paulie! Shall I go for da guy in a tux?" chimed the smaller fellow, ecstatic.


"Nah. I gottem. Bigger prize. Try goin' for da guy in da purple," rebuked Paulie.


"...Aight. Meetcha back here?" sighed a disappointed Jerry.


"Keh. Ya know it, kid."


With that, the two headed in separate directions.


Alright, Jerry, nothin' out of the ordinary for this one, thought the smaller man as he approached the purple suited man, following him from a distance. Jus' another mark, one of dem haughty-taughty types. Jus' trail 'im 'til he's in a quiet area, get 'em in an alley, and get good ol' Bibby to give 'em what for! Yeah, he'll nevah see it comin'!


A bright smile lit up Jerry's face as he continued to trail the man in the suit, following him around a corner.


...an' then we can sell 'em for good money on dah market! An' when I see Lindsey again… hoo boy, we're gonna be eatin' good tonight, darlin'! Just da two a' us. Gonna take you out fer a nice meal, baby, and treatcha with that money!


He continued to follow the man in the purple suit around the streets of Jubilife, his smile fading into a frown as he focused on the man's purple suit.


...Somethin' seems real shitty about dat, y'know. What if the guy's 'mon really love 'im, though? Surely dat ain't right, dat I gotta take what ain't mine, break da bond dat guy might got wid' his friend, and sell it tah some other random bozo like me who prolly won't treat 'em right, prolly sell 'em to someone else for good dollar, just so I can treat my baby right? ...But dat's just da way life is on dis planet, sometimes, y'know. Gotta keep soldierin' on so I can make it on up in da world, an' hopefully do what I can tah stop people like me from livin' like dis.


His face grew into an uncertain smile as he continued down the street, waiting for the man to get to a quieter place out of the view of others.


Yeah, dat's da dream. An' maybe then, I can treat Lindsey tah more dinners, more nights out. No more listenin' tah Paulie, neither. I'll be able tah leave dat life behind me. 'Sides, what if dis bozo don't even treat his 'mon right, neither? What if I can get 'em to a nicer home to some nice rich old lady in Hearthome, who can give me top dollar for 'em? Then I'm not da bad guy 'ere anymore, is what! Yeah! We can do a good deed tahday, can't we, Bibby?


It was then that Jerry noticed the tall man in the purple suit turn and head into an alley. He cleared his throat, before getting a Pokéball out from his pocket and opening it just outside the alley to reveal a Bibarel. The large beaver looked up with a toothy grin, one that Jerry had always found quite endearing.


"Awright, Bibby," began the small, hunched over man. "We got anudda' mark. Rich guy. Purple suit. Whole nine yards. Gonna take 'is Pokémon, give 'em to some nice old lady, give 'em a nicer life. Whadda ya say, chum? Wanna back me up on dis one? Do a guy a solid?" he enquired, holding out an open hand.


"Bib!" chimed Bibby, similarly quietly, nodding as he hi-fived his master he had spent the last fifteen years with, wearing the same toothy grin.


"Heheh, yeah! Dat's what I like to hear, bud! Now, let's geddus some dough!" replied an ecstatic Jerry, keeping his voice hushed so as to not alert the man in the purple suit, before returning Bibby to his ball, not particularly keen on the idea of getting his Pokémon hurt without knowing what he was up against nor wishing to alarm his prospective victim into alerting the authorities. With that, he stepped into the alleyway to face the man, the sound of his footsteps filling the air.


"May I help you?" asked the man in the purple suit, turning his head to face Jerry.


"Ay, yo!" replied the small man, giving a friendly smile before taking a few steps towards the man. "Nice weather today, wouldn't ya say?"


"Mmm," noted the man, his black trousers whooshing as he turned his entire body to the thief. "Good weather to go out for a walk, isn't it?"


"Hehe, yeah, yeah... ya doin' good?"


"Yes, things are well on my end. I'm just walking to clear my head. Taking a break from work that needs to be done."


"Heh, yea, dat's da way."


"Tell me... you are?"


"Oh, ya can call me Jerry."


"Jerry, right... tell me, Jerry, what's your line of work?" asked the man, his gaze piercing the small man.


"Me? Eheheh... well, dat's the ting, ya see. I'm actually unemployed at da moment. Ya know how it is, jobs in this economy, right? It's actually been pretty rough for me since town hall laid me off, 'n' ya seem like someone who's quite well off, if ya get what I'm sayin'? A kind fella who'd be willin' to give a helpin' hand to da little guy, ya know? What say ya'd be willin' to help a guy out?" replied Jerry, giving a pleading smile as he held his hands together in a begging motion.


"Oh, that is rather unfortunate, yes," responded the man with the purple jacket, a concerned look on his face as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a wallet. "How much do you need to help you get by?"


"Well, uh... what's ya name, mister?"


"...I'd prefer not to say."


"Oh, yeah, yeah, fair enough, no worries. Mister, ya see... I won't be needin' any of ya money. What I will be needin', is... how can I put this..."


"My Pokémon?" replied the man pointedly. He put his wallet back in his pocket with a soft sigh, before removing his suit jacket.


"Yeah, yeah! Ya understand, right? Would ya be willin' to hand 'em over, do dis da easy way?"


"That won't be happening, thief."


"...Who are ya callin' a thief, mister?" asked Jerry, his tone accusatory and hostile as he reached into his pocket, pulling out Bibby's ball.


"Well, you see, Jerry - that is your name, just so I'm sure?" began the man, taking a Pokéball stored in one of the pockets sewn onto the back of the jacket as he looked daggers at the man.


"Dat's besides da point-"


"You'll tell me your name if you place any value in your wellbeing," retorted the purple-jacketed man, his voice hard and blunt as metal, his words sharp as a knife and his response fast as a bullet as he opened the Pokéball, a flash of light materializing into a glowering pair of eyes in the darkness of the alley behind him.


"...Aight, yeah, that's me. I'm Jerry," replied


"Alright, Jerry," began the man, the bottom half of his face masking a glare sharp enough to rend steel in half, "I'm going to be completely honest with you here, I think what you're doing right now is a complete abomination; it spits in the eyes of Lady Justice. Have you no humanity? No soul? What you're doing here makes you no better than those parasites at city hall who - supposedly - fired you. Preying on anyone you deem an easy target, ruining lives of people and Pokémon for your own selfish gain and exploiting the natural good of man with your heinous bullying."


As his tirade continued, the sound of footsteps rang through the air, accompanying his rant as he slowly approached Jerry, the eyes behind him following from a distance.


"You need to be stopped at once, and I'm going to be the one to do that. However, if I were to kill you without warning, wipe you off the face of the planet like the piece of dirt you're being right now - which I assure you, I very much have the means to do so - that would make me worse than you. Which is why I'm offering you a choice. You can agree to stop your filthy actions right now, swear on your life that you won't attempt to steal innocent people's Pokémon ever again, vow to do what is right in the eyes of Arceus and I can help you get out of the poverty you may be in... or you can continue this futile endeavour and see where it leads you.


The pair stood before Jerry, both looking straight into him with scowling eyes.


"Your choice?"


"I- I, uh..."


Silence permeated the air.


Jerry was caught completely off-guard by this. Just who the hell was this guy? He had some balls giving a high and mighty speech like that to him - and his delivery, too; his voice, deceptively husky for a man so thinly built, was unwavering and commanding, each word hitting like a battering ram. Had the guy made all that up as he went along? He'd have told the guy to piss off if he could have, but there was just something about him, the silent fury in his eyes, the mask of calm on his face, his words like knives, that utterly terrified him. And those eyes behind him, too - an order of magnitude or two above anything else he'd ever seen (perhaps barring the man before him). Those brilliant purple irises were a light in the black of the shadows of the alley as the black look emanating from them tore into the windows of his very soul. Those eyes were the only thing he could see of the beast, and they were all it took to send shivers coursing down his spine. He quaked in his boots, his kneecaps violently moving to and fro, as he tried to think of anything except those eyes. Was this even a Pokémon? Was it even of this planet? Was it some sort of demon? Jerry had liked to think of himself as a pretty fearless guy, but this... he had no doubt whatever this was could have killed him.


He decided against summoning Bibby, for fear of his life and the Bibarel's, as he instead produced a nervous smile. This offer didn't seem too bad compared with the threat of losing his life - at least this way, he had a way out of Paulie's gang. He gulped before speaking.


"S... sure, guy... no problems here... just sign me up, y'know, eheheh...?"


The intense look in the man's eyes faded somewhat, as the corners of his mouth folded into an ever so slight smile. "A wise choice. Now, follow me."


"Y... yeah... ya got it, boss..."

'The Seeker', huh. I’ve always had an issue with the lyric ‘searching low and high’; it feels like a really lazy inversion, just for the sake of the rhyme. Nobody searches low first! :V

Anyway! There’s two whole chapters here, so I should turn my critical eye on them instead and get started properly. And a lot happens this time around, too: more of the gap between what Connor’s read and what he understands; a frankly staggering pokémon theft scheme (five a day? Per operative? This seems like a wildly extravagant scale that verges on the unworkable); and changed names (Antonio, Thomas) that make it clear once again that we’re either after or before the timeline of DPPt, without confirming either.

I kind of love that Reyes travelled here from Hoenn, knowing nothing about what he’d find here – he isn’t even sure that Sinnish pokémon are different to the ones he’s familiar with from Hoenn – and immediately decides he needs to go up against a professional theft ring of fearsome efficiency. Like jfc, my guy, you are lucky you ran into Bookworm McNerves over there, you are impressively ditzy.

Speaking of Connor, I’m enjoying the continued contrast between idea and execution: a grind is an abstract strategy that doesn’t account for the actuality of a living creature. (Although quite how Connor failed to notice Ronnie getting tired before he got to the point of physical collapse, I have no idea.) And like, it kinda throws into sharp relief the strange tension between the gamey elements (levels) and their more naturalistic fictional presentation that characterises pokémon training in this fic. Not quite sure how I feel about that overall yet, but I’m willing to stick around and see how it develops!

Like you said, there’s still some jank here, but it’s definitely picking up; a lot of the critique I might make has been covered in earlier reviews, and you’re certainly aware of that, so I can leave most of it aside. Some of your minor characters do seem a little cartoonish when compared to the main cast; it’s maybe less noticeable with Jerry because he’s got a section of his own, but like, I really noticed what felt like a generic mismatch when Florence was talking to Connor – like she’s such a comic portrait of a person that she sits next to him really weirdly, given that he seems like a more nuanced figure.

That said, it is totally reasonable that she’d give him such terrible advice. She’s a kid too, after all (which like, shouldn’t she have had some more extensive training, as a Pokémon Centre nurse? I feel like that’s the kind of thing you go to school for). I also very much like how fond Bibby clearly is of Jerry; I love when fic acknowledges that very often, the bad guys’ pokémon probably love them as purely and honestly as the good guys’ pokémon love their own partners.

Finally, here are some typos and things to finish off:



That comma after the dialogue shouldn’t be there.



‘Crinkle’ doesn’t seem like the right word here; it’s like, something I’d more usually associate with the movement of a sheet of plastic or paper than a sound effect, as I think it’s being used here.



Missing an F from the end of ‘of’.



This sentence is missing its end.



This sentence seems really unfinished – it doesn’t have an end, obviously, but it also doesn’t hold together at all. Not quite sure you intended with this one.

That’s all from me! Looking forward to seeing how Connor’s extremely eventful first day as a trainer pans out from here. He really is cramming it all in today, isn’t he? :P

Author's Notes: hoping to get three chapters uploaded today! Partially because I wanna get to through these early chapters as quickly as possible and get the Oreburgh arc completely up and posted in the next couple of weeks or so. This is the first one, in which the longest first day of all time comes to a close. I hope you enjoy! :>

---

As Stunky's gas permeated through the air, Connor's jaw clenched itself shut as he pinched his nostrils, the bitten skin around his right thumb- and index fingernails going red under the Herculean strain they seemed to be under. The unrelenting assault on his senses had been going on for about half a minute by this point, and all the might his five-foot-five body could muster went into fighting off the urge to thrash in convulsions, to retch up his guts; despite the valiant efforts of his firmly closed eyelids, it felt as though acid was welling up in front of his eyes.


As soon as he realised what was going on, he buried his head in the left arm of his jacket - he'd be damned if he let a single tear stream down his face because of some second-rate thief. While water streamed out of his eyes and formed puddles of shame on his jacket, his body began to quake whilst his throat burnt away in fierce hellfire, more intense than a Charizard could even dream of.


Yet despite all this, the trainer held out hope.


For whilst four of his primary senses were under the most vicious attack, Connor's hearing had yet to fail him, and he could make out what was, quite undeniably, the sound of another voice from the end of the valley - specifically, the sound of another voice crying out the phrase "You there!"


Connor wasn't sure whether this was directed at him or the man he knew as "Glenn," to whom he attributed the feeling of somebody standing uncomfortably close to him, quite probably about to try and take Ronnie from him. This was besides the point, however; the welcome sound of nearing footsteps from the direction of the call punctuated the uneasy silence of the alley.


Whilst Connor was unable to look up, he prayed that the footsteps reached him before the large man at his side had the chance to take his Pokémon; indeed, the feeling of the Aron's ball trembling on his belt was enough to fill his body with feelings of the worst kind. The poor little guy was probably terrified by what was going on - he was safe from the Poison Gas, sure, but Connor was almost certain he could sense from the Pokéball's movements, and perhaps the atmosphere of his current situation, that something was deeply wrong - and the quivering was probably hell on his already exhausted joints, too - and he needed to have the nurse's medication put on, too; something he reckoned Paulie neither knew nor cared to know about.


Connor had lost count of the times he'd been in a sticky situation that day, but this was certainly one of them, and it posed the risk of ending his adventure so soon - more importantly, it risked Aron's health, something that caused the trainer's stomach to fill with pangs of guilt. So deep, was he, in this train of thought, that he almost forgot entirely forgot about the footsteps approaching him.


He would've warned the owner of these footsteps not to get too close to the gas were it not for the fact that such a move would open the floodgates for a storm of vomit. This didn't seem to be a problem, however, as the sound of feet stopped a good ten meters away from him. He felt, too, that Paulie was no longer looming over him.


Indeed, this assumption was correct - whilst Paulie would have liked to taken Aron that moment, it appeared as though a rather unwelcome visitor had appeared.


Paulie took a moment to size the man up as he neared, putting him at no less than six foot and three inches tall, and the thief warranted a guess that he definitely did fitness training, judging by the rather athletic frame covered in a slightly crumpled white shirt, red tie and dark trousers - Paulie noted the absence of a belt for his Pokémon from his outfit. His face was rather intriguing to the thief; his skin seemed rather clear, complexion rather pale and nose short, with bags under the bold green eyes that glared, unimpressed, at him, his nostrils flared; his silently furious expression was masked by an unaffected mouth. Paulie's attention, though, was drawn to the approaching man's snow white hair. Whilst it wasn't a complete mess, it wasn't very neat, either; locks of it fell behind his ears and across his forehead in what Paulie thought best to describe as an overgrown Caesar cut.


It may have seemed frivolous to spend such time analyzing a man's appearance as he approached, seemingly prepared to fight, but Paulie certainly didn't think that way; no, only an amateur would do something without reason. From his brief scan, he figured that walking towards him was a man who didn't care much for Pokémon battles, nor for his own appearance - probably more of a business-oriented person, and one who probably took quite a logical approach to things.


To be more precise, he was one of those haughty-taughty rich types - his favourite type of customer. Paulie smirked. Did he really think that he was some sort of tough guy? What was he gonna do, throw money at him and tell him to get gone? The man who was now standing still before him, just out of the reach of the gas, may have been a hurdle, but hurdles were made to be jumped over - and this one wasn't a particularly large one.


"Ya got a problem?" asked Paulie, staring the man in the eyes with a confident smirk. "'Cos if ya do, I'd be more than happy to help ya solve it."


The man was unmoved, crossing his arms as he put forward his steely rebuke to the staredown. "My issue is that you appear to have poisoned a helpless young man with a toxic gas - a potent one, at that - and were on the verge of taking his Pokémon. I certainly hope that this wasn't the case, and I was merely seeing things, but you understand that, as of three weeks ago, my vision is perfectly fine," he firmly stated, his voice deep and unwavering.


"Heh… well, perhaps ya should see a new doctor, guy."


"Perhaps. Or perhaps you should leave this fellow alone, and leave."


"Oh ho ho, threatenin' me? Just as I predicted, then; ya do got a problem," said Paulie in a mocking tone, taking a couple of steps through the gas and closer to the man. "Whatcha gonna do about it?"


"Before I answer that," replied the man blankly, "you wouldn't mind if I asked you something, first?"


Paulie contemplated this for a moment, before hitting the man with a look that dripped with smugness. "Hah, I've got the time to humour ya before I kick yer ass. Shoot, bozo," he shot back with faux friendliness.


"You're perfectly fine with standing in poisonous gas. You specialise in Poison-type Pokémon, do you not?"


"Hmph. No shit, genius. Now, are ya-"


"And furthermore, you wouldn't happen to have worked in pest control in the past, would you?"


"...Eh?" responded Paulie, intrigued.


"Well, I ask because your body has obviously grown resistant to the sort of poison that Stunky or Skuntank produce. Given that you didn't even flinch as you walked into the gas, you've obviously been exposed to it outside of Pokémon training; I'm also assuming - on account of your voice - that the conditions you've worked with them in were unfavourable, to the point where it left you with some permanent damage to your respiratory system. What other professions would have one work in such conditions - such as an unfiltered vent or a dank basement - enough to for the body to become used to it, I wonder?"


"...Hm. Correct, but what does this have to do with me takin' some Pokémon, guy?"


Connor, who had used this to wriggle himself just far enough to get into a position where breathing was no longer a serious risk, had a similar question - what did this man have planned with all these questions? Was he a detective of some sort? He tried opening his eyes to view what was going down, but the buildup of water in his eyes made his vision extremely blurry, something that prompted him to blink rapidly to clear up.


"Tell me, until how long ago did you work in pest control?"


"'Bout five months ago, but that don't answer my question."


"Interesting. That's also roughly when this string of robberies started, isn't it, Paulie?"


This caught both the attention of Connor and the ire of Paulie, with the latter's expression morphing into one of both shock and anger, eyebrows arched and eyes squinted as he spoke in a growling tone. "You been followin' me, bozo? You some sort of cop or somethin'? How'd ya know my name, pig?!"


The man's face was almost completely deadpan, visibly apathetic towards the thief's accusatory remarks - with the exception of a flicker of disgust and a flaring of his nostrils. "Not exactly. If I were a policeman in Jubilife, do you really believe I would have found you? No, my job is to serve the people in any way I can."


"Oh, knock it off with yer holier-than-thou Tauros shit! Yer a glorified - what'ssaword - vigilante, is what you are!" shot back Paulie, his tone increasingly hostile before breaking into a chuckle. "You ain't any better than I am!"


"Good point," rebuked the man dryly, "except one of us is an unrepentant Pokémon thief who attacks defenseless children, and one of us is trying to stop that from happening. I'll operate outside the law if I need to, so long as it keeps the innocent safe from people like you."


Whilst this conversation went on, Connor found the time to sit up out of reach from the gas, taking deep breaths in and out as he wiped his eyes and occasionally gagging as vomit came up his throat. Gathering his composure as he waited for Reyes to return, he was a little intrigued by his apparent saviour. To him, the man seemed quite a scary figure; there was just something a little intimidating about his no-nonsense demeanour, and his seemingly laser-focused line of questioning was quite unnerving to see in action. In addition, whilst he was, admittedly, quite disappointed that he didn't catch onto Paulie's ruse, Connor couldn't help but wonder how this man knew the thief's real name.


"People like me? I'm only doin' what a man's gotta do to survive on this bitch of a planet. You wanna help people? Go run for office or somethin'! Society's the real problem here."


"I'll give you credit on one thing - to convince yourself that stealing Pokémon from defenseless teenagers using poisonous gas is necessary because of the state requires some fantastic mental gymnastics."


"I ain't got time for this! You're gonna tell me who you are and how ya got my name this instant, and then you're get yer ass outta here before I kick it out for ya!"


"...Hm. I suppose I owe you that much."


The man pulled out a Pokéball from the back of his jacket and opened it, with what Connor believed to be an Alakazam coming out. As he scanned the yellow, vulpine creature with his Pokédex to confirm this, he couldn't help but notice that the Psychic-type shared one characteristic with its trainer - its authoritative demeanour, accentuated by the unwavering look it gave with its tiny black pupils.


"My name is Julius Verstand, and I work as vice president for GERECHT. As for how I found you, I must attribute some of it to luck. I'd been hearing stories of a thief with Poison-type Pokémon around these parts since they started - it's practically all they talk about down at the Center - but about a month after these robberies began, our offices had a bit of a pest problem. The employee who was sent to deal with it, I recall striking up a conversation with them - they were quite frustrated about not being able to reach the Zubat, and they mentioned your name, as a matter of fact. You were fired from stealing from your boss the month before, and I figured that perhaps this was a lead. Months of investigation and speaking to victims in my spare time later, it would seem that I was correct - although it is rather unfortunate that I wasn't able to get here before you attacked this young man. I suppose that means there's more wood in the cross to which I shall nail you, then?"


"Nail me to a cross?! I don't think so, pal! Stunky!" declared Paulie, gesturing towards Julius as he darted his head to his companion, who gave back an affirmative "Stunk!" before beginning his attack.


The thief watched on as his Poison-type companion's stubby little legs carried it in a valiant charge, rushing towards the opposing Alakazam as he let out a battle cry in the form of a bubbling hiss, fangs bared. The ten meter gap between the two Pokémon began closing as the ball of purple fuzz continued to accelerate, much to the delight of Paulie, whose face was illuminated by a confident grin. Neither this Julius bozo nor his Alakazam were even reacting to this - were they scared out of their wits? Whatever it was, it was good news for Paulie; he reckoned Alakazam would turn in a pretty penny on the market.


The Poison-type, as it reached the three meter mark from its opponent, changed up its stride for a couple of paces before launching itself from its hind legs, beady eyes lit up with fervour as it prepared to latch down its fangs onto the Alakazam's head in a Bite attack. An Alakazam as well as this kid's Pokémon?! Oh, this'd show the boss! Paulie watched on in glee as an ecstatic grin lit up his face, preparing to witness Stunky's attack - one he recalled was super effective against Psychic-types, too! The thief had hit the jackpot on this one!


"Signal Beam," ordered Julius, completely blank.


Almost without even moving, the Alakazam merely grunted as a brilliant green beam of energy shot out from its spoons, striking the Stunky with enough force to render it unconscious as it flew into a wall at the end of the alley.


A confused "What?!" was all Paulie could muster in response, before a call rang through the alley.


"OI! Bastard!"


Connor turned around to see the figure of Reyes, with his navy blue longcoat flowing in the breeze. He didn't seem to be a particularly happy camper, to put things lightly - his voice was hoarse with rage, eyebrows arched in fury as a fire burnt bright in his brilliant green eyes, almost twitching in the ferocity of their squint as locked onto the thief. The arm he wasn't using to hold his (very displeased) Gible was outstretched and unmoving, an accusatory index finger aimed straight at the thief before him.


Paulie's confident demeanour had quickly evaporated, his ecstasy now very much agony. One question was on his mind as he fumbled for his Pokéball - what the hell had just happened? Within the space of about three minutes, he'd gone from having a surefire ticket to getting a good pay, to now being faced by two angry trainers - one of whom was capable of wiping out his Pokémon in a single hit, and the other he recognised as his original target with a Pokémon he'd never seen before (and wasn't too keen on meeting, judging by the razor teeth it was baring) - and the threat of losing his place in the gang, his respect with the boss, and the great ladder of his career advancement within the mob being pulled out from under him looming large. He hated to admit it, but he was cornered as a Rattata. Unless…


He peeked behind him, his pupils moving up and down like a ping pong ball as he sized up the fence behind him.


"Don't even think about running, you dumbass!" demanded Reyes in response, his arm now at his side as he moved ever closer to Paulie, an air of authority surrounding him. Julius, without saying a word, seemed to echo this sentiment in his wordless stare.


Paulie's heart raced as he weighed up his options. He either faced surrendering himself to the two and likely end up not getting beaten in exchange for information, or he had the chance to run away, get some other idiot's Pokémon and go back to the boss safe and sound - with the slight risk of being caught. As Reyes neared, his fists clenched and body shaking with anger, he made up his mind.


With a hasty pirouette, the thief swivelled around, recalling Stunky as he rushed over to the fence, managing to jump just high enough to put his hands atop it.


"Dammit!" cursed Reyes, quickly switching his focus to Julius and barking out orders with his finger pointed at the fence. "You go after him, and I'll make sure the kid's alright!"


Julius was caught a little off-guard by this outburst, flinching ever so slightly before nodding. "I'm on it," he duly declared before giving chase, his Alakazam assisting him by amplifying his jump with levitation so that he floated over the fence before following.


After the pair made their exit, Reyes could do nothing but stare at the fence, taking a few deep breaths as he slowly relaxed himself, the tension slowly leaving his body. He fell silent for a moment as he unclenched his fists and dropped his shoulders, his expression softening into one of shame and anger. It was his fault that he'd lost Connor in the crowd, and the results were clear - the poor guy was on the floor after a gas attack, eyes watering and throat burning as he stopped himself from convulsing, trying not to puke his guts out. This was in spite of a promise he'd made to Florence at the Pokémon Center, and to Connor, too, and not only had he broken his promise, he'd let his new friend down.


"Connor, are you okay?" he softly spoke, breaking the silence as he turned his head to partly face Connor.


"Hm?" grunted the injured trainer through coughs, his voice croaky.


Reyes turned his entire body around to face Connor, feigning a warm smile to mask his worry. "How are you keeping?"


"Oh, uh… I-" began Connor in response, keeping down some bile before he continued, not wanting to worry one of his saviours. "I've been better, but… I think it could be worse. Just got a bit of a bad throat and watery eyes, is all."


Reyes nodded in response, before letting out a deep sigh, walking towards Connor as he spoke before sitting against the alley wall next to him. "Listen, I… I'm sorry, really. This was entirely my fault. It shouldn't have even happened, and you shouldn't even be in this whole mess, but I messed up, and I got distracted, and I didn't realise you were gone until it was much too late. If you are even a little mad at me, I completely understand, and all I can do is make sure you're okay, and promise to do what I can to make sure this doesn't happen again."


"Woah, hey," urged Connor in response, "don't worry a… about it. I'm not mad, honestly; it's really not your fault. I shouldn't've gone down this alley in the fiirst place." He briefly paused to clear his throat of phlegm in the hopes of stopping the cough from interrupting his speaking further, before continuing with a friendly chuckle. "B-besides, at least you came back!"


"I dunno… I guess I just should've done better, is all, Connor. That bastard shouldn't have even been able to escape, to be honest. But nevertheless, your, what's the word… your forgiving, it's appreciated, friendo."


"No worries!. Be- besides, I think someone's trying to cheer you up," pointed out Connor with a smile, glancing at Garra, who was currently making soft grunting noises and nuzzling into the armpit of Reyes' jacket, his eyes closed and content.


"Huh? Oh… oh, hey, Garra, boy!" exclaimed Reyes as he noticed the Dragon-type, gently stroking his scaly back with one of his hands as a warmth lit up his face. "You aren't going to bite me again, are you?"


Connor watched on. There was something he couldn't help but find a little adorable about the Dragon-type, one who'd left so many marks on Reyes' arm, trying to cheer him up - and it seemed to be succeeding.


"Y'know, Reyes, he definitely seems to care about you, and that's a very good start for Dragon-types. The bites will probably stop over time, you just need to properly get used to each other and strengthen that bond."


"I see," affirmed Reyes, nodding content as he continued to pet his Pokémon. "As cliché as that may be, you may be right. My main worry is trying to do this with more Pokémon, though - Bagon is not exactly a friendly Pokémon; most dragon types aren't."


"Well, this is still day 1 for me, so… take it with a pinch of salt, but I'd suggest pacing yourself with your team. Only expand your team once you've bonded with all of your Pokémon."


"Hm… that doesn't sound so bad of an idea."


"Well, it's easier said than done. That's why so few people get past the Elite Four and become eligible for the League, isn't it?"


"Of course, of course," noted Reyes, noticing that Garra had apparently dozed off under all the scritches. "...So, shall we head back to the Center?"


"That sounds good," replied Connor, clearing his throat once more as he found his way back to his feet, politely rejecting Reyes' offer to help him up in the form of an outstretched hand. His vision was still a little blurred as he wiped his eyes some more, and his voice was still a little croaky from his burning throat, but he was definitely feeling a little better.

---

"Ah, you're back, I see," noted Florence dryly as the doors to Jubilife's Pokémon Center opened with a mechanical creak. "How'd it go?"


Connor offered a hesitant thumbs up, an awkward grin plastered on his face in a (poor) effort to mask his discomfort as the pair moved closer to the desk.


"...Takin' that to mean 'we fucked up,' then?"


"Actually," replied Reyes, a little proud, "I will have you know we only fucked up slightly!"


"Ah, strewth! Nice job!" said the nurse, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "You gonna elaborate?"


"I, uh…" began Connor, glancing down in slight embarrassment as he tried to avoid Florence's gaze. "I found the guy, but… I might have goofed slightly, and I might have gotten a little… uh… gassed by his Stunky."


"Ah, shit. You good now, though?" enquired the nurse.


"Sorta?" croaked Connor, uncertain.


"Ya sure? Your voice sounds a bit fucked, mate. Ya can go fetch some water, if ya want."


"Oh, don't worry ab-" began the trainer, before coughing into his jacket's arm. "Don't worry about me. It was… kinda my own fault, anyways."


"...Well, if you insist. How 'bout the crook? Did ya get him?"


"Funny story, actually! My good friend here managed to distract him for just long enough for backup to arrive, and he's been dealt with! ...I think," chimed Reyes, proud as he pointed to Connor - this statement was confirmed by affirmative chirps and grunts from Garra.


"I mean… I wouldn't say 'inhaling poisonous gas' is a great diversion, but… hey, if it works, it works! Good on ya, little fella!" Florence, pointing a finger gun at Connor with a congratulatory smile before turning back to Reyes. "...Whaddaya mean by 'I think,' though?"


"You see, there was another guy in the alley too when I got there, and we managed to corner the crook, but he ran off - so I got the other guy to chase after him! Problem solved," replied Reyes, giving a hearty thumbs up.


"You sent some random dude after a dangerous criminal?" asked the concerned nurse, her voice becoming notably more serious.


"In his defence, though, he did have an Alakazam… and he took out one of the thief's Pokémon, too," muttered Connor, to support Reyes.


"Oh, yeah, what he said - the guy floated over the fence to catch 'im!"


"Oh, right - in that case, nice goin'!" said Florence, visibly impressed. "Just… try not to get gassed next time, mmkay?"


Connor weakly chuckled in response. "Will do."


"So, anyway, you fellas got anywhere to stay tonight? If not, we can gladly letcha stay in one of our rooms," proposed Florence.


"Well, now that you mention it, that sounds a whole bunch better than camping out in the wild. You with me, Connor?"


Connor considered this for a minute, before nodding in agreement.


"Alright! We'll take you up on that!"


Florence pulled out a pair of keys in response, handing them to the boys. "In that case, your number's on the key; we lock up at 10:30, and we're gonna need 'em back by noon tomorrow unless you're stayin' then as well."


"Neato! Thanks, nurse!" replied Reyes, smiling graciously before heading over to one of the free seats in Center, his companion following suit.


"Ooh, before I forget…"


After taking his seat, Connor took out Ronnie's Pokéball, releasing him before him on the table as he took out the joint relief medicine from his bag with his other hand.


"Hey, bud, how're you holding up?" he softly spoke, petting the Steel-type's forehead. The Aron strained itself a little to nuzzle Connor's hand in reply, his movement severely limited by muscle pain - something Connor was quick to pick up on. "Aww, I know, Ronnie, I'm sorry. Do you mind if I rub a little something where it hurts?"


"Ar…"


Connor applied the lotion to his hand, offering his palm to the Steel-type and gently applying it to his neck and limb joints. The medicine was cold, but Ronnie couldn't help but feel slightly relieved as it was applied - there was something a little soothing about the way Connor almost massaged it on, prompting him to let out a few contented coos.


"Seriously," remarked Reyes, "that's very impressive for someone who's been a trainer for less than a day, Connor."


"Yeah, but what isn't impressive is my battling. Obviously being so close to him after a day is impressive - and it's partly because he's a very good boy," replied Connor, turning to his pleased companion as he spoke that last part, "but it'd be nice if I had any idea how not to get him hurt after a battle, y'know?"


"Mmm. Actually, that does bring me onto something, my friend."


"Hm?"


"Well, I was thinking, we'd make a good team, y'know? You're a pretty clever guy when it comes to Pokémon, and you definitely know how to handle 'em - while I, on the other hand, can help you out when it comes to fighting and stuff. And I know it doesn't seem like it, but without your contribution, that damned Paulie would have got away - so what I'm suggesting is, we travel and do the gym challenge together. It'll be fun! What do you say?"


Connor was visibly caught a little off guard by this, his eyes widening a little. It'd been less than a day since he decided that he wasn't too keen on the "people" aspect of his adventure, and yet already somebody had offered to travel with him. He wasn't too sure how to respond, in all honesty - normally he would have fumbled out a sheepish "no thanks," or just slipped away, but… Reyes was different. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something about him that made Connor trust him.


He clearly wasn't a bad guy, for one; in 24 hours he'd broken one thief's leg and sicked a trainer on another. What was more, he hadn't (intentionally) abandoned him in the alley, and, despite his self-admitted awful people skills, he got the impression that Reyes probably wouldn't end up stabbing him in the back at any point. The more he weighed it up, the more he realised that this probably wasn't a bad idea - he could've thought of worse people to share company with, and he'd probably get some battle experience from it, too.


"Well, uh… I mean… I don't see why not? I'm not really much of a people person though, to be honest, so you might be a little disappointed if you're looking for good company," nervously chuckled Connor, turning a shade of red.


"Oh, don't worry about it! I'm sure you can't be that bad, if you're as interested in anything as you are in Pokémon. Besides, like I said, it'll be interesting learning about them from you."


"Really? Uh, thanks!" made out a delighted Connor, a little grin sprouting across his face. "In that case, I don't think there'll be any problems, then… you do have equipment for camping outside, don't you?"


"I could easily pick some up. But are all the routes in Sinnoh this small? Could we not just stay in Pokémon Centers, or hotels?"


"Mmm… no. It takes several hours to cross route 203, after all, and that's one of the smallest routes in Sinnoh. Most of them take a couple of days; it takes a good two weeks to get to Snowpoint from the nearest city on foot, and there's the matter of the Coronet mountain range, too, so I imagine we'll be doing the camping thing a lot."


"Interesting. I'll try and pick some up tomorrow, then,"


"In that case, I'd be happy to come along!"


"Excellent!"


While Reyes was beaming about this development, the doors of the Pokémon Center whirred open, and in walked the man from the alley. As he looked around before eventually laying eyes on the pair and approaching them, Connor couldn't tell if it was the fluorescent lighting of the Center compared to the gloomy alley, but he thought something was slightly different about his shirt - were his eyes deceiving him, or was his shirt a little whiter than it was before?


"I see you've noticed the change of shirt," said Julius, prompting Reyes to turn towards him as he took a seat in between the two trainers.


"Hmm? Oh, I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare," sheepishly replied Connor.


"Oh, don't worry about it. I spilt something on the one I was wearing on the way here, and had to go change it, in case you were wondering."


"Hey, Julius," chirped Reyes. "How are you? Aside from the coffee thing, I mean."


"Not bad. I just thought I'd come in to let you know that that Paulie fellow's been dealt with."


"Ah, cool! Thanks!"


"Don't mention it. In any case, how are the both of you doing? You, uh - what's your name?" enquired Julius, looking at the smaller of the two trainers.


"Connor."


"Connor, right - I recall you were in quite a bad state after that whole ordeal. Are you feeling any better now?"


"Sort of, yeah" he replied, his voice still slightly croaky.


"I see. That's good to hear. As for you, young man -"


"Reyes."


"Reyes, I must say, your bravery was quite commendable when it came to helping out your friend."


"Thanks!"


"It's quite alright. If anything, I should be the one thanking you; your assistance was greatly appreciated in making sure the situations regarding the thief and your friend were solved."


Julius' attention turned to the Aron on the table, the Steel-type giving him a welcoming look.


"Is this your Pokémon?" he asked Connor.


"O-oh, uh, yeah - I only just got him today. He's called Ronnie, and he's had a very busy day, haven't you, boy?" replied the trainer, petting the Steel-type's back.


"Ron," grunted Ronnie, a little weary.


Julius gently patted the Pokémon's head, a weak smile spreading across his face. "I see. And do you have any other Pokémon?"


"No."


"So, this is your first day?"


"Yep."


"Hm. Well, if you play your cards right, the rest of it will hopefully be an improvement over being gassed, won't it?"


"I suppose so," replied Connor, pondering this statement somewhat.


An awkward silence spread through the air.


"Now that I think about it, actually, I met another trainer who was starting out today in town, too. I don't suppose you'd happen to know him, would you? Spiky red hair, a little on the tall side, quite intense… his name began with a H, but I can't quite remember it."


"...Hawley?"


"Ah, that was it. You know him?"


"Yes."


"He was at the Pokémart looking for supplies, and I believe someone was trying to take his wallet while he was distracted. It was quite the scene - him and his Croagunk beat the man to the floor, just in front of the cashiers. He got kicked out, of course, but it was quite interesting to watch. Spoke to him about it afterwards - he asked to see my Pokémon. Quite a fiery temper on that boy, but he certainly knows his stuff."


"Sounds like him," remarked a reluctant Connor.


"You seem quite different from him, I must say. Are you friends?"


"Not really, no."


"I see... between you and me, he seems like he has a lot of potential, but he perhaps needs to mellow out a bit. It'd be a shame to see such skill go to waste, or fall into the wrong hands."


"Mm," mumbled Connor, his attention turning back to the Steel-type on the table.


The silence returned.


"I take it you're a trainer yourself, Julius?" asked Reyes, curious. "I didn't get to see any of the action, but that Pokémon of yours seemed real strong."


"Oh, Alakazam? I've known him for a long time - he's been with me for as long as I can remember. Very strong Pokémon, very smart… really, an invaluable partner. As for training… I did the gym challenge and the Elite Four when I was about your age, about… fifteen years ago, I believe? The League wasn't my cup of tea, though; I haven't competitively battled in years. More important things got in the way."


"The Elite Four, eh? Not bad! Have you ever been called up to fight the Champion?"


"I've never applied. As I said, more important things got in the way - I'd prefer to be known through my work via that instead of through battling."


"That's fair, I suppose."


Silence once more.


"...Well, I should probably be leaving," declared Julius as he got up. "It was good to meet you two - you seem like good young men. Perhaps we'll meet again, but if we don't, I wish you both the best on your adventures."


"Oh, thanks!"


"You too, Julius!"


With that, he offered his hand to each of the trainers - Connor kindly refused, whereas Reyes accepted his handshake, noting his rather firm grip - before leaving.


"He seems nice," remarked Connor.


"Aye, he does," affirmed Reyes, nodding for a moment. "...So, anyway, Connor, how's your journey been so far? Aside from the whole thief thing, of course."


Connor reflected on it for a moment. Sure, the day had had it's bad points - a one-sided encounter against his childhood nemesis, Ronnie fighting himself into exhaustion and getting poisoned by a thief were not experiences he was quite keen to repeat, and he was convinced they would have made a rotten day for any trainer, let alone a complete newbie. But at the same time, some great things had happened that day, too. He'd gotten his trainer's gear, he'd already made good progress with his starter Pokémon and a new friend, and between Julius and Murphy, he'd met some other very decent people, too. All in all, it was a very solid start.


"Pretty good, but man, I'm exhausted. You wouldn't mind if I went to our room now, would you?"


"Oh, sure! In fact, I'll probably do the same in 30," replied Reyes, handing him his key, "but a word of warning: I don't know much about the movies in Sinnoh, so you're in charge of that. You'd better pick something good, OK?"


"I'll try," laughed Connor with a half-smile, as he got up and grabbed Ronnie's ball before crouching down to face the Steel-type, gently rubbing his head.


"You ready to get some rest, little guy? It's been a long day, and you gotta rest up to get better."


"Ar!" cried out Ronnie in affirmative, giving a single firm nod.


"Good to hear! I'll see you in the morning!"


With that, the Aron returned to his ball, and Connor retired to his room for the night, giving a solitary wave to Reyes.

---

After a mostly uneventful morning, Connor and Reyes departed Jubilife and set off on route to the city of Oreburgh.


Due to her erratic sleep schedule, the pair had missed Florence that morning, and decided to get breakfast before leaving, without waiting for her - due in no small part to Connor's reluctance to disturb the nurse as he had done yesterday. This meant that she couldn't check on Ronnie's progress and, as such, he wasn't as sure as he'd have liked to be on if the Aron's health; however, he seemed to be both well enough and rearing to fight, and so Connor decided that easing him back into fighting was probably the best idea.


"Connor, my man, you worry too much," opined Reyes as the two walked down Route 203. "You did get enough sleep last night, didn't you?"


"Mm? Oh, yeah," said Connor, yawning.


"...What time did you go to sleep?"


"Same time as you."


"Which was…?"


"...Ten?" replied an unsure Connor after a pause, wearing a particularly terrible poker face.


"You stayed up until one again, didn't you?"


Reyes' tone was accusatory and his expression a concerned one as he spoke, and after mere seconds of pause, Connor crumbled, no longer keep up his ruse.


"I'm sorry! I was gonna, but you know I just don't sleep very well, and, uh-"


"Woah, woah," interjected Reyes, letting out a mildly concerned chuckle as he did so and holding up his hand to halt his friend. "It's fine, friend! I don't mean to tell you what you can and can't do, I'm just saying, it might be better for you, especially if you're having bad dreams. Besides, you can't really function too good on five or six hours of sleep."


Connor seemed a little forlorn as he spoke, blushing a little. "Right, yeah. Sorry."


"Don't worry about it! Stop apologising for everything, friend." Reyes' tone was noticeably more urgent, this chuckle sounding more like one of exasperation.


"S-sorry," replied the younger trainer, quickly realising what he had just done and biting his lower lip out of embarrassment, head hung low and eyes affixed to the ground. So flustered was he by the faux pas that he was unable to bring himself to correct it, instead choosing to remain silent.


A hush festered in the air as Reyes tended to the Gible in his arms, giving his companion the opportunity to stew over the events of the previous night. It was quite an odd night, as for the most part, it had been no different to the night before - the two had watched a few more episodes of Masked Rider (a show that Reyes seemed to be growing greatly invested in) and tried to get their Pokémon better acquainted with each other, which proved to be a decidedly more intricate game with Baggo than with Garra (as a matter of fact, him and Ronnie had enjoyed a swimming start to their friendship)... it was just that after that, things went awry.

---

Connor wasn't quite sure if what had happened was a dream or not. He was no stranger to uneasy dreams, having experienced them a fair bit throughout his childhood - something that his parents had always put down to his easily stressed nature. "Don't worry so much," and "you need to stop being so scared of everything," they'd say - they were probably right, considering the effect that the ups and downs of the past two days had had on him. Still, this didn't make the events of the night any easier to recall.


It must have been about four in the morning when Connor found himself conscious, suddenly drenched in sweat and unable to move. The first thing he did was try to reach for Ronnie's Pokéball to check on the Steel-type to make sure that he was okay. This is when things began to get a little strange. Despite his best efforts, nothing would give. It felt as though every muscle in his body had locked up. Connor could not even move his fingers an inch, no matter how hard he tried. Calling out Reyes' name was not possible either, as it felt his jaw had been screwed shut - every effort to make a sound was futile, and the only noise to be heard was the sound of weighted breaths leaving his lungs.


With the claws of sleep paralysis now firmly wrapped around him, things would only get worse. The next stage of this… this experience, for lack of a better word, saw three figures, completely eldritch in appearance, emerge from the blackness that surrounded him. The one to his left was the smallest and, in spite of its jaundice and empty crescent eyes, its wide yet indifferent grin or its skin as dark and blue as the midnight sea, the one Connor found himself least afraid of. Its long, slender body still loomed over him in silence regardless, thin arms holding onto his bedside and unfeeling face sneering at him.


The next apparition came into being shortly afterwards, this time to the boy's right. It was the largest of the trio, and the widest, cutting a deeply unpleasant figure over him. The monster wore black and white striped skin, featureless outside of bloodshot white eyes, pupils the size of spots with eyelids peeled back in glee; a toothy, crazed grin etched onto its face. Atop its head were two spikes, a coal-coloured halo of some sort surrounded it. It took rattling, heavy breaths, throwing its entire body into each exhalation. Deep purple wisps began to emanate around him as he leaned ever closer to a helpless Connor, absolutely reeking as he came nearer and nearer. He could do nothing except look on in dread as sweat bled from every pore, before the figure spoke in guttural tones.


"Heh heh… I'll get ya, you dumb kid. You and ya damn Aron. Wotsisname - Ronnie, ain't it? Heh. That's a stupid name from a stupid trainer. And it only took you a day to put 'im out of commission. It only took you a day for some snot-nosed kid to beat his ass. Poor Pokémon probably hates ya guts, wants ya to keel over and die so it can be free - I wouldn't blame it, neither. Couldn't imagine getting stuck with such a shitty trainer. You don't amount to nothin', boy, and ya won't ever amount to nothing in this world - look what this world did to me, dammit! You ain't no match for it, and if ya think it won't chew you up and spit you out like other deadbeat trash trainers, you're sorely mistaken, so just give 'is Pokéball to me, and go home. Capiche?"


Connor took these words to heart. Whatever this manifestation was, it was right - first the Croagunk debacle, then getting Ronnie so beat up he was unable to fight for two days, all within his first hours of training? He was unfit to look after any Pokémon. It probably would have been for the best to let him go if things kept up like this - as a matter of fact, Connor thought, letting him go in the morning would have been the kindest thing to do.


But… his Pokémon needed him, and it would have been selfish to just abandon him - and he sure as hell wasn't going to prove Hawley right just yet! No, he was going to be the trainer that Ronnie needed, the one he deserved!


But at the same time… what if he was hurting Ronnie? What if his Pokémon didn't want to be with him? What was the best thing to do-


"You're seriously thinkin' about it? Please!" The being was more assertive, harsher as it spoke again. "It's the kindest thing to do. Just hand 'im over, and I'll take better care of 'im than you ever could."


Whilst he was already quite shaken, beginning to feel as though he was beginning to suffocate as the pressure of one thousand convulsions and one million screams built up within him, neither of these deeply unwelcome visitors horrified him as much as the third. This one stood at the foot of his bed, further away from him than the others. He couldn't entirely make out where the darkness ended and this figure began, and at first, the only way he knew it was there was through the two thin yellow eyes that pierced the blackness, both on the same side of his face and squinted so hard that Connor swore they were about to burst from its head. They lay above an open mouth lined with white, sharp fangs. Pointed sanguine spikes lined its body, from head to whatever lay out of Connor's view.


Darting his eyes to the foot of his bed, he that the ghastly presence seemed to be rooted to the ground there. This did not stop it from moving towards him. The opposite, in fact. It twisted and writhed its slender body through the blank space that surrounded Connor with a growling, splitting laugh that seemed to come from the very core of its being as it did so.


"You can't get away from me, you worm," began the beast in a voice that was completely beyond description. "You think you are any match for me? You fool. You aren't even a speck - you are nothing, and you will never be anything more - not even to that friend of yours. Your parents were right, Connor. You should have stayed at home. But now? You have no hope, nobody in this cold, unfeeling world who cares about you… and now, I can eat you alive. And there's nothing you can do to stop me. There's nothing anyone can - or will - do to stop me."


The boy could feel its cold, lifeless breath on his face as it looked him in the eyes with a smile that screamed murder. It was as though it were some sort of two-dimensional serpent from another world as its form stood above Connor from head to toe, both of its awful little beady eyes stabbing into the fabric of his very being. There was absolutely nothing he could do to help himself, and instead could only struggle in vain to escape the suffocating glares of the beasts before him.


For a moment, he could only hear every single thud from his heart.


Time seemed to stand still.


The beasts before him arched their backs up.


They were ready to eat.


With a hiss, they pounced at Connor, and a scream erupted within his lungs-


"-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"


Daylight.


"Connor! You alright?!" replied the voice from the bunk above him in an instant, accompanied by scrambling on the mattress and the creaking of bed springs.


He found himself upright and quaking with every breath, drenched in sweat as his heart pounded like a jackhammer. He darted his head to the clock hung on the wall opposite him. Five minutes past seven.


Wh… what just happened?


He noticed Reyes' dark brown hair and dangling red headband in the peripheral of his vision, and turned his head to see his companion giving him a really rather worried (albeit upside down) look.


"Are you alright? Did you have a bad dream or something?"


Aside from his breathing, he was silent, trying to calm himself down before he replied. It took a few seconds before his breathing came to a steady nadir, the distressed heaving of his chest dwindling into more subdued breaths. Eventually, he was finally composed enough to reply in a coherent fashion.


"...Yeah. I'm fine. I think."


It was just a dream, Connor. Just a dream.


He kept telling himself both of these things - that he was fine, that it was just a dream. No matter how many times he kept repeating them, though, he just couldn't convince himself that either of those things were wholly true.

---

Connor was too embarrassed to tell Reyes exactly what happened last night - besides, he figured that he'd just be met with something along the lines of "you just need to have more confidence," something that was not exactly news to him - and instead just tried not to think about it. When Connor checked on Ronnie that morning, he seemed happy to see him, and he certainly didn't seem to reject his trainer's affection (in fact, the Aron was quite insistent on a good head rub). Perhaps it was just him being too worried about things, as per usual.


Besides, his priority for the day wasn't lingering on the events of the previous night. Instead, he'd set himself two objectives: getting to Oreburgh, and catching a second Pokémon. As such, with Ronnie plodding alongside him, he kept an eye on his surroundings as he went along, wading through tall grass.


Now, the Oreburgh Gym's a Rock-type gym, but Ronnie's a Steel-type, so I think I'll probably be good with type matchups - and having a Flying-type on my team might pay off in the long run, because I can use them for transport, so getting a Starly might be a good bet. At the same time, though… if I were to catch a Bidoof, they evolve into Bibarel, and Bibarel's supposed to be really good for utility because they can cut trees down, they can surf, they can get through rock-


"Connor, watch out!"


"Wh-"


Reyes' call snapped Connor back to reality just long enough for him to dodge out of the way of a swooping Starly, the Flying-type narrowly missing both him and his Aron and instead crashing into the ground.


"Oh, sorr- er... I mean, a Pokémon!" exclaimed the trainer, feeling proud of his save. Off the bat, he noticed that the Starly was a male, judging by the enlarged top of the white mask on its head. It was a little smaller than Starly usually were, too - most pressingly, though, some of the feathers on its right wing seemed to be burnt away a little. White, bone-like structures slightly protruded from blackened feathers. The burns weren't terrible, but their mere presence was still a worry.


This proved tricky for Connor, as the Starly clearly needed help - he was young and, judging by his wing injury and him swooping headfirst into the ground, couldn't fly right. However, as the Pokémon postured up to Ronnie, Connor recognised that he also wasn't going to be caught without a fight, as one was inevitable whether against him or Ronnie, and he didn't fancy getting his fingers pecked away at by an angry bird, and a bird that risked injuring its wing further if it lashed out while he tried to hold it. The best option was to try and weaken it a little until it could be caught.


"Hey, Reyes?" asked Connor, turning to his friend, who stopped in his tracks and faced him. "Would you mind waiting behind for a minute? I'm gonna need to catch this little guy and take him in to the Center in Oreburgh."


"Sure! Go ahead!" said a smiling Reyes in response, carefully looking for a clean tree to lean his longcoat-wearing self against.


"Thank you!"


Connor turned back to the unfolding scene before him. The Starly was posturing even more aggressively towards Ronnie, puffing himself up and spreading his wings as far as he could (in the case of his right wing, this was not very far) in an effort to make himself seem as big as he could. The fact that he hadn't attacked the Aron yet gave Connor a good reason to believe that he wasn't the Flying-type's priority. Ronnie, meanwhile, had narrowed his eyes and begun to let out a low-pitched growl, standing his ground and refusing to let his opponent pass.


This Pokémon was a rather feisty one, it seemed, but him didn't seem as interested in attacking Ronnie as it did him; the prospect of the Pokémon having problems with people was an inconvenient one, sure, but this was still a Pokémon that was in need of help - and what sort of person, Connor thought, would I be if I didn't provide that help?


In his final seconds of thought before the start of the battle, he realised he had two concerns: one, that his goal was not to knock the Starly out as much as it was to subdue it so that it could be captured without much resistance; two, under no circumstances could he attack its right wing.


First of all, the Starly likely had the speed advantage here - as such, attacking first wasn't the safest bet when he could just dodge out of the way. "Alright, Ronnie! First of all, you're gonna wanna Harden!"


Crying an affirmative, the Aron exerted its effort into strengthening its metallic outer coat, prompting the Starly to try and peck at his head. Beak barely impacted head in a move that was almost entirely futile due to Ronnie's physical defences and Steel/Rock-typing.


Connor noticed that the Starly's talons were dug into the ground, giving him an idea. "Next of all, give him your toughest Headbutt - but keep your head at his chest!"


Ronnie nodded once again, preparing himself for a moment before propelling his thick skull at Starly's crest. The Flying-type let out a startled and decently pained cry as its head snapped backwards, resting on his foe's thick, metallic and unmoving head in anger. Lacking the power to budge Ronnie's head an inch, he resorted to slapping him with his good wing, which mostly unscathed him.


All was good so far for Connor - he had both Ronnie and the Starly right where he wanted, and if he acted fast enough, the injured Pokémon would have no means of escape. "Now, while your head's still there, Tackle him - and keep going until you're against a tree!"


Slowly but surely, Ronnie made his advance, driving his head harder and harder into Starly's midsection and moving straight ahead in determined silence. The Starly began to unleash a flurry of panicked pecking and flapping as he realised he could do very little to stop this - he talons created marks on the ground as they were dragged along, and removing them was no easy feat; even if he managed to, he couldn't fly away with his wing in the shape it was. Slowing or stopping Ronnie was getting less and less likely as the tree came nearer and nearer, too, as the already mostly ineffective pecks and flaps were rendered useless further by Ronnie's hardened state.


Connor didn't get much enjoyment out of this as he did relief. He was thankful that he didn't have to put the Starly in as much discomfort as he'd first thought, and he reckoned that with another well-placed Headbutt from Ronnie once he was cornered, the Starly wouldn't be able to put up much in the way of resistance to a ball. Not only that, but it went some way to assuring Connor that the "dream" of the previous night was just that - a dream. His Pokémon seemed perfectly happy following his command, and was willing to put up with a few pecks and wing slaps here and there for him… of course, there was always the chance that that was Ronnie being territorial and acting out of self-defence - snap out of it, Connor, and let yourself have this!


The Starly was already quite exhausted by the time Ronnie's march finished with a shunt into the uneven bark of a tree trunk, the breath forced from his lungs. That didn't mean he was ready to go down just yet, though - far from it. Sure, he may have had a disadvantage in experience, moveset, current position, ability to attack, ability to defend, health, strategy, and amount of intact limbs, but to a ticked off bird, that didn't matter in the slightest. As Ronnie reared himself backwards to prepare for a headbutt, it laid its focus on the Aron's trainer. The human. All he needed was a good, clear shot at his face, a few jabs of the beak, and that was that over with. But he didn't have much of a window.


Ronnie's head was coming closer and closer.


This was his chance to get away!


The steely head of his foe rammed towards him...


...as he prepared to take flight…


...closer and closer…


...he launched himself into the air…


...and he was off…


...until his burnt wing gave in in an instant, and he crashed into the grass, unmoving.


Before he even had time to properly register his failure, Connor decided that keeping this fight up any longer would have just been cruel. With an overarm throw, he hurled a Pokéball at the defeated Flying-type as the Starly lay on the ground, the capturing device bouncing once before emitting a beam of light that engulfed it.


It wobbled once, as Connor watched on, anxious.


It wobbled again, with Ronnie plodding towards it cautiously.


It wobbled for a third time, Reyes paying close attention to it.


Click.


Connor shouldn't have been as overjoyed as he was, he felt; considering it was an injured and underlevelled Starly, it was hardly an earth-shattering victory. Furthermore, it seemed to hate his guts - there was always the possibility that it just hated humans in general - he was a little worried that he wouldn't be able to look after it adequately, or that its injuries were worse than they first seemed, and he'd end up having to give the Pokémon to a rescue at a Center. But at the same time… he'd caught his first Pokémon, all on his own. He'd proven to himself that he could do it - he was on his way to being the trainer he hoped he could be, and he wasn't about to let a poorly wing get in the way of giving this Starly a good home.


Sheer joy coursed through every inch of his body as his face lit up like a firework, his legs running as fast as they could carry him as he rushed to pick up his capture and fell into a knee slide through the grass, pumping his arm in glee. Ronnie plodded on towards him in anticipation of a head rub, and was caught completely off guard when a cheering Connor wrapped his arms around the Steel-type, hugging him as tightly as he could.


"Great job, Ronnie! I couldn't have done it without you, buddy!" exclaimed the boy, petting his little metal companion in delight. He completely forgot for a moment that Ronnie weighed upwards of one hundred and thirty pounds, and his ill-judged attempt to lift him up completely failed, but he couldn't have cared less at that moment.


Reyes came to his feet and approached the pair, finding the sight of the Aron nuzzling his trainer's chest impossible to not crack a smile at. "Nice going, you two! Connor, have you thought of a name for your new friend?"


Connor turned to Reyes, beaming like a madman. In all honesty, he had been too preoccupied to think of a name, but that had been at the bottom of his list of priorities. He had to divert his attention from squeezing the cold steely mass in his arms as tightly as he could for a moment as the cogs of his brain whirred, thinking up a good moniker for his new (possibly temporary) companion.


"...Byrne, I think," he replied, recalling the Starly's injury. "I'll call him Byrne."


"Not a bad choice," said Reyes, "not bad at all. Do you want to get yourself, uh... what's the word - acquainted? Or shall we keep going?"


Connor thought about this, smiling at Ronnie's adoring, wide as the moon eyes as he glanced past them, looking down at the quaking ball on his belt before responding. "I would, but he's not really a happy camper at the moment, I don't think. I'll wait until he's not as keen to take my fingers off," he said with a chuckle.


"Fair enough. I'm ready when you are, then."


Using his free hand to properly slot Byrne's Pokéball back into his holder, he gave Ronnie a final rub of the head before getting back to his feet, looking at his little metal partner with a nod and a smile. Ronnie returned the gesture, and with that, Connor and Reyes continued onto Oreburgh, Pokémon in tow.

---

It hadn't been an easy day for Hawley.


He should have been in the mines at Oreburgh by now, or at the very least outside of Jubilife. Yet here he was, stuck in Jubilife. Tomyris, his leading Pokémon, was still recovering from yesterday, and he had had to cut his attempt at crossing Route 203 when Clausewitz got too injured to fight any further - Hawley had no potions on hand at that moment, and had to retreat back to Jubilife's Pokémon Center. The nurse - who, thankfully, was a different one from yesterday, and as such didn't give him an earful about the whole "no training" thing - patched up those injuries, but Hawley was in no mood to head out again. Not with a splitting headache. Besides, it had just gone four in the afternoon, and it would have been past midnight by the time he got to Oreburgh.


As he walked along the streets of Jubilife to clear his mind a little, he saw something in the window of an electronics shop and stopped to survey it. He had no interest in some second-rate romcom; rather, his focus was on his own face. His sleep the previous night was shortened by disappointment over that day's events, and it showed in his angered expression and baggy eyes. These were not, as the soulless actor on the screen said as part of some garish joke, "come to bed" eyes as much as they were "I will kill you with an axe" eyes. Whilst Hawley didn't consider this a particularly eloquent turn of phrase, it was a good reflection of his current mood. To him, the day had been squandered; it was a write-off, a failure. He wasn't quite sure it could have gotten any worse as he continued on down the streets.


What he hadn't considered was the possibility of someone reaching into his pocket and making off with Tomyris' Pokéball, which is exactly what happened.


"Motherf- HEY!" he screamed, letting Clausewitz loose as the thief sprinted off. He and his Shinx snarled as the pair bolted down the street, the sound of Hawley's heavy boots echoing through the sparse street with the vigour of a herd of stampeding Tauros. Just who did this piece of scum, this worthless pile of refuse, think he was, running off with Tomyris - his Pokémon, and his friend - like that? And did he expect to get out of this in one piece? It would be a cold day in hell before that happened, and Hawley was going to make sure of it!


Most passers-by merely walked on, trying not to let this chaos distract them from going about their day; some shot bewildered looks at the scene as they walked on. Some had to dodge out of the way of either the thief or the five-foot-ten juggernaut and his little blue companion that charged after him, with an unlucky few being barged out of the path of the red-haired wrecking ball by force. The ballyhoo was inescapable, though, as the chase continued down the long and narrow streets of Jubilife, with Hawley slowly gaining ground on the thief with each sharp turn.


One place that was yet to be sucked into the commotion was the Grind House Tearoom, a café that hosted one very tired man with bleach white hair by the name of Julius. He had been up until the early hours of the morning with work issues, and with the way his day was going now, it seemed this would be happening again. As such, he had taken this time, the only real break from work he was to enjoy that day, to get some coffee; black with no cream, just the way he liked it. It was a pleasant way to relax after the events of the previous days, with work being strenuous as ever and him getting involved with that thief situation with those two boys.


"Stop running, you turd! Or I'll ram this boot so far up your ass you'll taste leather!"


Of course, this all changed with the sight of a man clad in black fumbling a Pokéball into his pocket, a screaming young man in a dark green jacket storming down the street in pursuit. This young man, in particular, was one Julius recognised from a Pokémart a couple of days ago, putting someone in quite the painful situation for something similar to this, which led him to believe that he could clearly handle himself; nevertheless, it seemed as though he was having some trouble catching up with this fellow, this criminal who had wronged him.


With a sigh, he took another sip of his coffee before dragging himself to his feet, placing the cup in the bin (the plastic recycling one, of course) before taking off in pursuit.


Around the corner, meanwhile, Hawley's vision began to blur a little as a metaphorical hammer banged against his head, his broken nose causing him a great deal of distress. He was beginning to lose sight of the thief as he turned the street corner, and with him, Tomyris - who, despite knowing for only a very short time, was someone he was proud to consider his closest companion, and with whom he'd already been through some good times and some bad times. Losing her absolutely wasn't an option - who would he have to vent to in his loneliest hours? Who would he show to his father as his star Pokémon, his pride and joy, when he took on the League some months down the line? Who would he have to terrorise Connor with?


In a last-ditch effort, as his legs began to slow down, he called out to Clausewitz in a burst of rage. "We're not… letting him... get away!" he declared, through deep breaths in and out. "Thunderbolt him! Aim for his pocket!"


"Shaaa!" came the reply from his companion.


So caught up was Hawley in this exchange, though, that he failed to notice the loud clang of a can of garbage against the floor a few seconds prior, and while his anger was enough to keep him running, it wasn't enough to help him spot either the overturned can or its spilt contents. As a result, his shin banged against the metal can, tripping him over and sending him tumbling to the ground with a pained yelp. A violent arc of electricity shot out of Clausewitz's tail in the meantime with a zap, but it fell short of its target, and the thief was on the verge of escaping.


The thief's tone was a triumphant one as he kept running. "Kahah! Serves ya right, asshole! Nobody fights back against the Jubilife mob and gets away with- oof!"


Unfortunately for him, though, he failed to spot the lamppost in front of him.


The force of the impact was enough to force him to pause and rub his head in anguish, bringing him to a halt just long enough for Clausewitz to catch up to him and get a better shot with a second, more successful Thunderbolt. The electricity coursed through him, his nerves ringing in agony as his nervous system went berserk, each of his muscles contracting and spasming on and off, as his body thrashed on the floor in shouts of agony.


Hawley's expression shifted from one of disgust and self-contempt into one of delight, his eyes still stinging as they lit up with glee when he sprung to his feet and launched himself at the incapacitated thief and his stolen Pokéball, not even bothering to wipe the grime picked up from the fall off his clothes as he made a swoop for the ball.


"Stop, thie-"


He turned around to see a man in a shirt and tie at the other end of the empty street, his tired face visibly quite surprised as his posture eased. He let his pointing arm down to his side and approached the scene, showing his palms to communicate that he wasn't a threat.


"I've got him!" hollered back Hawley. "Back off!"


The reply was tinged with a modest little laugh. "It's quite alright, I don't mean any harm."


Squinting in suspicion, Hawley grabbed his Pokéball before standing back up. Clausewitz fluffed himself up to make his presence known to this intruder as he and his trainer cautiously approached to meet him.


The two faced each other from a shorter distance, as Julius spoke. "You were the one from the Pokémart a few days ago, weren't you?"


"Eh?" replied Hawley, stopping when he was a couple of feet away.


"A couple of days ago, in the Pokémart. Someone tried to steal something from you, and you knocked them out. That was you, wasn't it? Or am I just-"


"No, that was me. What about it?" Hawley was interrogative in tone as he replied, his nostrils flared and eyebrow raised as though someone had just threatened to shoot him.


"I see. What's your name, young man?"


"Don't call me young man, asshole!" demanded Hawley in a shout, shooting a finger towards the man.


Julius was quite taken aback by his sudden outburst, and could only reply with an "Oh, my apologies."


"Anyway, why should I tell you? If anything, you should tell me who you are first."


He put on his warmest smile and rather gingerly offered his hand to Hawley. "My name is Julius," he said, "and I ask because you seem like quite a promising y- er, trainer. You've been doing this for how long?"


Julius' slip up flew under Hawley's radar, masked by the compliment - a compliment at which he couldn't help but crack a smile at. Finally, it seemed, he was getting some respect. "A few days. Started this week. Why?" was his response, as was accepting Julius' offer of a handshake (which, he noted, was surprisingly limp).


"I see. Care to walk and talk?"


Hawley decided he didn't really have anywhere better to be, and given his judgement on his ability, figured that this guy probably knew what he was talking about. Still, just in case he was a creep of some sort, it didn't hurt to be too careful. "Sure, I guess. Clausewitz, follow us."


His companion chirped in affirmation, and so the trio began to walk.


"Your nose - that's a recent development, I assume?" asked Julius, reminding Hawley of the bandage on it. "Was it there a few days ago?"


"No, it wasn't," he replied, looking at the ground as he walked.


"I see. Care to tell me what happened?"


Hawley had to restrain himself from asking, in strongly worded terms, if he suddenly had a therapist now before he could respond. "I got into a fight."


"Did you start it?"


"N- well, I didn't escalate it, but yeah. It was just a Pokémon battle at first, though. I had to do it to 'em."


Julius gave him a dubious look. "Did you, though?"


"Of course! They made eye contact with me, and this kid - oh, I've known him for a while; he had it coming, let me tell you."


Julius recalled his conversation with Connor a couple of days ago, and figured that "this kid" was probably him. He seemed like a nice enough boy, and not someone who would resort to physical violence - let alone win at it - which prompted him to press the matter further. "Why did it escalate, then?"


"Look, you wouldn't get - ach, just drop it, okay?!" snapped Hawley.


"I mean, you must have done something to upset him to make him resort to attacking you."


"It was his friend that punched me, if you must know," coldly retorted the boy, "but I really don't see why you can't drop this."


"If you must know," said Julius, "it's because, as I said, you seem like a very promising young trainer. Someone with a lot of potential - I mean, both times I've come across you, you've managed to put down some sort of unreputable character by yourself. I've no doubt you and your Pokémon, that Shinx and the one you've just reclaimed, could go on to do great things someday."


Hawley felt a sense of pride rush over him as he replied. "Thank you, but I don't see-"


"The key word there is 'could.' Before you move onto these great things, you need to work on your attitude first. You can have all the raw talent in the world - and in your case, it seems you do - but it won't amount to much if you misuse it. Why do you think you got your nose broken?"


"Simple, his Pokémon were stronger than mine-"


"No, it was because you attacked someone when you had no need to. Whatever your reasoning was for it, it was clearly flawed if it led you into a situation you could not win. Once again, I've no doubt you can become one of the best, but you can't go around attacking people and not expect to be punished for it - you need to sort your mindset out and put that talent into something better, or you'll fall behind people who've spent less of their energy on hate and violence without reason, and more on helping those around them - and, as a result, helping themselves."


"Oh, don't preach to-"


"I understand this may sound like preaching, but think of, say, the parable of the gods of time and space. As incredibly powerful as Giratina was - with its two forms, some would argue more so than Dialga and Palkia - you only need to look at how it used its powers to see why it was banished to another realm, whereas its colleagues, who used those powers for a net positive, are revered as the rulers of time and space over all of us."


Considering this for a moment, Hawley vaguely nodded in understanding. As completely uninterested in religion as he was, he did see his point.


"Of course, as much as I believe in the gods, I still think organized religion is a bit of a sham. But it's still a valid message - even having all the power in the world means nought if one doesn't accomplish much for the good of the world, don't you think?"


"...Aye."


Julius glanced down at the rather worn watch on his wrist. "I should probably be going, now, because I need to get back to work. But please, do consider what I said - it would be a real shame to see such talent going to waste. I'm not saying that you go and become a monk or anything like that; rather, I'm just proposing that you be a little kinder to your fellow man, and try to stay out of fights if they help nobody in the long run."


Hawley contemplated what the man said, before looking back at him. "I think I get you…?"


"If you want to contact me, you can always find me at the GERECHT building, alright?" replied Julius as he walked away with a smile and a wave.


As he went off on his own, Hawley thought about the conversation he had just had. Of course, he still believed he was right to attack Connor - he still had to show that kid who was boss, after all; besides, after that whole ordeal all those years ago, he still had it coming. A Wilkins never forgets, he thought. He wasn't about to let that Reyes figure off the hook easily, either. He was no better than Hawley, hitting him when he was unable to defend himself properly like that - at least he knew when to stop.


However, at the same time, what Julius said, about those who use their talents to help others being remembered as the good, weighed on his mind. After all, as the saying went, "good always triumphs over evil" - a statement from which Hawley inferred that good was always stronger than evil, and as such if he wasn't winning, he was on the side of evil. It began to click for him - if he helped the community and perhaps forged his own circle of friend, then the community would help him in return, and both he and his friends would support each other in rising up the food chain.


If he was to do his old man proud, rise to the top and carry on the pride of the Wilkins name, perhaps it wouldn't have hurt to have people who he could support, and who he could, in turn, challenge him and help him improve.


But who?


This train of thought whirred on in Hawley's head as he took a seat on a nearby bench, releasing Tomyris from her Pokéball and carefully looking her over, trying to hide his anxiety on the matter. Something about her usually passive stare worried him - she seemed a little shaken, her eyebrows arched and smile noticeably forced.


"Are you alright?" he asked, unable to properly mask the concern in his voice. "You still a little upset about the whole ordeal, eh?"


Met with high-pitched croaks, he gently rubbed the top of his companion's head and mumbled reassurances at her as he cast his mind back to his youth. One person stood out to him - the one who had that Pokémon, who was a couple of years older than him and was always down to show that damn Connor who was boss.


Ah, yes, him - Kurt, his name was. The two hadn't spoken in a while, but Hawley recalled that they were on good terms. A little quieter and more reserved in his actions that he was, but just as capable. As a matter of fact, considering the gap in experience he was probably more capable than Hawley was - not a bad place to learn from. And that Pokémon of his… Larvantrum? Larvitar? Something along those lines - whatever it was, it was probably quite the beast these days. Rock-type, too, if he recalled - perhaps with his and Tomyris' help, he could get some practice against fighting-types and, in time, overcome the type disadvantage.


If, Hawley thought, he needed to be good in order to be truly strong, and he had to be good by helping those around him, then with the way his journey had gone so far it was no wonder he was so easily thrashed by Reyes. But that was soon to change, of course, when Hawley got his ass in gear and started doing something for the community as a whole to show that he was strong - and that started with being a positive influence on some friends. That'd surely get the ball rolling that sent him to the top, after all.

Author's Notes: this chapter and the next take their name from the Pink Floyd song, "The Thin Ice." Does it fit the events of these chapters much, musically or lyrically? Not particularly, it's a filler track from The Wall, but hey ho, the title sounded neat at the time and kinda reflects the tone of the chapters.

---

---

Bathing in fluorescent light as he strutted up the stairs of Sandgem Town's Pokémon laboratory and into his office, lit only by the first hints of sunrise, Professor Murphy took his poorly-sized seat with a bowl of cereal in hand and opened up his laptop. It was a weary old thing, with its dingy plastic hinges and cheap black frame. Desperately in need of a clean, it was, he felt as he pried it open. Or a replacement. Whichever was cheaper.


As he took off the crescent-moon necklace that hung from his neck to place it on the back of his chair, crackling filled the air; flickering blue arcs shot danced around the computer as it came to life. The professor, his mouth full of cereal, only gave an impressed nod as he swallowed. "And good morning to you, too, Rotom!"


"Hi - ZZZT - James! How are you doing?"


An electric orange colour filled the dusty LED as two eyes blinked to life. The smile that lit up the screen made its home firmly to the left of the uncanny valley, as a voice crackled through the old laptop's speakers.


"I'm quite alright, myself," replied the professor, carefully leaning back on his rickety wooden chair. "How are you?"


"I - ZZZT - am good! If I am reading this correctly, you have - fifty-three - new emails. Would you like me to - ZZZT - check them for spam?"


"Please."


"Okay!"


The face on the screen went blank for what felt like minutes. It made sure to blink from time to time and kept smiling as emails upon emails were carefully scoured - dodgy newsletters, privacy policy updates, and even one rather dubious medication sales pitch, all of which went in the spam bin. By the time life poured back into Rotom's eyes, the vast majority of them had been dumped. "You have - one - new email. Would you like me to - ZZZT - read it to you?"


A grin lit up Murphy's face as he nodded, giving his laptop a pleased look. "Oh, of course! Who's it from?"


"Apparently, it's from one... Connor Murdoch."


"Excellent! Let's see how he's doing. Rotom, if you would?"


A window full of text popped up on the screen, partially covering the face on the desktop. "Ahem..."


So, as Rotom read out the message, Murphy sat intently listening. His eyes followed Rotom's shrill voice as it rattled through the email - behind them, his brain strung a reply together, continuing to do so even after the laptop went quiet. Once the reading was finished, he nodded, a gleeful little smile perking up on his face. "Thank you, Rotom!"


Rotom was visibly pleased by this, eyes closing and smile widening in joy. "ZZZT - my pleasure!"


Eventually, he hunched over towards the keyboard, and began thudding in his reply:


Dear Connor,


Thank you very much for the email! Of course I remember you; you made quite the impression, young man - you were certainly very knowledgeable about Pokémon, and a bright little guy such as yourself deserves to be a trainer. It is good to hear that you and Ronnie are doing well, and I'm very pleased that you have made a new friend! That being said, the news about Roark and the situation in Oreburgh is a concern. If things go south, try and stay safe; I would imagine that it will blow over eventually, and any conflict will be dealt with by people more thoroughly trained than yourself. I shall try and monitor the situation on the news and let you know if I have any advice as it develops.


I am doing very well myself! It has been a busy few days, as is normal for this time of year. It's always good to see an uptake in bright young trainers (such as yourself). I am also training for the upcoming League this December - things are going well so far, and hopefully they'll stay that way for when the tournament arrives!


As for reading on legendaries, the Pokedex and the Canalave library are both very good resources for that sort of thing. If you want any particular recommendations, though, I suggest the following [and I shall try and cover as many legends as I can]:


Genesis: The Birth of Space and Time, by Beatrix Verstand, is a very broad (and fairly deep) analysis of the stories of Palkia, Dialga and Giratina and their effect on Sinnoh's society;


Pixies by the Lakes, by Magdalena Hedegaard, is an excellent read regarding Uxie, Mesprit and Azelf - specifically their impact on ancient Sinnohan rulers;


Dream On, Sinnoh!, by yours truly :-), is quite the study on how the age-old myths about Cresselia and Darkrai affect popular culture today, in particular movies, and


Geothermic Power is Not Feasible, Actually (and Taming Heatran for That Purpose is a Horrible Idea), by John P. Akinyemi, explores the debate on just how reliable using the magma beast of Stark Mountain to power our homes would be. Akinyemi's answer is spoiled in the infamously long title, of course, but it is still a very good write-up on the discussion (and, indeed, on the Pokémon itself.)


I'm signing off for now, but I hope things are well, and I hope you enjoy my recommendations!


Yours truly,


James Murphy, PhD


Professor of Pokémon at Sandgem Laboratory

---

"Anyway, Connor: that's the story of how Kyogre and Groundon, the beasts of land and sea, were actually lovers!"


A dubious Connor clamped down on his lower lip, his only slightly dubious gaze shifting to the side. "Um, R-Reyes, I, uh… I thought it was, ah - I thought it was pronounced Groudon?"


"...You are correct," came his friend's reply after a brief pause, his cheesy half-grin at Connor and his similarly skeptical Aron masking an ocean of torrential shame up to his eyeballs.


It was two in the afternoon, and the pair had spent what felt like the past year slouched on opposite sides of a PokémonCenter's glass table. They had spent that time discussing fables, legends and mythical tales from their homelands. None of them were entirely accurate; most of Connor's information had come from a recollection of the sources Murphy had given him (in the email he had read first thing in the morning, and was both eternally grateful for and too daunted to reply to) that he had skimmed over, whereas most of Reyes' was from hazy childhood memories of books and tales from his family… and, admittedly, a good chunk of it was off the top of his head, for the sake of entertainment. This didn't stop it from being a fun little way to pass the time. Even if one of them lacked the confidence to tell a story without stumbling through it, and the other was far too liberal with artistic license.


It had also passed enough time, too, as almost on cue, the voice of the nurse on duty rang through the Center. "Anyone waiting for the Starly with a burnt wing?"


"I think that's us." Connor turned to Ronnie, giving him a firm pat on the back. A high pitched grunt of acknowledgment came from deep within his little metal companion and the pair came to their feet, strolling over to the nurse's desk. They were greeted with a half-sincere smile, the nurse's (admittedly, only slightly) scarred hand tapping under the desk.


"Okay," she began, air fleeing her nostrils, "to begin with: we've bandaged his wing for the time being. It's not a large bandage, although he probably won't be flying for a week. It's still a fairly recent injury, and although that wing may always be a bit funny, for the time being he seems to be making a good recovery from, which is… mostly good news."


Upon hearing this, Connor found himself wearing an optimistic expression - one that was short-lived, his grin soon evaporating. "Mostly?"


"See, the thing is… and I feel a little bad saying this, considering this is a Pokémon that has clearly undergone abuse from humans… um..."


"Uh… if you don't mind me asking, does he have, like - behavioural problems, of some sort?" said Connor, trying to help the nurse.


"He's a right little shit, pardon my Kalosian." The nurse revealed the back of her hand to the boys - a large scar spread its middle, its length index to ring finger, before speaking in an incredulous wheeze. "I'm lucky I didn't need stitches!"


Reyes furrowed an eyebrow, surveying the damage. "Ehhh, I've had worse," he grumbled with a dismissive hand wave, his other arm wrapped around Garra. "He's only a little bird, is he not? I hardly think he'll kill us - and besides, I'll have you know, my friend here? Very good at dealing with this sort of thing."


"With all due respect, sir, I'm a nurse," replied the nurse, rolling her eyes. "Dealing with this sort of thing is literally my job."


"Well, I…" Reyes began to speak, before noticing Connor go as pink as a Jigglypuff in the peripheral of his vision, his mouth an uneasy zigzag. "...Oh, ah - that's fair enough. Forgive me."


Connor, without turning away from the nurse, nodded in thanks before continuing. "So… um, please could you show me where he is?"


"Oh, I have his Pokéball in the back - I'm not sure letting him out in a wide open space is the best course of action. Wanna come in?"


The pair nodded, as did their Pokémon, and followed the nurse as she stuck her key in the faded white back door, twisting it and shunting it as it opened with a wail. Even though it was, to that point, the least broken place they'd seen in Oreburgh, the room was still not up to scratch for a Pokémon Center. It was a cramped little room, longer than it was wide, lit by flickering yellow light, light that reflected off the admittedly meticulously polished stainless steel surfaces and shone upon the plain blue flooring. Both the chair and the table clung near the walls of the place, and both were probably sufficient for someone of Reyes' size and not much more - he certainly couldn't imagine the pizza delivery woman from last night on either of them.


Also clung to the wall was a set of shelves, one of which had a row of Pokéballs on it. This was the one the nurse was at eye level with, as she gave it a look across, before asking a question Connor did not expect to instill such fear in the air. "Yours will be the one with… Byrne written on it, I presume?"


"It, uh… it should be, yeah." Wobbly knees crept up on him as the group approached the table. Jitters crawled up his spine, crawled into his limbs. His stomach wrung itself and his hands began to jitter. Steel rubbed against his jeans as Ronnie arched up to his shin. Oceans of terror raged in the pits of his being, and a mask of sweat clung to his face. The silliness of comparing an injured Starly's Pokéball to Pandora's box was not on Connor's mind at that moment. What if Byrne attacked him, or attacked Ronnie, and had to be taken away?


The nurse could only offer a look concerned and confused in equal measure. "Uh… are you okay, young man?"


"Connor? Is everything okay, friend?" came Reyes' voice from beside him, decidedly more worried than usual.


"Yeah, I'm - I'm fine, uh - do you mind if we just get this over with?"


Unsure what to make of the situation, the nurse obliged. "I'm gonna take a step back and keep an eye on how this goes, if that's okay with both of you," she declared, only slightly out of a masked morbid curiosity. "I would suggest not getting too close to him, as he is a little bitey, and if you want him back in the ball, let me know - but I figure you may want to take this time to decide what to do with him."


With a click of the button on the ball in her hand, out came Byrne, the ball of rage and feathers himself, in a glorious and furious cacophony of screeching and squawking. His cries ripped through the air with the might of a jumbo jet, loud enough to shatter eardrums and shrill enough to destroy windows. It was peculiar to see such a frail little thing, barely able to lift himself up for only a few seconds at a time, create such a scene. His eyes held themselves shut, and his beak snapped away at any rogue fingers or hands bold enough to enter his domain - as Reyes learned quite quickly, when he reached a hand out towards the beast and met with a clamping down on the pinky finger hard enough to draw blood.


To his side, Connor felt Ronnie huddle up ever closer to him, soft whimpering noises coming out of his little metal companion (noises that were drowned out by both Byrne's screeching and Reyes cursing over and over under his breath) and worried blue eyes staring up at him. One hand on the Pokéball on his belt, he crouched down and began to rub his knuckles against the Aron's forehead, muttering reassurances before he was calm enough to be withdrawn safely.


"Connor, was it? Do you want me to put him back in his ball now?" called out the nurse across the squawking as she applied a band-aid to Reyes' mortally wounded little finger. By this point, Garra had grown reckless in the clutches of his trainer's other arm, wriggling about and almost biting down a few times for a shot at Byrne - who was, thankfully, starting to tire out after about a minute of pure thrashing rage.


"Actually, I think I'll be alright." In the hubbub of the situation, then, it surprised Connor when he found himself blurting commands out. "Reyes, I don't mean to, ah, boss you around or anything, but you wouldn't be able to put Garra back in his ball and possibly take a step back, would you?"


This was met with a look that Connor had not anticipated being so warm. "Oh, of course," was Reyes' response as he obliged.


Now, nothing stood between him and Byrne. Nobody was at risk but himself. So he figured there was only one thing he could really do in this situation, and that was what he did best. Weight escaped his shoulders as he inched ever so slightly closer to the ball of rage before him. The Starly's movements had slowed into little more than aggressive flops by this point, although his beak was still snapping at anything nearby. Which was why Connor kept his palms quite high above the table when showing them to the angry little bird, determined to extend an olive branch. "Hey, hey, hey, hey," he spoke softly, getting an eye roll and amused look from the nurse behind him.


A look that was quickly wiped off her face when Byrne seemed to stop thrashing, quieten down, and give Connor a willing look in the eyes. This was an outcome that the trainer had not been particularly expecting, if he was perfectly honest. As such, he did find himself stumbling a bit with what to actually do with Byrne's attention, now that he had it…


The dingy little room fell silent for a few moments as the boy scrambled to come up with a coherent way to go about things before he finally made his first move: quite noticeably turning his attention towards Byrne's injured wing, steering his head towards it and gesturing lightly at it. He was met with a sharp hiss in reply. Making a mental note to not under any circumstances go near the wing, he returned his palms to their earlier position as slowly as he could. The Starly's reaction had put him on edge, and it took a moment for his breathing to return to normal after that little fright.


With that done, he cleared his throat, gave the Starly a warm smile (making sure not to bare his teeth - he didn't want Byrne to view him as a predator), and began to coo in his soft, slow and steady voice. "Hey. It's okay if you're upset. I understand. But I don't want to hurt you, I want to help you. So please don't lash out, alright?"


Byrne seemed to understand the gist of what Connor was saying. Giving him an attentive look and a tilted head, it was noticeable that his temper was cooling off. Of course, he clearly didn't trust his prospective trainer fully just yet, and so, for now, proving his trustworthiness through touch was still off the table. Still, this was a promising start. The trainer decided to gradually lean in just ever so closer, slower than windmill blades as he did so. Byrne didn't seem to react too negatively to that, either - good sign.


Connor's volume went down by a fair few decibels, his tone becoming even more amicable, as he continued to speak in what was now closer to a whisper. "Listen, listen, listen, hey, hey, hey, it's going to be alright. I promise. I'm not going to hurt you. It's going to be alright." Byrne took a vigilant step forwards - it was going better than Connor had expected by this point, that was for certain. Truth be told, actually, he felt ever so slightly tempted to turn around and take a look at the nurse's reaction, were it not for the fact that turning away his attention from Byrne probably wouldn't have gone down well. That and he would have felt bad being so cocky about it.


Now that the Starly was closer, Connor decided that now was a good time to see how he reacted to hands. The risk of being bitten at the forefront of his mind, he steeled his nerves regardless, biting the bullet and gently, gently moving his right hand closer to Byrne. Going with his left hand, he felt, was a bad idea, as the bad wing was opposite it - and that was an area that he knew better than to go near. He slowly rotated it until the Starly had a sideways view of his hand - leading with a wide open palm would likely have spooked him, and leading with the back of the hand probably wouldn't have worked either.


Byrne met this by taking a couple of steps backward, still apprehensive but growing more visibly comfortable with Connor's presence. The boy, meanwhile, was still adamant in not making any sudden movements to throw him off-guard. The most essential thing here, he felt, was doing things not on his terms, but on Byrne's, and so far this was a philosophy that paid off very well. Once the hand was eye level with Byrne, he stopped moving it. His breathing slowed once more, now at a pace to rival that of a hibernating Ursaring, in an effort to steady that arm - after all, if the Pokémon knew that he was at all frightened, his chances of gaining his trust would have taken a hit for the time being. Next, he took a note of Byrne's body language at that point - he wasn't puffing his feathers out, and his widely-pupilled eyes were beginning to dilate. Things were still going positively - things were still going good. Alright, good.


It was dawned on him that neither Reyes nor the nurse had said anything yet - something he was very much grateful for (a silent environment allowed him to focus), but something that he also felt was pressuring him a bit by this point. If he made a mistake by now, it would spell absolute humiliation - he doubted he would have heard the end of it from either of them, probably. All it took was one slip and he'd end up with a bleeding hand, shot confidence, shattered trust with his newest Pokémon...


He took another deep breath to calm his nerves. Failure wasn't a necessity by any means - it had all gone well so far, why did it need to stop now? No, he decided that he needed to take his greatest leap yet. Gingerly, as though he were in a bomb disposal uniform staring straight at a mess of wires and a ticking clock, he hovered his hand closer and closer to the crown on Byrne's head. He didn't feel as though there was any other natural conclusion to this session with the Starly, and depending on how the Flying-type took it, it was possible he'd have a new member of his team very soon. Slowly, slowly, slowly, he jittered his hand closer to the bird - knowing that Reyes and the nurse were both watching in bated breath, that all eyes were on him - he inched ever nearer to Byrne, barely even being able to look at where he was going, fully expecting a sharp beak jabbing into his fingers...


A beak that never came. Air escaped his nostrils as he felt his knuckles touch the Starly's feathery forehead. Taking a look, it seemed Byrne was content with this - not too pleased about it, certainly, and Connor reckoned that if birds could frown they'd look a spitting image to the grumpy, defeated Starly before him.


But it was a start.


Slowly rubbing the feathers, he swung his jaw open, relieved gasps of air escaping his mouth. With his spare arm, he wiped his baggy sleeve against the sweat that drenched his brow, his expression morphing into a delighted smile. He turned around to see the nurse, a very much pleasantly surprised look on her face, and Reyes, who looked as if he was about to burst. "Nice going, Connor!" he yelled, unable to resist an exaggerated fist pump as his voice filled the room.


"Thank-"


It was at this moment that Connor felt a sharp pinch cut into the skin on the side of his hand. His eyes widened in horror, his teeth slammed shut, his face puffed up like a balloon as he turned to see Byrne, still very much displeased, taking a nibble out of him.


Oh, bother.


Despite his best efforts, he couldn't hold back an agonised scream.

---

It was about half past ten in the morning the next day when Reyes and Connor found themselves leaving the Center the next morning. The pair both had one thing in common - band-aided hands from Byrne's attacks the previous day. In spite of how Connor's interactions with him had ended, ultimately the nurse was still very impressed with the progress he'd made and deemed him fit to take Byrne out on his adventure. "You made it way longer without getting bitten than I did, young man," she'd said, "and I've no doubt that you know what you're doing. Just exercise a little more care around this one in future, and I'm sure in due time you'll grow to become good partners."


The prior night's viewing - more episodes of Masked Rider, of course - had given the duo the motivation to check out what Oreburgh was most famous for: its mine. The same mine in which Connor's father worked, no less. The same mine that Roark worked on, and where the gym was located. The same mine that they had been told was going through tough times when they first rolled into town.


As the pair made their exit from the Center, Connor urgently double-checked his belt, as was becoming a habit for him by now. He hadn't forgotten Ronnie's ball, thankfully, but he was briefly surprised by the presence of a second Pokéball - before remembering, Byrne was his now. It was a strange feeling, having an extra ball on that belt, but it certainly wasn't one that Connor objected to, either. Once he was outdoors he grabbed Ronnie's and released the Aron, as did Reyes with Baggo. He had decided he was going to wait until later to get further acquainted with Byrne.


With both Pokémon out and comfortable, the pair headed off for Oreburgh's mine.


They arrived at the opening to the mine about an hour or so later. As the crowning jewel of the city, the pair expected it to be massive in scale - an expectation compounded upon by having to travel down what felt like a hundred stairs to actually get into the place. Yet upon actually entering the place, even Connor, who had been here a few times (albeit with his last visit coming about eight years ago), was left a little disappointed. They were greeted with apparently a million more stairs to go down, with the ceiling of the cavern at most nine feet tall. It wasn't particularly wide, either - the pair and their Pokémon found that all four of them in the corridor was a squeeze. Arm room was very much a commodity here. Moreover, the mine's generally claustrophobic feeling was not at all helped by the damp air, air that would have been severely undersold if it was described as merely suffocating.


Before they headed down the stairs, they noticed that from behind a stream of old metal barrels came a gruff voice, and they turned around to see a man holler out to them. "Are you tourists?"


"I suppose we are! We're not particularly from around these parts, haha - we are allowed down here, though, right?"


The man's leathery face grew dubious. "You are, but why here? What brings you down to the mine? Surely you've heard about how things are?"


Reyes' cool facade remained, not wishing to say anything about the state of the mine. "Oh, my friend here's father works down at the mine, and we thought we'd just pay a visit - also, Roark works here, does he not? We're both taking on the gyms, and-"


In spite of Connor's objection to Reyes' first claim, the man figured it was of no harm to let them pass. "He does, yes, but he's not really taking too kindly to visitors right now. None of us really are. I'm not going to stop you, but... be careful, okay?"


"W-will do!" was the younger one's reply as the pair continued.


Venturing further into the depths of the cavernous beast, neither of the two could help but notice that the lighting was far from ideal. The gas lamps on the walls were old and flickering, their glass cases fogged by the passage of time.


A worried look formed on Reyes' face as he shifted his eyes over to his comrade. "Connor? You did say your dad works here, right?"


"Y-yeah," was his reply, "he does. Why do you ask?"


"Is he... is he okay?"


This was a question that perplexed Connor, and it showed on his face. "Yeah, um... I think so? He's not, like, dying or anything..."


"That's, what's the word - it's reassuring," said Reyes, very much not reassured.


As the pair's footsteps rang out through the empty stairway, descending down seemingly infinite stairs, it came to Connor's attention that the wooden borders around the walls were quite old. Rot had clearly begun to set in, and he was slightly amazed nothing had collapsed on either of them so far. His attention drifted to Ronnie. His little metal friend was also not at ease, trembling and sticking close to his trainer, the flickering and faded lamplight giving his metal coat a nice hue. Looking to Reyes and Baggo, he noticed that, thankfully, Baggo seemed to be under control - although Reyes' power in that was probably up for debate.


Eventually, after what felt like decades of drudging down that cramped little corridor, the pair eventually arrived in the first big level of the mine. It was still slightly better lit than the corridor, but that was not a difficult task. Gas lamps illuminated the walls once more, their task helped by streams of light coming from miner helmets across the room. The pair were greeted with the sight of a great black obelisk of mining refuse that lay straight in the center of the room. Fortunately, this room was considerably taller than the tiny corridor they'd just been down by about five times, Connor reckoned - and the great pile seemed to be stacked up to the very top of that. It also didn't seem particularly stable - stability was not what one would look for a spoil heap, of course, but at the same time he couldn't help but feel it posed a safety hazard.


A miner grabbed Connor's eye shortly after this, almost by accident. This was a man of about fifty, his tabby grey hair thin and wiry, his skin pale and sunken eyes glazed in cynicism; his mouth was grit shut as his back cracked with each movement. It was evident to even him that he was struggling to work. His teeth ground against each other with the force to make sparks fly every time he leaned over, and at regular intervals, he found himself wincing as he stood to the straightest of his abilities and massaged his injured back. Tears stung his eyes as he did so, and misery was scrawled on his face as he got back to work nevertheless.


The third thing that caught the pair's attention was a rickety old wood and steel cart track that seemed to circle around the heap, some pathways leading into alternate rooms. The aforementioned cart was at the centre of the fourth thing they noticed: a Machoke was apparently pushing a cart full of waste with all its might, much to its discontent. Its jackhammer arms, purple and bulging, strained under the load, something Connor guessed wasn't supposed to be happening. Indeed, shortly behind this scene was a jammed lever that probably had something to do with controlling the cart. Lever may not have been the appropriate word for it - it was a great rod of rusted metal the size of a man, its outer layer having been chipped away at. Someone in a grimy miner's uniform marched over to the lever in a solemn fashion, in an attempt to yank it out like a mythical warrior facing a sword entombed in stone.


It took this man's greatest efforts to shove the lever back into position, metal screaming and sparks coming from the lever's holster as it screeched into place. Once it did, the cart trundled back to life, its wheels spinning slowly and chassis weighed down from the weight of the coal as it moved at a snail's pace. After that, the Machoke, sore from head to aching toe from the excruciating labour, trundled over to the side of the room, slumping against the wall and heavily panting as they took a well-earned rest. This surprised Connor, who had always thought that Machoke were supposed to be Herculean beasts, freakish in strength, and this one's appearance seemed to back that assumption up. Unless this was a newly evolved one that had been working for ungodly amounts of time on end, there was surely no way this one should have been so tired.


At the side of the great heap of mound stood a man, shoveling some of the black stuff at his side into the pile, that Connor recognised as his father. He didn't wish to distract him from his work, and decided against rushing over to him to say hello - he surely wouldn't have taken that too well, not least with everything else going on in the mine. Instead, he decided to stay to the side of the room, figuring that it probably wasn't safe to approach the pile without safety equipment on. It was then that he realised having Ronnie out in this area wasn't safe either - nor was having Baggo out, either. Glancing down at his companion, he noticed that he seemed to be eyeing up the heap of coal, and was promptly sent back into his ball with a soft whimper. Reyes followed suit once he noticed Baggo seemed to be squaring up against the Machoke from beside him.


Connor's attention still lingered on his dad, though - surely it wasn't safe to be so close to the pile? Sure, there were two or three others doing the same, but that didn't mean it felt right to Connor. The smaller heap beside him seemed to be almost gone, which was reassuring at the very least. Of course, he then realised it was rude to stare, and promptly ceased, going back to his own affairs.


Reyes took note of this, and decided that avoiding Connor's dad was probably for the best. Come to think of it, there weren't particularly many people who seemed as though they were keen on being disturbed. The atmosphere of the place was a gloomy and somber one, lifeless as the monstrous lot at the centre of the room, with everyone hard at work.


This train of thought was about to be disturbed, however. Connor's father had finished shoveling waste for the time being, and as he stretched his weary back and looked around, he noticed his son wandering around the place from the corner of his eye with a friend. A look dubious and surprised in equal measure grew across his face - he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing down here, or whether it was even safe to be doing so. However, he hadn't seen him in days, and he still wanted to know how the adventure was going. Due in part because he had sort of expected Connor to have given up by now, sure, but also because he was his son, and that's what dads were supposed to do. As was embarrassing Connor in front of his friend.


After taking a quick peek around, he put down his shovel and crept off towards Connor.


"So, Connor," began Reyes, "um... do you want to try to find Roark, or do you want to leave it until later?"


"I mean, erm - I think everyone's at work right now, and I don't wanna disturb anyone, so... I guess-"


A familiar grumbling voice ambushed Connor. "'ello, son!"


His eyes widened in shock. Each and every muscle went stiff. The very core of his being seemed to snap-freeze, as he cranked his head around to face his old man with a hesitant look. "A-ah - um, h-hey Dad," he mumbled, bluffing out an artificial smile. The skin on his father's face, and moreso on his palms, had been stained black, and his fatigue showed through his baggy eyes - and, Connor doubted he was in the best mood, he was sparse with his words.


Reyes, however, was not. "Ah!" He abstained from a sooty handshake, instead standing at ease and giving him a wide grin. "You must be Connor's father, mustn't you?"


"Er... I am, aye," came the optimistically uncertain reply. "And you are?"


"Why, it is I, the great Reyes Vasquez!"


This was met with a withering look from Connor's dad. "...Right. Well, mate, ye can call me Michael," he declared, with a nod that felt slightly dismissive as the group began walking to a less populated area of the crowded and busy mine. "So, Connor, er - what've ye been up to? How's yer little friend? And I see ye've got another one too, I think, on yer belt!"


Connor, who was further away from his dad at this point than Reyes was, was quiet as he searched for a reply, his lips sealed and eyes darting to the side. "Y-yeah, I caught him the other day."


"Oh, I see! Nice one, laddie!" declared Connor's father, his usually booming voice tinged with restraint. "What is it?"


"Starly. His name is Byrne."


"Byrne, eh?" He paused for a few moments, mulling this over as he rubbed his chin before erupting into a chuckle. "That's a good'un! But if you don't mind me asking, ah - that band-aid on your hand; is that from Byrne?"


This was a stumbling block for Connor, whose eyes began to scour every possible angle as he strained to come up with a convincing enough response. It would have made his father worry, ask questions that weren't necessary but rather intrusive, if he'd said yes - so instead he opted to come up with something else. A litany of "ums" and "ahs" escaped his mouth, and yet, after a while, he caught onto the fact that nothing was coming out.


"Actually, no," said Reyes, just in the nick of time, "it was a paper cut. You know how it is, with... y'know, the thing."


This earnt him a confused look from Michael. "What thing?"


"The... ah, como se dice - paperwork, and forms, you know? Isn't that right, Connor?"


Disaster averted. "Y-yeah, at the, eh, the Centre," he stumbled out, withholding the urge to wipe the sweat off his brow in relief.


"Oh, I see - aye, that's unfortunate. Still, nothin' too bad, right? And how's yer Aron gettin' along - can you look after the both of 'em?" Connor's father seemed to buy this response, and there was a hint of genuine relief in his reply. When he was met with only a nod, he decided to press for more information. "What's his name?"


Connor still hadn't made eye contact with his father for more than a couple of seconds at this point, as his attention seemed to lay more on the mine. "Ronnie."


"Nice, nice," was the reply, before silence's hold on the room grew overwhelming. For a solid few seconds, nobody offered anything to the conversation. Instead, the focus was on trying to find something, anything, to say.


Eventually, Connor, taking a deep breath and swallowing his fears, decided to pipe up. "So, uh, Dad, I hope you don't mind me asking this, but... um... I-I heard things are pretty rough here. What's the deal with Roark? And, uh, y'know" - his voice went hush so as to not catch anyone's attention - "the guy with the bad back."


The silence continued for a few seconds, as Michael formulated a reply, a rather sorrowful look in his eyes. "Well, son, we're under new ownership - as of pretty recently, actually, and it's been a bit hectic since then. See, Roark in particular was a bit skeeved about these new owners because he's not happy with the place becoming a tourist attraction - always viewed his responsibilities in the mine and as Gym Leader separately-"


"Out of curiosity," interjected Reyes, "is this Roark guy just a miner, or does he hold other jobs?"


"Well, officially he doesn't, but with all the extra work he does he may as well do. The guy prides himself as a leader of the workers for the workers and all that jazz. He's already going on hiatus as gym leader until the situation gets resolved, but I don't know if it'll be enough. New owners were a little… er, deceitful, if you get what I mean. They said they weren't gonna go too hard on it, but I mean, there's already been discussion of moving the gym into the mine instead of as its own building - I think it's bein' negotiated now or something, actually. We've also had to work longer hours, too - I've worked 8 in the morning till 6:30 at night down 'ere a fair bit recently. And the plans to renovate have been shelved until the money's a bit tighter, too - and lemme tell ye, we need those renovations; we've had equipment break down all over the shop recently. The fella ye were talkin' about, with the bad back? Poor Tom, he's tried to get off work because of that back - thinks it might be arthritis, but they just won't let him - they need the manpower, or something. He's not 'appy with it at all - doesn't wanna break his back down 'ere, y'know?"


Connor looked astonished by all this information. Of course, he'd known his dad didn't speak to him a lot because of work - but as of recent, he didn't really have the choice, it seemed. The talk of going on strike, as much as it would have made life harder for the rest of the town, didn't sound too unreasonable either. "That… sounds, uh, pretty rough. I'm sorry."


"It's awright, son."


"That's rough, but allow me to play devil's advocate here - say you walked out, what would the townsfolk do for power and what have you?"


"Well," replied Michael, "that is a good point - and it's the reason we've not walked out already. But it's just one of those things, isn't it? We don't wanna get overworked, everyone else doesn't wanna lose power - it's up to the bosses to find a balance,"


"Hmph. That does make sense-"


"HEY!"


A man in the same desert beige uniform as the rest of the workers, with a cordovan mullet and wire-framed glasses, hollered this out in the middle of Reyes' sentence - Connor identified this as Roark. He was visibly displeased.


"If the rest of us have to work," he declared, "you're no exception! Get back here!"


Nodding, Connor's father went back to his post, turning back to his son and his friend. "Sorry, I gotta go - uh, see ye around! Have fun with the whole training thing!"


With that, Reyes turned to Connor, shrugging. "So, I suppose that's the mine - wanna get back to the room now, or do some training?"


"Y-yeah, that… sounds good."


The two trudged back out of the weary old mine, with Connor taking one fleeting look at his father. Like everybody else here, he seemed downtrodden.