Teenage Wasteland: A Sinnoh Adventure Fic

Thank you so much for the thorough feedback once again! I'm glad you're enjoying the fic :> You certainly have some interesting observations regarding the WPE; as well as the gap in how competent they are, there's also that contrast in how they're written that could certainly be described as "cartoony thief vs. not-cartoon spy thriller CEO," which I didn't really notice until you made reference to it. Genre is a weird concept, huh?

As for Florence, she is definitely right at home with the idiot kids, even if she wouldn't like to say it (because I have to admit, compared to Reyes, I think I'd have a hard time admitting to being an idiot kid when this man lays in front of me). On the subject of idiot kids, Hawley is still definitely a bit cartoonish in how much of a walking ball of rage he is; rest assured, there will be more meetings between him and the idiot kids he so desperately pretends that he isn't, to varying degrees of success. I hope to also explore the fact that he's not, in fact, a cartoonish ball of rage and swearwords, but also a real person, too. 

Finally, with regards to everyone's favourite pair of legs to which a nightmare god is attached: :3c

Once again, thank you so much for your readership and reviews, they are so deeply appreciated!

---

"Good morning, and thank you all for joining us today! This is Jubilife TV News: the news that comes directly to you, with your host, Pete Goodman; if you're watching, I'm so glad you decided to tune in today! Today's date is October 17th, the time is seven o'clock exactly, and according to our wonderful weather team's ever-reliable Castform Weather Forecast, expect some showers throughout the day. Our top story for today: marches are anticipated in Oreburgh following news last night of a mass walk-out within the city's mine, a mass walk-out led by none other than Oreburgh's gym leader, Roark Swanson. The cause of this walk-out is reported to be working conditions, following the mine's recent acquisition by the Birkenhead Mining Company, overseen by esteemed mogul William Birkenhead. Our reporter, Samantha Lake, is on the streets of Oreburgh — Samantha, how does the situation look?"


"Thanks, Pete. I'm here with police commissioner Douglas Finger. Douglas, obviously, this isn't an ideal situation to deal with; can we expect to see a large police presence?"


"It's not ideal, no, and it is unfortunate; given the scale of the situation, we're not really left with much of a choice other than having quite a large presence on duty. Hopefully, there'll be no need to use force — and I'm sure Roark and company are willing to see reason and return to work soon. Ultimately, however, our priority as police officers is to protect the public."


From personal experience, Jerry begged to differ. The subsequent eye roll was so forceful, it almost forced the cereal out of his mouth.


In all twenty-six years of his life, the police had done absolutely nothing for him as a member of the public. They were supposed to stop crime, yet their method of doing so involved throwing hard knocks like him in cells for a bit and praying that did something — anything. Not only that, they even failed at helping the victims of crime, too; "we're sorry," he'd all too often hear them say, "but there's not much else we can do. Stolen Pokémon are difficult to track down, and I'm afraid your best bet is to just get a replacement." In all honesty, considering the quality of some of the thieves he worked with, it was absolutely baffling this was still a problem. Was there nobody on the force who knew how to catch a criminal, or how to get information out of them? Or did they just not care?


That was behind him now, though. He was a petty thief no more; he was legit now! No longer did he have to rip Pokémon away from their trainers for quick cash, nor was he Paulie's slave. Now he actually contributed to society — he did something he could be proud of. Something Bibby could be proud of — something Lindsay could be proud of.


His breakfast eaten, he rose to his feet, stretching his arms. Going forward, the thing he yearned for most was to be out of this absolute dollhouse of an apartment — with how small and dingy it was, it may as well have been a jail cell. Checking out his pinstripe suit and hat in the mirror, he was pleased to report that, unlike his mob attire, they actually resembled something a sane human would wear. He straightened his tie and ran a hand through his perm, before heading back to the bedroom.


"Lindsay, baby?" he chirped, picking up his suitcase and heading over to her bed. "I'm goin' to work now."


A groan met him as she wrestled her way through the duvet, looking up at him through glassy eyes. "Okay, have fun."


"I'm gonna! I love you so much — make sure ya sleep in, okay?"


"Okay." She barely mustered a smile, one that had crept through a thick mask of fatigue. "I love you too."


Following a quick peck on the forehead, Jerry picked up his suitcase and made his exit, his expression a perky grin.


The commute to work took about thirty minutes, time that was spent mulling over the news he had watched that morning. The entire situation stunk to him, to be honest; after all, it was a well-known fact that Roark loved mining. After all, he would often speak about how it was the blood that ran through his veins. For him to lead a walkout on such a massive scale meant there was obviously something gravely wrong in that mine. It seemed less like he was the one that needed to see reason and more like the folks in charge. The folks in charge had gotten the police involved, though, and the odds of them changing their ways so soon was quite unlikely. It seemed a rough situation, and one he wished he could have helped with.


Which is why it was such a shock when that was what he was told to do.


"It would be of great benefit," the voice at the other end of the phone on his desk told him, "for both us and the miners for us to get this resolved. You of all people should be aware of the need to prevent such an injustice as police intervention."


"Well, yeah, but — me? Are ya sure about that one, boss? I ain't even been here for a week — and I'm only here because I tried to rob ya!"


"You are not unique in being tasked with this, nor are you unique in the manner through which you joined this organisation. Nonetheless… Jerry. You still have links to the mob — which is why I'm tasking you with seeing if they have any incriminating information on the mine owners we could use. It is, of course, fine if they do not. Your skills may yet be of great worth to this operation, and your performance will be examined and responded to appropriately. Am I clear?"


His performance examined? That surely meant a handsome reward if he helped bring them down — perhaps a way out of that utterly terrible apartment. "Loud and clear, I hear ya. You can count on me, boss; I ain't gonna let you down."


"Good. Update me whenever you can."


Truth be told, he did not know a whole lot about his new boss. He didn't know his name, for one, nor what Pokémon he had, and although they had met face to face twice, he didn't really have much of a clue what he even looked like. (Admittedly, the first time around he had been too focused on the suit to catch a proper glimpse of his face, and the second time was in a very poorly lit room.) He didn't have much idea what this place even did, nor what his exact role in this organisation even was. None of that stopped Jerry from being in awe of him. He had taken him away from the crime business and into a pretty legitimate job — well, one that was decidedly more legitimate than full-blown mob work, anyway — and judging by the place he worked he was a man of some power, too.


Yet what stuck out to Jerry most was that both times they had met in person, he had been absolutely, pants-shittingly terrifying. Both times, he apparently had a friend lurking from within the darkness — a friend he wasn't sure was human, Pokémon or something else entirely, but a friend with a stare that could rip through cinderblock. Moreover, he had the uncanny ability to fill the room with his mere presence; he was certainly not short in stature, nor was he scrawny either. His voice was low in pitch, yet when emphasised carried the weight of a hammer to the face. Even over the phone, his voice ran shivers down his spine.


Stern as he was, though, he was not a spiteful, harsh man, nor an evil, scornful one. Far from it, actually; Jerry had not been used to such respect from his higher ups.


Picking up his phone, he dialed the number of his old mob friend.

---

"Hello?"


"Connor! How are you doing?"


"Uh… I'm fine, Mom. I-I'm sorry for not calling you earlier."


"I've been worrying about you — please, make sure you call earlier next time, okay? Where are you?"


It had been eight days since they last spoke, and Connor was at a crossroads on how to feel. On the one hand, he was sixteen — almost seventeen, even — and had turned out (relatively) okay without much help from either parent. That didn't make it any less rude to let her know he was okay, though, especially if she had been worrying about him. Although…


"I'm fine, Mom — just, er, just in Oreburgh right now. Y'know, I have bumped into dad a couple of times — he, uh… did he happen to say anything about it?"


There was a pause on the other end of the phone. It lasted for a few seconds. Then a few more. Some more after that for good measure. Then a few more; it was almost enough to rouse him into speech.


"I… don't think he did, no — er, I'll have to chase him up on that. You know how he can be!"


"Ssssure."


"So, have you made any friends? Catch any Pokémon?"


"Um… yeah, one, a-and I caught a Starly, which is good."


"Oh! Well, that's good to hear."


Another pause.


"Are, er — things at home, how are they?"


"Oh, they're good. Things at the station are pretty good, too; we arrested a suspect in that theft ring!"


"Hey, that's cool."


"Yeah, it is! Although the paperwork isn't fun, and it is making me busier than I'd like to be. But, you know, police work, eh? Anyway, I just thought I'd ring and check up on you. You're welcome back home any time you want, and good luck with your little adventure — just make sure you call back a bit more often, okay?"


Little adventure. That was still all it was to her. "Okay. I suppose I'll be speaking to you soon, then."


"You too! Have fun out there, son!"


Click.


Talking to his mother was not something Connor was particularly keen on. He didn't actively hate it; as a matter of fact, he dreaded the sort of person that would have made him. It just wasn't something he actively looked forward to doing, either. A task from which he received no joy. It seemed his departure had done nothing to change the amount of interest she had in him, either. She had worried about him and wanted him to call, apparently. Yet the first conversation they had shared since they moved out, his chance to let her know about Reyes, Ronnie, Murphy, Florence, Byrne, Lucia, Hawley, the mines, his misadventure in that Jubilife alley, saw forty-five seconds of small talk and none of this came up.


He hadn't slept enough for this, it seemed — he had been up for an hour, and it was already almost eleven. Reyes had apparently left before he had woken up, leaving a note to say he had gone out to train. The desk was still a mess from when Connor tried to get Byrne out of his ball and onto the table without trying to kill him, whereas Ronnie had curled up at his feet, glancing around the room at regular intervals before looking back up at his trainer. Connor leaned over to rub his head with a weak smile; as he did so, a cold breeze blew in, making the hairs down his spine stand on end.


No matter what he did, there was always a shadow looming over him. A pitch black hand clutching his shoulder and holding him back. The hand of fear. Fear that he was wasting his time by sleeping in, fear that his Pokémon resented him, that he wasn't interesting enough for people to stay around, that at any given moment, things would find a way to go entirely wrong.


"Ah, Connor, my friend; you're awake!"


Both him and Ronnie perked up as Reyes made his entrance, the same spring in his step as ever. His hair had apparently been messed up while he was about, and he was hellbent on fixing this.


"Reyes, hey!" His companion's utterly infectious zest never failed to catch him off guard. "So… erm, h-how was training?"


"Ah, it was pretty good, you know?" came the reply, as Reyes leaned against the wall opposite, his breath yet to fully come back. "Roark will not stand a chance against us, let me tell you — battering him is gonna be easier than battering a Magikarp!"


Ah, Roark. Truth be told, that whole can of worms had slipped to the back of Connor's mind.


"Speaking of," continued Reyes in the exact same tone, "I saw him at the march. Oh, boy, I don't know about you, but I'm pumped!"


"Wh- sorry, the march?"


The peppier trainer's expression dropped. "Oh. Yeah, they're marching now. Did you not hear? The strike got called last night — everyone has been talking about it."


"Oh."


At his feet, he felt Ronnie begin to tremble. Concern crept in on Reyes' face. "Is everything okay, friendo? It is okay if you're worried about your dad, or about getting that gym badge. You don't have to lie to me."


"O-oh, what? No, no, I-I'm fine," replied Connor, lying. "It's just… the person from yesterday, er — I hope it's not too much of an inconvenience, but you wouldn't happen to mind if, y'know, if we go see her later?"


"Why would I mind? Of course we can — if you wanna help out, then I would only be happy to help!"


Relief blossomed upon Connor's face. "Thanks. Er… wanna head out and grab some food? I should, ah, probably go train later, too."


For whatever reason, Ronnie's trembling had subsided as his trainer rose to his feet, leaning down to pat his head; he received a nuzzle and a shrill chirp in reply. He chose to bask in this for a few moments before returning Ronnie to his ball in a flash. After a brief glance around the room decided that tidying the room was a problem for his future self.


"Lead the way, Reyes."

---

Among the miners, support for the march was unanimous.


A shining sea of scruffy heads and mining helmets filled the streets beneath the noon sun, punctuated only by picket signs. Protesters blocked streets in their entirety, the congregation beating down on the road beneath them as they advanced towards their mine. The ringleader himself had been among the first on the streets, having been present since the early morning; he carried a megaphone in one hand and a sign in the other. The crowds formed around him at first, before winding through the streets like a thick and writhing vine behind him. Where the song of nearby Starly once was, the disgruntled moans of a righteous horde filled the air. Quite like an unruly student, the miners had decided it was paramount that they were seen and heard.


It was fortunate that one of the few sparse pockets formed just outside Gianluigi's. The pizzeria found itself between two picketers who had ground to a halt, underneath slogans of "THE BOSS NEEDS YOU, YOU DON'T NEED HIM" and "MINE MAN SAID FUCK WORK." It was a cause of immense frustration for Lucia that she could not simply go out and join them. No, she was stuck working behind the counter at a time nobody in their right mind would enter.


Connor and Reyes survived the crowd to walk through the door moments later, the former hyperventilating with his insides almost outside.


"We have arrive— oh no — Connor, I'm sorry, er — are you alright?"


"Y… yes, I… er, uh… I… I had no idea… the crowds… so big… er — yeah, uh, I'm fine."


"Right…" replied Reyes, his eyes sliding to the right, "do you want some water?"


"Please."


"Okay." In a hurry, he approached the counter, slamming a fistful of change on the table.


"One water coming up, on the house." Lucia's voice was utterly deadpan, clearly trying yet painfully failing to find hope. "So you've made it."


Reyes, in contrast, was far more optimistic. "We have indeed! What is it you want us to help with?"


As she fetched a bottle of water, actively urging away Reyes' efforts to pay for it, she gestured Connor closer. "At the very least, I'm glad you bothered to show up. To be clear, you do know that I don't plan on rewarding you for this, right?"


Before Reyes could even formulate a response, a thumbs up from Connor crept into view as he chugged down his water.


This was met with a smile, albeit one that disappeared in the blink of an eye. "A welcome change. Alright. So, you're familiar with the mine owner, right? William Birkenhead or some rich guy name like that. I have reason to believe that he's selling coal to the mob to sell abroad and keeping the profits."


"Crimey stuff." This piqued Reyes' interest. "Go on."


"So, the guy comes over and eats here from time to time — posturing, if you ask me, but that's beside the point. Recently, whilst I was serving the guy, I go over to give him his stuff, and my eyes couldn't help but wander over and see what he was doing. Lo and behold, he was having quite the heated argument with one of his cohorts about being wired his cut of the money."


"And you got that just from glancing at his computer?"


"Yeah."


It was as if a loading screen took the place of Reyes' eyes for a brief moment, before he returned to reality with an emphatic nod. "You might not have any tangible evidence, but I won't deny that nothing sounds more up my alley than investigating crimey stuff. What do you have in mind?"


"I want you to get into that mine and have a look around for anything that might prove they're guilty of knowingly operating damaged machinery — such as faulty and unrepaired equipment or the like. More importantly, though, try and find some proof that they're guilty of financial crimes, be it a ledger or happening to overhear something suspicious. Does that sound doable?"


Where Lucia had Reyes' attention, now she had his interest, as a great devilish grin spread across his face. "Connor, my friend, are you down for some hinanigans?"


One look at him revealed that he was not. "Er… well… I mean, I don't really want to be, like, a-a killjoy or anything, but…"


Lucia bit down on the metaphorical bullet, rolling her eyes. "You aren't worried about getting in trouble, are you?"


"I mean…" he began, taking a deep breath. "Like, I… er… they, uh — obviously, don't get me wrong, what's happening clearly isn't good. But I've been a trainer for about a week. I still barely know what I'm doing, a-and, and I think Reyes can attest, I'm… y'know, not exactly the best at keeping myself safe. And sneaking about a mine — one that, y'know, if there is shady stuff, there'll probably be guards; I-I don't particularly fancy my chances. Besides, and I really, really hope I'm not being a square or anything… but I don't really wanna hassle the police too much. If that's possible."


"What's your name again?"


"Connor."


"Right. Connor, what do the police do?"


"W-well, uh, they… their motto is to protect and serve, isn't it?"


"Protect and serve who?"


Connor paused, the cogs of his brain whirring. "…Everyone?"


"Okay. Take a look out the window. What do you see?"


Knowing the sight that would greet him, Connor obliged. "Well, it's — it's, uh, the march. Just a lot of people striking, isn't it?"


"Do you think that they would be on strike if the police protected and served everyone?" Lucia's tone was as stony as her face as she looked at Connor, arms crossing. "Labour laws do exist, you know, and they're clearly not being followed down that mine. You notice that they're not moving at that part of the march, too, don't you? Consider that the police are, for the most part, near the front of the march. They're not there to protect the miners, they're there to protect the businessmen, Connor."


"Besides," offered Reyes, "in the week since we have met, I have broken one man's leg and another "man's" nose — and as much as I want to say my not hearing from the police is because of my super hiding skills… that would be a lie, it's more because they're just not very good. You severely overestimate the chances of us getting in trouble for this."


All of these were valid points, Connor felt, and all stronger than his rebuttal, 'my mother is a police officer, please don't say mean things about her.' Moreover, he was certain that, by this point, less confrontation lay in the plan than protesting it further — which left him with no choice. "Yeah, y-you're right. I'm sorry. I'll… I can do this. I just, I'm a bit funny with police stuff, what with my mom and all; besides, I would… prefer not to go down that mine again in its current state, if I have to."


"Oh, is she a cop? I'm sorry," said Lucia with a wince. "If I can, I would suggest not letting her inform your view of the police as a whole. Are you two close?"


"Er… not particularly, no."


"I… see. I won't press it further, then - but I do appreciate you doing this, though, and if there's anything you want as a reward, let me know." Like ice through cracked ground, a smile spread onto her face. "I would go but I have this damned job, and my father would skin me alive."


Considering her size, Connor doubted that.


"Yes, well, it is the least we could do — and once again, I apologise for being such a tremendous fool and grand idiot the other day," replied Reyes before he looked at his friend. "Er… Connor, do you want to go now?"


He had to mull this over, wanting anything but a repeat of the gymnastics he did to avoid bumping into anyone on the way here. "Well… er-" he began, before turning around.


The swarm had not just persisted, it was now in motion.

---

From the opposing side of the picket aisle, Roark could feel the clammy breath of policemen on his face. The stench of half-digested beans made a good effort to turn his stomach over in place.


Standing beneath the autumn sun all day to block the entrance to his beloved mine was, a point he could not have physically laboured any stronger, not what he wanted to be doing. The row of darkly-uniformed, baton-wielding policemen, barricading the entrance as they faced the end of the march, warning them against taking one step further, was not something he wanted to be seeing. The grumbles of deep discontent, bordering on disgust, from every direction like a tidal wave rising above the sea of miners, was not something he wanted to be hearing.


What he wanted did not matter, however.


The sight of Pokémon among the great crowd was a rare one. Fewer people than had been expected had chosen to risk having them out in such a tense environment, with people either wishing to keep their Pokémon safe or wait until fighting broke out. That being said, they were still present, most prominently a Machamp raising four protest signs to the sky. Four protest signs amongst a nigh-infinite array of them, bearing messages ranging from "SAVE THE PITS" and "SAFE WORKERS=BETTER WORK" to "BREAK THE RICH, NOT THE ROCKS" and "KICK ASS FOR THE WORKING CLASS."


Out of the corner of Roark's eye, he noticed that the row of policemen were talking about something. Admittedly, he didn't know what about, but it started with what was presumably the commander of the group getting a radio signal. Whatever it was only seemed to make the row stiffen up further, until whatever stood in front of the entrance resembled more of a terracotta army than anything.


Roark did not get the feeling this was a good thing.


A couple of minutes passed before a ripple hit him. This was a furious ripple, the atmosphere so toxic it was barely breathable. The force that travelled through the crowd threw him a few steps back. It was accompanied by the sound of a thousand funeral marches, as well as uproarious disgusted booing.


It wasn't until a few seconds later that he realised what was going on. In spite of the police presence, the mine was not closed. As a matter of fact, the sea had been parted, if not narrowly, and traversing it were policemen. Policemen shielded by their Pokémon, with new employees in tow.


Not only had the protest been ignored, but it was also apparently just business as usual to the boss.


"Roark, what the hell do we do?" asked an uncertain but most definitely upset voice by his side.


This was a good question, one that Roark leapt upon almost immediately: "We certainly don't give up," he replied, raising his voice while trying to keep his famously level head. "Fight them harder — do whatever you can to make sure those new guys don't get in, and make extra sure we aren't ignored!"


"R-right, thanks boss— er, Roark!"


Met with a nod and a raised, clenched fist, the striker rushed in the way of the police convoy, hand on Pokéball. "SIR!" roared a voice from behind the approaching barrier. "MOVE! OUT OF THE WAY!" Yet he did no such thing, and stood his ground, unleashing his Machop. First two, then three, then a whole pocket of others joined the clash, taking blows from Pokémon attacks while trying to smash the barrier.


As Roark roared in approval, he heard an unfamiliar voice dancing towards him. "Roark! Ach — ah, please excuse me, ah — big apologies — I have an important thing to talk about! Hey!" This was not an elegant dance, admittedly, but it did get his attention. Turning around, he was met with perhaps the sorest thumb to ever stick out of anything.


"…Yes?" he asked the blue-coated man approaching him.


"Yes! Hello! Pleasure to meet you, my name is Reyes — good job with this protest, man!" Roark found his hand being yanked up and down, pulling away to keep his arm from being pulled out of socket.


"Okay? Look, I'm busy here; what's this… thing?"


"Ah, right, forgive me. You see, me and my friendo, over there" — Reyes pointed over the sea of heads to the side of the crowd, where Connor stood doubled over and retching — "he is a new trainer, and he loves your work! See, though, his dad works at this mine; you may know him? His name is Michael, I think — so we would like to try our hands at helping you out."


While it was true he recognised the pair — and, indeed, the Michael in question — Roark's mind was completely made up when he took one glance at the hyperventilating boy. It was enough to make one eyebrow shoot up as he Reyes a deeply quizzical look. "…What's your plan?"


"Well, it's simple, really. We go into the mine—"


"No."


"—I didn't finish. We go into the mine, and—"


Roark's whole body contracted for a brief moment, forcing out a deep breath. "Look — if this is both of you, how do you propose getting in?"


"Well, it's simple. We sneak in with that crowd of policemen right there, with those… whoever they are — at which point, we do some snooping around, get proof of their, uh — their safety, er — safety regulations, right? Or, hear me out, there may be evidence that they're doing shady money things… so we maybe could look at their ledger, or interrogate the chief. Just get some sensitive information we can use to kick that man's ass with, you know?!"


Where he had sighed before, Roark found it hard not to outwardly groan. "Okay. There are at least two big problems with that: first of all, your friend over there is a quivering mess, and you'll forgive me for saying he doesn't fill me with confidence."


"Ah! But you see—"


"If you're seriously considering dragging him into the mine with you for some hair-brained scheme, he might need better friends, if I'm being frank. Secondly, do you really think that you — you — are somehow going to sneak past the cops? As dumb as they may seem, those people do have eyes; I'm sure even they can add two and two and get 'extravagant idiot who shouldn't be here'." Pausing for a beat, Roark couldn't even find it in himself to crack a smile of consolation as he turned back around. "Sorry, but not on my watch. Stay out of that mine."


If nothing else, Roark had done a very good job of tearing the wind out of Reyes' sails. The trainer now wore a look on his face like a Meowth having eaten the sourest conceivable berry, his tall and proud posture now weak and doubled over. He understood taking issue with the plan, even if that was too hostile a reaction for someone merely trying to help. But the way he saw it, there was frankly no need whatsoever for Roark to attack Connor like that — what gave him the right? How dare ?!


Very well.


Before he could bring himself to face Connor again, though, he needed a moment to compose himself.


To compose an even better plan.

---

Off at the side the vast and impenetrable crowd, Connor was in a gutter. Shivering, though it was not too cold, and panting, wheezing, clutching his stomach with his black hole irises plunged straight to the ground. His head, though, was off in orbit somewhere. With so many people swarming around him, there was no way he was taking out Byrne — and the way Ronnie's ball trembled as things were, he didn't want to put Ronnie through this either. He was alone. Alone, vulnerable and feeling near naked.


He didn't wish to rush his friend, of course, but Reyes' company would have been greatly appreciated.


"Ah, Connor!" declared a familiar voice. "I'm back, and I have fantastic news!"


"D-did they call off the strike? Or - or, did, did the boss call it quits?"


This was a bump in his tracks. "Well, no, but almost as good," he replied, before his sunlight returned. "What I was going to say was, I know how we're going to get in — er, provided you don't mind that crowd of people."


The lump in Connor's throat froze, his body going cold as his feet rooted to the spot.


"E… er, s-sure, yeah, I - I can do that," he said, lying. "No problem!"


Naturally, this dimmed Reyes' tune. "Oh. Look, please don't feel pressured into doing anything you don't want to do, Connor — we can leave it until you don't feel this way, or — or, until there's some way we can get in without dealing with the whole crowd thing. If that suits you?"


"I… I mean… look, I do appreciate it, but… I… er, I don't really want to be a letdown, because my brain is dumb — a-and we're sort of on a time limit, I guess, aren't we? The sooner we get this resolved, the better it is for everyone." Betraying the rest of his body language, Connor broke into a smile about as uneasy as a cliff edge. "I-I'm not a child anymore. I can do this. I've got this.


In spite of his best efforts, Reyes lit up again, conceding defeat as he offered a thumbs up and straightened his back. "Well, if you insist. Follow my lead, my friend!"


Connor felt a wave of regret instantly wash over him.


It was much too late to turn back now, of course — he had already made his promise to Reyes, and by breaking it he was not only betraying him but every single miner. But as he tucked his arms in as tightly as possible and withdrew his head into his jacket, desperately swerving from side to side and keeping both eyes on Reyes, it did nothing to alleviate his newfound dizziness. Any sense of duty he had, the idea that he was doing a necessary and very positive thing, did nothing to stop his vision from going double, or his turbocharged breathing, or the knots that came to be in his stomach, and how he wished he could have brought out Ronnie, or Byrne, or what if they got in trouble with the police, or what if they got lost in the mine and then got in trouble with the police, or they got in trouble with Roark, and how pathetic the notion of an aspiring trainer that couldn't even walk through a crowd was, and how the people in his dreams were right, as the walk through the crowd dragged on ever longer, and why did he feel sick—


"Officer! I hate to be a bother, sir, but that's my Bagon down there!"


Reyes' shout was a slap to the face Connor, rousing him back to reality as he found himself just behind the picket line in the tow of his friend. Out of the corner of his eye, he just noticed Reyes slip something back in his pocket as his shouting garnered him some concerned looks from the line of strikers.


"You've got a Pokémon in there?!" asked one of the ones beside him, in a state of bewilderment.


"STAY BEHIND THE LINE! No entry unless you have permission!"


Connor's fogged up state of mind was cut clean through by the familiar site of a blue troublemaker charging around the mine entrance, just in front of the dreaded thousand-mile stairwell.


"Yes! Forgive me, I'm new around here — could you please let me down there?! He does not like being touched by strangers!" Reyes' loud hollering was carried by a voice that came off legitimately panicking, and his expression further reflected this.


"Officer, he's right!" called another striker, with a chorus of discontent rising from his comrades. "That's a Pokémon in there — let him in!"


"NO ENTRY, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES! STAY BACK! DO NOT CROSS THAT LINE!"


"LET HIM IN! LET HIM IN!"


The uniform grumbling of the picket line had evolved, now a wall of sword-sharp shouts, demanding that the row of policemen "LET HIM IN!" or face consequences — consequences that soon became clear, as Pokéballs began to come out.


Through the hands covering his ears, Connor listened to all this. The plan was certainly going, but whether it was going very well or absolutely terribly was unclear. He wasn't too keen on finding out though, tucking his arms all the way in, closing his eyes almost all the way shut, and bracing himself for whatever came next.


"Officer! Please — let me get my Pokémon! I don't want him hurt!"


Left with no choice in the face of the wall of vicious sound, the bellowing officer turned to his companion with a lowered voice. "Deal with that Bagon."


"Me? But I don't have my Pokéballs on me, chief-"


"I didn't stutter, did I, Spoons?"


"…No, chief." With that, the officer turned around with his head hung, pepper spray in one hand and baton holstered and ready to go.


The crowd didn't approve.


Through the incomprehensible, thick sludge of outraged cries and urgent shouting that filled the air, the picketers made their advance, sending out their Pokémon and rushing at the police officers. They did the same, and soon the formation had broken rank to deal with the threat. Orders filled the air, as did the sound of Pokémon cries and footsteps.


Connor hoisted his head above all of this to see Reyes gesturing a "follow me" behind his back, as his friend entered the fray.


What.


Connor's heartbeat increased exponentially in tempo. Whatever was going on in his head was something not even he could decipher, nor could he explain it. His lower body felt completely frozen with fear, and his head advised running away as soon as possible, avoiding the trouble he would inevitably get into. His heart, on the other hand, reminded him of all the people, the hard-working and good-hearted miners like Roark, like the man with the bad back, as well as his dad, whose lives would have been significantly improved by the end of this whole situation.


His deeply conflicted state of mind didn't stop his shaking, trembling legs beating the feeling that they would give way. He soon found himself rushing past the police to follow Reyes down, looking back to make sure he wasn't seen.


"Thanks, Baggo!" called out Reyes, returning the little blue beast to his ball before making his way down the stairs, and Connor did the same.


"Reyes! What was that?!"


"That was the plan, Connor, and it worked! Now, let's go fix this damn mine, buddy!"


While Connor obliged to this and followed suit, he was still uncertain on what else, exactly, this plan entailed. Or what was next for him, or for Reyes, or for the pair's adventure; or the miners, or the boss, or for Oreburgh as a whole.

EDIT: I've just realised, I, uh, somehow missed out the four chapters between 'They Call Me the Seeker' and 'White Riot'. Oops. I'll have to go back and rectify that at some point, buuuut ... it evidently didn't affect my comprehension too much, because I absolutely didn't notice I'd done it till I came to post this review. I might've missed some things as a result. With that caveat in mind, I'm gonna hand over to blissfully ignorant Past Me for the meat of the review.

---

‘White Riot’ this time round! Neato. Nothing wrong with the Who, but I gotta admit, the Clash are more my speed. And more thematically appropriate for this sequence, it seems, with its labour rights concerns. Before I go any further, I should probably say, this is a review for the first two chapters in the ‘White Riot’ arc, so. Won’t be mentioning any startling plot twists that might occur at the dénouement. ;>

Anyway, this is a fun arc, and I can see why you say you like it in the intro. It’s got a clear thrust to it, a punchable bad guy, and my new favourite minor character, Lucia, whose withering ‘Dumbass twink’ put-down is like, up there with ‘Silence, fuckface’ in the hierarchy of one-liners in this fic, albeit for totally different reasons. I also really love fics that recognise the economic backdrop to being a trainer, whether by having a journey be something you can apply for financial aid for as an inalienable human right (I … may once have started a fic with someone doing this exact thing, lol) or as something that only someone with private resources can do, as here. Obviously it ties in nicely to the broader themes from this arc of the particular economic structure of human life under capitalism, but it is also just a thing that I enjoy whenever it comes up.

However, while Connor’s dad’s stance on the whole situation is commendable, I’m a bit confused by his describing it as ‘stealing someone’s labour’; that is indeed a valid description of the whole relationship between the boss and the miners, but the specific grievance he’s talking about in this conversation seems more an issue of his superior valuing financial gain over human life and health. Which is a related thing, but not quite the same thing, you know? His politics are otherwise so clearly articulated that this seemed a little strange.

On the subject of Connor’s parents, it’s interesting in general to get more insight into his relationship (or lack of it) with each of them, and in particular to see him being pulled out of his familial ties to the awareness that police forces protect property first and foremost. Although it is kind of hilarious to me that his mum’s a cop and he still went with Reyes’ incredibly bad plan to try and catch the thief by themselves. This time, he takes a bit more talking around – as I’d expect, given the more intimidating situation and the two parental connections pulling him in different directions – but, well, he still goes for it, huh. I guess it’s tradition at this point that these two just jump in with minimal qualifications to try and save the day. I do love a good hare-brained scheme, it’s true; let’s just hope it goes better than their last attempt. :V

Also, we’ve got Jerry again! And y’know, he kinda has a point, regarding competence and all. Given how Paulie acted, it’s frankly worrying that these thieves are still able to operate. Police incompetence is one thing, but faced with this staggering level of criminal incompetence, you’d think they’d be able to make at least some kind of a dent in their numbers.

Small things: was viscerally unsettled by the description of Connor’s dad’s face as leathery and pink’; like that Connor’s at least sorta realising now that battles aren’t fought on paper; am pleased to come across maybe the first instance of the phrase ‘mug off’ in written fiction that I’ve ever encountered; love how Pokémon Centres apparently use the Starbucks model of like, yelling out your order when it’s done; really enjoyed the metaphor of the noise and clamour of the crowd forming a sludge in the air. Will definitely need to catch up some more sometime soon; I really want to see how this arc ends!

Thank you so much for such in-depth feedback! I appreciate it so very much, and I'm so glad that you enjoyed the first seven chapters so much! I'll try to respond point by point to do it justice.



I think that's an interesting interpretation of him, and I'm very glad you think so much of him! Connor's not really the type of character who stands out unless contrasted with someone else, especially in the early chapters of this fic -- which has made him a very interesting character to write, as the protagonist, even if his job is kind of having things happen to him whereas driving the story is more Reyes' job. I think there's just as much to be analysed in what doesn't happen as there is in what does, and there's often a fair difference between what Connor expects to happen and what actually does happen.



There may be more of this in future. :>



Similarly, I like this summary of their relationship quite a lot. They are bros, and they have a fair few moments where this bro-hood is on display -- and it's quite a symbiotic relationship, because Connor needs someone to get him out of his shell and Reyes just generally needs a bro sometimes. As for whether Connor'll be the person to get Reyes' hare-brained schemes under control... well, that remains to be seen.



I have to say, seeing the contrast between how people read Florence's character is very intriguing. She's either the most responsible of the two by a margin or just as much of an idiot kid as Reyes, depending on who you ask. :>



Be as blunt as you feel the need to be! I appreciate the advice a whole bunch, and it's not like you're wrong in pointing out that that sentence is... unwieldy, to understate things, haha. I've been a bit slow in responding to this review since I first read it, but I will say that I tried reading aloud as I edited part of the chapter I'm currently writing and it did help me suss out some things that stood out as a bit off -- so I'll definitely keep that in mind going forward, thanks.



You also have a very valid point here; I've since come to learn that Frankenstein-ing two tonally quite different scenes into one is not the best idea, lol. Going forward, I'll try to approach that with a bit more consistency; after all, keeping tone and narration consistent is quite a bit more important than maintaining strict chronological order.



Thank you so much once again, and I hope that you enjoy future reading and updates just as much (if not more!) I intend to upload the rest of the fic so far when I finish the chapter I'm working on, which will result in six more chapters worth of content. :> I very much appreciate how in-depth this is, once again; having such a detailed perspective with such solid interpretations on my earlier chapters makes me very happy!

This is a review of chapter 14 for the CLBC:


This chapter appears to paint well-known characters in a slightly different light, for example Roark, when you going to put a different perspective on things. It’s quite effective it doing so, such as using anger is in method of this portraying him, in comparison to the anime version of him which is just seemed a little bit more goofy. On that note, the other characters also think I’ve got a large amount of life, to put on them and they are very much full of life. It’s quite easy to tell my part, due to the fact that they all have a very unique traits. Although at one point, I think you’ve added an extra ‘a’ before Doug, When it later appears that there is a single Doug. Whether that’s the only major thing I can see related to the characters that appears to be a mistake.

Into the relationship between the characters, certain relationships seem much clearer than others. In this pertains mostly to Roark. Although they seem to have only had a very short stint so far, it’s been very impactful – they don’t seem to be one for friendly relationships so far – however there might be another reason behind the general grouchiness. If the grouchiness was only directed at the main character, I’d say it’s the main characters fault, however it appears to be directed at quite a lot of people. Makes me wonder why this is the case.

In regard to grammar, there aren’t any extremely important mistakes, the biggest one I can see is to do with the possessive attached to the character Reyes. Because they teach it wrong in school, it should have the extra S attached onto the end because it’s not a plural. (At least in English, English-the joy of school). Another thing that is slightly jarring, not necessarily grammar related, but in regard to pacing and consistency, is there is a lot of split up speech. It can interrupt the flow of what the characters are saying. That being said, each of the speeches provided you tend to have a descriptive element to them so it makes it easier to understand how certain things have been said.

Finally in regard to the start of the chapter, the feelings he will go to a cramped mine are very relatable. It may be worth explaining a little more as to whether or not there is a background problem with claustrophobia in relation to the character i.e. what caused that? If indeed this is the case. Although it is nice to see you the characters working together to try and figure things out and keep going as a team. The way they keep talking to try and combat fate is very reliable and very realistic. And I think this is something you do considerably well throughout the chapter is deal with elements of realism in a fictional world.

Author's notes: chapters 15 through 20 coming right up, which should take us up to date! To give you an idea of how quick of a writer I am: this chapter was published on January 2nd of this year, and I've completed five as we get to October. What a year this has been, eh?
Also, something something "don't own Pokémon," and this chapter owes its name to the Television song, "See No Evil." Even though I've not had much excuse to use them for chapter titles yet, Television are perhaps my favourite band to have come up here. Check em out if you haven't already done so.

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---

If one were told to picture a seedy bar in downtown Jubilife, more at home among the rows of houses and odd pawn shops than the TV station and office buildings, and that bar just so happened to be a mob front, Jerry imagined that the result would have been a spitting image of Spoonie's. The Jerry of old spent a lot of time there, with Jimmy and Paulie, and the Jerry of now would freely admit that quite a lot of that time was spent against his will. It was the very embodiment of the life he'd left behind and had no real intention to return to.


Of course, that didn't mean that he didn't miss any of it. Sure, his immediate cohorts in the mob were far from ideal drinking buddies, with Paulie rattling off conspiracy theories about the moon being a hologram or Mew being the Pokémon League's secret plan to keep dissenters in line while Jimmy bragged about his hauls for the day and lampooned the cops, and One-eyed Terry and Bozo Mike with their sandpaper laughs and old Arcanine, reminiscing of the good old days the table over while Sandi and Freddie served the rounds and treated their patrons like their ruffian children, and Spoonie himself manned the bar — that slick, grey-haired coot was a firm but fair bartender, never afraid to butt his head in to keep the peace by any means and never without a quip on hand when patrons got extra saucy.


That just wasn't him anymore, though.


The bell rung as he walked through the door at this late hour, underneath the neon lights of his old second home. The cheering that often greeted him and his colleagues was far more subdued, the odd whoop and raise of the glass coming from a smattering of tables. A dry smile spread upon his face as he looked over to the bar, to his stool — the stool with one leg shorter than the others, with a folded beermat taped to that leg's bottom to prop it up.


"Jerry," uttered Spoonie, transfixed as ever as he was on cleaning his glass. "Long time no see."


"I couldn't keep away for too long, could I, pal?"


A grunt. "I hear you've gone legit now, beanpole. Are we not good enough for you anymore?"


This got a smile from him. "Oh, please; I ain't one of the crew anymore, and I'm no alcoholic, neither, but that don't mean I don't miss this place," he replied, Spoonie finally making eye contact with him. "And don't even get me started on good ol' Bibby, neither."


"See, you're even doing us wrong by your old starter Pokémon. You're terrible, and you're killing us, you traitor."


It had only been about a week since he'd seen Spoonie last, but it felt like months since he'd been on the end of one of those deadpan jokes. While not a belly laugh, it certainly got a grin and a loud exhale from Jerry as he hushed his voice. "Hey, listen, so… the company did get in touch with you, right?"


"Aye. I'm gonna be honest, Jerry, under any other circumstances, I wouldn't trust this one bit. And you know how shady this whole thing seems, right?"


"Right."


"But you know what? You're a good kid, Jerry. You ain't gone as legit as you may think, let me tell you that much, and you're still you — dumb as a stump, no offence, and I love you for it. You couldn't scheme your way out of a paper bag. So I'm willing to hear what this deal is."


A piece of Jerry died inside as he took a deep breath, figuring out how to phrase this. He had a gut feeling that this news wasn't going to go down well, that this new Jerry — the one who'd grifted enough to get himself off the streets — and his proposition would get laughed out of the bar and kidnapped a week later. "Okay… so, y'know the whole get-up you've got going on with Birkenhead's mine in Oreburgh, right?"


Spoonie's face went paler and flat. "…Go on."


"Uh… listen, I know you may not like this, but… the company is offering the gang so much more money than they can — like, we're talking nine-figure sums here, Spoonie — if you're, uh… you're willing to send a little, er, tip to their boss to some of the guys on the Oreburgh police force, perhaps let the investors know about the little… misappropriation of funds that the boss has going on."


The bartender was now completely stony in his face as he locked eyes with Jerry. "Oh, so you're asking me to rat out one rich guy for some other rich guys? Asking me to get involved with dirty cops and all that — Jerry, I'm gonna be one hundred percent frank with you here: I don't like this one bit."


"See, don't think about it like that. I can promise that it ain't the rich guys you're doin' this for, really. Think about it like this — you've seen how the news has been today, right? You know about all the crap going down there, you know how that slob treats his employees, and you've seen how mad they are about the whole ordeal. Now, imagine how indebted they'd be to ya if you did the right thing for 'em — with that guy gone, and the board under pressure, you'd be puttin' them in a real good position to have some negotiations and get what they want, right? Think about it that way. And I'll tell you what, actually — if you want, I can even put in a word with the guys at the company, let them know to give you a cut of the money, too; whatever it is that you want, name it."


"You've been out of the mob for a week, and you're already speaking like one of the rich guys. Gods, Jerry, what's gotten into ya? Where's the guy who used to come here all the time and get drunk with his pals, sticking it to the man instead of working for 'em?"


Biting his lip, Jerry was given pause for thought as he gave a dryly remorseful look at Spoonie. "That just ain't me anymore. I'm sorry. But I'd really appreciate it if ya did this one thing, boss, and then I'll owe you a favour and get out of your hair. I don't wanna make my boss mad; nobody would want that."


"Alright, alright, fine," said Spoonie, the well of warmth in his voice run dry as his eyes met Jerry's with scorn. "I still don't like this one bit, but I'm a nice guy, so I'll lend a hand — and I'm getting paid for this then I don't really see a reason not to. But I won't forget the favour you owe me, guy, and if anything goes south about this… oh, believe me, I don't think our boss would like you too much, either."


"Thanks, chief. I promise, if anyone tries to screw you guys over, they'll have me to answer to, trust me."


Spoonie hung his head down toward the glass he was in charge of washing. "I'll pass this onto Freddie. Consider it done within the hour."


"Ay, Jerry!"


Turning around, the ex-mobster was greeted by the big red nose that gave Bozo Mike his name. "Ay, what's up with you, pal?"


"Ain't seen you around here for a while, my guy; heard you're legit now!" chuckled Bozo Mike as he threw one of his jackhammer arms around Jerry's shoulder, pointing at him with the other.


Spoonie sneered at this. 'Legit' my ass.

---

Connor missed his jacket that night.


There were no ifs or buts about it, sure; it simply could not be worn as it was. It absolutely stank, and though he was grateful to get out of the mine when he did, the timing could hardly have been less convenient — and the stench that hung over him as he trudged back to the Pokémon Center was one of shame, bearing down on his back. The nurse on duty at the time was awfully nice, far more than he expected any reasonable person to be. After all, with everything else going on, he was very skeptical that the sight and smell of a Stunky-sprayed boy moping in, unable to look at her through more than a gap between his clammy fingers. He had no idea how the rest of the people there reacted, though it was probably with disgust at this spectacle.


He didn't do much else that night other than wrap himself in more blankets than usual and watch some more Masked Rider to cheer him up, though he was mostly asleep by the time Reyes got back.


Rousing him from his slumber was a great cold lump pressing up against his face. Through his heavy eyelids, he just about made out Ronnie's big blue eyes right in front of him, with his arms wrapped around his cool, steel body. A slightly concerned series of chirps and grunts met him as he woke, and Connor could not muster up more than creaking and a weary, woozy smile as he replied.


"Hey buddy…" he mumbled, tapping that great steel head with affection. "Uh… did I sleep in?"


"Good morning, sleepyhead." Reyes was much more spritely at this hour than his companion, prying himself away from the comb and mirror to give him a wide smile as he peered at the top bunk. "It's half past ten right now, so you should still be able to get breakfast if you're hungry."


"Oh, uh… morning, Reyes." Half past ten. That made it twelve hours of sleep, and yet Connor was still absolutely exhausted. "Er… I'm not really hungry right now, s-sorry. Did I miss anything last night?"


"Yeah — oh, the mine, you should have seen it; I made the best IT guy. And then Roark and Lucia came in and gave up the game, but like… trust me on this one, I don't think we'll be seeing much more of that stupid, terrible boss in all honesty. There'd be less dirt on him if we buried him alive in a farm!"


"Mmm, that's good," mumbled Connor before looking straight at Reyes, regarding him with the utmost sincerity his very tired face could offer. "Hey, uh… listen… I-I'm really sorry about what happened in that battle the other day. It really should have gone better, shouldn't it…?"


"Oh, don't worry about it too much; we all make silly mistakes when we're just starting out, and you did a good thing! I'm sure that Starly of yours is grateful that you took that spray for it. Besides, you didn't ruin anything, don't worry about that; everything still went off without a hitch, and… I mean, think about it like this, you smelled so bad that you even made the security guards get off the case. You're fine, my dude!"


Reyes' sincere look and warmth as he spoke certainly went some way to making Connor feel much better about the other night. "You… you mean that?"


"Of course I do!" he replied with a grin. "Why wouldn't I?"


Though it felt silly by now, Connor wasn't expecting such a catastrophic failure to go down so well — it didn't even feel like a catastrophic failure, come to think of it. He was so blissfully caught off-guard by this that he couldn't even bring himself to protest when Reyes' warm hand gave him a firm yet friendly pat on the back.


"O-oh… hey, uh… th-thanks, Reyes."


"Anytime, friend; don't mention it! Say, I'm going to be heading out in about half an hour, do you want to come with?"


"…Sure."


With that, Connor clambered out of bed. As he did so, Reyes decided to switch on the TV as background noise, flicking through the channels to see whatever was on. A cartoon, presumably about a very small and very lost Joltik; Jubilife TV's news, currently discussing the meteor in the Battle Zone; a cooking channel, with so much butter on screen Reyes reckoned he'd have a heart attack just by watching it for too long; the local news, with something about the boss' arrest — hold on, what?


"Hey, Connor, have a look at this."


"Hm?"


Upon the TV, a mugshot of the boss, wearing a resigned frown with his neat hair and eyes devoid of emotion, came up on screen, followed by images of the marches yesterday, shots of Oreburgh's gym and other such pictures.


"…arrested earlier this morning for what the police have said is 'involvement in a money laundering operation,' and although Birkenhead Mining has yet to release a statement on the matter, they are expected to do so at noon. The arrest comes the day after employees of the mine, including Oreburgh's Gym Leader, Roark Swanson — who has announced he will not be leading another march today, and is expected to make a further statement on the matter later today — went on strike in protest of working conditions, clashing with police forces yesterday and gaining entry into the mine — it is believed that multiple arrests have been made, and so far there have been six reported injuries, but it is unclear how the miner's strike and police investigations into the matter will develop. Violet Stone, reporting from Oreburgh Pokémon Center."


"Really? That quick? I didn't even know Roark had gone to the police about it yet," mused Reyes, deep in thought as he glanced over to Connor. "I mean, I'd have expected it to be a couple of days, not, what, fourteen hours later?"


"Er, I mean, that… that is pretty odd, I suppose, yeah. But I mean, at least the whole kerfuffle about the mine will start to die down, right? I imagine things won't be as bad from now on — oh, shoot, I should send Murphy an email about all this, actually; he said to let him know how things were doing."


"Eh, that is true. Should we pay a visit to Lucia later and see what she has to say about all of this?"


"S-sure, I can do that."


With that, Connor went about getting prepared for the day ahead, throwing on some clothes to nip out and be reunited with his jacket. His warm, clean, and considerably less stinky jacket. Once back in the room, he sat around watching the news and checking on his Pokémon (who were both doing very well, although it seemed Byrne was particularly grouchy this morning) before it turned eleven.


"Alright, Connor, you ready to go?"


"Yeah," he replied, returning Ronnie to his ball and climbing down the ladder, "lead the way!"


Making sure the room was in a respectable state, the two made their exit.

---

The bell rang as Reyes and Connor walked into Gianluigi's for lunch, immediately taking a seat at one of the few empty tables. Business was better today, the best it had been since they arrived in town, which made talking to Lucia about the boss more awkward than Connor would have liked — especially because she seemed to be in charge of waiting duties today. Nevertheless, it was still a pleasant sight.


As soon as she noticed they were there, Lucia went over to the table and laid her hands on them. One look at her face and Reyes gathered that she'd heard about the arrest already — and she seemed pretty pleased about it, too. "Alright, my shift's over in about half an hour; you guys good to talk to me about stuff then?" she asked, her voice straining to be quiet.


This was welcome news to Reyes. "Of course!"


"Good. Now, are you ordering anything?"


"Yes, I'll just have a small pepperoni pizza."


"Uh, I guess I'll just have a cheesy thing then, please?"


"Any drinks?"


Reyes looked to Connor before answering. "Just water for both of us, please."


"Alright, cool. Should be about twenty minutes."


"Roger that. Thank you!"


As they waited for their food to arrive, the pair talked about Pokémon to pass the time, with Reyes seeming pleased that his relationship with Garra seemed to be improving — "really cutting down on the biting recently," he remarked, "and I'll bet some of it's down to you, you know!"


"O-oh, I… er, thanks, I mean — that's good to hear! Does he still hate being in a ball?"


"Yeah, but I think he's getting used to it by now — although, I mean, now that I say that, I know he's gonna try taking my leg off or something while we're training."


As he answered, Reyes' attention briefly trailed in the direction most people's had — towards the TV, switched to the local news. Roark was on the screen, surrounded by microphones as he stood outside his gym.


"…given the events of this morning, I am pleased that, though not quite for the reasons I had initially hoped, justice has been appropriately served. Given also Birkenhead Mining's recent statement, that they are willing to open up a dialogue with us miners to sort out the mine, I am hopeful that we can end this strike soon and go back to work at our mine. In the meantime, there is no longer a reason for me to stay away from my duties as Gym Leader of Oreburgh, so, effective tomorrow, I will be returning to the League. I welcome my duty to give the trainers of this wonderful region a chance to earn their stripes. No questions."


There was a smattering of applause as this news came out, Reyes included in this. It also put a smile on Connor's face, too. Sure, he hardly had all the time in the world to get ready, but at the very least he was going to be taking on a Gym.


So soon after he came back from strike, too, and what if his involvement in the whole thing came to light — no pressure, Connor, only gonna be the whole city looking towards you…


The food arrived, and the pair chowed down on it, having a grand old time as they did, with Connor even putting a slice in his backpack as a treat for his Pokémon later. (Of course, that was unless it turned out cheese was bad for either Aron or Starly — he'd have to check on that…)


Soon enough, it was just as they'd finished eating that Lucia clocked out of her shift and immediately went over to the group, taking a seat next to Reyes. "Right, so… first things first, I owe both of you thanks. Reyes, I don't know how it's possible to be both a complete idiot and an utter genius at the same time, but if my understanding of what happened last night is right, then I'd have to say you fit that description very well. Couldn't have done it without you."


"Well, thank you very much! The same could be said for you, showing Roark what for."


"Please don't try anything like that ever again, though. Take acting classes or something. You're a horrible IT guy."


Before Reyes could even begin to articulate a reply, Lucia looked over to Connor. "I owe you thanks too. Sorry about the whole Stunky thing, but you did good — got those guards away and all, and you even bought Reyes some time, too. I don't know many trainers who would take a spray for your Pokémon, but I guess your friend was right; you must be good with them."


"Ah — aw, shoot, th-thanks. Fingers crossed I won't ever have to get sprayed again, am I right?" laughed Connor.


"I hope you don't either; that stuff reeks. For trainers, you're both pretty cool."


There were few things Reyes liked more than being called pretty cool. "Thanks! You know, I don't think you'd make a half-bad trainer yourself, if you don't mind me saying. I get that you have stuff on your plate at the moment, but I mean, you certainly have the drive for it, and the heart, too — and I mean, look at you! I don't think anyone would wanna mess with you, y'know? You should really consider it!"


"I would love to, really, but it just isn't practical right now," began Lucia, seeming to deflate as her tone took a world-weary turn. "Like, Pokémon are just really fucking cool, aren't they? And I'd love to have some of my own, go around Sinnoh with them and do all the gyms, fight the League, but I just don't know if I can right now. I have a job and stuff, I help my dad and I earn money for it. Besides, Oreburgh isn't all too bad, really. Could think of worse places to stay. But hey, if my circumstances change and I get the chance to, then I'd totally do it, and hey — you're not bad guys, I'd love to meet you two again someday with this friend of yours."


The notion that Florence considered Reyes a friend made him chuckle, but he soon laughed it off. "You know, the same to you, in any case, I'm just glad we could help — and besides, I think we're in town for… what, the next six or seven days? Gotta beat Roark and get back to Jubilife by the 25th — we made a bet with someone, and if we win, she's said she'll travel with us; I think you'd like her, actually, but I digress. If you need us for anything else while we're in town, I'd be happy to help!"


Before either of them could say anything, though, the bell rang as someone walked through the door, followed by rounds of applause and cheers, and the group turned around to see Roark walk in, identical to his TV appearance minutes earlier, hard-hat and all. Bowing to the cheers, he noticed the group out of the corner of his eye and smiled and nodded at them.


Connor's heart stopped. Did Roark, a Gym Leader, just smile in his direction without him even doing anything, and was he coming over to sit with them — oh goodness, okay, so he was. Connor blushed, scooting over to make space on the bench.


"Oh, thanks!" said Roark as he took the seat, with what felt like a mile of bench between him and Connor. "I'm not disturbing anything here, am I?"


"Not at all!" Lucia beamed at the Gym Leader as he took a seat. If she was surprised, she certainly did a good job of hiding it. "Thanks for the help yesterday, Roark!"


"Oh, please. If anything I should be thanking you for your help, really — all three of you. Even you." Connor was a bit thrown off by this; he hadn't expected Roark to be so bubbly and enthusiastic after the events of the past several days, and he seemed genuinely happy, too… although there was at least a bit of contempt in his eyes as he looked at Reyes.


"Just glad I could be of service, you know — and, uh, sorry about the whole disobeying of your orders. Although you can't deny, I made a good IT guy, right?"


"No. But I guess I can forgive it. If it seems stupid and it works, after all, it isn't really stupid. I don't know if there's anything in that noggin, but please use it next time; even if it doesn't get you thrown in jail, you're going to end up giving someone far less merciful than I a heart attack. As for your friend, I don't think we've met in person, have we?"


Oh gosh, is he talking to me — "E-er, n-no, I, ah, I d-don't think we have, b-but, er, my dad works with you, at the mine, a-and, and I know that this may sound a bit dumb, b-but, uh, you're my favourite Gym Leader, and—"


"Woah, it's okay! Slow down! You're okay, trust me. You're Michael's son, aren't you? I saw you with him recently, and I don't know if you remember, but he took you into the mine sometimes when you were way younger — just when I was starting out, actually. Connor, right?"


He knows my name?! "Y-uh, yeah, yeah, I'm Connor."


"Well, Connor, I must say, I'm really thankful for your help down the mine. I get that it wasn't your idea to go down there — and for future reference, I personally would advise against doing stuff like that in future — but I heard how you dealt with that Stunky spray, and how helpful you were in that battle. You should be proud of yourself, really."


Connor really wasn't quite sure what exactly there was to be proud of, but nevertheless, if his friends and a Gym Leader commended him for it, then he must have done something right. "Aaah, th-thank you!" he spoke, definitely louder than his normal volume (which definitely wasn't a voluntary thing.)


"Don't mention it. And if it means anything to you, your dad talks about you sometimes, too. I hear him talk quite a lot about how his son's going on an adventure — and I believe your starter is that Aron from the mine, too, isn't it? Are you looking after it?"


"A-ah, er, y-er…" began Connor as he was stricken with a mighty case of the jitters, chewing on his nails as he tried to string together a coherent sentence from the scores of thoughts bounding around his brain. He laid one hand on one of the balls on his belt before continuing. "Er… yeah, er, h-his name's, er, his name's Ronnie, and he's doing, he's doing good, yeah; I'd get him out, but y'know, this is a restaurant, I don't wanna disturb anybody…"


"That's fine. I guess I'll be seeing him at the gym, then — though I do hope you're not just relying on him, in any case. I look forward to battling you!"


Connor didn't need to be reminded of this, and he really would have liked it if he had another Pokémon in his arsenal. But at the same time, he already had enough on his plate as it was, between getting Ronnie gym-ready and getting Byrne to actually like him; catching and training another Pokémon in such short time required another plate entirely.


"You know," said Lucia, "I am surprised the police dealt with it so quickly. That's not like them at all."


"Oh, me too" — Roark went hushed — "I mean, I only called the police about it late last night, so I don't know who the hell was looking into it, but I'm not complaining about it!"


Connor thought this was a bit strange. His mother was a police officer, and he'd watched plenty of police shows; it seemed a bit unusual that something like money laundering would go from initial report to arrest overnight — and did Roark say he called the police about it?


"What — er, what did you find, exactly? What did you show the police?"


"The boss had some emails with Spoonie's — I think that's the bar in Jubilife — where he was a bit too up front with his, uh… financial dealings. So I took some pictures and emailed them to the police."


Spoonie 's is involved in this?


He was probably just being paranoid, but something was a bit odd about this. With all the talk of the boss' role in this, he had seen absolutely no mention of Spoonie's in the news. Not even a passing mention — and he hated to eavesdrop, but he hadn't heard anyone near him say a thing about Spoonie's up until now.


He made a mental note to email Murphy about all of this later that day. Just to make sure he didn't forget, he made it his top priority as soon as he got back to the room.


To be doubly sure, he stuck a pin in it.

Author's Notes: this chapter was initially published on February 21st, 2019.  

---

---

Seven in the morning was no time to be awake for the small and sprawling bag of creaking bones, tired eyes and drooping brown hair that inhabited Connor's bed. It was a bad habit of his; sure, if he were a better trainer, he'd be in bed by half past ten. He would relish the alarm clock screeching inches from his sleepy head, because what better time to train one's Pokémon than early in the morning? Connor felt that there were certainly better times. Like after breakfast, for example. Or when he was on more than six hours of sleep.


But alas, today was Gym day, with a walk back to Jubilife thrown in too. Those six hours would not be joined any time soon. How come Reyes was already up and out, Connor wondered? What ungodly power possessed him to be up so early?


Rubbing the chapped and stinging skin on his fingernails against each other, he looked around. No matter how sparse it was, light wandered in through the curtains as dust wandered through the air. No matter how tired Connor was, life moved on and time hammered on. He had no choice but to go with it.


Kicking the pile of clothes to one side, he made extra sure the floor was spotless before giving the lump wrapped up in duvet a gentle nudge. "Hey. Ronnie," he mumbled, his voice barely beyond a hoarse rumble. "You gotta get up, buddy." The little creature crawled his way out of his nighttime home in the bedsheets and slid headfirst onto the ground as Connor got to his feet, clawing the curtains open a wee bit more (and wincing) before getting Byrne out.


"Alright, you two; er, are you both — Byrne, k-keep your beak out of Ronnie's face holes, please — you both good for today?"


Ronnie nodded as he swerved his body away from the prying beak. Byrne, on the other hand, was occupied with far more important matters such as making sure his colleague's face did not contain any unwelcome visitors.


"Byrne, please; you gotta stop that."


As though sweeping a steely dead body under a rug, Byrne met Connor with nothing more than an innocent tweet and an innocent gaze. Connor had placed his trust in Byrne as a member of his team; after all, what sort of trainer didn't trust their team? Still, he could only hope Byrne had his stuff together on the battleground.


"Ronnie, uh - do you know what you're doing with that whole Rock Smash thing?"


An extra-weighty nod came in reply, and Connor kept a close eye out for a few moments just in case Ronnie decided to test this move on a poor, unfortunate piece of furniture. Though, it never hurt to be too sure. So Connor got an idea.


Throwing on a set of wrinkled clothes, his freshly clean jacket, and his backpack, Connor and pals were out at the back of the Center as fast as his tired little legs could carry him… and as fast as his groggy eyes could adapt to the morning sun as it crept over autumn's crimson haze, as long as it took for him to look around and make sure nobody was watching and ready to laugh at him. At least Byrne wasn't so caught up in trying to find edible bugs in Ronnie's face as he walked. Thinking about it, Connor realised he had no idea when Reyes would be back, and he was pretty sure that once he was back he'd be whisked off to get breakfast and get to the Gym, so whatever training this was had to be quick.


Glancing between his two Pokémon, he gently gestured them back a few paces before speaking. "S-so… um, are you… you two up for a little sparring before the battle?" As if on cue, Byrne flapped towards Ronnie in a squawking tornado of black feathers, stopped only by Connor shooting a hand to his chest. "Woah, woah, woah; on my cue, buddy!"


Byrne's furious chest puffing and wing flapping returned to normality (if it could be called that) as his trainer looked to Ronnie, rocking slightly but still ready to go. "Okay - now, I'm not going to be calling out attacks here, just give you guys some instructions. Byrne, uh… treat this like one of those Geodude from the other day, okay? And Ronnie, I want you to mainly focus on using Rock Smash, uh - try and keep your attacks to mostly your head, alright? You won't get anything like this at the Gym, so… just try to avoid tiring Byrne out, okay? And, ah… other than that, you're free to do a bit of improvising here. Just try not to hit the building, okay?"


Ground rules on the table, he took a step back, cleared his throat and fought off a yawn in his throat as he said: "Go."


Without a moment's hesitation, a hideous rumble began to emanate from Byrne's lungs as he pointed his blank and beady eyes at Ronnie, his sharp talons digging into the earth beneath him as Ronnie buckled down. Lowering his center of gravity, he refused to break eye contact with his sparring partner as he wound himself up like a particularly heavy toy car, roaring before hurtling towards Byrne. However, Byrne made lift-off, and Ronnie found himself hitting nothing and with dirt on his face.


Connor began to dread that Byrne was about to declare the Center's newly painted red roof his new perch, when Ronnie tore up the earth beneath him in reply. Great pointed boulders launched like homing missiles at Byrne before he could land, thumping him as they made contact. Ego as bruised as his flesh, the aggrieved Starly screamed bloody murder as he bared down on Ronnie through the air, dangling those sharp claws behind him as he lanced at his foe with his sharp beak tearing through the air.


Like a batter faced with a feathery, angry ball, Ronnie arched back as Byrne neared, getting ready as he came into smashing distance. To Byrne's credit, he landed a slap on Ronnie's forehead with his good wing before a crack rang through the air. Contact had been made. It sent a howling Byrne in an arc through the air. Touching down in a cloud of dust and dirt, he lay like a sleeping Ducklett for a solid minute. Ronnie watched on, vigilant and concerned; of course, he knew better than to get close, in case that furious little bird had more to say with that beak of his.


He did.


Byrne dug his claws in and he hoisted himself up into the air, giving Ronnie his best feathery ax murderer look as he hovered a few inches into the air, drawing Ronnie in close before making several copies of himself in the air. It took Ronnie a moment to cotton on to what was going on, as he asked all the usual questions; why were there so many identical Byrnes? Which one was the real one? …Was it the one that was more opaque than the rest?


His suspicions proved correct. Another Rock Smash landed, but this time his two-footed landing was smoother. Shaking his feathers and cleaning his coat, Byrne's head felt like fifty kilograms. But that didn't stop him as Ronnie hardened up, preparing for another attack. This never came, for Byrne was off in the air in an instant. The Rock Tomb with his name on it veered off as Byrne stayed afloat just long enough to make it to a branch.


Connor kept a close eye on this, taking note of what he saw. Byrne was doing far better than expected; it wasn't long ago that his wings and foul temper kept him miles away from any battlefield. Now, though, he was a key component in Connor's plan for his first Gym. The question lingered, though; was he ready—


"Boo!"


"AGH!" Once Connor's heart was going again, he turned around with his hand clutched to his chest to see Reyes with a sandwich in hand and a devilish look. "You spooked me!" said Connor, his voice more a breathless laugh than a speaking tone.


Reyes was wry as a Salandit as he looked on. "Well, how else was I to get your attention away from the battle? How's your team looking; good for Roark?"


"W-well, I think so," he replied, looking back to the courtyard; Ronnie was trying to throw rocks at Byrne's tree branch, making a few shots before finally landing an attack that brought him to the ground. "Or I hope so, anyway; j-just been having one last rehearsal before we head off, y'know? Actually, I should, uh… one mo."


Pokéballs in one hand, Connor approached the battlefield with his other raised. "Alright, guys, I think that about does it for today. Good job, you two; uh… Byrne, good job with the Double Team, and you're getting better with your wing, too. Try, uh, try not to lose your temper and get physical against Roark, okay?" Byrne replied with a throaty coo as he tottered over to Connor, his good wing spread out more than his bad. "Ronnie, keep up the good work; if you knock your opponent over, make sure you try and capitalise on it, okay?"


With both of his Pokémon giving an affirmative, a smile and a blush crept onto Connor's face as he dropped into a squat with his arms spread out, engulfing Ronnie. (Byrne had yet to cotton onto the whole hugging thing, apparently.) "Team, let's, uh, let's do this, okay? I believe in you both; let's go kick some butt."


Ronnie returned the affection with one of his trademark nuzzles, Byrne watching from the side. With that, Byrne was returned to his ball and Connor was off to Reyes with his starter in tow.


"You ready, Connor?"


"As ready as I'll ever be. Let's go."

---

Much like his mine, Roark's Gym was dark and cavernous. Stalactites clung onto the twisting grey ceiling and each side of the path to Roark was uneven, laden with rocks. The closing of the door, and each footstep the pair took, echoed from wall to wall of the domed lair. At the front of the gym stood a desk manned by a bored young woman whose fingers drummed her cheek and the open book on her table; Reyes took the incentive and approached the desk.


"Welcome, how can I help you?" she mumbled, glancing up at the two. "You two here to see Roark?"


"That we are, ma'am; I hope we're not bothering him, or you?"


"No, of course not; can I take your names?"


"Certainly! I am the great Reyes Vasquez, and this here is my best friend, the equally fantastic Connor Murdoch!"


An eyebrow raised, she looked up and down at the two, apparently not sure if she was hallucinating. Nevertheless, she glanced down at her book, eyes following her finger. "Oh, yeah, it says you two are already registered. I think Roark's free now, so just go on up. Good luck."


"How thoughtful of him! Alright, thank you!"


All that stood between the two and Roark was the narrow, jagged path up to Roark. No trainers to hinder them. No physical obstacles to clear, barring the great ramp to the field of battle. Nothing. Yet even if he wanted to, Connor could not turn back now; going back on the bet now of all times was simply not an option. There were no ifs or buts about his situation; he had to be ready, whether or not he wanted to be.


Reyes glanced to his side, glancing at his colleague. "Connor, you alright? You've slowed down a bit."


"Hm? Oh, I'm fine. I think."


"Just checking. You've got this, okay? I'm sure you'll do fine."


"I, um… yeah, you're right. Thanks."


Connor's sudden spring lasted two steps before he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Connor," said Reyes with renewed gravitas, "I believe in you. You've worked harder than most on this, and first Gyms are the easiest of the bunch. You'll be fine."


One half of a smile spread on his face. "Thanks, Reyes," he began, making sure his smile was genuine enough. "I'm sure you'll smash it, too."


"This isn't about me, though, friendo. I want to hear you say it for yourself."


"Say… what, exactly?"


"Say that you'll be fine."


Had he, though? Connor bit his lip, thinking things over. What if he wasn't fine, though? What then?


Deep breaths. He had to be fine. Or else there'd be consequences.


"Reyes, I promise - I solemnly swear - that I'm good. Please, don't worry about me."


This was what Reyes liked to hear as he looked on with a daring smile, beckoning whatever lay ahead to come at them. "Then let's do this, buddy! Lead the way!"


Lead the way? Had Connor been that enthusiastic, that'd he'd volunteered himself to go first? Well, saying no would have been rude. Biting the bullet, Connor accepted his fate and walked up to the battleground.


Greeting him was scores of lights from the roof, falling upon him as he stood opposite the Gym Leader. It took his eyes more than a moment to adjust as he raised a hand to his eyes. Only then could he get a read of Roark, one hand on hip and other protruding as its bony fingers pointed at the pair as a devilish smile fell upon his face. Beneath the spotlights, his spectacles glimmered, flooded by light; whatever expression lay behind them was inscrutable, unable to be made out. All things considered, however, Connor was not certain it was one that even dared entertain the possibility of defeat.


"I'm glad you two made it. Welcome to the Oreburgh Gym, trainers." Where Reyes' expression beckoned Roark on, it seemed he was more than willing to meet him. "I believe this is your first time?"


Connor nodded, eschewing words. That duty fell on Reyes. "Indeed it is, but that doesn't make us pushovers, by any means. As a matter of fact, good Leader, perhaps it is you who will be pushed over."


"We'll just have to see about that, won't we? Cheeky little so-and-so." Connor couldn't quite make out if this was a term of endearment or a biting indictment, and Roark's grunt through closed mouth didn't help affairs. "It's nice to see the two of you are relishing the challenge, though. I still owe the both of you a bit of thanks for that help in dealing with the boss, though, even if you went about it in the most pain in the arse way imaginable, don't I?"


"It got the job done, didn't it?" shrugged Reyes, the corners of his mouth retreating towards his chin as his eyebrows bounced up.


Roark's mouth went from closed to clenched shut. "Don't you just love being a thorn in people's sides? Anyway, it's my Pokémon's job to fight you folks, not mine." He went a bit less glum as his attention turned to Connor, standing in front of the two. "I'm assuming you're up first, then?"


Welp. "I, um… I hope that's not a problem?"


"Oh, not at all! Now, I want to make the rules of every Sinnohan Gym clear before we begin, seeing as this is your first time: this'll be a single battle. I will be using three of my Pokémon, and you are free to use a maximum of three members of your team. I see you've only got two Pokéballs with you; you aren't going to pull some sort of surprise and call out a ghost from your shadow, right?"


Actually, that was a pretty clever strategy that Connor would have to steal if he ever had something he could do that with. But he felt a bit silly bringing a disadvantage in numbers to this fight, now that he was called out on it. "I… no, just these two. Nothing up my sleeve."


"Bold strategy, if you ask me, but whatever floats your boat. Anyway, the fight will continue until one of us has no more Pokémon able to fight, and any Pokémon unable to fight must be returned to their ball. Deliberate failure to remove injured Pokémon from the battlefield will result in disqualification. Do you agree to all this?"


"Yeah."


"That's what I like to hear." His confidence exuded from his face as he tipped his helmet forward with his spare hand, before grabbing a Pokéball. "So all there is to say now is that I wish you best of luck."


He took one step forward, off the sidelines and onto the rocky, uneven field of battle. Connor took one look at Reyes, met with a smile and thumbs up, before doing the same.


"I officially declare this battle for the Coal Badge underway! Cuvier, let's go!"


Cuvier just so happened to be an Onix. Connor was aware that they were big on paper, but seeing one in the flesh was entirely different. He couldn't remember seeing any living thing so absolutely, utterly massive as the colossus that towered before him, each eye as big as a human and an open jaw that must have been five feet tall as it gaped. The uncoiled creature almost reached the ceiling with the massive horn atop its head.


This was quite an introduction to Connor's first gym.


"Don't get put off by how big that thing is, Ronnie!"


When Ronnie was on the battlefield, it was quite hard not to be put off by the gulf in size. A cold sweat ran down his back as he followed the Onix's body with his eyes. His neck was not long enough to meet Cuvier's stare. Connor dreaded to think how Ronnie must have looked to the beast before him; was he a speck of some sort?


While Connor was busy looking up and down at the Gym Leader's first Pokémon, trying to figure out where to even start, Roark took the initiative as he cupped a hand to his mouth and spoke first. "Cuvier, let's loosen 'em up! Screech and then Rock Throw!"


Even through the hands that blocked his ears, Connor's eardrums rattled under the sheer mass of Cuvier's war cry as it bellowed towards the pair like a twenty-foot trumpet from Giratina's realm. Still, whatever he was going through was probably nothing compared to what Ronnie was sitting through right now. He swore he heard a shriek cut through the harsh noise from Ronnie, with his back raised and limbs tensed. "Harden!"


Once he was pretty sure the noise had ceased — as sure as possible, as his ears screamed for respite — Connor removed his hands from his ears. He made sure that he'd remember ear plugs next time. He watched as Ronnie's hard metallic skin shone like glimmering silver beneath the swarm of lights, before a command for his next move came to the forefront of his mind. Before he could call it out, though, Roark spoke again with an order Connor was not keen on hearing.


"Set up a Stealth Rock around that Aron, ASAP, and follow that up with another Screech!"


Stealth Rock.


Of course a Rock Gym Leader would give his Pokémon Stealth Rock.


Bother.


"Ronnie! Quick! Give 'em a Rock Smash to the chest - see if you can bring that Onix's head down to your level!"


Cuvier's giant tail bashed the ground, sending shock waves running through the earth between the pair as Ronnie went into motion. Fortunately for Connor, though, he could have sworn that Ronnie ran on high powered batteries as he covered the ground between the two in mere seconds, swinging his head back like a solid steel pendulum before bashing it straight into Cuvier's stomach with all his might, jamming it all the way in before any noise could leave Cuvier's larynx of its own accord. Instead, that noise was drawn out as Ronnie pushed further and further into Cuvier's rocky front, not a biting screech but an anguished howl as the beast doubled over. It took most of its might to keep its head from crashing into the rocky ground.


Of course, once Cuvier's head was at that level, right by Ronnie's ear, the desired sound came out. Ronnie was nearly sent flying by the volume of the sound; his brain bounced all around his skull as he hung on for dear life, trying not to give in to the horrific noise that surrounded him. A noise that was just cut through by a familiar voice, as Ronnie just mustered the might to pry his eyelids open and look towards his trainer.


"Metal Claw, while his head is down!"


Connor watched on from his side of the battlefield, unsure whether his words got through to Ronnie as he bit down on his knuckles, a frothing mix of anticipation and dread bubbling in his stomach. Cuvier needed to be dealt with ASAP. Under no circumstances could Byrne be switched into anything other than Roark's Cranidos with Stealth Rocks on the field. Yet with Roark relying so much on Ronnie's defences being lowered, he wasn't optimistic about the prospect of Roark's attacks. With this weighing on him, it was a tremendous relief beyond words when Ronnie, defiant and growling, began to raise one steely claw towards Cuvier's chin. In an instant, a mighty slash was unleashed, connecting and sending Cuvier reeling through the air, moaning in anguish as he smashed headfirst into the ground with such an impact that Connor was almost knocked off his feet from mere meters away; his arms waved in the most frantic of circles as he tried desperately to stay upright.


"Ah, crap - Cuvier, get up and Rock Throw! We can still get something from this!"


One second passed, becoming two and then three as Connor counted on his fingers. Ronnie got himself to a safe distance in the meantime, keeping his eyes peeled and on his opponent.


"Harden while he's down!"


Before the count of four, though, a grumble came from the pit of the giant as his massive body slithered across the ground before uncoiling. Chest, head, and composure severely bruised, he may have been downed, but he was most certainly not out. As Ronnie braced for impact with his metal coat going hard, Cuvier jerked his weary body upwards in a fit of rage, thrashing his head into the ceiling; with an almighty crash, tremendous boulders came loose from the crumbling ceiling, unleashed at Ronnie as they crashed down onto the ground around him moments later. Although they fell apart with some ease as they made contact with his metal body and protruding fin, he was still knocked onto his belly, forced to shake it off as he got back to his feet.


By now, Cuvier was rocking his giant head back and forth as his body swayed, his blinking becoming less rhythmic and heavier. The sight of this put Ronnie in a sprightly mood as he looked back to Connor with his eyes wide open and ready for directions. Nodding as he looked up at the wounded beast, Connor turned back to Ronnie with a newfound veil of confidence as he barked out one more order. "Let's put this round to bed, Ronnie! Metal Claw!"


Roark crossed his arms and puffed his lungs out, straightening his glasses before calling out once more. "Screech! We're not going down without a fight!"


Surging forward like a Pokémon possessed, Ronnie closed his eyes as he covered the ground between him and his foe in seconds. As Cuvier tried to unleash one final roar, something came up in his throat, and he could do nothing but cough to clear it. By that point, it was too late. His jaw hinged open, but he did not have time to let anything come out. Ronnie launched himself as far as his legs could take him with a claw sticking out and ready to be unleashed. As he crashed into Cuvier's long and winding torso, his sharp claw sliced at the layers of hard rock before him, making a nasty cut. The Onix fought for consciousness as his body was knocked over by the impact of this. But nothing came. Smashing into the ground, he lost consciousness as Ronnie stood atop him. Slightly fazed, yes, but victorious.


Before either trainer could do anything, Reyes took the opportunity to raise both hands in the air, whooping and cheering vigorously as he clapped. "Hell yeah, Connor! Get his ass!"


As Connor went pink, burying his mouth into the palm of his hand to mask his flattered smile as Roark shot a venomous side eye towards the side of the ring. "Good job, Cuvier; we can build on this," he said with no signs of deterrence in his voice as he withdrew his Onix. "Lyell, you're up next!"


Where the giant Pokémon once stood was now a Geodude. A bulkier Geodude than the ones he was used to seeing in the wild, mind, but at least there would be no Cranidos just yet. "Ronnie, Harden, and brace yourself!"


"Hit that Aron with a Rock Throw ASAP!"


Pounding the ground at his feet into a missile, Lyell scooped a rock about the size of his body and held it in both hands, arching his arms behind his head and letting it rip towards Ronnie. Fortunately, Ronnie was up to meet this with his tremendously hard and shield-shaped head, putting all of his neck muscles into meeting it with his head. It took a moment for him to shake off the impact, however, and left a fingertip-sized bruise at the top of his head.


Connor was not about to take any chances after Cuvier had attacked his hearing and lowered his defences so many times, huge type advantage or no. "You hurt, Ronnie?" he called out as he fidgeted with his zipper, tugging it up and down. It took a load off his mind when his plucky little metal friend turned around to face him with a triumphant nod. Connor was certain there would have been a thumbs-up to go with that if Ronnie had any thumbs to speak of. Nevertheless, still not taking his hand away from his zipper, he bit his lip and nodded. "Alright, good; let's get this round over with. Metal Claw; don't let 'em get you up close!"


Roark had the demeanour of a man who was beginning to regret his decisions, though this did nothing to quell Connor's nerves. He was a Gym Leader, after all, and one hardened by years of workplace politics; he definitely wasn't a stranger to mind games. "Stay firm and hit 'em with another Rock Throw! Don't let that Metal Claw knock you off!"


Connor could not help but wonder if things were supposed to be going this well. By all accounts, they probably should not have been. Yet this did not stop him from pressing on. Nor did it stop Ronnie, determined as ever as he thundered towards Lyell with an outstretched claw and batted him with it, spinning his jaw into orbit. Once he was back upright and scowling as angrily as ever, Lyell smashed another rock over Ronnie's head, this time from point-blank range. This was crushed with even less effort than the last one.


Connor could not help but feel he had gotten lucky beyond words with his starter Pokémon. "One more and we should be good! You've got this, partner!"


Like a sixty-kilogram, one-foot-tall Palpitoad pouncing upon its prey, Ronnie leapt up towards Lyell with another slash, his arm emphatically connecting to the underside of the Geodude's head with the force of a very small truck that knocked the Geodude into the air. The limp Geodude hit the ground with a thud. He did not get up.


Watching on, Connor's hands moved away from his zip and onto his chin. Two of the good Gym Leader's Pokémon downed, one more to go, and Ronnie was still up and rearing for more, a tiny little tank with big blue eyes. He had to stop himself from launching onto the battlefield as fast as his legs could take him to give Ronnie the tight hugs he so deserved. "Ah… a-alright, Ronnie! Proud of you! Let's keep this going against that Cranidos, okay?"


It took Ronnie a moment to catch onto Connor's voice as the ringing in his ears began to fade, but it soon got through to him. He turned around in a heartbeat and plodded back to his half of the battlefield with a joyous little whistle.


However, with eyes narrowed and arms crossed, Roark was not deterred. Far from it. Any notion that Roark regretted his decisions was categorically missing from his face. "You're not half bad at this, Connor," he called out. "I hope you're not expecting to get through this Gym using just the one Pokémon, though. Are you?"


"Erm…"


"I've only got the one Pokémon left, so if you're going to switch out, now's as good a time as any."


For whatever reason, Reyes took offence to proceedings from the sidelines as one accusatory finger shot out like a bullet train. "Hey, that's not fair! Resorting to word trickery because you can't beat him on the field — Connor, you don't gotta listen to him! You just gotta kick his ass on your own terms!"


Reyes definitely had a point, Connor thought. Roark would want him to switch into Byrne now, with all the momentum in Ronnie's favour. He wasn't about to fall for that. But on the other hand… no, Connor could not afford to waste time thinking about the other hand; that's what Roark wanted, uncertainty! "A-ah, no, you can go ahead. I'll stick with Ronnie for the time being, thanks. Uh… good battle so far, though! I like what you're doing!" he replied as he stuck up the most uncertain thumbs up he'd ever seen.


"Rrrright… you do you, kid." Roark bounced a Pokéball up and down in the hand that did not inhabit his pocket. A Pokéball that was soon hurled onto the field with considerable gusto, the Gym Leader's voice leaving his mouth with the same force. "Hutton, let's show 'em what Oreburgh Gym is really about!"


Roark's Cranidos, Hutton, may as well have breathed fire through his nostrils as he tilted his giant head, glaring down the end of his beaky snout at Ronnie with his jewel eyes and grunting as his noodly arms, claws bared, dangled in front of him. After a good moment or two of this, he decided to let his presence be known, unleashing a mighty roar from the pit of his rocky body.


As much of a sight as this was to Connor, who scratched the back of his palm with the skin beneath his worn-down fingernails, he wasn't thinking about giving Ronnie a break just yet. Because Ronnie did not want a break just yet, it seemed. Pumping one fist back and pointing with the other, fire sharpened his voice as he made a call. "Let's hit that Cranidos with a Metal Claw!"


"Show 'em they're dead wrong if they think we'll sit back and take it! Headbutt!"


Connor was intrigued by Roark's apparent lack of caution towards his type disadvantage. Nevertheless, he was relieved when Ronnie reached his target before Hutton in this head-on collision. His voice rumbling in defiance as he met Hutton's staredown, Ronnie's claw cut into Hutton's torso, stopping at his chin. Hutton's head was only knocked back as far as Ronnie's claw went, though; still wincing in pain, he replied with a roar straight out of the late Cretacious period before throwing his head back like a mallet with one thousand newtons of force and bashing it into Ronnie's.


Connor's expression grew dim as he kept watching; in spite of the type disadvantage, the crashing impact was so great that it forced Ronnie to take a good five seconds to regain his bearings… and even then, he still didn't have his full wits about him. The prolonged battle was taking its toll on Ronnie, it seemed. Besides, knowing Byrne, he'd relish the Stealth Rocks.


"I think that's enough for the time being, Ronnie; great job for now," Connor called out as he pulled out his Pokéball and hit the button on it with his thumb.


Except Connor didn't notice the absolute shit-eating grin that now called Roark's positively delighted face home.


"Hutton, Pursuit!"


"Wait, no—"


Without his consent, a ghostly groan came from Connor's throat as his hand dragged his skin down his face. Ronnie lit up in the light of his Pokéball for the briefest of moments, before Hutton crashed into his side with the might and weight of a ten-ton truck. His pained yelping rang through the arena. A yelp that faded as he returned to his ball, as Connor looked on in a state of awe-stricken horror. If this was a calculated decision, it was unfortunate that Connor was utterly terrible at maths. His hand scratched his neck as he seized Byrne's Pokéball, sending him out without a word.


Roark looked as though Connor had completely lost his mind on the other side of the battlefield. "A Starly? You're sure you want to do that?" he asked, as sincere as he'd ever been.


Just as soon as Byrne took his place in the arena and touched down on the floor, he shot back into the air screaming his lungs out. Large rocks rose from the ground and pelted his wings to the sound of most unpleasant thumps. Connor wouldn't have been opposed to one of these rocks, but much bigger, flying in the direction of his head right about now, all things considered.


"Connor, keep your head in this!" butted in a voice from the sidelines, cutting into his self-loathing like a lanky blue knife. "You'll be fine, I promise! Just stick to doing you and it'll come naturally!"


Reyes was right, and it took a weight off his shoulders. Connor had trained for this situation for days on end, and he'd be damned if he was going to forget about that training. It was what Byrne knew best, and it was what he knew best.


"If you're quite done, then I hope you're prepared." Popping into a pose that cut a shadow beneath the glowing stadium lights, Roark had truly come alive. "Hutton! Headbutt!"


"Byrne, into the air and Growl!"


Like a freight train, Hutton covered the ground between him and Byrne in no time at all. His speed alarmed Byrne. It kicked him into a flapping whirlwind that barely made lift-off. Once he was a few feet in the air, he chose not to let his beak or his wings do the talking; rather, it was his… talking. A guttural hiss that a novice ear may have mistaken for a Seviper rang across the battleground; Byrne decided to stay close to Hutton to make extra sure he heard it… and hear it Hutton did. Why did this scraggly little bird stay in range of his attack? What was the meaning of this? Roark found these questions just as pressing as his Pokémon did.


Still, it didn't bother him much in the long run. It just meant Hutton's attack landed much more simply. It was Connor's turn to regret things as Hutton bashed his head into the nook between Byrne's chest and bad wing, forcing his hissing into a screechingly premature crescendo as he was knocked into last Monday. His trainer's newfound confidence had already almost disappeared at the sight of him clawing his way back to his feet in protest.


"Uhh… umm… okay, let's… let's try that again, Byrne. But try perching on something this time, like that barrier, for example! Please!"


Under any other circumstances, Roark would have mistaken Byrne's groggy coos for a hungover child at first listen. It was quite the sight watching his counterpart pouring his heart and soul out to this very grumpy little bird. "Headbutt that Starly, and batter that wall in if it perches up there!" He had to give credit to Connor, though; using the environment to the advantage? Always the mark of a good trainer. Even if that environment was a four-foot wall.


A wall that Byrne did not seem to be interested in as he stood still, preening his injured wings to the tune of displeased grunts. Connor was that close to getting down on both knees and begging like a broken man as Hutton was imminent. Both sets of nails were in his mouth as he watched on in abject horror. "Byrne! Please! I believe in you! Get on that barrier and we can get through this!"


To be believed in.


Byrne glanced back to his trainer in the shuffling locomotive madness that rushed at him headlong. It was a foreign expression that adorned Connor's face, one of a vast and hopeless abyss cracked by a shining light. A light that was dying to escape, calling out to Byrne to embrace it. A light that was within touching distance.


Byrne nodded, turning back to the beast that drew near. He stretched the joints in his right wing, making sure they still functioned, before taking off. His entire face screwed up as it burst into his most beautifully foul birdsong. It echoed across the Gym, almost knocking Roark, Connor, and Reyes off their feet as it tore into their eardrums. Yet as much as Hutton wanted to put a stop to this, he could not. For Byrne was not content with perching on the barrier just yet. No, he soared in circles around the battlefield, once and then again as his screaming became more and more obnoxious. Frustration built up inside Hutton like an abscess of vitriol, as Byrne just seemed to keep going, and going, and going with no end in sight, choosing to take this frustration out on the barrier before Byrne even landed on it.


If Byrne had lips, Connor was certain he'd have been smiling as he dove down, landing several feet away from Hutton. Yet he was not quite done yet; no, not at all. He did not pack it in even as Hutton screamed, leaving a trail of pure, fiery rage in his wake as he charged headfirst at the foundations beneath Byrne. Even in his dismayed and frenzied state, his arrhythmic and unhinged head smashes made a significant hole in the barrier before too long. But Connor could not tell if his eyes were deceiving him, or if his attacks were letting up from the ones he had unleashed on Byrne?


"I'm going to have to pay the damages on this, aren't I," bemoaned Roark as he watched on. Each attack chipped away as much from the barrier as it did his wallet.


Each thud knocked the plucky Starly further off balance, and his breath was beginning to wear thin as his talons clutched on for dear life, harder and harder with each hit, and Connor's hand was drawn towards his forehead to wipe away the rushing sea of panicked sweat. Pokéball at the ready, he kept his eyes peeled and watched on.


It came as a shock to those eyes when, as the barrier gave way, a bright white light enveloped Byrne as his wings took him higher and higher into the air. Wings that grew bigger and bigger with each beat, morphing into greater proportions with the rest of his body. The tuft atop his head grew into the shape of a question mark, his beak sharper like a big yellow bottle opener as his talons became more pronounced.


Byrne was evolving so soon?


The morphing bird's wings came together at his torso, before unleashing his full wingspan and shedding the light as his brand new coat radiated light for all to see. Connor's gasping eyes shone like moonbeams at the glorious sight as he put both hands on his mouth, trying to stop his jaw from falling clean off.


With a caw heard around the Gym, the Staravia made an uneven landing with heavy, yet triumphant, breaths serenaded by his lungs. Byrne's body may have changed significantly, but he was still the same old Byrne as he faced down a royally peeved Hutton, screaming like a jester from bird hell and goading him nearer. He gave another, bitterly ready look at Connor, who was resigned to what was about to happen next. Byrne either faced defeat on the battlefield or faced another Pursuit and defeat as he left it, and Connor could tell Byrne would not let him hear the end of it if he relented. All things considered, Connor kind of agreed with this approach; both routes had the same end result, but one of them involved doing just that extra bit more damage. It really was a no-brainer for Connor.


Both nostrils steaming, Connor smiled a doomed smile. "Great job out there, Byrne! Don't let up the heat now!"


Roark bit his lip and rolled his eyes, before giving Connor the look of a man who had seen enough of the mortal realm. "I suppose I have to commend the both of you for fighting till the last," he conceded. "Hutton, one more Headbutt, if you would."


Kicking up dirt as he stormed across the battlefield as fast as his little legs could take him, Hutton's gait was uneven and his head swung like a broken pendulum as he bolted towards his foe. Every step nearer was marked by the thump of paw upon ground as Byrne's pronounced growling came to a stop, his new wings crashing into thick Cranidos head with all their might as the Headbutt emphatically connected with his crest. With a squawk, Byrne arced through the air before landing on his back, downed by the attack.


As Connor nodded and swallowed this loss, his attention was seized by Reyes cheering and clapping on the sideline. In spite of Hutton landing a knockout, he didn't think that those cheers were for Roark, though he wasn't quite sure. "Okay, Ronnie, let's wrap this one up, buddy."


With that, Ronnie's ball was thrown in an arc as he stood, standing up bruised and gently wheezing but ready to go, undeterred by the pointed little rocks bouncing off his chest. Connor's fingers rubbed against each other as he considered his next move. All that stood between him, Ronnie and a gym badge, was one wounded and frustrated Cranidos. "Keep up the Metal Claws, and stand your ground! Wait for him to come to you!"


Roark had been pushed into a corner here, as much as he hated to admit it. "Fine. Hutton, hit that Aron with another Pursuit."


Sloppy stomps carried Hutton's approach as Ronnie stood firm and unwavering like a sheet of steel rooted in the ground. As inky forces surrounded the Cranidos' head, one honed arm went up in the air, ready to strike. Strike it did as it jabbed into Hutton's rugged epidermis like a tetanus needle, forcing a pained screech as the Pursuit attack connected with a crunch. Each party was sent off-balance by their opponent's attack, with Ronnie one pace back to Hutton's five. Connor thought he'd have a heart attack at the rate things were going. Roark straightened up his glasses. Ronnie stood firm as he drew rattling, laboured breaths. Hutton cracked his neck from side to side, wincing as one arm tended to his stomach.


From opposite sides of the battlefield, Roark's eyes met Connor's. The Gym Leader nodded at his adversary, a wry smile spreading across his unmoving face. "Good battle, you. You're not half bad at this stuff."


Connor could not help wonder if this was another mind game of some sort, but it did not stop him from going as pink and round as a Chansey with a soft smile to match. "Th-thank you, uh… same to you."


Roark turned to back to the field with one last emphatic cry. "Hutton! One more Pursuit! Show 'em all you've got!"


"Ronnie, meet 'em with a Rock Smash! We're not gonna sit back and take this!"


Roaring into action, Hutton and Ronnie let out their finest war cries as they crossed the battlefield with all the might that remained in their little bodies. Ronnie's charge was more a frantic scamper than Hutton's turbocharged lumbering, as the latter's claws lit up in the noir tones of a Pursuit. Like a little battleaxe, his arms prepared to make a mighty swipe into Ronnie's head.


With his foe's chest open, Ronnie closed his eyes and made one last pounce at his opponent. A headfirst pounce with all the might his body could carry. There was an almighty crack like the sound of a hammer hitting a boulder. All of Ronnie's momentum drove into Hutton's chest, knocking him clean off his feet as he made one final swipe at Ronnie. His claws barely breached his foe's skin as he was steamrolled to the ground, Ronnie rolling off him.


Just able to stand on all fours, Ronnie crawled backwards just in case there was life in Hutton yet. One second passed, then two, quickly followed by a third without any sign of movement. Then a fourth, as Ronnie's head began to dip and his eyes struggled to stay open, as Connor crossed his fingers and watched on in bated breath.


Then a fifth.


Hutton was taken off the field to the sound of a weight being taken off his trainer's back. "Good job out there, Hutton. Nevertheless," he began in the voice befitting of a Gym Leader, "I officially declare this battle for the Coal Badge to be over, with the victory going to my opponent. Congratulations on a well-fought victory."


A well-fought victory.


Victory. Connor had won his first Gym battle, and it was a well-fought win.


Well.


Before Connor could even begin to run to his tired little Pokémon, one of the ones without whom this wouldn't have been possible, Ronnie was galloping towards him with happy chirps punctuating his soft wheezing. He prepared to rub up against his trainer's legs; as such, it caught him entirely off-guard when Connor almost leapt onto him, wrapping his arms around him as tight as humanly possible. Ronnie wasn't entirely sure Connor was capable of letting go, and truth be told, neither was Connor. "You did so good out there, Ronnie!" cried the trainer into his companion's ear as he smushed his face up against his little friend's big metal head, rubbing it with all the love he so deserved. Because Connor wasn't sure he'd have pulled that off the way he did with any other Pokémon by his side.


Once he was back on his feet after what felt like a solid minute, Connor was almost instantly caught off-guard by Reyes rushing over, throwing an arm around his shoulder and cheering. "See, you could totally do it after all, my friend! You had it in you this whole time! I'm so proud of you!"


Connor wasn't sure if his heart had stopped, nor if he could ever breathe, as he looked up at his brother-in-arms. The words tried to escape his lips, but his brain couldn't even formulate a proper sentence right now. "I'm… thank you so much, Reyes, ah, um — you're the best!" he sputtered out, red in the face.


"I'd say you stake a pretty good claim to that title yourself, my dude," came the reply.


As hard as he tried to fight it, a smile lit up Roark's face at the sight of these jubilant celebrations between two trainers and their Pokémon. As much of a thankless job as being a Gym Leader was at times, especially with everything else that decided to spring up in Roark's life as of recent, it was always a breath of fresh air to be reminded what the job was all about.


Still, that bloody barrier had to be fixed before the next battle.


"Connor, whenever you're ready," he called out to Connor as Reyes looked down to his friend, who looked back up at him before heading off towards Roark with his badge case open. Roark pulled out one of the Coal Badges in his pocket in reply, its muddy brown colour glimmering as he held it between his fingers.


"This is the Coal Badge. It stands as a testament to your prowess as a trainer, as well as the authority and responsibility that this grants you. Keep it safe in that case, you hear?"


"I-I… of course," Connor replied as he put the case back in his pocket, making a mental note to put it in his bag when he was back at his room. "Thank you, uh — that was a good battle, Roark."


"No problem. My only hope there is that that battle with your friend over there is just as good. Speaking of which, if you'd move to the sidelines, please…"

---

Things were much simpler for Reyes, as luck had it. Though things were often simpler against Rock-types when one's go-to Pokémon was a part Ground-type and as ravenous as Garra was, and Reyes' propensity to be a wind-up merchant certainly helped affairs… even if it meant he got a particularly bitter scowl from Roark after his badge was presented to him.


There was no lack of joy as the group walked back down the mound, however, with wide smiles adorning both trainers' faces as they walked down. It seemed that a queue was beginning to form at the desk, much to the pair's contentment. However, the smile was soon wiped off Connor's face as the red hair and pea green jacket at the front of the queue came into view. His eyes listed off to the side, his head soon following has desperately tried to avoid eye contact.


Reyes did no such thing, though, as a wry smile lit up his face as he caught Hawley's attention.


"You—" sputtered the badgeless trainer, wearing his most subtle of scowls as his face screwed up. It felt and looked as though he had been shot in the chest when, with an open-mouthed beam, Reyes walked on past with a Coal Badge in one hand and an erect middle finger in the other. Going solely off his facial expression, one would have assumed he'd been shot twice as his horrified stare wandered over to Connor's pocket, a glass badge case sticking out of it with a second Coal Badge openly visible.


How he wanted to launch onto them and fight them with his bare hands as they walked out of the door.


"Uh… there's a queue behind you, guy," bemoaned the woman behind the desk as she looked at him, most unamused.


"What? Oh. Right."


His clenched fists shook and nostrils flared as he walked up the ramp to Roark. He was only half-certain he wasn't about to burst a blood vessel as he snarled. Of course those two had beaten their first Gyms before he had. Of course. Why wouldn't they? That was just par for the course these days, those two getting another victory over him, taking another piss in his cereal as he went about his business doing absolutely nothing wrong. Because those two were the good guys, apparently, because luck just seemed to favour them and their do-no-wrong ways.


Hawley still wore that bandage on his nose, and it still hadn't fully recovered. He resented how nasally his voice had become these days.


There was nothing he could do except keep going up this mound and swallow his pride, because getting mad would accomplish nothing.


Fucking dickweeds, Hawley thought. I'll kill them. I'll beat Roark, and then I'll flay them alive.

Author's Notes: this chapter was first published on July 3, 2019, and owes its name to Fleetwood Mac.

---

Connor had egg on his face.


Reyes and he had walked into the Jubilife Pokémon Center with their badges (and, in Reyes' case, "I-told-you-so"s) at the ready, only to find that Florence wasn't there. Instead, they were greeted with a crowd of confused looks. Connor's only piece of reassurance was that he wasn't alone in this; as a matter of fact, he was certain that more of the attention fell on Reyes, who relished every ounce of it. Still, the ideal situation here involved him falling into a giant pit, where he could safely live the rest of his days without being reminded of this.


It took one glance at his companion for Reyes to decide to take action. With his badge returned to his pocket, he set off to track down Florence. "Don't worry, Connor," he muttered, "I'll go find her. Go and take a seat." Before Connor could protest — already an unlikely scenario — he was off.


His quest came to an end twenty-five feet away, when he had to leap to the wall to avoid bumping into a ball of messy brown hair with a cross-stitched sweater and a cup of coffee. Her eyes hadn't seen sleep in one hundred years by the looks of things, as they landed her first on Reyes' beaming face, then his badge, and then the nearest calendar; it still took her memory a hot minute to catch up. When it did, though, it suddenly made the whole faux pas worth it. She scowled at him as though there was a furball in her throat, before slinking back down the corridor, disappearing once more.


His mission accomplished, Reyes turned back around, exuberant as he took a seat next to Connor.


"Does she know?"


"I sure hope she does!"


Connor took a breath tinged with relief, and then he didn't say another word. Truth be told, though, he wanted to — for one, he wasn't sure if he'd adequately thanked Reyes for everything that had happened recently. From the bottom of his heart, he sincerely meant that; the past few weeks had been a weird, weird time… and, thinking about it, Reyes had been responsible for a good chunk of that weirdness in some shape or form. But every trainer's journey was, at its heart, about chaos, and he'd come out of the strangest few weeks of his life in one piece. And he couldn't deny that it had been, for the most part, so very fun. Though he couldn't deny that truly quiet moments like these, as sparse as they were, were very welcome respites — he found them best enjoyed in the company of his fellow trainer.


Actually, he thought, shouldn't that have been trainer(s) plural, now?


Before he could finish, Florence burst through the door with a packed backpack, a cup of coffee, and two Pokéballs. Wiping her eyes with one hand and taking a gulp of her beverage, she took a seat next to the two. "Awright, then. I s'pose congratulations on the badges are in order?"


"Loud and clear for all to hear, if you wouldn't mind." Reyes had the grin of a particularly proud Banette as he held his badge out, almost killing Connor out of shame.


"Reyes, you bastard, I'm going to flay you alive."


"We're going to be staying in town for a few days," Reyes continued, "getting some rest and preparing for the next Gym and all that, so thankfully there won't be a need to get acquainted with tents just yet. I hope you don't mind, by the way, if we meet with someone later today?"


"Depends on who it is. Is it someone you know?"


"No. I believe it's the good professor from Sandgem, who our wonderful friend Connor has made his acquaintance with, if I'm correct?"


The instant Reyes stopped speaking, Connor nodded soft enough to not make a scene. "Um— I hope that's not going to be a problem? I'll be sure to let him know we're here and all."


"Fine by me," said Florence. "How's your little Aron doing, by the way?"


"Oh, he's, uh— he's doing well, yes. Been staying out of trouble, and all that, and he was very good while we did the whole Gym thing. I— wait, were you there when I got Byrne, actually?"


"Who?"


"He's a Starl— well, um, Staravia, I suppose, as of yesterday. He has a bit of a damaged wing when we picked him up, and he's a little on the feisty side, but he's doing well, and he was really good when we did the Gym, too!"


"You got a Starly to help fight Roark, and you won?"


Connor raised a finger to speak, instantly wilting as he realised his strategies didn't really hold up well against questioning. "Oh! Um, I probably should have got another P-Pokémon, shouldn't I? I promise I tried to keep him out of it, ahh— he is a bit beaten up and recovering, still; I should probably check him in here, uh—"


"What? Oh, I'm not mad, that's fuckin' sick, dude. Top job."


"I— you mean that?"


"'Course. Roark's no pushover — wait, I just realised, you were in town when the whole strike thing went down, weren't you?"


Reyes smiled. "That we were. I am sure Roark would tell you first hand just how grateful he is for our involvement, actually, because without us, who knows what would have happened?"


"Um— yeah, that's… a thing, probably best saved for a more private setting, aha."


"What do you—" began Reyes. For the first time, he applied more than an ounce of thought to the situation and realised he was now in the same town as Spoonie's. "Oh, um— I mean, we didn't see much of Roark. All I can say is that we kicked his ass, isn't that right, compadre?"


Florence's eyes narrowed. "…Sure. In any case, if being a nurse has taught me anything, it's that Gym Leaders definitely aren't pushovers. First battles are never easy either, so I suppose I take my hat off to you for that. Superb job, you funky little dude."


"Oh! Thanks, uh— I've never been called that before, haha." Connor went sheepish, almost withdrawing further into his jacket with a smile.


"Hey! What about me? I kicked his ass too, y'know — Connor deserves the merit, but I'm sure he'd agree his victory wouldn't have been so emphatic without my help!"


It took a moment for this to sink in for Florence, but sure enough, she thought, Reyes had indeed said that. "…Okay, the pair of you did single battles, right?"


"Yes. Both of our battles were one-on-one."


"What Pokémon did you use, Reyes?" she began, glancing at the wide-eyed little land shark in Reyes' arms. "Were both of them Dragon-types, perhaps?"


"Well, yes, but I also used my smelly bastard goblin of a Bagon. Perhaps you two would get along…?"


Florence feigned outrage, rolling her eyes and staring blankly at Reyes. "Haha, very funny. Good job on getting your badge and all, but those two things aren't really the same, are they?" she retorted. "You know that, right? Or does your good friend here have all the brain cells out of you two?"


"Hey! I'll have you know I have several brain cells." Reyes shot a finger at Florence like a Unovan gunslinger, fighting to defend his honour before immediately wilting and considering it. "Though, I do suppose you are right. As magnificent as my victory was, I must admit, Connor; yours was more impressive. You are, indeed, the funkiest little dude of us all."


If Connor had less restraint, he would have let out a delighted scream before bursting into confetti; instead, he clasped his cheeks with his hands, going pink as he smiled. "Ah, geez, Reyes, um— you're very funky, too, I guess?"


Florence glanced over to a clock. "We should probably get going soon, shouldn't we? Find someplace to get lunch, figure out our living arrangements for the coming days, and how we're going to go about this whole journey thing."


"Right, right, of course. Connor, I trust you have everything packed?"


"I'll double-check," he replied, immediately diving headfirst into his backpack and scouring every nook and cranny.


"Good idea. Florence, you wouldn't want to forget anything — do you have all of your things ready?"


Florence scowled, as though she had heard that question one thousand times before. "I should absolutely hope so, Reyes, because I went over everything again, and again, this morning. It's no big deal; I'm only leaving home to go an explore the land with folks who, no offence, are basically strangers."


"Alright, alright; please don't bite my head off," said Reyes, before bringing Garra to the forefront of things. "Or I'll get him to bite yours off, so watch yourself!"


"Yeah, yeah, up yours. Connor, dude, you got everything?"


As soon as this was asked, he lifted his head out and looked at Florence, zipping it shut. "Um— yeah, all good on my end."


"Alright. Let's hit the road, boys."


The road was duly hit, with Connor letting Ronnie out of his ball as he walked. He lingered towards the back of the newly formed trio, just behind Florence. "Um— hey, uh, I have a question, if you don't mind me asking?"


"Shoot, brother."


"I was wondering, um— why are you doing this? Not that I'm not grateful or anything, but like, uhh… like, how can I put this—"


Florence resisted the urge to peek at Connor as he desperately struggled for words. "Don't worry about it; I get you. I'd already handed in my two weeks' when you asked — because whether I like it or not, I still have to go do the whole experience thing in the field, so I thought it'd be better to do it with some other folks, too."


"Okay, but like— why us?"


"I'm gonna be 100% honest, here: I didn't actually expect you to do the badge thing so soon. But you did, I made a promise, and I'm not one to turn my back on that because that's fuckin' impressive."


"I… uh, thanks! But um, I guess what I really mean is, are you sure about doing this? With us? Like, we've… not really spoken a whole bunch, and you're gonna be straddled with us for… well, gee, I don't actually know how long—"


"Yeah, but you're good trainers. The Roark thing proved that. I know I'm not gonna run into trouble with y'all—" she began, as she glanced at Reyes before dropping to a whisper — "okay, knowing our wildcard friend, I can't say that for sure, but you both know how to handle yourself. Also? You both seem like wholesome dudes. Does that answer everything?"


Connor nodded, not really sure if he'd forgotten anything. Except for his manners. "Thanks!"


"Hey, no problem. I should ask, actually; how long did you two know each other for before you decided to pair up and travel together?"


"Uhhh…" he began, counting his fingers. "Goodness, um — a-about seven hours? Is that a problem?"


"Oh! Okay, I see." A grin lit up Florence's face as she nodded. "Nope, no problem at all. I can tell this is gonna be an interesting journey then, eh?"


"It sure is," replied Connor. He wasn't entirely sure what she meant.

---

The elevator doors opened, and out stepped Jerry. He hadn't been in the boss' office since he was let in on this — he hadn't even been on the floor, because without special permission, he wasn't allowed. Nobody was. Nor had he come face to face with the boss. Come to think of it, was "face to face" even an accurate description? Any notion of a physical appearance had evaded him, and any time the thought crossed his mind, it went all blurry. Everything except that suit, anyway; that image was still firmly burnt into his memory.


Before him lay a corridor that led straight to a door. There were no windows to speak of, which Jerry thought was a bit disappointing; he was on the twenty-first floor, after all, and he had kind of hoped to get a glimpse of the view from so high up, in all honesty. Still, that didn't stop him from walking over to the door and putting a hand on the handle, taking a deep breath and jerking it… only to find that it was locked.


Which was odd.


Jerry figured that clearly something of importance was going down, and wasn't about to disturb it. So he took a seat on one of the chairs and waited patiently, like a good employee. It was being a good employee that got him this far, after all; with a bit of luck, it'd take him right to the top, with a great big house for him, Lindsay, and more Pokémon than he could shake a stick at in his future.


"Are you waiting to see the boss?"


"What?"


The door clicked shut, and Jerry found himself being approached by a man of about thirty, with a proud look on his face and a suit that probably cost more than his rent. "The boss," he continued; "he's in there. Are you waiting to see him?"


"W-well, yes; I didn't think anyone was allowed to… err, who are you, exactly?"


"The name's Throckmorton. Barnaby Throckmorton — but don't call me Barnaby. I suppose I should ask the same of you? Or more importantly, what your business with him is. After all, he hardly lets any old riff-raff up here, does he?"


Riff-raff? "Haha, I suppose he doesn't — in any case, the name's Jerry Bianchi, at your service!" he replied with a smile fit for licking the dirtiest of boots. "And I wish I could say what I've been called up for, to tell you the truth. Though if I did know… gotta keep it hush-hush, top secret, you know? Can't go round disclosing important info to strangers, hehe."


"I'm sure you can't," said Throckmorton, letting his words hang dry in the air for a sweet moment before regarding his new colleague. "Though… if you want to get into the boss' good books, then a good word in from a respected employee might help, mightn't it? Can't vet people thoroughly enough, can we?"


The penny eventually dropped for Jerry. Throckmorton was one of those types, it seemed, and there were no words in the English language to express just how joyous this discovery was. After all, if there was one thing Jerry enjoyed about work more than brown-nosing, it was being forced to brown-nose via implicit threats.


Fortunately, doing exactly that was one of the many skills Jerry learnt in the mob.


"I can't agree thoroughly enough, Throckmorton; really, I can't. After all, we wouldn't want anybody not pulling their weight around here, would we?"


"That we wouldn't, my old chum! So…?"


Nobody was using the elevator. Good. Jerry gestured Throckmorton closer, looking very pleased with himself. "Well, you know the whole, uh… miner thing, right? Remember how that, eh, that whatshisface — Birkenhead, right? Went to prison? You'll never guess who got the cops to pull that one off."


Throckmorton got a whiff of that, it seemed; he took a deep breath through his nose before nodding profusely. Of course, his mask didn't quite slip; calling his expression a "smile" was a bit too far. "Ooh, that is the stuff, Jerry, let me tell you. Jolly good work, pal."


"Thank you kindly."


"…Say. I'm privy to some things myself, as luck would have it. I've got my fingers in quite a few pies. Would you like to hear?"


"Ohoho! You bet I wanna hear, chief." Everything was really coming up Jerry, he figured; it wasn't often that his techniques got immediate gratification.


"Well," he replied, leaning in until he was uncomfortably close. "that's too bad. Because it'd be very unprofessional to tell every Tom, Dick, and Harry around the office about my dealings with the boss, wouldn't it? Especially secret ones." As he spoke, Jerry felt his cold, minty breath against his cheek. "The deep, dark, secret ones. I know what happens when they get out, and it's not very fun, Jerry."


Ah.


Jerry's head sank, as did his teeth into his lip. "I, uh… well, if you insist."


"Now if you'd excuse me," Throckmorton began as he peeled himself away, "I've got a gift to pick up. A friend of mine — a drinking buddy, if you will — has a pretty exciting gig going on, and I wanna send him my well-wishes."


"Oh, does he?" asked Jerry, squeezing out any interest he had in the conversation, because something had to give — everyone had their limit, after all; Jerry had found that nobody was completely immune to being sucked up to. "What's he got going on, if ya — er, if ya don't mind me asking? What sorta gig? Like, a music one?"


"Hah! You're a funny one, I'll give you that. No, he's not a musician; anyone who's seen him handle a bass'll tell you that. No, he's a, uh… you know, a freelance adventurer, that kind of thing. And he's got himself a contract to go and explore the Battle Zone and figure out what's going on there. I dunno who's put him up to this, or what the stipulations are, but I've heard he's getting paid a pretty penny for it."


"Oh! Well, I wish him the best of luck, then!"


"I'm not too sure he'll need it, personally; no job is too difficult for him, and the money is well worth the risk — besides, let's be real, that meteorite probably wiped out anything in a few hundred-meter radius. I'll be sure to send him your regards, though," replied Throckmorton, his focus solely on the elevator as he stepped inside, "because I'm very sure he'll appreciate it. Now, I'm sure you don't want to keep the boss waiting; run along now."


"You've sure got it, mister," he offered as the doors closed, giving the most half-hearted wave he'd ever given. Once he was sure Throckmorton was out of sight (and hearing range), he wiped his hands on his trouser legs, recoiling a little at the conversation he'd just had. Jerry's approach to survival in the workplace had never made him any real enemies when he thought about it, but he never felt any cleaner after doing it.


But he did have a point, after all. The boss had requested him, and he wasn't about to ignore that request, because he was a damn good employee and he deserved some respect for that. So he got up, jerked the handle to make sure it wasn't locked this time, and made his way in.


"Welcome. Take a seat."


The room was a bit sparser than he'd been expecting, as far as material wealth went. It may have just been that the blinds were closed and no lights were on, of course, but there wasn't a whole lot he could see. There was a desk, a chair, a big screen that reflected a sliver of light off it, two big soles just visible in the darkness connected to black trousers, an indigo suit jacket, and two sets of eyes, one like amethysts froze in midnight ice, peering back at him.


Jerry had no luck making out either of their faces as he sat down, though. Any attempt to look further into the unlit room yielded no results; his mind drew a complete blank.


"Hello, boss," he said with the voice of a man desperately trying to act as though nothing about this was unusual. "Are ya… um, are ya doing well?" Because nothing about this was unusual, or bothered him, in any way, shape or form! He trusted his boss, even if any clue regarding a name or face was completely out of reach.


"Fine, thank you. Did you happen to meet Throckmorton in the corridor, by any chance?"


"Yeah! I did," replied Jerry, taking great care on his approach to his next sentence. "He's… um, he's a really intriguing fella, isn't he? I can tell he takes a lot of interest in how things are run around here."


"An astute observation. That he does, and he's a valued asset to our work. Though I do see some of him in you, too; as hard as it may be to believe, you two have more in common than you may believe."


"I'm sorry, um — we… do?" This wasn't a comparison he'd expected to hear, and he wasn't quite sure how to interpret it.


"I didn't stutter, did I?"


"You… didn't, no, sir."


"If you had nothing in common with him, then you wouldn't be here. Because he has many things I find valuable in an employee, and I have come to find that you do, too. As do a handful of others."


"Oh, um… what kind of things?"


"To name three: the ability to get things done, the curiosity to ask questions, and the sensibility to ask the right ones. Most of the time, anyway. You may regularly come into contact with your fellow employees in the near future. You may not. Neither outcome matters to me."


As he went through this, nothing about the boss showed even the slightest hint of emotion. Jerry couldn't help but feel deterred from persisting with this line of questioning — maybe, he figured, he didn't need to know more. Because he trusted his boss! "So… you, uh, you called me up here; do you… mind if I ask why?"


"Of course not."


The boss did not elaborate further than that. Nor did he emote. Jerry soon realised that this duty fell upon the set of purple eyes whose gaze remained glued to him, twisting and morphing up and down his body.


"…Uh— um, in that case, wh-why did you bring me up here then, boss?"


"To reward you for a job well done, of course. Surely you don't think that I'd forgotten your role in fixing the whole… snafu, shall we call it, in Oreburgh? It couldn't have been done without your connections, and your friends were ever so co-operative. Pleasant people, I must say. There really is honour among thieves."


Jerry's attention was now permanently fixed not on the boss, but on the eyes that looked him up and down. With each second that he squandered without an answer, they grew more and more expectant, their patience clearly wearing thin — which left him in an awkward position, scrambling between giving thoughtful answers, figuring out the questions expected of him, and avoiding this… well, he didn't even know what it was, but he sure didn't want to anger it. "Oh, yes— of course, I, uh, of course I hadn't forgotten about that, boss! Uh— um, I… uh, please don't feel pressured into rewarding me; I was just, um, just doing my job, boss!" he answered eventually.


"Oh."


Jerry's heart stopped. Had the situation heated any further, he would have melted into a puddle — come to think of it, his sweat had already melded his skin and clothes. He was some sort of tiny bug, under the scrutiny of four magnifying glasses in the sweltering heat.


"You think so little of me. Do you think you've pressured me into this? That I didn't come to this conclusion by myself, or that I was… incapable of it?"


"Well—"


Before he could even finish that thought, he was interrupted. Interrupted by the sound of glass smashing somewhere above his head, the shards falling in a ring around him, as the boss didn't move a muscle. "Well, what?"


"Shit! No no no—"


"Language."


"—hah, haha — of course not, boss! No, I was just, uh— just saying, um— that, you know, if you don't want to—"


"But I do want to. What sort of person would I be to not reward you for such important work?"


"Right! Right! Of course, yeah!" Between deep breaths, Jerry made a mental note: humility did not work as a negotiating tactic with the boss. "It's appreciated! Super appreciated — so very, very much; uh, what did you… what did you have in mind, boss?"


"Money." He reached into his blazer's pocket, whacking a wad of notes onto the table. "I trust that's satisfactory?"


"Sure! Yes! Of course — thank you, thank you thank you, I'll make sure to spend it wisely! Oh, geez, you can't know how much this means to me—"


"It's payment for you simply doing your job — and your first job, at that. I would encourage against getting too sentimental about it."


"I— what does that mean?"


"Think of it as a beginner's dowry for a beginner's task. The more you prove your worth, the more valuable your rewards will be."


"Wait, really?! I'm— well, I promise I won't let you down!"


"I'm sure you won't. Do you have any ideas about what you'll spend it on?"


"Uh, well… I hadn't actually thought about it much," replied Jerry as he flicked through the notes, asking himself what he could buy with, by his count, three thousand Pokédollars. "I could do with decorating my apartment, and I gotta upgrade my microwave — and my, uh, my girlfriend… she's always talkin' about getting, like, a record player or something, which'd be neat—"


"Oh! A music man, are you?" said the boss, and Jerry swore he'd never seen him so excited when he fumbled under the desk. "What sort of things do you listen to?"


"Aha, well… I'm into everything, really."


"Fascinating! Consider this a gift from me to you, then," he continued, sliding a record sleeve across the table.


Jerry looked it over. He just about made out an orange inscription of two soldiers behind a gun above some text. "Geez, uh— you really shouldn't have, boss; what is it?"


"It's a masterpiece, is what it is. That there is Peter Brötzmann's free jazz opus, Machine Gun. 1968. It's beautiful. A real favourite of mine. It invites you into a world of such chaos; a blitzkrieg of saxophones and drumming, a thumping wall of noise that only very rarely holds back. However, what really sets it apart in my eyes is that, no matter how cacophonous it may seem, it's never truly detached from order or rhythm. It's that thread, and how thinly it is stretched without breaking, that sets it apart."


Jerry nodded, going along with this. "I… see, uh; I'll be sure to check it out, then!" he said, acting as though he was at all familiar with jazz. "Is there anything else ya wanna discuss?"


"I believe that's everything. Should anything suited to you come up, I'll be sure to inform you. You are dismissed."


"Oh; okay, thanks!" said Jerry as he jumped to his feet, hurried the chair under the desk and rushed for the door with a wave. "See ya around, boss!"


As he entered the corridor without so much as a word of protest from the boss, he clutched at his heart with sweaty, cramping knuckles. His white shirt creased beneath the vice grip. He was sure his joints were going to freeze his hand into a claw. Of course, that wasn't his main concern. His heart was still thumping at a thousand miles per hour, and as he heaved with gulping breaths, he wondered whether he'd die of a heart attack first.


Lumbering down the hall and trying not to double over, he collapsed onto a chair, taking a deep breath before running his hand over his sweaty forehead and through his curly locks.


He wasn't sure if he was overreacting or not, because on one hand, it was a fairly standard meeting in which a brief discussion of his performance took place, followed by a reward; on the other, by Arceus, did it have to be so intense?


Whatever. He was probably overthinking it. The most important part was probably the reward, which he was now free to spend however he wanted.


Although, Throckmorton probably got more from whatever thing that he did, on account of not being a beginner and having schmoozed with the boss way more. Even though he apparently had no respect for his colleagues, which Jerry did not take too kindly to, because teamwork was a crucial part of any job. He dared say that Throckmorton may not have deserved that bonus, though he was no expert on the situation.


It just didn't sit right with him. Which, he was quick to add, was the only thing amiss about this; he was completely content with everything else because he simply had to be.


Throckmorton was clearly doing well for himself, though, and Jerry would have been lying if he'd said he didn't want in on that.


It took a minute, but eventually, his heartbeat returned to normal. Once he was sure he wasn't about to suffocate, he got up and walked back to the elevator from whence he came, pressing the button and waiting without turning back. One thing lingered on his mind, and that was his competition.


The doors soon opened, and out stepped two women, one of whom was just as surprised as he was. "Have you been to see the boss?"


"Aye. You going to see him?"


"Yeah."


"Cool."


Jerry got into the elevator, closing the doors as he asked himself just how many people he was up against.

---

After a day of getting to know one another better and browsing Jubilife, the newly-formed trio settled down for dinner at a local cafe. It turned out that Florence had one Pokémon travelling alongside her, a Happiny named Dorothea, who was slowly getting to know her new companions and their own Pokémon.


This was done to varying degrees of success.


"Reyes, if that Bagon so much as touches this precious angel of mine, I'll stomp on every bone in your body and kill you. Do you hear me?"


"See, I'm trying, he's just — he's a ravenous man. A smelly boy. A rascal."


Connor sat between the two, opposite an empty chair, drinking his coffee as he tried to avoid peeking under the table. Reyes had his leg wrapped around Baggo, who stood at this barrier growling at Dorothea, who was stood by her trainer's chair minding her own business and talking to Ronnie about something. Whatever it was, Connor figured, it must have been a pleasant chat.


"I'll ravage you, ya dingus," mumbled Florence before she turned to him. "So, Connor, the professor; when's he coming?"


"Well, he said he should be here soon, but… um, he didn't really give an exact time? He just said to expect him whenever, really. I hope that's not a big problem?"


"Nah, it's fine. Will we know him when we see him?"


As if by clockwork, one very tall, well-built man in a creased white coat and glasses walked in, waved at Connor (who made extra sure to wave back), and took his order. "That's him!"


A couple of minutes of waiting ensued before Murphy's order (one bottle of water and a bowl of muesli) arrived, at which point he took his tray and went to the free seat. "Is this seat taken?"


"Nah, mate," said Florence, scooching the chair out. "All yours."


"Ah, thanks! So, Connor, I understand you've been very busy in the past few weeks?"


"Hah, um — well, I'm sure you could say that. Uh… I don't know if you've met my friends?"


"Of course! I haven't, no; how rude of me," said Murphy, almost leaping out of his skin to correct himself as he pointed at the headbanded fool enjoying a sandwich opposite him. "You must be Reyes, mustn't you?"


"I suppose I must be!" he said in between bites, smiling.


"And you're from Hoenn? You do look… familiar from somewhere; is your dad a—"


"No." Reyes' smile dropped, as he took another bite. "He's not."


Murphy grimaced a bit, resisting the urge to bury his head in his hands. "Right, right, of course; I'm sorry. Uh… well," he replied, turning to Florence. "I… don't think Connor's told me about you; you are?"


"I'm Florence; I've been travelling with 'em for less than a day. I'm getting experience to be a qualified nurse."


"Oh! Well, I wish you the best of luck with that. Have you already got much experience with looking after Pokémon?"


"Aye, tons of it, mate. A bit too much as of recent, actually; it's been so busy at the Pokémon Center recently. Folks getting into street fights and muggings waaay more than they should be. I mean, they shouldn't be at all — fuckin' lousy cops — but I'm so glad that I'm not on the front desk against all that anymore, y'know?"


"Ah, yes, of course," replied Murphy, as he cleared his throat and got a little more serious. "How long do you all plan to be staying in town?"


"A few days at most," said Reyes. "We wanna plan ahead for the next bit of the journey, till the next gym or so, and make sure we know what we're doing. Besides, might be nice to stick around and see the what's going on for Hallowe'en in such a big town?"


"I see. In that case, stay safe, and don't get involved in anything you shouldn't. It might take a while, but the situation with Spoonie's will be dealt with. I promise you that. If not by me, then by someone else; once I've got the evidence, I'll be letting some fellow trainers know about this."


This concerned Connor. "Oh, uh— are you sure that won't interfere with the whole League tournament?"


"I'll be fine, honestly; I can multitask. I wouldn't be able to sleep with myself knowing I'm not doing everything in my power to get to the bottom of this, when real people are being hurt." After a pause highlighted by a long swig of water, Murphy's trademark smile was back. "Besides, I'd like to think that I know what I'm doing — don't worry about me! I've got a few cards up my sleeve to help me deal with this. More importantly, though, I don't wanna see any of you get involved in any riots, hijinks, or general shenanigans like in Oreburgh, when you're still preparing for your second Gym badge. Please, just make sure you stay out of trouble, okay?"


Knowingly, Reyes smiled and nodded as if to show he was definitely listening, definitely taking this to heart. "Us? Get in trouble? Why, the great Reyes Vasquez could do no such thing!"

Author's Notes: this chapter is named after the Patti Smith song, "Barefoot Dancing."

---

For a Friday lunchtime, business at Gianluigi's was business as usual.


This was the case for most things in Oreburgh, a real change of pace from a few weeks ago. If Lucia was totally honest, she liked that. It made for a much healthier work environment when half of the town wasn't at risk of unemployment and the Gym Leader didn't have to go on strike. She liked that things were fine. She liked being okay. She liked business as usual.


She was less okay with being cooped up in the kitchen to wash the dishes. The hairnets were unreasonably itchy, the kitchen was too small, and getting those stains off the pizza pans was much harder than it had any right being. But at least there was a routine — coming in at noon, half-hour break at five and staying until eight on whichever days of the week worked best. It was by no means perfect, but there were certainly far worse, far less understanding employers than her dad. Besides, it was the family business; it wasn't like she wasn't doing good, honest work, because work really didn't get much more honest.


"Oi, Lucia!"


"What is it, pops?"


Gianluigi leaned against the doorframe with his apron. "Roark's here to see ya."


"Roark?" She didn't even notice the soapy dishwater splash back onto her. "Well, what does he want?"


He shrugged. "Didn't say, but he did say that it's pretty important; you'd better go check it out. Sat over at the far table."


At the very least, it beat doing the dishes. She figured it was worth checking out.


He slouched over his table, tearing into his pizza and wiping the debris on his miner's jacket. As a matter of fact, he didn't even notice Lucia was there until she was right next to him.


"You wanted me?"


"Mmm! Mmmucia — mmmph, make a seat."


"Ugh — even if you are a Gym Leader, it's rude to speak with your mouth full. Especially if you're going to interrupt my very important work."


"Ah, of course; sorry to interrupt the dish-washing. You know, I've barely even had time to eat properly with everything going on."


"Well, I'd hardly call that eating 'properly,' but that's none of my business. How is everything that's going on?"


Roark laughed as he ripped into another slice, making sure to swallow this time. "Good, actually; since Birkenhead got fired — well, arrested, even — the board have been much more willing to negotiate with us. Funny how that works, eh?" He leaned in closer to her as she sat opposite, positively devious. "They even gave Tom some time off at the drop of a hat, so he's busy resting up and getting better. And he's being paid, too!"


"Good to hear! Tell him I said hey next time you see him; he's always welcome here. And fingers crossed something gets sorted for the rest of you guys soon, hey?"


"Well, it takes my mind off the Gym, at least."


Sometimes, she questioned why he was even running that Gym. But it did remind her… "How's that going, by the way? Things still running well?"


"Oh, as well as it ever is. Nothing too odd's happened lately, thankfully. Not since those friends of yours, shall we say, left town. That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually!"


"It is?"


As if to show he meant business, Roark put the slice down. Lucia couldn't tell whether she preferred this to him wrestling with food as they spoke; at least that way, she had an escape route. "You see, the sort of folks that come in and call themselves 'challengers' these days has me thinking. About a few things, but especially your trainer friends. Because say what you will about them, and most of it is justified, but they're not boring to deal with. More importantly, they're actually good trainers — or they get the job done, anyway. Any Gym Leader will tell you the best part of their job is being surprised — and they're usually lying, but I honestly couldn't tell you the last time someone pulled out a Starly against me. Let alone them going onto actually win, too. They may not be the sharpest tools in the shed, but I have to credit them for being hard-working — and resourceful, too! And that got me thinking. About you."


"Me?" She definitely preferred the conversation when he was eating, actually. "What about me?"


"Well, you're bigger than the both of them, just as resourceful, even more hard-working, and most importantly you seem to have a bit more common sense. Look, what I'm saying is: I think you'd make a very good Pokémon trainer."


"Well, I'm flattered!" This wasn't what she'd expected to deal with when she got out of bed, but she was genuinely intrigued. It beat washing the dishes — but then, the reason she was even washing the dishes in the first place was the reason she continued: "But I couldn't."


"Well, why's that?"


"There's a whole host of reasons, but most importantly I can't afford it. There's getting my own Pokémon, for one; I don't know anyone who'd be willing to give one away, and I'm too broke to afford any other option. Even if I could, I don't really have the income to get supplies for them; then there's getting ready to explore the great outdoors — especially because it's November! Winter's a bitch as it is; you're not about to catch me freezing to death in a delivery outfit. There's feeding myself, washing my clothes—"


"The League could help you out with that — grants exist for these types of situations, and I'd be more than willing to put in a good word on your behalf."


Roark was the last person she'd expected to hear that from; it didn't even sound right coming out of his mouth. "Do you expect me to trust the League to look after me? They didn't even blink when half the town was on strike — including you."


"Well, maybe there are other options. I… may be able to get something figured out with some acquaintances that doesn't involve the League—" he was very hesitant to say that out loud — "and I'm sure your parents would be able to help?"


That was her other big problem. "See, about that… this is the family business, and I just don't know if I could walk out on it so easily. I mean, even if they're okay with it, it'd take a bit of getting used to, and it's a big change of scenery all so suddenly. Besides! You know firsthandhow trainers tend to be. I'm not sure if that's a crowd I want to hang out with, really."


"That's the thing, though; you'll have time to get used to the change. It's normal to miss home, for one, but it's certainly not an immediate process — you're not usually just thrown out there. I mean, there's a real chance I'll end up being your first Gym; I'm sure your folks will be happy to let you stay with them while you deal with that. Honestly, I think you'd be great at it; it'd be a real shame if extenuating circumstances held you back. I'm willing to do anything in my power to help you out; just say the word!"


"I appreciate that, I really do, but…" She wasn't sure what to say. It was genuinely a compelling offer, and she couldn't pretend she didn't see herself as a trainer out on the plains, doing whatever a trainer did — but to leave her folks and her town just like that? For something that wasn't even guaranteed?


"It's okay if you need some time to think about it," said Roark. "I'll see what I can do to help."


"…Thanks. I'll get back to you as soon as I make a decision on it, I promise." She meant that — she wasn't one to break a promise. "I'd like to get the whole funding thing sorted out first, so if you could, you wouldn't mind looking into that, would you?"


"Of course! It's no big deal; I'll let you know."


"I owe you one. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got thinking to do and dishes to wash, so I'll leave you to finish your meal."


"Thanks; it's no rush — take your time to decide. Oh, but before you go, one more thing?"


"Hm?"


Roark was halfway through a bite when she turned around. He chewed it, swallowed it, and grinned. "Send my compliments to the chef, if you would — because this is some good stuff."


Typical Roark. She stifled a laugh as she went back to the kitchen to pass his note on, even if that was far from the first thing on her mind right now.


"Well? What was all that about?"


"I'll talk to you about it later," she said, "but for now: Roark said to tell you his pizza rules."

---

"Canalave Gym Leader's office; who is it?"


"Dad?"


"Roark!" Hearty laughter came through the line like tumbling boulders down a cliffside, and Roark smiled. This was definitely Byron. "Nice of you to check in on your old man; how are you?"


"All's good on my end. Yourself?"


"Not so bad myself; you know how it is around these parts. Kinda wish something a bit more interesting would come up one of these days. Like a big great strike, you lucky bastard."


Even in his late fifties, Byron never changed; he was just as gruff and geezerly now as he was twenty years ago, and yet he still had a heart of gold. Roark couldn't help but admire that about his dad. "Well, I don't know if I'd call all that hassle 'luck,' but you do you, old man."


"You bet I will. Now, was there something you wanted?"


Roark only replied when he was sure nobody else was in (or around) the mining barracks. "Yeah, so — about that strike; there's a little favour I owe someone who helped out with it, and I'd appreciate a bit of help with it."


"Don't tell me you got involved in any criminal activities back there, son."


"Goodness, no!" In spite of how quick Roark was to react, he wasn't sure how to explain the situation to Byron. He just knew it would be best to keep details about the other two to a minimum. "It's, uh… how can I put this — one of the folks who helped me out in a big way is this girl, right? She's about late teens, early twenties; she's not a trainer, doesn't have any Pokémon, and is thinking of going down that route."


"Terrible decision with the clowns we've got in charge looking after them, but go on."


"See, that's the thing — she's adamant on not getting help from them. She hates them, even."


"Oh? Maybe she's wiser than first thought."


"Aye, and I reckon she'd be great at it, too. She could be a real thorn in their side, I think; she's committed, hard-working, and built like a brick — I think she must be even bigger than you! And she didn't even take shit from me back in that mine; I really think she'd be a real help for the cause."


There was silence. He figured the connection was probably dropping. He waited longer than he'd have liked, though; time was beginning to drag on, and he was worried someone would find him. "…Dad? Hello?"


"Yeah, yeah; I was just doin' some thinking. Er… I'll see what I can do. You got a name I can take down?"


"Lucia Romano."


"Ah! Related to Gianluigi, the pizza guy?"


"His daughter, no less."


"Well, that's perfect — about time Sinnoh had more trainers who can cook! I'll get in touch with a certain someone, but no promises. You know how it is."


Roark absolutely knew how it was; at any given moment, there was a real chance he was stuck in a cave. "No worries! Send him my regards if you can get a hold of him; I've got plenty to tell him about next time I see him."


"You've got it. I appreciate you calling your old man, anyway; it's always nice to have a chat. See you around, kid."


"You too! Take care, old fart!"


A weight had been lifted off his shoulders. For one, the situation was out of his hands; secondly, in spite of his quirks, he quite liked that certain someone. A shared interest in spelunking aside, he was a level-headed, reliable guy who knew what he liked and was always down to lend a helping hand whenever he could — and Roark had plenty of time for all of that.

---

"I'm thinking of becoming a Pokémon trainer."


Her dad took the news better than she expected, though she expected an immediate refusal. "Alright. Is this because of Roark?"


"Partially. It's something that's been on my mind for a bit, though. And I say I'm thinking because I still don't know, honestly."


"Okay, well… that's certainly something we can discuss." She wasn't sure he was taking it well, but at least there hadn't been an explicit no. "Didn't think that was your thing, though; I thought you hated trainers — certainly came across like that when those two boys were here!"


"Well… that's just how so many of them are. It happens when there's so many spoilt rich kids running around without an ounce of respect for anyone; you know the type — coming into town, treating us like crap because they've got a silver spoon up their ass. But that's not every trainer! At the very least, I'd hope I'm not like that."


"Okay — well, what was it? You gotta help me out here, unless—" he said. Then he had a heart-stopping realisation, and Lucia didn't like that expression. "Oh no, was it those boys? You'd better not have found love!"


"Oh, come on; neither of them are my type, and I sincerely doubt I'm either of theirs."


"Well, is it to do with boys? Do you wanna go out and find yourself a man or something? Because I gotta tell you — not a good idea! You know how young men are; don't know an inch of respect, and I ain't gonna let 'em treat my baby girl like that. You're too young to settle down with a punk like that!"


She could only laugh.


"I'm serious! You got a few years ahead of you before I expect that!"


It was an empty laugh, and she was uncomfortable; she loathed it when he lectured her about boys. But the only alternative to laughing about it was what she called The Other Conversation. And truthfully? She didn't want that. It worried her more than she was proud of.


"Dad, you know me. Hell, take one look at me. What makes you think I can't handle myself? And even then, it's nothing to do with any of that."


"Oh? Well, you gotta help me out then; what's eatin' atcha?"


Eating at her was too strong a description; it was more like nibbling. Certainly not consuming her, but just on her mind enough for her to notice. She was overthinking it. She sighed. "Well… I'd like to get out there and see the world, y'know? I don't wanna be trapped in a restaurant and washing dishes, manning counters, making food or delivering it while I'm young. Like… I do appreciate it, but I wanna do stuff. I wanna get out there. I wanna see what Sinnoh has to offer outside. I wanna make new friends and catch up with my old ones, maybe see what they're up to. Like, you remember Jo, right? And Ness? When was the last time you saw 'em? I wanna meet up with 'em again, maybe see what they're up to — how university's treating them, you know? And to be honest… I kinda like the idea of having my own Pokémon as well."


For a moment, there was a flicker in her dad's eyes like he remembered something. She wasn't sure if it was her impassioned speech, which she didn't even know she had in her — maybe it was eating at her after all. But he swallowed it, took a deep breath, and nodded. "Then I don't wanna take that away from you."


"…Really?"


Both of them were smiling now, because if he was, then she couldn't help it. "I was young once. You might not believe it, but it's true! I remember being your age, and it was about then that I got my own Pokémon. I never got to go on an adventure, of course — too busy helping out my old man with the restaurant. But I'd have done anything to go on one. My friends all went on one, and they had the time of their lives — and if you really wanna go out there and have your own little adventure, then I don't wanna stop you. Just as long as you remember to call your folks when you're out there, okay? Because we're still gonna worry about you!"


This time, her laugh was a lot more genuine. Just as genuine was the massive bear hug she couldn't help herself from; she wrapped around him so hard he let out a groan. "Thanks, Dad; that really means a lot."


"Oof — no problem, but… watch my back, okay?" He chuckled a strained chuckle, his bushy Walrein moustache curling up at the edges. "If you break it, you're gonna have to watch over this damn place, okay?"


For a brief moment, that didn't bother her.

---

It was a few days before she heard back from Roark; these days were mostly spent working and reading. She couldn't help but feel guilty that she was only using Oreburgh's library to prepare to leave town because it was much more useful than she gave them credit for. Much more fun, too; especially when it came to the material on Pokémon. There were a lot of things that were more fun than she'd thought about Oreburgh; even the museum was a lot less dry than she'd always thought, now that she was checking it out of her own volition. It helped take her mind off some things.


Choosing her first Pokémon was one of them. She'd read about the usual choice for Sinnoh trainers — Turtwig, Chimchar, Piplup… they were all so good, and as much as she liked that, it didn't help her decide. Though none of them were Fighting-types to begin with, which was a slight disappointment because she saw herself going down that route — doubly so when the Rock-type Gym was just next door.


Which was quite lucky, she felt, because it meant she wasn't leaving Oreburgh just yet; she'd really miss the place when she left, and she was coming to terms with that as she queued at the library.


This was on her mind as she walked through her back door with three thick books in her bag. She was going to go to her room and read when she was interrupted. "Hey, there you are! I think Roark's here to see ya."


"Oh! Okay, uhh… thanks for letting me know; I'll be right down," she said, her face an uneven smile as she put down her bag.


"No problem! Everything okay?"


"Yeah, it's fine; just got some more books from the library is all. They can wait, I s'pose."


There was that moustache curl again as he laughed a soft laugh. "My daughter, the bookworm. Look for the fella who's properly tearin' into his food."


He was in the farthest corner, decimating the meatiest pizza they had. Of course, this time he put it down when she approached. "Lucia! Take a seat! I'm glad you could make it."


"I both live and work here. Well… for now, anyway." Not her concern — she tried not to think about it. "So, any news?"


"That there is! One moment."


Reaching under the table, he revealed a hefty rucksack that rocked the table as it landed. She winced at the size of it.


"Oh, don't worry," he replied, "this isn't all of it. The only thing I need is a letter."


Lucia really wasn't sure why Roark couldn't just carry it in his pockets, but that was beside the point. She watched with bated breath as unzipped it and started digging around. It really didn't seem necessary; surely, there had to be more convenient ways to do it? If not for convenience's sake then for hers, because this wait killed her.


"Heeere we are — good news! I pulled some strings and got some alternative funding sorted out from a close friend of mine." From his bag, he pulled the envelope out. "You're going to want to hand this to the good Professor Murphy in Sandgem when you're down there; er, while you're there, send him my regards."


Looking at the envelope, the first thing she noticed was the very impressive seal on the back. The second thing she noticed was that the handwriting was, to put it nicely, distinct. Specifically, she didn't even try to parse it, because it would've taken all day. But she didn't want to be too harsh; whoever this mystery person was, they were apparently paying her bills, and that was a massive weight off her back. "Thanks so much for the help! I'll hang onto this — anything else?"


"No, that's it — everything else that needs sorting will be at the lab in Sandgem. You're ready to go! Though for curiosity's sake… have you made a decision on your starter yet? Or did you end up getting one?"


She sneered. "Well, you're the first Gym Leader I'll be up against; it's not like I'd tell you, is it?"


"…So you've not made a decision, then?"


"No; they're all so good! Choosing's much harder than it has the right to be, honestly."


"Fair enough, I suppose; no trainer finds choosing easy. My advice would be to just go with whichever one feels right." He straightened his glasses with a grin; they shimmered, masking his eyes through light. "Whichever one you go for, I'll be waiting and more than ready. Don't expect me to go easy on you."


She didn't have a reply ready, so she just let it settle. Except it didn't really settle so much as it sauntered unevenly, bobbing about until she found herself laughing. Roark remained unmoved as he watched her, eventually letting out an innocent laugh.


"Trust me," said Roark as he went back to his meal. "You'll be fine, I'm sure. Just focus on Sandgem for now, alright?"

---

"That's the lab?"


"Oh, aye! It's not as neglected as it looks, don't worry — pop on in and see what I mean."


Something was definitely off; this couldn't have been the big lab every trainer made a pilgrimage to at some point in their lives. Was maintenance just really expensive or something? Lucia wasn't sure what to think as the nice old lady she'd asked for directions left her to it with a chuckle.


Thankfully, that nice old lady was right; it was much nicer on the inside. Much busier than she'd expected, too; all sorts of people were working on the ground floor, some much older than her and others not. The computer screens and thick books she walked past were filled with stuff she had no idea about — and she had no idea where or who this Murphy was, either. So she asked the first free person she saw for help.


"Hey, you don't know where I could find a, err… Professor Murphy?"


"Oh, he'll be out at the minute I'm afraid. What do you need him for?"


"Getting my training license sorted out and all that; I've got a letter for him, too."


"I'll give him a call and let him know someone's here for him if you'd like, but I doubt he'll be back for a few hours yet. Feel free to have a look round town if you want; I can take your number and let him know when he's back? Or you can just come back another day."


"I'll just mosey around town for a bit then," she replied as she jotted her Pokétch number on their notepad. "Thanks!"


"No problem! Hope you enjoy Sandgem!"


She did; the breeze was much cleaner than that in Oreburgh. It helped that it was so close to the sea, which meant a beach was nearby — a nice place to sit down and think. Specifically, to think about what Pokémon she wanted as a starter because she still wasn't sure. They really were all so good, in so many ways — Piplup was adorable, a Water-type (read: would kick Roark's ass), and apparently didn't have much of a weakness. Turtwig was also adorable; it also had a reputation for being hardy and easy to look after. Not that she minded the hassle, of course, but perhaps it was a good idea to go for something more low-key as a first Pokémon. On the flipside, Chimchar (while still adorable) had a bit of a reputation for being tiny little bastards, which was an intriguing concept, to say the least.


Right now, she leaned towards Turtwig. Easy to handle, could still kick Roark's team's ass, and grew into an absolute tank.


Except Piplup was just so cute, and she'd read they were very loyal to their trainers as they grew up, and that was definitely alluring.


But then, Chimchar was alluring too…


Whatever; choosing was hard, and she was hungry.


Her next stop was the Pokémart, where she grabbed herself some food and queued up. She was right behind a man in a lab coat who was just smaller than her, and he was far more enthusiastic about a regular shopping trip than seemed normal. When he was done, he turned around and almost jumped out of his skin. "Woah, you're tall! Not often I turn around and have to look up to someone, haha! If you don't mind me asking—"


"Six-five," she said bluntly.


"Impressive! Oh — uh, sorry to be an inconvenience; I'll get out of your hair now. Have a good one!"


Odd, in her opinion, but fairly innocent. She put her food on the counter, reaching into her pocket for her money.


"You know, you're the first person I've seen in ages bigger than good ol' Murphy."


"Yeah," she said without a second thought. Then that last word hit her. "Wait — that's Murphy?"


"Oh, yeah! Must've just got back from training for the day. Have you not seen him before? He did pretty well in the big tournament last year."


"I didn't watch it — I'm actually waiting to see him about something important. That's… that's the guy, then?"


"Sure is! Go talk to him; he'll be happy to meet you."


She now had even more questions about this whole thing — and as soon as she'd paid, she rushed back to the lab. She made it through the door just as her Pokétch started ringing.


"Ah, good timing!" said the assistant from earlier, Murphy towering right over them with a tremendous smile. "I believe the Professor will see you now."


"That I will! Please — follow me!"

---

"Are you sure that chair's alright?"


"Nonsense, it's perfect!" he laughed. "I'll tell you what, I could live and die in one of these chairs."


The sight of the giant man in the rickety wooden chair made her seriously doubt that, but it wasn't her business. "Well, er…" she said, peeling her eyes away to look the envelope, "first things first, Roark wanted me to say hello."


"Very nice of him! I'll get in touch with him as soon as I can; thank you for letting me know."


"Sure — more importantly, I've got a letter that he wanted me to pass on to you; he said it was from a friend and that it's to do with my funding."


"Oh? Well, let's have a look!"


As soon as he looked at the seal, he went pale, lowering his glasses to get a proper look at it — and the handwriting drew a similar reaction. He was hyper-focused on it, his silence disconcerting, and Lucia wasn't even sure he blinked until he put it down.


"…Interesting," he said, carefully folding it up to put in a drawer. "Very interesting! Well! If it's that kind of situation…"


She didn't appreciate that pause. "Everything is okay, right?"


"What? Oh! Sorry — yes, everything is in tip-top shape. How much of this have you been told about, exactly?"


"…None." She was beginning to wish that wasn't the case judging by his reaction. "Why?"


"No big deal — you've nothing to worry about, everything's sorted for you. Financially, anyway; I'll get all that sorted for you. And your skills have been quite enthusiastically vouched for, as well; I hear you were very helpful in putting a stop to that situation in Oreburgh!"


"Damn right I was." She was very proud of herself, and for good reason. "Now, are we gonna get to some Pokémon picking or what?"


"Hah! Very well; if you're ready for that, then so am I!" He got out of his chair and grabbed a thick black case from the side of the room, gently putting it down. As he crouched to look at it, he felt like a child on Christmas — and Lucia couldn't help but respect that, even if he wasn't the one getting a Pokémon. Murphy definitely took his role as a Pokémon professor seriously, if not the part that involved a PhD.


Only when he was sure the floor was clear and the rug was in order did he open it up. Three Pokéballs sat nestled in red cushion; one with a leaf sticker carefully stuck to it, one with a droplet, one with a flame.


"So — did you make your choice before you got here?"


"Actually, I didn't." Lucia blushed a little, unable to hold off a smile. "I… was actually hoping to get a look at them first-hand, if you don't mind?"


"Oh, come on. What do you think?"


This was a good question.


Murphy was extra careful, contorting his body so as to not be in the way when he pressed the buttons on the Pokéballs. One Pokémon came out from each of them, and as they looked at Lucia, she had an even better question: which one did she want?


They were just as cute in the flesh, it turned out — which wasn't as convenient as it sounded. Going off what Roark had said, she'd kind of expected it to be an instantaneous, love-at-first-sight kind of thing, which wasn't the case; they were all so… nice. The Turtwig sat looking at her patiently, the Piplup was trying to find its feet, and the Chimchar wasn't even trying to mask sizing her up. Instead, she was reduced to a kneeling blob of muscle with her hand over her chin. She couldn't help but feel like she was stuck at a drive-in unable to decide on her order, except instead of a burger she was choosing a friend for at least the next few years.


Thinking about it this way still didn't help, so she decided on something else: letting them choose her. "Hey, would you mind taking a step back? I need some space to think."


"Fine by me! Just let me know when you've picked."


First, she offered the Turtwig a hand. The little turtle sniffed it, paused to make up its mind, and then rubbed up against her hand, slicking the seedling on its head back with happy chirps. It got a gentle pet on the shell for its effort.


A bit too apprehensive for her tastes.


The Piplup was up next. This one reacted to the hand a bit differently; there was that pause again before it waddled closer. It paused again, tilted its head, and slapped the back of her hand with a little flipper. The high five did make her laugh a little, and she very gently returned it.


Still, she wasn't entirely convinced.


As soon her hand was in an inch of the Chimchar, though, it grabbed her hand and bit one of her fingers. "Ow! Bastard…"


Murphy turned around in a heartbeat, almost dropping everything. "Is everything alright?"


"Agh, yeah, I'm fine; I just got a little careless. Little flesh wound on my fingers, right there."


"Ah — Chimchar? Yeah, she's got a tendency to give little love bites, that one; should've warned you about that."


She glanced at her bleeding finger, then at the Chimchar. Going off her devilish smile and tilted head, she was very proud of herself — and she'd absolutely do it again. Relentlessness was a trait Lucia liked in a Pokémon, as was a sense of humour; she'd only known this Chimchar for a few minutes, and it had all her respect.


With a smile on her face and a glimmer in her eye, she understood now. That's what Roark meant.


"It's no bother," she said as she petted the Chimchar on the head. "Because I think I've just found my partner."