This Rocket feels less ridiculously evil than other incarnations, though I that's probably because this is effectively Grunt orientation and you don't want to really scare anyone before they're in too deep to pull out.
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Within Our Nation - A Team Rocket Story
- Thread starter FuzzyZergling
- Start date
- Mature
2.06 - The Job
- Location
- Edmonton, Alberta
For a moment the gathering of Rocket Grunts was silent – then Black began to chuckle, the sound evolving into full-on laughter as a few of the other grunts joined in. "The old smoke bomb trick! Haven't seen that in years!" He removed his cap to fan himself, revealing short hair that was honestly kind of boring.
Hoshi shook off some of his post-tournament lethargy. "They said to go now. Should we… go now?" If Everheart gave me that order I'd scramble to obey; the man is a hardass of the highest calibre. But those two seem less… serious.
"Oh, you'll probably want to get on it before too long." The grunt looked his way, and seemed to read his mind. "They're pretty lax, up to a point – but hit that point, and you're in for some…" He chuckled again. "Remedial lessons. Ha."
Oh, amazing, we've progressed to euphemisms for punishment. Maybe those Unovan gangster movies were worth something after all.
"In any case," Black continued, readjusting his cap, "You should be fine to grab a drink or three before you go."
Okay, this is a little closer to what I was expecting.
When Casca had told him about her own training as a fresh Rocket Grunt, she had described something not very different from what Hoshi would have imagined; getting dropped a hint by a fellow street rat, showing up at a warehouse half-expecting it to be a sting, then a few weeks of small jobs – everything from burglary to slipping something into a target's drink at a club. The pay was shit, but she had been desperate.
It was only at the end of that period that his girlfriend had learned who she was working for, and officially became part of Rocket. The pay got better, the jobs got more intricate, and eventually she was shipped off to Veridian to go through the Electric Academy.
Being directly scouted by a recruiter let Hoshi skip right to the 'end' and become an official grunt on day one – but he had still been expecting something more… gang shit, as Danny would say. But no, it was weird uniforms and a tournament and bosses who sang a theme song for the organisation while dressing their Pokémon in a suit.
In comparison, the business-party type of thing happening now was much more normal. If he deleted the old-fashioned grunt uniforms, he could easily slot the scene in front of him into Mabosstiff II: The Boss Returns; men and women in suits sharing expensive drinks as they openly discussed crime, with a casual air as if poaching and bribery were no different from office gossip.
Hoshi himself was sipping his own drink – some sort of extra-sweet wine he couldn't pronounce – letting the built-up emotions from the tournament slip away. Somehow he had gotten swept up as part of Ryan's entourage, so he was mostly going around the old money side of the room, bouncing between different cliques and letting his third-round placement be patronisingly congratulated.
"Ah, our young semifinalist," gasped a middle-aged woman in a revealing dress she really didn't have the figure to pull off. "Please, chat with us for a moment, would you? My friends and I are simply dying to get a look at that little sweetheart of yours."
Ryan smiled brilliantly at the cluster of women, and Hoshi prepared himself for a litany of 'oh what a precious baby' and 'you simply must meet my daughter' type statements. The fakeness of it made him want to throw up, but these were his superiors – he had to schmooze a little, and taking cover behind Ryan's back was better than doing it himself.
He endured the tedious conversation, then the cooing over the hyperactive little dragon when Ryan deigned to release it, and he even managed a half-sincere smile as he received a round of plastic compliments about defeating the Rocket Executive named Garcia, who was apparently well-liked.
At least the liquor is good, he thought, as they went from one cluster of suits to another. Then, mercifully, an electronic jingle sounded out from Ryan's bag.
"Pardon," said the rich blond Rocket Grunt to a trio of two executives and a scientist. "That was my Pokégear – we really must be getting back to the Senior Executives. If you'll excuse me?"
A man with impressively large eyebrows covering nearly half his face grumbled out something pardoning, and Hoshi stepped away with the rest of the hangers-on. "Hah," exhaled Black, "Been a minute since one of us grunts made it to semifinals. Always gratifying to see them bend their ears."
Ryan opened his mouth, but Hoshi undercut him to ask something that had been bugging him for a while. "Hey Black, I've been meaning to ask… why is that?" The man turned his way.
"Why is what? Why are we at the bottom of the totem pole?" His smile was sarcastic. "Isn't it obvious?"
Hoshi stood his ground. "Not really, after thinking about it. You guys have boots on the ground; shouldn't your Pokémon be stronger?"
The older grunt took a long pull of his drink as they walked. "Ah, I see what you're saying," he eventually answered. "But you're thinking about it wrong. Sure, a lot of Rocket Executives paid their way up, but those aren't the ones that come here, you get me?" He gestured in a circle, indicating the room at large.
"These little tourneys must attract a certain type of person," Ryan broke back in. "That's what you refer to? The less… active members of Team Rocket would not come down to tussle with the new recruits."
Black snapped his fingers. "Exactly. Usually the prize isn't much to speak of… And it isn't like being a grunt automatically means you fight a lot, anyhow. I mostly do paperwork."
"Yeah," continued one of the two other grunts riding Ryan's coattails. "The poaching and stuff is what brings in cash, but the political power we mostly get through corporate ops. Been like a year since I went out in the field; it's almost all threatening businessmen and greasing palms and doing banking shit." She rubbed at her forehead. "So the higher-ups probably get a lot more training done, actually."
Hoshi grunted in understanding, and the group of five spent the next minute gathering up the other Rookies. Then Black and his friends split off, and Hoshi and his new coworkers – also a group of five, coincidentally – took a discrete door out the back of the room, going behind the stage.
Corporate ops, huh? he thought as he left the large auditorium behind. I don't think I'd be very good at that. Hopefully I can get into something a little more active.
After all, if they're putting time and money towards machamp and other Pokémon evolutions, they've got to be doing something that needs some… heh, heavy lifting.
The backstage was… well, it was a backstage. Probably not too different from an actual theatre's; mannequins wearing different costumes were strewn about between boxes of props and even more clothing, with cardboard cutouts simulating different locations dotting the warehouse-like space.
Just past the door they found something of an open-air dressing room, and also a guide.
"Meow," said the persian, in its oddly human voice. It stood up from a raised, cushioned chair set before a vanity table, and stretched its back before jumping down. Its claws made sharp clicks as they touched the ground, despite the impact being feather-light.
"…Hello," ventured Ryan.
"Yo, it's that sick-ass cat!" Moony said for the rest of them. "You gonna show us where the other two are, right?
The feline had changed back into its mob boss outfit – been changed; it's not like it has thumbs – the alternating black and dark red stripes of its suit and hat contrasting strongly against its greying tan fur. They got the shoulders right, was the only thought that Hoshi could muster, as absurd as it was. I can't guess how long it would take to translate those little details into a completely different body type – do they have a custom tailor, just for this Pokémon?
Or maybe all the duo's Pokémon had their own outfits.
"Meow," replied the persian, and it turned, padding away with the tails of its coat bobbing along on either side of its actual tail.
"Does anybody else feel really weirded out about this?" Nerine asked, her voice a touch slurred, and Hoshi nodded along with Puce.
"Naw," Moony refuted. "This is super cool. Back at the Passage, we had a granbull that would open the door for people – but it would'a been twice as neat with a bouncer outfit. Should go back and suggest it some day." He started following the large cat, and the rest of them mimicked him a beat later.
The Passage? Probably where he did his wrestling; the name is tacky enough to let him in.
They wound around different sets, and it became clear that either Rocket actually did use this place as a theatre, or they were really committed to making it look like they did. Hoshi saw a dozen different doors peeling off, some labeled dressing, or lighting, or simply numbered.
Finally, they reached an unlabeled door. The persian went up on its hind legs to grasp the knob, and with an unsettlingly human motion it popped open. "Meow," the Pokémon ordered, beckoning them forward with a wave of its head.
Moony barrelled forward, while the others paused another beat before moving. Okay, it has to be something like Benny the machoke. Is Dabi turning Pokémon superintelligent? Is that what his mom was doing with machop? Hoshi nodded to the cat as he passed into the next room. Whatever it is, I'm going to be real fucking polite.
Their destination appeared to be another dressing room, though it was also furnished like an office; filing cabinets and two desks holding up computers decorated a wall, while the middle of the carpeted room was taken up by a long conference-style table.
And seated at that table was-
"Hoshi!" Casca yelled. "I saw your matches! You were so close to beating Mister Seto!"
The woman practically flew out of her chair, and Hoshi found himself trapped in a hug, then a long kiss. Puce looked away, blushing, while Ryan turned his eyes away more discreetly and the other two simply stared, nonplussed.
"Casca," he breathed out after the kiss ended. "I didn't expect to see you here." His eyes went to the table, where the two Senior Executives were still seated, watching amusedly.
"Don't worry," she whispered. "They love me." Then she took his hand, letting the rest of him go. "But that's enough pleasure, let's talk business," she continued at normal volume, leading him to the table.
"Yes," said James. "There will be plenty of time for socialising later!" While less booming than his stage voice had been, the Rocket still spoke with a certain bombast.
A bombast shared by his peer. "We've got a mission for the five of you; something to cut your teeth on!" Like her partner, Jessie's voice filled the entire room, larger than life.
Hoshi sat, his girlfriend taking his lap, to his mild embarrassment. "A mission?" he asked. On my first day? The other grunts found their own seats, the Executives waiting for everyone to be seated before answering.
"Of course!" Jessie finally said. "Idle hands are the Dexus's plaything, as they say!"
"But don't worry, we won't be throwing you in the deep end right away!"
"Meow."
The unexpected noise caused Hoshi to jolt; he hadn't noticed Meowth enter behind them. Ryan raised his hand.
"And what does this mission entail?" he asked. The man was poorly trying to hide his excitement, a smile breaking through his professional veneer.
Moony's fists met the table. "Are we beatin' up some fool? Catchin' rare Pokémon?" Unlike the younger grunt, he didn't attempt to hide his emotions at all.
"Oh," Jessie said, teasingly, "A little of column A, a little of column B…"
James drew a remote from under the table and pressed a button, dimming the lights. From somewhere along the computer side of the room a projection shone, turning the opposite wall into a map of the city.
"But mostly column C! If you'll draw your attention to the south-west, along the coast…"
"To that little star…"
"You should see a very recognisable building!"
Of course, Hoshi didn't need to search for even a full second – the target couldn't be more obvious. "The Gym?" he asked, his heart in his stomach. Fuck. Fucking shit! Casca, did you know about this?
Her hand found his under the table, and her reassuring squeeze seemed to say keep listening, trust me.
"Exactly!" Jessie exclaimed. "But don't worry, we aren't sending you into the lion's den!"
"The security on that baby is too much for us, let alone a handful of grunts!"
"Meow."
"That was a decade ago, they've obviously changed the locks! Anyway…"
James tossed the remote to his partner, who changed the projection to a blueprint-style diagram of the interior. "You'll be going in as normal trainers challenging the Gym. Rocket Grunt Mutsu, part of your job will be educating your fellow grunts on the workings of the Gym."
"Layout, security, when the Lightning Lieutenant's attention will be away, that sort of thing," James clarified.
But I don't know 'that sort of thing!' I… The thought trailed off as he realised that actually, he pretty much did.
"Your target is in the basement." Jessie continued, pointing to a spot on the diagram. "The records room!"
"Inside, you should find a computer, one hooked up to the League's central database!"
"Your mission is to get into that room, and insert a little widget made by our wonderful Professor Hypno!"
"Meow."
"And then get out, yes. Without being spotted!"
Hoshi's guts settled down, just the smallest amount. Just bugging a League computer? "Is there a reason we aren't going after an unguarded one, like the public terminals in a Pokécentre?"
James pointed his way. "Good question! Now computer literacy has gone down in recent years…"
"So a technical explanation wouldn't mean much to kids like you. Suffice to say that a Gym Leader has access to different files than the general public!"
The room went silent for a moment as the grunts digested their bosses' words, and then Ryan nodded. "This seems doable. Get in, have one of us slip away, and distract the Gym personnel with the others' challenges. Is there a time limit?"
"Not as such," answered Jessie.
"Meow."
"Yes, but we would prefer you get it done as quickly as possible."
"Remember that none of you have to actually win, just get the mission done and bug out!"
The group made a smattering of affirmative noises, but under his breath Hoshi muttered. "But obviously it would be better to distract him for longer… Rather than winning or losing, we're trying to buy time for the infiltrator."
This time it was Jessie who pointed. "Exactly! You five seem like smart cookies – we're sure you'll do fine!"
"Meow."
A few more minutes passed as the other four asked questions about the mission, and Hoshi stewed in his head. This doesn't seem like anything too bad. It's not like I'm doing something to Bob, just his bosses.
It was almost too easy to rationalise, and he wondered if the Rocket duo had designed this specifically to ease him into the organisation.
Well, if my next mission is to kill somebody, at least I'll know they've stopped treating me with kid gloves. The morbid, half-joking thought brought a morbid, half-joking smile to his face.
"And we'll only be getting the one device?" Ryan asked. The blond had been leading the conversation for the most part; Moony was too dumb to ask questions, and the other two were too passive – or possibly drunk, in Nerine's case. I suppose it's too much to ask a teenager to not get drunk if there's alcohol about, especially with the good shit they were pouring out for free.
Jessie nodded. "Sadly yes, there's only the one for this mission."
"This isn't like your licences; this thing needs to go all the way to the juicy centre!"
"And that means being built to form!"
"Meow."
A nod. "Understandable."
Moony broke in. "Are we getting it now? We could have this whole thing done tomorrow!" He grinned, and Hoshi's nose wrinkled.
"Yes," James affirmed. "Rocket Mutsu will receive it; he has to go down to get his uniform anyway, so we'll just kill two pidgey with one Rock Throw."
"You'll stay behind for a moment, Rocket Mutsu," the red-headed Executive shot his way.
Hoshi saluted. Ryan hummed, not showing any emotion, and the meeting soon came to an end.
The four grunts went back the way they came, guided by Meowth the persian, while Hoshi remained in his seat. Casca slid off his lap, taking her own seat.
"Was that necessary?" he asked, receiving a cocky half-grin in return.
"Just staking my claim. Can't let anyone else get their hooks into you!"
One of them's a teenager – with a scrawny figure to boot – and the other is built like my dad. "I don't think you have to worry about that."
A tittering chuckle came from the opposite side of the table, and Hoshi's focus shifted to his new bosses.
"I have to say," began James, "That Jessie and I were quite surprised when Miss Kichi brought in a file on the Gym Leader's godson."
Hoshi's girlfriend purred. "What can I say?" she said with a toss of her hair. "I know how to pick 'em."
"Quite!" Jessie agreed. "We were skeptical at first – wouldn't a League lackey's son be a League lacky too? – but after giving is some thought-"
"And having some people look into your history."
"-We were swayed by our little girl's arguments. Any comments on your upcoming mission, Rocket Grunt Mutsu?"
Hoshi shifted defensively in his seat. "…Not really. If you wanted me to hurt Surge I'd tell you to go fuck yourselves, but this is just planting a bug on his work computer. It basically doesn't involve him at all."
James smiled. "Language, grunt. This is a school after all." The two of them chuckled again. Okay, this is turning a little more ominous. "We'll be looking forward to how you perform."
"Yes, I can't wait to see how you corral all those different personalities."
Hoshi's eyes narrowed. Oh, fuck me. "You're implying that I'm… going to be in some sort of leadership position."
The two looked at each other, then back to him. His eyes slid Casca's way, but she only nodded, her expression bright and cheery.
"Usually grunts get split up into pairs," said Jessie.
"But with things about to pop off, it's better to get people used to working in larger groups."
His heart quickened. "Are you implying..?"
It was Casca who answered. "You heard the Professor's speech, Hoshi." She beamed. "This is what you wanted, right? Action, people doing something about the League. Am I wrong?"
He passed a hand through his hair. Well yeah, but… "I thought I'd be working up to it. I don't even have the uniform yet!"
Another, quieter paired chuckle. "Oh, don't complain," said James.
"It's a fair price for skipping all the way to Senior Grunt."
His lips pressed against each other. "I'd have assumed that Ryan would get a leadership role, if anyone. The strong Pokémon, second place in the tournament, and apparently his family pedigree..?"
Jessie waved her hand. "Oh, the bagon was from Archer; he has his city, we have ours."
"We're all just waiting for the real Boss to come home, after all."
For the first time, Casca lost a bit of her mirth. She looked away, coughing into her fist.
The two posed for a moment, nodding to each other, the air of vague menace that had been developing blowing away as they had some sort of internal conversation before snapping back.
"Anyway," James continued, "We hope you succeed!"
"Genuinely! Now before you two lovebirds go, let me give you a map…" The female Executive rooted around under the table for a moment, before her expression went flat. "James, do you have the map?"
"Do I have the..? Of course not, you have it!"
"I could have sworn it was in this box here, but now that I'm looking…"
Hoshi awkwardly cleared his throat. "I have a map already. If you just tell me what room I'm looking for..?"
The two looked at each other. "Elec 303," they said simultaneously.
Oh, amazing. It was a strange mix of relieving and infuriating to see the facade crack a little – though there was a part of him that thought that even this might be some sort of bit. "Thanks. That's in the basement, right?"
Two nods. "Indubitably!"
"It's good to see you already on top of things. The two of you are dismissed!"
"Have a nice night!"
They waved, still in-sync, and Hoshi and Casca stood. "See you later!" his girlfriend exclaimed, while Hoshi only grunted. Okay, I'm starting to fill back up on weird. I'll need to get another drink on the way-
"Meow," came the voice of an aging gangster from directly under his nose, and Hoshi almost brought the two of them to the ground with how hard he jumped.
"Son of a-!"
The persian padded past the two grunts. "Meow," it repeated.
The executives each put a hand to their heads. "Oh, you're completely right!" said James.
"How could we have forgotten?" Jessie asked to herself, before the two recovered and pointed Hoshi's way a third time. "Try to nickname your Pokémon!"
"Yes, if you ever have to command a squad, it makes things so much less confusing!"
They looked at the cat, who had jumped up onto one of the computer seats and was… No, that can't be right. It has claws, how is it typing? Hoshi blinked. But the strange situation failed to change. I take it back; I need to have drunk less.
"Anything else, Meowth?"
"Meow," the Pokémon said, typing away.
"Splendid." They waved a second time. "That will be all!"
Hoshi let the door close behind him, the tonal whiplash he had experienced still leaving him a touch dazed.
"So," Casca said, turning his way. "What's the verdict? Do you love them, or do you love them?"
She grinned, her eyebrows waggling as Hoshi blinked.
"They're a couple of characters, alright." he answered. I feel like its going to be 100% endearing right up until I want to strangle them.
She pumped her fist. "Yes, I knew it!" But then her good mood evaporated. "Ugh…" she groaned.
"What's up?"
"Elec 303… That's the science lab! We're going to have to deal with that pair of creeps!" Another long groan. "Maybe there'll just be one of them…"
"The science lab, huh?" Hoshi stepped forward, and his girlfriend toned down her theatrics as she followed. "Okay, you might not believe this, but unless Rocket's found a way to make evil clones…"
Hoshi shook off some of his post-tournament lethargy. "They said to go now. Should we… go now?" If Everheart gave me that order I'd scramble to obey; the man is a hardass of the highest calibre. But those two seem less… serious.
"Oh, you'll probably want to get on it before too long." The grunt looked his way, and seemed to read his mind. "They're pretty lax, up to a point – but hit that point, and you're in for some…" He chuckled again. "Remedial lessons. Ha."
Oh, amazing, we've progressed to euphemisms for punishment. Maybe those Unovan gangster movies were worth something after all.
"In any case," Black continued, readjusting his cap, "You should be fine to grab a drink or three before you go."
Okay, this is a little closer to what I was expecting.
When Casca had told him about her own training as a fresh Rocket Grunt, she had described something not very different from what Hoshi would have imagined; getting dropped a hint by a fellow street rat, showing up at a warehouse half-expecting it to be a sting, then a few weeks of small jobs – everything from burglary to slipping something into a target's drink at a club. The pay was shit, but she had been desperate.
It was only at the end of that period that his girlfriend had learned who she was working for, and officially became part of Rocket. The pay got better, the jobs got more intricate, and eventually she was shipped off to Veridian to go through the Electric Academy.
Being directly scouted by a recruiter let Hoshi skip right to the 'end' and become an official grunt on day one – but he had still been expecting something more… gang shit, as Danny would say. But no, it was weird uniforms and a tournament and bosses who sang a theme song for the organisation while dressing their Pokémon in a suit.
In comparison, the business-party type of thing happening now was much more normal. If he deleted the old-fashioned grunt uniforms, he could easily slot the scene in front of him into Mabosstiff II: The Boss Returns; men and women in suits sharing expensive drinks as they openly discussed crime, with a casual air as if poaching and bribery were no different from office gossip.
Hoshi himself was sipping his own drink – some sort of extra-sweet wine he couldn't pronounce – letting the built-up emotions from the tournament slip away. Somehow he had gotten swept up as part of Ryan's entourage, so he was mostly going around the old money side of the room, bouncing between different cliques and letting his third-round placement be patronisingly congratulated.
"Ah, our young semifinalist," gasped a middle-aged woman in a revealing dress she really didn't have the figure to pull off. "Please, chat with us for a moment, would you? My friends and I are simply dying to get a look at that little sweetheart of yours."
Ryan smiled brilliantly at the cluster of women, and Hoshi prepared himself for a litany of 'oh what a precious baby' and 'you simply must meet my daughter' type statements. The fakeness of it made him want to throw up, but these were his superiors – he had to schmooze a little, and taking cover behind Ryan's back was better than doing it himself.
He endured the tedious conversation, then the cooing over the hyperactive little dragon when Ryan deigned to release it, and he even managed a half-sincere smile as he received a round of plastic compliments about defeating the Rocket Executive named Garcia, who was apparently well-liked.
At least the liquor is good, he thought, as they went from one cluster of suits to another. Then, mercifully, an electronic jingle sounded out from Ryan's bag.
"Pardon," said the rich blond Rocket Grunt to a trio of two executives and a scientist. "That was my Pokégear – we really must be getting back to the Senior Executives. If you'll excuse me?"
A man with impressively large eyebrows covering nearly half his face grumbled out something pardoning, and Hoshi stepped away with the rest of the hangers-on. "Hah," exhaled Black, "Been a minute since one of us grunts made it to semifinals. Always gratifying to see them bend their ears."
Ryan opened his mouth, but Hoshi undercut him to ask something that had been bugging him for a while. "Hey Black, I've been meaning to ask… why is that?" The man turned his way.
"Why is what? Why are we at the bottom of the totem pole?" His smile was sarcastic. "Isn't it obvious?"
Hoshi stood his ground. "Not really, after thinking about it. You guys have boots on the ground; shouldn't your Pokémon be stronger?"
The older grunt took a long pull of his drink as they walked. "Ah, I see what you're saying," he eventually answered. "But you're thinking about it wrong. Sure, a lot of Rocket Executives paid their way up, but those aren't the ones that come here, you get me?" He gestured in a circle, indicating the room at large.
"These little tourneys must attract a certain type of person," Ryan broke back in. "That's what you refer to? The less… active members of Team Rocket would not come down to tussle with the new recruits."
Black snapped his fingers. "Exactly. Usually the prize isn't much to speak of… And it isn't like being a grunt automatically means you fight a lot, anyhow. I mostly do paperwork."
"Yeah," continued one of the two other grunts riding Ryan's coattails. "The poaching and stuff is what brings in cash, but the political power we mostly get through corporate ops. Been like a year since I went out in the field; it's almost all threatening businessmen and greasing palms and doing banking shit." She rubbed at her forehead. "So the higher-ups probably get a lot more training done, actually."
Hoshi grunted in understanding, and the group of five spent the next minute gathering up the other Rookies. Then Black and his friends split off, and Hoshi and his new coworkers – also a group of five, coincidentally – took a discrete door out the back of the room, going behind the stage.
Corporate ops, huh? he thought as he left the large auditorium behind. I don't think I'd be very good at that. Hopefully I can get into something a little more active.
After all, if they're putting time and money towards machamp and other Pokémon evolutions, they've got to be doing something that needs some… heh, heavy lifting.
The backstage was… well, it was a backstage. Probably not too different from an actual theatre's; mannequins wearing different costumes were strewn about between boxes of props and even more clothing, with cardboard cutouts simulating different locations dotting the warehouse-like space.
Just past the door they found something of an open-air dressing room, and also a guide.
"Meow," said the persian, in its oddly human voice. It stood up from a raised, cushioned chair set before a vanity table, and stretched its back before jumping down. Its claws made sharp clicks as they touched the ground, despite the impact being feather-light.
"…Hello," ventured Ryan.
"Yo, it's that sick-ass cat!" Moony said for the rest of them. "You gonna show us where the other two are, right?
The feline had changed back into its mob boss outfit – been changed; it's not like it has thumbs – the alternating black and dark red stripes of its suit and hat contrasting strongly against its greying tan fur. They got the shoulders right, was the only thought that Hoshi could muster, as absurd as it was. I can't guess how long it would take to translate those little details into a completely different body type – do they have a custom tailor, just for this Pokémon?
Or maybe all the duo's Pokémon had their own outfits.
"Meow," replied the persian, and it turned, padding away with the tails of its coat bobbing along on either side of its actual tail.
"Does anybody else feel really weirded out about this?" Nerine asked, her voice a touch slurred, and Hoshi nodded along with Puce.
"Naw," Moony refuted. "This is super cool. Back at the Passage, we had a granbull that would open the door for people – but it would'a been twice as neat with a bouncer outfit. Should go back and suggest it some day." He started following the large cat, and the rest of them mimicked him a beat later.
The Passage? Probably where he did his wrestling; the name is tacky enough to let him in.
They wound around different sets, and it became clear that either Rocket actually did use this place as a theatre, or they were really committed to making it look like they did. Hoshi saw a dozen different doors peeling off, some labeled dressing, or lighting, or simply numbered.
Finally, they reached an unlabeled door. The persian went up on its hind legs to grasp the knob, and with an unsettlingly human motion it popped open. "Meow," the Pokémon ordered, beckoning them forward with a wave of its head.
Moony barrelled forward, while the others paused another beat before moving. Okay, it has to be something like Benny the machoke. Is Dabi turning Pokémon superintelligent? Is that what his mom was doing with machop? Hoshi nodded to the cat as he passed into the next room. Whatever it is, I'm going to be real fucking polite.
Their destination appeared to be another dressing room, though it was also furnished like an office; filing cabinets and two desks holding up computers decorated a wall, while the middle of the carpeted room was taken up by a long conference-style table.
And seated at that table was-
"Hoshi!" Casca yelled. "I saw your matches! You were so close to beating Mister Seto!"
The woman practically flew out of her chair, and Hoshi found himself trapped in a hug, then a long kiss. Puce looked away, blushing, while Ryan turned his eyes away more discreetly and the other two simply stared, nonplussed.
"Casca," he breathed out after the kiss ended. "I didn't expect to see you here." His eyes went to the table, where the two Senior Executives were still seated, watching amusedly.
"Don't worry," she whispered. "They love me." Then she took his hand, letting the rest of him go. "But that's enough pleasure, let's talk business," she continued at normal volume, leading him to the table.
"Yes," said James. "There will be plenty of time for socialising later!" While less booming than his stage voice had been, the Rocket still spoke with a certain bombast.
A bombast shared by his peer. "We've got a mission for the five of you; something to cut your teeth on!" Like her partner, Jessie's voice filled the entire room, larger than life.
Hoshi sat, his girlfriend taking his lap, to his mild embarrassment. "A mission?" he asked. On my first day? The other grunts found their own seats, the Executives waiting for everyone to be seated before answering.
"Of course!" Jessie finally said. "Idle hands are the Dexus's plaything, as they say!"
"But don't worry, we won't be throwing you in the deep end right away!"
"Meow."
The unexpected noise caused Hoshi to jolt; he hadn't noticed Meowth enter behind them. Ryan raised his hand.
"And what does this mission entail?" he asked. The man was poorly trying to hide his excitement, a smile breaking through his professional veneer.
Moony's fists met the table. "Are we beatin' up some fool? Catchin' rare Pokémon?" Unlike the younger grunt, he didn't attempt to hide his emotions at all.
"Oh," Jessie said, teasingly, "A little of column A, a little of column B…"
James drew a remote from under the table and pressed a button, dimming the lights. From somewhere along the computer side of the room a projection shone, turning the opposite wall into a map of the city.
"But mostly column C! If you'll draw your attention to the south-west, along the coast…"
"To that little star…"
"You should see a very recognisable building!"
Of course, Hoshi didn't need to search for even a full second – the target couldn't be more obvious. "The Gym?" he asked, his heart in his stomach. Fuck. Fucking shit! Casca, did you know about this?
Her hand found his under the table, and her reassuring squeeze seemed to say keep listening, trust me.
"Exactly!" Jessie exclaimed. "But don't worry, we aren't sending you into the lion's den!"
"The security on that baby is too much for us, let alone a handful of grunts!"
"Meow."
"That was a decade ago, they've obviously changed the locks! Anyway…"
James tossed the remote to his partner, who changed the projection to a blueprint-style diagram of the interior. "You'll be going in as normal trainers challenging the Gym. Rocket Grunt Mutsu, part of your job will be educating your fellow grunts on the workings of the Gym."
"Layout, security, when the Lightning Lieutenant's attention will be away, that sort of thing," James clarified.
But I don't know 'that sort of thing!' I… The thought trailed off as he realised that actually, he pretty much did.
"Your target is in the basement." Jessie continued, pointing to a spot on the diagram. "The records room!"
"Inside, you should find a computer, one hooked up to the League's central database!"
"Your mission is to get into that room, and insert a little widget made by our wonderful Professor Hypno!"
"Meow."
"And then get out, yes. Without being spotted!"
Hoshi's guts settled down, just the smallest amount. Just bugging a League computer? "Is there a reason we aren't going after an unguarded one, like the public terminals in a Pokécentre?"
James pointed his way. "Good question! Now computer literacy has gone down in recent years…"
"So a technical explanation wouldn't mean much to kids like you. Suffice to say that a Gym Leader has access to different files than the general public!"
The room went silent for a moment as the grunts digested their bosses' words, and then Ryan nodded. "This seems doable. Get in, have one of us slip away, and distract the Gym personnel with the others' challenges. Is there a time limit?"
"Not as such," answered Jessie.
"Meow."
"Yes, but we would prefer you get it done as quickly as possible."
"Remember that none of you have to actually win, just get the mission done and bug out!"
The group made a smattering of affirmative noises, but under his breath Hoshi muttered. "But obviously it would be better to distract him for longer… Rather than winning or losing, we're trying to buy time for the infiltrator."
This time it was Jessie who pointed. "Exactly! You five seem like smart cookies – we're sure you'll do fine!"
"Meow."
A few more minutes passed as the other four asked questions about the mission, and Hoshi stewed in his head. This doesn't seem like anything too bad. It's not like I'm doing something to Bob, just his bosses.
It was almost too easy to rationalise, and he wondered if the Rocket duo had designed this specifically to ease him into the organisation.
Well, if my next mission is to kill somebody, at least I'll know they've stopped treating me with kid gloves. The morbid, half-joking thought brought a morbid, half-joking smile to his face.
"And we'll only be getting the one device?" Ryan asked. The blond had been leading the conversation for the most part; Moony was too dumb to ask questions, and the other two were too passive – or possibly drunk, in Nerine's case. I suppose it's too much to ask a teenager to not get drunk if there's alcohol about, especially with the good shit they were pouring out for free.
Jessie nodded. "Sadly yes, there's only the one for this mission."
"This isn't like your licences; this thing needs to go all the way to the juicy centre!"
"And that means being built to form!"
"Meow."
A nod. "Understandable."
Moony broke in. "Are we getting it now? We could have this whole thing done tomorrow!" He grinned, and Hoshi's nose wrinkled.
"Yes," James affirmed. "Rocket Mutsu will receive it; he has to go down to get his uniform anyway, so we'll just kill two pidgey with one Rock Throw."
"You'll stay behind for a moment, Rocket Mutsu," the red-headed Executive shot his way.
Hoshi saluted. Ryan hummed, not showing any emotion, and the meeting soon came to an end.
The four grunts went back the way they came, guided by Meowth the persian, while Hoshi remained in his seat. Casca slid off his lap, taking her own seat.
"Was that necessary?" he asked, receiving a cocky half-grin in return.
"Just staking my claim. Can't let anyone else get their hooks into you!"
One of them's a teenager – with a scrawny figure to boot – and the other is built like my dad. "I don't think you have to worry about that."
A tittering chuckle came from the opposite side of the table, and Hoshi's focus shifted to his new bosses.
"I have to say," began James, "That Jessie and I were quite surprised when Miss Kichi brought in a file on the Gym Leader's godson."
Hoshi's girlfriend purred. "What can I say?" she said with a toss of her hair. "I know how to pick 'em."
"Quite!" Jessie agreed. "We were skeptical at first – wouldn't a League lackey's son be a League lacky too? – but after giving is some thought-"
"And having some people look into your history."
"-We were swayed by our little girl's arguments. Any comments on your upcoming mission, Rocket Grunt Mutsu?"
Hoshi shifted defensively in his seat. "…Not really. If you wanted me to hurt Surge I'd tell you to go fuck yourselves, but this is just planting a bug on his work computer. It basically doesn't involve him at all."
James smiled. "Language, grunt. This is a school after all." The two of them chuckled again. Okay, this is turning a little more ominous. "We'll be looking forward to how you perform."
"Yes, I can't wait to see how you corral all those different personalities."
Hoshi's eyes narrowed. Oh, fuck me. "You're implying that I'm… going to be in some sort of leadership position."
The two looked at each other, then back to him. His eyes slid Casca's way, but she only nodded, her expression bright and cheery.
"Usually grunts get split up into pairs," said Jessie.
"But with things about to pop off, it's better to get people used to working in larger groups."
His heart quickened. "Are you implying..?"
It was Casca who answered. "You heard the Professor's speech, Hoshi." She beamed. "This is what you wanted, right? Action, people doing something about the League. Am I wrong?"
He passed a hand through his hair. Well yeah, but… "I thought I'd be working up to it. I don't even have the uniform yet!"
Another, quieter paired chuckle. "Oh, don't complain," said James.
"It's a fair price for skipping all the way to Senior Grunt."
His lips pressed against each other. "I'd have assumed that Ryan would get a leadership role, if anyone. The strong Pokémon, second place in the tournament, and apparently his family pedigree..?"
Jessie waved her hand. "Oh, the bagon was from Archer; he has his city, we have ours."
"We're all just waiting for the real Boss to come home, after all."
For the first time, Casca lost a bit of her mirth. She looked away, coughing into her fist.
The two posed for a moment, nodding to each other, the air of vague menace that had been developing blowing away as they had some sort of internal conversation before snapping back.
"Anyway," James continued, "We hope you succeed!"
"Genuinely! Now before you two lovebirds go, let me give you a map…" The female Executive rooted around under the table for a moment, before her expression went flat. "James, do you have the map?"
"Do I have the..? Of course not, you have it!"
"I could have sworn it was in this box here, but now that I'm looking…"
Hoshi awkwardly cleared his throat. "I have a map already. If you just tell me what room I'm looking for..?"
The two looked at each other. "Elec 303," they said simultaneously.
Oh, amazing. It was a strange mix of relieving and infuriating to see the facade crack a little – though there was a part of him that thought that even this might be some sort of bit. "Thanks. That's in the basement, right?"
Two nods. "Indubitably!"
"It's good to see you already on top of things. The two of you are dismissed!"
"Have a nice night!"
They waved, still in-sync, and Hoshi and Casca stood. "See you later!" his girlfriend exclaimed, while Hoshi only grunted. Okay, I'm starting to fill back up on weird. I'll need to get another drink on the way-
"Meow," came the voice of an aging gangster from directly under his nose, and Hoshi almost brought the two of them to the ground with how hard he jumped.
"Son of a-!"
The persian padded past the two grunts. "Meow," it repeated.
The executives each put a hand to their heads. "Oh, you're completely right!" said James.
"How could we have forgotten?" Jessie asked to herself, before the two recovered and pointed Hoshi's way a third time. "Try to nickname your Pokémon!"
"Yes, if you ever have to command a squad, it makes things so much less confusing!"
They looked at the cat, who had jumped up onto one of the computer seats and was… No, that can't be right. It has claws, how is it typing? Hoshi blinked. But the strange situation failed to change. I take it back; I need to have drunk less.
"Anything else, Meowth?"
"Meow," the Pokémon said, typing away.
"Splendid." They waved a second time. "That will be all!"
Hoshi let the door close behind him, the tonal whiplash he had experienced still leaving him a touch dazed.
"So," Casca said, turning his way. "What's the verdict? Do you love them, or do you love them?"
She grinned, her eyebrows waggling as Hoshi blinked.
"They're a couple of characters, alright." he answered. I feel like its going to be 100% endearing right up until I want to strangle them.
She pumped her fist. "Yes, I knew it!" But then her good mood evaporated. "Ugh…" she groaned.
"What's up?"
"Elec 303… That's the science lab! We're going to have to deal with that pair of creeps!" Another long groan. "Maybe there'll just be one of them…"
"The science lab, huh?" Hoshi stepped forward, and his girlfriend toned down her theatrics as she followed. "Okay, you might not believe this, but unless Rocket's found a way to make evil clones…"
Okay, so the Rocket Trio are still keeping a light out for Giovanni, it seems. And Casca doesn't really buy into that part of their beliefs, but otherwise quite enjoys their colorfulness. I look forward to Dabi endlessly flexing on our protagonist through the dark powers of science and rank.
2.07 - The Power of a Name
- Location
- Edmonton, Alberta
A few minutes of navigation, and Hoshi was beginning to sympathise with his apparent underling. Puce was right. This place really is built like a maze.
Even with Casca knowing where to go, and a literal map to his destination, he still felt slightly lost – and the fact he was still processing his conversation with the Rocket duo wasn't helping him get a handle on things. "How does anybody find their way around this place?"
Casca looked back. "Practice, Hoshi. Trust me, a few months from now you'll be able to find any room in the building – once you stop focusing on what turns to make, and go with what each hallway looks like instead, it gets, like, twenty times easier."
Suppressing his urge to grouse, Hoshi continued following her back, the map taking up the bottom half of his vision. Why the fuck would they build it like this? It's like one of those old Lavender houses that were built to confuse ghosts. Maybe this was just how rich people lived? Maybe it was to confuse the Jennys if they ever discovered the place? Maybe those two Rockets are insane, and this is just an extension of the chanting and posing and shit.
Eventually they went down a flight of narrow stairs tucked into a corner, completely different from the ornate set that had led up to the second floor – and at the bottom was an entirely different aesthetic; the basement was, from ceiling to floor, solid stone. No carpets, no greenery, no conspicuously lavish wealth. Lit by fluorescent bulbs set into indentations where wall met ceiling, it gave off the air of a mad scientist's secret dungeon; unsettlingly medieval and almost completely sterile at the same time.
Hoshi shivered. "Woof. I feel like I just walked into a horror movie."
Casca shot him an understanding smile. "Oh yeah, that never goes away. Especially when you see some of what they cook up down here…" Her blue eyes flashed in the almost overpowering illumination. "Nice and cool, though, so at least we'll be comfortable before we're dissected."
With an unappreciative grunt, Hoshi slipped around her. "Girl, don't joke about that. I feel like today has taken a decade off my life." He held the map up. Okay, this is actually slightly less of a maze. Helps that the halls are following a consistent square grid pattern… "But seriously, what am I in for? You make these 'Professors' seem like real assholes."
"Well…" she began, accepting his lead. "I'm kind of playing it up, a bit? But not really."
Hoshi lowered the map to give her a look.
"No, I mean it! Professor Mokusen – who I'm struggling to picture as a construction worker, by the way – is literally always angry. Today's speech was like the first time I've ever seen him drop the holier-than-thou scowl."
"I'm having a hard time believing it too," he replied with a shake of his head. "Dabi's always been spineless. I can't imagine it's just an act – can you picture yourself swapping personalities that consistently? Without slipping up all over the place?"
She mirrored his expression. "Both my lessons and common sense say it's unrealistic. You don't make your undercover personality too different; you put as much truth in as you can afford to, 'cause otherwise your story's gonna come out half-baked."
"Exactly." Freaky shit. "What about the other one?"
Casca made a thoughtful noise. "Professor Kimigawa – Doc Hypno is… Well, you can probably guess from the name."
Straight at the next intersection, then a right… "He fits that old stereotype?"
"Oh, to the letter. His eyes…" She shivered, hugging herself theatrically.
Hoshi stopped moving. "He ever… do anything?"
"Not to me," she answered, and the red tinge in the corners of his eyes went away. "It's just a vibe, you know? Like if somebody said he did, I'd believe them before they could finish saying it."
He grunted, and began walking again. "That's good. But like, what do they do? Like I heard Dabi talk about evolution, and the Executives-"
"Just call them the instructors, everybody does."
"Right – and the instructors said they made the licences and Mini-Dex and this bug we're going to plant. But how much is them, and how much is the two-dozen guys in labcoats who got their asses kicked up there?"
The next hallway was silent as his girlfriend thought. "I can't really say?" she eventually replied. "I think a lot of it is actually just one or the other, but it's not like I'm here, you know? I'm a Grunt; I do grunt stuff, not science stuff."
Another straightforward hallway, and then Hoshi paused. To his left was a tunnel that didn't seem to be on the map, just slightly smaller than the normal ones. "Is that..?"
"Oh, that looks like a new one. Sometimes diglett come by and mess something up, so they have to switch the rooms around." Her smile was brittle. "The big rooms are usually where they always are, so we should be fine."
Hoshi suppressed the urge to fling the map down and stomp on it, putting that energy into moving forward instead.
Eventually, after only a small number of wrong turns, they made it to the correct door; Elec 303 stared back at them, the font exactly the same as the financier doors above, the only thing breaking theme with the barren styling of the corridors. Muffled sounds came through, too indistinct to make out.
Hoshi was glad; Casca could have taken the lead back at any time, but had restrained herself to pointing out his mistakes, letting him find his way. I probably won't have her with me every time I come here; better to learn it early.
"Do you want to stay out here?" he asked.
She shook her head animatedly, sculpted orange hair wobbling. "No, I'm fine. I don't like being here, but it's just uncomfortable, not anything else."
"Right." With a deep breath to prepare himself, Hoshi turned the knob and pushed.
The muffle resolved into a symphony of clashing sounds; it was loud, much more than he had been expecting, beeps and whirrs and crunches as a dozen different kinds of computer noises and industrial machinery slurred into one another.
"Fuck, that's loud," he commented, before pushing forward.
"You get used to it," Casca replied, following.
Elec 303 appeared at first glance to be about half chemical lab, half… factory, or something. Men and women in long white coats occupied everything from standing desks to computers to what Hoshi recognised as assembly lines; real heavy-duty ones, like you'd see in a car factory, metal being shaped via machine before being taken and assembled by human hands.
Other scientists were rushing about from section to section, and there were Pokémon too, a couple voltorb and electabuzz powering different generators scattered around, and a row of large tubes – are they still called test tubes if they're that big? – contained a selection of muk and weezing.
Danny sometimes uses grimer to make his own battery acid and shit. Is that what they're doing here?
He stepped further in, sweeping the room with his eyes. "More crowded than I thought it would be." I was picturing something more… orderly? This is closer to what I'd imagine if you shoved twenty Dannys in a room, than anything I'd expect from a professional laboratory… Then again, it wasn't like he'd ever been in a laboratory before now – maybe this was the standard.
A man started screaming, bolting up from his seat in the desks-and-chalkboards part of the room.
"It all makes sense!" he yelled, easily overpowering the machinery. "It's the only way the math lines up! A simulation, it's all a simulation! Arcus playing dice with the universe! It's- no, get off! Unhand me!"
Hoshi watched, mouth agape, as a trio of other researchers lifted the man up and dragged him to an… open pool? Okay, no, this is more weird shit. Does working for Rocket make you insane?
"The world needs to know! I can feel His hand, guiding my motion, the unseen string behind every-!"
They dunked the man – an experience that must have been unpleasant, given that Hoshi could see ice cubes floating in the blue water – and when he came back up the mad mathematician had lost some of the crazy in his eyes.
"What the-?" he sputtered, treading water. "Where am I, why am I-?" His face blanked, then screwed up as he started to feel the cold. "Damnation, not again!"
Casca slid a hand under his chin, closing his mouth. "I know, right? Total madhouse, top to bottom." Hoshi snapped out of the shock the strange event had instilled, drawing his eyes across the room a second time. What the actual fuck? "I'd never have thought they'd get anything done, but the balls and cards and stuff seems to come out clean, so it must work on some level. Let me grab one of these pencil pushers, wait here a sec…"
She sauntered off, visibly enjoying his bafflement, and Hoshi's mental jaw followed the physical one as he pulled himself together. Madness. Actual fucking mad science shit. The trio finished pulling the screamer out of his ice bath and then just… walked back to their stations, like it was the most normal shit in the world.
He spent a minute continuing to take it all in, and almost against his will Hoshi began to see a reason behind the room's ebb and flow. There's where they make the Rocket Balls. The fumes off the gasbags feed a dozen different stations, both generators and what looks to be distilleries, so they're using the gas as fuel as well as material for the stuff they're manufacturing. The muk get showered in I-don't-want-to-know, then the filtered liquid goes down into a grate – where does it go after? Are there even deeper labs? Some of these machines are actually for making car parts; they must have raided or bought out a factory…
When Casca came back, she brought a tall woman in thick-but-not-Dabi-thick glasses with her.
"Here we go," she chirped. "This is Hoshi, he's meant to get some mission-critical doohickey from the Professors. Oh, and his uniform."
The dark-skinned woman adjusted her collar, gently but insistently tugging her sleeve out from his girlfriend's grip. "Yes, we've been expecting you. Things run a little late up above?"
"Probably," Hoshi replied. "So where should I go?"
The scientist's brows came together in thought as her face became vacant. "Hmm, would he be..? No, Professor Mokusen explicitly said…" She trailed off, her mouth moving but not making sound. Great, even more crazy. Eventually she stopped muttering, giving an actual audible answer. "Doctor Hypno should be free at the moment. His office is there – just behind the crusher, see?"
Hoshi, in fact, did not see; whatever she was gesturing at was firmly hidden behind a massive industrial press, whose purpose he refused to consider. Nonetheless, he nodded. "Thanks, we'll be on our way."
The woman half-nodded and turned, returning to muttering under her breath as she stepped away. Latching onto his girlfriend's arm, Hoshi took the scientist's cue and walked swiftly, making a beeline for the… crusher.
"You okay, my man? You seem kind of spooked."
He looked his girlfriend in the eye. "Casca, I just watched a man have some kind of- of psychotic break, and it's like seven PM. I am tired and hungry, and yes, kind of fucking spooked." I haven't eaten since breakfast – actually, why aren't you starving? Is there a cafeteria around here? "I want to grab some takeout, go home, and crash for twelve hours."
She nodded. "Good plan. Sorry if I'm doing the forced-casual thing a little too hard; this place creeps me out, too."
They entwined their hands, and the doorway the scientist had implied came into view; very similar to the other 'classroom' doors he had seen, this one was labeled Prof. K. Kimigawa in gold leaf. With mirrored nods, Hoshi twisted the knob, revealing-
His Pokémon's ball jumped into his hand. "Rattata! Tackle!"
The rat appeared in a burst of red light as its vibrantly-coloured target spun in place with a shriek.
"What's-?" came a voice from in front of him, but Hoshi's hindbrain set it neatly to the side to be processed later. His rattata's eyes found its hovering opponent, a duck-like collection of magenta and blue shapes. "Wait! No! You'll mess up all my-!"
Rattata pounced, the porygon dodged, and the rat slammed its head into a desk, sending papers everywhere. Hoshi reached for his other ball – but an impact to his side jarred him, and it slipped from his fingers.
"Hoshi! It's tame, it's tame! Call it back!"
Chaos as his Pokémon tried to climb the desk, the porygon – it's smooth, why is it smooth – plastering itself to the ceiling, still screeching, the noise joined by multiple human voices. The insistent impacts along his arm jarred something loose in his brain, and the raw panic gave way to a hot flash of jumbled-together emotions.
"Return," he breathed, semi-conscious, and rattata disappeared.
"Oh," came the voice again, and Hoshi's tunnel vision widened to the point he could actually see the room as something other than streaks of colour. "Darn it, I just finished organising…"
He swallowed. "I-" I'm sorry, he tried to say, but his heart was racing too fast, pulse thundering in his ears, every muscle jittery from adrenaline. "Who the- why the fuck do you have one of those killing machines?!"
The man- the Professor stood beside his desk, a cane in his hand, looking up at his Pokémon. His gaze turned down. "Murder..? Oh, don't be overdramatic, that's a porygon2, not porygon.exe. Entirely different evolution!" His head tilted back up, to where the collection of coloured shapes was trying to phase through the stone. "Blast. It's okay, girl, the scary little mouse is gone, you can come down…"
The reality of the situation finally settled, and Hoshi's heart rate began to normalise. "Fuck, sorry. I- you get why, right?" Casca's grip on his arm registered, and he sent a grateful look her way.
"Oh, I had hoped we'd be past it so many years later, but I suppose I'm a little too much of an optimist." The elderly man awkwardly climbed up on his chair, reaching up with his cane to beckon the… porygon2. "It's okay Dos, there isn't any danger. Come on down, please…" The Pokémon endured a few light prods without moving.
As Hoshi eyed the trembling artificial creature, his traitorous hindbrain fucked him a second time by supplying a memory: being seated in front of the family computer, his mother showing him a colourful web page, the exact contents gone – something about a dancing monkey, maybe. She draped over him as he sat in the too-big chair, her hand covering his as she manipulated the mouse for him.
Then something popped up from the bottom of the screen, a little duck-like head poking out like it was looking through a window, cocked to the side, curious. Black and green and purple, wavering like water, like it was made of gelatin.
"Oh?" his mother said, in a voice he couldn't recall. "Is that a friend of Mr. Buddy?" She frowned. "It looks a bit scary, doesn't it? I like the monkey better-"
A sound, cartoonish, whizz-pop like a firework, and his mother stepped back, a line of red starting to go from the top of her shoulder down her blouse. Again, the same sound, accompanied by a giggle, and another point of red appeared on her collar.
Hoshi breathed out. "Yeah, way too fucking optimistic… sir," he tacked on at the end.
The scientist gave up with a huff, stepping down from his desk. Now that he had enough processing power, Hoshi could immediately see why Casca would find the man creepy – his face was built to leer, his eyes large and heavy-lidded, his mouth seeming to form a too-friendly smile no matter the man's actual emotion – or at least, Hoshi has to assume so, since his tone of voice had seemed pretty damn exasperated. His hair, dark grey with a touch of chocolate, was bowl cut, stubble dusting his cheeks and jaw, lengthening as it went until his neck was covered in bristles cut like those of a toothbrush.
And what a neck – his body couldn't seem to decide if he should be thin or fat; his head down to the cheekbones was skeletal, but then he suddenly put on enough meat to form a double chin that melted into his chest. His arms and legs seemed thin, but his open coat was pressed to the side by an expansive pot belly.
I regret ever calling Ryan's face weird; all those comments belong to this guy. He was so weirdly shaped, Hoshi was actually having trouble placing his age – he could have been anywhere from a bad forty to a good sixty.
"Fine, fine. She'll come down on her own time." The aged scientist sat heavily, leaning his cane against the desk. "What are you here for, ah…" His squinty eyes narrowed further, and Hoshi felt a spasm of revulsion pass through his entrails like the tide going out. Dear Arcus, it really does look like he's checking me out. He isn't, right? "Executive?" he guessed.
"Grunt, sir. Uh, Senior Grunt, that is." Is that an official rank? I don't even fucking know – how the fuck is this all happening on my first Arcus damned day?
The scientist grumbled. "If you insist. Unless my memory is failing me, I don't know you." The man's voice was ill-matched to his face; he spoke a lot like some of the Junior Executives Hoshi had met up above, a sort of old-fashioned cadence that emphasised soft tones. "Are you one of the new recruits? No, if you're a senior, then…"
Actual rank it is, then. "I actually am – a new recruit, that is. I need my uniform, and also the tool for the Vermilion Gym job. The instructors sent me down."
The man continued to squint in what for all the world seemed like sexual fascination. "Ah, I see." He opened a drawer on his desk, pawing through it. "Your name?"
"Hoshi Mutsu, sir."
"Just call me Doc, everyone does. Hmm… Ah, here we are!" Hoshi was expecting him to draw out a bundle of black fabric, or whatever widget would go into the computer, but instead the Professor pulled up a bulky cylindrical case, like a stretched-out egg carton. "Here, your coverings."
Hoshi took the offered case. My what? Rather than ask, he just opened the thing – the side split open along a series of tabs, and inside were red-and-white plastic disks. Wait, these look like…
"Need a hand?" Casca asked.
"No, I think I understand." He plucked out one of the disks, and squeezed it by the edges; the flat plastic jumped into a spherical shape – turning into a hollow shell that looked exactly like a standard Poké Ball. "To hide the Rocket Balls? Clever."
The Professor nodded. "Oh, not that clever. Got it working before the balls themselves were even finished."
Slapping the thing over Rattata's ball, he found that it fit like a glove – no, even better; it was completely undetectable. The lens was now the standard circle rather than a sinister eye, and none of the underlying colour came through. "I assume I can't use the Mini-Dex like this?"
The answer was slightly muffled as 'Doc' continued to dig in his desk. "Unfortunately not. But you can put them into storage mode just fine, and they'll pass inspection at a Pokécentre. Give me one more second, and…" With a noise of triumph, he withdrew something not entirely dissimilar to the tool Hoshi had asked about; a long, complexly-shaped piece of metal and plastic. "Here we are, my last Super Re-router! Be very careful with this, it'll be a good while before Dos can scrounge up the passcodes to make another."
He placed the tool reverently into Hoshi's hand, treating it like the thing was made of glass, and Hoshi resolved to do the same. I'm feeling a bit luke-warm on my first official Team Rocket assignment, but that's no reason to get lax about it.
"Thank you, Professor." A beat. "And my uniform?"
"Hm? Oh, yes, I was just distracted, thinking about all the reorganising I'll have to do… hint hint." Once again he dived into his desk, and Hoshi shared an awkward look with Casca, a blush colouring his cheeks.
She cleared her throat. "Sorry sir, we'll get right on that."
The two of them began gathering up the scattered papers, but about a tenth of the way through – which was still a solid few minute's work, Hoshi had spilled a lot – Casca approached him.
She spoke in a low voice, not quite a whisper. "Hey, Hoshi."
"Hey," he replied.
"Earlier… I don't mean to pry, but… with the timeframe, that was…" A longer pause as they continued to gather papers. "That was about your mom, right?"
He was silent for a moment before answering. "…Yeah. Sorry for freaking out."
"No, it's cool. Well, it isn't, it's- you know what I mean."
He made an affirmative noise, and they continued gathering sheets, shuffling around on their knees – until a raised voice grabbed their attention.
"Blast it all, I can't seem to find a single one!"
The Professor emerged, his sleeves rolled up and his face sweaty – which made him look almost impossibly lecherous. Holy fuck, I think I get why everything's insane down here; all the regular scientists took one look at this guy and ran for the hills.
Hoshi grimaced. "Is there a problem with my uniform, sir?"
"Well you see, I didn't think they'd promote a fresh grunt right off the bat, so I might have neglected to keep stock on the Senior Grunt uniforms…" Oh, great, fantastic. "I'm afraid this will take a minute. Come out, Kimmy!"
The man drew and tossed a Rocket Ball in one seamless motion, the purple orb a blur as it went from under his coat to releasing its stored Pokémon in a fraction of a second, and Hoshi was reminded that this wasn't just some old researcher – he was actually looking at a criminal.
Taking him as harmless would be stupid, no matter how doddering he appeared to be.
A hypno coalesced, its – her, based on the name – yellow fur and white mane completely spotless. The Pokémon was bipedal, maybe a bit more or a bit less human than machoke, depending on how you measured; mammalian, with five fingers and three toes, standing at just under five feet. She was also completely lacking a mouth, though the massive pointed nose seemed to be trying to make up for that lack.
She snorted, the sound not unlike a Kalosian horn.
"Yes, could you go out and fetch a Senior Grunt uniform from the stores?" Another bleat. "Thank you, darling."
The Pokémon waddled off, and Hoshi was stuck by the uncanny similarity the Professor had to his namesake. Is that why he's named that? Is it an insult, or..?
The door opened, closed, and it was just the three of them again – and also the porygon2, who had migrated to the room's other corner.
They finished with the spill before the hypno returned, and Hoshi placed the massive stack in front of the scientist with an awkward cough. "Sorry, Doc."
The man's eyes slid down his body, and Hoshi bit his tongue. Don't gag. Even if he is some kind of weird pervert, don't react. "Well, no harm no foul, as they say. Pardon, I haven't even introduced myself have I?" He stood, and sidled around the edge of his desk to offer Hoshi his hand. "Rocket Professor Kim Kimigawa – but I'd prefer you call me by my title, Doctor Hypno!"
He laughed, a drawn-out hoo hoo hoo that set Hoshi's teeth on edge. "Hoshi Mutsu," he replied. The man's grin exuded sleaze, more than any person he had ever met. "You… seem to be doing a lot of interesting work, down here."
"Oh, you have no idea!" He continued to grip Hoshi's hand, his skin clammy. "Every day is a cornucopia for the mind! Why, when you were coming in I was looking over these wonderful plans from- ah, let me show you…"
He slid away to flip through the stack of papers, and Hoshi glanced back as his girlfriend. Casca was leaning against the wall, subtly keeping herself between him and the Professor. She sent him a small, conciliatory smile.
…Okay, fair. I'd be doing the same thing if I could. He replied with a quick flash of theatrical disgust – Doctor Hypno was almost overwhelmingly uncomfortable as a man; he could scarcely imagine what it was like to be in here with him as a young, attractive woman.
"Here's the ticket! From one of my underlings, look at this!" The scientist passed the paper with a flourish, and Hoshi's eyes narrowed as he looked at it.
"…Sorry, this is…" Fucking nonsense. "Too advanced for me." He passed the diagram of squiggly lines and dense hyper-jargon back.
"Oh, it's not too complicated. We managed to sneak out a few of Silph's files a few months ago, and I've been having my people go over them with a fine-tooth comb. If you look here, you'll see it plainly – we managed to snag a copy of the Pokémon Transfer System! Now it's still mostly encrypted, but if we keep working on the problem…"
The Doctor's words devolved into a thick sludge of tech-speak, and Hoshi sighed internally. Well, at least he isn't looking at me, anymore.
An age later, Kimmy the hypno returned. The breeze of the door opening ruffled a few papers on the Doctor's desk, rousing Hoshi from the protective fugue his brain had placed over itself.
"There you are, darling," cooed the Doctor. "I was beginning to fear you'd gotten waylaid – here's your uniform, Mr. Mutsu!"
The five-foot-tall goblin monster handed over the neatly-folded bundle, complete with puffy newsboy cap, with a musical snort.
"…Thank you." Are you another experiment? No, hypno are pretty smart by default, this is actually pretty normal. Wild hypno sometimes came into town with handfuls of pilfered change; they were smart enough to understand trade, though they actually had a slightly worse understanding of language than most psychic type Pokémon; every now and then some grifter would try to show off that their hypno could read and write, before an actual test would reveal the thing to just be mindlessly parroting whatever it was shown.
Kimmy the hypno didn't seem to have that same… spark, for lack of a better word, that Benny and Meowth had shown.
"You should be all set, then," the Doctor said. "Kimmy, return. Do you need an escort out?"
Hoshi's eyes slid to his companion, and she shook her head with pursed lips. "No thanks, Doc. We can make it out just fine."
After twenty minutes – is that really all it was? My watch must be running slow – the cacophony of the larger lab seemed like paradise.
"Arcus's fucking halo, that was painful."
Casca made a gagging sound. "I know, right? Let's get out of here."
No argument from me. The two of them stepped around the crusher. "Do you think it's an act? If he was actually like that somebody'd kick his ass, right?"
His girlfriend shrugged. "No clue. But I could definitely feel him staring at my tits, so fuck 'im. He's a creep."
Again, no argument from me. They were forced to stop as a quartet of machop lifted some sort of machine – is that a fucking train car? No, no wheels, it's just a tank or something shaped like one – across their path.
In a quiet tone of morbid curiosity, Casca continued. "Arc, he even looked at his Pokémon like that. Do you think he's fucking the thing?"
Hoshi stared at her a beat, before grimacing. "Fuck, don't put that image in my head!" He stuck out his tongue. "Ugh, it won't leave! He even looks like the damn thing…"
"I think that's actually legal in a few places up north."
They looked at each other, and Hoshi replied, "Casca, that beard isn't legal anywhere."
The stupid joke made them both break into giggles, and they twined their arms together as the machop slowly carried the six-metre-long whatsit slowly across the open area. Something exploded out of sight, and Hoshi felt another spurt of hyper, almost manic amusement go up his spine.
This place is fucking crazy. Is my life just going to be this, now? The not-a-train passed, and they continued – but ten steps later, a stern voice called out. "Wait."
Huh? Hoshi turned, and for a moment he just stared. "Oh. Hey, Dabi."
The short man's appearance wasn't as brain-melting the third time, though it still made Hoshi's gut feel off. Against the backdrop of the laboratory, he looked truly in his element.
"Professor Mokusen," he corrected. "You will refer to me only as Professor Mokusen, and nothing else." His voice was harsh, his words obviously an order, not a request.
Damn. The weedle really went and evolved into a beedrill. Hoshi might have been intimidated, if he hadn't spent three years seeing the four-foot-nothing man as a cowering bug. "…Sure, Professor. You need something?"
The man bared his teeth. "We don't know each other. Get it? Outside of this building, Professor Mokusen does not exist – and inside it, Dabi the…" he almost spat the next words "Construction worker, is only a figment of your imagination. Do we have an understanding?"
Hoshi continued to stare. "Sure. As long as you play along, so will I." What, did you think I was gonna talk about… 'work' stuff while on the clock? Do you think I'm stupid?
Dabi stared back, his face a rictus sneer, his fists clenched. Then the corners of his mouth tilted up into a smile completely bereft of amusement. "Play along. An apt choice of words." He turned away. "Don't let your rank give you a swelled head. You're still just a grunt."
He walked away, following astride the machop and the machine they were carrying. Fucking drama queens, every single one of these fucks, Hoshi thought to himself. Aloud, he said "That was fucking weird. Gonna be strange to see him on Monday- Casca, you okay?"
She was clutching his arm. They locked eyes, and he saw something almost like fear. "Hoshi, don't talk to him like that. I know you know him – but don't. He'll have his Pokémon break your fingers." Her voice was steady, serious, and Hoshi blinked.
"…Yeah, okay." They started walking again. "You've heard about him doing that?"
"I've seen him do that. In one of my first real jobs…" She bit her tongue. "Later. After we get home."
He nodded. "Right. You lead the way; I'm bone-tired."
She nodded, but then winced. "Actually, one last stop on the way out; we should make sure your uniform actually fits."
Casca led him to a locker room, the place right next to an indoor pool, and Hoshi examined his new clothes.
The fabric shirt and pants were black, like he'd expected, but the gloves and boots were white with gold accents, rather than grey – and the latter were slightly more shaped. These aren't rubbery like the standard ones the others were wearing. I don't know what this material is, but it feels strong.
Going back to the shirt, it seemed to be the same felt – or an artificial equivalent – fabric as the base uniform. It was stiff, not inclined to bend, but soft to the touch. Unlike the standard uniform, the Senior Grunt's chest featured two yellow lines, framing the red R on either side.
I feel like the belt is slightly different too, but I can't put my finger on how.
He quickly pulled off his suit and donned the uniform. It felt just a touch awkward to move in, the fabric scratchy. I'll have to add a thin shirt underneath. But it's the right fit. Looking in the room's mirror, he felt a bit silly, like he was in a costume rather than working clothes. The hat is fucking goofy.
…But I'm sure I'll grow into it.
Hoshi swapped back to his original clothes, and soon his reflection was exactly as it had been before leaving the house that morning – save for his new belt, two Pokéballs displayed for all the world to see. He took one off, pleased with the amount of effort it took to detach the magnetic grip; enough that he'd never lose one accidentally, but not so hard it interfered with his draw.
"Go," he said, and Rattata appeared. He released Zubat as well, and without orders his two Pokémon loitered around, sniffing at the lockers and flapping around the fluorescent lights.
"Nicknames, huh…" Hoshi had always felt that just giving your Pokémon normal human names was tacky, but he didn't have anything picked out ahead of time either – he had assumed a name for his new Pokémon would jump out at him organically.
Something that matches their species – but not fucking Ratty or Whiskers or some shit, something unique…
His eyes turned up. Zubat evolves into golbat… and then crobat, if the conditions are right. Some Pokémon only evolved into their final form under specific social conditions, like being the leader of a pack; he knew that crobat was one of those Pokémon, but the exact condition wasn't something he could pull off the top of his head. Might not be possible. If it needs to be around other zubat to evolve… Well, might as well shoot for the moon. "Zubat, come down here."
The bat swooped down, settling on the back of his raised forearm. It wrapped its wings and abdominal feelers tightly around, making soft but high-pitched chirps.
"Your name is Crow now. Do you like that?" The Pokémon's eyeless face wasn't able to emote much; Hoshi had no idea if it understood. "Well, it'll stick if I keep using it." His other arm came up with the bat's ball. "Crow, return. Rattata, come over here."
The undersized rat bounded over, and he picked it up like it was a cat. Okay, this one is harder. I can't think of anything that isn't stupid as shit…
Unbidden, a memory. Red, flecked with white and lavender. Hoshi's face twisted, and the Pokémon responded by tilting its head, chittering. "Huh. That works." Sounds tough, even. He put the rat back down.
"Rattata, from now on, your name is Guts."
Even with Casca knowing where to go, and a literal map to his destination, he still felt slightly lost – and the fact he was still processing his conversation with the Rocket duo wasn't helping him get a handle on things. "How does anybody find their way around this place?"
Casca looked back. "Practice, Hoshi. Trust me, a few months from now you'll be able to find any room in the building – once you stop focusing on what turns to make, and go with what each hallway looks like instead, it gets, like, twenty times easier."
Suppressing his urge to grouse, Hoshi continued following her back, the map taking up the bottom half of his vision. Why the fuck would they build it like this? It's like one of those old Lavender houses that were built to confuse ghosts. Maybe this was just how rich people lived? Maybe it was to confuse the Jennys if they ever discovered the place? Maybe those two Rockets are insane, and this is just an extension of the chanting and posing and shit.
Eventually they went down a flight of narrow stairs tucked into a corner, completely different from the ornate set that had led up to the second floor – and at the bottom was an entirely different aesthetic; the basement was, from ceiling to floor, solid stone. No carpets, no greenery, no conspicuously lavish wealth. Lit by fluorescent bulbs set into indentations where wall met ceiling, it gave off the air of a mad scientist's secret dungeon; unsettlingly medieval and almost completely sterile at the same time.
Hoshi shivered. "Woof. I feel like I just walked into a horror movie."
Casca shot him an understanding smile. "Oh yeah, that never goes away. Especially when you see some of what they cook up down here…" Her blue eyes flashed in the almost overpowering illumination. "Nice and cool, though, so at least we'll be comfortable before we're dissected."
With an unappreciative grunt, Hoshi slipped around her. "Girl, don't joke about that. I feel like today has taken a decade off my life." He held the map up. Okay, this is actually slightly less of a maze. Helps that the halls are following a consistent square grid pattern… "But seriously, what am I in for? You make these 'Professors' seem like real assholes."
"Well…" she began, accepting his lead. "I'm kind of playing it up, a bit? But not really."
Hoshi lowered the map to give her a look.
"No, I mean it! Professor Mokusen – who I'm struggling to picture as a construction worker, by the way – is literally always angry. Today's speech was like the first time I've ever seen him drop the holier-than-thou scowl."
"I'm having a hard time believing it too," he replied with a shake of his head. "Dabi's always been spineless. I can't imagine it's just an act – can you picture yourself swapping personalities that consistently? Without slipping up all over the place?"
She mirrored his expression. "Both my lessons and common sense say it's unrealistic. You don't make your undercover personality too different; you put as much truth in as you can afford to, 'cause otherwise your story's gonna come out half-baked."
"Exactly." Freaky shit. "What about the other one?"
Casca made a thoughtful noise. "Professor Kimigawa – Doc Hypno is… Well, you can probably guess from the name."
Straight at the next intersection, then a right… "He fits that old stereotype?"
"Oh, to the letter. His eyes…" She shivered, hugging herself theatrically.
Hoshi stopped moving. "He ever… do anything?"
"Not to me," she answered, and the red tinge in the corners of his eyes went away. "It's just a vibe, you know? Like if somebody said he did, I'd believe them before they could finish saying it."
He grunted, and began walking again. "That's good. But like, what do they do? Like I heard Dabi talk about evolution, and the Executives-"
"Just call them the instructors, everybody does."
"Right – and the instructors said they made the licences and Mini-Dex and this bug we're going to plant. But how much is them, and how much is the two-dozen guys in labcoats who got their asses kicked up there?"
The next hallway was silent as his girlfriend thought. "I can't really say?" she eventually replied. "I think a lot of it is actually just one or the other, but it's not like I'm here, you know? I'm a Grunt; I do grunt stuff, not science stuff."
Another straightforward hallway, and then Hoshi paused. To his left was a tunnel that didn't seem to be on the map, just slightly smaller than the normal ones. "Is that..?"
"Oh, that looks like a new one. Sometimes diglett come by and mess something up, so they have to switch the rooms around." Her smile was brittle. "The big rooms are usually where they always are, so we should be fine."
Hoshi suppressed the urge to fling the map down and stomp on it, putting that energy into moving forward instead.
Eventually, after only a small number of wrong turns, they made it to the correct door; Elec 303 stared back at them, the font exactly the same as the financier doors above, the only thing breaking theme with the barren styling of the corridors. Muffled sounds came through, too indistinct to make out.
Hoshi was glad; Casca could have taken the lead back at any time, but had restrained herself to pointing out his mistakes, letting him find his way. I probably won't have her with me every time I come here; better to learn it early.
"Do you want to stay out here?" he asked.
She shook her head animatedly, sculpted orange hair wobbling. "No, I'm fine. I don't like being here, but it's just uncomfortable, not anything else."
"Right." With a deep breath to prepare himself, Hoshi turned the knob and pushed.
The muffle resolved into a symphony of clashing sounds; it was loud, much more than he had been expecting, beeps and whirrs and crunches as a dozen different kinds of computer noises and industrial machinery slurred into one another.
"Fuck, that's loud," he commented, before pushing forward.
"You get used to it," Casca replied, following.
Elec 303 appeared at first glance to be about half chemical lab, half… factory, or something. Men and women in long white coats occupied everything from standing desks to computers to what Hoshi recognised as assembly lines; real heavy-duty ones, like you'd see in a car factory, metal being shaped via machine before being taken and assembled by human hands.
Other scientists were rushing about from section to section, and there were Pokémon too, a couple voltorb and electabuzz powering different generators scattered around, and a row of large tubes – are they still called test tubes if they're that big? – contained a selection of muk and weezing.
Danny sometimes uses grimer to make his own battery acid and shit. Is that what they're doing here?
He stepped further in, sweeping the room with his eyes. "More crowded than I thought it would be." I was picturing something more… orderly? This is closer to what I'd imagine if you shoved twenty Dannys in a room, than anything I'd expect from a professional laboratory… Then again, it wasn't like he'd ever been in a laboratory before now – maybe this was the standard.
A man started screaming, bolting up from his seat in the desks-and-chalkboards part of the room.
"It all makes sense!" he yelled, easily overpowering the machinery. "It's the only way the math lines up! A simulation, it's all a simulation! Arcus playing dice with the universe! It's- no, get off! Unhand me!"
Hoshi watched, mouth agape, as a trio of other researchers lifted the man up and dragged him to an… open pool? Okay, no, this is more weird shit. Does working for Rocket make you insane?
"The world needs to know! I can feel His hand, guiding my motion, the unseen string behind every-!"
They dunked the man – an experience that must have been unpleasant, given that Hoshi could see ice cubes floating in the blue water – and when he came back up the mad mathematician had lost some of the crazy in his eyes.
"What the-?" he sputtered, treading water. "Where am I, why am I-?" His face blanked, then screwed up as he started to feel the cold. "Damnation, not again!"
Casca slid a hand under his chin, closing his mouth. "I know, right? Total madhouse, top to bottom." Hoshi snapped out of the shock the strange event had instilled, drawing his eyes across the room a second time. What the actual fuck? "I'd never have thought they'd get anything done, but the balls and cards and stuff seems to come out clean, so it must work on some level. Let me grab one of these pencil pushers, wait here a sec…"
She sauntered off, visibly enjoying his bafflement, and Hoshi's mental jaw followed the physical one as he pulled himself together. Madness. Actual fucking mad science shit. The trio finished pulling the screamer out of his ice bath and then just… walked back to their stations, like it was the most normal shit in the world.
He spent a minute continuing to take it all in, and almost against his will Hoshi began to see a reason behind the room's ebb and flow. There's where they make the Rocket Balls. The fumes off the gasbags feed a dozen different stations, both generators and what looks to be distilleries, so they're using the gas as fuel as well as material for the stuff they're manufacturing. The muk get showered in I-don't-want-to-know, then the filtered liquid goes down into a grate – where does it go after? Are there even deeper labs? Some of these machines are actually for making car parts; they must have raided or bought out a factory…
When Casca came back, she brought a tall woman in thick-but-not-Dabi-thick glasses with her.
"Here we go," she chirped. "This is Hoshi, he's meant to get some mission-critical doohickey from the Professors. Oh, and his uniform."
The dark-skinned woman adjusted her collar, gently but insistently tugging her sleeve out from his girlfriend's grip. "Yes, we've been expecting you. Things run a little late up above?"
"Probably," Hoshi replied. "So where should I go?"
The scientist's brows came together in thought as her face became vacant. "Hmm, would he be..? No, Professor Mokusen explicitly said…" She trailed off, her mouth moving but not making sound. Great, even more crazy. Eventually she stopped muttering, giving an actual audible answer. "Doctor Hypno should be free at the moment. His office is there – just behind the crusher, see?"
Hoshi, in fact, did not see; whatever she was gesturing at was firmly hidden behind a massive industrial press, whose purpose he refused to consider. Nonetheless, he nodded. "Thanks, we'll be on our way."
The woman half-nodded and turned, returning to muttering under her breath as she stepped away. Latching onto his girlfriend's arm, Hoshi took the scientist's cue and walked swiftly, making a beeline for the… crusher.
"You okay, my man? You seem kind of spooked."
He looked his girlfriend in the eye. "Casca, I just watched a man have some kind of- of psychotic break, and it's like seven PM. I am tired and hungry, and yes, kind of fucking spooked." I haven't eaten since breakfast – actually, why aren't you starving? Is there a cafeteria around here? "I want to grab some takeout, go home, and crash for twelve hours."
She nodded. "Good plan. Sorry if I'm doing the forced-casual thing a little too hard; this place creeps me out, too."
They entwined their hands, and the doorway the scientist had implied came into view; very similar to the other 'classroom' doors he had seen, this one was labeled Prof. K. Kimigawa in gold leaf. With mirrored nods, Hoshi twisted the knob, revealing-
His Pokémon's ball jumped into his hand. "Rattata! Tackle!"
The rat appeared in a burst of red light as its vibrantly-coloured target spun in place with a shriek.
"What's-?" came a voice from in front of him, but Hoshi's hindbrain set it neatly to the side to be processed later. His rattata's eyes found its hovering opponent, a duck-like collection of magenta and blue shapes. "Wait! No! You'll mess up all my-!"
Rattata pounced, the porygon dodged, and the rat slammed its head into a desk, sending papers everywhere. Hoshi reached for his other ball – but an impact to his side jarred him, and it slipped from his fingers.
"Hoshi! It's tame, it's tame! Call it back!"
Chaos as his Pokémon tried to climb the desk, the porygon – it's smooth, why is it smooth – plastering itself to the ceiling, still screeching, the noise joined by multiple human voices. The insistent impacts along his arm jarred something loose in his brain, and the raw panic gave way to a hot flash of jumbled-together emotions.
"Return," he breathed, semi-conscious, and rattata disappeared.
"Oh," came the voice again, and Hoshi's tunnel vision widened to the point he could actually see the room as something other than streaks of colour. "Darn it, I just finished organising…"
He swallowed. "I-" I'm sorry, he tried to say, but his heart was racing too fast, pulse thundering in his ears, every muscle jittery from adrenaline. "Who the- why the fuck do you have one of those killing machines?!"
The man- the Professor stood beside his desk, a cane in his hand, looking up at his Pokémon. His gaze turned down. "Murder..? Oh, don't be overdramatic, that's a porygon2, not porygon.exe. Entirely different evolution!" His head tilted back up, to where the collection of coloured shapes was trying to phase through the stone. "Blast. It's okay, girl, the scary little mouse is gone, you can come down…"
The reality of the situation finally settled, and Hoshi's heart rate began to normalise. "Fuck, sorry. I- you get why, right?" Casca's grip on his arm registered, and he sent a grateful look her way.
"Oh, I had hoped we'd be past it so many years later, but I suppose I'm a little too much of an optimist." The elderly man awkwardly climbed up on his chair, reaching up with his cane to beckon the… porygon2. "It's okay Dos, there isn't any danger. Come on down, please…" The Pokémon endured a few light prods without moving.
As Hoshi eyed the trembling artificial creature, his traitorous hindbrain fucked him a second time by supplying a memory: being seated in front of the family computer, his mother showing him a colourful web page, the exact contents gone – something about a dancing monkey, maybe. She draped over him as he sat in the too-big chair, her hand covering his as she manipulated the mouse for him.
Then something popped up from the bottom of the screen, a little duck-like head poking out like it was looking through a window, cocked to the side, curious. Black and green and purple, wavering like water, like it was made of gelatin.
"Oh?" his mother said, in a voice he couldn't recall. "Is that a friend of Mr. Buddy?" She frowned. "It looks a bit scary, doesn't it? I like the monkey better-"
A sound, cartoonish, whizz-pop like a firework, and his mother stepped back, a line of red starting to go from the top of her shoulder down her blouse. Again, the same sound, accompanied by a giggle, and another point of red appeared on her collar.
Hoshi breathed out. "Yeah, way too fucking optimistic… sir," he tacked on at the end.
The scientist gave up with a huff, stepping down from his desk. Now that he had enough processing power, Hoshi could immediately see why Casca would find the man creepy – his face was built to leer, his eyes large and heavy-lidded, his mouth seeming to form a too-friendly smile no matter the man's actual emotion – or at least, Hoshi has to assume so, since his tone of voice had seemed pretty damn exasperated. His hair, dark grey with a touch of chocolate, was bowl cut, stubble dusting his cheeks and jaw, lengthening as it went until his neck was covered in bristles cut like those of a toothbrush.
And what a neck – his body couldn't seem to decide if he should be thin or fat; his head down to the cheekbones was skeletal, but then he suddenly put on enough meat to form a double chin that melted into his chest. His arms and legs seemed thin, but his open coat was pressed to the side by an expansive pot belly.
I regret ever calling Ryan's face weird; all those comments belong to this guy. He was so weirdly shaped, Hoshi was actually having trouble placing his age – he could have been anywhere from a bad forty to a good sixty.
"Fine, fine. She'll come down on her own time." The aged scientist sat heavily, leaning his cane against the desk. "What are you here for, ah…" His squinty eyes narrowed further, and Hoshi felt a spasm of revulsion pass through his entrails like the tide going out. Dear Arcus, it really does look like he's checking me out. He isn't, right? "Executive?" he guessed.
"Grunt, sir. Uh, Senior Grunt, that is." Is that an official rank? I don't even fucking know – how the fuck is this all happening on my first Arcus damned day?
The scientist grumbled. "If you insist. Unless my memory is failing me, I don't know you." The man's voice was ill-matched to his face; he spoke a lot like some of the Junior Executives Hoshi had met up above, a sort of old-fashioned cadence that emphasised soft tones. "Are you one of the new recruits? No, if you're a senior, then…"
Actual rank it is, then. "I actually am – a new recruit, that is. I need my uniform, and also the tool for the Vermilion Gym job. The instructors sent me down."
The man continued to squint in what for all the world seemed like sexual fascination. "Ah, I see." He opened a drawer on his desk, pawing through it. "Your name?"
"Hoshi Mutsu, sir."
"Just call me Doc, everyone does. Hmm… Ah, here we are!" Hoshi was expecting him to draw out a bundle of black fabric, or whatever widget would go into the computer, but instead the Professor pulled up a bulky cylindrical case, like a stretched-out egg carton. "Here, your coverings."
Hoshi took the offered case. My what? Rather than ask, he just opened the thing – the side split open along a series of tabs, and inside were red-and-white plastic disks. Wait, these look like…
"Need a hand?" Casca asked.
"No, I think I understand." He plucked out one of the disks, and squeezed it by the edges; the flat plastic jumped into a spherical shape – turning into a hollow shell that looked exactly like a standard Poké Ball. "To hide the Rocket Balls? Clever."
The Professor nodded. "Oh, not that clever. Got it working before the balls themselves were even finished."
Slapping the thing over Rattata's ball, he found that it fit like a glove – no, even better; it was completely undetectable. The lens was now the standard circle rather than a sinister eye, and none of the underlying colour came through. "I assume I can't use the Mini-Dex like this?"
The answer was slightly muffled as 'Doc' continued to dig in his desk. "Unfortunately not. But you can put them into storage mode just fine, and they'll pass inspection at a Pokécentre. Give me one more second, and…" With a noise of triumph, he withdrew something not entirely dissimilar to the tool Hoshi had asked about; a long, complexly-shaped piece of metal and plastic. "Here we are, my last Super Re-router! Be very careful with this, it'll be a good while before Dos can scrounge up the passcodes to make another."
He placed the tool reverently into Hoshi's hand, treating it like the thing was made of glass, and Hoshi resolved to do the same. I'm feeling a bit luke-warm on my first official Team Rocket assignment, but that's no reason to get lax about it.
"Thank you, Professor." A beat. "And my uniform?"
"Hm? Oh, yes, I was just distracted, thinking about all the reorganising I'll have to do… hint hint." Once again he dived into his desk, and Hoshi shared an awkward look with Casca, a blush colouring his cheeks.
She cleared her throat. "Sorry sir, we'll get right on that."
The two of them began gathering up the scattered papers, but about a tenth of the way through – which was still a solid few minute's work, Hoshi had spilled a lot – Casca approached him.
She spoke in a low voice, not quite a whisper. "Hey, Hoshi."
"Hey," he replied.
"Earlier… I don't mean to pry, but… with the timeframe, that was…" A longer pause as they continued to gather papers. "That was about your mom, right?"
He was silent for a moment before answering. "…Yeah. Sorry for freaking out."
"No, it's cool. Well, it isn't, it's- you know what I mean."
He made an affirmative noise, and they continued gathering sheets, shuffling around on their knees – until a raised voice grabbed their attention.
"Blast it all, I can't seem to find a single one!"
The Professor emerged, his sleeves rolled up and his face sweaty – which made him look almost impossibly lecherous. Holy fuck, I think I get why everything's insane down here; all the regular scientists took one look at this guy and ran for the hills.
Hoshi grimaced. "Is there a problem with my uniform, sir?"
"Well you see, I didn't think they'd promote a fresh grunt right off the bat, so I might have neglected to keep stock on the Senior Grunt uniforms…" Oh, great, fantastic. "I'm afraid this will take a minute. Come out, Kimmy!"
The man drew and tossed a Rocket Ball in one seamless motion, the purple orb a blur as it went from under his coat to releasing its stored Pokémon in a fraction of a second, and Hoshi was reminded that this wasn't just some old researcher – he was actually looking at a criminal.
Taking him as harmless would be stupid, no matter how doddering he appeared to be.
A hypno coalesced, its – her, based on the name – yellow fur and white mane completely spotless. The Pokémon was bipedal, maybe a bit more or a bit less human than machoke, depending on how you measured; mammalian, with five fingers and three toes, standing at just under five feet. She was also completely lacking a mouth, though the massive pointed nose seemed to be trying to make up for that lack.
She snorted, the sound not unlike a Kalosian horn.
"Yes, could you go out and fetch a Senior Grunt uniform from the stores?" Another bleat. "Thank you, darling."
The Pokémon waddled off, and Hoshi was stuck by the uncanny similarity the Professor had to his namesake. Is that why he's named that? Is it an insult, or..?
The door opened, closed, and it was just the three of them again – and also the porygon2, who had migrated to the room's other corner.
They finished with the spill before the hypno returned, and Hoshi placed the massive stack in front of the scientist with an awkward cough. "Sorry, Doc."
The man's eyes slid down his body, and Hoshi bit his tongue. Don't gag. Even if he is some kind of weird pervert, don't react. "Well, no harm no foul, as they say. Pardon, I haven't even introduced myself have I?" He stood, and sidled around the edge of his desk to offer Hoshi his hand. "Rocket Professor Kim Kimigawa – but I'd prefer you call me by my title, Doctor Hypno!"
He laughed, a drawn-out hoo hoo hoo that set Hoshi's teeth on edge. "Hoshi Mutsu," he replied. The man's grin exuded sleaze, more than any person he had ever met. "You… seem to be doing a lot of interesting work, down here."
"Oh, you have no idea!" He continued to grip Hoshi's hand, his skin clammy. "Every day is a cornucopia for the mind! Why, when you were coming in I was looking over these wonderful plans from- ah, let me show you…"
He slid away to flip through the stack of papers, and Hoshi glanced back as his girlfriend. Casca was leaning against the wall, subtly keeping herself between him and the Professor. She sent him a small, conciliatory smile.
…Okay, fair. I'd be doing the same thing if I could. He replied with a quick flash of theatrical disgust – Doctor Hypno was almost overwhelmingly uncomfortable as a man; he could scarcely imagine what it was like to be in here with him as a young, attractive woman.
"Here's the ticket! From one of my underlings, look at this!" The scientist passed the paper with a flourish, and Hoshi's eyes narrowed as he looked at it.
"…Sorry, this is…" Fucking nonsense. "Too advanced for me." He passed the diagram of squiggly lines and dense hyper-jargon back.
"Oh, it's not too complicated. We managed to sneak out a few of Silph's files a few months ago, and I've been having my people go over them with a fine-tooth comb. If you look here, you'll see it plainly – we managed to snag a copy of the Pokémon Transfer System! Now it's still mostly encrypted, but if we keep working on the problem…"
The Doctor's words devolved into a thick sludge of tech-speak, and Hoshi sighed internally. Well, at least he isn't looking at me, anymore.
An age later, Kimmy the hypno returned. The breeze of the door opening ruffled a few papers on the Doctor's desk, rousing Hoshi from the protective fugue his brain had placed over itself.
"There you are, darling," cooed the Doctor. "I was beginning to fear you'd gotten waylaid – here's your uniform, Mr. Mutsu!"
The five-foot-tall goblin monster handed over the neatly-folded bundle, complete with puffy newsboy cap, with a musical snort.
"…Thank you." Are you another experiment? No, hypno are pretty smart by default, this is actually pretty normal. Wild hypno sometimes came into town with handfuls of pilfered change; they were smart enough to understand trade, though they actually had a slightly worse understanding of language than most psychic type Pokémon; every now and then some grifter would try to show off that their hypno could read and write, before an actual test would reveal the thing to just be mindlessly parroting whatever it was shown.
Kimmy the hypno didn't seem to have that same… spark, for lack of a better word, that Benny and Meowth had shown.
"You should be all set, then," the Doctor said. "Kimmy, return. Do you need an escort out?"
Hoshi's eyes slid to his companion, and she shook her head with pursed lips. "No thanks, Doc. We can make it out just fine."
After twenty minutes – is that really all it was? My watch must be running slow – the cacophony of the larger lab seemed like paradise.
"Arcus's fucking halo, that was painful."
Casca made a gagging sound. "I know, right? Let's get out of here."
No argument from me. The two of them stepped around the crusher. "Do you think it's an act? If he was actually like that somebody'd kick his ass, right?"
His girlfriend shrugged. "No clue. But I could definitely feel him staring at my tits, so fuck 'im. He's a creep."
Again, no argument from me. They were forced to stop as a quartet of machop lifted some sort of machine – is that a fucking train car? No, no wheels, it's just a tank or something shaped like one – across their path.
In a quiet tone of morbid curiosity, Casca continued. "Arc, he even looked at his Pokémon like that. Do you think he's fucking the thing?"
Hoshi stared at her a beat, before grimacing. "Fuck, don't put that image in my head!" He stuck out his tongue. "Ugh, it won't leave! He even looks like the damn thing…"
"I think that's actually legal in a few places up north."
They looked at each other, and Hoshi replied, "Casca, that beard isn't legal anywhere."
The stupid joke made them both break into giggles, and they twined their arms together as the machop slowly carried the six-metre-long whatsit slowly across the open area. Something exploded out of sight, and Hoshi felt another spurt of hyper, almost manic amusement go up his spine.
This place is fucking crazy. Is my life just going to be this, now? The not-a-train passed, and they continued – but ten steps later, a stern voice called out. "Wait."
Huh? Hoshi turned, and for a moment he just stared. "Oh. Hey, Dabi."
The short man's appearance wasn't as brain-melting the third time, though it still made Hoshi's gut feel off. Against the backdrop of the laboratory, he looked truly in his element.
"Professor Mokusen," he corrected. "You will refer to me only as Professor Mokusen, and nothing else." His voice was harsh, his words obviously an order, not a request.
Damn. The weedle really went and evolved into a beedrill. Hoshi might have been intimidated, if he hadn't spent three years seeing the four-foot-nothing man as a cowering bug. "…Sure, Professor. You need something?"
The man bared his teeth. "We don't know each other. Get it? Outside of this building, Professor Mokusen does not exist – and inside it, Dabi the…" he almost spat the next words "Construction worker, is only a figment of your imagination. Do we have an understanding?"
Hoshi continued to stare. "Sure. As long as you play along, so will I." What, did you think I was gonna talk about… 'work' stuff while on the clock? Do you think I'm stupid?
Dabi stared back, his face a rictus sneer, his fists clenched. Then the corners of his mouth tilted up into a smile completely bereft of amusement. "Play along. An apt choice of words." He turned away. "Don't let your rank give you a swelled head. You're still just a grunt."
He walked away, following astride the machop and the machine they were carrying. Fucking drama queens, every single one of these fucks, Hoshi thought to himself. Aloud, he said "That was fucking weird. Gonna be strange to see him on Monday- Casca, you okay?"
She was clutching his arm. They locked eyes, and he saw something almost like fear. "Hoshi, don't talk to him like that. I know you know him – but don't. He'll have his Pokémon break your fingers." Her voice was steady, serious, and Hoshi blinked.
"…Yeah, okay." They started walking again. "You've heard about him doing that?"
"I've seen him do that. In one of my first real jobs…" She bit her tongue. "Later. After we get home."
He nodded. "Right. You lead the way; I'm bone-tired."
She nodded, but then winced. "Actually, one last stop on the way out; we should make sure your uniform actually fits."
Casca led him to a locker room, the place right next to an indoor pool, and Hoshi examined his new clothes.
The fabric shirt and pants were black, like he'd expected, but the gloves and boots were white with gold accents, rather than grey – and the latter were slightly more shaped. These aren't rubbery like the standard ones the others were wearing. I don't know what this material is, but it feels strong.
Going back to the shirt, it seemed to be the same felt – or an artificial equivalent – fabric as the base uniform. It was stiff, not inclined to bend, but soft to the touch. Unlike the standard uniform, the Senior Grunt's chest featured two yellow lines, framing the red R on either side.
I feel like the belt is slightly different too, but I can't put my finger on how.
He quickly pulled off his suit and donned the uniform. It felt just a touch awkward to move in, the fabric scratchy. I'll have to add a thin shirt underneath. But it's the right fit. Looking in the room's mirror, he felt a bit silly, like he was in a costume rather than working clothes. The hat is fucking goofy.
…But I'm sure I'll grow into it.
Hoshi swapped back to his original clothes, and soon his reflection was exactly as it had been before leaving the house that morning – save for his new belt, two Pokéballs displayed for all the world to see. He took one off, pleased with the amount of effort it took to detach the magnetic grip; enough that he'd never lose one accidentally, but not so hard it interfered with his draw.
"Go," he said, and Rattata appeared. He released Zubat as well, and without orders his two Pokémon loitered around, sniffing at the lockers and flapping around the fluorescent lights.
"Nicknames, huh…" Hoshi had always felt that just giving your Pokémon normal human names was tacky, but he didn't have anything picked out ahead of time either – he had assumed a name for his new Pokémon would jump out at him organically.
Something that matches their species – but not fucking Ratty or Whiskers or some shit, something unique…
His eyes turned up. Zubat evolves into golbat… and then crobat, if the conditions are right. Some Pokémon only evolved into their final form under specific social conditions, like being the leader of a pack; he knew that crobat was one of those Pokémon, but the exact condition wasn't something he could pull off the top of his head. Might not be possible. If it needs to be around other zubat to evolve… Well, might as well shoot for the moon. "Zubat, come down here."
The bat swooped down, settling on the back of his raised forearm. It wrapped its wings and abdominal feelers tightly around, making soft but high-pitched chirps.
"Your name is Crow now. Do you like that?" The Pokémon's eyeless face wasn't able to emote much; Hoshi had no idea if it understood. "Well, it'll stick if I keep using it." His other arm came up with the bat's ball. "Crow, return. Rattata, come over here."
The undersized rat bounded over, and he picked it up like it was a cat. Okay, this one is harder. I can't think of anything that isn't stupid as shit…
Unbidden, a memory. Red, flecked with white and lavender. Hoshi's face twisted, and the Pokémon responded by tilting its head, chittering. "Huh. That works." Sounds tough, even. He put the rat back down.
"Rattata, from now on, your name is Guts."
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Oh joy, Porygon Malware that just shoots you from the other side of the screen. Cyber warfare is certainly different in the Pokemon world.
And oh boy, Dabi is already real short on temper in the Rocket labs, I hope Hoshi learns to stop prodding him before fingers start getting crushed.
And oh boy, Dabi is already real short on temper in the Rocket labs, I hope Hoshi learns to stop prodding him before fingers start getting crushed.
Interlude - Two Kinds of Genius
- Location
- Edmonton, Alberta
Professor Mokusen strode through the upper laboratory, his jaw set, his eyes following the machop as they worked. Kimigawa's peons set a wide berth around him – exactly as it should be. The ectoplasm chamber slowly made its way to an empty section on the far wall of the room, and as it approached the indentation he reached for his belt; slotting it in was a precision job, something best left to more… gentle ministrations.
"Put it down. Return."
Four flashes, and the machop disappeared. One more, and something replaced them.
With both its arms and legs crossed, the word 'hovering' failed to describe the kadabra only due to its voluminous tail still keeping contact with ground. The Pokémon's sharp eyes were closed, and so deep was its meditation that it seemed almost dead, not even breathing.
"Harry, I need this connected to the wall socket."
The vaguely fox-like humanoid did not stir – but even so, a soft glow enveloped the chamber, and it began to float just a hair off the ground. It moved in straight lines; up, forward, a touch to the left, then forward again. With a soft thunk, it was done; electricity flowed, and the machine began to hum away. Mokusen nodded… but there was a touch of frustration to his features. "Good work. Return."
The kadabra disappeared, and the Professor took a moment to admire his latest breakthrough.
Immaculate. The ectoplasm chamber would get them one step closer to transforming a haunter into a gengar… perhaps it would even be the last step. It was simply a shame that constructing and transporting the bulky thing had required Harry – the only one who could be trusted to properly move the exceedingly fragile thing – to use so much of his stored telekinetic potential, delaying his own evolution.
Thirty seconds passed before the scientist realised he was procrastinating, and so he huffed and turned. Best to just get it over with. With the chamber connected, it was time to update the… other Rocket Professor.
"There we are, Dos, there we are… Kimmy, honey, the box! Quickly!"
The hypno snuffled in irritation, but hoisted the box. It was a simple thing, cardboard lined with old rags, but Doc hadn't found a single other thing that his old bird would tolerate as bedding. The porygon2 eyed the inviting surface with customary wariness, but descended a handspan. She bleeped out a complex series of tones, and Doc gestured with his hands.
"Completely safe, I promise! There isn't a single thing that-"
A harsh voice entered the room, interrupting him and completely negating his efforts. "Doctor, the chamber is in place. Everything is ready for the next stage."
His office door touched the wall with a faint sound, and Dos took that as her cue to race back to the ceiling, screeching. Doc hung his head.
"Damn it all," he sighed, before turning to his new guest. What absolutely atrocious timing. "Hello, Professor. I'm afraid you've caught me at an inopportune moment."
The man bared his teeth. Dabi Mokusen was an… interesting person. Many of his colleagues found the man intolerable to work with, but his competence was undeniable – and Doc found much of the man's rumoured aggression to be overstated, anyhow; he had certainly never had any such trouble.
"Just put it in its ball, Doctor. We have important work to be doing."
Bah, you young people don't know how to treat a delicate lady – 'put her in her ball,' indeed! If I did that, she'd hide herself away for a week! Dos was eminently useful, but she had an unfortunately nervous disposition; one had to know how to deal with the latter, if one wished to make use of the former.
But of course, he wasn't so rude as to say that to his colleague's face, so instead he simply sighed again. "It's fine, I'll just have to leave her here. Come along, Kimmy."
His darling hypno, at least, was fine travelling via Pokéball; she returned without protest, and Doc sent a fleeting look towards the unorganised pile that grunt had made of his notes. That would be bothering him all day, but there wasn't anything for it.
"Lead the way, Professor."
With a sneer, Mokusen turned, his coat whipping like the tail of an angry persian. Doc grabbed his cane and followed, exiting his office and venturing out into the lab proper.
Everything seemed to be in order, his people going to and fro like busy little bees, and a smile tugged at his lips. Ah, always nice to see people being productive. "So, any trouble with the assembly?"
"No."
"And moving it? Getting it up the stairs must have been-"
"You can see it from here; obviously I handled it," the diminutive scientist snapped, and Doc decided that further conversation was a lost cause. My, he's in a mood. What put a beedrill in his bonnet today, I wonder?
Eventually they came to the object of their small journey, and he couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "Ooo hoo hoo, what a wonderful mechanism! Mokusen, you've outdone yourself once again!"
His partner sneered in appreciation, and Doc walked forward to place his hand against the glass. Cold to the touch – or should I say, deathly cold? Hoo hoo! The ectoplasm chamber was one of their – or rather his – longest-running projects, something he had been tinkering with on and off since well before he had joined his current employers. Seeing it finally whole made his aura positively radiant.
"Are you waiting for something?" Mokusen asked. His voice dripped with acidic tones, but the Doctor knew he must be just as excited as he was. "Release your haunter; I want to get preliminary readings."
"Blast it, Professor, don't you have any sense of how momentous this is? Obviously, we must give it the weight it is due!" He clapped his cane on the ground, raising his voice. "Everyone, gather 'round! Yes, I see half of you are only pretending to work anyways – we might as well make it an official break!" Hoo hoo hoo!
Magnificent, absolutely astounding! The machine was cylindrical, like a great technological pill, and composed mainly of glass – from the outside, anyway. The caps on each end were metallic, the surfaces bearing fresh tool marks – Mokusen must have finished it literally within the hour.
But inside the glass casing, dark shadows and points of light seemed to swirl. He didn't even attempt to contain his beaming smile.
Over a minute – during which Mokusen irritably tapped his foot – the laboratory's workers came together to witness the coming historic moment. How long have I been waiting for this? Over twenty years, at the very least!
Finally, the last researcher took their place, and he drew a pair of Rocket Balls from his belt with a reverent flourish. Kimmy was released, appearing with a soft bleat, but he paused before continuing. "Ah, I almost feel afraid. What if it doesn't work at all?" The joints of his fingers locked the second ball in a tight embrace, as if reluctant to part with it.
"Then we'll redesign it and try again," Mokusen answered. "Now get to it. This is only the first use; who knows how long proper calibration will take?"
The Doctor chose not to immediately follow his partner's advice, instead readying himself with a breath. Steady on, steady on. Then he threw the ball, low and with extreme spin. "Hiebelle, this is the moment we've been waiting for!"
The ball hit the ground and popped open, the backspin causing it to jump straight up. His precious haunter was released, a gaseous cloud with two clawed hands and a wide, gaping maw. She was hard to see, the harsh lights only seeming to make her less visible, her airy body interacting strangely with the senses.
The returning ball flew back to his waiting palm, and the dense smack felt like triumph.
All together, the entire room held its breath. The indistinct blur floated around the machine, inspecting it with her senses, and Doc gripped his cane so hard he feared something might break. "Someone dim the lights," an onlooker hissed, and a moment later the ghost became more discernible.
As the room fell into a dusk-like gloom, Hiebelle became more vivid, more solid, as though gathering a body from the shadows themselves. Mokusen, the cretin, only continued to tap his foot in the face of her majesty.
"Hiii…" the Pokémon snickered, and Doc felt a chill go up his spine, several researchers gasping as they experienced the same sensation. She feels it. What must it be like, to sense such a thing? The power to reach your final form..? Then, like the incorporeal being she was, the ghost slipped right through the glass body of the machine and disappeared.
Immediately, the surface began to dance as a series of lights buried in the glass blinked on and off, a cascading rainbow of colours that dazzled his vision. Doc put a hand out to shade his eyes, but refused to look away. "It's working! Mokusen, it's working!"
"Shut up you dolt! I can't think with your meaningless babble!" His thick spectacles must not have provided much protection, because he raised his hands to shade himself as well. "Damn it – the reaction is too strong! Shut it down!"
The man's kadabra came out, but with a gesture from her master Kimmy raised her pendulum and disrupted its telekinetic grasp.
"Absolutely not! Look at the pattern! It's holding steady!"
The man gnashed his teeth, and between scintillating flashes a graveler and exeggcute materialised. "I refuse to rebuild it from scratch! Dan, Bernard, restrain that hypno!"
Doc felt a laugh bubbling up, and released it with a howl. "Hoo hoo hoo! Oh, don't be overdramatic!" He could feel it now, too, the glut of ghost-type energy permeating the room; it was no coincidence that ghost and psychic were once considered a single type. He gestured with his cane. "My fellows, the Professor and I are having a cordial disagreement! Who else feels like weighing in?"
The intense lightshow tilted towards red as over two dozen Pokémon were released, and the containment tubes slid open in a series of whooshes, muk and weezing joined the field. Then the lights dimmed further, winking out for a fraction of a second before blue emergency lighting flickered on, painting the laboratory in deep, shadowy tones.
"You-!" Mokusen snarled. But then he stilled, the pulsing veins in his forehead disappearing – but the anger did not; the Doctor could still see it, the small dregs of psychic ability he had sacrificed so much to awaken showing him the truth of the man's very soul. "Very well, if you want it to be like that, I'll show you how disagreeable I can be."
Another flash, and a towering figure appeared; something seven feet tall, its four arms bulging with muscles like coiled arbok.
"M-machamp!" screamed a panicking fellow. "Weezing, Explosion!" Several aghast faces turned his way, but the Doctor only continued to laugh.
"Dos, Barrier!" The timid girl didn't show any part of herself, but she must have heard his order, because a pane glistening like crystal glass shimmered into being between the delicate chamber and the soon-to-explode weezing. "Oh, I feel like I'm back at Cinnabar again!"
The bag of poison gasses detonated.
Professor Mokusen strode through the halls, his jaw set, the remains of his formerly pristine labcoat smouldering.
Insane fool. Dexus take that man and spare us all his bullshit.
He always hated going to the upper labs; they were an uncivilised, barely functional cavalcade of half-baked ideas – not unlike their master, the self-proclaimed Doctor. Every time he went there, something conspired to blow up in his face.
He looked back to scowl in its direction, and realised with rising horror that he was leaving a trail – he lifted a foot, staring in disgust at the coating of muk juice liberally coating the bottoms of his shoes.
There went a perfectly good set of footwear, joining his coat in the casualty list. He shucked off the ruined shoes, setting them next to the wall and continuing in his socks – he would have someone dispose of the toxic waste later.
Blowhard. Arrogant, selfish prick, he admonished internally. And since the chamber ended up being semi-successful, I can't even complain to the instructors.
That was always the way it went; Kimigawa would swoop in at the last minute, toss one of his carefully designed experiments like a cheap salad, and manage to produce something viable by sheer luck. Luck. Fucking luck!
The man was a menace, a bad joke, but he always appeared to be just competent enough to warrant promotion, just innocent enough to avoid backlash. Mokusen had traced him back through one disastrous event to the next; the illicit Ghostwire Project, whatever perversion Bill had been up to in Cerulean, Silph Co.'s Porygon3 Open Initiative, the original Cinnabar Labs disaster – the man's resume was a smoking crater. And every time, he had escaped by the skin of his teeth; ironically the only time he hadn't been responsible for the outcome was the one time the authorities blamed him, ruining his career as a civilian scientist.
The Professor took the stairs two at a time, descending down to the sub-basement – his domain, a place of sanity, of real science.
But although the softly lit corridors calmed his heart, he couldn't discard the seething rage produced by the day's events. The ectoplasm chamber had indeed exploded, as he'd predicted – but it had also produced a fully evolved gengar, something that he hadn't projected to happen for months, still.
Yet again, by nothing but luck, Doctor Hypno would take the win. It was maddening.
The door to his primary lab was caught by the doorstop before it could collide with the wall, and the Professor entered to see everything in its place; the machoke training with a rotating cadre of martial artists, a duo of kadabra quietly meditating in a psychic resonance chamber, and, taking up half the room, the area for his underlings to observe and record. He repeated it to himself again: actual, sane science.
A doctor – a real, medical doctor – approached, her face covered by goggles and a paper surgical mask.. "Professor, welcome back. We heard something of a… commotion. Do you require assistance?"
His face twisted. "Get me new clothes, and alert the project manager for Ghost Level Three." A smidgen of fear came through the woman's posture as she took in his expression. "We'll have to build a new ectoplasm chamber."
"I… see," she stated. "I'll get right on that. Excuse me."
She hurried off, and Professor Mokusen, with excruciating effort, placed the simmering rage into its box; it could come out later, when it wasn't in the way. He headed into the martial section of the lab, and was again approached – this time by a martial artist, one of Saffron's premier blackbelts.
"Sir!" the man said with a salute. "Is the facility being invaded? Shall we prepare for battle?"
"No," he replied sharply. "I had a small disagreement with that idiot upstairs, that's all. Give me a status report."
Another salute; while the martial artists were all competent enough, some of them did have their own… quirks. "Yes sir!"
"And don't yell!"
The man looked confused for a moment, before continuing. "Of course, sir. The machoke are absorbing everything like sponges, as always; we should see them ready to evolve within the month."
"Good, you're within schedule. The machop experiment?"
He winced. "Results haven't been what we were hoping for, sir. They just don't learn very well until they're adults."
Mokusen hissed through his teeth. "Fine. Have a written report on my desk within the hour."
Yet another salute. Neither of us is in the military, you fool. "I'll get it done right away, sir!" Then he turned and headed off.
With a shake of his head, the Professor did the same. He took a moment to release Harry with the other kadabra, then crossed the room to the observation chamber. For a third time he was approached, but he waved the researcher off. "Later, after I've dressed and read my reports. I'll be in my lab; have those two things delivered to the office, nothing else."
Without giving his underlings any more attention, he opened the door to leading his private laboratory and stepped inside.
Dabi Mokusen did not consider himself a genius. No; there existed towering giants, titans of progress, and he was not one of them.
His mother had been. He was merely above average, barely adequate to follow in her footsteps.
And yet, he continued to follow. He passed through his office, cleansed himself in his private bathroom, then went through into the clean room beyond, where he dressed in sterile medical scrubs. Yet another door opened, this one keyed to open only for someone of his precise height and weight, and he finally stepped into the lab proper.
Brilliant white lights flicked on in sequence, revealing massive tanks containing different Pokémon; three prominent spaces were filled by charizard, blastoise, and venusaur, while more out-of-the-way containers held beedrill, pinsir, pidgeot, and more. While they might have appeared like nothing more than preserved corpses to the untrained eye, the truth was that they were merely in suspended animation, not altogether different from the state a Pokéball took when in storage mode.
On the front of each pod was a control panel, and affixed to the front of each panel was a stone, perfectly smooth, bearing a spiral pattern within like a cat's-eye marble.
Professor Mokusen breathed in, and Dabi Mokusen breathed out. The urge to rub at his singed face was overwhelming, but that would destroy his sterility, so he suppressed it.
With heavy steps he made his way to the centre of the room, where the main control panel was located – and beyond it, the largest tank of all. "Hello, Granny," he muttered, placing his hands on the controls.
The massive machamp did not answer; out of all the Pokémon in the room, it was the only one that was actually dead.
For several hours, he worked, carefully teasing apart the corpse's secrets, compiling notes, attempting to translate his mother's coded writings. He made little progress; all the low-hanging fruit had been picked years ago.
But progress was made. A shaky half-step was taken on the road to true evolution. That was real science: observation, repetition, and refinement. Moving carefully, lest valuable, irreplaceable samples be lost.
Eventually his body cried out for maintenance loudly enough to pierce his fugue, and Dabi carefully packed everything away, away from light, and air, and time.
The lights went off behind him of their own accord, obedient and logical, and Dabi became Professor Mokusen once more. The hunger pains went from excruciating to merely distracting, a problem to be solved, and he emerged from his bathroom to find fresh clothing set out, and a bundle of reports waiting neatly on his desk.
He smiled without mirth, stuck his head out to order one of his peons to fetch a late night snack, and continued to work.
"Put it down. Return."
Four flashes, and the machop disappeared. One more, and something replaced them.
With both its arms and legs crossed, the word 'hovering' failed to describe the kadabra only due to its voluminous tail still keeping contact with ground. The Pokémon's sharp eyes were closed, and so deep was its meditation that it seemed almost dead, not even breathing.
"Harry, I need this connected to the wall socket."
The vaguely fox-like humanoid did not stir – but even so, a soft glow enveloped the chamber, and it began to float just a hair off the ground. It moved in straight lines; up, forward, a touch to the left, then forward again. With a soft thunk, it was done; electricity flowed, and the machine began to hum away. Mokusen nodded… but there was a touch of frustration to his features. "Good work. Return."
The kadabra disappeared, and the Professor took a moment to admire his latest breakthrough.
Immaculate. The ectoplasm chamber would get them one step closer to transforming a haunter into a gengar… perhaps it would even be the last step. It was simply a shame that constructing and transporting the bulky thing had required Harry – the only one who could be trusted to properly move the exceedingly fragile thing – to use so much of his stored telekinetic potential, delaying his own evolution.
Thirty seconds passed before the scientist realised he was procrastinating, and so he huffed and turned. Best to just get it over with. With the chamber connected, it was time to update the… other Rocket Professor.
"There we are, Dos, there we are… Kimmy, honey, the box! Quickly!"
The hypno snuffled in irritation, but hoisted the box. It was a simple thing, cardboard lined with old rags, but Doc hadn't found a single other thing that his old bird would tolerate as bedding. The porygon2 eyed the inviting surface with customary wariness, but descended a handspan. She bleeped out a complex series of tones, and Doc gestured with his hands.
"Completely safe, I promise! There isn't a single thing that-"
A harsh voice entered the room, interrupting him and completely negating his efforts. "Doctor, the chamber is in place. Everything is ready for the next stage."
His office door touched the wall with a faint sound, and Dos took that as her cue to race back to the ceiling, screeching. Doc hung his head.
"Damn it all," he sighed, before turning to his new guest. What absolutely atrocious timing. "Hello, Professor. I'm afraid you've caught me at an inopportune moment."
The man bared his teeth. Dabi Mokusen was an… interesting person. Many of his colleagues found the man intolerable to work with, but his competence was undeniable – and Doc found much of the man's rumoured aggression to be overstated, anyhow; he had certainly never had any such trouble.
"Just put it in its ball, Doctor. We have important work to be doing."
Bah, you young people don't know how to treat a delicate lady – 'put her in her ball,' indeed! If I did that, she'd hide herself away for a week! Dos was eminently useful, but she had an unfortunately nervous disposition; one had to know how to deal with the latter, if one wished to make use of the former.
But of course, he wasn't so rude as to say that to his colleague's face, so instead he simply sighed again. "It's fine, I'll just have to leave her here. Come along, Kimmy."
His darling hypno, at least, was fine travelling via Pokéball; she returned without protest, and Doc sent a fleeting look towards the unorganised pile that grunt had made of his notes. That would be bothering him all day, but there wasn't anything for it.
"Lead the way, Professor."
With a sneer, Mokusen turned, his coat whipping like the tail of an angry persian. Doc grabbed his cane and followed, exiting his office and venturing out into the lab proper.
Everything seemed to be in order, his people going to and fro like busy little bees, and a smile tugged at his lips. Ah, always nice to see people being productive. "So, any trouble with the assembly?"
"No."
"And moving it? Getting it up the stairs must have been-"
"You can see it from here; obviously I handled it," the diminutive scientist snapped, and Doc decided that further conversation was a lost cause. My, he's in a mood. What put a beedrill in his bonnet today, I wonder?
Eventually they came to the object of their small journey, and he couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "Ooo hoo hoo, what a wonderful mechanism! Mokusen, you've outdone yourself once again!"
His partner sneered in appreciation, and Doc walked forward to place his hand against the glass. Cold to the touch – or should I say, deathly cold? Hoo hoo! The ectoplasm chamber was one of their – or rather his – longest-running projects, something he had been tinkering with on and off since well before he had joined his current employers. Seeing it finally whole made his aura positively radiant.
"Are you waiting for something?" Mokusen asked. His voice dripped with acidic tones, but the Doctor knew he must be just as excited as he was. "Release your haunter; I want to get preliminary readings."
"Blast it, Professor, don't you have any sense of how momentous this is? Obviously, we must give it the weight it is due!" He clapped his cane on the ground, raising his voice. "Everyone, gather 'round! Yes, I see half of you are only pretending to work anyways – we might as well make it an official break!" Hoo hoo hoo!
Magnificent, absolutely astounding! The machine was cylindrical, like a great technological pill, and composed mainly of glass – from the outside, anyway. The caps on each end were metallic, the surfaces bearing fresh tool marks – Mokusen must have finished it literally within the hour.
But inside the glass casing, dark shadows and points of light seemed to swirl. He didn't even attempt to contain his beaming smile.
Over a minute – during which Mokusen irritably tapped his foot – the laboratory's workers came together to witness the coming historic moment. How long have I been waiting for this? Over twenty years, at the very least!
Finally, the last researcher took their place, and he drew a pair of Rocket Balls from his belt with a reverent flourish. Kimmy was released, appearing with a soft bleat, but he paused before continuing. "Ah, I almost feel afraid. What if it doesn't work at all?" The joints of his fingers locked the second ball in a tight embrace, as if reluctant to part with it.
"Then we'll redesign it and try again," Mokusen answered. "Now get to it. This is only the first use; who knows how long proper calibration will take?"
The Doctor chose not to immediately follow his partner's advice, instead readying himself with a breath. Steady on, steady on. Then he threw the ball, low and with extreme spin. "Hiebelle, this is the moment we've been waiting for!"
The ball hit the ground and popped open, the backspin causing it to jump straight up. His precious haunter was released, a gaseous cloud with two clawed hands and a wide, gaping maw. She was hard to see, the harsh lights only seeming to make her less visible, her airy body interacting strangely with the senses.
The returning ball flew back to his waiting palm, and the dense smack felt like triumph.
All together, the entire room held its breath. The indistinct blur floated around the machine, inspecting it with her senses, and Doc gripped his cane so hard he feared something might break. "Someone dim the lights," an onlooker hissed, and a moment later the ghost became more discernible.
As the room fell into a dusk-like gloom, Hiebelle became more vivid, more solid, as though gathering a body from the shadows themselves. Mokusen, the cretin, only continued to tap his foot in the face of her majesty.
"Hiii…" the Pokémon snickered, and Doc felt a chill go up his spine, several researchers gasping as they experienced the same sensation. She feels it. What must it be like, to sense such a thing? The power to reach your final form..? Then, like the incorporeal being she was, the ghost slipped right through the glass body of the machine and disappeared.
Immediately, the surface began to dance as a series of lights buried in the glass blinked on and off, a cascading rainbow of colours that dazzled his vision. Doc put a hand out to shade his eyes, but refused to look away. "It's working! Mokusen, it's working!"
"Shut up you dolt! I can't think with your meaningless babble!" His thick spectacles must not have provided much protection, because he raised his hands to shade himself as well. "Damn it – the reaction is too strong! Shut it down!"
The man's kadabra came out, but with a gesture from her master Kimmy raised her pendulum and disrupted its telekinetic grasp.
"Absolutely not! Look at the pattern! It's holding steady!"
The man gnashed his teeth, and between scintillating flashes a graveler and exeggcute materialised. "I refuse to rebuild it from scratch! Dan, Bernard, restrain that hypno!"
Doc felt a laugh bubbling up, and released it with a howl. "Hoo hoo hoo! Oh, don't be overdramatic!" He could feel it now, too, the glut of ghost-type energy permeating the room; it was no coincidence that ghost and psychic were once considered a single type. He gestured with his cane. "My fellows, the Professor and I are having a cordial disagreement! Who else feels like weighing in?"
The intense lightshow tilted towards red as over two dozen Pokémon were released, and the containment tubes slid open in a series of whooshes, muk and weezing joined the field. Then the lights dimmed further, winking out for a fraction of a second before blue emergency lighting flickered on, painting the laboratory in deep, shadowy tones.
"You-!" Mokusen snarled. But then he stilled, the pulsing veins in his forehead disappearing – but the anger did not; the Doctor could still see it, the small dregs of psychic ability he had sacrificed so much to awaken showing him the truth of the man's very soul. "Very well, if you want it to be like that, I'll show you how disagreeable I can be."
Another flash, and a towering figure appeared; something seven feet tall, its four arms bulging with muscles like coiled arbok.
"M-machamp!" screamed a panicking fellow. "Weezing, Explosion!" Several aghast faces turned his way, but the Doctor only continued to laugh.
"Dos, Barrier!" The timid girl didn't show any part of herself, but she must have heard his order, because a pane glistening like crystal glass shimmered into being between the delicate chamber and the soon-to-explode weezing. "Oh, I feel like I'm back at Cinnabar again!"
The bag of poison gasses detonated.
Professor Mokusen strode through the halls, his jaw set, the remains of his formerly pristine labcoat smouldering.
Insane fool. Dexus take that man and spare us all his bullshit.
He always hated going to the upper labs; they were an uncivilised, barely functional cavalcade of half-baked ideas – not unlike their master, the self-proclaimed Doctor. Every time he went there, something conspired to blow up in his face.
He looked back to scowl in its direction, and realised with rising horror that he was leaving a trail – he lifted a foot, staring in disgust at the coating of muk juice liberally coating the bottoms of his shoes.
There went a perfectly good set of footwear, joining his coat in the casualty list. He shucked off the ruined shoes, setting them next to the wall and continuing in his socks – he would have someone dispose of the toxic waste later.
Blowhard. Arrogant, selfish prick, he admonished internally. And since the chamber ended up being semi-successful, I can't even complain to the instructors.
That was always the way it went; Kimigawa would swoop in at the last minute, toss one of his carefully designed experiments like a cheap salad, and manage to produce something viable by sheer luck. Luck. Fucking luck!
The man was a menace, a bad joke, but he always appeared to be just competent enough to warrant promotion, just innocent enough to avoid backlash. Mokusen had traced him back through one disastrous event to the next; the illicit Ghostwire Project, whatever perversion Bill had been up to in Cerulean, Silph Co.'s Porygon3 Open Initiative, the original Cinnabar Labs disaster – the man's resume was a smoking crater. And every time, he had escaped by the skin of his teeth; ironically the only time he hadn't been responsible for the outcome was the one time the authorities blamed him, ruining his career as a civilian scientist.
The Professor took the stairs two at a time, descending down to the sub-basement – his domain, a place of sanity, of real science.
But although the softly lit corridors calmed his heart, he couldn't discard the seething rage produced by the day's events. The ectoplasm chamber had indeed exploded, as he'd predicted – but it had also produced a fully evolved gengar, something that he hadn't projected to happen for months, still.
Yet again, by nothing but luck, Doctor Hypno would take the win. It was maddening.
The door to his primary lab was caught by the doorstop before it could collide with the wall, and the Professor entered to see everything in its place; the machoke training with a rotating cadre of martial artists, a duo of kadabra quietly meditating in a psychic resonance chamber, and, taking up half the room, the area for his underlings to observe and record. He repeated it to himself again: actual, sane science.
A doctor – a real, medical doctor – approached, her face covered by goggles and a paper surgical mask.. "Professor, welcome back. We heard something of a… commotion. Do you require assistance?"
His face twisted. "Get me new clothes, and alert the project manager for Ghost Level Three." A smidgen of fear came through the woman's posture as she took in his expression. "We'll have to build a new ectoplasm chamber."
"I… see," she stated. "I'll get right on that. Excuse me."
She hurried off, and Professor Mokusen, with excruciating effort, placed the simmering rage into its box; it could come out later, when it wasn't in the way. He headed into the martial section of the lab, and was again approached – this time by a martial artist, one of Saffron's premier blackbelts.
"Sir!" the man said with a salute. "Is the facility being invaded? Shall we prepare for battle?"
"No," he replied sharply. "I had a small disagreement with that idiot upstairs, that's all. Give me a status report."
Another salute; while the martial artists were all competent enough, some of them did have their own… quirks. "Yes sir!"
"And don't yell!"
The man looked confused for a moment, before continuing. "Of course, sir. The machoke are absorbing everything like sponges, as always; we should see them ready to evolve within the month."
"Good, you're within schedule. The machop experiment?"
He winced. "Results haven't been what we were hoping for, sir. They just don't learn very well until they're adults."
Mokusen hissed through his teeth. "Fine. Have a written report on my desk within the hour."
Yet another salute. Neither of us is in the military, you fool. "I'll get it done right away, sir!" Then he turned and headed off.
With a shake of his head, the Professor did the same. He took a moment to release Harry with the other kadabra, then crossed the room to the observation chamber. For a third time he was approached, but he waved the researcher off. "Later, after I've dressed and read my reports. I'll be in my lab; have those two things delivered to the office, nothing else."
Without giving his underlings any more attention, he opened the door to leading his private laboratory and stepped inside.
Dabi Mokusen did not consider himself a genius. No; there existed towering giants, titans of progress, and he was not one of them.
His mother had been. He was merely above average, barely adequate to follow in her footsteps.
And yet, he continued to follow. He passed through his office, cleansed himself in his private bathroom, then went through into the clean room beyond, where he dressed in sterile medical scrubs. Yet another door opened, this one keyed to open only for someone of his precise height and weight, and he finally stepped into the lab proper.
Brilliant white lights flicked on in sequence, revealing massive tanks containing different Pokémon; three prominent spaces were filled by charizard, blastoise, and venusaur, while more out-of-the-way containers held beedrill, pinsir, pidgeot, and more. While they might have appeared like nothing more than preserved corpses to the untrained eye, the truth was that they were merely in suspended animation, not altogether different from the state a Pokéball took when in storage mode.
On the front of each pod was a control panel, and affixed to the front of each panel was a stone, perfectly smooth, bearing a spiral pattern within like a cat's-eye marble.
Professor Mokusen breathed in, and Dabi Mokusen breathed out. The urge to rub at his singed face was overwhelming, but that would destroy his sterility, so he suppressed it.
With heavy steps he made his way to the centre of the room, where the main control panel was located – and beyond it, the largest tank of all. "Hello, Granny," he muttered, placing his hands on the controls.
The massive machamp did not answer; out of all the Pokémon in the room, it was the only one that was actually dead.
For several hours, he worked, carefully teasing apart the corpse's secrets, compiling notes, attempting to translate his mother's coded writings. He made little progress; all the low-hanging fruit had been picked years ago.
But progress was made. A shaky half-step was taken on the road to true evolution. That was real science: observation, repetition, and refinement. Moving carefully, lest valuable, irreplaceable samples be lost.
Eventually his body cried out for maintenance loudly enough to pierce his fugue, and Dabi carefully packed everything away, away from light, and air, and time.
The lights went off behind him of their own accord, obedient and logical, and Dabi became Professor Mokusen once more. The hunger pains went from excruciating to merely distracting, a problem to be solved, and he emerged from his bathroom to find fresh clothing set out, and a bundle of reports waiting neatly on his desk.
He smiled without mirth, stuck his head out to order one of his peons to fetch a late night snack, and continued to work.
"True evolution," you say? Sounds like someone is getting ready for proper mad science.
3.01 - Life Goes On
- Location
- Edmonton, Alberta
On Saturday, July 31st, 2010, Hoshi Mutsu slept through the sunrise for the second time. And this time, he was actually successful.
Ugh, was his first thought upon waking. I feel like yesterday was some sort of strange dream…
After exiting the academy grounds, clothes and ultra-illegal knicknacks contained in a paper bag, Hoshi and Casca had gotten a double order of pizza, staggered home, and crashed like…
Well, like Rockets, I suppose. Heh.
A soft but insistent murmur was sneaking in through the blinds, and when he put his feet down Hoshi found that the night's chill had been woefully overpowered; the carpet completely failed to cool his feet. He was already starting to sweat – or maybe it would be more accurate to say he never stopped – the air inside the apartment hot and humid despite his bedside alarm reading 6:43. A steady rain pounded against the window, but it seemed that even the heavy cloud cover wasn't enough to beat the unnatural heatwave. Too worn out to even sigh, he stood up.
Arcus, I feel like I worked a double shift. After a minute of standing blearily in the gloom, he went to the bathroom and confirmed that, yes, he looked that way too.
Hoshi splashed some blessedly cold water across his face as he listened to his girlfriend undergo her own awakening ritual; Casca preferred to eat before anything else, which was convenient on the rare occasions where they woke together, since he got the bathroom all to himself. He debated indulging in an early-morning shower, but eventually discarded the thought.
No; I have only today and tomorrow before my paid leave is up. I need to get something at least resembling a plan together for the Gym job. Coordinate with the other four, convince them to actually do what I say – fuck, I don't even know where they live.
Cleaning himself quickly, he stepped out of the bathroom with a bit more energy. "Hey Casca, my first 'lesson' won't be 'till next weekend, right? Can I go into the Academy before then, or do I need an appointment?"
Casca was standing near the fridge, squinting suspiciously at a carton of milk. "Hm? Oh, yeah, that should be fine. You might get some heat at the door, but just flash your ID and you'll be fine." She paused, then thrust the carton his way. "Might be better if we go together. More importantly, does this milk smell weird to you? It smells weird to me."
He took the container with an eye-roll. "I bought this on Wednesday, of course it isn't-"
The sentence was cut short as he immediately felt something off about the carton. He sniffed it, but… No, it isn't bad. It's… Hoshi was usually a morning person, but the heat and fatigue had combined into a swamp that his every conscious thought had to trudge miserably through in order to complete.
There's definitely something weird about it. Wait, don't tell me…
His hands slid over the carton – the room temperature carton. "Oh, for fuck's-!" Casca stepped aside as he wrenched open the fridge door, and when a blast of frosty air failed to appear, he cursed again. "The damn fridge is busted!" For all the cold to be gone, it must've happened yesterday – maybe even the day before. "Of all the shitty timing…"
"Shit, that sucks." Casca commented. "Do you know anybody with a machop or something? 'Cause I don't think the two of us could haul a whole-ass refrigerator up here from wherever the heck the nearest appliance shop is…" Gingerly, she plucked the milk from Hoshi's hand, sniffed it again, and began to pour herself a bowl of cereal with a shrug. "At least we caught it before the stuff went bad, right? Silver lining."
For a moment Hoshi only stood, sour, before he softly slammed the door. "Yeah." Some silver fucking lining.
"It isn't just unplugged, right?"
It turned out that no, it hadn't been unplugged, and yes, the plug still had power; his toaster worked just fine when he switched things around, producing a quick breakfast for him while his girlfriend polished off her cereal.
And so Hoshi was now out in the sweltering morning rain, protected only by an umbrella and the thick armour of his seething annoyance, debating with himself as to whether he should go down to Electric Paradise, a store just a few streets away, or hoof it all the way up past the power plant to see Danny about some salvage.
Because while his body was telling him the convenience was worth it, his wallet was saying something entirely different: that he had dropped a pretty fucking large cut of his savings on training lessons over the last month, and paying full price for a new refrigerator would put… a certain amount of strain on his finances.
He looked up at the dark clouds, visibly churning with a speed that must be ludicrous given their size and distance. The rain fell down in sheets, and to his right the comparatively-close sea crashed against the docks in violent fits.
His teeth grit – but then Hoshi began to laugh. In the empty streets near the Gym, the sound seemed almost thunderous. Arcus fuck…
While I'm doing this, Casca is going in to fetch the contact details on my criminal team, so I can coordinate with them to bug the Gym's official League computer. The juxtaposition between the two major problems of the day was just too absurd; he had to express it aloud.
Eventually the echoing laugh ran out of gas, and Hoshi was left… not empty, not even close, but cleaner inside, more aware.
"Fuck. This better be a volcano, 'cause if it's actually a legendary Pokémon, I'm gonna kick its fucking ass."
Nature responded to his hubristic statement with a gust of wind, and Hoshi struggled to keep hold of his umbrella. Fuck it. I've got other shit to talk with him about anyway.
If there was one upside to the constant deluge, it was that it washed away the heavy garbage-stink of the dump. Usually Hoshi could smell it from a ways off, decaying machinery combining with the stench of grimer and koffing – and what little organic waste got routed there, all the way out of town – into a putrid miasma that singed his nose hairs as he went through the gates.
But not today; today, even the moisture-loving grimer were taking shelter. The only Pokémon that Hoshi had seen on the way over had been a pair of electabuzz, up on top of the crimson shadow of the power plant, fighting each other for the privilege of getting struck by lightning.
Not that they'll be satisfied, win or lose; I haven't heard a single peal of thunder all day. Yet another anomalous bit of weather – usually the summer storms were heavy with electricity.
Hugging his umbrella close, Hoshi went through the open gates. "Danny, you out and about?" It would be completely stupid to try and get anything done in the rain, but Danny Houndoom was the exact right blend of idiot and mechanical savant to get caught up in something in the middle of a typhoon. "It's Hoshi!"
No answer. In the darkness of the stormy morning the stacked refuse was nearly indistinguishable from natural mountains, seeming to loom on the horizon despite being only metres away. Okay, maybe that thought was a little too uncharitable; not even Danny would be working out in this.
He trudged to the man's little cabin, dodging the deeper puddles by luck more than ability. Lights are out. Is he asleep?
For a second he debated knocking, before a flash of movement in the window made the decision for him.
Clack clack clack, went the corrugated metal. "Danny, open the door! It's fucking underwater out here!"
Shuffling, what might have been a muffled voice, and then the door opened. Huh, still in his pajamas. Did I imagine seeing something? "Fucking heck, kid. Sun's not even out yet." Danny yawned, old-fashioned nightcap completely incongruous with his sweatshorts and sunglasses, and as the man's long exhale continued Hoshi solved the mystery: a grimer, brighter green than normal, burbled around behind Danny's heels.
Huh, that explains the movement. "Sorry man, didn't think you'd still be asleep – it's like ten already."
Danny's head tilted, and he looked around, seeming to notice the rain for the first time. "Oh. Fuck, I guess that makes sense – it's hot as balls. Come on in."
The interior of Danny's little shack hadn't changed much from the last time Hoshi had seen it.
"So what's up? No way you swam through a damn hurricane just to chat," the man said, a layer of sleep still lurking under his voice.
"Fridge conked out." Hoshi's eyes went across the room as Danny turned on the lights – like his speaker system, they were distributed amongst the rafters, obviously jury-rigged.
"Huh. Well, fuck, that's inconvenient." He peered through the window as Hoshi sat. "Sorry, but I'm not gonna be able to dig something up for you with the rain like this. Holy shit, it's coming down…"
"You don't have anything pre-built?" Danny usually keeps a few fast-sellers on hand, but with the heat being what it's been…
The scrap seller shook his head. "Nope, sorry. I can do something in…" His tongue slipped through his lips as he thought. "Maybe three or four days? Depends if it keeps raining."
Hoshi grunted in displeasure. No way my food'll last four days. "What price?" But it might be cheaper to just write the groceries off and get takeout for a while.
Danny answered with an uncertain sound. "Ehhh, no less than three hundred. Probably more; really depends on what model I manage to find, and the damage. I ain't welding something together in fourty-plus for pocket change."
He ambled to the side to make use of his own, functioning mini-fridge, and Hoshi's thoughts ran sour. Three – or more likely four or five – hundred. That's better than I'd get at Paradise, but if I can scrounge up something used from a different scrap shop…
Another grumble of displeasure. Arc, I really don't want to go bargain-hunting in the rain, and even less in the heat. Though it was still fucking sweltering, it was legitimately cooler than the previous days had been. Plus there's the time investment – yeah, no, it's either here or just buying retail.
Hoshi's voice cut through the drumbeat of raindrops on thin steel. "I have the thing itself; I'll agree to a cheap patch job if you help me haul it in and out of town."
Danny took his time answering, cutting the pit out of his breakfast – a single large peach or nectarine or whatever – and scarfing half the fruit down before deigning to speak.
He smacked his lips. "Ugh, Hoshi, don't make me work in this fuckin' heat."
Hoshi's brows raised as he shot the man a look. "I'm not making you do shit; I'm offering to pay for a service."
"Taking advantage of an honest man's greed, that's what you're doing," came the muttered reply. "Fine. A couple 'a koffing should be able to carry something that big, or at least make it light enough to carry… You're getting it past the stairs yourself, though." He bit into the other half of the fruit, and it was gone in seconds – somehow, the old huckster managed it without getting a single drop of juice on his face. "Little guys are half-wild; I'm not taking 'em indoors."
"Unlike the grimer?"
"Course. Grimey's basically tame, ain't that right?" The grimer burbled as it received a pat on the head from Danny's bare foot. "You'd know if you had a Pokémon of your own – there's like, a bond and all that sappy shit."
He grinned his nearly-toothless grin, and Hoshi's brow climbed up his forehead a second time.
Seriously? Bright red and white aren't exactly subtle colours, old man. "Did you not notice?"
"Eh?"
Hoshi gestured to his belt. "As of yesterday, I'm the proud owner of two freshly-caught Pokémon. Even won a few battles."
The shack's owner froze in place, his expression fixed in teasing mirth for a moment before changing to disbelief. "What? Bullshit."
With a grin of his own, Hoshi pulled a ball from his belt. You know what they say, seeing is believing. "Guts, come out and say hello."
The furniture-dense confines of the building flashed red as the rattata appeared. It – you know, I should really sex the things sometime soon – squeaked questioningly, turning to face the grimer.
"No, no battle. Just showing you off, Guts." Keep saying the name, so it'll stick in its head. He turned back to Danny. "Well? Still think it's bullshit?"
The man's jaw worked for a moment. "Kid, that's dangerous. Without a licence-"
"What, you think I'm stupider than I was last month? Look at this." Continuing to grin at his friend's flabbergasted expense, Hoshi pulled out his wallet and flashed his new credentials. "Fully licensed Pokémon trainer, Hoshi Mutsu."
Danny's face remained incredulous as he looked at the card tucked under the wallet's clear plastic pocket. "Bullshit," he whispered. "No, this is worse than bullshit. Hoshi, where did you get this? No way you aced the exams well enough – they're only taking, like, top one hundred in all of Kanto-" His face screwed up. "And it isn't even the right season! You'd have gotten it in spring if…"
Hoshi waggled his wallet. "I'm not hearing an apology, you old jackass. Or do you want to settle this with a battle?"
Finally, Danny seemed to break out of his disbelief. "Fuck off, I'm retired. Seriously, where? How? You can't have faked the thing…" Then he caught Hoshi's shit-eating grin, and snorted. "No! You can't! I couldn't fake a licence, and I'm an Arceus-damned genius!"
He turned, making for his computer and pulling open a thin desk drawer. "Where's the fucking- hah, here we go! Lemme see that thing!"
He gestured with a hand scanner – does Pokémart just throw those things in the trash? I'd have thought they'd be too valuable to toss – and Hoshi relinquished his wallet with a roll of his eyes. "That's not gonna tell you anything, Danny. Just take the loss with grace."
"Shuddap," he replied with his usual eloquence. An orange laser flashed out from the scanner's front, playing over the complex pattern on the right side of the card, opposite Hoshi's mugshot, and the scanner beeped cheerfully. A light on the side flashed green, and Danny's face cycled between disgust and disbelief.
Idly, Hoshi noted that Guts was chewing on his host's wooden bedframe.
"Fuck me. This is-"
"If you say bullshit one more time, I'll keep how I got that thing to myself. You've gotta expand your vocabulary, Danny."
"…Horse shit. Bouffalant shit. Fuckin' fairy shit on toast!" He stared at the card for another moment, then tossed the wallet back to Hoshi, who caught it. "I'm speechless, Hoshi. It can't- it can't be a real fake, right?"
Hoshi took his time putting the thing away, letting the man stew. But eventually he answered, letting some of the verdant smug feeling drip away. "Ignoring the oxymoron, it totally is a real fake. Got it yesterday."
"Fucking..!" The junkyard owner's face made interesting shapes as he composed himself. "I don't know what to say, kid. This is… this is gang shit, right?" Hoshi nodded, and the man's nostrils flared, "Arceus- damn it, Hoshi, you know I hate that shit!"
The rookie grunt was silent as his older friend worked himself up, then back down, curiosity building until it beat out caution.
"…Okay, fine. You win. You got this from Rocket?"
Another nod. "Yeah, and that isn't all. Guts, come over here." The rat stopped sharpening its teeth on Danny's shitty furniture, giving him a long look before ambling over. Not very motivated when out of battle – something to work on, I guess. "They just handed me two Pokémon – in these weird fucking balls. Here, check it out…"
Danny Houndoom considered himself to be a pretty damn good tech guy, despite the shakes that age and… other things were adding to his fingers. He could code, he could wire, he could weld and sodder and screw – he was the whole fucking package, tied with a bow.
So it was with exceedingly large reservations that he quietly admitted to himself, in the privacy of his own head, that he hadn't the vaguest fucking idea of what he was looking at.
"Arc, kid. This thing is- I don't even know how to describe it."
Under the spotlight of his desk lamp, the weird purple ball was splayed out in its service mode – it was, at least, similar enough to a standard Pokéball for that feature to still be present. So it's using at least the base of the same tech. He just wished he could observe that, instead of having to intuit it.
Danny knew Pokéballs. He could reset them, change registration codes, and he was halfway sure he'd be able to assemble one if he had all the parts laid out… but the tangle of incredibly fine wires and circuitry in front of him didn't resemble anything in Silph Co.'s catalogue, not in the least. "Look at these lenses, Hoshi – they're so fine. You can't grow them like that, the seed crystal starts off too spherical; this must be cut down. But it's flawless, there aren't any marks…"
Carefully, he brought his tool down and pressed it into the carefully concealed service slot, and the 'Rocket Ball' snapped back together with incredible force, much more than any ball he'd ever worked on. "I can't say any more, I'm too afraid to dig into this thing to get at the battery or storage shit. Fucking- who the fuck made this, a fucking space alien?"
Hoshi bobbed his shoulders in an infuriating half-shrug. Damnit, man, can you not see I'm freaking out here? "Something like that – I mean, I'd believe they were aliens, anyhow."
"I'm not screwing with you, Hoshi. This thing is- I've never touched a Master Ball, but if you just showed me this thing without context that's what I'd think of first. This is some dumb fucking future shit, man." Or at least the tech needed to build it is future shit; the materials themselves are mundane, it's how they're refined that makes this thing shine.
Or at least, that was the impression he got from looking just under the skin – for all he knew, the innards could be hiding a fusion reactor or living alakazam brain or any kind of sci-fi nonsense.
The kid had the gall to respond to his statements with a dubious.look. "Is it really all that? I've met the Rocket Professors, and they seemed…" He chewed on his words for a second. "Unreliable. Crazy."
"All geniuses are crazy, Hoshi." Danny tapped the side of his head. "Workplace hazard. Some of the shit I put up with way back when…" He trailed off with a shake of his head. "Look, I'm just saying this shit is whack. Using something like this to catch normal Pokémon is complete fucking overkill."
The kid accepted his ball back, and snapped the plastic cover back on without speaking – and to think he'd thought that was impressive. Between that ball and the fake licence, I'm having serious thoughts about joining myself. What I could do with that tech and twenty hours of alone time…
The possibilities were endless. No way Rocket is just some gang. If their tech is outpacing Silph, then someone in the government is sponsoring them. Fuck, maybe more than one. He could think of a few people back in Unova that would froth at the mouth to get one over on the overlords of the Pokéball market, and an entirely different set that would do twice as much to get access to untraceable balls.
After staring at the concealed Rocket Ball for a long moment, Hoshi finally snapped out of it. "Guts, return," he ordered, and the rat disappeared in a flash of light. "Arcus, Danny. I want to say first off that I'm not doubting you, but… It's kind of hard to believe that a gang is able to make something as good as Silph Co."
"I know, right?" Danny nodded as the young man followed his own thoughts exactly. "It's gotta be some conspiracy. Nobody makes fake licences, that shit's impossible. The Indigo League owns, like, ninety-nine percent of remaining porygon; getting into their systems is…" Not impossible, but… "It just doesn't happen."
Rolling the ball in his palm, Hoshi considered. "What if they had an evolved porygon? A porygon2?"
Danny sucked on his gums. "…No, still no. That's still a hundred to one; like a hundred of your little guy there getting beaten by one raticate. It's gotta be some black ops shit – they get tech, Indigo or whoever gets a disposable asset. Maybe Sinnoh, they've been getting a lot of weirdly good deals lately."
Danny could almost feel the intensity of Hoshi's mulling. "That… makes sense. But- Danny, you had to be there. It was fucking insane – no way a a government with like, oversight and red tape and shit would put up with what I saw on my first fucking day. It was a madhouse – they had a persian dressed up in a suit, Danny."
He continued sucking on his gums. Damn kid is going to give me ulcers. "I've said my piece. I'm washing my hands of this shit; you lie in whatever bed you decide to make." Throwing his hands up, he leaned back in his chair.
"…Yeah, okay. Thanks for taking a look; I'll be back in a day or two to hash out the details on the refrigerator."
Hoshi walked into his apartment with a slurry of thoughts sloshing around in his head. Rocket can't be some kind of foreign group, right? All the bigwigs I saw were Kantonian. Right – Kantonian businessmen, who might have been bought out by promises of money or power. And they're sending me to bug a League database…
No, that doesn't count, that's something Rocket would do even if it was legit. Hoshi's teeth creaked as his jaw clenched. If they're backed by a foreign power, I want to cut my losses and ditch as soon as possible. But how do I figure out if they are? Casca wouldn't be any help; she was just a grunt like him – in fact, if being a Senior Grunt meant sweet fuck-all, he would probably know more than her pretty soon. So do I just keep going? Work my way in, like I was planning?
Just carrying on straight ahead felt weird now that Danny had pointed out something that didn't make sense, but he legitimately couldn't think of anything he could do differently. Arcus, I can barely fucking think straight with the heat and humidity. Gazing at his disguised balls for a minute, he pondered in circles, going nowhere.
Then he got up, and resolved to think about it more after a cold shower.
Ugh, was his first thought upon waking. I feel like yesterday was some sort of strange dream…
After exiting the academy grounds, clothes and ultra-illegal knicknacks contained in a paper bag, Hoshi and Casca had gotten a double order of pizza, staggered home, and crashed like…
Well, like Rockets, I suppose. Heh.
A soft but insistent murmur was sneaking in through the blinds, and when he put his feet down Hoshi found that the night's chill had been woefully overpowered; the carpet completely failed to cool his feet. He was already starting to sweat – or maybe it would be more accurate to say he never stopped – the air inside the apartment hot and humid despite his bedside alarm reading 6:43. A steady rain pounded against the window, but it seemed that even the heavy cloud cover wasn't enough to beat the unnatural heatwave. Too worn out to even sigh, he stood up.
Arcus, I feel like I worked a double shift. After a minute of standing blearily in the gloom, he went to the bathroom and confirmed that, yes, he looked that way too.
Hoshi splashed some blessedly cold water across his face as he listened to his girlfriend undergo her own awakening ritual; Casca preferred to eat before anything else, which was convenient on the rare occasions where they woke together, since he got the bathroom all to himself. He debated indulging in an early-morning shower, but eventually discarded the thought.
No; I have only today and tomorrow before my paid leave is up. I need to get something at least resembling a plan together for the Gym job. Coordinate with the other four, convince them to actually do what I say – fuck, I don't even know where they live.
Cleaning himself quickly, he stepped out of the bathroom with a bit more energy. "Hey Casca, my first 'lesson' won't be 'till next weekend, right? Can I go into the Academy before then, or do I need an appointment?"
Casca was standing near the fridge, squinting suspiciously at a carton of milk. "Hm? Oh, yeah, that should be fine. You might get some heat at the door, but just flash your ID and you'll be fine." She paused, then thrust the carton his way. "Might be better if we go together. More importantly, does this milk smell weird to you? It smells weird to me."
He took the container with an eye-roll. "I bought this on Wednesday, of course it isn't-"
The sentence was cut short as he immediately felt something off about the carton. He sniffed it, but… No, it isn't bad. It's… Hoshi was usually a morning person, but the heat and fatigue had combined into a swamp that his every conscious thought had to trudge miserably through in order to complete.
There's definitely something weird about it. Wait, don't tell me…
His hands slid over the carton – the room temperature carton. "Oh, for fuck's-!" Casca stepped aside as he wrenched open the fridge door, and when a blast of frosty air failed to appear, he cursed again. "The damn fridge is busted!" For all the cold to be gone, it must've happened yesterday – maybe even the day before. "Of all the shitty timing…"
"Shit, that sucks." Casca commented. "Do you know anybody with a machop or something? 'Cause I don't think the two of us could haul a whole-ass refrigerator up here from wherever the heck the nearest appliance shop is…" Gingerly, she plucked the milk from Hoshi's hand, sniffed it again, and began to pour herself a bowl of cereal with a shrug. "At least we caught it before the stuff went bad, right? Silver lining."
For a moment Hoshi only stood, sour, before he softly slammed the door. "Yeah." Some silver fucking lining.
"It isn't just unplugged, right?"
It turned out that no, it hadn't been unplugged, and yes, the plug still had power; his toaster worked just fine when he switched things around, producing a quick breakfast for him while his girlfriend polished off her cereal.
And so Hoshi was now out in the sweltering morning rain, protected only by an umbrella and the thick armour of his seething annoyance, debating with himself as to whether he should go down to Electric Paradise, a store just a few streets away, or hoof it all the way up past the power plant to see Danny about some salvage.
Because while his body was telling him the convenience was worth it, his wallet was saying something entirely different: that he had dropped a pretty fucking large cut of his savings on training lessons over the last month, and paying full price for a new refrigerator would put… a certain amount of strain on his finances.
He looked up at the dark clouds, visibly churning with a speed that must be ludicrous given their size and distance. The rain fell down in sheets, and to his right the comparatively-close sea crashed against the docks in violent fits.
His teeth grit – but then Hoshi began to laugh. In the empty streets near the Gym, the sound seemed almost thunderous. Arcus fuck…
While I'm doing this, Casca is going in to fetch the contact details on my criminal team, so I can coordinate with them to bug the Gym's official League computer. The juxtaposition between the two major problems of the day was just too absurd; he had to express it aloud.
Eventually the echoing laugh ran out of gas, and Hoshi was left… not empty, not even close, but cleaner inside, more aware.
"Fuck. This better be a volcano, 'cause if it's actually a legendary Pokémon, I'm gonna kick its fucking ass."
Nature responded to his hubristic statement with a gust of wind, and Hoshi struggled to keep hold of his umbrella. Fuck it. I've got other shit to talk with him about anyway.
If there was one upside to the constant deluge, it was that it washed away the heavy garbage-stink of the dump. Usually Hoshi could smell it from a ways off, decaying machinery combining with the stench of grimer and koffing – and what little organic waste got routed there, all the way out of town – into a putrid miasma that singed his nose hairs as he went through the gates.
But not today; today, even the moisture-loving grimer were taking shelter. The only Pokémon that Hoshi had seen on the way over had been a pair of electabuzz, up on top of the crimson shadow of the power plant, fighting each other for the privilege of getting struck by lightning.
Not that they'll be satisfied, win or lose; I haven't heard a single peal of thunder all day. Yet another anomalous bit of weather – usually the summer storms were heavy with electricity.
Hugging his umbrella close, Hoshi went through the open gates. "Danny, you out and about?" It would be completely stupid to try and get anything done in the rain, but Danny Houndoom was the exact right blend of idiot and mechanical savant to get caught up in something in the middle of a typhoon. "It's Hoshi!"
No answer. In the darkness of the stormy morning the stacked refuse was nearly indistinguishable from natural mountains, seeming to loom on the horizon despite being only metres away. Okay, maybe that thought was a little too uncharitable; not even Danny would be working out in this.
He trudged to the man's little cabin, dodging the deeper puddles by luck more than ability. Lights are out. Is he asleep?
For a second he debated knocking, before a flash of movement in the window made the decision for him.
Clack clack clack, went the corrugated metal. "Danny, open the door! It's fucking underwater out here!"
Shuffling, what might have been a muffled voice, and then the door opened. Huh, still in his pajamas. Did I imagine seeing something? "Fucking heck, kid. Sun's not even out yet." Danny yawned, old-fashioned nightcap completely incongruous with his sweatshorts and sunglasses, and as the man's long exhale continued Hoshi solved the mystery: a grimer, brighter green than normal, burbled around behind Danny's heels.
Huh, that explains the movement. "Sorry man, didn't think you'd still be asleep – it's like ten already."
Danny's head tilted, and he looked around, seeming to notice the rain for the first time. "Oh. Fuck, I guess that makes sense – it's hot as balls. Come on in."
The interior of Danny's little shack hadn't changed much from the last time Hoshi had seen it.
"So what's up? No way you swam through a damn hurricane just to chat," the man said, a layer of sleep still lurking under his voice.
"Fridge conked out." Hoshi's eyes went across the room as Danny turned on the lights – like his speaker system, they were distributed amongst the rafters, obviously jury-rigged.
"Huh. Well, fuck, that's inconvenient." He peered through the window as Hoshi sat. "Sorry, but I'm not gonna be able to dig something up for you with the rain like this. Holy shit, it's coming down…"
"You don't have anything pre-built?" Danny usually keeps a few fast-sellers on hand, but with the heat being what it's been…
The scrap seller shook his head. "Nope, sorry. I can do something in…" His tongue slipped through his lips as he thought. "Maybe three or four days? Depends if it keeps raining."
Hoshi grunted in displeasure. No way my food'll last four days. "What price?" But it might be cheaper to just write the groceries off and get takeout for a while.
Danny answered with an uncertain sound. "Ehhh, no less than three hundred. Probably more; really depends on what model I manage to find, and the damage. I ain't welding something together in fourty-plus for pocket change."
He ambled to the side to make use of his own, functioning mini-fridge, and Hoshi's thoughts ran sour. Three – or more likely four or five – hundred. That's better than I'd get at Paradise, but if I can scrounge up something used from a different scrap shop…
Another grumble of displeasure. Arc, I really don't want to go bargain-hunting in the rain, and even less in the heat. Though it was still fucking sweltering, it was legitimately cooler than the previous days had been. Plus there's the time investment – yeah, no, it's either here or just buying retail.
Hoshi's voice cut through the drumbeat of raindrops on thin steel. "I have the thing itself; I'll agree to a cheap patch job if you help me haul it in and out of town."
Danny took his time answering, cutting the pit out of his breakfast – a single large peach or nectarine or whatever – and scarfing half the fruit down before deigning to speak.
He smacked his lips. "Ugh, Hoshi, don't make me work in this fuckin' heat."
Hoshi's brows raised as he shot the man a look. "I'm not making you do shit; I'm offering to pay for a service."
"Taking advantage of an honest man's greed, that's what you're doing," came the muttered reply. "Fine. A couple 'a koffing should be able to carry something that big, or at least make it light enough to carry… You're getting it past the stairs yourself, though." He bit into the other half of the fruit, and it was gone in seconds – somehow, the old huckster managed it without getting a single drop of juice on his face. "Little guys are half-wild; I'm not taking 'em indoors."
"Unlike the grimer?"
"Course. Grimey's basically tame, ain't that right?" The grimer burbled as it received a pat on the head from Danny's bare foot. "You'd know if you had a Pokémon of your own – there's like, a bond and all that sappy shit."
He grinned his nearly-toothless grin, and Hoshi's brow climbed up his forehead a second time.
Seriously? Bright red and white aren't exactly subtle colours, old man. "Did you not notice?"
"Eh?"
Hoshi gestured to his belt. "As of yesterday, I'm the proud owner of two freshly-caught Pokémon. Even won a few battles."
The shack's owner froze in place, his expression fixed in teasing mirth for a moment before changing to disbelief. "What? Bullshit."
With a grin of his own, Hoshi pulled a ball from his belt. You know what they say, seeing is believing. "Guts, come out and say hello."
The furniture-dense confines of the building flashed red as the rattata appeared. It – you know, I should really sex the things sometime soon – squeaked questioningly, turning to face the grimer.
"No, no battle. Just showing you off, Guts." Keep saying the name, so it'll stick in its head. He turned back to Danny. "Well? Still think it's bullshit?"
The man's jaw worked for a moment. "Kid, that's dangerous. Without a licence-"
"What, you think I'm stupider than I was last month? Look at this." Continuing to grin at his friend's flabbergasted expense, Hoshi pulled out his wallet and flashed his new credentials. "Fully licensed Pokémon trainer, Hoshi Mutsu."
Danny's face remained incredulous as he looked at the card tucked under the wallet's clear plastic pocket. "Bullshit," he whispered. "No, this is worse than bullshit. Hoshi, where did you get this? No way you aced the exams well enough – they're only taking, like, top one hundred in all of Kanto-" His face screwed up. "And it isn't even the right season! You'd have gotten it in spring if…"
Hoshi waggled his wallet. "I'm not hearing an apology, you old jackass. Or do you want to settle this with a battle?"
Finally, Danny seemed to break out of his disbelief. "Fuck off, I'm retired. Seriously, where? How? You can't have faked the thing…" Then he caught Hoshi's shit-eating grin, and snorted. "No! You can't! I couldn't fake a licence, and I'm an Arceus-damned genius!"
He turned, making for his computer and pulling open a thin desk drawer. "Where's the fucking- hah, here we go! Lemme see that thing!"
He gestured with a hand scanner – does Pokémart just throw those things in the trash? I'd have thought they'd be too valuable to toss – and Hoshi relinquished his wallet with a roll of his eyes. "That's not gonna tell you anything, Danny. Just take the loss with grace."
"Shuddap," he replied with his usual eloquence. An orange laser flashed out from the scanner's front, playing over the complex pattern on the right side of the card, opposite Hoshi's mugshot, and the scanner beeped cheerfully. A light on the side flashed green, and Danny's face cycled between disgust and disbelief.
Idly, Hoshi noted that Guts was chewing on his host's wooden bedframe.
"Fuck me. This is-"
"If you say bullshit one more time, I'll keep how I got that thing to myself. You've gotta expand your vocabulary, Danny."
"…Horse shit. Bouffalant shit. Fuckin' fairy shit on toast!" He stared at the card for another moment, then tossed the wallet back to Hoshi, who caught it. "I'm speechless, Hoshi. It can't- it can't be a real fake, right?"
Hoshi took his time putting the thing away, letting the man stew. But eventually he answered, letting some of the verdant smug feeling drip away. "Ignoring the oxymoron, it totally is a real fake. Got it yesterday."
"Fucking..!" The junkyard owner's face made interesting shapes as he composed himself. "I don't know what to say, kid. This is… this is gang shit, right?" Hoshi nodded, and the man's nostrils flared, "Arceus- damn it, Hoshi, you know I hate that shit!"
The rookie grunt was silent as his older friend worked himself up, then back down, curiosity building until it beat out caution.
"…Okay, fine. You win. You got this from Rocket?"
Another nod. "Yeah, and that isn't all. Guts, come over here." The rat stopped sharpening its teeth on Danny's shitty furniture, giving him a long look before ambling over. Not very motivated when out of battle – something to work on, I guess. "They just handed me two Pokémon – in these weird fucking balls. Here, check it out…"
Danny Houndoom considered himself to be a pretty damn good tech guy, despite the shakes that age and… other things were adding to his fingers. He could code, he could wire, he could weld and sodder and screw – he was the whole fucking package, tied with a bow.
So it was with exceedingly large reservations that he quietly admitted to himself, in the privacy of his own head, that he hadn't the vaguest fucking idea of what he was looking at.
"Arc, kid. This thing is- I don't even know how to describe it."
Under the spotlight of his desk lamp, the weird purple ball was splayed out in its service mode – it was, at least, similar enough to a standard Pokéball for that feature to still be present. So it's using at least the base of the same tech. He just wished he could observe that, instead of having to intuit it.
Danny knew Pokéballs. He could reset them, change registration codes, and he was halfway sure he'd be able to assemble one if he had all the parts laid out… but the tangle of incredibly fine wires and circuitry in front of him didn't resemble anything in Silph Co.'s catalogue, not in the least. "Look at these lenses, Hoshi – they're so fine. You can't grow them like that, the seed crystal starts off too spherical; this must be cut down. But it's flawless, there aren't any marks…"
Carefully, he brought his tool down and pressed it into the carefully concealed service slot, and the 'Rocket Ball' snapped back together with incredible force, much more than any ball he'd ever worked on. "I can't say any more, I'm too afraid to dig into this thing to get at the battery or storage shit. Fucking- who the fuck made this, a fucking space alien?"
Hoshi bobbed his shoulders in an infuriating half-shrug. Damnit, man, can you not see I'm freaking out here? "Something like that – I mean, I'd believe they were aliens, anyhow."
"I'm not screwing with you, Hoshi. This thing is- I've never touched a Master Ball, but if you just showed me this thing without context that's what I'd think of first. This is some dumb fucking future shit, man." Or at least the tech needed to build it is future shit; the materials themselves are mundane, it's how they're refined that makes this thing shine.
Or at least, that was the impression he got from looking just under the skin – for all he knew, the innards could be hiding a fusion reactor or living alakazam brain or any kind of sci-fi nonsense.
The kid had the gall to respond to his statements with a dubious.look. "Is it really all that? I've met the Rocket Professors, and they seemed…" He chewed on his words for a second. "Unreliable. Crazy."
"All geniuses are crazy, Hoshi." Danny tapped the side of his head. "Workplace hazard. Some of the shit I put up with way back when…" He trailed off with a shake of his head. "Look, I'm just saying this shit is whack. Using something like this to catch normal Pokémon is complete fucking overkill."
The kid accepted his ball back, and snapped the plastic cover back on without speaking – and to think he'd thought that was impressive. Between that ball and the fake licence, I'm having serious thoughts about joining myself. What I could do with that tech and twenty hours of alone time…
The possibilities were endless. No way Rocket is just some gang. If their tech is outpacing Silph, then someone in the government is sponsoring them. Fuck, maybe more than one. He could think of a few people back in Unova that would froth at the mouth to get one over on the overlords of the Pokéball market, and an entirely different set that would do twice as much to get access to untraceable balls.
After staring at the concealed Rocket Ball for a long moment, Hoshi finally snapped out of it. "Guts, return," he ordered, and the rat disappeared in a flash of light. "Arcus, Danny. I want to say first off that I'm not doubting you, but… It's kind of hard to believe that a gang is able to make something as good as Silph Co."
"I know, right?" Danny nodded as the young man followed his own thoughts exactly. "It's gotta be some conspiracy. Nobody makes fake licences, that shit's impossible. The Indigo League owns, like, ninety-nine percent of remaining porygon; getting into their systems is…" Not impossible, but… "It just doesn't happen."
Rolling the ball in his palm, Hoshi considered. "What if they had an evolved porygon? A porygon2?"
Danny sucked on his gums. "…No, still no. That's still a hundred to one; like a hundred of your little guy there getting beaten by one raticate. It's gotta be some black ops shit – they get tech, Indigo or whoever gets a disposable asset. Maybe Sinnoh, they've been getting a lot of weirdly good deals lately."
Danny could almost feel the intensity of Hoshi's mulling. "That… makes sense. But- Danny, you had to be there. It was fucking insane – no way a a government with like, oversight and red tape and shit would put up with what I saw on my first fucking day. It was a madhouse – they had a persian dressed up in a suit, Danny."
He continued sucking on his gums. Damn kid is going to give me ulcers. "I've said my piece. I'm washing my hands of this shit; you lie in whatever bed you decide to make." Throwing his hands up, he leaned back in his chair.
"…Yeah, okay. Thanks for taking a look; I'll be back in a day or two to hash out the details on the refrigerator."
Hoshi walked into his apartment with a slurry of thoughts sloshing around in his head. Rocket can't be some kind of foreign group, right? All the bigwigs I saw were Kantonian. Right – Kantonian businessmen, who might have been bought out by promises of money or power. And they're sending me to bug a League database…
No, that doesn't count, that's something Rocket would do even if it was legit. Hoshi's teeth creaked as his jaw clenched. If they're backed by a foreign power, I want to cut my losses and ditch as soon as possible. But how do I figure out if they are? Casca wouldn't be any help; she was just a grunt like him – in fact, if being a Senior Grunt meant sweet fuck-all, he would probably know more than her pretty soon. So do I just keep going? Work my way in, like I was planning?
Just carrying on straight ahead felt weird now that Danny had pointed out something that didn't make sense, but he legitimately couldn't think of anything he could do differently. Arcus, I can barely fucking think straight with the heat and humidity. Gazing at his disguised balls for a minute, he pondered in circles, going nowhere.
Then he got up, and resolved to think about it more after a cold shower.
3.02 - Over the Moon
- Location
- Edmonton, Alberta
"And off the top rope- HEAVY SLAM! There it is, The Onix's signature move! Can Silver Dollar get back in the fight, or is he down for the count?!"
Menard Kaneth – Kenny to his friends, and 'Moony' to a couple of his new work buddies – listened to the television with half an ear. He wasn't entirely sure why he kept up with it, the fights, the culture, the industry…
It gave him a weird feeling in his gut; not quite sad, not quite lonely. Something he couldn't name. A lot bitter, cut with a few grains of sugar – not nothing, but not nearly enough to take the edge off.
…But he still hadn't decided to stop, for whatever reason.
"And a-one! A-two! Last chance-! A-THREE! Silver Dollar is out! The Indigo Heavyweight Belt goes to The Onix! Look at him showboating, the rotten bastard- and OH, it looks like Dollar's trying to fight off the paramedics! He thinks the fight's still on!"
Kenny smiled listlessly. Good work with the medics, that. Looks almost like a real concussion. It wasn't – you could tell by the eyes – but Silver Dollar was really selling it. Ha. Dollar, selling. He continued to watch the ending of the summer's blockbuster storyline, before being turned back to the task at hand by an insistent squeak.
"Hm? Oh, sorry Bubbles. What were we doing?"
The sandshrew looked at him from its perch – a tall, padded stool – the extra height meaning the Pokémon only had to look up two feet, rather than four. It squeaked again, a rough sound that reminded Kenny of an exercise mat sliding around on unwaxed hardwood.
"Right, right, I remember." His Rocket Dex had told him that Bubbles knew three moves: Scratch, Defense Curl, and Sand Attack – except it had displayed that last one in orange text, and when he had tried to use it in battle the sandshrew had just scrabbled against the floor, before looking back at him with a look like 'well what am I supposed to do now?'
The easiest path forward would probably be to ask his bosses about it, but he was a trainer now, and that meant he was supposed to have an adventure. So… he and Bubbles would do their best to figure it out together.
And then they'd get one over on their rivals, that guy with the pompadour and his weird beetle. "Let's try it again. Sand Attack!"
Bubbles twitched his nose, then, reluctantly, turned and made digging motions at the air. If he had been on loose ground, Kenny would have gotten a face full of grit – but perched up in the air, the attack did nothing at all.
"Nothin', huh?" He reached out and patted his Pokémon on the head. "You'll get it. Practice makes perfect!" It was just like learning how to do a suplex: at first you needed the help of the other guy to make it look real, but eventually you'd be able to do it with anyone, even someone who was resisting.
Bubbles just needed to learn how to put aside the crutch of needing real dirt.
They practised for enough time that the TV switched to the next program – without much progress – before a shaky voice came up the stairs.
"Menard, you have guests. Come on down here."
Kenny blinked at his Pokémon, frowning. "Huh? Damn it, we were just' getting' a rhythm goin'… Be down in a sec', Nana!"
Bubbles went back in his ball, and then the ball went under Kenny's pillow; the bosses said everything would look legit, but he didn't want to be the first person in their roster to test that out. If the guest was a blue, then they'd have to work for it.
He descended the narrow stairs with practised ease, coming down to the first floor nearly silently. He peeked around the corner just enough to see…
Whew, not a Jenny. It was just Suit – in a suit, construction worker my ass – and his piece, that orange-haired fat chick, making light conversation with his nana; it was easy to remember them- actually, it was easy to remember the whole squad, something that Kenny was thankful for. With nothing to fear, he walked into the kitchen.
"Hey Suit. Didn't expect to see you today." Or at all, actually; how the heck did you find out where I live? "Shit's really coming down."
The man gave him a surly look. "It's a typhoon, Moony. Shit's going to be coming down for a while." Then he stilled, side-eyeing Nana, and lifted a teacup to his lips.
The old woman waved him off with a bony hand. "Oh, you don't need to watch your language around me, young man. I know how men are in the industry."
Hoshi's eyes flashed as he froze, and Kenny had to hold in a laugh as the purple-haired man struggled not to spit out a mouthful of tea. Ha! Not that industry, man! But the amusement died a moment later, and he turned to his grandmother. "Nana, I told ya I don't work there no more, remember? Got a new, better job." He attempted a smile. "I'm a trainer now."
She frowned, her wrinkled brows turning down and in behind large bifocals that made her eyes look wide as saucers. "You aren't..? No, I don't remember that…"
The two guests looked at each other, and Kenny winced. Ah shit, always awkward to do this in front of people.
"We'll talk about it later, okay Nana? Don't worry about it." He turned back to the tall, thin man he had met a couple days ago. "What brings you here, Suit?"
"The…" he began, but then his eyes slid Nana's way again.
"We just popped over to see how you were dealing with things!" the girlfriend smoothly took over. "Vermilion may be a sea town, but that doesn't mean things are always built that way – so, you holding up? No leaky roof?" She smiled, and despite her being way outside his preferences, Kenny felt his blood stir.
"Oh, we're going just fine young miss, just fine," Nana answered. "Those new houses might be shoddy, but things on this side of town were built right. Why, I remember coming down the road the first time, it was all open ocean – they hadn't built the big stone docks yet, it was just wood back then…"
As his nana drifted off into a story, Kenny felt relieved. Not too bad, today. Sometimes his old work buddies would show up, and Nana would screech at them – she had a foul mouth when she was upset, fitting for a sailor's wife. He noticed that she had set out a place for him and sat, ignoring his coworker's pointed looks.
Sorry man, Nana's stories come before whatever you're here for. Gotta care about it while it lasts.
Hoshi listened with increasing frustration as Moony's grandmother went on and on about how the docks were built, something he was more than familiar with already – he must have gotten this exact story a hundred times between his father, Surge, and random people at the museum.
Normally he wouldn't mind, but today… Today is the last day before work starts up again. According to a message from Everheart, Hoshi had been right; they weren't working outdoors in the heat – but indoor renovations and deskwork, no matter how much more comfortable they were than construction proper, would still take the same amount of time out of his day. He needed to get his ducks in a row before Monday.
"…I'll tell you, the magikarp was bigger than I was. I've never seen one that big since, not even on the telly when they show those big fishing contests from the lake. Waddles was strutting around with his head up for weeks, you couldn't imagine a prouder cat."
The old woman, her grey-white hair held up in two loose buns, paused to sip at her tea, and Hoshi took the opportunity.
"That was a delightful story, ma'am. But I was hoping to talk shop with M-enard, just a bit." He looked Moony's way. "Maybe upstairs?"
She opened her mouth, but Casca pre-empted her. "That's a great idea – why don't the men go off and talk about work, while the two of us have our own chat? You must be starved for intelligent conversation, girl."
Moony's grandmother tittered, and Hoshi took that as his cue to stand. He grabbed his briefcase as he went, shooting his girlfriend a thankful look before taking his… underling, by the arm.
"Oi, hold up, I ain't done with-"
"Moony," Hoshi hissed into the over-muscular man's ear. "I need to talk to you about the job. Do you want to have that conversation here, or in private?" Arc, you've already shown you're shitty at operational security. Maybe I should leave you out of this…
After an uncomfortable pause, the ex-wrestler shrugged off Hoshi's grip. "Yeah, fine. My room's upstairs." He gulped down what was left of his tea, before turning to his grandmother. "Be back in a sec, Nana."
Then it was apparently his turn to take Hoshi by the arm. "C'mon. You wanna talk shop? Let's talk shop."
Moony's room was basically exactly as Hoshi would have pictured, if he had bothered to think about it: one half was taken up by a small at-home gym, while the other pulled double duty as both a sleeping space, and a shrine to Kanto's professional wrestling circuit. Posters were hung so thickly that the actual walls were obscured, with a life-sized body shot of a female wrestler in a skimpy leotard taking centre stage, while a shelf over the bed held a collection of action figures.
"Look, man," Moony growled out now that they were alone. "I know I said we could get it done in a day, but that was like, figurative, you get me?" Hoshi turned to look the man in the eye. "I didn't mean it, so… no need to come to my house."
Hoshi discarded the man's words with a minute shake of his head, laying the mildly damp briefcase against a set of barbells. "What does your grandma know? Is she in?"
The man scratched his shaved head, his face tightening. "What? Naw- well, not really?" The fuck do you mean, 'not really?' Either she knows or she doesn't. "She's… She has bad days, sometimes. I've tried explaining things, but I don't know what'll stick and what won't. So…" He threw his hands up.
Hoshi's own expression tightened. "How about you don't tell people you're a criminal? I don't care if you blow yourself out of the water, but that shit'll bounce back on me – and the others, too."
The man stilled, and for the first time Hoshi saw him angry, rather than annoyed. It was a cold thing, completely different from his normal expression, and it made his stupid, swollen face look menacing rather than just a product of steroid abuse.
"I'm not lying to my Nana. I ain't about that, and you don't tell me what to do." The cold thawed a touch. "But whatever. I get what you mean – Nana'll be chill with it, she's always telling me about how Grampy used to hang with pirates. Rocket's, like, pirates on land, right?"
Taking a deep breath, Hoshi expelled the deep, deep stupidity of that statement. "…I'm not going to tell you how to deal with family, but you're actually wrong. I do tell you what to do, at least while we're… on the clock."
Moony's lingering anger was washed out by confusion. "Huh?"
"Due to my connection with the Gym Leader," and some kind of pissing contest between the instructors and another Rocket leader in Viridian, probably, "I've gotten a promotion. As a Senior Rocket Grunt, I'm in charge of making things go smoothly." He shot the man a stern look and crossed his arms. "And that means whatever happens, my neck is first on the chopping block. I need to give a shit about your situation; if your nana has an attack of conscience – or just blabs to someone because she's fucking senile – that is, and I hate this as much as you do, on me."
The two men stared at each other, and Hoshi did his best to keep his hand on the leash. Don't look at his hands, don't think about punching him or being punched or anything. Deep breaths, be cool.
The grunt's face was screwed up with different emotions, but after a second of two he nodded, slowly. "Senior Grunt, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Thought it'd be Blondie runnin' the bird's eye – he seems more the type, no offense."
"Yeah. I'm surprised as you are."
His eyes narrowed as the confusion, in turn, was washed away by… Conviction, or something like that. I've been in the guy's presence for a few hours; I can't read his mood perfectly like Surge or Danny. "You think he'll, like, fight you for it?"
"…We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." The man doesn't live in town, so I can't even talk to him; he'll have a whole week at least of assuming he's the boss before getting that assumption thrown in his face. The situation might turn volatile, but there wasn't much to do other than put his head down and plow through. "What about you? You gonna follow orders, Moony?"
For a tense moment the room was silent, and Hoshi could faintly hear the sound of his girlfriend laughing from downstairs. Glad we're all having so much fucking fun. Then Moony blew air out through his nostrils, his posture relaxing.
"Yeah. On one condition:" Hoshi braced for some type of bullshit, but the request was surprisingly reasonable. "You call me Kenny, yeah? I don't hate Moony, but it's not my name."
Hoshi felt his lips curl up in a half-affronted smile. "So you can dish it out but not take it, huh?" His arms uncrossed to offer the muscular man his hand. "I'll call you Kenny if you call me Hoshi, deal?"
Moony- Kenny slid his palm in, and they shook on it. "Deal – though I think Suit's a way better name." A pause. "So'd you just come here to swing your dick around, or did you wanna actually talk about the Gym thing?"
Hoshi's smile widened, and he picked his suitcase back up.
"Casca got a copy of everything." Apparently a chunk of it was from her, specifically, seducing a night guard before she met me. She's a fucking 'kazam when it comes to talking to people… "We've got floor plans, employee schedules, the works. Even guesstimations on where the security cameras are, though obviously we can't rely on that." The juiced man's desk looked to be just large enough to spread everything out. "Move that shit to the side and I'll show you – oh, and where are you at with your Pokémon? I want to get as many of us as possible together next Saturday, after Rocket shit. See if we can get some group training done…"
After M- Kenny came Nerine, who was almost painfully simple. The rainy trip over was more fraught than actually talking to the teenager in her run-down, one-person apartment; Hoshi walked into a smoky conjoined kitchen/living room/bedroom, told her he was in charge, and she said "Okay."
He asked if she was free to train after 'lessons' on Saturday, she said "Yeah."
He showed her the plans, she examined them intensely for a moment then said "Cool. You wanna smoke?" The intense redness of her eyes – and the lingering smell – told him she didn't mean tobacco, and he would have declined anyway.
He was in and out inside of ten minutes.
Now he was ahead of schedule, and hoping for a third success in a row. Smooth sailing so far… maybe too smooth, actually. Nerine had actually been kind of frustrating with how nonchalant she was; the girl obviously didn't take being in Team Rocket seriously. Hopefully she gets more professional closer to actually doing the thing. He wouldn't bite her head off just yet, but he was prepared to turn into a miniature Everheart if he needed to.
"The place should be just up ahead. 14th and Caravan, number…" Casca put a finger to her lips. "Seven seven twelve. That's what I said earlier, right?"
Hoshi grunted, moving his umbrella as the wind changed direction. "Sounds right to me." A note with Puce Gracile's address was in his suitcase, but opening it to check now would be momentously stupid – he would just have to trust his girl's memory. "Six, eight…"
"Twelve, bingo! Let's go up and knock."
Puce – assuming they had the right house – lived in a medium-sized place way out in the southeast. Like Hoshi, she was right up against the water, though there was no gigantic Pokémon Gym blocking her view of the ocean. Nice area. The beach is her backyard – It would have been dirt cheap back before the expansion, when this stretch of road was almost inside Route 11, but now its prime real estate.
The path to the building cut through a well-maintained if somewhat boring lawn, and soon Hoshi was rapping on a solid wood door. Again, richer-looking than I'd have expected – the grass is professional. Why'd she say she was in Rocket? It can't be the money, so… The recollection was on the tip of his tongue, but before he could dig into that long day's minutia someone answered the door.
"Hello?" came a rich voice from beyond the entrance, and without waiting for an answer the soft fwip of a bolt being slid away sounded out, followed by the door itself opening.
Hoshi looked up at what must be Puce's father, and his only thought was Arcus. I knew it must be genetic, but that's a bit much.
The man wasn't quite as tall as Surge, but he was wide, and not with fat – Hoshi couldn't help but compare the forty-something man with the machamp he had seen recently, and it was entirely possible that the human was the more muscular of the two. Next to this guy, Dad would look thin. Arcus fuck, he is built.
The man had a cinder block of a head, nearly perfectly square, sporting a handlebar mustache accompanying extra perfectly average brown hair; if there was a specific name for the shade Hoshi didn't know, so the only label he could assign was hair-coloured hair.
"Hello!" he repeated, his voice matching his figure, again, perfectly; it reminded Hoshi of a cartoon tank engine from some old half-remembered propaganda cartoon. Sergeant… Bill? Sergeant Shell? No, it's not important, let it go.
"Hello. Is this the Gracile residence?" Unlike the giant, Hoshi had to raise his voice to speak over the weather.
"It is! Mauve Gracile, at your service!" An appendage that Hoshi struggled not to label as a paw darted out to snatch up his hand, and he was subjected to a bone-threatening handshake. "Are you here about the election? I'm afraid my vote's already spoken for!"
He boomed out a laugh, and Hoshi extricated his hand and upper arm from the man's fingers. Sausage-like would be entirely inappropriate; those are rebar-like. Solid steel. "Uh, no. I'm Hoshi. I'm… a friend of Puce's." I'd say I'm a work friend, but I have no idea what she's said. For all I know she's told her family she's taking weekend classes, or something. "Me and my girlfriend just wanted to make sure she's all right, with the typhoon and all."
"Oh! Well, come in out of the rain!" The door opened wider as he stepped back, beckoning them. "You'll be other students of the Electric Academy, then? Or did you meet somewhere else? That girl doesn't talk to her old man anymore!"
Hoshi blinked at guessing so rightly in his head, before a poke in the side sent him forward. "Yeah, we both take classes there – well, Casca's graduated, but…"
"And then after instructor James, the persian introduces itself too, dressed up in its own little suit. It was the strangest thing I'd ever seen."
Mauve's cannon-shot laugh was accompanied by his wife's – Mint Gracile's – more subdued one. It turned out that Puce was off 'on a little errand, but she should be back any minute,' but despite being delayed Hoshi was feeling at ease.
The Gracile house was richly appointed, and more importantly air conditioned – and her parents were disarmingly cordial, not balking in the slightest about entertaining a friend of their daughter. While she obviously took after her father physically, it seemed the woman she hadn't inherited a single shred of either's personality.
Mauve was friendly in a very touchy-feely way, always reaching out to bop a shoulder or pat a back, and had physically dragged the two of them around on a tour of the house. Mint was much the same, but oriented around conversation; from the moment they met her, the stately woman had kept firm control of the room's mood, dictating the topic with an iron fist.
It could easily have been overbearing or miserable, but the pair were so damn personable that it ended up not entirely different from the Rocket instructor's song and dance; just audacious enough to be entertaining rather than annoying. Less attractive than those two, though.
"My little girl never mentioned anything like that!" Mauve said, words coloured by the lingering aftershocks of his laughter.
"Yes, all she does is complain," Mint slid in. "We were hoping that she'd do well, but the moment we ask about the school, it's like her lips are sewn shut! I'm terrified it'll end up like her prior schooling…" She tutted with a slight shake of her head.
"She did poorly?" Casca asked.
"Oh, just dreadful. I swear she can be such a bright girl, she's just so distractible…" Mint fanned herself. "But I've heard amazing things about the Electric Academy, so hopefully they'll sort her out. She should be getting her licence any day now."
Hoshi made an agreeable sound, then helped himself to a pastry. I wouldn't have thought Puce a capable liar, but it doesn't seem like she's done half bad. "I just started recently, but I have to agree. The academy is really something special – I wouldn't worry about her."
Eventually Puce did come back, though they weren't able to get her alone – Hoshi would just have to get her up to speed when they saw each other at 'school.'
Three out of five, plus arranging things with Danny. The junkyard owner had taken a look at the fridge's innards, and pronounced that dragging it all the way to his workspace was unnecessary; instead, he would just lug the parts in and fix it right there inside the apartment. Overall, not a bad day's work.
He went to bed with his alarm set for the first time in a while, fretting just slightly about going back to work. But eventually the lullaby of the rain – and his girlfriend's quiet breathing beside him – forced his eyes to close. Not entirely sure what kind of timetable we'll settle on, but I can only hope that things'll go smoothly.
Menard Kaneth – Kenny to his friends, and 'Moony' to a couple of his new work buddies – listened to the television with half an ear. He wasn't entirely sure why he kept up with it, the fights, the culture, the industry…
It gave him a weird feeling in his gut; not quite sad, not quite lonely. Something he couldn't name. A lot bitter, cut with a few grains of sugar – not nothing, but not nearly enough to take the edge off.
…But he still hadn't decided to stop, for whatever reason.
"And a-one! A-two! Last chance-! A-THREE! Silver Dollar is out! The Indigo Heavyweight Belt goes to The Onix! Look at him showboating, the rotten bastard- and OH, it looks like Dollar's trying to fight off the paramedics! He thinks the fight's still on!"
Kenny smiled listlessly. Good work with the medics, that. Looks almost like a real concussion. It wasn't – you could tell by the eyes – but Silver Dollar was really selling it. Ha. Dollar, selling. He continued to watch the ending of the summer's blockbuster storyline, before being turned back to the task at hand by an insistent squeak.
"Hm? Oh, sorry Bubbles. What were we doing?"
The sandshrew looked at him from its perch – a tall, padded stool – the extra height meaning the Pokémon only had to look up two feet, rather than four. It squeaked again, a rough sound that reminded Kenny of an exercise mat sliding around on unwaxed hardwood.
"Right, right, I remember." His Rocket Dex had told him that Bubbles knew three moves: Scratch, Defense Curl, and Sand Attack – except it had displayed that last one in orange text, and when he had tried to use it in battle the sandshrew had just scrabbled against the floor, before looking back at him with a look like 'well what am I supposed to do now?'
The easiest path forward would probably be to ask his bosses about it, but he was a trainer now, and that meant he was supposed to have an adventure. So… he and Bubbles would do their best to figure it out together.
And then they'd get one over on their rivals, that guy with the pompadour and his weird beetle. "Let's try it again. Sand Attack!"
Bubbles twitched his nose, then, reluctantly, turned and made digging motions at the air. If he had been on loose ground, Kenny would have gotten a face full of grit – but perched up in the air, the attack did nothing at all.
"Nothin', huh?" He reached out and patted his Pokémon on the head. "You'll get it. Practice makes perfect!" It was just like learning how to do a suplex: at first you needed the help of the other guy to make it look real, but eventually you'd be able to do it with anyone, even someone who was resisting.
Bubbles just needed to learn how to put aside the crutch of needing real dirt.
They practised for enough time that the TV switched to the next program – without much progress – before a shaky voice came up the stairs.
"Menard, you have guests. Come on down here."
Kenny blinked at his Pokémon, frowning. "Huh? Damn it, we were just' getting' a rhythm goin'… Be down in a sec', Nana!"
Bubbles went back in his ball, and then the ball went under Kenny's pillow; the bosses said everything would look legit, but he didn't want to be the first person in their roster to test that out. If the guest was a blue, then they'd have to work for it.
He descended the narrow stairs with practised ease, coming down to the first floor nearly silently. He peeked around the corner just enough to see…
Whew, not a Jenny. It was just Suit – in a suit, construction worker my ass – and his piece, that orange-haired fat chick, making light conversation with his nana; it was easy to remember them- actually, it was easy to remember the whole squad, something that Kenny was thankful for. With nothing to fear, he walked into the kitchen.
"Hey Suit. Didn't expect to see you today." Or at all, actually; how the heck did you find out where I live? "Shit's really coming down."
The man gave him a surly look. "It's a typhoon, Moony. Shit's going to be coming down for a while." Then he stilled, side-eyeing Nana, and lifted a teacup to his lips.
The old woman waved him off with a bony hand. "Oh, you don't need to watch your language around me, young man. I know how men are in the industry."
Hoshi's eyes flashed as he froze, and Kenny had to hold in a laugh as the purple-haired man struggled not to spit out a mouthful of tea. Ha! Not that industry, man! But the amusement died a moment later, and he turned to his grandmother. "Nana, I told ya I don't work there no more, remember? Got a new, better job." He attempted a smile. "I'm a trainer now."
She frowned, her wrinkled brows turning down and in behind large bifocals that made her eyes look wide as saucers. "You aren't..? No, I don't remember that…"
The two guests looked at each other, and Kenny winced. Ah shit, always awkward to do this in front of people.
"We'll talk about it later, okay Nana? Don't worry about it." He turned back to the tall, thin man he had met a couple days ago. "What brings you here, Suit?"
"The…" he began, but then his eyes slid Nana's way again.
"We just popped over to see how you were dealing with things!" the girlfriend smoothly took over. "Vermilion may be a sea town, but that doesn't mean things are always built that way – so, you holding up? No leaky roof?" She smiled, and despite her being way outside his preferences, Kenny felt his blood stir.
"Oh, we're going just fine young miss, just fine," Nana answered. "Those new houses might be shoddy, but things on this side of town were built right. Why, I remember coming down the road the first time, it was all open ocean – they hadn't built the big stone docks yet, it was just wood back then…"
As his nana drifted off into a story, Kenny felt relieved. Not too bad, today. Sometimes his old work buddies would show up, and Nana would screech at them – she had a foul mouth when she was upset, fitting for a sailor's wife. He noticed that she had set out a place for him and sat, ignoring his coworker's pointed looks.
Sorry man, Nana's stories come before whatever you're here for. Gotta care about it while it lasts.
Hoshi listened with increasing frustration as Moony's grandmother went on and on about how the docks were built, something he was more than familiar with already – he must have gotten this exact story a hundred times between his father, Surge, and random people at the museum.
Normally he wouldn't mind, but today… Today is the last day before work starts up again. According to a message from Everheart, Hoshi had been right; they weren't working outdoors in the heat – but indoor renovations and deskwork, no matter how much more comfortable they were than construction proper, would still take the same amount of time out of his day. He needed to get his ducks in a row before Monday.
"…I'll tell you, the magikarp was bigger than I was. I've never seen one that big since, not even on the telly when they show those big fishing contests from the lake. Waddles was strutting around with his head up for weeks, you couldn't imagine a prouder cat."
The old woman, her grey-white hair held up in two loose buns, paused to sip at her tea, and Hoshi took the opportunity.
"That was a delightful story, ma'am. But I was hoping to talk shop with M-enard, just a bit." He looked Moony's way. "Maybe upstairs?"
She opened her mouth, but Casca pre-empted her. "That's a great idea – why don't the men go off and talk about work, while the two of us have our own chat? You must be starved for intelligent conversation, girl."
Moony's grandmother tittered, and Hoshi took that as his cue to stand. He grabbed his briefcase as he went, shooting his girlfriend a thankful look before taking his… underling, by the arm.
"Oi, hold up, I ain't done with-"
"Moony," Hoshi hissed into the over-muscular man's ear. "I need to talk to you about the job. Do you want to have that conversation here, or in private?" Arc, you've already shown you're shitty at operational security. Maybe I should leave you out of this…
After an uncomfortable pause, the ex-wrestler shrugged off Hoshi's grip. "Yeah, fine. My room's upstairs." He gulped down what was left of his tea, before turning to his grandmother. "Be back in a sec, Nana."
Then it was apparently his turn to take Hoshi by the arm. "C'mon. You wanna talk shop? Let's talk shop."
Moony's room was basically exactly as Hoshi would have pictured, if he had bothered to think about it: one half was taken up by a small at-home gym, while the other pulled double duty as both a sleeping space, and a shrine to Kanto's professional wrestling circuit. Posters were hung so thickly that the actual walls were obscured, with a life-sized body shot of a female wrestler in a skimpy leotard taking centre stage, while a shelf over the bed held a collection of action figures.
"Look, man," Moony growled out now that they were alone. "I know I said we could get it done in a day, but that was like, figurative, you get me?" Hoshi turned to look the man in the eye. "I didn't mean it, so… no need to come to my house."
Hoshi discarded the man's words with a minute shake of his head, laying the mildly damp briefcase against a set of barbells. "What does your grandma know? Is she in?"
The man scratched his shaved head, his face tightening. "What? Naw- well, not really?" The fuck do you mean, 'not really?' Either she knows or she doesn't. "She's… She has bad days, sometimes. I've tried explaining things, but I don't know what'll stick and what won't. So…" He threw his hands up.
Hoshi's own expression tightened. "How about you don't tell people you're a criminal? I don't care if you blow yourself out of the water, but that shit'll bounce back on me – and the others, too."
The man stilled, and for the first time Hoshi saw him angry, rather than annoyed. It was a cold thing, completely different from his normal expression, and it made his stupid, swollen face look menacing rather than just a product of steroid abuse.
"I'm not lying to my Nana. I ain't about that, and you don't tell me what to do." The cold thawed a touch. "But whatever. I get what you mean – Nana'll be chill with it, she's always telling me about how Grampy used to hang with pirates. Rocket's, like, pirates on land, right?"
Taking a deep breath, Hoshi expelled the deep, deep stupidity of that statement. "…I'm not going to tell you how to deal with family, but you're actually wrong. I do tell you what to do, at least while we're… on the clock."
Moony's lingering anger was washed out by confusion. "Huh?"
"Due to my connection with the Gym Leader," and some kind of pissing contest between the instructors and another Rocket leader in Viridian, probably, "I've gotten a promotion. As a Senior Rocket Grunt, I'm in charge of making things go smoothly." He shot the man a stern look and crossed his arms. "And that means whatever happens, my neck is first on the chopping block. I need to give a shit about your situation; if your nana has an attack of conscience – or just blabs to someone because she's fucking senile – that is, and I hate this as much as you do, on me."
The two men stared at each other, and Hoshi did his best to keep his hand on the leash. Don't look at his hands, don't think about punching him or being punched or anything. Deep breaths, be cool.
The grunt's face was screwed up with different emotions, but after a second of two he nodded, slowly. "Senior Grunt, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Thought it'd be Blondie runnin' the bird's eye – he seems more the type, no offense."
"Yeah. I'm surprised as you are."
His eyes narrowed as the confusion, in turn, was washed away by… Conviction, or something like that. I've been in the guy's presence for a few hours; I can't read his mood perfectly like Surge or Danny. "You think he'll, like, fight you for it?"
"…We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." The man doesn't live in town, so I can't even talk to him; he'll have a whole week at least of assuming he's the boss before getting that assumption thrown in his face. The situation might turn volatile, but there wasn't much to do other than put his head down and plow through. "What about you? You gonna follow orders, Moony?"
For a tense moment the room was silent, and Hoshi could faintly hear the sound of his girlfriend laughing from downstairs. Glad we're all having so much fucking fun. Then Moony blew air out through his nostrils, his posture relaxing.
"Yeah. On one condition:" Hoshi braced for some type of bullshit, but the request was surprisingly reasonable. "You call me Kenny, yeah? I don't hate Moony, but it's not my name."
Hoshi felt his lips curl up in a half-affronted smile. "So you can dish it out but not take it, huh?" His arms uncrossed to offer the muscular man his hand. "I'll call you Kenny if you call me Hoshi, deal?"
Moony- Kenny slid his palm in, and they shook on it. "Deal – though I think Suit's a way better name." A pause. "So'd you just come here to swing your dick around, or did you wanna actually talk about the Gym thing?"
Hoshi's smile widened, and he picked his suitcase back up.
"Casca got a copy of everything." Apparently a chunk of it was from her, specifically, seducing a night guard before she met me. She's a fucking 'kazam when it comes to talking to people… "We've got floor plans, employee schedules, the works. Even guesstimations on where the security cameras are, though obviously we can't rely on that." The juiced man's desk looked to be just large enough to spread everything out. "Move that shit to the side and I'll show you – oh, and where are you at with your Pokémon? I want to get as many of us as possible together next Saturday, after Rocket shit. See if we can get some group training done…"
After M- Kenny came Nerine, who was almost painfully simple. The rainy trip over was more fraught than actually talking to the teenager in her run-down, one-person apartment; Hoshi walked into a smoky conjoined kitchen/living room/bedroom, told her he was in charge, and she said "Okay."
He asked if she was free to train after 'lessons' on Saturday, she said "Yeah."
He showed her the plans, she examined them intensely for a moment then said "Cool. You wanna smoke?" The intense redness of her eyes – and the lingering smell – told him she didn't mean tobacco, and he would have declined anyway.
He was in and out inside of ten minutes.
Now he was ahead of schedule, and hoping for a third success in a row. Smooth sailing so far… maybe too smooth, actually. Nerine had actually been kind of frustrating with how nonchalant she was; the girl obviously didn't take being in Team Rocket seriously. Hopefully she gets more professional closer to actually doing the thing. He wouldn't bite her head off just yet, but he was prepared to turn into a miniature Everheart if he needed to.
"The place should be just up ahead. 14th and Caravan, number…" Casca put a finger to her lips. "Seven seven twelve. That's what I said earlier, right?"
Hoshi grunted, moving his umbrella as the wind changed direction. "Sounds right to me." A note with Puce Gracile's address was in his suitcase, but opening it to check now would be momentously stupid – he would just have to trust his girl's memory. "Six, eight…"
"Twelve, bingo! Let's go up and knock."
Puce – assuming they had the right house – lived in a medium-sized place way out in the southeast. Like Hoshi, she was right up against the water, though there was no gigantic Pokémon Gym blocking her view of the ocean. Nice area. The beach is her backyard – It would have been dirt cheap back before the expansion, when this stretch of road was almost inside Route 11, but now its prime real estate.
The path to the building cut through a well-maintained if somewhat boring lawn, and soon Hoshi was rapping on a solid wood door. Again, richer-looking than I'd have expected – the grass is professional. Why'd she say she was in Rocket? It can't be the money, so… The recollection was on the tip of his tongue, but before he could dig into that long day's minutia someone answered the door.
"Hello?" came a rich voice from beyond the entrance, and without waiting for an answer the soft fwip of a bolt being slid away sounded out, followed by the door itself opening.
Hoshi looked up at what must be Puce's father, and his only thought was Arcus. I knew it must be genetic, but that's a bit much.
The man wasn't quite as tall as Surge, but he was wide, and not with fat – Hoshi couldn't help but compare the forty-something man with the machamp he had seen recently, and it was entirely possible that the human was the more muscular of the two. Next to this guy, Dad would look thin. Arcus fuck, he is built.
The man had a cinder block of a head, nearly perfectly square, sporting a handlebar mustache accompanying extra perfectly average brown hair; if there was a specific name for the shade Hoshi didn't know, so the only label he could assign was hair-coloured hair.
"Hello!" he repeated, his voice matching his figure, again, perfectly; it reminded Hoshi of a cartoon tank engine from some old half-remembered propaganda cartoon. Sergeant… Bill? Sergeant Shell? No, it's not important, let it go.
"Hello. Is this the Gracile residence?" Unlike the giant, Hoshi had to raise his voice to speak over the weather.
"It is! Mauve Gracile, at your service!" An appendage that Hoshi struggled not to label as a paw darted out to snatch up his hand, and he was subjected to a bone-threatening handshake. "Are you here about the election? I'm afraid my vote's already spoken for!"
He boomed out a laugh, and Hoshi extricated his hand and upper arm from the man's fingers. Sausage-like would be entirely inappropriate; those are rebar-like. Solid steel. "Uh, no. I'm Hoshi. I'm… a friend of Puce's." I'd say I'm a work friend, but I have no idea what she's said. For all I know she's told her family she's taking weekend classes, or something. "Me and my girlfriend just wanted to make sure she's all right, with the typhoon and all."
"Oh! Well, come in out of the rain!" The door opened wider as he stepped back, beckoning them. "You'll be other students of the Electric Academy, then? Or did you meet somewhere else? That girl doesn't talk to her old man anymore!"
Hoshi blinked at guessing so rightly in his head, before a poke in the side sent him forward. "Yeah, we both take classes there – well, Casca's graduated, but…"
"And then after instructor James, the persian introduces itself too, dressed up in its own little suit. It was the strangest thing I'd ever seen."
Mauve's cannon-shot laugh was accompanied by his wife's – Mint Gracile's – more subdued one. It turned out that Puce was off 'on a little errand, but she should be back any minute,' but despite being delayed Hoshi was feeling at ease.
The Gracile house was richly appointed, and more importantly air conditioned – and her parents were disarmingly cordial, not balking in the slightest about entertaining a friend of their daughter. While she obviously took after her father physically, it seemed the woman she hadn't inherited a single shred of either's personality.
Mauve was friendly in a very touchy-feely way, always reaching out to bop a shoulder or pat a back, and had physically dragged the two of them around on a tour of the house. Mint was much the same, but oriented around conversation; from the moment they met her, the stately woman had kept firm control of the room's mood, dictating the topic with an iron fist.
It could easily have been overbearing or miserable, but the pair were so damn personable that it ended up not entirely different from the Rocket instructor's song and dance; just audacious enough to be entertaining rather than annoying. Less attractive than those two, though.
"My little girl never mentioned anything like that!" Mauve said, words coloured by the lingering aftershocks of his laughter.
"Yes, all she does is complain," Mint slid in. "We were hoping that she'd do well, but the moment we ask about the school, it's like her lips are sewn shut! I'm terrified it'll end up like her prior schooling…" She tutted with a slight shake of her head.
"She did poorly?" Casca asked.
"Oh, just dreadful. I swear she can be such a bright girl, she's just so distractible…" Mint fanned herself. "But I've heard amazing things about the Electric Academy, so hopefully they'll sort her out. She should be getting her licence any day now."
Hoshi made an agreeable sound, then helped himself to a pastry. I wouldn't have thought Puce a capable liar, but it doesn't seem like she's done half bad. "I just started recently, but I have to agree. The academy is really something special – I wouldn't worry about her."
Eventually Puce did come back, though they weren't able to get her alone – Hoshi would just have to get her up to speed when they saw each other at 'school.'
Three out of five, plus arranging things with Danny. The junkyard owner had taken a look at the fridge's innards, and pronounced that dragging it all the way to his workspace was unnecessary; instead, he would just lug the parts in and fix it right there inside the apartment. Overall, not a bad day's work.
He went to bed with his alarm set for the first time in a while, fretting just slightly about going back to work. But eventually the lullaby of the rain – and his girlfriend's quiet breathing beside him – forced his eyes to close. Not entirely sure what kind of timetable we'll settle on, but I can only hope that things'll go smoothly.
3.03 - Back to the Grind
- Location
- Edmonton, Alberta
AN: Sorry for the spotty releases, I haven't been feeling super great. Hopefully I'll get back into shape soon.
Hoshi had been afraid that his month off would make the return to work unbearable, but as each day bled into the next he found that those four weeks had, in fact, not been nearly as long as they had felt in the moment.
Actually… there was something almost soothing about it.
"Mutsu, no foot-dragging! This place is nice and air conditioned, so I don't wanna hear any complaints!"
Hoshi hoisted the load of cement powder, feeling just the lightest twinge in his muscles. Huh. The Ditto's bellow may have made him pick up the pace, but it didn't leave a film of irritation over his vision. Knowing that I've got bigger problems is… freeing, I guess. The sack of dry powder went into the mixer, disappearing into the goop already churning inside, and he flexed his fingers before bending down for the next load. Everheart seems extra toothless – he's basically just a big screaming baby.
The indoor renovations went smoothly, and Hoshi started to feel that tiny spark of pride he sometimes got when the work wasn't entirely shit – like he was, in his own half-assed way, following in his father's footsteps.
Knocking down a few walls or replacing the floor of a basement isn't exactly high architecture, but it's not that different, right? It was a dumb thought; in reality he was only a half-step above the machop who carried bricks around all day. But still, that little red-hot spark sat, sizzling away in his core.
…Only to be unceremoniously doused as the easy work dried up, and M&S turned to a more pressing – and miserable – matter; repairing and replacing the numerous roofs that had been damaged by the worst storm since 1995.
Damn, Hoshi thought, looking up at the swirling grey gradients above, then down to the slate blue shingles gradually replacing their older, duller relatives. I was hoping I'd be able to ease my way back in, but it's only been five days and we're already out in the rain.
And it was still fucking hot, too, more like a sauna than any rainstorm he'd ever experienced before. The roof was slick under his feet – smoothed by age, the grit washed away.
The only saving grace was that the company had provided good quality rain-proof clothes. It could be… worse, I guess. But still.
He fished a couple of short roofing nails from a sealable pocket, slid a new shingle in place, and hammered it in with two quick blows. I could be using this time to train. Guts and Crow are still basically babies; they need toughening up before I take them to the Gym. Because while he didn't need to win for the mission, he sure as heck didn't want to lose. An old shingle was popped out, and its replacement went in – then the next, and the next, Hoshi's body moving on autopilot.
It's… my first badge challenge. Even if it isn't real, even if I can't actually go to a real tournament where they check shit seriously… I want to win. It's- ah!
His drifting thoughts cost him as he misjudged a swing, and sharp red pain shot up his arm as the hammer met his thumb, rather than a nail.
"Damnit! Son of a-!" Don't daydream while working, dumbass.
He checked the damage – the nail was cracked, a bead of blood attempting to form despite the roaring downpour. Red spilled out from the crack, and like it was the pain congealed into liquid under his skin, the sensation lessened to a dull throb as the rain washed the blood away. "Stupid."
"Hey Hoshi, you okay?" came a voice from over the zenith of the roof; Mikan, his partner in the day's repairs.
He spend a moment berating himself, the rain, the fucking heat, and the shittiness of existence in general, before he lined up the next shingle. "I'm fine. Whacked my fucking thumb."
"Trying to get back on paid leave? Leave some for the rest of us, ha!" His chuckle went silent, and Hoshi drove the next nail in – carefully – opting not to reply. But it seemed the man wasn't done. "So how was it, anyway? Things going well with that girl of yours? I have to say, I didn't think you'd be the relationship type!"
Hoshi bit his tongue to cut off his instinctive 'fuck off' and forced himself to calm down. Mike isn't too much of an asshole – he's actually making conversation, shit as he is at it. "It was fine. Spent some money at the gym; I've been thinking about trying for certification soon."
Again, Mikan's voice drifted up over the top of the roof. "No shit? You know, I can see it… You've sort of got the look of a trainer. Gonna leave us high and dry?"
His tone was amused, but despite snorting Hoshi replied seriously. "You know it. Gonna do big things – this time next year, you'll be seeing me on the news."
The man laughed. It was easy to picture his face; Mikan was someone who laughed easily, who liked to poke fun, and took retaliatory comments with grace. "Ha! That'll be the day – I'll be watching for it, man." A pause. "But seriously, your thumb good? I don't feel like getting this shit done on my own; it's like taking a hot shower out here."
"I hear you – it's fine, just broke a nail."
"Hey, you think some idiot tried messing with the Moltres, and that's why the typhoon's this bad? That's what my daughter says, but it feels like too neat of an explanation…"
He continued to ramble on, while Hoshi replied with the occasional grunt. And though he tried to keep his head down on ground – or at least roof – level, he couldn't help but let his thought drift off towards the weekend.
On Saturday, Hoshi woke early and well. He all but leapt out of bed, causing his girlfriend to emit a rodent-like squeak, and was dressed – in his rain gear, no need to tempt Kenny into repeating a bad habit – before she even managed to get out from the tangle of thin sheets.
"Whoa, what's gotten into you today?" she asked. "We're not due to meet the instructors until noon."
"I want to be there early. Guts and Crow need experience, which means battles – and I bet there'll be a few bored grunts loitering around, ready to train." I'd challenge some randos out on Route 11, but I actually know a few people there; I don't want it to get back to Surge that I have Pokémon just yet.
Casca finally rolled out of bed, just in time to receive a plate of toast. "Hm," she groaned. "Maybe. But make sure to leave something in the tank; Ryan might get in your shit about the day-one promotion."
Today felt special, even more of a 'first day' than his actual first day had been. Might as well do a whole spread. Bacon, cheese omelette, the works. He had even bought a bottle of cheap wine. "Oh, I hope he tries something. That little dragon is a powerhouse, but it hasn't got anything even close to a ranged attack; Crow'll solo it." The thought made him smile. It'll be completely embarrassing for him – if I had a dragon, and it got taken out by a zubat, I'd fucking die.
Casca raised a brow, watching his back as he cooked. "I'll take your word for it."
They ate, he helped Casca pick out an outfit – a clingy, and surprisingly sturdy, blue dress that should handle the weather well enough – and then they were off. The day was, in a continuing trend, both sweltering and wet; the dark cloud cover meant it didn't quite hit thirty above, but with the humidity it felt like it did. The streets were slightly more lively – people are getting used to it… or just running out of groceries – but not nearly enough to delay them on their way to the Electric Academy.
As Casca had predicted, Hoshi had a bit of trouble with a sceptical groundsman manning the front gate – but the man with his scruffy uniform and contrastingly well-groomed hair let them through after scanning his fake ID, and they were through the doors well before the scheduled meeting.
Man, I completely forgot how over-the-top this place is.
While large sections of his first visit stood out bright and clear in his memories, other sections, like roaming the halls, were mostly a blur; at any other time, the extreme extravagance of the school would have been the highlight of the day, but the tournament and meetings had been… a lot.
"Make a right just up here, and… there we go!" Casca pulled on his sleeve. "This should be a break room."
He turned an eye to the door, squinting. The room labeled 'Woodworking 401' is a break room? After a moment he shrugged, and reached for the handle. I don't get this place. Half of it seems married to the school masquerade, while the rest is barely trying. He still didn't even know if there were actual students; the way Puce's parents had talked seemed to indicate that there were, and that Puce herself had come for the lessons and gotten caught up in the Rocket stuff after, but the pieces weren't fitting together in Hoshi's head.
Whatever. I'll just ask about it – either her or the instructors.
Woodworking 401 looked, at first glance, to be an actual woodworking shop-slash-classroom. There were tables arranged in front of a personal desk to the left of the door, while to the right stood a number of machines – lathes, drills, saws, and a few that Hoshi couldn't recognise by sight alone.
But there were no half-finished projects, no raw materials, and most crucially, no mess. The floor was spotless, not even a speck of sawdust marring the waxed hardwood.
…Also, and he probably should have noted this first, there was a group of four people in uniform, wearing the poofy hats that Hoshi couldn't help but still find ridiculous, even after staring at his bedecked reflection for an unreasonable amount of time. Black felt shifted as the four – two men and two women – turned, revealing the red Rs standing out on their chests.
Uh… "Hey," Hoshi started. "Anybody want to hit the battle court? I'm new, and my Pokémon are raw."
The quartet of grunts made various expressions, but the general air of the room could be described in one word: hostile.
"Fuck off." said the man on the right. "We're on break."
"Dumb kids," muttered the woman next to him.
"Don't they know we've got better things to do with our time?" continued another.
Hoshi's teeth and fists clenched. Oh? You think you're better than me? Well- A gentle hand on the small of his back, fingers on either side of his spine like they were holding a kitten. Well, fuck you right back. He turned, and let the door ease shut.
"Fucking- where do they get off?" he hissed, taking long steps towards nowhere in particular.
Casca shook her head. "Sorry – most people around here this early are gonna be either higher ups… or people doing the graveyard shift 'cause they're being punished. You wanna find another place?"
Breathe in, breathe out. "Yeah." You fucking bet I do. After that, I'm ready to smash someone's face in – but I'll settle for wrecking their Pokémon.
Hoshi found his morning training not with his fellow grunts, as he would have expected, but rather with a group of scientists. They encountered the day's second quartet in a cafeteria, and in contrast to the first, they eagerly agreed to a series of one-on-one, no-stakes battles.
The school's battle court – and contrary to the extravagance of the rest of the building, there was only the one – was much more mundane than he had been expecting; a basic field of compressed dirt with a small pool to the side, a couple of stripped-down healing machines against one wall, and a line of benches.
Guts took a loss to a magnemite, barely beat a drowzee that blatantly ignored its trainer's instructions, then ceded the field to Crow, who took a second loss to a grimer.
Paradoxically, the poor showing actually served to calm the fuming Hoshi down. Ha. Stupid shit, thinking I'd do any face smashing… this isn't a Little Cup, Guts and Crow are gonna be the weakest guys on the field.
"Guts, jump over! Quick Attack!"
The fourth and final scientist, a weedy-looking man with uneven grey-purple hair, had sent out a bellsprout that seemed to know only one move – but even so, Hoshi wasn't certain that Guts would win. She's faster, but the only advantage we have.
The rattata leapt over the slashing vine, dodged a second, then darted in to land a quick nip with her teeth. The pitcher-plant Pokémon brought its head in, taking the hit on its durable lips rather than its vulnerable stalk, but it still bled.
"Circle around! Gimme another Quick Attack!"
"Blossom, evade! Dodge roll!"
This plant is pretty well trained. In a move that seemed incongruous with its normally slow-moving gait, the bellsprout tucked and rolled – almost like a tumbleweed. Guts tried to slip in, but when her opponent uncoiled it did so by unleashing yet another Vine Whip.
She failed to dodge that one, and Hoshi cried out. "Back up!" Right to the face. She's starting to slow down – I think four battles in a row is pushing it.
His rat retreated out of the bellsprout's range, and the two Pokémon stared each other down as their trainers thought. What can I do? Tail Whip isn't useful unless we get close, which is the problem. The moment he had the cash, he was getting Guts some sort of ranged attack disk; the number of strategies he could pull off with just Quick Attack was abysmal.
Across the field he could see the researcher thinking the same thing, frustration in his eyes. They narrowed, and Hoshi felt the man decide to gamble.
"Growth!" he yelled, and Hoshi's teeth clenched – half in frustration, and half in hope. More than one move, after all…
If it bulks up, we'll lose – but while it's mid-Growth, it won't dodge! "Guts, forward! Full offense, tackle tackle tackle!"
The lavender rat raced across the field, head down and sprinting, and smashed into the ambulatory plant with his entire body. The bellsprout wobbled, head bobbing, and reflexively hit back with yet more lashing vines – but Guts powered through, toppling the top-heavy 'mon with another hit before going in with her teeth and claws.
Suddenly the plant bulged, its thin roots and stem instantly doubling in size, but it was too late; Guts lay into the thing, and the Rocket Scientist recalled his Pokémon with a disappointed sound. "Blah! Darn it, I thought Blossom had that one in the bag…"
Hoshi spent a minute on some post-battle niceties, used the healing machine one last time, and then he and Casca left – to the audible disappointment of the four labcoat-wearing men.
He raised a brow at his girlfriend as they exited into the hallway. "You're lucky I'm not the jealous type, you know." All throughout the pitched and not-so-pitched battles, she had been relentlessly flirting with whoever was on the bench.
"Oh, you are the jealous type, honey." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, strutting. "You also like to be teased. Besides, aren't those nerdy types adorable?" Her strawberry lips curved up as she looked back. "Some of those lines – it's like they've never even seen a woman before."
Hoshi held his composure for a moment before a half-suppressed snicker forced its way through his lips. "Yeah, okay, from that angle I could see how it's funny." He followed, and the two walked a moment before he continued. "So, nerdy types, huh? Should I be worried about you and Dabi?"
Casca's face was worth the fake punch he received to the shoulder. "Ew! You jerk!"
"What?" he replied, fawx-innocent. "Oh, I get it. Hypno is more your speed, right?" A quick step took him out of range, and her retaliation missed. "I bet if you asked, you could score a threesome with him and Kimmy- ow, okay, okay! I give!"
She relented, pouting, but he could see the laughter in her eyes.
"Ugh, don't even joke about that. I feel like I need to wash my brain with soap." She stuck out her tongue, and Hoshi chuckled at the expression. He took her hand and they walked aimlessly, killing time before the scheduled meeting with Jessie and James.
Got a few hours to go. Would any of the other rookies be here already? "You want to hit up that cafeteria again?" he asked.
"No way. I ate, like, three breakfasts this morning, not including the wine. I've gotta watch my figure… Or did you just want to find more guys to fight?"
Hoshi grunted. "Naw. Guts needs rest, and I want Crow to be fresh if I need her later."
They say you learn more from losing, but I'm not sure – not at this level, at least. But still, it feels good to just do it. He was almost hoping Ryan would challenge him-
Movement ahead. Ah, speak of Dexus, and he shall appear. Turning the corner was a bright head of platinum blond curls, shining above a suit of pale baby blue – the man was, like Hoshi, not yet in uniform.
Ryan's eyes flashed as they registered his target, and his gait widened. "Mutsu!" he called across the length of the hall. "I'd like a word!"
Hoshi had been afraid that his month off would make the return to work unbearable, but as each day bled into the next he found that those four weeks had, in fact, not been nearly as long as they had felt in the moment.
Actually… there was something almost soothing about it.
"Mutsu, no foot-dragging! This place is nice and air conditioned, so I don't wanna hear any complaints!"
Hoshi hoisted the load of cement powder, feeling just the lightest twinge in his muscles. Huh. The Ditto's bellow may have made him pick up the pace, but it didn't leave a film of irritation over his vision. Knowing that I've got bigger problems is… freeing, I guess. The sack of dry powder went into the mixer, disappearing into the goop already churning inside, and he flexed his fingers before bending down for the next load. Everheart seems extra toothless – he's basically just a big screaming baby.
The indoor renovations went smoothly, and Hoshi started to feel that tiny spark of pride he sometimes got when the work wasn't entirely shit – like he was, in his own half-assed way, following in his father's footsteps.
Knocking down a few walls or replacing the floor of a basement isn't exactly high architecture, but it's not that different, right? It was a dumb thought; in reality he was only a half-step above the machop who carried bricks around all day. But still, that little red-hot spark sat, sizzling away in his core.
…Only to be unceremoniously doused as the easy work dried up, and M&S turned to a more pressing – and miserable – matter; repairing and replacing the numerous roofs that had been damaged by the worst storm since 1995.
Damn, Hoshi thought, looking up at the swirling grey gradients above, then down to the slate blue shingles gradually replacing their older, duller relatives. I was hoping I'd be able to ease my way back in, but it's only been five days and we're already out in the rain.
And it was still fucking hot, too, more like a sauna than any rainstorm he'd ever experienced before. The roof was slick under his feet – smoothed by age, the grit washed away.
The only saving grace was that the company had provided good quality rain-proof clothes. It could be… worse, I guess. But still.
He fished a couple of short roofing nails from a sealable pocket, slid a new shingle in place, and hammered it in with two quick blows. I could be using this time to train. Guts and Crow are still basically babies; they need toughening up before I take them to the Gym. Because while he didn't need to win for the mission, he sure as heck didn't want to lose. An old shingle was popped out, and its replacement went in – then the next, and the next, Hoshi's body moving on autopilot.
It's… my first badge challenge. Even if it isn't real, even if I can't actually go to a real tournament where they check shit seriously… I want to win. It's- ah!
His drifting thoughts cost him as he misjudged a swing, and sharp red pain shot up his arm as the hammer met his thumb, rather than a nail.
"Damnit! Son of a-!" Don't daydream while working, dumbass.
He checked the damage – the nail was cracked, a bead of blood attempting to form despite the roaring downpour. Red spilled out from the crack, and like it was the pain congealed into liquid under his skin, the sensation lessened to a dull throb as the rain washed the blood away. "Stupid."
"Hey Hoshi, you okay?" came a voice from over the zenith of the roof; Mikan, his partner in the day's repairs.
He spend a moment berating himself, the rain, the fucking heat, and the shittiness of existence in general, before he lined up the next shingle. "I'm fine. Whacked my fucking thumb."
"Trying to get back on paid leave? Leave some for the rest of us, ha!" His chuckle went silent, and Hoshi drove the next nail in – carefully – opting not to reply. But it seemed the man wasn't done. "So how was it, anyway? Things going well with that girl of yours? I have to say, I didn't think you'd be the relationship type!"
Hoshi bit his tongue to cut off his instinctive 'fuck off' and forced himself to calm down. Mike isn't too much of an asshole – he's actually making conversation, shit as he is at it. "It was fine. Spent some money at the gym; I've been thinking about trying for certification soon."
Again, Mikan's voice drifted up over the top of the roof. "No shit? You know, I can see it… You've sort of got the look of a trainer. Gonna leave us high and dry?"
His tone was amused, but despite snorting Hoshi replied seriously. "You know it. Gonna do big things – this time next year, you'll be seeing me on the news."
The man laughed. It was easy to picture his face; Mikan was someone who laughed easily, who liked to poke fun, and took retaliatory comments with grace. "Ha! That'll be the day – I'll be watching for it, man." A pause. "But seriously, your thumb good? I don't feel like getting this shit done on my own; it's like taking a hot shower out here."
"I hear you – it's fine, just broke a nail."
"Hey, you think some idiot tried messing with the Moltres, and that's why the typhoon's this bad? That's what my daughter says, but it feels like too neat of an explanation…"
He continued to ramble on, while Hoshi replied with the occasional grunt. And though he tried to keep his head down on ground – or at least roof – level, he couldn't help but let his thought drift off towards the weekend.
On Saturday, Hoshi woke early and well. He all but leapt out of bed, causing his girlfriend to emit a rodent-like squeak, and was dressed – in his rain gear, no need to tempt Kenny into repeating a bad habit – before she even managed to get out from the tangle of thin sheets.
"Whoa, what's gotten into you today?" she asked. "We're not due to meet the instructors until noon."
"I want to be there early. Guts and Crow need experience, which means battles – and I bet there'll be a few bored grunts loitering around, ready to train." I'd challenge some randos out on Route 11, but I actually know a few people there; I don't want it to get back to Surge that I have Pokémon just yet.
Casca finally rolled out of bed, just in time to receive a plate of toast. "Hm," she groaned. "Maybe. But make sure to leave something in the tank; Ryan might get in your shit about the day-one promotion."
Today felt special, even more of a 'first day' than his actual first day had been. Might as well do a whole spread. Bacon, cheese omelette, the works. He had even bought a bottle of cheap wine. "Oh, I hope he tries something. That little dragon is a powerhouse, but it hasn't got anything even close to a ranged attack; Crow'll solo it." The thought made him smile. It'll be completely embarrassing for him – if I had a dragon, and it got taken out by a zubat, I'd fucking die.
Casca raised a brow, watching his back as he cooked. "I'll take your word for it."
They ate, he helped Casca pick out an outfit – a clingy, and surprisingly sturdy, blue dress that should handle the weather well enough – and then they were off. The day was, in a continuing trend, both sweltering and wet; the dark cloud cover meant it didn't quite hit thirty above, but with the humidity it felt like it did. The streets were slightly more lively – people are getting used to it… or just running out of groceries – but not nearly enough to delay them on their way to the Electric Academy.
As Casca had predicted, Hoshi had a bit of trouble with a sceptical groundsman manning the front gate – but the man with his scruffy uniform and contrastingly well-groomed hair let them through after scanning his fake ID, and they were through the doors well before the scheduled meeting.
Man, I completely forgot how over-the-top this place is.
While large sections of his first visit stood out bright and clear in his memories, other sections, like roaming the halls, were mostly a blur; at any other time, the extreme extravagance of the school would have been the highlight of the day, but the tournament and meetings had been… a lot.
"Make a right just up here, and… there we go!" Casca pulled on his sleeve. "This should be a break room."
He turned an eye to the door, squinting. The room labeled 'Woodworking 401' is a break room? After a moment he shrugged, and reached for the handle. I don't get this place. Half of it seems married to the school masquerade, while the rest is barely trying. He still didn't even know if there were actual students; the way Puce's parents had talked seemed to indicate that there were, and that Puce herself had come for the lessons and gotten caught up in the Rocket stuff after, but the pieces weren't fitting together in Hoshi's head.
Whatever. I'll just ask about it – either her or the instructors.
Woodworking 401 looked, at first glance, to be an actual woodworking shop-slash-classroom. There were tables arranged in front of a personal desk to the left of the door, while to the right stood a number of machines – lathes, drills, saws, and a few that Hoshi couldn't recognise by sight alone.
But there were no half-finished projects, no raw materials, and most crucially, no mess. The floor was spotless, not even a speck of sawdust marring the waxed hardwood.
…Also, and he probably should have noted this first, there was a group of four people in uniform, wearing the poofy hats that Hoshi couldn't help but still find ridiculous, even after staring at his bedecked reflection for an unreasonable amount of time. Black felt shifted as the four – two men and two women – turned, revealing the red Rs standing out on their chests.
Uh… "Hey," Hoshi started. "Anybody want to hit the battle court? I'm new, and my Pokémon are raw."
The quartet of grunts made various expressions, but the general air of the room could be described in one word: hostile.
"Fuck off." said the man on the right. "We're on break."
"Dumb kids," muttered the woman next to him.
"Don't they know we've got better things to do with our time?" continued another.
Hoshi's teeth and fists clenched. Oh? You think you're better than me? Well- A gentle hand on the small of his back, fingers on either side of his spine like they were holding a kitten. Well, fuck you right back. He turned, and let the door ease shut.
"Fucking- where do they get off?" he hissed, taking long steps towards nowhere in particular.
Casca shook her head. "Sorry – most people around here this early are gonna be either higher ups… or people doing the graveyard shift 'cause they're being punished. You wanna find another place?"
Breathe in, breathe out. "Yeah." You fucking bet I do. After that, I'm ready to smash someone's face in – but I'll settle for wrecking their Pokémon.
Hoshi found his morning training not with his fellow grunts, as he would have expected, but rather with a group of scientists. They encountered the day's second quartet in a cafeteria, and in contrast to the first, they eagerly agreed to a series of one-on-one, no-stakes battles.
The school's battle court – and contrary to the extravagance of the rest of the building, there was only the one – was much more mundane than he had been expecting; a basic field of compressed dirt with a small pool to the side, a couple of stripped-down healing machines against one wall, and a line of benches.
Guts took a loss to a magnemite, barely beat a drowzee that blatantly ignored its trainer's instructions, then ceded the field to Crow, who took a second loss to a grimer.
Paradoxically, the poor showing actually served to calm the fuming Hoshi down. Ha. Stupid shit, thinking I'd do any face smashing… this isn't a Little Cup, Guts and Crow are gonna be the weakest guys on the field.
"Guts, jump over! Quick Attack!"
The fourth and final scientist, a weedy-looking man with uneven grey-purple hair, had sent out a bellsprout that seemed to know only one move – but even so, Hoshi wasn't certain that Guts would win. She's faster, but the only advantage we have.
The rattata leapt over the slashing vine, dodged a second, then darted in to land a quick nip with her teeth. The pitcher-plant Pokémon brought its head in, taking the hit on its durable lips rather than its vulnerable stalk, but it still bled.
"Circle around! Gimme another Quick Attack!"
"Blossom, evade! Dodge roll!"
This plant is pretty well trained. In a move that seemed incongruous with its normally slow-moving gait, the bellsprout tucked and rolled – almost like a tumbleweed. Guts tried to slip in, but when her opponent uncoiled it did so by unleashing yet another Vine Whip.
She failed to dodge that one, and Hoshi cried out. "Back up!" Right to the face. She's starting to slow down – I think four battles in a row is pushing it.
His rat retreated out of the bellsprout's range, and the two Pokémon stared each other down as their trainers thought. What can I do? Tail Whip isn't useful unless we get close, which is the problem. The moment he had the cash, he was getting Guts some sort of ranged attack disk; the number of strategies he could pull off with just Quick Attack was abysmal.
Across the field he could see the researcher thinking the same thing, frustration in his eyes. They narrowed, and Hoshi felt the man decide to gamble.
"Growth!" he yelled, and Hoshi's teeth clenched – half in frustration, and half in hope. More than one move, after all…
If it bulks up, we'll lose – but while it's mid-Growth, it won't dodge! "Guts, forward! Full offense, tackle tackle tackle!"
The lavender rat raced across the field, head down and sprinting, and smashed into the ambulatory plant with his entire body. The bellsprout wobbled, head bobbing, and reflexively hit back with yet more lashing vines – but Guts powered through, toppling the top-heavy 'mon with another hit before going in with her teeth and claws.
Suddenly the plant bulged, its thin roots and stem instantly doubling in size, but it was too late; Guts lay into the thing, and the Rocket Scientist recalled his Pokémon with a disappointed sound. "Blah! Darn it, I thought Blossom had that one in the bag…"
Hoshi spent a minute on some post-battle niceties, used the healing machine one last time, and then he and Casca left – to the audible disappointment of the four labcoat-wearing men.
He raised a brow at his girlfriend as they exited into the hallway. "You're lucky I'm not the jealous type, you know." All throughout the pitched and not-so-pitched battles, she had been relentlessly flirting with whoever was on the bench.
"Oh, you are the jealous type, honey." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, strutting. "You also like to be teased. Besides, aren't those nerdy types adorable?" Her strawberry lips curved up as she looked back. "Some of those lines – it's like they've never even seen a woman before."
Hoshi held his composure for a moment before a half-suppressed snicker forced its way through his lips. "Yeah, okay, from that angle I could see how it's funny." He followed, and the two walked a moment before he continued. "So, nerdy types, huh? Should I be worried about you and Dabi?"
Casca's face was worth the fake punch he received to the shoulder. "Ew! You jerk!"
"What?" he replied, fawx-innocent. "Oh, I get it. Hypno is more your speed, right?" A quick step took him out of range, and her retaliation missed. "I bet if you asked, you could score a threesome with him and Kimmy- ow, okay, okay! I give!"
She relented, pouting, but he could see the laughter in her eyes.
"Ugh, don't even joke about that. I feel like I need to wash my brain with soap." She stuck out her tongue, and Hoshi chuckled at the expression. He took her hand and they walked aimlessly, killing time before the scheduled meeting with Jessie and James.
Got a few hours to go. Would any of the other rookies be here already? "You want to hit up that cafeteria again?" he asked.
"No way. I ate, like, three breakfasts this morning, not including the wine. I've gotta watch my figure… Or did you just want to find more guys to fight?"
Hoshi grunted. "Naw. Guts needs rest, and I want Crow to be fresh if I need her later."
They say you learn more from losing, but I'm not sure – not at this level, at least. But still, it feels good to just do it. He was almost hoping Ryan would challenge him-
Movement ahead. Ah, speak of Dexus, and he shall appear. Turning the corner was a bright head of platinum blond curls, shining above a suit of pale baby blue – the man was, like Hoshi, not yet in uniform.
Ryan's eyes flashed as they registered his target, and his gait widened. "Mutsu!" he called across the length of the hall. "I'd like a word!"
3.04 - Honour Among Thieves
- Location
- Edmonton, Alberta
"Mutsu!" Ryan cried, marching stiffly forwards in his business suit – he was wearing a whole ensemble, complete with starched shirt and vibrant tie. Maybe Moony will start calling him Suit, hah. "I'd like a word!"
Right on cue. I'm going to enjoy this. Inside, Hoshi grinned – but outwardly, he put on a frown. "Ryan. What do you want?"
The blond's expression was set – not exactly a grimace, but he definitely wasn't happy. "I've gotten some startling news from my peers in Viridian. Tell me…" His dandelion eyes flashed, easily ten times as vibrant as his platinum curls. "You haven't been promoted, have you? Surely not."
As he soaked in his underling's haughty tones, Hoshi did not reach for his Pokéballs, though he was incredibly aware of them. Casca's hand gripped his own, firm and soft. Bastard. 'Surely not before me,' that's what you mean.
"I have. I'm a Senior Grunt. I was since the first day." He finally let his smile show. "Which means I'm your boss. You got a problem with that, Sapo?"
The man's teeth grit further. "Why?" he asked. "What have you done to deserve such a swift rise?"
Well shit, he's actually pissed. Hoshi had been expecting the man to come at him out of injured pride, but there was actual offense in his words. "Eh," he grunted. Might as well tell the truth; the instructors won't keep it to themselves if he goes crying to them. His smile gained a hint of cynicism. "Political shit. I've got a connection with Surge, and I'm guessing that Jessie and James don't want someone they can't control in the driver's seat, either. Looks like those vaunted family connections ended up biting you in the ass." His chin raised. "Bad luck."
Ryan stood for a moment, fuming – literally, fury almost visibly wafting from his pores. "Hoshi Mutsu," he said, cold tones contrasting the fire in his eyes. "Though I acknowledge you have little to no hand in this, I cannot allow it to stand. My honour is at stake – I will not be surpassed by a mere pawn."
Hoshi's grin disappeared. Pawn, huh? And what do you think you are, the damn king? His hand left Casca's warmth to point a thumb over his shoulder. "Battle court's that way. You wanna settle this right now?"
Ryan continued to stand. He was shorter, and what hints Hoshi could see of his physique pointed towards an average, if not leisurely amount of muscle. His hands were smooth and unmarked, both the front and back, knuckles and palms without blemish; this man had never thrown a punch in his life.
But nonetheless, he still felt dangerous.
Is he planning to release his bagon right here, right now? Hoshi's other hand longed to drop his suitcase and drift towards his belt, where Guts and Crow were hanging, their balls expanded so that they could rest properly. In active mode, they should be able to hear what's happening and break out if they sense a fight. His own expression tightened as the silence stretched on. Will they? I've been working with them after work, but is a week's worth of half-assed training enough for them to defend me unordered?
"No," Ryan finally said. "It would prove nothing. I need to be seen to beat you." He turned, speaking over his shoulder, the blooming red colouring his skin transmuting back to superior haughtiness. "We'll do this after the lesson. Meet me in front of the school, Mutsu, if you're a man."
He walked away, and Hoshi allowed him to go, his mouth a thin line. "Prick," he shot into the silence after the last hint of blue fabric had disappeared around the corner.
"Big time," Casca agreed. "'If you're a man'? Dude thinks he's a samurai or something."
Hah. "Well, he is from Viridian." Slowly, Hoshi's expression smoothed back to neutral. "Let's see how he deals with a ninja."
They ended up deciding to go to the cafeteria after all, if only for a drink – though Hoshi added a slight detour; he felt increasingly awkward walking around in his raincoat, so the two of them stopped by the changing rooms so he could don his uniform.
Unlike the first time he had stepped in, the room was occupied. A couple of older guys were grousing at each other, apparently not giving a single shit they were completely naked, while further in Hoshi could hear the showers being used.
I guess some people decided to go for an early morning swim – actually, that doesn't sound half bad. He wasn't much of a swimmer – Vermilion Bay tended to be ice cold, too much to consider even in the summer heat, even assuming you were willing to brave the typhoon-level waves – but lounging by the poolside sure beat the crap out of anything he could do at home. Yeah, that sounds nice. Does Casca own a bikini?
He pulled off his waterproof gear, leaving himself in boxers and a thin wifebeater, before pulling out his Rocket clothes. Time hadn't decreased the gaudiness of the big red R, but it was almost starting to grow on him. I can kind of get it – dressed like this, who's going to remember my face? It wasn't all that different from Fuchsia's traditional ninja dress; eye-catching, so that if you were seen, people would see the uniform, rather than you.
Not that I actually know what I'm talking about… A few of Dad's old stories isn't nearly enough to consider myself a member of the clan.
Not wanting to be in the presence of the naked old men any longer than necessary, he dressed himself swiftly. A momentary glance to check his appearance in the mirror, then he was out.
To find that Casca was nowhere to be seen.
Huh? He drowned the reflexive impulse to call for her; they weren't stuck in the woods, the hallway was plainly empty. I wasn't in there long at all, so she can't have gone far- shit, what if Ryan followed us? If his backing off had been a bluff-
"Yo, check it out," came a voice from his side, and Hoshi felt instant relief. He turned, to see Casca emerging from the woman's changing room – and indeed, she had changed.
"You have one of those too?"
For some reason he had never considered it – which was silly, in hindsight; she was a Rocket Grunt, so why wouldn't she have a uniform?
"Yup," she replied. I have to admit, she pulls it off better than Puce or Nerine. Actually, her uniform was slightly different; rather than simple black, it was closer to green, and the thigh high boots clung to her legs more tightly. "I usually just leave the thing here – ninety-nine percent of the time I'm undercover, so there's no point having it with me." She spun in a circle, arms outstretched. "So?"
"You fill it out way better than anyone else I've seen," he said with a grin, offering his arm. I wonder what she'd look like in Jessie's little spandex number… "Shall we?"
She took the offer with a grin of her own. "Oh wow. Who's the samurai now, huh?"
They started down the hall – and to Hoshi's satisfaction, a passing janitor-or-whatever saw the stripes on his uniform and actually made way. That's… more gratifying than I'd want to admit out loud. He walked with his girl on his arm, and for the first time it didn't feel like he was just a kid playing dress-up.
"Hah. Turns out it's better to play both."
They were, somehow, the first people to show up – a fact that made Hoshi wary. I thought Ryan would be here before us, brown-nosing. That begs the question… if he isn't snuggling up with the instructors, who is he meeting with? The thought that he was simply off fuming somewhere wasn't worth thinking about; out of all the other grunts, Ryan seemed the only one with an actual work ethic.
Save for Nerine… maybe. She's a great trainer, but the drugs don't inspire confidence.
"You sure we have the right room?" he asked, receiving a nod.
"Yup. Just sit down; the instructors will show up when it's," she gestured flamboyantly, "dramatically appropriate."
He nodded back, and they took two seats in the front.
Arcus, this really is just a classroom. A fancy classroom, but if you swapped the hardwood out for linoleum and downsized the desks, it would slot right into his memories of elementary school. "So we just wait, then?" Maybe it would have been better to squeeze in a little more training, after all; we're a half-hour before the scheduled time.
"I guess? You know…" Her lips quirked. "You look damn good in that uniform. We could always-"
Hoshi's rising anticipation at where the conversation was headed took an immediate nosedive as the door slammed open, cracking against the wall hard enough it was miraculous it didn't leave a dent.
A strong-jawed face poked in. "Oops. I really need to stop doing that…"
After having met her parents, Hoshi couldn't not see her father in Puce's body – and not just in physique, but in facial structure; she had the same squared-off, cinder block look, only slightly softened by her mother's rounder features. Or maybe it's all her dad, and she's just what he would look like as a woman. And twenty years younger. The only thing she definitely took from her mother was her green hair, which he had seen during the visit to her house, currently hidden beneath her cap.
She shuffled into the room awkwardly and closed the door with careful motions, before turning to face them. "Oh, hey Hoshi. And… uh…"
"Casca, honey," Casca reminded.
"Casca, thank you." She dropped into a nearby seat, visibly relieved. "I'm glad you're here. I wasn't expecting to find the right room this early – usually, I'm really late…"
Hoshi shared a glance with his girlfriend. He leaned in and whispered, "How many classrooms like this are there?"
"Probably a lot?" she replied. "But I've only ever used, like, two since I got here; this one for normal lessons, and another for the recruiter track. Not counting the gym or labs or stuff."
He straightened up. Well, that's… unfortunate. The Electric Academy was built more like a hedge maze than a school, yeah, but to not be able to find the same room over and over again? He turned back to Puce.
"You know, they give out maps. I got one from-" what the fuck was his name? "From Nak, in the room we all met originally."
She made a sad sound deep in her chest. "I know. I've got like twenty of them at home – I just keep forgetting to bring one back, and…" Another guttural sound as she rubbed at her face. Arcus fuck. Note to self: never let her hold anything mission-critical, unless I want it left in her sock drawer or some shit.
"Hey girl," Casca chimed in. "You could always keep a spare one here in a locker. That's what I do."
Puce peeked out from between her fingers. "Do people not steal things? The other girls were always taking my gym uniform and… uh, that's not important."
Casca shook her head. "I've never had trouble with it." She flashed a half-smile. "Honour among thieves, I guess."
The gleam in the huge woman's eyes was so hopeful, Hoshi had to turn away. Is she a fucking kid? I swear, everyone in this building – except me and Casca – is nuts. He spent a moment staring at the empty whiteboard before recollection struck.
"Oh hey, it's actually good you got here early," he said. "I wanted to talk to you the other day, but your parents stuck to us like glue."
"Yeah," she sighed. "Mom and Dad are really clingy. What did you want to talk about?"
"One sec…" Hoshi hoisted his briefcase up onto his desk and unlatched it. "Here we are. Look at these – Casca got us the floorplans, schedules, lists of employees, everything we need."
He passed over the loose stack of eclectically-sized papers, watching as Puce went through them. "…Wow, there's a lot here. So are we…" She looked uncomfortable. "All set to go, then?"
He waved her off. "Not even close. I want us trained up – I mean this in the least degrading way possible, but you and M- and Kenny sucked ass with your Pokémon. Plus, I want an actual strategy; we need to plan for if we get caught, if only the infiltrator gets caught, if plugging the thing in sets off some sort of alarm… Basically, we need to work out a whole bunch of shit."
Puce's discomfort was growing by the second, so he softened his voice. "But don't worry about it too much – we'll meet up after, uh, school, and discuss things as a group. I need to get Ryan in line, first."
That only seemed to make her more confused. "Mr. Sampo? Is there… I mean, do you and him have some sort of problem?"
He raised a brow, tracing a line down from his shoulder to stomach, following one of the yellow marks that his uniform had, and hers didn't.
Silence. After an increasingly drawn-out moment, Casca helped her by just stating the answer outright. "Hoshi is a Senior Grunt, honey. He's in charge. Ryan… Well, he has a chip on his shoulder." She smiled. "But it'll all sort itself out once my man stomps him."
"Stomping, you say?" sounded out a voice from the front of the room, and Hoshi jolted. Arcus's fucking balls-
Standing in front of the whiteboard was James, his half-cape-thing immaculately white. There isn't- there isn't anywhere to hide! The desk is too small, and… His eyes went up to the ceiling, but no conspicuously discoloured patch or seam stood out from the solid-looking construction. Maybe a trapdoor behind the desk? Or-
"Why didn't you say so sooner?" continued a deeper, more feminine voice from right behind him. Despite half expecting it, Hoshi jolted a second time before turning to get an eyeful of Jessie's latex-covered bust as she leaned towards him, her hands resting on the back of his chair. The door didn't- I'd have noticed it opening! How?! Are they ninjas? "We love a good crushing, especially when it's an unruly underling!"
"A close second to annoying schoolkids, just edging out our lovely blue-clad ladies in law enforcement!" James picked back up.
A polite cough from Casca signaled him to raise his eyes to his boss's face. "Uh..!" Don't get scared by the fucking cat, Hoshi. At least salvage a scrap of dignity. "That's- uh, feel free to watch?" Great comeback. Thank's, brain.
"A generous offer!" Jessie pushed off from his chair, spinning around in a pirouette to join hands with James, who continued the motion. The dance move continued towards the desk, where they slid themselves up in a move that had to be practised, ending up sitting half-across each side like they were posing for a photo shoot.
"But we have other work to do, so we'll have to get a rain check!" continued James, not missing a beat.
Then a feline head poked up from behind the desk, perfectly framed by their casually resting limbs. "Meow."
…Ah, I see that the persian has more than one hat. Of course it does. Today it was wearing a pitch black bowler, and as it and the instructors rearranged themselves, Hoshi saw it was wearing a different suit as well – a loose yellow zoot, which seemed incongruous to his eyes. Doesn't the zoot usually go with a fedora? Maybe I'm just caught up in movie stereotypes again…
With Meowth the persian lounging on the desk, James seated behind it, and Jessie in front of the whiteboard, the Senior Executives continued.
"Since we've been informed that Mr. Kaneth is going to be running late…" began Jessie.
"We've decided to start the class early, seeing as you're all here!"
"Meow."
The room was silent for a moment, before Puce tentatively raised her hand. "I think that maybe… Mr. Sampo and Miss Rose aren't here yet..?"
James gestured her way. "An astute observation! However…"
"If you look behind you, you'll see we've actually timed it perfectly!" Jessie made the same motion, the lines of their arms happening to intersect perfectly at the back of the room, right where the door was.
Hoshi and his fellow grunts looked back at the door as another silence dragged on. Eventually Puce raised her hand again. "Are-"
The door opened, and it may as well have smashed as loudly as Puce's entrance had for how much of an impact it had on the 'class.' Ryan walked in, a beat passing before he noticed the strange air – and the fact that everyone was staring at him.
"What? Do I have something on my face?" His suit had been replaced by the standard uniform, and Hoshi teasingly drew a finger down the yellow line a second time – and unlike Puce, Ryan instantly understood the implication, his face colouring as Nerine came in behind him, raising her head for a second to take in the strange looks.
Then she shrugged it off, stepping past the older man to find a seat.
"Oh my!" came James's voice, and Hoshi turned forward to see him scrutinising a stopwatch. "Only four seconds off! Is that a new record?"
"Meow."
"Fiddlesticks."
While the classroom might have reminded him of an elementary school, the actual lesson was far from basic.
Oh, it sounded basic – when Jessie wrote TYPE INTERACTIONS - ATTACKING AND DEFENDING along the top of the whiteboard, Hoshi sighed internally. What kind of aspiring trainer didn't have the various types memorised before their age required a second digit? I mean, I'd struggle to write it out, but give me a combo and I'll tell you what's good or bad against it in a second.
But as the next hour unfolded, he realised that the duo wasn't giving some kiddy lesson about flying being immune to ground – no, this was serious shit.
Jessie drew an arrow across the elements of her diagram with a flourish. "As you can see, missing a Fissure is far from the end of the move's use!"
"A well-placed Earthquake or Magnitude-"
"Or heck, another Fissure!"
"-Can cause it to widen, potentially trapping an enemy that evaded the first wave!"
"Or you can use a water move to create a moat…"
"And you wouldn't believe how many Pokémon will go the long way around water, no matter how shallow!"
"Meow."
Hoshi's pen moved furiously. Arcus's holy halo, this is good. This was the sort of lesson he'd have to pay for, if he wanted it from anywhere else. And that was just the interactions a single ground type move had – they had already gone over any number of strategies he'd never seen before.
I already knew you could bypass electric immunity by getting them wet, but I had no idea it also made them more vulnerable to poison. That had never come up in any of the matches in Surge's Gym. Is this common knowledge among trainers? I've hardly heard any of this stuff before…
And it was obvious they weren't just parroting data gathered by other Rockets – they sprinkled in enough anecdotes and little stories that they had to have personal experience with most of it. How long have they been Rockets? Scratch that, how long have they been trainers? They don't even look forty…
Is that another trick, or did they somehow pack ten pounds of Pokémon adventure into a five pound bag, so to speak?
And it turned out that Hoshi's question would be answered – all he had to do was ask. During a lull in the dialogue, his curiosity became overwhelming, and he raised his hand.
Jessie immediately pointed. "You there, in the front!"
He cleared his throat. "Sorry for interrupting, but… You have so many stories, it's," hard to believe, "Amazing. Where did you learn all this?"
The two shared a look. "Well," James started. "We have been speaking for a while…"
"Yes, you've been such good little students!"
"So I suppose we can take some time out of battle tactics and switch to history!"
Right on cue. I'm going to enjoy this. Inside, Hoshi grinned – but outwardly, he put on a frown. "Ryan. What do you want?"
The blond's expression was set – not exactly a grimace, but he definitely wasn't happy. "I've gotten some startling news from my peers in Viridian. Tell me…" His dandelion eyes flashed, easily ten times as vibrant as his platinum curls. "You haven't been promoted, have you? Surely not."
As he soaked in his underling's haughty tones, Hoshi did not reach for his Pokéballs, though he was incredibly aware of them. Casca's hand gripped his own, firm and soft. Bastard. 'Surely not before me,' that's what you mean.
"I have. I'm a Senior Grunt. I was since the first day." He finally let his smile show. "Which means I'm your boss. You got a problem with that, Sapo?"
The man's teeth grit further. "Why?" he asked. "What have you done to deserve such a swift rise?"
Well shit, he's actually pissed. Hoshi had been expecting the man to come at him out of injured pride, but there was actual offense in his words. "Eh," he grunted. Might as well tell the truth; the instructors won't keep it to themselves if he goes crying to them. His smile gained a hint of cynicism. "Political shit. I've got a connection with Surge, and I'm guessing that Jessie and James don't want someone they can't control in the driver's seat, either. Looks like those vaunted family connections ended up biting you in the ass." His chin raised. "Bad luck."
Ryan stood for a moment, fuming – literally, fury almost visibly wafting from his pores. "Hoshi Mutsu," he said, cold tones contrasting the fire in his eyes. "Though I acknowledge you have little to no hand in this, I cannot allow it to stand. My honour is at stake – I will not be surpassed by a mere pawn."
Hoshi's grin disappeared. Pawn, huh? And what do you think you are, the damn king? His hand left Casca's warmth to point a thumb over his shoulder. "Battle court's that way. You wanna settle this right now?"
Ryan continued to stand. He was shorter, and what hints Hoshi could see of his physique pointed towards an average, if not leisurely amount of muscle. His hands were smooth and unmarked, both the front and back, knuckles and palms without blemish; this man had never thrown a punch in his life.
But nonetheless, he still felt dangerous.
Is he planning to release his bagon right here, right now? Hoshi's other hand longed to drop his suitcase and drift towards his belt, where Guts and Crow were hanging, their balls expanded so that they could rest properly. In active mode, they should be able to hear what's happening and break out if they sense a fight. His own expression tightened as the silence stretched on. Will they? I've been working with them after work, but is a week's worth of half-assed training enough for them to defend me unordered?
"No," Ryan finally said. "It would prove nothing. I need to be seen to beat you." He turned, speaking over his shoulder, the blooming red colouring his skin transmuting back to superior haughtiness. "We'll do this after the lesson. Meet me in front of the school, Mutsu, if you're a man."
He walked away, and Hoshi allowed him to go, his mouth a thin line. "Prick," he shot into the silence after the last hint of blue fabric had disappeared around the corner.
"Big time," Casca agreed. "'If you're a man'? Dude thinks he's a samurai or something."
Hah. "Well, he is from Viridian." Slowly, Hoshi's expression smoothed back to neutral. "Let's see how he deals with a ninja."
They ended up deciding to go to the cafeteria after all, if only for a drink – though Hoshi added a slight detour; he felt increasingly awkward walking around in his raincoat, so the two of them stopped by the changing rooms so he could don his uniform.
Unlike the first time he had stepped in, the room was occupied. A couple of older guys were grousing at each other, apparently not giving a single shit they were completely naked, while further in Hoshi could hear the showers being used.
I guess some people decided to go for an early morning swim – actually, that doesn't sound half bad. He wasn't much of a swimmer – Vermilion Bay tended to be ice cold, too much to consider even in the summer heat, even assuming you were willing to brave the typhoon-level waves – but lounging by the poolside sure beat the crap out of anything he could do at home. Yeah, that sounds nice. Does Casca own a bikini?
He pulled off his waterproof gear, leaving himself in boxers and a thin wifebeater, before pulling out his Rocket clothes. Time hadn't decreased the gaudiness of the big red R, but it was almost starting to grow on him. I can kind of get it – dressed like this, who's going to remember my face? It wasn't all that different from Fuchsia's traditional ninja dress; eye-catching, so that if you were seen, people would see the uniform, rather than you.
Not that I actually know what I'm talking about… A few of Dad's old stories isn't nearly enough to consider myself a member of the clan.
Not wanting to be in the presence of the naked old men any longer than necessary, he dressed himself swiftly. A momentary glance to check his appearance in the mirror, then he was out.
To find that Casca was nowhere to be seen.
Huh? He drowned the reflexive impulse to call for her; they weren't stuck in the woods, the hallway was plainly empty. I wasn't in there long at all, so she can't have gone far- shit, what if Ryan followed us? If his backing off had been a bluff-
"Yo, check it out," came a voice from his side, and Hoshi felt instant relief. He turned, to see Casca emerging from the woman's changing room – and indeed, she had changed.
"You have one of those too?"
For some reason he had never considered it – which was silly, in hindsight; she was a Rocket Grunt, so why wouldn't she have a uniform?
"Yup," she replied. I have to admit, she pulls it off better than Puce or Nerine. Actually, her uniform was slightly different; rather than simple black, it was closer to green, and the thigh high boots clung to her legs more tightly. "I usually just leave the thing here – ninety-nine percent of the time I'm undercover, so there's no point having it with me." She spun in a circle, arms outstretched. "So?"
"You fill it out way better than anyone else I've seen," he said with a grin, offering his arm. I wonder what she'd look like in Jessie's little spandex number… "Shall we?"
She took the offer with a grin of her own. "Oh wow. Who's the samurai now, huh?"
They started down the hall – and to Hoshi's satisfaction, a passing janitor-or-whatever saw the stripes on his uniform and actually made way. That's… more gratifying than I'd want to admit out loud. He walked with his girl on his arm, and for the first time it didn't feel like he was just a kid playing dress-up.
"Hah. Turns out it's better to play both."
They were, somehow, the first people to show up – a fact that made Hoshi wary. I thought Ryan would be here before us, brown-nosing. That begs the question… if he isn't snuggling up with the instructors, who is he meeting with? The thought that he was simply off fuming somewhere wasn't worth thinking about; out of all the other grunts, Ryan seemed the only one with an actual work ethic.
Save for Nerine… maybe. She's a great trainer, but the drugs don't inspire confidence.
"You sure we have the right room?" he asked, receiving a nod.
"Yup. Just sit down; the instructors will show up when it's," she gestured flamboyantly, "dramatically appropriate."
He nodded back, and they took two seats in the front.
Arcus, this really is just a classroom. A fancy classroom, but if you swapped the hardwood out for linoleum and downsized the desks, it would slot right into his memories of elementary school. "So we just wait, then?" Maybe it would have been better to squeeze in a little more training, after all; we're a half-hour before the scheduled time.
"I guess? You know…" Her lips quirked. "You look damn good in that uniform. We could always-"
Hoshi's rising anticipation at where the conversation was headed took an immediate nosedive as the door slammed open, cracking against the wall hard enough it was miraculous it didn't leave a dent.
A strong-jawed face poked in. "Oops. I really need to stop doing that…"
After having met her parents, Hoshi couldn't not see her father in Puce's body – and not just in physique, but in facial structure; she had the same squared-off, cinder block look, only slightly softened by her mother's rounder features. Or maybe it's all her dad, and she's just what he would look like as a woman. And twenty years younger. The only thing she definitely took from her mother was her green hair, which he had seen during the visit to her house, currently hidden beneath her cap.
She shuffled into the room awkwardly and closed the door with careful motions, before turning to face them. "Oh, hey Hoshi. And… uh…"
"Casca, honey," Casca reminded.
"Casca, thank you." She dropped into a nearby seat, visibly relieved. "I'm glad you're here. I wasn't expecting to find the right room this early – usually, I'm really late…"
Hoshi shared a glance with his girlfriend. He leaned in and whispered, "How many classrooms like this are there?"
"Probably a lot?" she replied. "But I've only ever used, like, two since I got here; this one for normal lessons, and another for the recruiter track. Not counting the gym or labs or stuff."
He straightened up. Well, that's… unfortunate. The Electric Academy was built more like a hedge maze than a school, yeah, but to not be able to find the same room over and over again? He turned back to Puce.
"You know, they give out maps. I got one from-" what the fuck was his name? "From Nak, in the room we all met originally."
She made a sad sound deep in her chest. "I know. I've got like twenty of them at home – I just keep forgetting to bring one back, and…" Another guttural sound as she rubbed at her face. Arcus fuck. Note to self: never let her hold anything mission-critical, unless I want it left in her sock drawer or some shit.
"Hey girl," Casca chimed in. "You could always keep a spare one here in a locker. That's what I do."
Puce peeked out from between her fingers. "Do people not steal things? The other girls were always taking my gym uniform and… uh, that's not important."
Casca shook her head. "I've never had trouble with it." She flashed a half-smile. "Honour among thieves, I guess."
The gleam in the huge woman's eyes was so hopeful, Hoshi had to turn away. Is she a fucking kid? I swear, everyone in this building – except me and Casca – is nuts. He spent a moment staring at the empty whiteboard before recollection struck.
"Oh hey, it's actually good you got here early," he said. "I wanted to talk to you the other day, but your parents stuck to us like glue."
"Yeah," she sighed. "Mom and Dad are really clingy. What did you want to talk about?"
"One sec…" Hoshi hoisted his briefcase up onto his desk and unlatched it. "Here we are. Look at these – Casca got us the floorplans, schedules, lists of employees, everything we need."
He passed over the loose stack of eclectically-sized papers, watching as Puce went through them. "…Wow, there's a lot here. So are we…" She looked uncomfortable. "All set to go, then?"
He waved her off. "Not even close. I want us trained up – I mean this in the least degrading way possible, but you and M- and Kenny sucked ass with your Pokémon. Plus, I want an actual strategy; we need to plan for if we get caught, if only the infiltrator gets caught, if plugging the thing in sets off some sort of alarm… Basically, we need to work out a whole bunch of shit."
Puce's discomfort was growing by the second, so he softened his voice. "But don't worry about it too much – we'll meet up after, uh, school, and discuss things as a group. I need to get Ryan in line, first."
That only seemed to make her more confused. "Mr. Sampo? Is there… I mean, do you and him have some sort of problem?"
He raised a brow, tracing a line down from his shoulder to stomach, following one of the yellow marks that his uniform had, and hers didn't.
Silence. After an increasingly drawn-out moment, Casca helped her by just stating the answer outright. "Hoshi is a Senior Grunt, honey. He's in charge. Ryan… Well, he has a chip on his shoulder." She smiled. "But it'll all sort itself out once my man stomps him."
"Stomping, you say?" sounded out a voice from the front of the room, and Hoshi jolted. Arcus's fucking balls-
Standing in front of the whiteboard was James, his half-cape-thing immaculately white. There isn't- there isn't anywhere to hide! The desk is too small, and… His eyes went up to the ceiling, but no conspicuously discoloured patch or seam stood out from the solid-looking construction. Maybe a trapdoor behind the desk? Or-
"Why didn't you say so sooner?" continued a deeper, more feminine voice from right behind him. Despite half expecting it, Hoshi jolted a second time before turning to get an eyeful of Jessie's latex-covered bust as she leaned towards him, her hands resting on the back of his chair. The door didn't- I'd have noticed it opening! How?! Are they ninjas? "We love a good crushing, especially when it's an unruly underling!"
"A close second to annoying schoolkids, just edging out our lovely blue-clad ladies in law enforcement!" James picked back up.
A polite cough from Casca signaled him to raise his eyes to his boss's face. "Uh..!" Don't get scared by the fucking cat, Hoshi. At least salvage a scrap of dignity. "That's- uh, feel free to watch?" Great comeback. Thank's, brain.
"A generous offer!" Jessie pushed off from his chair, spinning around in a pirouette to join hands with James, who continued the motion. The dance move continued towards the desk, where they slid themselves up in a move that had to be practised, ending up sitting half-across each side like they were posing for a photo shoot.
"But we have other work to do, so we'll have to get a rain check!" continued James, not missing a beat.
Then a feline head poked up from behind the desk, perfectly framed by their casually resting limbs. "Meow."
…Ah, I see that the persian has more than one hat. Of course it does. Today it was wearing a pitch black bowler, and as it and the instructors rearranged themselves, Hoshi saw it was wearing a different suit as well – a loose yellow zoot, which seemed incongruous to his eyes. Doesn't the zoot usually go with a fedora? Maybe I'm just caught up in movie stereotypes again…
With Meowth the persian lounging on the desk, James seated behind it, and Jessie in front of the whiteboard, the Senior Executives continued.
"Since we've been informed that Mr. Kaneth is going to be running late…" began Jessie.
"We've decided to start the class early, seeing as you're all here!"
"Meow."
The room was silent for a moment, before Puce tentatively raised her hand. "I think that maybe… Mr. Sampo and Miss Rose aren't here yet..?"
James gestured her way. "An astute observation! However…"
"If you look behind you, you'll see we've actually timed it perfectly!" Jessie made the same motion, the lines of their arms happening to intersect perfectly at the back of the room, right where the door was.
Hoshi and his fellow grunts looked back at the door as another silence dragged on. Eventually Puce raised her hand again. "Are-"
The door opened, and it may as well have smashed as loudly as Puce's entrance had for how much of an impact it had on the 'class.' Ryan walked in, a beat passing before he noticed the strange air – and the fact that everyone was staring at him.
"What? Do I have something on my face?" His suit had been replaced by the standard uniform, and Hoshi teasingly drew a finger down the yellow line a second time – and unlike Puce, Ryan instantly understood the implication, his face colouring as Nerine came in behind him, raising her head for a second to take in the strange looks.
Then she shrugged it off, stepping past the older man to find a seat.
"Oh my!" came James's voice, and Hoshi turned forward to see him scrutinising a stopwatch. "Only four seconds off! Is that a new record?"
"Meow."
"Fiddlesticks."
While the classroom might have reminded him of an elementary school, the actual lesson was far from basic.
Oh, it sounded basic – when Jessie wrote TYPE INTERACTIONS - ATTACKING AND DEFENDING along the top of the whiteboard, Hoshi sighed internally. What kind of aspiring trainer didn't have the various types memorised before their age required a second digit? I mean, I'd struggle to write it out, but give me a combo and I'll tell you what's good or bad against it in a second.
But as the next hour unfolded, he realised that the duo wasn't giving some kiddy lesson about flying being immune to ground – no, this was serious shit.
Jessie drew an arrow across the elements of her diagram with a flourish. "As you can see, missing a Fissure is far from the end of the move's use!"
"A well-placed Earthquake or Magnitude-"
"Or heck, another Fissure!"
"-Can cause it to widen, potentially trapping an enemy that evaded the first wave!"
"Or you can use a water move to create a moat…"
"And you wouldn't believe how many Pokémon will go the long way around water, no matter how shallow!"
"Meow."
Hoshi's pen moved furiously. Arcus's holy halo, this is good. This was the sort of lesson he'd have to pay for, if he wanted it from anywhere else. And that was just the interactions a single ground type move had – they had already gone over any number of strategies he'd never seen before.
I already knew you could bypass electric immunity by getting them wet, but I had no idea it also made them more vulnerable to poison. That had never come up in any of the matches in Surge's Gym. Is this common knowledge among trainers? I've hardly heard any of this stuff before…
And it was obvious they weren't just parroting data gathered by other Rockets – they sprinkled in enough anecdotes and little stories that they had to have personal experience with most of it. How long have they been Rockets? Scratch that, how long have they been trainers? They don't even look forty…
Is that another trick, or did they somehow pack ten pounds of Pokémon adventure into a five pound bag, so to speak?
And it turned out that Hoshi's question would be answered – all he had to do was ask. During a lull in the dialogue, his curiosity became overwhelming, and he raised his hand.
Jessie immediately pointed. "You there, in the front!"
He cleared his throat. "Sorry for interrupting, but… You have so many stories, it's," hard to believe, "Amazing. Where did you learn all this?"
The two shared a look. "Well," James started. "We have been speaking for a while…"
"Yes, you've been such good little students!"
"So I suppose we can take some time out of battle tactics and switch to history!"
Oh I am dying to hear of the Rocket Trio's history for this story.
Interlude - The Joker of Crime
- Location
- Edmonton, Alberta
"Absolutely not!"
James's voice hit the walls of the emptied-out Viridian Gym, bounced back, and washed over Meowth's ears a second time. Ariana, the Boss's secretary and second-in-command, did not reply. She only stood, as firmly rooted to the ground as an ancient oak – or maybe a stop sign would be a more appropriate comparison, given her stiff posture and the thick red hair framing her head. The woman radiated a mix of emotions, despite her face being blank.
Emotions that neither Jessie nor James seemed to be picking up on. The latter pumped his fist. "The Boss wouldn't give up! Not just from losing to that bothersome twerp!"
"Yeah! We lose to him all the time! It's barely a setback!"
The Chief Executive finally moved, uncrossing her arms as her mouth opened just barely enough to speak. "Do you think I'm making it up? Look around – the Gym is empty. Or better yet, turn on a radio and listen for once in your lives." Her voice seemed calm, but Meowth could hear the tension and anger underneath. "Giovanni made a public announcement. It's all over the news – Team Rocket is disbanded."
Meowth shuddered at the aura she was giving off – the woman was universally vicious, and seeing her do her best impression of a cliff face was creepy. Dat's right; da Boss's secretary weren't just his secretary, weren't she? The Pokémon had often smelled their scents on each other, but until now he hadn't really cared to dig into the implications of that. "Guys," he muttered. "Maybe we oughta back off for a sec. Before dis turns inta-"
But as usual, his good sense was ignored. Jessie ploughed ahead, getting right up in the older woman's face. "Team Rocket can't be done! Everything was fine a week ago when we checked in!"
"Look, we even completed our mission!" James chimed in, brandishing a duffle bag. "A dozen clefairy, fresh from Mount Moon! Oh, it was spectacular – there must have been a hundred of them all dancing together! Then, like a silent noctowl swooping down in the calm night air..!"
He made a dramatic motion, but the redheads completely ignored him. Meowth pressed on his leg, attempting to convey that now ain't da time for lightening da mood!
Sometimes when it seemed that humans were failing to communicate with each other – compared to Pokémon, they needed so many words, had so few instincts – he'd get surprised as a single sentence put a novel's worth of context into place. That was something he still struggled with, even after years of practice and experience speaking Kantonese.
But it was obvious that wasn't happening here; no, his humans tended to just be just plain bad at reading the room. The tension held in Athena Ariana's frame erupted, and she grabbed Jessie by the collar.
"What do you know?!" she stated-slash-screamed – her voice had one tone, calm and composed, and her eyes another, loud and hysteric. "You weren't even here! You Agents are all the same – thinking you're anything other than Grunts in a higher-class uniform!"
Jessie struggled – while trying to hide that she needed to struggle – but though it was two arms against one, she failed to dislodge Ariana's grip. "Let go of me, you-!"
"Hey now!" James said, moving forward. His arms were up, spread wide as he tried to defuse things. "Let's not turn this into a catfight – look, even if the Boss said Team Rocket was disbanded, it must be some plan!"
"That's right!" Jessie continued, still trying vainly to recover the front of her top from the other woman's control. "The Boss is always on top of things!"
"One step ahead!"
"Or two!"
A beat of silence as they waited for him to add his own words, but Meowth didn't follow along. Instead, Ariana's too-calm voice filled the empty space.
"A plan?" Jessie choked as she was nearly lifted off her feet. Yeesh, dat broad's got a real arm on her! "You think Giovanni is abandoning me, abandoning our son, just so he can put some plan into place?"
…Son? He hadn't been expecting to hear that, and a glance at the other two told him they hadn't, either.
Again, James tried to play peacemaker. The bag of Pokéballs dropped into Meowth's paws as the man let them go, freeing his hands to more effectively gesture in placation. "You're obviously under a lot of stress right now, Miss Ariana. Let's just cool off a bit, talk this through. When did the Boss leave? Which way did he go?"
Jessie slipped out of her white Agent top rather than continue to put up with the mild strangulation, leaving her in her black undershirt. "Why are you even here anyway? If Rocket's disbanded, shouldn't you be getting back to your pet store, you- you old hag!" Her hand drifted towards Arbok's ball as her eyes burned, but after a moment's indignation she seemed to finally catch onto the other woman's mood. "…Son?" she mouthed. "But that's…"
Ariana's composure cracked, and she threw the loose shirt to the ground. "You don't believe me? Fine." A kick sent the fabric into the air, and James leaned back to catch it as it fell. "Fine. Do whatever you want – you're right, I shouldn't be here. Arcus forbid I try to catch a few remaining grunts before they walk right into-" She cut herself off, turning. "Leave. I don't want to deal with you – whether you get picked up by the Jennys or make some kind of life for yourselves, you are not my problem anymore."
Another beat of silence. James opened his mouth, but bit his tongue as the Chief Executive – is she still dat? Is we still Agents? – whirled.
"I said leave! Get out!" There was the anger and frustration, finally audible. Her hand passed over her side and in a flash of light an arbok, its hood patterned differently from the one he knew, reared up between them. "Until they get around to stripping it away, this is my Gym. I don't want to see your faces in Viridian again."
Another flash, and now there were two arbok. "You say Team Rocket is disbanded, but you still want to order us around?" James put up his hands again, but Jessie continued. "I've had enough! You're going to answer our questions!"
A moment of hesitation, before James drew his own Pokéball. "R-right! There's no need for this to get ugly, but if it does – well, it's three-to-one odds! Don't think we'll lose!"
They lost. It wasn't even close – and with all the poison flying around from three different specialist teams, the humans hadn't fared much better than their Pokémon.
Woise, as a matter of fact. Arbok and Weezing can handle a face full'a dat stuff way better dan deir bosses – and better 'n poor little normal type me!
Jessie was sitting cross-legged, sulking, while James dabbed her face with a medicine-soaked cloth. Between the swelling, the discolouration, and the dappled light of Viridian Forest's outskirts, the three of them looked like they had fallen into a nest of beedrill.
The woman's skin regained its health within seconds of the cloth passing over; James must have broken out the good stuff. There was a part of Meowth that wanted to point out that supplies probably wouldn't be coming in any time soon – even if this was just some kind of plot on the Boss's part – and that they should probably make due with the cheap herbs that could be scrounged up. But he had taken the edge of an Acid Spray, and really didn't want to jeopardize his own dose of antidote.
"Lousy, stinking…" Jessie muttered. "It can't be true…"
"Don't worry, Jessie." James's voice was filled with concern. He was one of those humans whose words always matched their mood, which had been a big help when Meowth had been learning to talk, but sometimes it turned into an issue when they did undercover work. "Even if the Boss really is gone… we're still here!" His cloth found a tender spot and she flinched, but a firm grip on her chin kept the redhead still.
James was rarely forceful, but when he did put his foot down he could be surprisingly strong. Jessie could only hiss as the medicine soaked through puffy, distended skin.
"Even if it's just the three of us," he continued, "We're still Rockets! We'll find him in no time, and get this all sorted out!"
"Da kid," Meowth slid in, and the two humans turned at the sound of his voice. "Ariana said dat Giovanni had a kid – I ain't never heard 'a dat before."
"She said 'our,'" Jessie corrected. "Implying she's his mother." Her expression was strange, something unfamiliar to his eyes, but he could smell the mixture of her emotions more clearly through his nose; sour notes of frustration, sympathy, and annoyance under the medicinal fumes.
"Do you think it's true?" James asked. "I've never gotten the feeling they were anything more than Boss and Chief Executive…"
"Well, da Boss would be cagey about dat sort 'a ting…" Giovanni had such a strong handle on his emotions, even a Pokémon couldn't tell what he was thinking – or at least he had never managed it; maybe the Rocket Boss's team saw a secret tender side.
James made a considering sound as he pulled away from his partner. "I guess there isn't any reason for her to lie – and she seemed rather distraught near the end." He beckoned, and Meowth walked over for his own turn with the antidote-soaked rag. "I think… we should probably believe it." Yeowch, dat really stings! Human medicine always seemed to be painful – but it was effective enough. "Though I'm curious why you'd bring it up. Meowth?"
His teeth bared in an instinctive snarl, but just like with Jessie the blue-haired man kept him restrained, apparently without any effort. "If dare's anybody da Boss would tell before he left…"
"It would be his son!" Jessie finished. "But that harpy refused to answer our perfectly reasonable questions…"
"Which means,' James took up, "We'll have to find him and get the info right from the horse's mouth! Great thinking, Meowth!"
The unyieldingly gentle fingers pulled away, and he grappled with the urge to claw for a moment – but it passed just as quickly as it came. "Of course. Problem is, how da we find da kid? We don't even got a name."
The two humans paused, wearing identical expressions of deep thought, before replying simultaneously. "We'll follow Ariana!"
"She'll have to go home eventually!" James continued.
"She'll lead us right to him!"
Meowth nodded. "Dat's right! So let's get on it, instead 'a mopin' around in da woods!"
They cheered, back in sync, before James toppled slowly backwards with a breathy moan.
"James! Darn it – give me that cloth!"
Six months. That was how long it took to track down Silver Capo, son of Giovanni Capo.
Ironically, it had been the former Executive who found them; her son was missing, leaving only a note expressing his intent to find his father, and with the disbanding… they were the only people she had available.
Can't believe a kid made it all da way over da mountains by his lonesome. The Silver Range was brutal – it had taken them months to make it across, and the trio had him, a professional cat burglar and natural predator, leading the pack!
Maybe it's da name. Giovanni had named his son after the mountains – maybe it was just fate that he'd been able to cross without the help of a single Pokémon. Kid's tough, I'll give him dat.
Across Route 28, snaking through the winding valleys between the mountains, then down into a long cave system coated top-to-bottom in frost – Silver had led them on a not-so-merry chase, taxing his and Arbok's tracking abilities to the limit. And all dat wit'out even knowing he was bein' followed. But now, here they were. End 'a da road, Capo. Meowth pressed his face to the glass, peering past the displays of food to the shadowy booths deeper in.
There he was, sitting in Mahogany Town's sole restaurant, sipping a hot drink; scarlet hair with sun-lightened orange streaks hanging long and shaggy down his shoulders. The tattered clothes one would expect from half a year in the wilderness. But more than anything else…
It was the face. Even if they didn't have a picture from his mother, Meowth still would have known – he had the Boss's face, the same sharp nose, the same intensity in his dark eyes. The same expression the Boss had when they failed a mission, as if the world itself was a continual disappointment.
"Dat's him."
"Finally."
"He has his father's eyes…"
The three looked at each other, and as one decided on a course of action.
"A bath first."
"And disguises, obviously."
"Right quick, dough. Gotta get back before he hits da road – I ain't trackin' him down a second time!"
Synchronised nods, before they crossed the street to Mahogany's sole hotel. They were still flush with cash from selling all those clefairy, and it had been burning a hole in their collective pockets for months.
They caught him before he finished eating – of course they did; he was just as desperate to enjoy civilisation as they were, savouring each bite of his savoury dish like…
Heh. Like he's been eatin' berries and fish for so long as he can remember. Meowth knew the exact feeling.
The three of them slid into the opposite side of the booth, and it was a full ten seconds before the kid snapped out of his pasta fugue – but when he did, sharp eyes instantly set them on edge.
"Who're you?" he snapped. The kid didn't have any Pokémon, but his hand clenched around his fork – and Meowth felt like maybe it hadn't just been fate keeping him alive.
James answered. "Associates of your father, young man."
"Your mom's paying us to find you," Jessie continued, her voice more sour than her partner's – the woman hated camping. "What were you thinking, going through Mount Silver? Do you have a death wish, twerp?"
Silver looked at them silently, sizing them up before opening his mouth. "If you worked for my dad… you're Rockets."
James nodded, the grey curls of his wig bobbing.
The kid's lips curled in distaste. "I don't have anything to say to Team Rocket. Go tell my mom I'll be home with Dad."
Jessie's own wig hugged the sides of her face as she leaned in. "Now look here, twerp-"
"No," the kid cut her off forcefully. "Team Rocket's the reason my dad lost. The reason he left."
Subtly, Meowth surveyed the room – despite the raised voices, they were fine; people were looking over, but the disguises did their jobs. The restaurant's staff only saw a kid, obviously of adventuring age, arguing with his grandparents as his little brother watched awkwardly.
James shot back, offense overpowering his natural courtesy. "You take that back!"
"I won't! He said it to me himself!" The fork came up, pointing with malice. "You guys are the reason Dad left! I've gotta find him, so…" he paused, searching his nine-year-old vocabulary. "So piss off!"
"Language, young man!"
Things devolved a bit from there, and they ended up kicked out of the place – but later, as they kept following the kid around, their persistence was rewarded.
The rock narrowly missed Meowth's ears, hitting the brim of his schoolboy cap and dislodging it. He fumbled with the thing for a moment, before remembering he had claws to grip with.
"Hey! Watch da hat! Dese costumes ain't cheap, ya know!"
The small human scowled. "Stop following me. And stop dressing up like old people! It's creepy!" In the light of the adult's headlamps he cast an eerie silhouette, the deep shadows creating an illusion of depth, like he was standing against an endless abyss. Meowth shuddered. I hate bein' underground.
James tutted. "Come now, Silver! We just want to keep you safe – think about how your mother would feel, if something were to happen?" He was speaking in a certain tone – one he often lapsed into when stressed. The language of his high-class boyhood.
Another rock, this one aimed at James. Unfortunately, Mount Mortar had more than enough ammunition for the kid to keep pelting them, and eventually Jessie blew up.
She threw her old lady's cane at the boy, who narrowly dodged. It made a soft sound as it hit the ground, much quieter than her stomping. "James, Meowth! Let's just tie him up and cart the little monster back already!"
"But Jessie," Meowth replied. "We was gonna let him lead us ta da Boss, remember?"
She fumed. "He obviously doesn't know where he's going! First Mount Silver, now Mortar? Why would Giovanni come here?"
A rock came out of nowhere, catching her on the temple and leaving a nasty mark. She screeched wordlessly, clenching her fists to resist the urge to draw a ball.
"Shows what you know," Silver said, smug. Got a vicious streak a mile wide, this kid. Takes after his mother, I guess… "I'm following Dad's rhydon – that's how I tracked him through the mountains, and that's how I'll find him here, too."
Meowth blinked. "Rhydon?" Even Jessie paused, her anger on hold.
"You mean…" James led in.
"All those tyranitar tracks we were terrified of…"
"Weren't tyranitar tracks at all?"
The boy snorted, turning to leave them behind. "Weird and stupid, too." His voice dwindled as he hiked through the dark tunnel, and they scrambled to keep up. "Obviously Dad would have his Pokémon out. Who mistakes a rhydon for a tyranitar? They're completely different! They don't even have the same number of toes!"
They followed, huddled. "How were we meant to know that?" James asked.
"Tyranitar are nearly legendary – and I've never seen a rhydon other than the Boss's!"
"Dat's right! Dey only live in da safari zone!"
His human partners nodded. "And certain caves, like Victory Road," James added before they fell silent.
Down and up and around, the endless tunnels went. Sometimes they opened up into caverns, other times into lakes or shallow rivers. But despite the terrain, somehow the human child always seemed to find the line of faint marks that led onwards.
Meowth was begrudgingly impressed – sure, if he had known they should be following rhydon tracks he'd have been able to lead them across the Silver Range a lot faster, but he was a natural hunter. The kid was just a human, his nose dull, his eyes unable to cut through the gloom like Meowth's mirrored irises.
Real impressive. He really is da Boss's son…
Occasionally they encountered Pokémon, but wit or grit always saw them through. Weezing's superior poison gassed out nests of zubat, while Arbok intimidated raticate and marill into keeping their distance.
And of course, he himself was instrumental in negotiating their way past the scores of machoke and graveler. It was a relief that there were at least a few Pokémon smart enough to talk their way around – if they had to fight everything, there was no way their supplies would last.
"Silver," James pleaded. "Please, turn back. It's not safe to sleep down here – we need to at least find a safe place to camp, before we all collapse."
The boy looked back, faint disgust on his features. "No, I already told you. This is the furthest I've ever gotten – I'm going to find him today."
Jessie clawed at the air. They had long abandoned their costumes as the temperature rose, and her ruby hair shone iridescent in the narrow but powerful beams of their lamps. "You're only getting this far because we're here!"
Her arbok hissed, mirroring her trainer's annoyance.
"Good point, dat," Meowth added. "Kid, yer dad'll still be dere tomorrow – assumin' he is in dis stinkin' cave – and we're dead tired. You too." Can't hide it from my nose, kid.
At the mention of his own fatigue, Silver's face became rancorous. "If you wanna leave, then leave! I'm not stopping you!" He forged ahead, and the quintet pushed their tired legs, tail, and gas bladder to the brink to keep up.
The tunnel came out into yet another cavern, but unlike the dozen they had passed through already, this one was lit. A trail of Pokémon, their bodies like oozing magma, emerged from a narrow crack on one side of the room, before disappearing into a similar crack on the other.
Silver groaned angrily at the line of slugma and magcargo blocking the path. "Darn it! Move, you- you slugs!"
A glowing, goopy head turned the human's way. "Blorp," it said, before turning back to – very, very slowly – follow its family. Meowth snickered. Oof, glad James weren't able to understand dat; right potty mout' on dat one.
They slowed to a stop behind the Boss's son, Jessie and James catching their breath – James even slid off his backpack and lowered himself to the ground.
"Well, dat's dat," he said with a nod. "Ain't gettin' past dese fellas – wit' how fast dey're goin', it'll be hours before da way's clear."
Weezing exhaled haltingly in agreement.
"No!" Gettin' real tired a' that word, kid… "I am going to find my dad! He'll see how I crossed the mountains alone, how strong I am, and he'll come home!" He sidled from side to side, reaching forward before flinching back from the emissions of the literal magma-hot Pokémon.
From his spot on the floor, James shot the kid a sad look. "Silver… Look, when I was your age-"
He was cut off by a triumphant noise. "Here! There's a gap!" He stepped forward, and Meowth, exhausted, missed the chance to pull him back.
"Kid! You dummy, youse gonna lose yer legs!"
"Silver!" "You damn twerp! Get back here!"
Their cries fell on deaf ears. Silver stepped into something way too small to label a gap – wedged between three slugma, the heat must have been like being baked in an oven; Meowth could see his hair curling, the edges of shirt flash yellow as loose threads erupted into flame.
"Weezing!" James yelled, "See if you can go in from above! Silver, you need to grab him!"
A moment of hesitance crossed Silver's face as the poisonous gasbag hovered up, cringing at the fiery ambience. Then his face set. "That's right, you have a flying Pokémon! We didn't need to stop at all – don't pretend you want to help me!" He turned forward, and with a lunge cleared the crowd of slugma.
He landed with a yell, one mirrored by the three rockets, tumbling across the hot stone, clutching his leg.
But then he was up, the pain hidden under rage and determination as tears sparkled in the corners of his eyes. "S-see? I didn't need your help!" He turned and stomped off, obviously making a show of not favouring his burnt leg, leaving them behind.
"Arbok, return!"
"Sorry, Weezing! Looks like you'll be flying three passengers, rather than one!"
They went further down, far enough that the tunnels turned from stone to volcanic glass. Arc, I figured it was called Mortar 'cause 'a da bowl-type shape of da mountain – but now I feel like I've been mortared!
To their good fortune, the path didn't split or open up; there was only the steep, winding tunnel digging down into the crust. All they had to do was follow it, and with their cat-like agility – or longer legs – it was only a matter of time.
A minute passed; sixty seconds of overpowering beams shining back at them from jagged crystalline surfaces, of sharp edges and uneven footing, of laboured heaving as their tired bodies worked overtime, before the tunnel bottomed out.
They saw him before he saw them. "Silver!" James called, and when the kid looked back it was with an expression Meowth hadn't seen him wear before: genuine fear overpowering the thick mask of bravado. He was crouched down, cradled on one side by a knee-high boulder, and he put a finger to his mouth in the universal sign of shut up!
Meowth tried to stop – but the tunnel was too steep. The other two might have managed it, in their studded boots, if they hadn't grabbed him when he started to tumble. And so the three of them turned into a ball of limbs for the final fifteen feet of the tunnel, crashing down next to Silver as he looked on, horrified.
The trio of Rockets let out various moans of pain and exhaustion as they disentangled.
"Finally! Don't run off on us, you little devil! Ugh, my poor back…" Jessie flopped over, James remaining face down.
"Mommy, I don't want to be underground anymore…" he whimpered into the glassy floor.
Meowth opened his mouth to complete the pattern – but he was interrupted by a deep, resounding, nearby thump. In the darkness, something moved.
"You idiots," Silver hissed. "Run! Get out of here!"
A spare helmet plinked along in their wake – must 'a fallen out 'a someone's backpack, came the slow, discombobulated thought – eventually spinning to a stop, its headlamp flickering on just in time to reveal the large, incredibly angry shape they had woken from its nap.
"W-who's dat Pokémon?"
Jessie gulped. "It's… rhydon?"
"That's no rhydon! Go, Victreebel!" For the briefest of moments the entire cavern was illuminated by the flash as James released his fully evolved grass type, revealing the den of what was most certainly an apex predator, bones strewn about like straw bedding.
It… looked like a rhydon, but more. The broad features were the same; a large, bipedal Pokémon with stony plates covering tough skin, a prominent horn jutting from its snout. But where rhydon was a smooth grey, this super-rhydon was an earthy brown, its plate armour a lighter, almost orange shade.
"Woah woah woah!" Meowth yelled. "Look, we ain't lookin' fer trouble! Now I knows we interrupted yer nap, but it was all a mistake, see?" A deep, angry rumble. "Yer territory? We was jus' leavin'! Cross my heart an-"
It charged, and James called out an attack. "Stun Spore!" The cave filled with a billowing yellow cloud – only for a resounding crash to echo out as the ground heaved, cracking apart beneath their feet.
Victreebel slumped out of the cloud, the bottom of its body leaking digestive fluid, and they gaped. "O-one hit?! Return!"
Jessie grit her teeth as she released her own Pokémon. "That was a good move, James. It'll be weakened. Arbok, stay close."
To their side, Silver stood slowly on his injured leg. "W-we can't win. It's too strong – you should run."
As the super-rhydon emerged from the spore cloud, spitting and bellowing its anger, Jessie looked to the side, flashing the child a half-grin as shaky as his legs. "You've been slandering Rocket since the moment we met, kid. Honestly, I kind of hate your guts – you remind me of a certain other twerp who's given us a lot of trouble."
Weezing came out in a third flash of red. "But you're our Boss's son… and it isn't like we could leave you alone even if you weren't!" James flashed his own smile, manic and desperate and sincere. "So now watch us prove you wrong – Team Rocket isn't weak!"
"James, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Well, there's really only the one option, isn't there?"
They grinned at each other, then at Meowth, who smiled back with bared fangs as the massive Pokémon approached – slowly, both by dint of its bulk, and Victreebel's spores. "Dat's right! Da old Rocket special!"
"Thank your dad for this move, pint-size: Arbok, Earthquake!"
"Weezing, Self-Destruct!"
Meowth grabbed the kid as the Pokémon's den filled with light and heat and noise, hoisting him up above his head and sprinting with all the strength that desperation could dredge up.
He cried out, and to his relief two voices joined him in sync, just a half-step behind. "Team Rocket's blasting off again!"
James's voice hit the walls of the emptied-out Viridian Gym, bounced back, and washed over Meowth's ears a second time. Ariana, the Boss's secretary and second-in-command, did not reply. She only stood, as firmly rooted to the ground as an ancient oak – or maybe a stop sign would be a more appropriate comparison, given her stiff posture and the thick red hair framing her head. The woman radiated a mix of emotions, despite her face being blank.
Emotions that neither Jessie nor James seemed to be picking up on. The latter pumped his fist. "The Boss wouldn't give up! Not just from losing to that bothersome twerp!"
"Yeah! We lose to him all the time! It's barely a setback!"
The Chief Executive finally moved, uncrossing her arms as her mouth opened just barely enough to speak. "Do you think I'm making it up? Look around – the Gym is empty. Or better yet, turn on a radio and listen for once in your lives." Her voice seemed calm, but Meowth could hear the tension and anger underneath. "Giovanni made a public announcement. It's all over the news – Team Rocket is disbanded."
Meowth shuddered at the aura she was giving off – the woman was universally vicious, and seeing her do her best impression of a cliff face was creepy. Dat's right; da Boss's secretary weren't just his secretary, weren't she? The Pokémon had often smelled their scents on each other, but until now he hadn't really cared to dig into the implications of that. "Guys," he muttered. "Maybe we oughta back off for a sec. Before dis turns inta-"
But as usual, his good sense was ignored. Jessie ploughed ahead, getting right up in the older woman's face. "Team Rocket can't be done! Everything was fine a week ago when we checked in!"
"Look, we even completed our mission!" James chimed in, brandishing a duffle bag. "A dozen clefairy, fresh from Mount Moon! Oh, it was spectacular – there must have been a hundred of them all dancing together! Then, like a silent noctowl swooping down in the calm night air..!"
He made a dramatic motion, but the redheads completely ignored him. Meowth pressed on his leg, attempting to convey that now ain't da time for lightening da mood!
Sometimes when it seemed that humans were failing to communicate with each other – compared to Pokémon, they needed so many words, had so few instincts – he'd get surprised as a single sentence put a novel's worth of context into place. That was something he still struggled with, even after years of practice and experience speaking Kantonese.
But it was obvious that wasn't happening here; no, his humans tended to just be just plain bad at reading the room. The tension held in Athena Ariana's frame erupted, and she grabbed Jessie by the collar.
"What do you know?!" she stated-slash-screamed – her voice had one tone, calm and composed, and her eyes another, loud and hysteric. "You weren't even here! You Agents are all the same – thinking you're anything other than Grunts in a higher-class uniform!"
Jessie struggled – while trying to hide that she needed to struggle – but though it was two arms against one, she failed to dislodge Ariana's grip. "Let go of me, you-!"
"Hey now!" James said, moving forward. His arms were up, spread wide as he tried to defuse things. "Let's not turn this into a catfight – look, even if the Boss said Team Rocket was disbanded, it must be some plan!"
"That's right!" Jessie continued, still trying vainly to recover the front of her top from the other woman's control. "The Boss is always on top of things!"
"One step ahead!"
"Or two!"
A beat of silence as they waited for him to add his own words, but Meowth didn't follow along. Instead, Ariana's too-calm voice filled the empty space.
"A plan?" Jessie choked as she was nearly lifted off her feet. Yeesh, dat broad's got a real arm on her! "You think Giovanni is abandoning me, abandoning our son, just so he can put some plan into place?"
…Son? He hadn't been expecting to hear that, and a glance at the other two told him they hadn't, either.
Again, James tried to play peacemaker. The bag of Pokéballs dropped into Meowth's paws as the man let them go, freeing his hands to more effectively gesture in placation. "You're obviously under a lot of stress right now, Miss Ariana. Let's just cool off a bit, talk this through. When did the Boss leave? Which way did he go?"
Jessie slipped out of her white Agent top rather than continue to put up with the mild strangulation, leaving her in her black undershirt. "Why are you even here anyway? If Rocket's disbanded, shouldn't you be getting back to your pet store, you- you old hag!" Her hand drifted towards Arbok's ball as her eyes burned, but after a moment's indignation she seemed to finally catch onto the other woman's mood. "…Son?" she mouthed. "But that's…"
Ariana's composure cracked, and she threw the loose shirt to the ground. "You don't believe me? Fine." A kick sent the fabric into the air, and James leaned back to catch it as it fell. "Fine. Do whatever you want – you're right, I shouldn't be here. Arcus forbid I try to catch a few remaining grunts before they walk right into-" She cut herself off, turning. "Leave. I don't want to deal with you – whether you get picked up by the Jennys or make some kind of life for yourselves, you are not my problem anymore."
Another beat of silence. James opened his mouth, but bit his tongue as the Chief Executive – is she still dat? Is we still Agents? – whirled.
"I said leave! Get out!" There was the anger and frustration, finally audible. Her hand passed over her side and in a flash of light an arbok, its hood patterned differently from the one he knew, reared up between them. "Until they get around to stripping it away, this is my Gym. I don't want to see your faces in Viridian again."
Another flash, and now there were two arbok. "You say Team Rocket is disbanded, but you still want to order us around?" James put up his hands again, but Jessie continued. "I've had enough! You're going to answer our questions!"
A moment of hesitation, before James drew his own Pokéball. "R-right! There's no need for this to get ugly, but if it does – well, it's three-to-one odds! Don't think we'll lose!"
They lost. It wasn't even close – and with all the poison flying around from three different specialist teams, the humans hadn't fared much better than their Pokémon.
Woise, as a matter of fact. Arbok and Weezing can handle a face full'a dat stuff way better dan deir bosses – and better 'n poor little normal type me!
Jessie was sitting cross-legged, sulking, while James dabbed her face with a medicine-soaked cloth. Between the swelling, the discolouration, and the dappled light of Viridian Forest's outskirts, the three of them looked like they had fallen into a nest of beedrill.
The woman's skin regained its health within seconds of the cloth passing over; James must have broken out the good stuff. There was a part of Meowth that wanted to point out that supplies probably wouldn't be coming in any time soon – even if this was just some kind of plot on the Boss's part – and that they should probably make due with the cheap herbs that could be scrounged up. But he had taken the edge of an Acid Spray, and really didn't want to jeopardize his own dose of antidote.
"Lousy, stinking…" Jessie muttered. "It can't be true…"
"Don't worry, Jessie." James's voice was filled with concern. He was one of those humans whose words always matched their mood, which had been a big help when Meowth had been learning to talk, but sometimes it turned into an issue when they did undercover work. "Even if the Boss really is gone… we're still here!" His cloth found a tender spot and she flinched, but a firm grip on her chin kept the redhead still.
James was rarely forceful, but when he did put his foot down he could be surprisingly strong. Jessie could only hiss as the medicine soaked through puffy, distended skin.
"Even if it's just the three of us," he continued, "We're still Rockets! We'll find him in no time, and get this all sorted out!"
"Da kid," Meowth slid in, and the two humans turned at the sound of his voice. "Ariana said dat Giovanni had a kid – I ain't never heard 'a dat before."
"She said 'our,'" Jessie corrected. "Implying she's his mother." Her expression was strange, something unfamiliar to his eyes, but he could smell the mixture of her emotions more clearly through his nose; sour notes of frustration, sympathy, and annoyance under the medicinal fumes.
"Do you think it's true?" James asked. "I've never gotten the feeling they were anything more than Boss and Chief Executive…"
"Well, da Boss would be cagey about dat sort 'a ting…" Giovanni had such a strong handle on his emotions, even a Pokémon couldn't tell what he was thinking – or at least he had never managed it; maybe the Rocket Boss's team saw a secret tender side.
James made a considering sound as he pulled away from his partner. "I guess there isn't any reason for her to lie – and she seemed rather distraught near the end." He beckoned, and Meowth walked over for his own turn with the antidote-soaked rag. "I think… we should probably believe it." Yeowch, dat really stings! Human medicine always seemed to be painful – but it was effective enough. "Though I'm curious why you'd bring it up. Meowth?"
His teeth bared in an instinctive snarl, but just like with Jessie the blue-haired man kept him restrained, apparently without any effort. "If dare's anybody da Boss would tell before he left…"
"It would be his son!" Jessie finished. "But that harpy refused to answer our perfectly reasonable questions…"
"Which means,' James took up, "We'll have to find him and get the info right from the horse's mouth! Great thinking, Meowth!"
The unyieldingly gentle fingers pulled away, and he grappled with the urge to claw for a moment – but it passed just as quickly as it came. "Of course. Problem is, how da we find da kid? We don't even got a name."
The two humans paused, wearing identical expressions of deep thought, before replying simultaneously. "We'll follow Ariana!"
"She'll have to go home eventually!" James continued.
"She'll lead us right to him!"
Meowth nodded. "Dat's right! So let's get on it, instead 'a mopin' around in da woods!"
They cheered, back in sync, before James toppled slowly backwards with a breathy moan.
"James! Darn it – give me that cloth!"
Six months. That was how long it took to track down Silver Capo, son of Giovanni Capo.
Ironically, it had been the former Executive who found them; her son was missing, leaving only a note expressing his intent to find his father, and with the disbanding… they were the only people she had available.
Can't believe a kid made it all da way over da mountains by his lonesome. The Silver Range was brutal – it had taken them months to make it across, and the trio had him, a professional cat burglar and natural predator, leading the pack!
Maybe it's da name. Giovanni had named his son after the mountains – maybe it was just fate that he'd been able to cross without the help of a single Pokémon. Kid's tough, I'll give him dat.
Across Route 28, snaking through the winding valleys between the mountains, then down into a long cave system coated top-to-bottom in frost – Silver had led them on a not-so-merry chase, taxing his and Arbok's tracking abilities to the limit. And all dat wit'out even knowing he was bein' followed. But now, here they were. End 'a da road, Capo. Meowth pressed his face to the glass, peering past the displays of food to the shadowy booths deeper in.
There he was, sitting in Mahogany Town's sole restaurant, sipping a hot drink; scarlet hair with sun-lightened orange streaks hanging long and shaggy down his shoulders. The tattered clothes one would expect from half a year in the wilderness. But more than anything else…
It was the face. Even if they didn't have a picture from his mother, Meowth still would have known – he had the Boss's face, the same sharp nose, the same intensity in his dark eyes. The same expression the Boss had when they failed a mission, as if the world itself was a continual disappointment.
"Dat's him."
"Finally."
"He has his father's eyes…"
The three looked at each other, and as one decided on a course of action.
"A bath first."
"And disguises, obviously."
"Right quick, dough. Gotta get back before he hits da road – I ain't trackin' him down a second time!"
Synchronised nods, before they crossed the street to Mahogany's sole hotel. They were still flush with cash from selling all those clefairy, and it had been burning a hole in their collective pockets for months.
They caught him before he finished eating – of course they did; he was just as desperate to enjoy civilisation as they were, savouring each bite of his savoury dish like…
Heh. Like he's been eatin' berries and fish for so long as he can remember. Meowth knew the exact feeling.
The three of them slid into the opposite side of the booth, and it was a full ten seconds before the kid snapped out of his pasta fugue – but when he did, sharp eyes instantly set them on edge.
"Who're you?" he snapped. The kid didn't have any Pokémon, but his hand clenched around his fork – and Meowth felt like maybe it hadn't just been fate keeping him alive.
James answered. "Associates of your father, young man."
"Your mom's paying us to find you," Jessie continued, her voice more sour than her partner's – the woman hated camping. "What were you thinking, going through Mount Silver? Do you have a death wish, twerp?"
Silver looked at them silently, sizing them up before opening his mouth. "If you worked for my dad… you're Rockets."
James nodded, the grey curls of his wig bobbing.
The kid's lips curled in distaste. "I don't have anything to say to Team Rocket. Go tell my mom I'll be home with Dad."
Jessie's own wig hugged the sides of her face as she leaned in. "Now look here, twerp-"
"No," the kid cut her off forcefully. "Team Rocket's the reason my dad lost. The reason he left."
Subtly, Meowth surveyed the room – despite the raised voices, they were fine; people were looking over, but the disguises did their jobs. The restaurant's staff only saw a kid, obviously of adventuring age, arguing with his grandparents as his little brother watched awkwardly.
James shot back, offense overpowering his natural courtesy. "You take that back!"
"I won't! He said it to me himself!" The fork came up, pointing with malice. "You guys are the reason Dad left! I've gotta find him, so…" he paused, searching his nine-year-old vocabulary. "So piss off!"
"Language, young man!"
Things devolved a bit from there, and they ended up kicked out of the place – but later, as they kept following the kid around, their persistence was rewarded.
The rock narrowly missed Meowth's ears, hitting the brim of his schoolboy cap and dislodging it. He fumbled with the thing for a moment, before remembering he had claws to grip with.
"Hey! Watch da hat! Dese costumes ain't cheap, ya know!"
The small human scowled. "Stop following me. And stop dressing up like old people! It's creepy!" In the light of the adult's headlamps he cast an eerie silhouette, the deep shadows creating an illusion of depth, like he was standing against an endless abyss. Meowth shuddered. I hate bein' underground.
James tutted. "Come now, Silver! We just want to keep you safe – think about how your mother would feel, if something were to happen?" He was speaking in a certain tone – one he often lapsed into when stressed. The language of his high-class boyhood.
Another rock, this one aimed at James. Unfortunately, Mount Mortar had more than enough ammunition for the kid to keep pelting them, and eventually Jessie blew up.
She threw her old lady's cane at the boy, who narrowly dodged. It made a soft sound as it hit the ground, much quieter than her stomping. "James, Meowth! Let's just tie him up and cart the little monster back already!"
"But Jessie," Meowth replied. "We was gonna let him lead us ta da Boss, remember?"
She fumed. "He obviously doesn't know where he's going! First Mount Silver, now Mortar? Why would Giovanni come here?"
A rock came out of nowhere, catching her on the temple and leaving a nasty mark. She screeched wordlessly, clenching her fists to resist the urge to draw a ball.
"Shows what you know," Silver said, smug. Got a vicious streak a mile wide, this kid. Takes after his mother, I guess… "I'm following Dad's rhydon – that's how I tracked him through the mountains, and that's how I'll find him here, too."
Meowth blinked. "Rhydon?" Even Jessie paused, her anger on hold.
"You mean…" James led in.
"All those tyranitar tracks we were terrified of…"
"Weren't tyranitar tracks at all?"
The boy snorted, turning to leave them behind. "Weird and stupid, too." His voice dwindled as he hiked through the dark tunnel, and they scrambled to keep up. "Obviously Dad would have his Pokémon out. Who mistakes a rhydon for a tyranitar? They're completely different! They don't even have the same number of toes!"
They followed, huddled. "How were we meant to know that?" James asked.
"Tyranitar are nearly legendary – and I've never seen a rhydon other than the Boss's!"
"Dat's right! Dey only live in da safari zone!"
His human partners nodded. "And certain caves, like Victory Road," James added before they fell silent.
Down and up and around, the endless tunnels went. Sometimes they opened up into caverns, other times into lakes or shallow rivers. But despite the terrain, somehow the human child always seemed to find the line of faint marks that led onwards.
Meowth was begrudgingly impressed – sure, if he had known they should be following rhydon tracks he'd have been able to lead them across the Silver Range a lot faster, but he was a natural hunter. The kid was just a human, his nose dull, his eyes unable to cut through the gloom like Meowth's mirrored irises.
Real impressive. He really is da Boss's son…
Occasionally they encountered Pokémon, but wit or grit always saw them through. Weezing's superior poison gassed out nests of zubat, while Arbok intimidated raticate and marill into keeping their distance.
And of course, he himself was instrumental in negotiating their way past the scores of machoke and graveler. It was a relief that there were at least a few Pokémon smart enough to talk their way around – if they had to fight everything, there was no way their supplies would last.
"Silver," James pleaded. "Please, turn back. It's not safe to sleep down here – we need to at least find a safe place to camp, before we all collapse."
The boy looked back, faint disgust on his features. "No, I already told you. This is the furthest I've ever gotten – I'm going to find him today."
Jessie clawed at the air. They had long abandoned their costumes as the temperature rose, and her ruby hair shone iridescent in the narrow but powerful beams of their lamps. "You're only getting this far because we're here!"
Her arbok hissed, mirroring her trainer's annoyance.
"Good point, dat," Meowth added. "Kid, yer dad'll still be dere tomorrow – assumin' he is in dis stinkin' cave – and we're dead tired. You too." Can't hide it from my nose, kid.
At the mention of his own fatigue, Silver's face became rancorous. "If you wanna leave, then leave! I'm not stopping you!" He forged ahead, and the quintet pushed their tired legs, tail, and gas bladder to the brink to keep up.
The tunnel came out into yet another cavern, but unlike the dozen they had passed through already, this one was lit. A trail of Pokémon, their bodies like oozing magma, emerged from a narrow crack on one side of the room, before disappearing into a similar crack on the other.
Silver groaned angrily at the line of slugma and magcargo blocking the path. "Darn it! Move, you- you slugs!"
A glowing, goopy head turned the human's way. "Blorp," it said, before turning back to – very, very slowly – follow its family. Meowth snickered. Oof, glad James weren't able to understand dat; right potty mout' on dat one.
They slowed to a stop behind the Boss's son, Jessie and James catching their breath – James even slid off his backpack and lowered himself to the ground.
"Well, dat's dat," he said with a nod. "Ain't gettin' past dese fellas – wit' how fast dey're goin', it'll be hours before da way's clear."
Weezing exhaled haltingly in agreement.
"No!" Gettin' real tired a' that word, kid… "I am going to find my dad! He'll see how I crossed the mountains alone, how strong I am, and he'll come home!" He sidled from side to side, reaching forward before flinching back from the emissions of the literal magma-hot Pokémon.
From his spot on the floor, James shot the kid a sad look. "Silver… Look, when I was your age-"
He was cut off by a triumphant noise. "Here! There's a gap!" He stepped forward, and Meowth, exhausted, missed the chance to pull him back.
"Kid! You dummy, youse gonna lose yer legs!"
"Silver!" "You damn twerp! Get back here!"
Their cries fell on deaf ears. Silver stepped into something way too small to label a gap – wedged between three slugma, the heat must have been like being baked in an oven; Meowth could see his hair curling, the edges of shirt flash yellow as loose threads erupted into flame.
"Weezing!" James yelled, "See if you can go in from above! Silver, you need to grab him!"
A moment of hesitance crossed Silver's face as the poisonous gasbag hovered up, cringing at the fiery ambience. Then his face set. "That's right, you have a flying Pokémon! We didn't need to stop at all – don't pretend you want to help me!" He turned forward, and with a lunge cleared the crowd of slugma.
He landed with a yell, one mirrored by the three rockets, tumbling across the hot stone, clutching his leg.
But then he was up, the pain hidden under rage and determination as tears sparkled in the corners of his eyes. "S-see? I didn't need your help!" He turned and stomped off, obviously making a show of not favouring his burnt leg, leaving them behind.
"Arbok, return!"
"Sorry, Weezing! Looks like you'll be flying three passengers, rather than one!"
They went further down, far enough that the tunnels turned from stone to volcanic glass. Arc, I figured it was called Mortar 'cause 'a da bowl-type shape of da mountain – but now I feel like I've been mortared!
To their good fortune, the path didn't split or open up; there was only the steep, winding tunnel digging down into the crust. All they had to do was follow it, and with their cat-like agility – or longer legs – it was only a matter of time.
A minute passed; sixty seconds of overpowering beams shining back at them from jagged crystalline surfaces, of sharp edges and uneven footing, of laboured heaving as their tired bodies worked overtime, before the tunnel bottomed out.
They saw him before he saw them. "Silver!" James called, and when the kid looked back it was with an expression Meowth hadn't seen him wear before: genuine fear overpowering the thick mask of bravado. He was crouched down, cradled on one side by a knee-high boulder, and he put a finger to his mouth in the universal sign of shut up!
Meowth tried to stop – but the tunnel was too steep. The other two might have managed it, in their studded boots, if they hadn't grabbed him when he started to tumble. And so the three of them turned into a ball of limbs for the final fifteen feet of the tunnel, crashing down next to Silver as he looked on, horrified.
The trio of Rockets let out various moans of pain and exhaustion as they disentangled.
"Finally! Don't run off on us, you little devil! Ugh, my poor back…" Jessie flopped over, James remaining face down.
"Mommy, I don't want to be underground anymore…" he whimpered into the glassy floor.
Meowth opened his mouth to complete the pattern – but he was interrupted by a deep, resounding, nearby thump. In the darkness, something moved.
"You idiots," Silver hissed. "Run! Get out of here!"
A spare helmet plinked along in their wake – must 'a fallen out 'a someone's backpack, came the slow, discombobulated thought – eventually spinning to a stop, its headlamp flickering on just in time to reveal the large, incredibly angry shape they had woken from its nap.
"W-who's dat Pokémon?"
Jessie gulped. "It's… rhydon?"
"That's no rhydon! Go, Victreebel!" For the briefest of moments the entire cavern was illuminated by the flash as James released his fully evolved grass type, revealing the den of what was most certainly an apex predator, bones strewn about like straw bedding.
It… looked like a rhydon, but more. The broad features were the same; a large, bipedal Pokémon with stony plates covering tough skin, a prominent horn jutting from its snout. But where rhydon was a smooth grey, this super-rhydon was an earthy brown, its plate armour a lighter, almost orange shade.
"Woah woah woah!" Meowth yelled. "Look, we ain't lookin' fer trouble! Now I knows we interrupted yer nap, but it was all a mistake, see?" A deep, angry rumble. "Yer territory? We was jus' leavin'! Cross my heart an-"
It charged, and James called out an attack. "Stun Spore!" The cave filled with a billowing yellow cloud – only for a resounding crash to echo out as the ground heaved, cracking apart beneath their feet.
Victreebel slumped out of the cloud, the bottom of its body leaking digestive fluid, and they gaped. "O-one hit?! Return!"
Jessie grit her teeth as she released her own Pokémon. "That was a good move, James. It'll be weakened. Arbok, stay close."
To their side, Silver stood slowly on his injured leg. "W-we can't win. It's too strong – you should run."
As the super-rhydon emerged from the spore cloud, spitting and bellowing its anger, Jessie looked to the side, flashing the child a half-grin as shaky as his legs. "You've been slandering Rocket since the moment we met, kid. Honestly, I kind of hate your guts – you remind me of a certain other twerp who's given us a lot of trouble."
Weezing came out in a third flash of red. "But you're our Boss's son… and it isn't like we could leave you alone even if you weren't!" James flashed his own smile, manic and desperate and sincere. "So now watch us prove you wrong – Team Rocket isn't weak!"
"James, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Well, there's really only the one option, isn't there?"
They grinned at each other, then at Meowth, who smiled back with bared fangs as the massive Pokémon approached – slowly, both by dint of its bulk, and Victreebel's spores. "Dat's right! Da old Rocket special!"
"Thank your dad for this move, pint-size: Arbok, Earthquake!"
"Weezing, Self-Destruct!"
Meowth grabbed the kid as the Pokémon's den filled with light and heat and noise, hoisting him up above his head and sprinting with all the strength that desperation could dredge up.
He cried out, and to his relief two voices joined him in sync, just a half-step behind. "Team Rocket's blasting off again!"
3.05 - Longing to Fly
- Location
- Edmonton, Alberta
Hoshi sat, his pen and notes forgotten, enraptured as the duo's story unfolded.
Listening to them was oddly surreal; he had been born in Viridian, though he retained no memories of that place, and his mother's native city had always been an object of… third-hand pride, so to speak. Sort of like how Uncle Bob keeps up with that one Orre city's baseball news religiously, despite not setting foot there since he was a little kid.
Giovanni was an old figure, celebrated and reviled in equal measure, and one that he felt a very tenuous, ephemeral, but nonetheless real connection to – and so hearing them recount their efforts to find the man after his disappearance, it was…
Like watching some daytime TV show, but then suddenly someone I know shows up as a bit character. It makes reality seem less real.
"And that concludes the stunning finale of the Galarian section of our adventure…" James narrated.
"…But we wouldn't be moving south quite yet!" Jessie continued. "As I'm sure you know, to the east of Kalos is an untamed area, a bastion of nature untouched by human hands…"
"Meow."
"Exactly!" James gestured, sweeping his arm across his body, palm up, before curling his fingers as though grasping something in his mind's eye. "Just teeming with rare Pokémon! And since our coffers were sadly empty from buying all those antique sets of armour-"
The Senior Executive's voice was cut off by a soft sound, and some of the magic of the story broke as the both of them turned their attention to the entrance at the back of the room.
Hoshi turned to see Moon- damn it, come on, we shook on it. To see Kenny standing awkwardly, his bald head shining in the bright classroom lights like the full moon, damn it, can you not make it easy for me?
"Uh, sorry I'm late," he growled, chastisement under his voice like painted-over graffiti. "My Nana had a fall, and-"
"Perfectly fine!" Jessie interrupted him right back. "The Electric Academy prides itself on covering for our students' mysterious disappearances!"
"You'll just have to snag some notes off a peer after the lesson. Take a seat, Mister Kaneth."
The large man did so, sheepish in a way Hoshi had never seen before, and the Rocket duo continued.
"…And that's all the time we have for today!" Jessie concluded, to the collective disappointment of the 'students,' Hoshi among them.
"Don't worry," James assured them. "We'll pick things back up in the next lesson!"
"Think of it as a 'next time on' soap opera ending!"
"Meow!"
With a synchronised nod, the two Rockets and their Pokémon began gathering up their notes and cleaning the whiteboard. Kenny grunted in annoyance as his effort to copy the dense writing was thwarted, prompting Hoshi to roll his eyes.
"Don't worry, I've got everything down. We can go over it later."
The muscular man's face brightened. "Yeah? Right, the plannin' thing – we doin' that now?"
Hoshi gave a half nod. "In a bit." After I show Ryan a strong Pokémon doesn't always mean a winning one. Raising his voice, he addressed the group. "Why don't you all go get your rain stuff on, and we'll meet in front of the school? Me and Ryan are gonna have a little showdown, then we can get some serious training done, if you're up for it."
It was surprisingly easy to pitch his voice authoritatively – he had never really been in a situation like this, the leader of a group, but it turned out that anticipating this moment over and over in his head had done something useful along with stressing him out.
The collection of Rocket Grunts stood – except for one. Puce raised her hand, speaking to the crimson crescent of Jessie's turned back. "P-pardon, instructors, but… Is today meant to be a half day? It's only two in the afternoon…"
Hoshi blinked. Is it? I was so caught up in their 'history lesson' I wasn't really keeping track…
Jessie and James turned. "Excellent question!" the woman announced.
"We were going to use the second half of the lesson to go over some details on your ongoing mission…" her partner continued.
"But your project leader managed to get ahead of us!" Jessie's ruby-painted lips turned up as she shot Hoshi a look that caused a dusting of pink to appear on his cheeks. "So we thought, 'if he's going to do our work for us…'"
"'Why stop him?'"
"Ee-ow," said Meowth, his mouth obstructed by a large pen. Wait, is he writing..? No, don't get distracted.
"Exactly!"
James shot his own smile Hoshi's way, and the blush went from pink to red. "You're exceeding our expectations, Senior Grunt – no one else thought to come to us for additional details."
"Or coordinate with the others in their own time."
"Or bother to plan contingencies for failure." The man's green eyes flashed. "Very neat handwriting, by the way."
Hoshi awkwardly shuffled. "…Thanks." Okay, there's definitely a trap door in the ceiling somewhere – that's the only place they'd be able to peek at my notes.
"Oh, okay," Puce said after a moment of silence, finally standing. "Thank you for clearing that up."
Jessie nodded. "Honestly, even if we had decided to promote someone else, Mister Mutsu's attitude would have us questioning that decision."
"Yes, he's really been on top of things!"
"Mao."
Out the corner of his eye Hoshi saw Ryan's face twist, and his blush receded a hair's breadth. Right… they aren't just praising me, they're putting him down. I was just speculating when I said they didn't want someone from a different… cell, let's say, in charge, but this makes it pretty explicit.
The Rocket Executives went back to cleaning the room, and the students packed up their own notes and left.
"You guys are fightin', right? Full-on Pokémon battle?"
Kenny's voice had lost the thin dregs of submission from earlier; he didn't even attempt to modulate his volume, his words loud and eager.
The man's sparkling black eyes showcased just how much he was looking forward to the coming violence.
"We will be battling, yes," Ryan answered, still gritting his teeth from their bosses' dressing-down. "Assuming that Mutsu is willing, that is."
Hah, can't even manage to imply I'm a coward properly. "I said we'd meet in front of the school, didn't I?"
The moment they had left the room, Nerine had pulled a bag of chips from her overstuffed backpack. Until that moment she'd been trailing behind, paying more attention to her snack than the conversation, but as things got heated she pulled back to the group. "You get that winning won't get you his stripes, right?" she sent Ryan's way.
He snorted. "This is about honour, not just the rank. And besides…" His sour look diminished. "Won't it? The uniform is ceremonial – the authority comes from being obeyed. Wouldn't you prefer to take your cues from the stronger trainer?"
"Eh," Nerine replied. "Not really? In a 'go fight this guy' mission yeah, but this isn't that. I'm cool with letting whoever's willing to call the shots call the shots."
She started to drop back, completely losing interest now that her piece was said, and Puce slid in to fill the gap in conversation.
"Wouldn't it be better if you worked together?" Work together? Fuck that, not until he pulls the stick out of his ass! The woman shrivelled under his and Ryan's gazes, but for the first time Hoshi saw her grow a spine and defend herself. "I'm serious! This is silly – the instructors gave Mister Mutsu a promotion fair and square. There isn't any reason for you two to fight."
Ryan's anger flared back up, but a moment later he managed to calm himself. "Again, this isn't about Mutsu. This is about the blatant disrespect being shown to me, simply because I'm Mister Archer's protege; I simply cannot stand such blatant nepotism."
The hall went dead silent. …Oh, Arcus fuck, that's… Ryan's brows came together in confusion at the five incredulous looks sent his way – not even Casca, who Hoshi had assumed to have a disarming comment for every situation, could open her mouth in front of that statement.
Then, a soft choking noise, slowly growing in volume… until great, heaving guffaws erupted from Kenny's mouth.
"HAH-!" he gasped. "AH, he said, HAHAH-!"
He couldn't even form a sentence, and then Nerine began to snicker as well. Hoshi joined in, and soon it was only Ryan and Puce walking silently, both red-faced – one from embarrassment, and the other from trying to hold in her own burgeoning laughter.
"I mean it," Ryan choked out, which only made Kenny laugh harder. A head poked out from a doorway as they passed, no doubt wondering what the commotion was, and Hoshi had to stop and catch his breath lest he actually throw up.
He could hear the blond grinding his teeth – until he finally seemed to give up, quickening his pace and marching ahead.
"Ah, wait..!" Puce attempted, but he disappeared around the corner without looking back. "Oh… Guys, that felt kind of mean."
Casca wiped a tear from her eyes. "Fuck 'im. If he wants to be a prick, he can take the consequences."
Fucking right. Hoshi bumped her shoulder in thanks, but inside a seed of hesitation formed. On the one hand, he was grateful to the instructors; their half-veiled mockery had set the mood against the Viridian, making it easy to get everyone on his side – it was easy to picture a version of that conversation where Ryan was more composed, making a better argument and winning one or two people over.
But on the other, he was going to have to work with this guy for at least the one job – and if he hated Hoshi too much, that could very easily fuck them over. I doubt he'd go all the way and sabotage the mission, but I'm not exactly a mind reader… And his pride is obviously a weak point. Just picking the wrong time to disobey an order out of spite might send the house of cards tumbling.
So… Against the flow of his emotions, Hoshi forced himself to take a breath and kill the lingering snickers that wanted to form. "Well, maybe that was a bit much. We probably shouldn't dogpile the guy – beating him in a battle's enough for me."
Hoshi emerged from the school, wearing his rain gear over his uniform. By some quirk of fate he was the last to arrive; a dramatically appropriate turn of events. Actually, it's probably a quirk of fashion – the others are wearing slip-on raincoats; I'm the only one with professional, fitted waterproof clothes that take time to put on.
"Took ya long enough," Kenny spoke from the shadow of the building's roof, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. At his feet Nerine was sitting, click-clacking away at a handheld game console in the thin slice of dryness between solid stone and nearly-solid water.
Hoshi grunted in reply, casting his eyes out towards the gloom of the stormy afternoon. Is it coming down harder? Arcus, Fuchsia and Pallet must be completely flooded by this point. While the bay's waters were crashing against the docks like giant's fists, he could only imagine how bad it was for the cities bordering the open ocean, without any barriers between them and the typhoon. Not to mention Cinnabar and the other islands…
He shook off the speculation, returning to the present. A dark shape approached, resolving into Ryan in a trench coat, Puce trailing him with an oversized umbrella – she was the only one of them not wearing a coat, and Hoshi wondered if she forgot it inside, forgot it at home, or had come in something that didn't fit over her grunt uniform.
A hint of drifting smoke found his nose through the downpour, and he decided that Ryan could simmer a minute more. He made his way to Casca, a point of orange light illuminating her face as she took shelter under a tree.
"Nervous?" he asked, and she plucked the cigarette from her lips to reply.
"It's stupid, isn't it? Obviously you're gonna win."
His dark purple eyes found her baby blue ones, reflected lights dancing in her pupils, and they shared a smile. "Do you have to jinx me right before it starts?" Wet footsteps approached, and he drew in a breath. Time's up. Let's see if a bat can beat a dragon.
Ryan Sampo understood that his words hadn't endeared him to anyone today.
It was simply… difficult, to adjust to the change in his situation. Back in Viridian City, he was well-liked. By his friends, his neighbours, his superiors… Very nearly everyone he had ever met was either a peer who looked at him with respect, an authority figure who nodded at his competence, or a member of his own family, who obviously loved and cared for him.
Now, here he was – surrounded by unfamiliar people and a pair of Senior Executives who obviously disfavoured him without even gauging his talents first. Anyone would find such things grating, would they not?
But even so, he was disappointed with himself; men of Sampo blood did not wallow, or allow themselves to be consumed by emotion. And so as he approached his rival he balled up the humiliation within, and swallowed it down.
"Hoshi Mutsu. Are you prepared?"
The man turned, revealing his small, burning eyes. As always, there was the smallest seed of recognition – the man had Viridian in him, somewhere. Whether that was a parent, grandparent, or even further up his family tree, Ryan did not know, but it was obvious when one knew what to look for as he did.
The Senior Grunt bared his teeth. "Since the moment you called me out, Sampo. But before anything else, let's make one thing clear:" His eyes slid across the front of the building, eyeing them all. "This fight has our pride on the line, nothing else. Win or lose, I'm still your boss."
Ryan sniffed. "Obviously. If I did not respect the chain of command, this situation would not be nearly so grating."
Hoshi fixed him with a stare, no doubt searching for deception, and Ryan met his eyes solidly. "…Right. I guess we'd better lay some ground rules-"
"A full team-on-team fight, one Pokémon from each of us at a time, no switches, no use of items," Ryan undercut. "To knockout or surrender."
Silence, but for the blowing of the wind, and the equally hot air coming from that oaf of a Rocket Grunt. "Damn, man," Menard stated. "You really gonna accept the two-on-one?"
"I shall. Jormungandr is more than enough." And that is no mere boast; I've been training at the highest intensity these past few days. If we were to face that Executive and his showpony again, there would be a different result, I'd bet my very name on it.
Hoshi's lips twisted. "I guess that's fair."
Less than a minute later, the two stood across from each other. The line of trees to Ryan's left broke the wind slightly, but it was still intense enough that both men had to clutch their headwear lest they get facefuls of rain.
Nerine stood between them to the side, playing the part of referee as he had asked her to. As the delinquent girl restated the rules of the engagement, Ryan raised his activated Pokéball to his lips and whispered.
"He'll begin with his zubat, I'm sure of it. You know what to do."
Across the field his opponent was doing the same, and for a brief moment Ryan was struck by the symmetry. He had not spoken falsely, earlier; he had no personal quarrel with Hoshi Mutsu. The Executives had not been… incorrect, to praise the man for his efforts. He was not a poor leader.
But they had not known he would do that. Rise above their expectations. That was what galled him – yes, the man had revealed himself to be competent, and yes, Ryan had hurried off back home to celebrate his second-place victory and train, rather than stay and perform his duties properly…
He had been languid. That was a failure he would carry with him. It was also a failure that had occurred after his superiors had placed Mutsu above him, a man with exactly zero accolades to nis name – disregarding a single famous relative.
That was nepotism, bare and ugly. He, Ryan Sampo, had risen to become the Rocket Boss's favoured pick by effort, by deeds, by excellence in his studies and good judgment in battle.
And though he took immense pride in his heritage, it was one's person that determined their skill in battle. Nerine finished, raising her hand, and his grip on Jormungandr's ball tightened.
Her hand cut the rain in a downward slash. "Begin!"
He threw the ball hard, aiming for the other man's feet. As he predicted, Hoshi aimed for the same spot – he wanted distance, the better to rise into the air, away from Jorm's strong jaws. You'll have to think more than one step ahead, Mutsu!
Two flashes of red, a hint of panic breaking the Senior Grunt's composure as he yelled. "Crow, fly!"
Ryan bared his teeth in ecstasy; as the first move of the battle went to him, he couldn't resist a spot of banter.
When Ryan had once again set foot in Viridian, the first thing he did – after paying respects to his father and the Rocket Boss, of course – had been to learn absolutely everything about his Pokémon. Its diet, its temperament, its pedigree… and most importantly, the quirks of its species.
And what he found was that his little bagon was perfect for him – the species was one consumed by ambition; to ascend, and grow from tiny grounded child to mighty sovereign of the skies. They longed to fly so strongly, they would leap off of tall cliffs simply to feel the sensation for a single second… An ambition that Ryan knew all too well.
He, too, desired to ascend.
"You heard the man! Fly, Jormungandr!"
"Crow, fly!"
"You heard the man! Fly, Jormungandr!"
Hoshi's teeth clenched as the field flashed red. Stupid, why didn't I expect him to send his fucking dragon out on my side? It wasn't even a trick he was ignorant of – he had experienced it during the tournament, from that guy with the spider.
He could only hope that Crow could handle herself. "Evade!"
His bat came out three feet above ground and immediately spotted her opponent, the tiny dragon within lunging distance – she flapped for her life, fighting the rain as much as gravity, and Hoshi's heart thundered in his chest.
Fucking- am I going to lose in the first second? From one mistake? His fingerbones ached from how hard his fists were clenched, but the pain was distant, unimportant. "Come on!" The dragon leapt, its stubby legs propelling it further than Hoshi would have thought possible, firelight from its gaping maw scintillating off the raindrops as time slowed. "Dodge!" Fucking Arcus-damned typhoon-! I should've made this happen inside!
Then the bagon's teeth caught the edge of Crow's wing and time resumed. She fell – or rather was pulled down, a long rent in the paper-thin membrane, and liquid black despair filled his chest. Hoshi's heart froze solid as his chances of winning died.
No, some part of him said. It's only a wing, she's still conscious. We aren't out yet! "LEECH LIFE!" he roared, stomping the muddy, dying grass. "Go for the eyes!"
Crow flopped in the bagon's grip, her wing smoking. In the background Hoshi saw Ryan's eyes widening, his mouth opening to call out an order, but before he could speak a second, higher-pitched roar sounded out.
The bagon flung its head to the side, dashing Crow against the ground with her fur smouldering, its Fire Fang having done its job. "Zubat is unable to battle!" Nerine cried across the field. "Trainer Hoshi, return your Pokémon!"
Damnit, damnit, damn it all! The return laser of his ball flashed out, and finally the pain in his digits and jaw asserted itself. Is that it..? No. He eyed the dragon more closely as it keened, its anger now directed Hoshi's way. Its eye is closed, leaking blood. Is that- maybe that's enough? Maybe Guts can pull through?
"Hey," Nerine continued. "Hey, no trainers on the-"
Hoshi's eyes turned from the bagon just in time to receive Ryan's right hook to the jaw. "You bastard! If you've blinded my Pokémon-!"
He went down, taking another slug to the face as Ryan kneeled on top of him – but Hoshi must have been in a hundred stupid drunken bar fights, and the blond grunt hit light. He retaliated, splitting Ryan's lip, and they rolled in the mud.
Then a yipping growl way too close, and some of the anger broke into panic. The dragon! Where's the-?! As they tumbled he managed to catch glimpses of it, blue scales and fangs and a single sharp, enraged eye. It's fucking happening again. And there was no way he could stomp out this 'mon, steel-toed boots or not. He heaved, throwing the sopping wet asshole off and half-rising to meet the charging dragon.
"Water Gun!" came a voice from outside his tunneling vision, and the bagon was blown back a few steps. He tried to move, instinctively trying to take advantage of its weakness, but thickly muscled arms wrapped around under his armpits. Hoshi found himself being half-lifted, half-dragged away.
"Arc, boss!" Kenny exclaimed, laughing. "You sure know how to put on a show!"
In a blurry mess that Hoshi only mostly understood, the fight ended in a tie. Puce held Ryan up over her head until he calmed down, and he recalled his Pokémon. Casca put away her staryu. Nerine shrugged and said that as referee, she was calling it – that if they continued, someone was probably going to die.
"Boys," she scoffed, turning away. "They've gotta learn to take a chill pill and not stress the small stuff."
While all that happened, Hoshi sat, attempting to get a handle on his own emotions. He wasn't very successful – minutes passed as he breathed heavily, his teeth clenched, Casca hovering protectively just out of sight. Enough time for Ryan to approach, his face bearing a mix of lingering anger and growing contrition.
"I," he began, before taking a moment and restarting. "I apologise. I should not have assaulted you. That was a gross overreaction."
Hoshi continued to focus on his breath for a handful of seconds. Then with heavy, deliberate movements he stood. Guess I'm not the only one who flies off the handle, sometimes. "Yeah. Yeah, fine, I get it." Today was a fucking shitshow… or at least this part of today. Both of them were covered in mud, sporting bruises and scrapes – though he felt a spark of satisfaction as he noted that Ryan was definitely worse off.
His hand came up. "Next time, then."
A small pause where Hoshi thought the man might refuse, before he accepted the handshake. His palm was wet and slick. "Next time. I didn't even get to showcase Jormungandr's new move…"
Listening to them was oddly surreal; he had been born in Viridian, though he retained no memories of that place, and his mother's native city had always been an object of… third-hand pride, so to speak. Sort of like how Uncle Bob keeps up with that one Orre city's baseball news religiously, despite not setting foot there since he was a little kid.
Giovanni was an old figure, celebrated and reviled in equal measure, and one that he felt a very tenuous, ephemeral, but nonetheless real connection to – and so hearing them recount their efforts to find the man after his disappearance, it was…
Like watching some daytime TV show, but then suddenly someone I know shows up as a bit character. It makes reality seem less real.
"And that concludes the stunning finale of the Galarian section of our adventure…" James narrated.
"…But we wouldn't be moving south quite yet!" Jessie continued. "As I'm sure you know, to the east of Kalos is an untamed area, a bastion of nature untouched by human hands…"
"Meow."
"Exactly!" James gestured, sweeping his arm across his body, palm up, before curling his fingers as though grasping something in his mind's eye. "Just teeming with rare Pokémon! And since our coffers were sadly empty from buying all those antique sets of armour-"
The Senior Executive's voice was cut off by a soft sound, and some of the magic of the story broke as the both of them turned their attention to the entrance at the back of the room.
Hoshi turned to see Moon- damn it, come on, we shook on it. To see Kenny standing awkwardly, his bald head shining in the bright classroom lights like the full moon, damn it, can you not make it easy for me?
"Uh, sorry I'm late," he growled, chastisement under his voice like painted-over graffiti. "My Nana had a fall, and-"
"Perfectly fine!" Jessie interrupted him right back. "The Electric Academy prides itself on covering for our students' mysterious disappearances!"
"You'll just have to snag some notes off a peer after the lesson. Take a seat, Mister Kaneth."
The large man did so, sheepish in a way Hoshi had never seen before, and the Rocket duo continued.
"…And that's all the time we have for today!" Jessie concluded, to the collective disappointment of the 'students,' Hoshi among them.
"Don't worry," James assured them. "We'll pick things back up in the next lesson!"
"Think of it as a 'next time on' soap opera ending!"
"Meow!"
With a synchronised nod, the two Rockets and their Pokémon began gathering up their notes and cleaning the whiteboard. Kenny grunted in annoyance as his effort to copy the dense writing was thwarted, prompting Hoshi to roll his eyes.
"Don't worry, I've got everything down. We can go over it later."
The muscular man's face brightened. "Yeah? Right, the plannin' thing – we doin' that now?"
Hoshi gave a half nod. "In a bit." After I show Ryan a strong Pokémon doesn't always mean a winning one. Raising his voice, he addressed the group. "Why don't you all go get your rain stuff on, and we'll meet in front of the school? Me and Ryan are gonna have a little showdown, then we can get some serious training done, if you're up for it."
It was surprisingly easy to pitch his voice authoritatively – he had never really been in a situation like this, the leader of a group, but it turned out that anticipating this moment over and over in his head had done something useful along with stressing him out.
The collection of Rocket Grunts stood – except for one. Puce raised her hand, speaking to the crimson crescent of Jessie's turned back. "P-pardon, instructors, but… Is today meant to be a half day? It's only two in the afternoon…"
Hoshi blinked. Is it? I was so caught up in their 'history lesson' I wasn't really keeping track…
Jessie and James turned. "Excellent question!" the woman announced.
"We were going to use the second half of the lesson to go over some details on your ongoing mission…" her partner continued.
"But your project leader managed to get ahead of us!" Jessie's ruby-painted lips turned up as she shot Hoshi a look that caused a dusting of pink to appear on his cheeks. "So we thought, 'if he's going to do our work for us…'"
"'Why stop him?'"
"Ee-ow," said Meowth, his mouth obstructed by a large pen. Wait, is he writing..? No, don't get distracted.
"Exactly!"
James shot his own smile Hoshi's way, and the blush went from pink to red. "You're exceeding our expectations, Senior Grunt – no one else thought to come to us for additional details."
"Or coordinate with the others in their own time."
"Or bother to plan contingencies for failure." The man's green eyes flashed. "Very neat handwriting, by the way."
Hoshi awkwardly shuffled. "…Thanks." Okay, there's definitely a trap door in the ceiling somewhere – that's the only place they'd be able to peek at my notes.
"Oh, okay," Puce said after a moment of silence, finally standing. "Thank you for clearing that up."
Jessie nodded. "Honestly, even if we had decided to promote someone else, Mister Mutsu's attitude would have us questioning that decision."
"Yes, he's really been on top of things!"
"Mao."
Out the corner of his eye Hoshi saw Ryan's face twist, and his blush receded a hair's breadth. Right… they aren't just praising me, they're putting him down. I was just speculating when I said they didn't want someone from a different… cell, let's say, in charge, but this makes it pretty explicit.
The Rocket Executives went back to cleaning the room, and the students packed up their own notes and left.
"You guys are fightin', right? Full-on Pokémon battle?"
Kenny's voice had lost the thin dregs of submission from earlier; he didn't even attempt to modulate his volume, his words loud and eager.
The man's sparkling black eyes showcased just how much he was looking forward to the coming violence.
"We will be battling, yes," Ryan answered, still gritting his teeth from their bosses' dressing-down. "Assuming that Mutsu is willing, that is."
Hah, can't even manage to imply I'm a coward properly. "I said we'd meet in front of the school, didn't I?"
The moment they had left the room, Nerine had pulled a bag of chips from her overstuffed backpack. Until that moment she'd been trailing behind, paying more attention to her snack than the conversation, but as things got heated she pulled back to the group. "You get that winning won't get you his stripes, right?" she sent Ryan's way.
He snorted. "This is about honour, not just the rank. And besides…" His sour look diminished. "Won't it? The uniform is ceremonial – the authority comes from being obeyed. Wouldn't you prefer to take your cues from the stronger trainer?"
"Eh," Nerine replied. "Not really? In a 'go fight this guy' mission yeah, but this isn't that. I'm cool with letting whoever's willing to call the shots call the shots."
She started to drop back, completely losing interest now that her piece was said, and Puce slid in to fill the gap in conversation.
"Wouldn't it be better if you worked together?" Work together? Fuck that, not until he pulls the stick out of his ass! The woman shrivelled under his and Ryan's gazes, but for the first time Hoshi saw her grow a spine and defend herself. "I'm serious! This is silly – the instructors gave Mister Mutsu a promotion fair and square. There isn't any reason for you two to fight."
Ryan's anger flared back up, but a moment later he managed to calm himself. "Again, this isn't about Mutsu. This is about the blatant disrespect being shown to me, simply because I'm Mister Archer's protege; I simply cannot stand such blatant nepotism."
The hall went dead silent. …Oh, Arcus fuck, that's… Ryan's brows came together in confusion at the five incredulous looks sent his way – not even Casca, who Hoshi had assumed to have a disarming comment for every situation, could open her mouth in front of that statement.
Then, a soft choking noise, slowly growing in volume… until great, heaving guffaws erupted from Kenny's mouth.
"HAH-!" he gasped. "AH, he said, HAHAH-!"
He couldn't even form a sentence, and then Nerine began to snicker as well. Hoshi joined in, and soon it was only Ryan and Puce walking silently, both red-faced – one from embarrassment, and the other from trying to hold in her own burgeoning laughter.
"I mean it," Ryan choked out, which only made Kenny laugh harder. A head poked out from a doorway as they passed, no doubt wondering what the commotion was, and Hoshi had to stop and catch his breath lest he actually throw up.
He could hear the blond grinding his teeth – until he finally seemed to give up, quickening his pace and marching ahead.
"Ah, wait..!" Puce attempted, but he disappeared around the corner without looking back. "Oh… Guys, that felt kind of mean."
Casca wiped a tear from her eyes. "Fuck 'im. If he wants to be a prick, he can take the consequences."
Fucking right. Hoshi bumped her shoulder in thanks, but inside a seed of hesitation formed. On the one hand, he was grateful to the instructors; their half-veiled mockery had set the mood against the Viridian, making it easy to get everyone on his side – it was easy to picture a version of that conversation where Ryan was more composed, making a better argument and winning one or two people over.
But on the other, he was going to have to work with this guy for at least the one job – and if he hated Hoshi too much, that could very easily fuck them over. I doubt he'd go all the way and sabotage the mission, but I'm not exactly a mind reader… And his pride is obviously a weak point. Just picking the wrong time to disobey an order out of spite might send the house of cards tumbling.
So… Against the flow of his emotions, Hoshi forced himself to take a breath and kill the lingering snickers that wanted to form. "Well, maybe that was a bit much. We probably shouldn't dogpile the guy – beating him in a battle's enough for me."
Hoshi emerged from the school, wearing his rain gear over his uniform. By some quirk of fate he was the last to arrive; a dramatically appropriate turn of events. Actually, it's probably a quirk of fashion – the others are wearing slip-on raincoats; I'm the only one with professional, fitted waterproof clothes that take time to put on.
"Took ya long enough," Kenny spoke from the shadow of the building's roof, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. At his feet Nerine was sitting, click-clacking away at a handheld game console in the thin slice of dryness between solid stone and nearly-solid water.
Hoshi grunted in reply, casting his eyes out towards the gloom of the stormy afternoon. Is it coming down harder? Arcus, Fuchsia and Pallet must be completely flooded by this point. While the bay's waters were crashing against the docks like giant's fists, he could only imagine how bad it was for the cities bordering the open ocean, without any barriers between them and the typhoon. Not to mention Cinnabar and the other islands…
He shook off the speculation, returning to the present. A dark shape approached, resolving into Ryan in a trench coat, Puce trailing him with an oversized umbrella – she was the only one of them not wearing a coat, and Hoshi wondered if she forgot it inside, forgot it at home, or had come in something that didn't fit over her grunt uniform.
A hint of drifting smoke found his nose through the downpour, and he decided that Ryan could simmer a minute more. He made his way to Casca, a point of orange light illuminating her face as she took shelter under a tree.
"Nervous?" he asked, and she plucked the cigarette from her lips to reply.
"It's stupid, isn't it? Obviously you're gonna win."
His dark purple eyes found her baby blue ones, reflected lights dancing in her pupils, and they shared a smile. "Do you have to jinx me right before it starts?" Wet footsteps approached, and he drew in a breath. Time's up. Let's see if a bat can beat a dragon.
Ryan Sampo understood that his words hadn't endeared him to anyone today.
It was simply… difficult, to adjust to the change in his situation. Back in Viridian City, he was well-liked. By his friends, his neighbours, his superiors… Very nearly everyone he had ever met was either a peer who looked at him with respect, an authority figure who nodded at his competence, or a member of his own family, who obviously loved and cared for him.
Now, here he was – surrounded by unfamiliar people and a pair of Senior Executives who obviously disfavoured him without even gauging his talents first. Anyone would find such things grating, would they not?
But even so, he was disappointed with himself; men of Sampo blood did not wallow, or allow themselves to be consumed by emotion. And so as he approached his rival he balled up the humiliation within, and swallowed it down.
"Hoshi Mutsu. Are you prepared?"
The man turned, revealing his small, burning eyes. As always, there was the smallest seed of recognition – the man had Viridian in him, somewhere. Whether that was a parent, grandparent, or even further up his family tree, Ryan did not know, but it was obvious when one knew what to look for as he did.
The Senior Grunt bared his teeth. "Since the moment you called me out, Sampo. But before anything else, let's make one thing clear:" His eyes slid across the front of the building, eyeing them all. "This fight has our pride on the line, nothing else. Win or lose, I'm still your boss."
Ryan sniffed. "Obviously. If I did not respect the chain of command, this situation would not be nearly so grating."
Hoshi fixed him with a stare, no doubt searching for deception, and Ryan met his eyes solidly. "…Right. I guess we'd better lay some ground rules-"
"A full team-on-team fight, one Pokémon from each of us at a time, no switches, no use of items," Ryan undercut. "To knockout or surrender."
Silence, but for the blowing of the wind, and the equally hot air coming from that oaf of a Rocket Grunt. "Damn, man," Menard stated. "You really gonna accept the two-on-one?"
"I shall. Jormungandr is more than enough." And that is no mere boast; I've been training at the highest intensity these past few days. If we were to face that Executive and his showpony again, there would be a different result, I'd bet my very name on it.
Hoshi's lips twisted. "I guess that's fair."
Less than a minute later, the two stood across from each other. The line of trees to Ryan's left broke the wind slightly, but it was still intense enough that both men had to clutch their headwear lest they get facefuls of rain.
Nerine stood between them to the side, playing the part of referee as he had asked her to. As the delinquent girl restated the rules of the engagement, Ryan raised his activated Pokéball to his lips and whispered.
"He'll begin with his zubat, I'm sure of it. You know what to do."
Across the field his opponent was doing the same, and for a brief moment Ryan was struck by the symmetry. He had not spoken falsely, earlier; he had no personal quarrel with Hoshi Mutsu. The Executives had not been… incorrect, to praise the man for his efforts. He was not a poor leader.
But they had not known he would do that. Rise above their expectations. That was what galled him – yes, the man had revealed himself to be competent, and yes, Ryan had hurried off back home to celebrate his second-place victory and train, rather than stay and perform his duties properly…
He had been languid. That was a failure he would carry with him. It was also a failure that had occurred after his superiors had placed Mutsu above him, a man with exactly zero accolades to nis name – disregarding a single famous relative.
That was nepotism, bare and ugly. He, Ryan Sampo, had risen to become the Rocket Boss's favoured pick by effort, by deeds, by excellence in his studies and good judgment in battle.
And though he took immense pride in his heritage, it was one's person that determined their skill in battle. Nerine finished, raising her hand, and his grip on Jormungandr's ball tightened.
Her hand cut the rain in a downward slash. "Begin!"
He threw the ball hard, aiming for the other man's feet. As he predicted, Hoshi aimed for the same spot – he wanted distance, the better to rise into the air, away from Jorm's strong jaws. You'll have to think more than one step ahead, Mutsu!
Two flashes of red, a hint of panic breaking the Senior Grunt's composure as he yelled. "Crow, fly!"
Ryan bared his teeth in ecstasy; as the first move of the battle went to him, he couldn't resist a spot of banter.
When Ryan had once again set foot in Viridian, the first thing he did – after paying respects to his father and the Rocket Boss, of course – had been to learn absolutely everything about his Pokémon. Its diet, its temperament, its pedigree… and most importantly, the quirks of its species.
And what he found was that his little bagon was perfect for him – the species was one consumed by ambition; to ascend, and grow from tiny grounded child to mighty sovereign of the skies. They longed to fly so strongly, they would leap off of tall cliffs simply to feel the sensation for a single second… An ambition that Ryan knew all too well.
He, too, desired to ascend.
"You heard the man! Fly, Jormungandr!"
"Crow, fly!"
"You heard the man! Fly, Jormungandr!"
Hoshi's teeth clenched as the field flashed red. Stupid, why didn't I expect him to send his fucking dragon out on my side? It wasn't even a trick he was ignorant of – he had experienced it during the tournament, from that guy with the spider.
He could only hope that Crow could handle herself. "Evade!"
His bat came out three feet above ground and immediately spotted her opponent, the tiny dragon within lunging distance – she flapped for her life, fighting the rain as much as gravity, and Hoshi's heart thundered in his chest.
Fucking- am I going to lose in the first second? From one mistake? His fingerbones ached from how hard his fists were clenched, but the pain was distant, unimportant. "Come on!" The dragon leapt, its stubby legs propelling it further than Hoshi would have thought possible, firelight from its gaping maw scintillating off the raindrops as time slowed. "Dodge!" Fucking Arcus-damned typhoon-! I should've made this happen inside!
Then the bagon's teeth caught the edge of Crow's wing and time resumed. She fell – or rather was pulled down, a long rent in the paper-thin membrane, and liquid black despair filled his chest. Hoshi's heart froze solid as his chances of winning died.
No, some part of him said. It's only a wing, she's still conscious. We aren't out yet! "LEECH LIFE!" he roared, stomping the muddy, dying grass. "Go for the eyes!"
Crow flopped in the bagon's grip, her wing smoking. In the background Hoshi saw Ryan's eyes widening, his mouth opening to call out an order, but before he could speak a second, higher-pitched roar sounded out.
The bagon flung its head to the side, dashing Crow against the ground with her fur smouldering, its Fire Fang having done its job. "Zubat is unable to battle!" Nerine cried across the field. "Trainer Hoshi, return your Pokémon!"
Damnit, damnit, damn it all! The return laser of his ball flashed out, and finally the pain in his digits and jaw asserted itself. Is that it..? No. He eyed the dragon more closely as it keened, its anger now directed Hoshi's way. Its eye is closed, leaking blood. Is that- maybe that's enough? Maybe Guts can pull through?
"Hey," Nerine continued. "Hey, no trainers on the-"
Hoshi's eyes turned from the bagon just in time to receive Ryan's right hook to the jaw. "You bastard! If you've blinded my Pokémon-!"
He went down, taking another slug to the face as Ryan kneeled on top of him – but Hoshi must have been in a hundred stupid drunken bar fights, and the blond grunt hit light. He retaliated, splitting Ryan's lip, and they rolled in the mud.
Then a yipping growl way too close, and some of the anger broke into panic. The dragon! Where's the-?! As they tumbled he managed to catch glimpses of it, blue scales and fangs and a single sharp, enraged eye. It's fucking happening again. And there was no way he could stomp out this 'mon, steel-toed boots or not. He heaved, throwing the sopping wet asshole off and half-rising to meet the charging dragon.
"Water Gun!" came a voice from outside his tunneling vision, and the bagon was blown back a few steps. He tried to move, instinctively trying to take advantage of its weakness, but thickly muscled arms wrapped around under his armpits. Hoshi found himself being half-lifted, half-dragged away.
"Arc, boss!" Kenny exclaimed, laughing. "You sure know how to put on a show!"
In a blurry mess that Hoshi only mostly understood, the fight ended in a tie. Puce held Ryan up over her head until he calmed down, and he recalled his Pokémon. Casca put away her staryu. Nerine shrugged and said that as referee, she was calling it – that if they continued, someone was probably going to die.
"Boys," she scoffed, turning away. "They've gotta learn to take a chill pill and not stress the small stuff."
While all that happened, Hoshi sat, attempting to get a handle on his own emotions. He wasn't very successful – minutes passed as he breathed heavily, his teeth clenched, Casca hovering protectively just out of sight. Enough time for Ryan to approach, his face bearing a mix of lingering anger and growing contrition.
"I," he began, before taking a moment and restarting. "I apologise. I should not have assaulted you. That was a gross overreaction."
Hoshi continued to focus on his breath for a handful of seconds. Then with heavy, deliberate movements he stood. Guess I'm not the only one who flies off the handle, sometimes. "Yeah. Yeah, fine, I get it." Today was a fucking shitshow… or at least this part of today. Both of them were covered in mud, sporting bruises and scrapes – though he felt a spark of satisfaction as he noted that Ryan was definitely worse off.
His hand came up. "Next time, then."
A small pause where Hoshi thought the man might refuse, before he accepted the handshake. His palm was wet and slick. "Next time. I didn't even get to showcase Jormungandr's new move…"
I never even considered how starting positions could be determined by how one throws their pokeball. I feel dumb now.
Last edited:
3.06 - A Real Trainer
- Location
- Edmonton, Alberta
Modern medicine sure was something – at least as far as Pokémon were concerned.
After a round in the knock-off healing machine, Crow was back to full health – Ryan's dragon too, for that matter. Giant fucking baby. What, did he think Crow's tiny fangs could put out a whole eye?
He grimaced as he thought it through. …Actually, if we didn't have access to these machines, it might've lost that eye. His zubat was far from a powerhouse, but the bagon wasn't exactly fully grown either.
Hoshi gave the tangle of pipes and electronics an appreciative look, though the puffiness of his black eye must have made said look lop-sided. Good thing we do have them, then. Too bad they don't work on people…
The thought came and went easily – by now it had repeated itself too many times to count, completely losing its impact. I wonder where Rocket got these things – were they built in-house? They certainly looked like it; unlike the Pokécentre machines he had seen numerous times on TV, these ones were much more compact, only able to treat a single Pokémon at a time. Plus they lacked an outer casing; their innards were on full display.
Or maybe they stole them one part at a time – that would explain why they're so minimalistic, at least.
After one last lingering look, he turned back to see the group paired off as he had left them. Ryan and his… ugh, Jormungandr, paired with Kenny and Bubbles the sandshrew, while Nerine and Tomato the ekans stood against Puce and the koffing she had somehow managed to also name Tomato – the two would have to settle that between them, otherwise it would get confusing. And then there was Casca, patiently waiting for him to finish, her brow quirked.
"Just about done, stud?"
His smile was pained. "Yeah. So, how do you feel about training?"
Her own expression, in turn, was sympathetic – both for him, and herself. "Eh. I mean, pretty good?" Up came her Pokéball, and unlike Hoshi and the other grunt's hers was uncovered. The purple Rocket Ball gleamed iridescent with its eye-shaped lens and weird bumps. "Candy is kind of out of shape… I'm not much of a battler."
"That's fine. We'll start things off slow." It wasn't just his emotions that had urged him to keep his girlfriend to himself – though that was a nice side consideration – no, he had put a bit of thought into who would be paired with who.
Kenny and Puce were frankly abysmal; yeah, Kenny had won a single match, but from his description it had been a basic slugfest against a similarly untrained meowth, and Puce hadn't even gotten that far. They needed the most help, so he put them with the two better trainers.
He and Casca were probably closer to the middle of the pack; his Pokémon were relatively untrained, while she did almost exclusively undercover work where battling wasn't necessary – though if he was being honest, it would probably be more accurate to say that her lazy streak extended past housework and into training.
That Water Gun was pretty alright, though. "Alright. Let's start with some tag." He released Guts, and a moment later she did the same with her golden orange-brown starfish. Staryu wasn't a Pokémon he was very familiar with; unlike a lot of other oceanic creatures, they tended not to venture into the bay, preferring to stay on the seafloor. The 'mon stood on two of its semi-rigid legs, seemingly unconcerned about being up on land. Kind of creepy how it stands upright – feels like a fish shouldn't be able to do that. I wonder… do they walk like that underwater, or did it learn bipedalism from being around humans?
The two Pokémon sized each other up – or at least that was how Hoshi decided to interpret the staryu's angled, faceless body. "Guts, we're going to be playing a game; I want you to tackle Candy over there, but lightly. Once you get a hit, back off and try to dodge its attacks. You understand?"
The rat's whiskers vibrated as it sniffed, giving him a blank look. Well, she'll get it once I start giving orders.
Casca's Pokémon, in contrast, responded by pumping its nubby limbs in an unsettlingly humanoid motion. She reached down to pat its… head? Top arm? "Ready for some exercise?" Her smile got a touch more playful. "Let's start first! Candy, Tackle!"
Kenny frowned. "And yer sure this'll help him with his moves?"
Running laps wasn't exactly how he'd been picturing this training session in his head. Though it was kind of funny seeing the little guy waddle after Ryan's own Pokémon, the dragon goading him on with taunting yips.
"I'm absolutely certain," Ryan answered. "Your sandshrew has a good temperament, but you need to look further ahead; instead of focusing on Sand Attack, something that will work itself out in a battle or two, you should be training with an eye towards Rollout. That will be its primary attack and mobility tool for a long while, and the move requires a physicality that your Pokémon is… currently lacking."
Kenny grunted thoughtfully. "I guess. But I'd still like to get Sand Attack down proper."
The man turned. He had changed out of his muddy grunt uniform and into a light blue suit, and it was a little hard to take him seriously while he was all dolled up – but he had nearly won the tournament, so Kenny would have to be pretty stupid to ignore his advice. "Of course. We can do some light battling once… Bubbles, was it? Yes, once Bubbles runs out of steam. That will help with stamina as much as the running; sandslash is a fairly balanced Pokémon, with both offense and defence, so staying power is key."
Another grunt. Makes sense… But it kinda feels like I can do this any time. I wanna do training that needs a partner while I can! But as much as the words wanted to burst out, he held them in. Got all day for it… rushing'll be bad.
Just gotta be patient. Put our heads down and do the work, same as anything.
But speaking of that… "Yo, Suit." The man took a moment to register the nickname, looking over with faint confusion. "You punch like a fuckin' girl man. That was disgraceful."
The man's white-blond curls bounced like he was the star of a shampoo commercial. "I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me. You said Bubbles wasn't cuttin' it physically – well, neither 'r you." Kenny turned to face the ponce, letting the angry stare wash over him without flinching. "While our Pokémon train, why don't I show you some moves? I used to wrestle, y'know."
"I hardly think I need to-"
"Come on, man. We ain't goin' for the Indigo Cup, here – this is dirty work. Gotta be ready to go in, right?" He raised his fists, and sent out a few jabs.
Ryan's nose remained scrunched in distaste, but after a second he broke eye contact. "That is… not the worst use of our time, I suppose."
Puce stared at the younger girl, and against her will started to fidget. "Um… I'm not sure?"
"Guess," came Miss Rose's flat reply, her arms crossed sternly. In the background her ekans and Toma- and Potato traded clouds of Smog and Poison Sting needles.
"…G-ground?"
"And?"
Puce racked her brain. She was bad at this, knew she was bad at this, and that knowledge seemed to block up all the pathways of her thoughts, clogging them with sludge. "I…" Somehow the tiny girl in front of her was twelve feet tall, looming, her displeasure a solid wall. "I don't know…"
It hurt to admit, the same as it always did. Just like everything else in her entire life, the strengths and weaknesses of each type of Pokémon fell right out of her head the moment she needed it.
Miss Rose sighed. "Psychic. The other one is psychic." A pause, then she slipped another sentence out in a lower voice. "And bug, sometimes. It depends on the species and what they've been eating… But ground and psychic are the big ones."
Puce hung her head, nodding tepidly as all the energy went out of her. "Right. I'll try to remember that, Miss Rose."
The teenager continued to stare at her, eyes narrowed under thin glass. Her face screwed up for a fraction of a second in emotion, but before Puce could identify what it was, it was gone.
"Look, Puce, this is… This isn't going to work. I get not knowing the chart top-to-bottom, but can you not do one type?"
She opened her mouth, then thought better and settled on a sad shake of the head instead. I try, I really do try, I promise…
And like a mirror, the younger girl did the same – opening her mouth, then closing it. Instead of speaking, she turned and went to sit against her backpack. She took off her hat, letting the green waterfall of her hair tumble out.
Puce shamefully looked away from yet another teacher who she had forced to give up. On the field their two Pokémon continued to refine their aim; the ekans actually seemed to be losing, since her koffing's attacks covered a wider area. Ha… My Pokémon is actually better without me…
"Why Tomato?"
She startled. "Huh?"
Miss Rose raised her head. "Why'd you name your koffing that? I named mine that 'cause they're my favourite food. I didn't want to go with Noodle or something lame like that, but a different food name seemed… funny, I guess."
"Oh… Um, I just thought she looked kind of like a big tomato?" And I couldn't think of anything better… "But Potato is good, too. I'm not mad I had to change it, or anything." It's actually kind of cool, isn't it? That we'd give our Pokémon the same name.
Another sigh. The girl reached back, digging in her bag for a second before drawing out a super-sized chocolate bar. "Sorry, I didn't mean to imply you're stupid or anything. It's just, like, this is weird, you know? I expected being in a gang to be… different." She smiled thinly as the wrapper tore. "Like, I'm basically just at school. And it isn't…" She made a frustrated noise, biting into the thick chocolate and chewing without any decorum.
There was a tiny voice in the back of her head that sounded like Mother, urging Puce to rebuke the teen for her sloppiness. But that voice had been steamed out by the pressure cooker of a public high school, and she ignored it with only a little effort. "No, you were right. I'm not… good at this."
With hesitant steps she approached, and sat down heavily beside the girl. "I… I've always wanted to be a Pokémon trainer, ever since I was old enough to want to be anything." Like usual, her bulky body made things awkward; without even trying, she seemed to crowd the girl, making her scoot over. "But… maybe I should quit. I flunked out of school, and then the reform school… I couldn't even get the tests done back when they were easy. My parents paid a lot to get me in here, and… I don't want to be a burden on anyone…" This was the last shot. Rocket doesn't care about exam scores or anything like that… so if I'm still failing, doesn't that mean it wasn't the tests that were the problem? That it's just big, stupid me?
Miss Rose chewed on her candy for a minute, occasionally glancing Puce's way before hastily looking away.
Eventually, she spoke. "Okay, I don't know how to deal with this. Let's just… pretend this whole conversation never happened, okay?" She balled up the now-empty wrapper, and shoved it back into her bag before standing. Reluctantly, Puce stood as well. "Koffing is a better Pokémon than most people give it credit for. It's way more durable than it looks, and it learns a lot of strong moves naturally. Plus it explodes, which is super cool."
She scratched at her head before donning her cap, tucking her long dyed hair up into the oversized crown. "On the other hand, it has poor endurance and can't float very fast at all. If you can't remember what your own Pokémon can do…"
Puce tensed. Here came the rebuke, the urging to give up for her own good. This time… I think I'm finally ready to hear it. Nerine was good, a real trainer the way her old teachers hadn't been; if she said Puce was a lost cause… well, who was she to argue?
"…Then you need a strategy that works in every situation. Something rote, that you can follow by instinct." Her eyes were cold, calculating, the way they'd been during her fight with Ryan. Her foot tapped the ground, loose rubber squeaking, and something about the combo of sound and expression made Puce break out in gooseflesh.
"Yeah," she continued, seemingly speaking more for her own benefit than the older woman's. "A rote strategy. Defence and poison…" Her mouth was a thin line as she turned back to Puce. "I think you'd make a decent defensive battler, Puce. Yeah… just grinding forward. Poison's a type that a lot of people underestimate, but it can be pretty damn good if you use it right."
Arc, now I know why she was so adamant that a starmie could beat the Elite Four. It turned out that not only was Casca's starter Pokémon faster than both of his, its Water Gun hit like a fucking truck.
"I'm impressed," he said, watching the starfish nail Crow dead-on with an underpowered spurt. Waterlogged, the aggrieved zubat needed to flap twice as hard just to stay airborne. "This guy's way stronger than the one I fought in the Little Cup."
Casca shot him a satisfied look, but was a touch more humble with her words. "I've been a Rocket for a while, Hoshi. I wouldn't call myself a great trainer, but Candy's fully grown; that's an advantage all on its own."
Still. I was expecting things to be a little more even. Like clockwork, the staryu jumped and spun like a massive shuriken, nailing Crow with a light Tackle – light in comparison, he should say; given the sheer weight disparity the hit was still heavy enough to bruise. "I think that's enough tag for now; I don't want my girls to get dispirited."
His girlfriend raised a brow at his choice of words, but let it slide. A minute later, and they were all healed up and ready for the next phase of training: actual battle.
In his preliminary plans, Hoshi had been expecting to fight with just one of his Pokémon – but since the strength disparity was larger than expected, he'd switched things up and decided to use this as an opportunity to practise his Pokémon's teamwork. And my ability to command them at the same time, too.
"Ready when you are!" Casca yelled. Though the battle court was less richly appointed than the rest of the school, it was still large enough to accommodate a few small-scale battles, something he was thankful for. If we had to do this in the rain, we'd be miserable, especially Ryan with his muddy jacket. Though speaking of him…
Hoshi glanced at the two other pairs of grunts. Nerine and Puce seem good – are they playing tag too? I guess it is a pretty good way to train. And Ryan and Kenny are-
He blinked. The ex-wrestler had Ryan in a headlock, their Pokémon seemingly forgotten as the dragon and rodent chased each other in circles. With a sigh he adjusted his cap. Typical. I thought Menard might have some brains somewhere in that oversized skull, but I guess it's meathead all the way down. "One sec, I need to nip this in the bud." He stepped towards the two men. I suppose I should have expected this. Kenny likes to pick on Puce, so putting him next to Ryan, whose ass I just kicked, was bound to-
"Naw, don't worry. Big guy's just teaching him some hand-to-hand."
Casca's words made him stop in his tracks. "Huh?"
She shot him a look that was both smug and mildly rueful. "Tag wasn't quite holding my attention, sooo…" she trailed off, drawing out the vowel. "I started people-watching. Sorry, I know this is important."
Hoshi frowned. "You heard them from all the way on the other side of the room?"
In response, she put her hand next to her head and flapped the thumb against the rest of her fingers in a blah blah blah gesture. "Lip reading."
"Huh." I didn't know you could do that. Hoshi's eyes went back to the men for a moment, before he turned back to his girlfriend – and their Pokémon – properly. I'll just take her word for it. Though Kenny had shown at least a puddle's worth of depth and Ryan hadn't been as big of an ass as he could have been today, he still didn't exactly like either of them. "Well, alright then. I guess we're good to go."
Deep breaths, girl.
Casca Kichi was good at her job. But unfortunately, Pokémon battling was… outside of her core competencies, you could say.
You could also say that she sucked major ass, if you wanted to speak Kantonese.
She chuckled softly as she felt the weight of Candy's ball. The humour helped; some of her nervousness flew away, through the ceiling and into the clouds up above. Damn, I forgot how weird it is to hold these things.
The Rocket Ball felt unsteady in her hand, like the captured Pokémon was moving around inside – obviously that wasn't what was happening, but the image refused to leave her head every time she was forced to battle. Not that that's a large number…
"On three," Hoshi called. Okay, game face. She raised the ball to her lips. "One, two-"
"Use Water Gun right away," she whispered, and wound up to throw.
"Three!"
Both Candy and Hoshi's Rattata popped out in centre-field – damn, I wanted more space; gotta work on my spin – and a moment later his zubat joined in. But before either trainer could draw breath for an order, each Pokémon moved to attack; Candy bent her topmost leg down, firing a jet of water from the normally-invisible opening on the end. Guts leapt to the side and charged, the spray striking the ground behind her and splashing Hoshi with mud. Crow flew upwards, angling to fly a mildly curving path towards her opponent.
"Damnit!" her lover yelled, spitting, and she realised she had accidentally created a moment where the opposing trainer was effectively blind.
Not that there are a whole lot of options. "Follow the rattata! Keep up the pressure!" There's no reason to Harden before it gets close, same goes for Tackle.
Hoshi rubbed the mud out of his eyes just in time to witness his rat get blasted. "Guts!" The smaller Pokémon was light enough that it caught some impressive air, and Casca started to feel the contrary emotions of maybe I can win this hope and I feel bad about it hesitation. It felt kind of like cheating, using an innately stronger Pokémon to beat up something tiny and cute – and not in a fun way like stacking the deck in poker.
Then the zubat screeched, Candy's aim wobbling under the waves of disorienting sound. Hoshi is taking this seriously… so I will, too! "Reload, then another Water Gun! This time, hit the zubat!"
Her boyfriend's eyes flashed with hope strong enough she could see it through both the sludge and bruises coating his face. "Charge! Tail Whip into Quick Attack!"
The little rat rolled onto its feet – and put on a burst of speed faster than it had ever gone during tag. Holy-! "Fighting retreat!"
Candy followed the order, taking a leap backwards and spinning her body to catch the air in that uncanny way all staryu seemed to instinctively know how to do – she almost flew back, swooping down as well as any bird, firing her Water Gun the moment she touched down.
The force of the water jet propelled her even further, and Casca raised a leg to let her Pokémon slide past on her back. The attack missed wildly, but Hoshi still bared his teeth. "Come on! If this were a real match, you'd be out of the ring!"
She very maturely stuck out her tongue. "If you're gonna make up rules, do it before the match starts!"
Her boyfriend growled as his Pokémon attempted, unsuccessfully, to make up the distance. "First thing in the morning," he muttered, inaudible, "I'm visiting Pokémart. This fucking melee-on-ranged shit is miserable."
Guts and Crow did, eventually, manage to catch up. Hoshi watched as Casca's staryu gradually ran out of steam – or water, rather – the 'reload time' between each Water Gun gradually increasing. In light of this, he had Guts stay back in a move that might have seemed suicidal from the outside.
But it worked out; at range, Guts and Crow were able to dodge the increasingly flaccid jets of water, and once Hoshi judged their threat level to be low enough… "Guts, charge! Let's try this again!"
Going easy with the day's prior training paid off; his girl still had enough in the tank for a solid sprint, and soon she was within biting distance, the starfish's leaps not enough to keep it away. Low stamina; that's its weak point! Casca panicked, screaming "Harden!" a full second before it was necessary.
Ha, same mistake as that grunt I fought in my initiation! "Get behind and tip it over with Tail Whip!"
However unlike that dumbass grunt, Casca – whether she knew it or not – made the right decision.
"T-tackle! Then Harden, then Tackle again!"
Guts managed to at least get it off its 'feet,' but rather than fall gem-side-down in the muddy earth, the staryu caught itself with its three other arms and kicked. Guts took the hit to the teeth, squeaking and retreating.
"Keep it up! Its Tackle shouldn't hit as hard as your Quick Attack – you've got it on the ropes!"
"Come on, Candy! One last Water Gun, point blank!"
"Crow, get in there! Leech Life!"
Meowth watched from a window as the fresh crop of Rocket Grunts stumbled back out into the rain. They looked drained – which was good; that was how a trainer was meant to look at the end of the day. Good on dem. Makes me feel like a proud fadah watchin' 'is kittens.
Two sets of footsteps, close enough in gait that only his sensitive whiskers could discern that there were two, pitter-pattered lightly into the room. Jessie and James came up behind him, watching silently until all six of their minions were past the gate and out of sight – amusingly it was the younger girl who led the pack; apparently she could muster as much motivation as she needed to get away from their little academy.
"What's your read on them, Meowth?" James asked.
He worked his jaw before answering. Sometimes he regretted evolving; his longer skull and differently-shaped mouth made most motions of human speech flatly impossible, seriously reducing his ability to communicate with anyone who hadn't spent years in his presence.
But gettin' da moves back was worth it. So long as one counted that together with the longer limbs, stronger body, enhanced senses, and increased lifespan, at least. His tongue rasped against the roof of his mouth for a moment before he spoke – in a mixed Old Galarian/Isle Verde Tongue trader's pidgin.
Not only was it slightly easier on his throat than straight Kantonese, but it also signaled to his partners that he had caught wind of one of Archer's annoyingly hard to catch spies.
"Good catch. Green, but good catch." Without moving a hair, the two sharpened.
"Oh? Interesting."
"Anyone we should be looking at more closely?" Jessie asked, resting her chin on one hand.
"Girl. Moves well. Big girl. Big."
James tittered. "Well, anyone could see that." His eyes moved, and Meowth twitched his whiskers when they got close. "She could grab a man's torso between two fingers. What about the young prodigy, Archer's boy?"
He snorted. "Boring."
Jessie's aura took on a pleased air. "Oh? Not planning anything… disruptive?"
He snorted again. Humans. Can't judge a character 'till it bites 'em in the behind. "Boring." The Sampo heir was almost painfully honest; the boy had none of his grandfather's guile.
A passable battler and mildly charismatic, but they had enough Executives of that type to stack them to the ceiling and keep going. No, what the current Rocket had in short supply was…
"Thin man," he said, then after a moment's consideration added "On fire."
Jessie's arm moved in a blur, and Swoobat appeared and fired a blast of noise in a single moment.
A reverberating thump that made Meowth's ears curl – sometimes enhanced senses weren't an upside. James ambled over to a side-door and peered through.
"Aw, looks like they got away- ah, but what's this?" He returned to the group a moment later, a sliver-thin needle held delicately between his gloved fingers.
Jessie clapped excitedly. "Is that what I think it is?!"
A nod. "Unless someone's taken a prank entirely too far – but let's let the expert do his job. Meowth?"
He sniffed – it was. The scent was completely unmistakable. Huh, not one of Archer's afta all. And not a lick 'a body scent – we're dealin' wit a professional. "Ninjas," he said, this time in the humans' native tongue.
His two partners looked at each other, then back to him as Swoobat chittered.
"Doksu?"
"Or Ankoku?"
"Or, dare I say it, Mutsu?"
"Doksu." The poison was, as he said, unmistakable.
Jessie and James shared another look, then broke into squeals. "Magnificent!" James announced. "When was the last time we fought ninjas?"
"Oh, I can't even remember. More importantly, this means we're on the right track!"
"Yes, they wouldn't shell out for real assassins otherwise! Meowth, let's go!"
They turned and pointed, and he sighed and abandoned his spot by the window. "Meow," he said, not bothering with words.
"Exactly!" Jessie replied, returning Swoobat as the three of them marched out of the room. "Maybe they and Archer's accursed spies will trip over each other, and save us a headache. Always look on the bright side!"
They crossed three rooms before James turned to him, an inquisitive look on his face. "Did you mean what you said? About the new Senior Grunt."
Meowth tilted his head, considering. It had only been a signal, but when he thought about it… "On fire a little," he croaked. "Big spark."
Jessie clapped her hands, startling a labcoat-type peon that hadn't noticed their swift and cat-like passage. "Ooh, I like that! Very poetic!"
After a round in the knock-off healing machine, Crow was back to full health – Ryan's dragon too, for that matter. Giant fucking baby. What, did he think Crow's tiny fangs could put out a whole eye?
He grimaced as he thought it through. …Actually, if we didn't have access to these machines, it might've lost that eye. His zubat was far from a powerhouse, but the bagon wasn't exactly fully grown either.
Hoshi gave the tangle of pipes and electronics an appreciative look, though the puffiness of his black eye must have made said look lop-sided. Good thing we do have them, then. Too bad they don't work on people…
The thought came and went easily – by now it had repeated itself too many times to count, completely losing its impact. I wonder where Rocket got these things – were they built in-house? They certainly looked like it; unlike the Pokécentre machines he had seen numerous times on TV, these ones were much more compact, only able to treat a single Pokémon at a time. Plus they lacked an outer casing; their innards were on full display.
Or maybe they stole them one part at a time – that would explain why they're so minimalistic, at least.
After one last lingering look, he turned back to see the group paired off as he had left them. Ryan and his… ugh, Jormungandr, paired with Kenny and Bubbles the sandshrew, while Nerine and Tomato the ekans stood against Puce and the koffing she had somehow managed to also name Tomato – the two would have to settle that between them, otherwise it would get confusing. And then there was Casca, patiently waiting for him to finish, her brow quirked.
"Just about done, stud?"
His smile was pained. "Yeah. So, how do you feel about training?"
Her own expression, in turn, was sympathetic – both for him, and herself. "Eh. I mean, pretty good?" Up came her Pokéball, and unlike Hoshi and the other grunt's hers was uncovered. The purple Rocket Ball gleamed iridescent with its eye-shaped lens and weird bumps. "Candy is kind of out of shape… I'm not much of a battler."
"That's fine. We'll start things off slow." It wasn't just his emotions that had urged him to keep his girlfriend to himself – though that was a nice side consideration – no, he had put a bit of thought into who would be paired with who.
Kenny and Puce were frankly abysmal; yeah, Kenny had won a single match, but from his description it had been a basic slugfest against a similarly untrained meowth, and Puce hadn't even gotten that far. They needed the most help, so he put them with the two better trainers.
He and Casca were probably closer to the middle of the pack; his Pokémon were relatively untrained, while she did almost exclusively undercover work where battling wasn't necessary – though if he was being honest, it would probably be more accurate to say that her lazy streak extended past housework and into training.
That Water Gun was pretty alright, though. "Alright. Let's start with some tag." He released Guts, and a moment later she did the same with her golden orange-brown starfish. Staryu wasn't a Pokémon he was very familiar with; unlike a lot of other oceanic creatures, they tended not to venture into the bay, preferring to stay on the seafloor. The 'mon stood on two of its semi-rigid legs, seemingly unconcerned about being up on land. Kind of creepy how it stands upright – feels like a fish shouldn't be able to do that. I wonder… do they walk like that underwater, or did it learn bipedalism from being around humans?
The two Pokémon sized each other up – or at least that was how Hoshi decided to interpret the staryu's angled, faceless body. "Guts, we're going to be playing a game; I want you to tackle Candy over there, but lightly. Once you get a hit, back off and try to dodge its attacks. You understand?"
The rat's whiskers vibrated as it sniffed, giving him a blank look. Well, she'll get it once I start giving orders.
Casca's Pokémon, in contrast, responded by pumping its nubby limbs in an unsettlingly humanoid motion. She reached down to pat its… head? Top arm? "Ready for some exercise?" Her smile got a touch more playful. "Let's start first! Candy, Tackle!"
Kenny frowned. "And yer sure this'll help him with his moves?"
Running laps wasn't exactly how he'd been picturing this training session in his head. Though it was kind of funny seeing the little guy waddle after Ryan's own Pokémon, the dragon goading him on with taunting yips.
"I'm absolutely certain," Ryan answered. "Your sandshrew has a good temperament, but you need to look further ahead; instead of focusing on Sand Attack, something that will work itself out in a battle or two, you should be training with an eye towards Rollout. That will be its primary attack and mobility tool for a long while, and the move requires a physicality that your Pokémon is… currently lacking."
Kenny grunted thoughtfully. "I guess. But I'd still like to get Sand Attack down proper."
The man turned. He had changed out of his muddy grunt uniform and into a light blue suit, and it was a little hard to take him seriously while he was all dolled up – but he had nearly won the tournament, so Kenny would have to be pretty stupid to ignore his advice. "Of course. We can do some light battling once… Bubbles, was it? Yes, once Bubbles runs out of steam. That will help with stamina as much as the running; sandslash is a fairly balanced Pokémon, with both offense and defence, so staying power is key."
Another grunt. Makes sense… But it kinda feels like I can do this any time. I wanna do training that needs a partner while I can! But as much as the words wanted to burst out, he held them in. Got all day for it… rushing'll be bad.
Just gotta be patient. Put our heads down and do the work, same as anything.
But speaking of that… "Yo, Suit." The man took a moment to register the nickname, looking over with faint confusion. "You punch like a fuckin' girl man. That was disgraceful."
The man's white-blond curls bounced like he was the star of a shampoo commercial. "I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me. You said Bubbles wasn't cuttin' it physically – well, neither 'r you." Kenny turned to face the ponce, letting the angry stare wash over him without flinching. "While our Pokémon train, why don't I show you some moves? I used to wrestle, y'know."
"I hardly think I need to-"
"Come on, man. We ain't goin' for the Indigo Cup, here – this is dirty work. Gotta be ready to go in, right?" He raised his fists, and sent out a few jabs.
Ryan's nose remained scrunched in distaste, but after a second he broke eye contact. "That is… not the worst use of our time, I suppose."
Puce stared at the younger girl, and against her will started to fidget. "Um… I'm not sure?"
"Guess," came Miss Rose's flat reply, her arms crossed sternly. In the background her ekans and Toma- and Potato traded clouds of Smog and Poison Sting needles.
"…G-ground?"
"And?"
Puce racked her brain. She was bad at this, knew she was bad at this, and that knowledge seemed to block up all the pathways of her thoughts, clogging them with sludge. "I…" Somehow the tiny girl in front of her was twelve feet tall, looming, her displeasure a solid wall. "I don't know…"
It hurt to admit, the same as it always did. Just like everything else in her entire life, the strengths and weaknesses of each type of Pokémon fell right out of her head the moment she needed it.
Miss Rose sighed. "Psychic. The other one is psychic." A pause, then she slipped another sentence out in a lower voice. "And bug, sometimes. It depends on the species and what they've been eating… But ground and psychic are the big ones."
Puce hung her head, nodding tepidly as all the energy went out of her. "Right. I'll try to remember that, Miss Rose."
The teenager continued to stare at her, eyes narrowed under thin glass. Her face screwed up for a fraction of a second in emotion, but before Puce could identify what it was, it was gone.
"Look, Puce, this is… This isn't going to work. I get not knowing the chart top-to-bottom, but can you not do one type?"
She opened her mouth, then thought better and settled on a sad shake of the head instead. I try, I really do try, I promise…
And like a mirror, the younger girl did the same – opening her mouth, then closing it. Instead of speaking, she turned and went to sit against her backpack. She took off her hat, letting the green waterfall of her hair tumble out.
Puce shamefully looked away from yet another teacher who she had forced to give up. On the field their two Pokémon continued to refine their aim; the ekans actually seemed to be losing, since her koffing's attacks covered a wider area. Ha… My Pokémon is actually better without me…
"Why Tomato?"
She startled. "Huh?"
Miss Rose raised her head. "Why'd you name your koffing that? I named mine that 'cause they're my favourite food. I didn't want to go with Noodle or something lame like that, but a different food name seemed… funny, I guess."
"Oh… Um, I just thought she looked kind of like a big tomato?" And I couldn't think of anything better… "But Potato is good, too. I'm not mad I had to change it, or anything." It's actually kind of cool, isn't it? That we'd give our Pokémon the same name.
Another sigh. The girl reached back, digging in her bag for a second before drawing out a super-sized chocolate bar. "Sorry, I didn't mean to imply you're stupid or anything. It's just, like, this is weird, you know? I expected being in a gang to be… different." She smiled thinly as the wrapper tore. "Like, I'm basically just at school. And it isn't…" She made a frustrated noise, biting into the thick chocolate and chewing without any decorum.
There was a tiny voice in the back of her head that sounded like Mother, urging Puce to rebuke the teen for her sloppiness. But that voice had been steamed out by the pressure cooker of a public high school, and she ignored it with only a little effort. "No, you were right. I'm not… good at this."
With hesitant steps she approached, and sat down heavily beside the girl. "I… I've always wanted to be a Pokémon trainer, ever since I was old enough to want to be anything." Like usual, her bulky body made things awkward; without even trying, she seemed to crowd the girl, making her scoot over. "But… maybe I should quit. I flunked out of school, and then the reform school… I couldn't even get the tests done back when they were easy. My parents paid a lot to get me in here, and… I don't want to be a burden on anyone…" This was the last shot. Rocket doesn't care about exam scores or anything like that… so if I'm still failing, doesn't that mean it wasn't the tests that were the problem? That it's just big, stupid me?
Miss Rose chewed on her candy for a minute, occasionally glancing Puce's way before hastily looking away.
Eventually, she spoke. "Okay, I don't know how to deal with this. Let's just… pretend this whole conversation never happened, okay?" She balled up the now-empty wrapper, and shoved it back into her bag before standing. Reluctantly, Puce stood as well. "Koffing is a better Pokémon than most people give it credit for. It's way more durable than it looks, and it learns a lot of strong moves naturally. Plus it explodes, which is super cool."
She scratched at her head before donning her cap, tucking her long dyed hair up into the oversized crown. "On the other hand, it has poor endurance and can't float very fast at all. If you can't remember what your own Pokémon can do…"
Puce tensed. Here came the rebuke, the urging to give up for her own good. This time… I think I'm finally ready to hear it. Nerine was good, a real trainer the way her old teachers hadn't been; if she said Puce was a lost cause… well, who was she to argue?
"…Then you need a strategy that works in every situation. Something rote, that you can follow by instinct." Her eyes were cold, calculating, the way they'd been during her fight with Ryan. Her foot tapped the ground, loose rubber squeaking, and something about the combo of sound and expression made Puce break out in gooseflesh.
"Yeah," she continued, seemingly speaking more for her own benefit than the older woman's. "A rote strategy. Defence and poison…" Her mouth was a thin line as she turned back to Puce. "I think you'd make a decent defensive battler, Puce. Yeah… just grinding forward. Poison's a type that a lot of people underestimate, but it can be pretty damn good if you use it right."
Arc, now I know why she was so adamant that a starmie could beat the Elite Four. It turned out that not only was Casca's starter Pokémon faster than both of his, its Water Gun hit like a fucking truck.
"I'm impressed," he said, watching the starfish nail Crow dead-on with an underpowered spurt. Waterlogged, the aggrieved zubat needed to flap twice as hard just to stay airborne. "This guy's way stronger than the one I fought in the Little Cup."
Casca shot him a satisfied look, but was a touch more humble with her words. "I've been a Rocket for a while, Hoshi. I wouldn't call myself a great trainer, but Candy's fully grown; that's an advantage all on its own."
Still. I was expecting things to be a little more even. Like clockwork, the staryu jumped and spun like a massive shuriken, nailing Crow with a light Tackle – light in comparison, he should say; given the sheer weight disparity the hit was still heavy enough to bruise. "I think that's enough tag for now; I don't want my girls to get dispirited."
His girlfriend raised a brow at his choice of words, but let it slide. A minute later, and they were all healed up and ready for the next phase of training: actual battle.
In his preliminary plans, Hoshi had been expecting to fight with just one of his Pokémon – but since the strength disparity was larger than expected, he'd switched things up and decided to use this as an opportunity to practise his Pokémon's teamwork. And my ability to command them at the same time, too.
"Ready when you are!" Casca yelled. Though the battle court was less richly appointed than the rest of the school, it was still large enough to accommodate a few small-scale battles, something he was thankful for. If we had to do this in the rain, we'd be miserable, especially Ryan with his muddy jacket. Though speaking of him…
Hoshi glanced at the two other pairs of grunts. Nerine and Puce seem good – are they playing tag too? I guess it is a pretty good way to train. And Ryan and Kenny are-
He blinked. The ex-wrestler had Ryan in a headlock, their Pokémon seemingly forgotten as the dragon and rodent chased each other in circles. With a sigh he adjusted his cap. Typical. I thought Menard might have some brains somewhere in that oversized skull, but I guess it's meathead all the way down. "One sec, I need to nip this in the bud." He stepped towards the two men. I suppose I should have expected this. Kenny likes to pick on Puce, so putting him next to Ryan, whose ass I just kicked, was bound to-
"Naw, don't worry. Big guy's just teaching him some hand-to-hand."
Casca's words made him stop in his tracks. "Huh?"
She shot him a look that was both smug and mildly rueful. "Tag wasn't quite holding my attention, sooo…" she trailed off, drawing out the vowel. "I started people-watching. Sorry, I know this is important."
Hoshi frowned. "You heard them from all the way on the other side of the room?"
In response, she put her hand next to her head and flapped the thumb against the rest of her fingers in a blah blah blah gesture. "Lip reading."
"Huh." I didn't know you could do that. Hoshi's eyes went back to the men for a moment, before he turned back to his girlfriend – and their Pokémon – properly. I'll just take her word for it. Though Kenny had shown at least a puddle's worth of depth and Ryan hadn't been as big of an ass as he could have been today, he still didn't exactly like either of them. "Well, alright then. I guess we're good to go."
Deep breaths, girl.
Casca Kichi was good at her job. But unfortunately, Pokémon battling was… outside of her core competencies, you could say.
You could also say that she sucked major ass, if you wanted to speak Kantonese.
She chuckled softly as she felt the weight of Candy's ball. The humour helped; some of her nervousness flew away, through the ceiling and into the clouds up above. Damn, I forgot how weird it is to hold these things.
The Rocket Ball felt unsteady in her hand, like the captured Pokémon was moving around inside – obviously that wasn't what was happening, but the image refused to leave her head every time she was forced to battle. Not that that's a large number…
"On three," Hoshi called. Okay, game face. She raised the ball to her lips. "One, two-"
"Use Water Gun right away," she whispered, and wound up to throw.
"Three!"
Both Candy and Hoshi's Rattata popped out in centre-field – damn, I wanted more space; gotta work on my spin – and a moment later his zubat joined in. But before either trainer could draw breath for an order, each Pokémon moved to attack; Candy bent her topmost leg down, firing a jet of water from the normally-invisible opening on the end. Guts leapt to the side and charged, the spray striking the ground behind her and splashing Hoshi with mud. Crow flew upwards, angling to fly a mildly curving path towards her opponent.
"Damnit!" her lover yelled, spitting, and she realised she had accidentally created a moment where the opposing trainer was effectively blind.
Not that there are a whole lot of options. "Follow the rattata! Keep up the pressure!" There's no reason to Harden before it gets close, same goes for Tackle.
Hoshi rubbed the mud out of his eyes just in time to witness his rat get blasted. "Guts!" The smaller Pokémon was light enough that it caught some impressive air, and Casca started to feel the contrary emotions of maybe I can win this hope and I feel bad about it hesitation. It felt kind of like cheating, using an innately stronger Pokémon to beat up something tiny and cute – and not in a fun way like stacking the deck in poker.
Then the zubat screeched, Candy's aim wobbling under the waves of disorienting sound. Hoshi is taking this seriously… so I will, too! "Reload, then another Water Gun! This time, hit the zubat!"
Her boyfriend's eyes flashed with hope strong enough she could see it through both the sludge and bruises coating his face. "Charge! Tail Whip into Quick Attack!"
The little rat rolled onto its feet – and put on a burst of speed faster than it had ever gone during tag. Holy-! "Fighting retreat!"
Candy followed the order, taking a leap backwards and spinning her body to catch the air in that uncanny way all staryu seemed to instinctively know how to do – she almost flew back, swooping down as well as any bird, firing her Water Gun the moment she touched down.
The force of the water jet propelled her even further, and Casca raised a leg to let her Pokémon slide past on her back. The attack missed wildly, but Hoshi still bared his teeth. "Come on! If this were a real match, you'd be out of the ring!"
She very maturely stuck out her tongue. "If you're gonna make up rules, do it before the match starts!"
Her boyfriend growled as his Pokémon attempted, unsuccessfully, to make up the distance. "First thing in the morning," he muttered, inaudible, "I'm visiting Pokémart. This fucking melee-on-ranged shit is miserable."
Guts and Crow did, eventually, manage to catch up. Hoshi watched as Casca's staryu gradually ran out of steam – or water, rather – the 'reload time' between each Water Gun gradually increasing. In light of this, he had Guts stay back in a move that might have seemed suicidal from the outside.
But it worked out; at range, Guts and Crow were able to dodge the increasingly flaccid jets of water, and once Hoshi judged their threat level to be low enough… "Guts, charge! Let's try this again!"
Going easy with the day's prior training paid off; his girl still had enough in the tank for a solid sprint, and soon she was within biting distance, the starfish's leaps not enough to keep it away. Low stamina; that's its weak point! Casca panicked, screaming "Harden!" a full second before it was necessary.
Ha, same mistake as that grunt I fought in my initiation! "Get behind and tip it over with Tail Whip!"
However unlike that dumbass grunt, Casca – whether she knew it or not – made the right decision.
"T-tackle! Then Harden, then Tackle again!"
Guts managed to at least get it off its 'feet,' but rather than fall gem-side-down in the muddy earth, the staryu caught itself with its three other arms and kicked. Guts took the hit to the teeth, squeaking and retreating.
"Keep it up! Its Tackle shouldn't hit as hard as your Quick Attack – you've got it on the ropes!"
"Come on, Candy! One last Water Gun, point blank!"
"Crow, get in there! Leech Life!"
Meowth watched from a window as the fresh crop of Rocket Grunts stumbled back out into the rain. They looked drained – which was good; that was how a trainer was meant to look at the end of the day. Good on dem. Makes me feel like a proud fadah watchin' 'is kittens.
Two sets of footsteps, close enough in gait that only his sensitive whiskers could discern that there were two, pitter-pattered lightly into the room. Jessie and James came up behind him, watching silently until all six of their minions were past the gate and out of sight – amusingly it was the younger girl who led the pack; apparently she could muster as much motivation as she needed to get away from their little academy.
"What's your read on them, Meowth?" James asked.
He worked his jaw before answering. Sometimes he regretted evolving; his longer skull and differently-shaped mouth made most motions of human speech flatly impossible, seriously reducing his ability to communicate with anyone who hadn't spent years in his presence.
But gettin' da moves back was worth it. So long as one counted that together with the longer limbs, stronger body, enhanced senses, and increased lifespan, at least. His tongue rasped against the roof of his mouth for a moment before he spoke – in a mixed Old Galarian/Isle Verde Tongue trader's pidgin.
Not only was it slightly easier on his throat than straight Kantonese, but it also signaled to his partners that he had caught wind of one of Archer's annoyingly hard to catch spies.
"Good catch. Green, but good catch." Without moving a hair, the two sharpened.
"Oh? Interesting."
"Anyone we should be looking at more closely?" Jessie asked, resting her chin on one hand.
"Girl. Moves well. Big girl. Big."
James tittered. "Well, anyone could see that." His eyes moved, and Meowth twitched his whiskers when they got close. "She could grab a man's torso between two fingers. What about the young prodigy, Archer's boy?"
He snorted. "Boring."
Jessie's aura took on a pleased air. "Oh? Not planning anything… disruptive?"
He snorted again. Humans. Can't judge a character 'till it bites 'em in the behind. "Boring." The Sampo heir was almost painfully honest; the boy had none of his grandfather's guile.
A passable battler and mildly charismatic, but they had enough Executives of that type to stack them to the ceiling and keep going. No, what the current Rocket had in short supply was…
"Thin man," he said, then after a moment's consideration added "On fire."
Jessie's arm moved in a blur, and Swoobat appeared and fired a blast of noise in a single moment.
A reverberating thump that made Meowth's ears curl – sometimes enhanced senses weren't an upside. James ambled over to a side-door and peered through.
"Aw, looks like they got away- ah, but what's this?" He returned to the group a moment later, a sliver-thin needle held delicately between his gloved fingers.
Jessie clapped excitedly. "Is that what I think it is?!"
A nod. "Unless someone's taken a prank entirely too far – but let's let the expert do his job. Meowth?"
He sniffed – it was. The scent was completely unmistakable. Huh, not one of Archer's afta all. And not a lick 'a body scent – we're dealin' wit a professional. "Ninjas," he said, this time in the humans' native tongue.
His two partners looked at each other, then back to him as Swoobat chittered.
"Doksu?"
"Or Ankoku?"
"Or, dare I say it, Mutsu?"
"Doksu." The poison was, as he said, unmistakable.
Jessie and James shared another look, then broke into squeals. "Magnificent!" James announced. "When was the last time we fought ninjas?"
"Oh, I can't even remember. More importantly, this means we're on the right track!"
"Yes, they wouldn't shell out for real assassins otherwise! Meowth, let's go!"
They turned and pointed, and he sighed and abandoned his spot by the window. "Meow," he said, not bothering with words.
"Exactly!" Jessie replied, returning Swoobat as the three of them marched out of the room. "Maybe they and Archer's accursed spies will trip over each other, and save us a headache. Always look on the bright side!"
They crossed three rooms before James turned to him, an inquisitive look on his face. "Did you mean what you said? About the new Senior Grunt."
Meowth tilted his head, considering. It had only been a signal, but when he thought about it… "On fire a little," he croaked. "Big spark."
Jessie clapped her hands, startling a labcoat-type peon that hadn't noticed their swift and cat-like passage. "Ooh, I like that! Very poetic!"
I am loving this take on Rocket, though I am a little concerned that Hoshi is being a little too focused on battling training and not enough on skullduggery training. Got to practice that sneaking and bluffing some.
3.07 - Alignment of Fate
- Location
- Edmonton, Alberta
Hoshi's life settled into a state of normalcy. Monday through Friday, he was a construction worker for Machamp & Sons LLC. Saturday, he was a Rocket Grunt. Sunday, he had to himself.
…Well, the lines weren't quite crystal clear; some days he would train with his fellow Rockets after work, and sometimes the company would offer overtime pay on the weekends – the city was legitimately falling to pieces, and the demand for skilled hands vastly outstripped supply. With the effects of the typhoon approaching a solid month, even the sturdy, normally-weatherproof buildings were starting to come apart.
And even ignoring the perfectly sound reasoning that Vermilion was his home, and he didn't want nine-tenths of it turned into a husk while the rest dropped into the ocean, Hoshi also wasn't in a place where he could refuse overtime. For the moment, his morals and wallet were in agreement.
Something that couldn't be said about him and the rest of the team, sometimes.
"Man, ya said we was gonna train today!"
Over the past couple weeks, Hoshi's opinions on Kenny had been refined, if not necessarily altered. He was definitely a dumbass, but what Hoshi had taken for a mean streak was mostly just a volatile disposition in general; the man's mood turned on a dime.
"I know I said that, but a big section of the pier is starting to collapse. If nothing's done, a chunk of the city might just slide right on into the ocean."
The man's face was sour, not helped at all by a fresh batch of acne gradually appearing like craters across its wide expanse. Might be the humidity… or probably he's just juicing extra hard. "Okay, but yesterday it was somethin', and the day before it was somethin', and now today it's the weekend, and it's still somethin' else! If you don't wanna train, just fuckin' say it!"
Hoshi didn't imagine his own face was any more pleasant; trekking through the rain – which was actually starting to thin out a little, thank Arcus – on a Friday morning to get chewed out wasn't exactly a cup of fucking tea. "What, you think I'm making shit up? I'm not afraid to voice my opinions, Kenny. My weekend is spoken for – deal with it."
He turned, ignoring the man's low growling voice as he vented his spleen. Arc, I feel worn out – and I haven't even started work.
Thankfully for the illicit side of his career, the instructors were more accommodating than Kenny. Though I get the feeling that it's only because I'm putting so many hours into the job on my 'off' days. If they were to order him to come in, he didn't know what he would do.
His eyes swept over the familiar city streets, finding solace in the few people out and about. His heart lightened at the thought of his coming paycheck, then darkened again as the timetable for the Gym job crowded it out.
Don't know what I'm gonna do about Surge… Unlike some asshat off the street, a Gym Leader is going to know I shouldn't have a licence. And postponing things 'till next spring when the real things were issued – the only halfway-sensible thing he had come up with – wasn't even close to being an option; even if the other grunts agreed – and they wouldn't – the instructors would definitely want results before mid-autumn. Maybe I just don't participate? No, I want to climb the ranks; I need to be there in person, inarguably part of the team's success. But…
With a sigh, he tossed all his thoughts into the back of his head. He could brood later; for now, there was a gigantic chunk of wood and artificial stone that needed to be repaired or, Arcus forbid, replaced.
"Our hearts of course go out to the victims of the attack, but at the same time I can't help but sympathise – just a touch, mind – with the perpetrator."
Hoshi stared at the television, placing his entire focus onto the pair of green-suited anchors. The sound of muttering from the kitchen threatened to break through, but his will was adamant.
Casca hated being interrupted while she cooked; despite being mediocre as best, she was an absolute diva in the kitchen. The moment she decided it was her turn to prepare dinner, he knew it was best to just keep himself occupied with something else.
The second anchor frowned. "Flam, we usually agree on these things, but I'm not following. I can't see today's actions as anything other than the work of a rotten mind – an old, hateful man dragging innocents into his deluded crusade."
The first gestured angrily, loose papers shifting on the desk. "Come on, Abalone! We're seeing the exact same phenomena as when that Johtonian attacked the Moltres back in the eighties! You can't dispute that something is happening, and the government is covering it up!"
Hoshi didn't know exactly how scripted this section of the news was, but if it had been cooked up by a backroom writer, both they and the anchors were really earning their paychecks. Abalone, the second anchor, was the perfect calm mirror for his partner's reactionary energy. "I'll grant you that things haven't been handled well, but assaulting the City Hall with a firearm? That's two steps too far."
They continued arguing, and Hoshi tuned out the voices in favour of his own thoughts. You're damn right it's the Moltres. What else could it be? It was one thing for a typhoon to be unusually large, and an entirely different thing for it to hover, solid and immobile, off the coast of Fuchsia for a damn month.
A high-pitched squeak from behind broke his concentration, and against his better judgment Hoshi opened his mouth. "Need a hand in there, honey?"
"Nope, I'm good!" came Casca's reply. "How do you feel about tacos?"
"Tacos sound great."
A moment where the sizzle of oil and the blare of the TV's ancient speakers fought for his attention, before his girlfriend threw in an aside. "And honey gets an eh. I'll keep saying it, you aren't gonna beat babe, babe."
He'd been trying to figure out a good pet name over the past week, but it wasn't going great – not that he was going to give up; babe was just so… pedestrian. Hoshi exhaled a quarter-laugh, and wrestled his attention back from the sounds of what were probably going to be some stunningly average tacos being built.
He hadn't missed much; the anchors were still debating the shooting. It was a total non-story, in his opinion; some grey-haired veteran had grabbed his old equipment and fired on Cinnabar's tiny excuse for a government building, ranting about conspiracies. He hadn't even killed anyone before the police arcanine tackled him to the ground.
Obviously there's a conspiracy, but shooting up the Mayor's office isn't going to do anything. Sympathetic or not, the guy was a dumbass. You've gotta go for the top – cut off the snake's head.
The news rolled into a depressing weather report – rain as far as the eye could see – before something that really caught his attention came on.
"And now let's hand it over to Chantelle with some news from the League," the off-screen anchor announced. "Chantelle?"
The weatherman's inoffensive grey suit was replaced by a more lively brown, worn by a large-boned Pewter woman. "Exciting things are happening – not to slight Tenki's weather forecast, that sure as heck isn't dry." Quit with the fucking jokes and tell me the fucking news, in Arcus's name. "According to an announcement passed down from the office of the Prime Minister himself, the Kanto branch of Ministration will be taking drastic action to aid in the ongoing crisis. It seems the League will be issuing Trainer Licences a second time this year, to select individuals who show exceptional help to their community – and without the usual academic test, or hard cutoff as far as numbers go."
Back to Flam and Abalone. "I'm sure that's a balm to a lot of people. With the recent unrest-"
Hoshi didn't bother listening any further; he was already halfway across the room, fumbling with his boots.
"Hoshi?" came his girlfriend's puzzled voice. "What's up?"
"Didn't you hear?!" he exclaimed.
Casca glanced at the television. "Huh? No, I'm in the middle of- where are you going?"
"I'll be back in a sec!" He was too excited to bother with the full outfit; the boots and an umbrella would have to do. "I need to talk to the others. It's like fate – the perfect excuse for having a licence!"
His girlfriend stepped forward. "Wait! Hoshi, it's the middle of-"
The door slammed behind him. He felt energized, the biggest problem in his life suddenly dissolving into smoke. I'll be able to use my Pokémon in public- fuck, I'll be able to battle whenever I want! It doesn't even matter if I qualify; as long as it looks like I did, I'm home free!
You better watch out Surge, that badge is mine!
Sometimes, lately, in the early hours of the morning, Dedwin thought the whine of his air conditioning would actually drill right through his skull and into his brain.
Today was one of those times. It's always a bad sign when I start getting used to this glorified cupboard.
A Jobsite Supervisor's office wasn't a place they were meant to be; it was a check-box on a form, a place the company could point to and say 'this is the space we provide for paperwork to get done.' People in his position were meant to be out of doors – on the jobsite, as the name implied. He usually only came in to write his name on the payroll at the end of the week.
But the damages from the damn storm were so extensive, everything was starting to trickle down. Junior Managers were filling in for Senior Managers, interns were being tapped to do finances, and it was getting to the point where they didn't even have enough machop to move material; they were needing to hire people, with salaries, just to get bricks from A to B.
Madness. The city's turned into a damn sauna. He almost wished that Indigo named their storms, the way Unovan's did, just so he'd have a simple way to cuss the thing out. Wonder if you can curse a storm – probably not, or those kooks over in Lavender would've solved this weeks ago.
A bead of sweat steadily journeyed down from his forehead to chin as time passed, and as it soaked into his collar he was just about ready to do anything other than sign requisition forms, payment forms, emergency ordinance forms, building permission-
Wait. He backtracked, pawing through the too-tall out stack until he found the crisp stapled sheets bearing the equally crisp red logo of the Vermillion City Hall. Emergency ordinance? Oh, he thought as he re-read the legalese, paying attention this time. Fuck me. This is going to double everything.
Which probably meant that his workload would triple, because Arcus forbid that his bosses lose a single wink of sleep while the city and ocean gradually conjoined. He growled as one sheet in particular stood out.
The Office of Mayor will offer special monetary dispensation to all construction, demolition, and landscaping companies currently on file, based on the following criteria:
A long, bulletpoint list followed, one that was half requirements, and half payment information – it was sloppy, in a way that made Dedwin think it had been typed up by an overworked secretary in the dead of night. He nearly moaned at the future headaches waiting to happen, his head filling up as the ramifications unfolded like paper cranes.
They're tripling our profit margins – heck, quadrupling in some places. We'll have to grab up every Tom-Dick-and-Harry that comes in with a resume, it'd be stupid not to.
Which meant his workers were about to get a lot greener, which meant they were going to fuck up. And he would have to do all the damn paperwork. In his mind's eye a picture formed, clear as the open blue sky he hadn't seen in far too long, of some scruffy teenager getting the bright idea to cut his work in half by handing a machop a sledgehammer.
Oh, Arc. He felt the phantom weight settle on his desk, forms and forms and fucking forms. It isn't too early to retire, is it? I'm in my fucking fifties, I should be able to just stop, shouldn't I?
The thought came and went. He wallowed for a second more, before pulling himself together and putting the ordinance back in the out stack.
An hour passed before doldrums returned, and he was once again praying, ardently and sincerely, for anything, literally anything to do other than paperwork.
Then, a knock on his door – the sound was very nearly explosive in a world that had consisted only of the quiet machine whine, the scratch of pen on paper, and his own breathing, and he flinched.
He glanced at his clock. Only nine? Arcus, I swear the days are getting longer…
"Enter!" he said with more energy than he felt. The door opened, and it took less than a second for him to recognise the man entering his office – of the fifteen full-timers under him, there was only one purple-haired worker who habitually came in with black eyes. "Hoshi Mutsu. What do you- huh?" He blinked. "Who's all this?"
Coming in behind his subordinate were a cluster of people – two kids and two bodybuilders, all of them looking like they needed a cup of coffee. "Everheart," Hoshi started, completely ignoring his question. "You must've heard the news, right?"
The supervisor's pen made hollow sounds where it tapped against his desk. "The pay increase? Yeah, it's gonna be a shitshow. Now answer me: who told you you could let a gaggle of highschoolers and circus rejects into my office?"
The man's narrow face tightened. "Pay..? No, I meant the licences, sir."
"Oh, that." Figures. "I don't have anything to say about that. I'm not a manager, Mutsu, as much as my desk looks like I am. Now-"
"Look," he interrupted, and Dedwin felt his blood pressure rise. "These are a few friends I met through a collage course. We all heard the news, and we figure… why not try to all get in together? There's more than enough work to go around, right?"
Try to..? For fuck's sake-! Building annoyance forced him to his feet. "Mutsu, your damn friends can turn in their resumes at the front desk like anybody else. Why the fuck would you come to me, you-" He paused, took a breath, then continued. "Look, for reasons you apparently haven't heard, we are hiring right now. But I have work to do. Get out and go bother the poor bastard manning the front." Intern'll be buried before lunch, I'll bet. Poor sod. But any sympathy in his heart didn't stop him from pointing to the open door.
Again, he was ignored. "Sir, I'm not just looking for jobs. I want hours, as many as you can get, on the dirtiest, hardest, most necessary jobs coming in." Hoshi put his hands on Dedwin's desk, and the intensity of his words almost overpowered the supervisor's need to make him fuck off and unload whatever this was on someone else. "Rebuilding the city should count as exceptional help to the community, right?"
"Hey," said the acne-ridden rando in the back. "I didn't agree to- ow, hey!"
"Moony shut the fuck up."
Dedwin met his worker's eyes with a snarl. It's too fucking hot for this – I'm gonna have a heart attack at this rate. "Mutsu, you aren't hearing me. I don't control who gets hired," he lied; technically he could offer temporary employment on contracts he was in charge of – which was a lot more than normal – but there was no reason for Hoshi to know that. "So turn around, walk down the stairs, and get out of my fucking ass. I've got." he gestured to his obscenely full in pile, "All this to take care of."
Hoshi had a bad reputation, but he'd never done anything worse than mouth off where Dedwin could see, so he wasn't exactly intimidated as the man's fists curled. "Come on, Everheart, don't dick me on this," he spoke through his teeth.
"Dick you?" Dedwin snorted. Okay, time to play hardball. "Mutsu, I am your supervisor, not a damn nanny. That girl over there couldn't lift a jackhammer with both hands. The answer's no. Get out or you can kiss all your overtime – mwah! – goodbye."
He sat back down, watching the man grit his teeth in silence – until eventually the worker shot back. "We'll do it for cheap. The normal pay, not whatever new price you mentioned earlier."
Hoshi exited the building feeling pretty good. He'd gotten what he had wanted, even if it'd taken a little haggling to get there. I was right to go to Everheart; the man has all the guile of an overcooked roast. Someone else might've noticed that the other four suck shit at acting.
But apparently certain members of his team disagreed with his success. "Man, this sucks," Kenny groused. "Why'd you have to say the shit jobs, be all specific? Don't even get fuckin' paid good…"
Oh, bitch some more why don't you? "You joined Rocket for the money, right? Think of it like getting paid twice." I've been doing it 'for cheap' for three fucking years. Suck it up.
But it wasn't just Kenny. "I still fail to see how this is necessary. You are the only person the Gym Leader would be suspicious of." Ryan adjusted his hood – made from a much thicker material than when he and Hoshi had fought, the latter noted. "The rest of us are complete unknowns; for all they know, we'd have gotten our licences at the proper time."
"That's a shitty plan," Hoshi replied without hesitating. And not just because it's bad for me, either. "You might be new in town, but the other three live here; people know them. Neighbours, former coworkers or old friends, whoever the fuck. I want there to be as few threads to pull as possible."
Nerine was next to voice her opinion. "Seems a bit excessive, y'know?" she said with a shrug. "Who even knows shit like when the League hands out certification?" Hoshi opened his mouth, but she preempted him. "That was rhetorical. Arc, you're high strung."
And I'm convinced you're high nine-tenths of the time we spend together. "But you're in?"
As if to prove his thoughts right, the teenager drew a hand-wrapped smoke and lighter from her pocket. "I guess? I mean I'll show up, but don't expect me to actually lay bricks and shit." She lit up, and Hoshi did his best to hide his grimace.
Magnificent. 'I guess,' what a great fucking endorsement. He felt like he was trying to catch diglett with a net; his subordinates were mostly obedient while they were training their Pokémon, but the moment things moved an inch outside those lines, they dove underground and slipped his leash. It's not like it's a bad idea, is it? Having an alibi for our licences?
Thankfully, at least one person seemed to have his back. "I think it's a good idea!" Puce chirped, and Hoshi was momentarily taken aback by her tone – he almost never heard the woman express herself so boisterously. "We're helping the city, right? And getting the instructor's job done at the same time."
She was almost skipping, and despite the others' sour moods Hoshi smiled. "Thank you, Puce. It's good to hear something that isn't just bitching about having to get your hands a little dirty."
It turned out that all of them were terrible; four distinct flavours of shitty to work with.
Puce had the right attitude, but was more clumsy than a tranquilized mankey. Kenny was physically coordinated, but moaned like a baby literally every single day. And Ryan and Nerine were just plain unmotivated – it was obvious the former had never worked a real job in his life, while the latter was the very picture of a lazy teenager.
If Hoshi's primary goal had actually been to get a licence for helping the city, he would have ditched his fellow grunts day one. Well, maybe not Ryan; he actually seems to be trying, as ineffective as he is.
But four pairs of hands were marginally better than one, and they did manage to get some work done. Moreover, the plan worked; Hoshi got a letter from the League in the first week of September.
It was a rote letter with another, empty envelope. Greeting citizen shit, obviously not hand-written, but he read it with a metaphorical magnifying glass stuck to his eye nonetheless. Yes! Fucking yes! 'You've been noted as an exemplary individual, willing and able to deal with crisis. Should you desire to apply for an Indigo League Pokémon Training Licence, please fill out the attached form and place it in the enclosed envelope…'
He sent it out, then learned that the others had gotten letters of their own. September rolled on, the rain continuing to thin out without disappearing, and on Monday the twentieth he received a second letter.
'Our condolences,' it began, and for a moment Hoshi's heart sank. Son of a bitch…
Then he rallied. Doesn't matter. Rocket should be able to forge a letter easily. The important part was that people knew he and his 'academy friends' had been trying.
"Hey," his girlfriend spoke over his shoulder. "Is that the thing? Lemme see!"
He passed it over, no longer even slightly upset that his weeks of labour were overlooked by the shitty, Johto-controlled government. "It totally is the thing. And training has been going well, so…"
His smile was wide. "Next weekend, we're challenging the Gym."
…Well, the lines weren't quite crystal clear; some days he would train with his fellow Rockets after work, and sometimes the company would offer overtime pay on the weekends – the city was legitimately falling to pieces, and the demand for skilled hands vastly outstripped supply. With the effects of the typhoon approaching a solid month, even the sturdy, normally-weatherproof buildings were starting to come apart.
And even ignoring the perfectly sound reasoning that Vermilion was his home, and he didn't want nine-tenths of it turned into a husk while the rest dropped into the ocean, Hoshi also wasn't in a place where he could refuse overtime. For the moment, his morals and wallet were in agreement.
Something that couldn't be said about him and the rest of the team, sometimes.
"Man, ya said we was gonna train today!"
Over the past couple weeks, Hoshi's opinions on Kenny had been refined, if not necessarily altered. He was definitely a dumbass, but what Hoshi had taken for a mean streak was mostly just a volatile disposition in general; the man's mood turned on a dime.
"I know I said that, but a big section of the pier is starting to collapse. If nothing's done, a chunk of the city might just slide right on into the ocean."
The man's face was sour, not helped at all by a fresh batch of acne gradually appearing like craters across its wide expanse. Might be the humidity… or probably he's just juicing extra hard. "Okay, but yesterday it was somethin', and the day before it was somethin', and now today it's the weekend, and it's still somethin' else! If you don't wanna train, just fuckin' say it!"
Hoshi didn't imagine his own face was any more pleasant; trekking through the rain – which was actually starting to thin out a little, thank Arcus – on a Friday morning to get chewed out wasn't exactly a cup of fucking tea. "What, you think I'm making shit up? I'm not afraid to voice my opinions, Kenny. My weekend is spoken for – deal with it."
He turned, ignoring the man's low growling voice as he vented his spleen. Arc, I feel worn out – and I haven't even started work.
Thankfully for the illicit side of his career, the instructors were more accommodating than Kenny. Though I get the feeling that it's only because I'm putting so many hours into the job on my 'off' days. If they were to order him to come in, he didn't know what he would do.
His eyes swept over the familiar city streets, finding solace in the few people out and about. His heart lightened at the thought of his coming paycheck, then darkened again as the timetable for the Gym job crowded it out.
Don't know what I'm gonna do about Surge… Unlike some asshat off the street, a Gym Leader is going to know I shouldn't have a licence. And postponing things 'till next spring when the real things were issued – the only halfway-sensible thing he had come up with – wasn't even close to being an option; even if the other grunts agreed – and they wouldn't – the instructors would definitely want results before mid-autumn. Maybe I just don't participate? No, I want to climb the ranks; I need to be there in person, inarguably part of the team's success. But…
With a sigh, he tossed all his thoughts into the back of his head. He could brood later; for now, there was a gigantic chunk of wood and artificial stone that needed to be repaired or, Arcus forbid, replaced.
"Our hearts of course go out to the victims of the attack, but at the same time I can't help but sympathise – just a touch, mind – with the perpetrator."
Hoshi stared at the television, placing his entire focus onto the pair of green-suited anchors. The sound of muttering from the kitchen threatened to break through, but his will was adamant.
Casca hated being interrupted while she cooked; despite being mediocre as best, she was an absolute diva in the kitchen. The moment she decided it was her turn to prepare dinner, he knew it was best to just keep himself occupied with something else.
The second anchor frowned. "Flam, we usually agree on these things, but I'm not following. I can't see today's actions as anything other than the work of a rotten mind – an old, hateful man dragging innocents into his deluded crusade."
The first gestured angrily, loose papers shifting on the desk. "Come on, Abalone! We're seeing the exact same phenomena as when that Johtonian attacked the Moltres back in the eighties! You can't dispute that something is happening, and the government is covering it up!"
Hoshi didn't know exactly how scripted this section of the news was, but if it had been cooked up by a backroom writer, both they and the anchors were really earning their paychecks. Abalone, the second anchor, was the perfect calm mirror for his partner's reactionary energy. "I'll grant you that things haven't been handled well, but assaulting the City Hall with a firearm? That's two steps too far."
They continued arguing, and Hoshi tuned out the voices in favour of his own thoughts. You're damn right it's the Moltres. What else could it be? It was one thing for a typhoon to be unusually large, and an entirely different thing for it to hover, solid and immobile, off the coast of Fuchsia for a damn month.
A high-pitched squeak from behind broke his concentration, and against his better judgment Hoshi opened his mouth. "Need a hand in there, honey?"
"Nope, I'm good!" came Casca's reply. "How do you feel about tacos?"
"Tacos sound great."
A moment where the sizzle of oil and the blare of the TV's ancient speakers fought for his attention, before his girlfriend threw in an aside. "And honey gets an eh. I'll keep saying it, you aren't gonna beat babe, babe."
He'd been trying to figure out a good pet name over the past week, but it wasn't going great – not that he was going to give up; babe was just so… pedestrian. Hoshi exhaled a quarter-laugh, and wrestled his attention back from the sounds of what were probably going to be some stunningly average tacos being built.
He hadn't missed much; the anchors were still debating the shooting. It was a total non-story, in his opinion; some grey-haired veteran had grabbed his old equipment and fired on Cinnabar's tiny excuse for a government building, ranting about conspiracies. He hadn't even killed anyone before the police arcanine tackled him to the ground.
Obviously there's a conspiracy, but shooting up the Mayor's office isn't going to do anything. Sympathetic or not, the guy was a dumbass. You've gotta go for the top – cut off the snake's head.
The news rolled into a depressing weather report – rain as far as the eye could see – before something that really caught his attention came on.
"And now let's hand it over to Chantelle with some news from the League," the off-screen anchor announced. "Chantelle?"
The weatherman's inoffensive grey suit was replaced by a more lively brown, worn by a large-boned Pewter woman. "Exciting things are happening – not to slight Tenki's weather forecast, that sure as heck isn't dry." Quit with the fucking jokes and tell me the fucking news, in Arcus's name. "According to an announcement passed down from the office of the Prime Minister himself, the Kanto branch of Ministration will be taking drastic action to aid in the ongoing crisis. It seems the League will be issuing Trainer Licences a second time this year, to select individuals who show exceptional help to their community – and without the usual academic test, or hard cutoff as far as numbers go."
Back to Flam and Abalone. "I'm sure that's a balm to a lot of people. With the recent unrest-"
Hoshi didn't bother listening any further; he was already halfway across the room, fumbling with his boots.
"Hoshi?" came his girlfriend's puzzled voice. "What's up?"
"Didn't you hear?!" he exclaimed.
Casca glanced at the television. "Huh? No, I'm in the middle of- where are you going?"
"I'll be back in a sec!" He was too excited to bother with the full outfit; the boots and an umbrella would have to do. "I need to talk to the others. It's like fate – the perfect excuse for having a licence!"
His girlfriend stepped forward. "Wait! Hoshi, it's the middle of-"
The door slammed behind him. He felt energized, the biggest problem in his life suddenly dissolving into smoke. I'll be able to use my Pokémon in public- fuck, I'll be able to battle whenever I want! It doesn't even matter if I qualify; as long as it looks like I did, I'm home free!
You better watch out Surge, that badge is mine!
Sometimes, lately, in the early hours of the morning, Dedwin thought the whine of his air conditioning would actually drill right through his skull and into his brain.
Today was one of those times. It's always a bad sign when I start getting used to this glorified cupboard.
A Jobsite Supervisor's office wasn't a place they were meant to be; it was a check-box on a form, a place the company could point to and say 'this is the space we provide for paperwork to get done.' People in his position were meant to be out of doors – on the jobsite, as the name implied. He usually only came in to write his name on the payroll at the end of the week.
But the damages from the damn storm were so extensive, everything was starting to trickle down. Junior Managers were filling in for Senior Managers, interns were being tapped to do finances, and it was getting to the point where they didn't even have enough machop to move material; they were needing to hire people, with salaries, just to get bricks from A to B.
Madness. The city's turned into a damn sauna. He almost wished that Indigo named their storms, the way Unovan's did, just so he'd have a simple way to cuss the thing out. Wonder if you can curse a storm – probably not, or those kooks over in Lavender would've solved this weeks ago.
A bead of sweat steadily journeyed down from his forehead to chin as time passed, and as it soaked into his collar he was just about ready to do anything other than sign requisition forms, payment forms, emergency ordinance forms, building permission-
Wait. He backtracked, pawing through the too-tall out stack until he found the crisp stapled sheets bearing the equally crisp red logo of the Vermillion City Hall. Emergency ordinance? Oh, he thought as he re-read the legalese, paying attention this time. Fuck me. This is going to double everything.
Which probably meant that his workload would triple, because Arcus forbid that his bosses lose a single wink of sleep while the city and ocean gradually conjoined. He growled as one sheet in particular stood out.
The Office of Mayor will offer special monetary dispensation to all construction, demolition, and landscaping companies currently on file, based on the following criteria:
A long, bulletpoint list followed, one that was half requirements, and half payment information – it was sloppy, in a way that made Dedwin think it had been typed up by an overworked secretary in the dead of night. He nearly moaned at the future headaches waiting to happen, his head filling up as the ramifications unfolded like paper cranes.
They're tripling our profit margins – heck, quadrupling in some places. We'll have to grab up every Tom-Dick-and-Harry that comes in with a resume, it'd be stupid not to.
Which meant his workers were about to get a lot greener, which meant they were going to fuck up. And he would have to do all the damn paperwork. In his mind's eye a picture formed, clear as the open blue sky he hadn't seen in far too long, of some scruffy teenager getting the bright idea to cut his work in half by handing a machop a sledgehammer.
Oh, Arc. He felt the phantom weight settle on his desk, forms and forms and fucking forms. It isn't too early to retire, is it? I'm in my fucking fifties, I should be able to just stop, shouldn't I?
The thought came and went. He wallowed for a second more, before pulling himself together and putting the ordinance back in the out stack.
An hour passed before doldrums returned, and he was once again praying, ardently and sincerely, for anything, literally anything to do other than paperwork.
Then, a knock on his door – the sound was very nearly explosive in a world that had consisted only of the quiet machine whine, the scratch of pen on paper, and his own breathing, and he flinched.
He glanced at his clock. Only nine? Arcus, I swear the days are getting longer…
"Enter!" he said with more energy than he felt. The door opened, and it took less than a second for him to recognise the man entering his office – of the fifteen full-timers under him, there was only one purple-haired worker who habitually came in with black eyes. "Hoshi Mutsu. What do you- huh?" He blinked. "Who's all this?"
Coming in behind his subordinate were a cluster of people – two kids and two bodybuilders, all of them looking like they needed a cup of coffee. "Everheart," Hoshi started, completely ignoring his question. "You must've heard the news, right?"
The supervisor's pen made hollow sounds where it tapped against his desk. "The pay increase? Yeah, it's gonna be a shitshow. Now answer me: who told you you could let a gaggle of highschoolers and circus rejects into my office?"
The man's narrow face tightened. "Pay..? No, I meant the licences, sir."
"Oh, that." Figures. "I don't have anything to say about that. I'm not a manager, Mutsu, as much as my desk looks like I am. Now-"
"Look," he interrupted, and Dedwin felt his blood pressure rise. "These are a few friends I met through a collage course. We all heard the news, and we figure… why not try to all get in together? There's more than enough work to go around, right?"
Try to..? For fuck's sake-! Building annoyance forced him to his feet. "Mutsu, your damn friends can turn in their resumes at the front desk like anybody else. Why the fuck would you come to me, you-" He paused, took a breath, then continued. "Look, for reasons you apparently haven't heard, we are hiring right now. But I have work to do. Get out and go bother the poor bastard manning the front." Intern'll be buried before lunch, I'll bet. Poor sod. But any sympathy in his heart didn't stop him from pointing to the open door.
Again, he was ignored. "Sir, I'm not just looking for jobs. I want hours, as many as you can get, on the dirtiest, hardest, most necessary jobs coming in." Hoshi put his hands on Dedwin's desk, and the intensity of his words almost overpowered the supervisor's need to make him fuck off and unload whatever this was on someone else. "Rebuilding the city should count as exceptional help to the community, right?"
"Hey," said the acne-ridden rando in the back. "I didn't agree to- ow, hey!"
"Moony shut the fuck up."
Dedwin met his worker's eyes with a snarl. It's too fucking hot for this – I'm gonna have a heart attack at this rate. "Mutsu, you aren't hearing me. I don't control who gets hired," he lied; technically he could offer temporary employment on contracts he was in charge of – which was a lot more than normal – but there was no reason for Hoshi to know that. "So turn around, walk down the stairs, and get out of my fucking ass. I've got." he gestured to his obscenely full in pile, "All this to take care of."
Hoshi had a bad reputation, but he'd never done anything worse than mouth off where Dedwin could see, so he wasn't exactly intimidated as the man's fists curled. "Come on, Everheart, don't dick me on this," he spoke through his teeth.
"Dick you?" Dedwin snorted. Okay, time to play hardball. "Mutsu, I am your supervisor, not a damn nanny. That girl over there couldn't lift a jackhammer with both hands. The answer's no. Get out or you can kiss all your overtime – mwah! – goodbye."
He sat back down, watching the man grit his teeth in silence – until eventually the worker shot back. "We'll do it for cheap. The normal pay, not whatever new price you mentioned earlier."
Hoshi exited the building feeling pretty good. He'd gotten what he had wanted, even if it'd taken a little haggling to get there. I was right to go to Everheart; the man has all the guile of an overcooked roast. Someone else might've noticed that the other four suck shit at acting.
But apparently certain members of his team disagreed with his success. "Man, this sucks," Kenny groused. "Why'd you have to say the shit jobs, be all specific? Don't even get fuckin' paid good…"
Oh, bitch some more why don't you? "You joined Rocket for the money, right? Think of it like getting paid twice." I've been doing it 'for cheap' for three fucking years. Suck it up.
But it wasn't just Kenny. "I still fail to see how this is necessary. You are the only person the Gym Leader would be suspicious of." Ryan adjusted his hood – made from a much thicker material than when he and Hoshi had fought, the latter noted. "The rest of us are complete unknowns; for all they know, we'd have gotten our licences at the proper time."
"That's a shitty plan," Hoshi replied without hesitating. And not just because it's bad for me, either. "You might be new in town, but the other three live here; people know them. Neighbours, former coworkers or old friends, whoever the fuck. I want there to be as few threads to pull as possible."
Nerine was next to voice her opinion. "Seems a bit excessive, y'know?" she said with a shrug. "Who even knows shit like when the League hands out certification?" Hoshi opened his mouth, but she preempted him. "That was rhetorical. Arc, you're high strung."
And I'm convinced you're high nine-tenths of the time we spend together. "But you're in?"
As if to prove his thoughts right, the teenager drew a hand-wrapped smoke and lighter from her pocket. "I guess? I mean I'll show up, but don't expect me to actually lay bricks and shit." She lit up, and Hoshi did his best to hide his grimace.
Magnificent. 'I guess,' what a great fucking endorsement. He felt like he was trying to catch diglett with a net; his subordinates were mostly obedient while they were training their Pokémon, but the moment things moved an inch outside those lines, they dove underground and slipped his leash. It's not like it's a bad idea, is it? Having an alibi for our licences?
Thankfully, at least one person seemed to have his back. "I think it's a good idea!" Puce chirped, and Hoshi was momentarily taken aback by her tone – he almost never heard the woman express herself so boisterously. "We're helping the city, right? And getting the instructor's job done at the same time."
She was almost skipping, and despite the others' sour moods Hoshi smiled. "Thank you, Puce. It's good to hear something that isn't just bitching about having to get your hands a little dirty."
It turned out that all of them were terrible; four distinct flavours of shitty to work with.
Puce had the right attitude, but was more clumsy than a tranquilized mankey. Kenny was physically coordinated, but moaned like a baby literally every single day. And Ryan and Nerine were just plain unmotivated – it was obvious the former had never worked a real job in his life, while the latter was the very picture of a lazy teenager.
If Hoshi's primary goal had actually been to get a licence for helping the city, he would have ditched his fellow grunts day one. Well, maybe not Ryan; he actually seems to be trying, as ineffective as he is.
But four pairs of hands were marginally better than one, and they did manage to get some work done. Moreover, the plan worked; Hoshi got a letter from the League in the first week of September.
It was a rote letter with another, empty envelope. Greeting citizen shit, obviously not hand-written, but he read it with a metaphorical magnifying glass stuck to his eye nonetheless. Yes! Fucking yes! 'You've been noted as an exemplary individual, willing and able to deal with crisis. Should you desire to apply for an Indigo League Pokémon Training Licence, please fill out the attached form and place it in the enclosed envelope…'
He sent it out, then learned that the others had gotten letters of their own. September rolled on, the rain continuing to thin out without disappearing, and on Monday the twentieth he received a second letter.
'Our condolences,' it began, and for a moment Hoshi's heart sank. Son of a bitch…
Then he rallied. Doesn't matter. Rocket should be able to forge a letter easily. The important part was that people knew he and his 'academy friends' had been trying.
"Hey," his girlfriend spoke over his shoulder. "Is that the thing? Lemme see!"
He passed it over, no longer even slightly upset that his weeks of labour were overlooked by the shitty, Johto-controlled government. "It totally is the thing. And training has been going well, so…"
His smile was wide. "Next weekend, we're challenging the Gym."
3.08 - Inside Job
- Location
- Edmonton, Alberta
Vermilion Gym – the building itself – hadn't changed at all from the last time Hoshi had seen it. A Pokémon Gym wasn't just a place for teenagers to fight for a shiny badge, it was a military installation, made to withstand attack by hostile Pokémon; even if the actual body of the typhoon had slid into the bay to smash the city directly, the red-roofed building would have stood, solid as a mountain.
But the same couldn't be said for the atmosphere. His eyes widened as he took in a solid two-dozen people braving the elements to make use of the Battlegrounds, the varied terrains built into the gym's courtyard.
Arcus, I wouldn't have thought seeing a few people using the fields would hit me like this… The high-tech construction had sat completely empty for months – it almost felt like he had stepped back in time. With a grin, he went forward and made his way past the trainers. These must be new trainers, who just got their licences yesterday. They looked green, their Pokémon only barely understanding their owner's eclectic mixes of wordless shouts and too-complex orders. Ha, like I'm much better. I wish I'd taken the day off work, come earlier and got some battles in… Maybe tomorrow.
Leeching a sympathetic rush off the battling pairs, Hoshi walked into the Gym proper.
Surge watched his godson pass under his office window, the tide of giddiness that had been steadily going out as the day progressed suddenly rushing back all at once. He had been hoping to see him today… though not really expecting it; the League had only given cards out to a lucky handful of hundreds, a drop in the ocean.
But still. Don't know why I doubted. Of course the Champ's son would pull through! The shine of his teeth nearly obscured the Battlegrounds as he shook his head.
Beyond his reflection a pair of similarly-dressed fishermen dueled, their shellder zipping surprisingly fast through the water section; an old man's meowth set upon a young girl's oddish, taking a splash of acid in exchange for landing a brutal Scratch attack; two young men, their hair stuck up in mohawks, sent out a pidgey and spearow to face a tubby man with a toddler riding his back's snubbull and psyduck. The little kid was in a pikachu onesie, and though allowing them to call out attacks for their father's Pokémon was technically illegal, Surge didn't give a single flying fuck.
Ya stack guys together, they count as one; dugtrio and magneton prove that. The thought was accompanied by a sage nod. Yeah. Things are gonna be alright. He didn't always agree with the League – especially in the last couple years – but when times were tough, they pulled through. With more trainers, we'll be able to shore things up a bit.
He was drawn from the window by an electronic beep – Kiki paging him for a guest, no doubt.
"Ha!" he exclaimed, taking two large steps back to his desk. "Damn kid always comes in during office hours! Would it kill him to visit me after work?"
Despite everything, all the preparations, Hoshi was nervous. That's pretty normal, I guess. Actually with all the time I've put in, it would be weird not to feel some… tension.
For a long time, he'd had a dream: to save up enough money to buy a shitty prefab house, and stick it on the plot of land he had inherited on the outskirts of Viridian City. A nice, normal dream; not too ambitious, but enough to get him out of bed in the morning.
But that dream was a compromise. Before he had grown up, before his father's decline and everything else, Hoshi had dreamed of something… simpler. More pure. Was it hearing about Red, that did it? Or did it start even earlier than that? He didn't remember exactly when, but since he had been a little kid… Hoshi Mutsu had wanted to be a Pokémon trainer.
"Hoshi!" Uncle Bob exclaimed as he came through the door. "Been a hot minute since I've seen you! Don't tell me you think you've learned all you're gonna get, huh, you little punk?"
The Gym Leader's smile was sharp enough to cut, and for a moment the elation in Hoshi's gut turned to slimy green dread as he prepared to lie to someone he cared about – but it passed in the next instant. He'd understand, if I could tell him. Hoshi shot back with his own grin, only slightly forced; despite the circumstances, he was still pumped.
"'Course not. But I managed an upgrade; you ever heard of the Electric Academy?"
Surge leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, gigantic boots resting up on the lip of the desk. His expression drew inwards for a second before returning to his natural, feral look. "So, you've really been going for it? That place is damn expensive; you'd better be serious if you're dropping real cash!"
Hah, of course he'd know about where I've been. Not that I expected differently… "Going for it? Bob, I'm there." From out of his pocket came his official-looking licence, completely identical – physically, anyway – to the real thing. "Turns out keeping this waterlogged shithole stapled together is worth something."
Surge breathed in, abandoning his laid-back position to lean forward. He took the offered slip of plastic, expression once again tightening. "Damn," he said, enough emotion expressed in the one word to fill the whole bay. Yeah, I know the feeling. There was silence for a lingering moment, save for the ticking of his uncle's wall-mounted clock.
Then he handed the licence back. "Hot damn!" he continued, louder. "Always knew you had it in you, kid! This calls for a celebration!"
He reached for the chunky office phone on the edge of his desk, but Hoshi stopped him. "Wait a sec, Bob." The man paused, his brows raised, and Hoshi's smile turned fully real. "You think I'm satisfied with just getting this thing? No. Let's save the celebration for my first badge, instead."
Surge's brows raised even further, then his face darkened in an expression that anyone who didn't know him would call murderous – but of course, Hoshi recognised it as excitement.
…Well, there might be a little bit of murder. Bob's a pretty competitive guy – he definitely isn't gonna take it easy on me.
"First badge?" His teeth glinted like polished knives as his back straightened – and there was a disconcerting moment that happened every now and then, where Hoshi became keenly aware that his uncle was taller sitting down than most people were standing up. "You really think you're ready for that?"
"You said it yourself, didn't you? Or did you misspeak?"
A snort. "You don't even have a Pokémon."
Hoshi took another pre-prepared lie off his mental shelf – it was getting easier as he went. "The Academy offers starters for graduates. Trained from birth, like lab Pokémon." He stood up from his seat, coming closer to eye-level. "Me and a few friends will be coming in Sunday – you better be ready to get your ass beat, Gym Leader."
Bob met his challenging stare for a moment, before throwing his head up and letting out a bark of laughter. "Ha! Kid, that's a pretty hot-blooded promise! Would you believe you're the first challenger I've gotten all day?"
Obviously; it's these people's first fucking day. "Really? Bunch of chickenshits."
Surge stood as well, extending his hand. "It's a fuckin' date, kid… Actually no, you're a trainer now." Hoshi clasped the Gym Leader's larger hand, meeting the crushing grip with his own. "I better see you bright and early Sunday morning, Challenger Mutsu."
On Wednesday and Thursday, Hoshi went to work as normal. On Friday, he called in sick and trained the entire day with Casca, Kenny, and Nerine.
On Saturday, he went to the Academy and reported his progress, receiving a round of praise from the instructors, then spent the evening going over the finer details of the plan.
And then on Sunday, he leapt out of bed with fire in his veins.
"Wow. Cool building."
The six of them marched, respectably in-time if not quite to military standard, through the entrance pavilion and into the Battlegrounds.
"You've never been here?" Casca asked, and Nerine shook her head.
"Nah. Didn't have a Pokémon, so what's the point?"
Hoshi was in such high spirits, the comment degrading Vermilion's rich history bounced right off him. "Well, you're in for a treat – assuming you get things wrapped up in time."
"This is gonna be great!" Kenny yelled. "Ground beats electric, so I'm gonna win for sure!"
…Don't say anything. Don't. Just let him have this one, and- "The type chart isn't everything, you know," Casca mumbled, drawing a smug look from the former wrestler.
"You wanna bet? Okay, if I win faster 'n you, then-"
"Let's not make a scene today, please," Ryan urged. He fiddled with the collar of his suit, looking every inch the high society academy student that was his cover story.
"Yeah," Puce added. "I already feel like I'm gonna throw up…"
"Come on Puke, don't puke! We've been training for weeks – we're all gonna win!"
Again, Hoshi managed to swallow his retort and keep it inside his head. Don't underestimate your first badge. There's a reason most trainers hit a wall early on.
They walked along the winding path through the Battlegrounds, but the commentary wasn't done. "Holy shit, is that dude on fire? That's hardcore."
Hoshi followed the teenager's eyes, finding… "Oh wow, he is." Looks like the poor guy shelled out for a rapidash without learning to ride first – ouch, that's gotta sting. "Lot of trainers out here today. We might have to wait if there are any other challengers."
A scoff from Ryan. "Nonsense. These are all chaff; I doubt a single one has the courage to face Vermilion's Lightning Lieutenant, let alone present such a challenge as to delay us."
Finally, Hoshi could hold himself back no more. "No jinxing us at the last moment, please."
Ryan took the jibe well; presumably his own spirits were just as high.
I've got a good feeling. Even if the presence of other trainers is unexpected, we planned it all out until our ears and fingers bled; we'll all play our parts, even the dumbasses, and get paid for winning, and by Rocket.
And who knows – maybe I'll get a second surprise promotion. His hand found Casca's as they stepped into the reception area, the photos and plastic chairs dominated by the memorial to Champion Red Ketchum. It doesn't hurt to dream.
They registered, one after the other, with the receptionist – she looks familiar, have I met her somewhere? – looking blandly surprised by such a large group.
Most trainer teams capped out at four, so as to not fight over the limited number of Pokémon they'd encounter as they travelled between cities. Maybe we should have split into two different- no, no second-guessing, not now that it's too late.
"And…" The punk-looking girl tapped away at her keyboard, hitting enter with a final clack. "You're all set, Miss Rose. The six of you will have your matches in sequence; we don't have any reservations today." Good, Ryan was right. "If you could all wait here for a moment, the arena will be prepared shortly."
The wait between registering and being called to the arena felt like it lasted no time at all – certainly not enough time for Nerine to calm her butterfly-filled stomach.
"Yeah!" Moony yelled – or maybe chanted was a better word, since he was keeping it close to his normal speaking volume – seemingly to nobody. "Yeah! Yeah! Gonna get it!" He punctuated each word by knocking his fists together, or sometimes to his chest, like he was a monkey working itself up.
She could hear Hoshi grinding his teeth as the bald man continued the… ritual? He was a wrestler, I guess it's a pre-fight thing…
Other than the chanting and toothgrinding, the walk down the long hallway was silent. She wondered if, maybe, it was a psychological tactic – something to throw off a challenger. Hoshi talked about the man like he was a big stuffed animal on the scant occasions where he answered her questions, but everyone else said he had the ruthless streak one expected from a decorated veteran.
Whatever it's for, I'm feeling psyched the fuck out.
After the Battlegrounds, the arena looked startlingly mundane; just a field, rocky terrain on each side, with a water feature snaking down the left 'mountain,' under a grate spanning the centre, only to disappear under the right side of the field.
A hand nudged her shoulder, and she realised she'd been spacing out. She felt a faint blush rise as she nodded Casca's way, and followed the group to take their seats.
It felt weird, sitting down; there were other people here, some she recognised as Gym employees, but the stands were built to seat at least a thousand people. There were only two dozen, including them.
It unsettled her even more. I… think I might be biting off more than I can chew.
In her haze, she couldn't really put her full attention on the details. But they'd worked out what they wanted to happen ahead of time – and like Hoshi and Casca had predicted, the Gym Leader called them down in the same order they had signed up: Moony went first, losing swiftly to a few Sonic Booms from a magnemite, and then Hoshi took his place, slapping the dejected man on the back in an uncustomary show of comradery.
And that's my cue to go. She stood, announcing that she had to use the bathroom for any eavesdroppers, and Puce followed her out of the stands, down the hall, and into the woman's bathrooms. The theory was that most of the employees would know Hoshi – or at least know of him – and would keep their eyes on the fight. They had Hoshi, Casca, and Ryan's fights to make it down to the basement, slap in the hacking bug, and get back.
And if they were found… Well, hopefully a delinquent dragging her shy friend into a misadventure wouldn't raise any serious alarm bells.
She took a few breaths as the referee's starting yell passed through the intervening distance and walls, contemplating whether she needed to throw up.
"Are you okay?" Puce questioned, and Nerine stared at the muscular girl in her flower-patterned dress for a solid second before answering.
Arc, this isn't what I expected for my first ever job. "I'm good. Are you good? We should get started already."
Puce stared right back. "Uh, you look…" But then her concern hardened, a game face that had only come out once or twice in training sliding into place. "No, you're right. Let's go." The mask slipped, just the tiniest bit. "Uh, you remember the way?"
That fucking blueprint will be in my nightmares for months. "Yeah, I remember. Just follow me."
They stepped out of the bathrooms, turned left, and with confident strides Nerine went off to commit her first act of treason.
"Argh!" came Kenny's frustrated cry. "This's bullshit! Why'd you bring a flying Pokémon to a first badge challenge?!"
Hoshi's uncle just laughed. "Ha! Luck of the draw, big man! Could've been anything; Springload just happened to catch my eye as a first pick! Give him another Sonic Boom, baby!"
The magnet Pokémon twirled its loosely attached bits, obeying with an electric crackle. The sound of its attack almost seemed louder out here in the stands than he remembered from the challenger's area – probably because there wasn't adrenaline pounding through his system.
His minion's sandshrew dodged admirably, even attempting to fire back with something that wasn't quite good enough to call a Poison Sting, but it was pretty obvious that this was a losing matchup. Real glad I followed through on getting a move disk. A magnemite would still be a hard fight, but I think Guts has a pretty okay chance… Unless he brings out something special for his 'favourite nephew.'
Kenny was a surprisingly good loser, walking with his head up and shaking Bob's hand without any macho bravado or infantile whining. They exchanged some words that were too far and low to hear, and then Kenny was trudging back to the stands.
"Trainer Hoshi Mutsu, please make your way to the challenger area!" the ref, a white-haired man with a surprising set of lungs, commanded. Hoshi stood, received a good luck punch on the shoulder from his girlfriend, and passed Kenny on his way to the arena.
As he passed, he decided to pass it on, and gently popped the man on his upper arm. "Not the worst fight I've seen."
Kenny half-smiled. "Fuck man, you're shitty at pep talks. Go win this one for me, yeah?"
"Yeah."
And then before he knew it, he was across from his uncle. Okay. Remember your training – just treat it like a normal fight. His heart pounded as his hand hovered over his side.
"Challenger! This will be a standard Gym Battle!" Should I start with Guts or Crow? Crow is basically guaranteed to get one-shot… "Up to two Pokémon will be allowed for each side! Switches are not allowed; withdrawn Pokémon may not re-enter the field!" …But I get the feeling Surge is going to use a single Pokémon. Confusing it in the first second could just win me the match. "Items are not allowed! Select your Pokémon, and release when I say 'begin'!"
The referee's arm went up. Fuck. Stop fucking overthinking it, just stick to the plan! "Three, two, one!" His hand began to slash down, and Hoshi plucked and threw Guts's ball with a single practiced motion. "Begin!"
Hoshi didn't even see Surge's hand move, it was so fast. The Pokémon hit the field, both near the centre, and Hoshi laid eyes on his opponent – it was actually similar to his rattata in a lot of ways. They had the same stance, were about the same size, and were both rodents.
But where Guts was lavender with cream patches, the pikachu was bright yellow with brown accents. Fuck. This is actually not a great matchup. A voltorb would have been more predictable and a magnemite would have been slow; a pikachu, in contrast, would have a well-rounded moveset and was probably faster than his girl.
No hesitation – looks like we're breaking this out early. "Guts, use Swift!"
"Junior, hit 'em with a quick Thunder Wave!"
Bright white sparkles issued from his Pokémon's mouth as the pikachu tensed and squeaked in effort, a wave of faint electrical energy expanding in a wide net as sparks flew from its cheeks. The attacks passed through each other, barely interacting, and Hoshi saw that dodging was futile. "Guts, get in there! Quick Attack into Bite!" Paralysed off the first fucking exchange – hopefully the women are doing a better job.
"Son of an Arc-damned whore," Nerine whispered, staring at the pocket mirror that reflected their target. "Who the fuck is that?" None of the files mentioned a computer guy, and normal employees shouldn't have clearance to use this computer. He was sitting there, a mop of brown hair poking above the office chair, tapping away at the keyboard – and she didn't get the feeling he would be leaving for a piss break any time soon.
Puce answered with an anxious look, her body plastered against the wall to avoid bungling into any of the stacked-up boxes of paper records.
It must be… some kind of League official, maybe? Updating something? If he turned around she might be able to spot if he had a League patch on his coat – but no, it didn't really matter. Fuck.
There was a part of her, startlingly large, that wanted her to turn around and leave, shrug her shoulders and go eh, I tried. Turns out we came at the wrong time; that's life. But Puce was edging forwards, it was just one guy, and she really didn't want to get chewed out by Hoshi – the guy was intense, he reminded her of some of her uncles.
So she calmed down, remembered all the training that had gone into this exact situation, and backed away from the corner. Puce backed up herself to make room, and when they were far enough away that she felt confident their voices wouldn't carry, Nerine opened her mouth.
"There was somebody using the computer – but don't worry, I've got a plan."
But the same couldn't be said for the atmosphere. His eyes widened as he took in a solid two-dozen people braving the elements to make use of the Battlegrounds, the varied terrains built into the gym's courtyard.
Arcus, I wouldn't have thought seeing a few people using the fields would hit me like this… The high-tech construction had sat completely empty for months – it almost felt like he had stepped back in time. With a grin, he went forward and made his way past the trainers. These must be new trainers, who just got their licences yesterday. They looked green, their Pokémon only barely understanding their owner's eclectic mixes of wordless shouts and too-complex orders. Ha, like I'm much better. I wish I'd taken the day off work, come earlier and got some battles in… Maybe tomorrow.
Leeching a sympathetic rush off the battling pairs, Hoshi walked into the Gym proper.
Surge watched his godson pass under his office window, the tide of giddiness that had been steadily going out as the day progressed suddenly rushing back all at once. He had been hoping to see him today… though not really expecting it; the League had only given cards out to a lucky handful of hundreds, a drop in the ocean.
But still. Don't know why I doubted. Of course the Champ's son would pull through! The shine of his teeth nearly obscured the Battlegrounds as he shook his head.
Beyond his reflection a pair of similarly-dressed fishermen dueled, their shellder zipping surprisingly fast through the water section; an old man's meowth set upon a young girl's oddish, taking a splash of acid in exchange for landing a brutal Scratch attack; two young men, their hair stuck up in mohawks, sent out a pidgey and spearow to face a tubby man with a toddler riding his back's snubbull and psyduck. The little kid was in a pikachu onesie, and though allowing them to call out attacks for their father's Pokémon was technically illegal, Surge didn't give a single flying fuck.
Ya stack guys together, they count as one; dugtrio and magneton prove that. The thought was accompanied by a sage nod. Yeah. Things are gonna be alright. He didn't always agree with the League – especially in the last couple years – but when times were tough, they pulled through. With more trainers, we'll be able to shore things up a bit.
He was drawn from the window by an electronic beep – Kiki paging him for a guest, no doubt.
"Ha!" he exclaimed, taking two large steps back to his desk. "Damn kid always comes in during office hours! Would it kill him to visit me after work?"
Despite everything, all the preparations, Hoshi was nervous. That's pretty normal, I guess. Actually with all the time I've put in, it would be weird not to feel some… tension.
For a long time, he'd had a dream: to save up enough money to buy a shitty prefab house, and stick it on the plot of land he had inherited on the outskirts of Viridian City. A nice, normal dream; not too ambitious, but enough to get him out of bed in the morning.
But that dream was a compromise. Before he had grown up, before his father's decline and everything else, Hoshi had dreamed of something… simpler. More pure. Was it hearing about Red, that did it? Or did it start even earlier than that? He didn't remember exactly when, but since he had been a little kid… Hoshi Mutsu had wanted to be a Pokémon trainer.
"Hoshi!" Uncle Bob exclaimed as he came through the door. "Been a hot minute since I've seen you! Don't tell me you think you've learned all you're gonna get, huh, you little punk?"
The Gym Leader's smile was sharp enough to cut, and for a moment the elation in Hoshi's gut turned to slimy green dread as he prepared to lie to someone he cared about – but it passed in the next instant. He'd understand, if I could tell him. Hoshi shot back with his own grin, only slightly forced; despite the circumstances, he was still pumped.
"'Course not. But I managed an upgrade; you ever heard of the Electric Academy?"
Surge leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, gigantic boots resting up on the lip of the desk. His expression drew inwards for a second before returning to his natural, feral look. "So, you've really been going for it? That place is damn expensive; you'd better be serious if you're dropping real cash!"
Hah, of course he'd know about where I've been. Not that I expected differently… "Going for it? Bob, I'm there." From out of his pocket came his official-looking licence, completely identical – physically, anyway – to the real thing. "Turns out keeping this waterlogged shithole stapled together is worth something."
Surge breathed in, abandoning his laid-back position to lean forward. He took the offered slip of plastic, expression once again tightening. "Damn," he said, enough emotion expressed in the one word to fill the whole bay. Yeah, I know the feeling. There was silence for a lingering moment, save for the ticking of his uncle's wall-mounted clock.
Then he handed the licence back. "Hot damn!" he continued, louder. "Always knew you had it in you, kid! This calls for a celebration!"
He reached for the chunky office phone on the edge of his desk, but Hoshi stopped him. "Wait a sec, Bob." The man paused, his brows raised, and Hoshi's smile turned fully real. "You think I'm satisfied with just getting this thing? No. Let's save the celebration for my first badge, instead."
Surge's brows raised even further, then his face darkened in an expression that anyone who didn't know him would call murderous – but of course, Hoshi recognised it as excitement.
…Well, there might be a little bit of murder. Bob's a pretty competitive guy – he definitely isn't gonna take it easy on me.
"First badge?" His teeth glinted like polished knives as his back straightened – and there was a disconcerting moment that happened every now and then, where Hoshi became keenly aware that his uncle was taller sitting down than most people were standing up. "You really think you're ready for that?"
"You said it yourself, didn't you? Or did you misspeak?"
A snort. "You don't even have a Pokémon."
Hoshi took another pre-prepared lie off his mental shelf – it was getting easier as he went. "The Academy offers starters for graduates. Trained from birth, like lab Pokémon." He stood up from his seat, coming closer to eye-level. "Me and a few friends will be coming in Sunday – you better be ready to get your ass beat, Gym Leader."
Bob met his challenging stare for a moment, before throwing his head up and letting out a bark of laughter. "Ha! Kid, that's a pretty hot-blooded promise! Would you believe you're the first challenger I've gotten all day?"
Obviously; it's these people's first fucking day. "Really? Bunch of chickenshits."
Surge stood as well, extending his hand. "It's a fuckin' date, kid… Actually no, you're a trainer now." Hoshi clasped the Gym Leader's larger hand, meeting the crushing grip with his own. "I better see you bright and early Sunday morning, Challenger Mutsu."
On Wednesday and Thursday, Hoshi went to work as normal. On Friday, he called in sick and trained the entire day with Casca, Kenny, and Nerine.
On Saturday, he went to the Academy and reported his progress, receiving a round of praise from the instructors, then spent the evening going over the finer details of the plan.
And then on Sunday, he leapt out of bed with fire in his veins.
"Wow. Cool building."
The six of them marched, respectably in-time if not quite to military standard, through the entrance pavilion and into the Battlegrounds.
"You've never been here?" Casca asked, and Nerine shook her head.
"Nah. Didn't have a Pokémon, so what's the point?"
Hoshi was in such high spirits, the comment degrading Vermilion's rich history bounced right off him. "Well, you're in for a treat – assuming you get things wrapped up in time."
"This is gonna be great!" Kenny yelled. "Ground beats electric, so I'm gonna win for sure!"
…Don't say anything. Don't. Just let him have this one, and- "The type chart isn't everything, you know," Casca mumbled, drawing a smug look from the former wrestler.
"You wanna bet? Okay, if I win faster 'n you, then-"
"Let's not make a scene today, please," Ryan urged. He fiddled with the collar of his suit, looking every inch the high society academy student that was his cover story.
"Yeah," Puce added. "I already feel like I'm gonna throw up…"
"Come on Puke, don't puke! We've been training for weeks – we're all gonna win!"
Again, Hoshi managed to swallow his retort and keep it inside his head. Don't underestimate your first badge. There's a reason most trainers hit a wall early on.
They walked along the winding path through the Battlegrounds, but the commentary wasn't done. "Holy shit, is that dude on fire? That's hardcore."
Hoshi followed the teenager's eyes, finding… "Oh wow, he is." Looks like the poor guy shelled out for a rapidash without learning to ride first – ouch, that's gotta sting. "Lot of trainers out here today. We might have to wait if there are any other challengers."
A scoff from Ryan. "Nonsense. These are all chaff; I doubt a single one has the courage to face Vermilion's Lightning Lieutenant, let alone present such a challenge as to delay us."
Finally, Hoshi could hold himself back no more. "No jinxing us at the last moment, please."
Ryan took the jibe well; presumably his own spirits were just as high.
I've got a good feeling. Even if the presence of other trainers is unexpected, we planned it all out until our ears and fingers bled; we'll all play our parts, even the dumbasses, and get paid for winning, and by Rocket.
And who knows – maybe I'll get a second surprise promotion. His hand found Casca's as they stepped into the reception area, the photos and plastic chairs dominated by the memorial to Champion Red Ketchum. It doesn't hurt to dream.
They registered, one after the other, with the receptionist – she looks familiar, have I met her somewhere? – looking blandly surprised by such a large group.
Most trainer teams capped out at four, so as to not fight over the limited number of Pokémon they'd encounter as they travelled between cities. Maybe we should have split into two different- no, no second-guessing, not now that it's too late.
"And…" The punk-looking girl tapped away at her keyboard, hitting enter with a final clack. "You're all set, Miss Rose. The six of you will have your matches in sequence; we don't have any reservations today." Good, Ryan was right. "If you could all wait here for a moment, the arena will be prepared shortly."
The wait between registering and being called to the arena felt like it lasted no time at all – certainly not enough time for Nerine to calm her butterfly-filled stomach.
"Yeah!" Moony yelled – or maybe chanted was a better word, since he was keeping it close to his normal speaking volume – seemingly to nobody. "Yeah! Yeah! Gonna get it!" He punctuated each word by knocking his fists together, or sometimes to his chest, like he was a monkey working itself up.
She could hear Hoshi grinding his teeth as the bald man continued the… ritual? He was a wrestler, I guess it's a pre-fight thing…
Other than the chanting and toothgrinding, the walk down the long hallway was silent. She wondered if, maybe, it was a psychological tactic – something to throw off a challenger. Hoshi talked about the man like he was a big stuffed animal on the scant occasions where he answered her questions, but everyone else said he had the ruthless streak one expected from a decorated veteran.
Whatever it's for, I'm feeling psyched the fuck out.
After the Battlegrounds, the arena looked startlingly mundane; just a field, rocky terrain on each side, with a water feature snaking down the left 'mountain,' under a grate spanning the centre, only to disappear under the right side of the field.
A hand nudged her shoulder, and she realised she'd been spacing out. She felt a faint blush rise as she nodded Casca's way, and followed the group to take their seats.
It felt weird, sitting down; there were other people here, some she recognised as Gym employees, but the stands were built to seat at least a thousand people. There were only two dozen, including them.
It unsettled her even more. I… think I might be biting off more than I can chew.
In her haze, she couldn't really put her full attention on the details. But they'd worked out what they wanted to happen ahead of time – and like Hoshi and Casca had predicted, the Gym Leader called them down in the same order they had signed up: Moony went first, losing swiftly to a few Sonic Booms from a magnemite, and then Hoshi took his place, slapping the dejected man on the back in an uncustomary show of comradery.
And that's my cue to go. She stood, announcing that she had to use the bathroom for any eavesdroppers, and Puce followed her out of the stands, down the hall, and into the woman's bathrooms. The theory was that most of the employees would know Hoshi – or at least know of him – and would keep their eyes on the fight. They had Hoshi, Casca, and Ryan's fights to make it down to the basement, slap in the hacking bug, and get back.
And if they were found… Well, hopefully a delinquent dragging her shy friend into a misadventure wouldn't raise any serious alarm bells.
She took a few breaths as the referee's starting yell passed through the intervening distance and walls, contemplating whether she needed to throw up.
"Are you okay?" Puce questioned, and Nerine stared at the muscular girl in her flower-patterned dress for a solid second before answering.
Arc, this isn't what I expected for my first ever job. "I'm good. Are you good? We should get started already."
Puce stared right back. "Uh, you look…" But then her concern hardened, a game face that had only come out once or twice in training sliding into place. "No, you're right. Let's go." The mask slipped, just the tiniest bit. "Uh, you remember the way?"
That fucking blueprint will be in my nightmares for months. "Yeah, I remember. Just follow me."
They stepped out of the bathrooms, turned left, and with confident strides Nerine went off to commit her first act of treason.
"Argh!" came Kenny's frustrated cry. "This's bullshit! Why'd you bring a flying Pokémon to a first badge challenge?!"
Hoshi's uncle just laughed. "Ha! Luck of the draw, big man! Could've been anything; Springload just happened to catch my eye as a first pick! Give him another Sonic Boom, baby!"
The magnet Pokémon twirled its loosely attached bits, obeying with an electric crackle. The sound of its attack almost seemed louder out here in the stands than he remembered from the challenger's area – probably because there wasn't adrenaline pounding through his system.
His minion's sandshrew dodged admirably, even attempting to fire back with something that wasn't quite good enough to call a Poison Sting, but it was pretty obvious that this was a losing matchup. Real glad I followed through on getting a move disk. A magnemite would still be a hard fight, but I think Guts has a pretty okay chance… Unless he brings out something special for his 'favourite nephew.'
Kenny was a surprisingly good loser, walking with his head up and shaking Bob's hand without any macho bravado or infantile whining. They exchanged some words that were too far and low to hear, and then Kenny was trudging back to the stands.
"Trainer Hoshi Mutsu, please make your way to the challenger area!" the ref, a white-haired man with a surprising set of lungs, commanded. Hoshi stood, received a good luck punch on the shoulder from his girlfriend, and passed Kenny on his way to the arena.
As he passed, he decided to pass it on, and gently popped the man on his upper arm. "Not the worst fight I've seen."
Kenny half-smiled. "Fuck man, you're shitty at pep talks. Go win this one for me, yeah?"
"Yeah."
And then before he knew it, he was across from his uncle. Okay. Remember your training – just treat it like a normal fight. His heart pounded as his hand hovered over his side.
"Challenger! This will be a standard Gym Battle!" Should I start with Guts or Crow? Crow is basically guaranteed to get one-shot… "Up to two Pokémon will be allowed for each side! Switches are not allowed; withdrawn Pokémon may not re-enter the field!" …But I get the feeling Surge is going to use a single Pokémon. Confusing it in the first second could just win me the match. "Items are not allowed! Select your Pokémon, and release when I say 'begin'!"
The referee's arm went up. Fuck. Stop fucking overthinking it, just stick to the plan! "Three, two, one!" His hand began to slash down, and Hoshi plucked and threw Guts's ball with a single practiced motion. "Begin!"
Hoshi didn't even see Surge's hand move, it was so fast. The Pokémon hit the field, both near the centre, and Hoshi laid eyes on his opponent – it was actually similar to his rattata in a lot of ways. They had the same stance, were about the same size, and were both rodents.
But where Guts was lavender with cream patches, the pikachu was bright yellow with brown accents. Fuck. This is actually not a great matchup. A voltorb would have been more predictable and a magnemite would have been slow; a pikachu, in contrast, would have a well-rounded moveset and was probably faster than his girl.
No hesitation – looks like we're breaking this out early. "Guts, use Swift!"
"Junior, hit 'em with a quick Thunder Wave!"
Bright white sparkles issued from his Pokémon's mouth as the pikachu tensed and squeaked in effort, a wave of faint electrical energy expanding in a wide net as sparks flew from its cheeks. The attacks passed through each other, barely interacting, and Hoshi saw that dodging was futile. "Guts, get in there! Quick Attack into Bite!" Paralysed off the first fucking exchange – hopefully the women are doing a better job.
"Son of an Arc-damned whore," Nerine whispered, staring at the pocket mirror that reflected their target. "Who the fuck is that?" None of the files mentioned a computer guy, and normal employees shouldn't have clearance to use this computer. He was sitting there, a mop of brown hair poking above the office chair, tapping away at the keyboard – and she didn't get the feeling he would be leaving for a piss break any time soon.
Puce answered with an anxious look, her body plastered against the wall to avoid bungling into any of the stacked-up boxes of paper records.
It must be… some kind of League official, maybe? Updating something? If he turned around she might be able to spot if he had a League patch on his coat – but no, it didn't really matter. Fuck.
There was a part of her, startlingly large, that wanted her to turn around and leave, shrug her shoulders and go eh, I tried. Turns out we came at the wrong time; that's life. But Puce was edging forwards, it was just one guy, and she really didn't want to get chewed out by Hoshi – the guy was intense, he reminded her of some of her uncles.
So she calmed down, remembered all the training that had gone into this exact situation, and backed away from the corner. Puce backed up herself to make room, and when they were far enough away that she felt confident their voices wouldn't carry, Nerine opened her mouth.
"There was somebody using the computer – but don't worry, I've got a plan."
Oh boy, it's real treason time. Hopefully Nerine's plan is a little more nuanced than, "Puce, knock him out with your fists."
3.09 - Connection and Will
- Location
- Edmonton, Alberta
Guts dashed – as did the pikachu, Junior. But where the electric rodent sported only a few disheveled spots where the sparkling stars of Swift had landed, his own Pokémon was suffering from paralysis, her limbs jittering at random. She was moving, but every other second a spasm would force her to rearrange her legs lest she go tumbling.
"Thundershock!"
The attack came out fast, the clap of thunder washing over Hoshi's face as Guts dodged – but no, a streak of blackened, burnt fur revealed itself as she rolled to her feet. If the paralysis hits at the wrong moment and she fails to dodge completely… She gained a few feet as the pikachu recharged, then promptly lost them as the faster rodent outpaced her.
This isn't working, Hoshi accepted. I've gotten used to being either faster or stronger than my opponent – what the fuck am I supposed to do here? The moment they stopped chasing, the pikachu would be free to rain down Thundershocks, and turning it into a slugging match with Swift would do pretty much the same. She isn't familiar enough with the move to run and shoot at the same time. I should've shelled out for fucking Dig instead…
No, that would have just kicked the problem down the road. The truth was that Swift did fill a big hole in Guts's skillset, the pikachu just had his Pokémon beat at her own game. Faster, with a better ranged option – and higher durability, if Surge had trained it right… which he would've, since he'd been doing this since Hoshi had been in diapers.
Another exchange, another injury, black streaks accumulating on the rattata's fur like she'd been rooting around in a pile of charcoal. "Swift, then charge!" he ordered. It was the only option he could think of; to use the unevolved electric type's refractory period against it. Fuck, if I'd read the Thunder Wave and focused on dodging…
A quick stream of three stars struck the yellow mouse in the back and hindquarters as it retreated, and for once some of the gained ground stayed gained. Yes! "Again! Attack, then close in!"
Surge laughed. "Ha! You wanna play that way?" His sharp, malevolent face seemed to loom over the entire field. "I'm game! Junior, show us some real lightning!"
"And this… won't hurt him?"
Nerine and Puce huddled, obscured behind an incongruous middle-of-the-room filing cabinet, the older girl's koffing bobbing between them. Nerine sighed through her nose as she whispered, the stress of the situation compounding her exasperation. "No, Puce, he'll be fine." Unless your koffing misunderstands the order, or the guy has health problems, or… "Come on, we're burning time."
Puce wrung her hands for a moment more, before the steel returned to her eyes. "Okay." She turned to her Pokémon, cupping her hands over the purple, beachball-sized sack of poisonous gas's… ear? And leaning in. I guess that's as good a word as any. "Potato, I need you to listen really close, okay?"
The koffing bobbed, its eyes on its trainer's face, and the absurdity of the situation almost made Nerine laugh out loud – luckily for the mission, she was able to stifle it.
"I need you to float over, and hit that man over there with Smog – but it needs to be a special Smog, okay?" Puce's eyes held more conviction than the teenager had ever seen, more than she thought the wallflower could ever possess. I… underestimated her, I guess. "It needs to be perfectly clear. See-through, without any smell or taste. You can take as long as you need to, but it needs to be a Clear Smog, do you understand?"
As far as Pokémon intelligence went, koffing were far from topping the list. They were filter feeders, avoiding the label of sedentary only because of their airborne nature. They were basically plants.
But sometimes, the bond between a human and Pokémon transcended language. Potato blinked, sighed out a soft sound that made Puce smile, then silently ascended to bump against the ceiling.
"Ha! Come on kid, show me what you've learned at that pansy-ass rich-boy school of yours!"
Surge's bellow was accompanied by a peel of thunder as Guts took yet another glancing blow. On one hand, Hoshi was frustrated and vaguely disgusted with himself; a better trainer would have either put together a half-decent strategy by now, or given up to preserve their Pokémon.
But on the other hand, he was amazed at his girl's tenacity. There's still a chance. As long as we can move, as long as we can hit back, there's a chance! "Keep it up, Guts! Swift!"
Twinkling stars emerged from his rattata's mouth, pelting Junior in the face and bowling the pikachu over. Hoshi's heart was pounding, adrenaline thick in his veins to the point he felt like he could feel each capillary winding through his meat and bones. We're losing… but it's still a fight! We're doing damage! With every attack, Guts took an attack in retaliation – receiving more damage than her opponent, as was plainly obvious – but she also inched closer to melee range.
"Wrong answer, kid!" Surge replied with a shake of his head. "Junior, no slacking! You can take a bigger hit in your sleep – so on your feet, soldier!"
The pikachu sprung up, more angry than pained, and scuttled back while charging its next bolt. Hoshi's teeth were pressed together like a vice, but things weren't completely hopeless. Surge tends to end his fights quickly, win or lose. He hasn't realised it yet…
This… is a fight of endurance! If we can close into Bite range, we might be able to turn the tables!
"Charge in, then use Swift! Aim for the legs!"
Puce had never really had friends before. Oh, sure, there were her schoolmates at Celadon Preparatory, but those bonds were thin and brittle things – they had always broken the moment the social web had moved just a little wrong, a parent's business deal falling through or someone saying an inconvenient string of words more than enough for friend to turn into enemy. Puce hadn't been the only person to get hurt by those severed bonds, but she didn't have… anything, really, to fall back on like her peers.
She wasn't smart. She was bad at sports. Her body was… unladylike, to say it kindly. As all her acquaintances grew up and got real jobs, or started relationships, or just… lived their lives, she continued to sit in place, a stone that couldn't move under its own power.
But now…
She wasn't delusional. Really. She knew that this was wrong, that she shouldn't hurt people or help criminals or accept a fake trainer licence. But now… This is better, isn't it? Even if Moony called her Puke, and Mister Sampo took every opportunity to ignore her, and Mister Mutsu yelled all the time…
It was still real. The bonds were real, tested over weeks of wet misery and hard work and training like their lives depended on it, and Puce found that as her mind pulled this way and that, they were also strong. Stronger than her morals, at least. So as Potato, her big, dumb, lovable Potato, floated up above the League computer with her eyes shut tight and her cheeks puffed out, she prayed.
Please. I know I'm a bad person for this… but if there's something listening, please help us! They might be mean sometimes, but… these are the only friends I have!
And, as she and Nerine huddled in the shadow of a filing cabinet, she thought she could see it – a distortion in the air, so faint it might just be a trick of the light, forming an expanding bubble as Potato strained. Dripping down, slowly, almost lazily in the still air of the basement, until it enveloped the man sitting in the office chair.
Crack! went the pikachu's attack, missing by a hair's breadth as Guts closed in. "Junior, Quick Attack!" came the order as Surge realised there was no escape, a wild grin still on his face – and Hoshi's returning smile was bittersweet, because even now, after all this work, it was still entirely possible they would lose.
Guts is on her last legs, while Junior is… not fresh, not even close, but still a damn sight better. Swift was, on paper, a better move than Thundershock – not only was it stronger, it homed in on the enemy automatically. But that was assuming equally strong Pokémon, fighting with equal amounts of skill; in reality, a single frenzied training session wasn't enough to equal a lifetime of coaching from the best electric type trainer on the continent. "Get in there and Bite! We've come too far to lose now!"
The rodents leapt in – and at the worst possible moment Guts spasmed, the lingering electrical damage of Thunder Wave getting one last laugh. "Guts!" Hoshi screamed, his vision tunneling until it was just a lavender blob held in place as a yellow streak closed in. "Push through! I know you have one attack left in you!"
Junior's Quick Attack landed at the same time the Pokémon did, the mouse smoothly pivoting to deliver a roundhouse kick with all of its weight concentrated on the tip of a single paw, a picture-perfect move that must have been practiced for dozens of hours to be executed with such short limbs. Guts had her head knocked to the side-
But she hung on, vindictiveness or determination or something allowing Hoshi's girl to withstand that last, final attack. With a savage squeal she bit, chomping down on the pikachu's leg and tugging with all her might, lifting the heavier rodent into the air and slamming it down.
"Junior!" Surge bellowed. "You ain't out yet! Thunder-!"
"Quick Attack!" Hoshi commanded, his voice overpowering his uncle's, and a second slam sounded out with audible finality. For a moment Hoshi's heartbeat was all he could hear – and then the crowd erupted.
"Junior is unable to battle! Lieutenant Surge is out of usable Pokémon!" the referee, who had completely disappeared from Hoshi's senses since… he didn't know how far back, announced. "Challenger Mutsu wins!"
Dazed, his body coming down from the height of battle, Hoshi recalled his Pokémon on autopilot. He stared at the ball for a moment, nearly unconscious, before his adrenaline spiked again. "I won?" he muttered to himself.
"You sure did, Hoshi! Come'ere!" came a voice only a step away, directly in front of him, and then he was enveloped in a hug. "Damn fine battle! When I saw that little rat I thought, 'Is that the best that damn rip-off school can get for my boy? He should'a come to me and gotten something with a little kick!' But you sure proved me wrong! Ha!"
Hoshi hugged the giant back, his weak arms rapidly regaining their strength. I fucking won! And even more – this was the one-on-one win he'd been looking for since the day he'd received his Pokémon, an unambiguous sign that he was, in fact, not a shitty trainer. "I fucking won!"
His uncle laughed again. "Feels good, don't it? Usually I'd give you your badge now, but how about we wait until your whole group goes through? Make it a whole thing?"
Nerine slipped back into her seat, feeling like she'd just fought the worst battle of her life. Arc, this is worse than Uncle's survival training… and I still have the actual battle, too.
Down below, Ryan's bagon tanked a crackling electrified punch from an elekid, the baby form of the more common electabuzz. Its expression was shocked as the dragon retaliated with a mouthful of fire, the attack doing substantially more damage – assuming Nerine's eyes were reliable at the moment.
An idle thought of oh, that's a rare Pokémon around here floated through her head, but she was too wiped to really pay attention to anything until a nudge to her shoulder brought her a little closer to reality.
She looked Casca's way, blinking. "So?" the woman mouthed. Nerine continued to blink owlishly for a moment, before her brain worked its way through the one-word question. She raised her chin in a subtle nod, mouthing her response back silently.
"Mission complete."
I'll let them know we have to book it in a second. Just as soon as she could catch her breath. Don't wanna be here when they find Mister Maybe-A-League-Official, after all.
Jormungandr ended things decisively, and the crowd roared as the referee yelled, equally loud. "Goldfinger is unable to battle! That's two for four for our challengers; so far they've managed a fifty percent win rate, well above average!" Oh, someone else lost after Moony. Her bet was on Casca; despite her impressive Pokémon, she had a serious type disadvantage.
As Ryan walked into the centre of the field to receive his accolades, Nerine's eyes started to droop. A hand on her shoulder forced her awake enough to turn to Puce and communicate something, but then reality frayed away at the edges, narrowing until it disappeared.
Of the six of them, only two had received badges – and not only had they needed to take a rain check on Puce and Nerine's challenges, they'd also missed the afterparty Surge had promised.
But as Puce explained what had happened – while carrying the girl on her back – Hoshi gradually came to see his youngest subordinate's sudden collapse as… well, a good thing wasn't quite the turn of phrase he was looking for, but it certainly provided a good excuse to split before some janitor or whatever discovered a fucking body.
"And you're sure he wasn't dead?" he questioned, his tone drawing a cringe from the woman.
"No! He was- Nerine gave him some antidote, he was breathing fine when we left..!" She paused, apparently remembering they were in the open and moderating her voice. "He was fine. Potato is still a baby anyway – I don't think she could kill someone that fast even if I, uh, told her to."
Okay, but you left him in the fucking basement and- fuck! "You're sure he didn't see you? And that the bug actually went in? I swear to Arcus, if you killed some guy and didn't even-"
A hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Hoshi," Casca softly spoke. "You're freaking out. It's fine. Nobody's dead, you and Ryan got your badges and prize money, and…" She smiled. "We did it. Mission complete."
He breathed. "Yeah. Okay." Okay. "Sorry for that. I'm…" He didn't even know what to say, and so let the sentence trail off.
"Heh," Ryan chuckled. "I suppose I understand your feelings. These last two months have been… let us say, an adventure."
Nerine woke up halfway to the hospital, and the group split up a few minutes after she adamantly refused to enter the building; Ryan and Puce took the struggling teenager inside, the larger woman easily carrying her as Ryan explained things to the nurse at the front desk, while Hoshi hovered in the waiting area, Kenny left to work off his frustration at losing in the parking lot, and Casca went to grab something to eat from a nearby restaurant.
The diagnosis was revealed as simple exhaustion, and the group of six reconvened and decided to have their own little celebration – in the morning, of course, since despite the mission only taking a few hours they were dead on their feet.
On Monday, September 27th, 2010, Hoshi Mutsu woke up before his alarm, as he often did.
He carefully extracted himself from under his sheets, and was halfway to the bathroom when he paused. Wait. Something's off. I'm hearing..?
He turned and padded across his apartment, throwing open the window and revealing the deep purple of a pre-dawn sky, not a cloud in sight.
"Thundershock!"
The attack came out fast, the clap of thunder washing over Hoshi's face as Guts dodged – but no, a streak of blackened, burnt fur revealed itself as she rolled to her feet. If the paralysis hits at the wrong moment and she fails to dodge completely… She gained a few feet as the pikachu recharged, then promptly lost them as the faster rodent outpaced her.
This isn't working, Hoshi accepted. I've gotten used to being either faster or stronger than my opponent – what the fuck am I supposed to do here? The moment they stopped chasing, the pikachu would be free to rain down Thundershocks, and turning it into a slugging match with Swift would do pretty much the same. She isn't familiar enough with the move to run and shoot at the same time. I should've shelled out for fucking Dig instead…
No, that would have just kicked the problem down the road. The truth was that Swift did fill a big hole in Guts's skillset, the pikachu just had his Pokémon beat at her own game. Faster, with a better ranged option – and higher durability, if Surge had trained it right… which he would've, since he'd been doing this since Hoshi had been in diapers.
Another exchange, another injury, black streaks accumulating on the rattata's fur like she'd been rooting around in a pile of charcoal. "Swift, then charge!" he ordered. It was the only option he could think of; to use the unevolved electric type's refractory period against it. Fuck, if I'd read the Thunder Wave and focused on dodging…
A quick stream of three stars struck the yellow mouse in the back and hindquarters as it retreated, and for once some of the gained ground stayed gained. Yes! "Again! Attack, then close in!"
Surge laughed. "Ha! You wanna play that way?" His sharp, malevolent face seemed to loom over the entire field. "I'm game! Junior, show us some real lightning!"
"And this… won't hurt him?"
Nerine and Puce huddled, obscured behind an incongruous middle-of-the-room filing cabinet, the older girl's koffing bobbing between them. Nerine sighed through her nose as she whispered, the stress of the situation compounding her exasperation. "No, Puce, he'll be fine." Unless your koffing misunderstands the order, or the guy has health problems, or… "Come on, we're burning time."
Puce wrung her hands for a moment more, before the steel returned to her eyes. "Okay." She turned to her Pokémon, cupping her hands over the purple, beachball-sized sack of poisonous gas's… ear? And leaning in. I guess that's as good a word as any. "Potato, I need you to listen really close, okay?"
The koffing bobbed, its eyes on its trainer's face, and the absurdity of the situation almost made Nerine laugh out loud – luckily for the mission, she was able to stifle it.
"I need you to float over, and hit that man over there with Smog – but it needs to be a special Smog, okay?" Puce's eyes held more conviction than the teenager had ever seen, more than she thought the wallflower could ever possess. I… underestimated her, I guess. "It needs to be perfectly clear. See-through, without any smell or taste. You can take as long as you need to, but it needs to be a Clear Smog, do you understand?"
As far as Pokémon intelligence went, koffing were far from topping the list. They were filter feeders, avoiding the label of sedentary only because of their airborne nature. They were basically plants.
But sometimes, the bond between a human and Pokémon transcended language. Potato blinked, sighed out a soft sound that made Puce smile, then silently ascended to bump against the ceiling.
"Ha! Come on kid, show me what you've learned at that pansy-ass rich-boy school of yours!"
Surge's bellow was accompanied by a peel of thunder as Guts took yet another glancing blow. On one hand, Hoshi was frustrated and vaguely disgusted with himself; a better trainer would have either put together a half-decent strategy by now, or given up to preserve their Pokémon.
But on the other hand, he was amazed at his girl's tenacity. There's still a chance. As long as we can move, as long as we can hit back, there's a chance! "Keep it up, Guts! Swift!"
Twinkling stars emerged from his rattata's mouth, pelting Junior in the face and bowling the pikachu over. Hoshi's heart was pounding, adrenaline thick in his veins to the point he felt like he could feel each capillary winding through his meat and bones. We're losing… but it's still a fight! We're doing damage! With every attack, Guts took an attack in retaliation – receiving more damage than her opponent, as was plainly obvious – but she also inched closer to melee range.
"Wrong answer, kid!" Surge replied with a shake of his head. "Junior, no slacking! You can take a bigger hit in your sleep – so on your feet, soldier!"
The pikachu sprung up, more angry than pained, and scuttled back while charging its next bolt. Hoshi's teeth were pressed together like a vice, but things weren't completely hopeless. Surge tends to end his fights quickly, win or lose. He hasn't realised it yet…
This… is a fight of endurance! If we can close into Bite range, we might be able to turn the tables!
"Charge in, then use Swift! Aim for the legs!"
Puce had never really had friends before. Oh, sure, there were her schoolmates at Celadon Preparatory, but those bonds were thin and brittle things – they had always broken the moment the social web had moved just a little wrong, a parent's business deal falling through or someone saying an inconvenient string of words more than enough for friend to turn into enemy. Puce hadn't been the only person to get hurt by those severed bonds, but she didn't have… anything, really, to fall back on like her peers.
She wasn't smart. She was bad at sports. Her body was… unladylike, to say it kindly. As all her acquaintances grew up and got real jobs, or started relationships, or just… lived their lives, she continued to sit in place, a stone that couldn't move under its own power.
But now…
She wasn't delusional. Really. She knew that this was wrong, that she shouldn't hurt people or help criminals or accept a fake trainer licence. But now… This is better, isn't it? Even if Moony called her Puke, and Mister Sampo took every opportunity to ignore her, and Mister Mutsu yelled all the time…
It was still real. The bonds were real, tested over weeks of wet misery and hard work and training like their lives depended on it, and Puce found that as her mind pulled this way and that, they were also strong. Stronger than her morals, at least. So as Potato, her big, dumb, lovable Potato, floated up above the League computer with her eyes shut tight and her cheeks puffed out, she prayed.
Please. I know I'm a bad person for this… but if there's something listening, please help us! They might be mean sometimes, but… these are the only friends I have!
And, as she and Nerine huddled in the shadow of a filing cabinet, she thought she could see it – a distortion in the air, so faint it might just be a trick of the light, forming an expanding bubble as Potato strained. Dripping down, slowly, almost lazily in the still air of the basement, until it enveloped the man sitting in the office chair.
Crack! went the pikachu's attack, missing by a hair's breadth as Guts closed in. "Junior, Quick Attack!" came the order as Surge realised there was no escape, a wild grin still on his face – and Hoshi's returning smile was bittersweet, because even now, after all this work, it was still entirely possible they would lose.
Guts is on her last legs, while Junior is… not fresh, not even close, but still a damn sight better. Swift was, on paper, a better move than Thundershock – not only was it stronger, it homed in on the enemy automatically. But that was assuming equally strong Pokémon, fighting with equal amounts of skill; in reality, a single frenzied training session wasn't enough to equal a lifetime of coaching from the best electric type trainer on the continent. "Get in there and Bite! We've come too far to lose now!"
The rodents leapt in – and at the worst possible moment Guts spasmed, the lingering electrical damage of Thunder Wave getting one last laugh. "Guts!" Hoshi screamed, his vision tunneling until it was just a lavender blob held in place as a yellow streak closed in. "Push through! I know you have one attack left in you!"
Junior's Quick Attack landed at the same time the Pokémon did, the mouse smoothly pivoting to deliver a roundhouse kick with all of its weight concentrated on the tip of a single paw, a picture-perfect move that must have been practiced for dozens of hours to be executed with such short limbs. Guts had her head knocked to the side-
But she hung on, vindictiveness or determination or something allowing Hoshi's girl to withstand that last, final attack. With a savage squeal she bit, chomping down on the pikachu's leg and tugging with all her might, lifting the heavier rodent into the air and slamming it down.
"Junior!" Surge bellowed. "You ain't out yet! Thunder-!"
"Quick Attack!" Hoshi commanded, his voice overpowering his uncle's, and a second slam sounded out with audible finality. For a moment Hoshi's heartbeat was all he could hear – and then the crowd erupted.
"Junior is unable to battle! Lieutenant Surge is out of usable Pokémon!" the referee, who had completely disappeared from Hoshi's senses since… he didn't know how far back, announced. "Challenger Mutsu wins!"
Dazed, his body coming down from the height of battle, Hoshi recalled his Pokémon on autopilot. He stared at the ball for a moment, nearly unconscious, before his adrenaline spiked again. "I won?" he muttered to himself.
"You sure did, Hoshi! Come'ere!" came a voice only a step away, directly in front of him, and then he was enveloped in a hug. "Damn fine battle! When I saw that little rat I thought, 'Is that the best that damn rip-off school can get for my boy? He should'a come to me and gotten something with a little kick!' But you sure proved me wrong! Ha!"
Hoshi hugged the giant back, his weak arms rapidly regaining their strength. I fucking won! And even more – this was the one-on-one win he'd been looking for since the day he'd received his Pokémon, an unambiguous sign that he was, in fact, not a shitty trainer. "I fucking won!"
His uncle laughed again. "Feels good, don't it? Usually I'd give you your badge now, but how about we wait until your whole group goes through? Make it a whole thing?"
Nerine slipped back into her seat, feeling like she'd just fought the worst battle of her life. Arc, this is worse than Uncle's survival training… and I still have the actual battle, too.
Down below, Ryan's bagon tanked a crackling electrified punch from an elekid, the baby form of the more common electabuzz. Its expression was shocked as the dragon retaliated with a mouthful of fire, the attack doing substantially more damage – assuming Nerine's eyes were reliable at the moment.
An idle thought of oh, that's a rare Pokémon around here floated through her head, but she was too wiped to really pay attention to anything until a nudge to her shoulder brought her a little closer to reality.
She looked Casca's way, blinking. "So?" the woman mouthed. Nerine continued to blink owlishly for a moment, before her brain worked its way through the one-word question. She raised her chin in a subtle nod, mouthing her response back silently.
"Mission complete."
I'll let them know we have to book it in a second. Just as soon as she could catch her breath. Don't wanna be here when they find Mister Maybe-A-League-Official, after all.
Jormungandr ended things decisively, and the crowd roared as the referee yelled, equally loud. "Goldfinger is unable to battle! That's two for four for our challengers; so far they've managed a fifty percent win rate, well above average!" Oh, someone else lost after Moony. Her bet was on Casca; despite her impressive Pokémon, she had a serious type disadvantage.
As Ryan walked into the centre of the field to receive his accolades, Nerine's eyes started to droop. A hand on her shoulder forced her awake enough to turn to Puce and communicate something, but then reality frayed away at the edges, narrowing until it disappeared.
Of the six of them, only two had received badges – and not only had they needed to take a rain check on Puce and Nerine's challenges, they'd also missed the afterparty Surge had promised.
But as Puce explained what had happened – while carrying the girl on her back – Hoshi gradually came to see his youngest subordinate's sudden collapse as… well, a good thing wasn't quite the turn of phrase he was looking for, but it certainly provided a good excuse to split before some janitor or whatever discovered a fucking body.
"And you're sure he wasn't dead?" he questioned, his tone drawing a cringe from the woman.
"No! He was- Nerine gave him some antidote, he was breathing fine when we left..!" She paused, apparently remembering they were in the open and moderating her voice. "He was fine. Potato is still a baby anyway – I don't think she could kill someone that fast even if I, uh, told her to."
Okay, but you left him in the fucking basement and- fuck! "You're sure he didn't see you? And that the bug actually went in? I swear to Arcus, if you killed some guy and didn't even-"
A hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Hoshi," Casca softly spoke. "You're freaking out. It's fine. Nobody's dead, you and Ryan got your badges and prize money, and…" She smiled. "We did it. Mission complete."
He breathed. "Yeah. Okay." Okay. "Sorry for that. I'm…" He didn't even know what to say, and so let the sentence trail off.
"Heh," Ryan chuckled. "I suppose I understand your feelings. These last two months have been… let us say, an adventure."
Nerine woke up halfway to the hospital, and the group split up a few minutes after she adamantly refused to enter the building; Ryan and Puce took the struggling teenager inside, the larger woman easily carrying her as Ryan explained things to the nurse at the front desk, while Hoshi hovered in the waiting area, Kenny left to work off his frustration at losing in the parking lot, and Casca went to grab something to eat from a nearby restaurant.
The diagnosis was revealed as simple exhaustion, and the group of six reconvened and decided to have their own little celebration – in the morning, of course, since despite the mission only taking a few hours they were dead on their feet.
On Monday, September 27th, 2010, Hoshi Mutsu woke up before his alarm, as he often did.
He carefully extracted himself from under his sheets, and was halfway to the bathroom when he paused. Wait. Something's off. I'm hearing..?
He turned and padded across his apartment, throwing open the window and revealing the deep purple of a pre-dawn sky, not a cloud in sight.
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Interlude - Like a Mountain, Like a Dragon
- Location
- Edmonton, Alberta
Silver knew this path. Rocky and sparsely forested, trees twisting up out of thin, dusty soil in shapes entirely different from the verdant green of Viridian. Sometimes, his dad would take him here – to see the nidoran and other Pokémon, but mostly for the Eight Badge Gate, the beginning of Victory Road, which Dad said led all the way up to Indigo Plateau. It was a wild route, only barely a dirt trail, snaking up and down the rocky hills that got steeper as they went, melting into the actual mountains.
Every time they came, they'd gone a little further past the gate. To the first badge check, then the second… Silver's father had said that when the time came, he would pass through the gate all on his own – "You will have the power to do it," had been his exact words. "But there's no harm in letting you see some of it early – whetting your appetite for it, you could say."
He had been here… four times, maybe, though the earliest visits were hazy, not even half-remembered. But he did remember the way, mostly, the vague path between Viridian City and the Eight Badge Gate. He could picture it in his head; a weird tree that was completely hollowed out but still alive, then a narrow yet deep creek, then a climb up a small cliff face. Dad always carried me up that bit…
But today, Silver wasn't being escorted by his dad. No, today he was alone, and the mankey baying from the treetops were much, much more intimidating without the strongest man in the world's heavy, solid hand resting on his shoulder.
He pushed on anyway, shivering at the wild keening, because this was the way. Dad didn't tell anyone where he was going, not even Mom… But it's obvious if you aren't stupid.
Up. He would go up, into the mountains. Towards… that place. The Silver Range. The most dangerous place in Kanto; because where else could the strongest trainer go to train? Silver would find him, and bring him home, and everything would be fine again.
So he climbed. Route 22 wasn't like Route 1 or 2, the other paths leading away from Viridian. Those were… made for people, in a way this one wasn't. The Rangers worked every day to keep them clear of wild Pokémon, so that normal non-trainers could move between cities without needing Pokémon of their own. But the path to the west was overgrown, teeming with cranky mankey and pecking doduo, and as Silver went on it got worse. Soon, the thin trail disappeared completely; there were only rocky ridges studded with scraggly, sick-looking trees, hardy grasses, and thorns. It was like no human had ever set foot there.
He huffed, pulling his caught backpack from a bush. Stupid. Obviously people come here – this is how you get to the Elite Four. It's the Champion's Road. He found the hollowed-out tree, snuck past a herd of ponyta grazing nearby, and turned north. But then a nidorina guarding her eggs took offence at the human passing through her underbrush, and her warning shot sprayed low, hitting the ground all around Silver's feet – his hiking boots were thick enough to take the Poison Sting, but his pant leg was not.
But he'd come prepared; he had a pair of pliers to help pull the thin needles from his calf, and an antidote to take care of the poison. The little holes didn't hurt too bad – he could still walk, at least…
Or at least until he got to the creek, that was. The water rushed merrily along the bottom of the ravine it had carved for itself through the route, the line of lively green and blue in the brown and tan landscape a solid three feet wide. Silver stopped at the edge, staring at the jump he could have easily made if his left ankle was healthy.
There were magikarp and little darting shapes that might have been poliwag, swimming around in the creek, not paying the small human the least bit of attention, and…
Don't cry, he told himself, keenly aware of not just his needle wound, but also the scrapes and bruises covering his body – he'd fallen more than once, and the route's mankey had pelted him with stones at points. You're strong. You'll find a way.
Silver wiped the moisture from his eyes, and turned to begin following the ravine upstream. I know where the gate is. Even if I don't follow the path, I can still find it – I just need to go west for a bit, then north again. Then he would go past the gate, towards Mount Silver.
A fallen tree saw him across the water, and as the sun dipped low he found that the other side was actually slightly easier. The rocky scrub and prickly underbrush turned to grassland, and with the increased field of view he was able to avoid the wild Pokémon more easily – all the way till sunset he hiked, not stumbling into danger a single time.
But then the sun finally disappeared, and though he had thought to bring a flashlight, it wasn't the same at all. The hip-high grass went from comfortingly open to sinister, seeming to move and rustle constantly in the periphery of his vision.
But still he continued, chewing through some granola bars in the dark. I'm close. Actually, I think I must have passed the gate already – the mountains look bigger than I remember. They, at least, were still visible, silhouetted against the sky. The thought added new life to his aching feet, a feeling that doubled a few minutes later as he spied something exciting: a point of light, distant and flickering.
A campfire! The smile that sprung to his face was hard enough to hurt. I found him! He rushed forward, flying through the grass, and as he approached he called out. "Dad! Dad, it's me, Silver! I came to-"
But as the grass abruptly thinned and he came out into a cleared space, his heart dropped into his stomach and his cry died. That… isn't a campfire.
Instead of his father, Silver had found a massive rapidash. It blinked at him curiously, climbing to its hooves – really climbing; it's head reached over six feet above the ground as it stood straight. The movement made its fiery mane sway and spark, throwing wild shadows across the small clearing that his little flashlight couldn't hope to match.
Silver swallowed. "…Sorry. I'll…" The massive horse lowered its head, looking him in the eye, and he was struck silent.
Don't panic. It isn't angry – just move away, slowly.
But as he stepped backwards into the grass, he got another shock: a second flaming mane appeared, then a third, and within seconds Silver was surrounded by ponyta. Oh. An entire herd. That's… bad.
Because these Pokémon looked more scared than curious. They're weak, he realised as sparks from stamping hooves smouldered and caught aflame on the dead, dry grass of the clearing. The big one doesn't see me as a threat, but these ones do. His mind rushed as panic set in. "Sorry," repeated, his hands spread wide. "Sorry." Say something else, you stupid-
A particularly angry ponyta charged, looking to tackle him to the ground, and Silver dived to the side. This set off another one, and flailing hooves caught him just under the ribs, the blow heavier than its three-foot height suggested. Silver was sent skidding through the grass with dull pain shooting deep into the core of his body, thin blades leaving papercuts across the back of his neck and hands.
He dodged a second stomp as the pony's other belligerent sibling closed in – and then something in him snapped. He rose to his feet, spitting in anger. "RAH!" he roared, and the charging pony peeled off, coming to a stop a ways away, eyes wild with fear. "Screw off! Leave me alone!" You're weak! That's why you attacked – and that's why you'll run away! He swung his backpack in an arc, forcing the herd back. "That's right! P-piss off!" All he had to do was keep them at bay for a few metres, until he was at the edge of the herd. They wouldn't leave their parent, not at night, so-
And then another mass of fire emerged from the grass, a second rapidash standing up. It was smaller than the other, normal sized – which meant it was still taller than Silver was. "Oh, come on," he muttered as the horned horse turned his way, huffing out steam. "Come on."
What was probably the other parent threw its head, sparks flying as it charged, easily three times as fast as its offspring, and Silver held up his backpack as a shield. "Hah-!" Supplies went everywhere as he tumbled, his backpack torn open and oh shit, I'm on fire! He continued to roll, on purpose this time, smothering the flames in the dirt.
As the embers died he looked up, into the eyes of the rapidash, and knew there was no way he could survive a second hit. It stalked, circling around with its head low, each footstep leaving fire in its wake – even if by some miracle he continued to dodge, more and more of the herd's nesting spot was catching; his chances of survival were rapidly dwindling to zero.
But still, he stood. He stared down the flame-wreathed Pokémon, and found that his panic and fear had drained away. "I'll fight," he said, and the rapidash's eyes flashed. "You're stronger than me, but I'll fight. I might hurt you pretty bad before I die. Is it worth it?"
The horse stared at him, its eyes – red as fire, naturally – continuing to dance in the moving light of the burning clearing. It lowered its head – but it wasn't bowing out, it was aiming its horn. It charged, and Silver reacted by springing forward himself, his broken flashlight raised like a sword, all the pain washed out by the need to fight, to reach for that continually shrinking chance of survival.
He braced for pain – but it never came.
The wickedly sharp point came to a rest as the lopsided duel was interrupted by a red flash and the visceral whump of something heavy hitting the ground.
A man in a long trench coat stepped past Silver, who had frozen in shock, and stopped behind the new and massive shape casting a shadow across the field, seemingly uncaring for the flames licking at his shoes.
"Khan, Earthquake."
This fire is… different, from the rapidash.
Silver stared, once more, into the dancing flames – but this time, it really was just a campfire. Less… alive. His father sat across from him, but he found it was completely impossible to meet his eyes.
Most of the time, his dad's face was hard. But sometimes it softened – usually with him, but Silver had seen him look at Mom the same way. It completely transformed him, and Silver cherished those moments, when it was just him and Dad and sometimes Mom.
Giovanni's face was not soft now, not at all. He was angry, and as the silence stretched on the anger only seemed to grow… until eventually he spoke.
"Sliver," he said, voice low and cold. "What did you think would happen, coming after me by yourself?"
The boy continued to stare into the dancing flames. "I found you."
His father's facial muscles tightened as anger spiked – but then, out of the corner of his eye, Silver saw as Giovanni's face did soften just a little, becoming merely stern rather than murderous. "You did. I…" He sighed. "I am proud of you, Silver. But you need to go home. In the morning, I will take you-"
"No," Silver said, and Giovanni's expression froze. "I…" The words seemed too big, refusing to pass through his throat, but he pushed. "I'll go home, but only if you do, too."
The fire crackled. In the background Don moved, the large rhydon detecting the change in atmosphere as he kept watch over the little camp.
"Son," Giovanni eventually said. "Silver. There are… Intricacies about the situation that make it better if I leave Kanto for a time. I will return, but it may take many-"
"No!" Silver repeated, and his father's face dropped back to rancour – Giovanni was not a man accustomed to backtalk, but in that moment the boy did not care. "Are you just gonna run away? Because you got beat? You're better than that!" The emotion came spewing out, impossible to stop. "You said you're the strongest trainer in the world, so- so come home, and fight that guy again, and win this time!"
Giovanni stood. He stepped around the fire, movements hard and angry, and for a moment Silver thought his father would hit him – but the man only put his hands on his son's shoulders in a gesture that wasn't quite a hug.
"Silver," he said – no, he commanded, voice calm but unyielding. "My son. I have… made mistakes. Mistakes years in the making. Losing to that boy, over and over… it was a sign. A sign that I have become sloppy, become complacent."
"Dad..?"
A sliver of tooth showed as he smiled, the expression not happy in the least. "For a long time, I thought that political power was enough. I scraped and bowed, and there was a moment when I'd believed that Kanto lay in the palm of my hand… But the very instant those fools saw a path to so-called peace, all my plans and careful alliances were blown away. So I resolved to myself that I would never be weak again, never rely on another's strength, or the corrupting allure of…" He snarled. "Soft power. I rebuilt my Team Rocket in an older image, savage and strong. But… Despite all my self-assurances, it seems that I've regressed. I have been soft…" The smile became, somehow, even sadder. "And, in some cases, perhaps… the opposite. Too harsh. The Team Rocket that I created failed me, and I it."
The warm, heavy hands drew away. "I need to return to my roots, to the most basic of basics… Just a man and his Pokémon, challenging the entire world." He looked down – and despite the emotions clouding his father's face, Silver saw the unbreakable conviction in Giovanni's dark eyes.
"Dad," he tried. "Take me with you. You, and me, and Mom, we can do it together. I'm strong too!"
A different smile. "You are. But… no, not yet." He stepped back, back to his own side of the fire, and suddenly the flames seemed so much colder. "I… need to reinvent myself. Discover the strength I'd buried… And apologize to a certain… associate. Before I can return, before Team Rocket can return… I must become the strongest in truth. No, even more than the strongest trainer…" His eyes failed to reflect the flames, black irises seeming to capture the light and smother in a deep chasm. "I must become the strongest version of myself."
Silver's eyes opened, the lingering half-nightmare fading in the dawn's scant candle-light. Ugh, came his first thought of the day, what in Dexus's name convinced me to live with a bunch of fake ascetics?
The Dragon Shrine was, like the entire cave it existed inside, dimly lit. The only natural light came from the small holes in the cavern's roof, necessitating candles if you wanted to walk around without tripping over every rock. And there were rocks, even indoors, though the priests would probably whip him if they could hear what he thought of their precious 'statues.'
No beds allowed, but feel free to drink as much as you want… His tongue felt like it had grown hair. Ugh, what a backwards place…
He rolled out of his cot and dressed himself as he shook off the last bit of sleep, eyes peering through the gloom. "Nobody here, huh?" The room was actually a lot less shrine-like than it usually was; some discarded plates and bottles were strewn about, incongruous with the sacred aura of the carved stone dragonair and old-fashioned furnishing.
No answer; he was alone. Which means I'm expected to clean everything up, of course.
With a sigh, the redheaded Gym Leader got to work. It was hard, sometimes, being the youngest Dragon Monk, but-
A cry of challenge from outside the shrine caused Silver's head to raise, and with a savage smile his hand went to the line of Pokéballs on his belt.
But the training opportunities are worth it.
Later, after Jaws had gotten his daily taste of dragon hide and the debris from yesterday's celebration were cleared away, Silver was joined by the rest of the monks, priests, and priestesses. They filed into the shrine in low spirits.
"Ha," he laughed. Serves you right, you old nags. "Still feeling it, Master?"
The ancient man clutched his bald head. "Don't be so quick to judge, Monk Capo. One day your healthy body will fail you, and you'll experience this pain as well."
Silver scoffed. "I just won't drink so much, then."
Clair came up beside the Blackthorn Clan's elder, looking just as rough – though in her case, she had a much better excuse; rather than hungover, she was still fatigued from battling a legendary Pokémon. "No fighting in the shrine," she barked, causing the youngest and oldest of the room's men to meet eyes. Rich, coming from her, the both of them communicated with a look.
After the customary tradition blah blah nonsense, the shrine saw its second Blackthorn Clan Meeting in a row – or perhaps he shouldn't even count the last one; yesterday had been almost entirely a party, the clan elders going off their collective rocker as Clair returned victorious from facing the Moltres.
"Now Clair," the Master began things on the most urgent note. "You're absolutely certain the Moltres is outside their control for now? Calmed?"
"I wouldn't say it's calm," she replied, giving a one-armed shrug. "But it's stopped circling over Fuchsia. Damn thing was heading south last I saw; probably going to an old nest in the islands. Will already has contacts scouting for it."
A murmur from around the table. "That's good," the previous Champion, Clair's older cousin Lance Blackthorn, spoke over the crowd. "The Orange Archipelago will be difficult to access at the moment, with the storm barriers up. We-" he paused. "You should have plenty of time to quell the unrest and clean house."
The current champion snorted. "'Clean house,' he says. Like I can snap my fingers and cull half the ministers in Indigo…" She looked away.
Lance's eyes, in contrast, drilled right into her. "If that's what it takes, then do it. Another Indigo War would be disastrous; whatever amount of force you need to stop it is justified." Clair looked back, her nostrils flared and brows raised, and Silver sighed.
"I'm not going to just slaughter people! This isn't the bad old days when Pryce was at our throat, we're responsible for-"
Oh, here we fucking go again. The two dragon specialists began to screech at each other, not unlike dragonite sizing each other up for a duel, and he squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers as he felt the lingering spectre of a hangover cackle, beginning to expand into a full-on headache. "Can we go one meeting without you two having the exact same Arcus damned argument?"
They didn't even hear him. For all that the two seemed physically distinct, him with his red-brown hair spiked up, her wearing her pale blue locks down past her shoulders, they were definitely cast from the same mould. Silver pushed himself off from his cushion.
"Monk Capo? Where are you going?" a priestess asked.
"I have Gym Leader business to attend to." He glanced back. "Not like I'll be missing anything."
The old woman frowned, but the man next to her chuckled. "Oh, let him go. If he misses anything important, that's his own fault."
Silver raised his chin in thanks, and made for the door.
"Sir," his most senior Gym Trainer greeted as he walked into his… Den, I suppose, if we want to be thematic.
Silver stalked forward, robes swishing against the pale brown stone, and his subordinate followed as he passed. "Tetsuro. Any challenges today?"
"Just two so far, sir. Both for their eighth badge."
He smiled, and miraculously the building headache began to fade away. Amazing what health benefits not being trapped in a cave of bickering, dragon-worshipping grannies can have. While the stereotypes of dragon trainers could be overblown, Blackthorn prided itself on being as stereotypical as possible.
"Good, I need a battle to loosen up." We'll probably see a few more stragglers as the day wears on; might get as many as four or five. "How's the team?"
The two men passed pits of open magma as they descended to the lower floor, moving further into the semi-dormant volcano that the city was built into. "They should be waking up right about now, sir. Shall I collect them?"
Silver chewed on the question for a moment as he pushed open the door to the Gym's back room, where everything from records to equipment to clothes were kept. "No," he concluded. "I'll do that myself. You go hype up the other trainers; the season's almost over, so these last few challengers had better be up to snuff." He turned to give his subordinate a nod. "If they'd just disappoint me, give them a harsh lesson." If people want an easy battle, they need to start coming here for their first or second badge.
Some Gym Leaders added little environmental challenges to their setup, making getting to the battle arena a test in itself. Silver could see the wisdom in it; being able to navigate the wilderness was a vital skill, and putting a bit of jungle or something weeded out people who had neglected the non-battling aspects of training. But he figured that getting to Blackthorn was test enough – so he'd had Clair's navigate-a-volcano thing replaced with a nice, straightforward gauntlet of the Gym's best. Straightforward power, no gimmicks or ways to cheat. That's what an eighth badge should test.
The ace trainer's grin mirrored his leader's. "Of course, sir. We'll be sure to weed out the chaff for you."
He left, and Silver got to work dressing a second time. And it was work; the Blackthorn City Pokémon Gym had a very bombastic dress code, mirroring the Blackthorn clan that had founded it, and while a formless monk robe that read as proper and humble was fine for the elders, his challengers deserved the entire song-and-dance. Red cape? No, I'll probably be using Lucky as my anchor; blue cape with the scales.
He put on his uniform, making sure to shine the gyarados scales until they gleamed, then exited out the back to meet the Gym's – and nominally his, though he sometimes had trouble thinking as such – Pokémon
Two dragonite, two dragonair, and four dratini. A kingdra and seadra. Two gyarados, a dozen magikarp, and a lapras.
If one were to look at just the Pokémon the Gym Leader had in his professional stable, they might be confused about whether this was a dragon- or water-themed Gym. The sight always brought a slight chuckle to Silver's lips, and today was no different. "Heh. Alright, naptime's over for you lot. Time to get to work." A lazy throw, and Jaws the feraligatr joined the rest in the pool, splashing down with a pleased roar. The gator fit right in; lean and muscular with hard blue scales and shockingly red crests running down his spine, Silver's first Pokémon looked as draconic as anything. The other pure water types scattered, while the true dragons and fully-evolved Pokémon puffed themselves up in territorial pride.
"This late in the season, there's only two types of trainers: slackers, who won't make it to us, and aspiring elites! That means we need to match the Elite Four!" He swung his arm forward, cape billowing with the motion. "And frankly, I'm not sure you stand up!"
Challenging roars and hisses answered, and Silver's smile widened. "Oh? Feel like proving me wrong? Pair up then! You'll be warming up against Jaws until the first serious trainer shows their face!"
More roars, with a few bleats thrown in as the seadra found their spines. Hah.
Sometimes I wonder why I stick around this dump, but being a Gym Leader isn't half bad.
Every time they came, they'd gone a little further past the gate. To the first badge check, then the second… Silver's father had said that when the time came, he would pass through the gate all on his own – "You will have the power to do it," had been his exact words. "But there's no harm in letting you see some of it early – whetting your appetite for it, you could say."
He had been here… four times, maybe, though the earliest visits were hazy, not even half-remembered. But he did remember the way, mostly, the vague path between Viridian City and the Eight Badge Gate. He could picture it in his head; a weird tree that was completely hollowed out but still alive, then a narrow yet deep creek, then a climb up a small cliff face. Dad always carried me up that bit…
But today, Silver wasn't being escorted by his dad. No, today he was alone, and the mankey baying from the treetops were much, much more intimidating without the strongest man in the world's heavy, solid hand resting on his shoulder.
He pushed on anyway, shivering at the wild keening, because this was the way. Dad didn't tell anyone where he was going, not even Mom… But it's obvious if you aren't stupid.
Up. He would go up, into the mountains. Towards… that place. The Silver Range. The most dangerous place in Kanto; because where else could the strongest trainer go to train? Silver would find him, and bring him home, and everything would be fine again.
So he climbed. Route 22 wasn't like Route 1 or 2, the other paths leading away from Viridian. Those were… made for people, in a way this one wasn't. The Rangers worked every day to keep them clear of wild Pokémon, so that normal non-trainers could move between cities without needing Pokémon of their own. But the path to the west was overgrown, teeming with cranky mankey and pecking doduo, and as Silver went on it got worse. Soon, the thin trail disappeared completely; there were only rocky ridges studded with scraggly, sick-looking trees, hardy grasses, and thorns. It was like no human had ever set foot there.
He huffed, pulling his caught backpack from a bush. Stupid. Obviously people come here – this is how you get to the Elite Four. It's the Champion's Road. He found the hollowed-out tree, snuck past a herd of ponyta grazing nearby, and turned north. But then a nidorina guarding her eggs took offence at the human passing through her underbrush, and her warning shot sprayed low, hitting the ground all around Silver's feet – his hiking boots were thick enough to take the Poison Sting, but his pant leg was not.
But he'd come prepared; he had a pair of pliers to help pull the thin needles from his calf, and an antidote to take care of the poison. The little holes didn't hurt too bad – he could still walk, at least…
Or at least until he got to the creek, that was. The water rushed merrily along the bottom of the ravine it had carved for itself through the route, the line of lively green and blue in the brown and tan landscape a solid three feet wide. Silver stopped at the edge, staring at the jump he could have easily made if his left ankle was healthy.
There were magikarp and little darting shapes that might have been poliwag, swimming around in the creek, not paying the small human the least bit of attention, and…
Don't cry, he told himself, keenly aware of not just his needle wound, but also the scrapes and bruises covering his body – he'd fallen more than once, and the route's mankey had pelted him with stones at points. You're strong. You'll find a way.
Silver wiped the moisture from his eyes, and turned to begin following the ravine upstream. I know where the gate is. Even if I don't follow the path, I can still find it – I just need to go west for a bit, then north again. Then he would go past the gate, towards Mount Silver.
A fallen tree saw him across the water, and as the sun dipped low he found that the other side was actually slightly easier. The rocky scrub and prickly underbrush turned to grassland, and with the increased field of view he was able to avoid the wild Pokémon more easily – all the way till sunset he hiked, not stumbling into danger a single time.
But then the sun finally disappeared, and though he had thought to bring a flashlight, it wasn't the same at all. The hip-high grass went from comfortingly open to sinister, seeming to move and rustle constantly in the periphery of his vision.
But still he continued, chewing through some granola bars in the dark. I'm close. Actually, I think I must have passed the gate already – the mountains look bigger than I remember. They, at least, were still visible, silhouetted against the sky. The thought added new life to his aching feet, a feeling that doubled a few minutes later as he spied something exciting: a point of light, distant and flickering.
A campfire! The smile that sprung to his face was hard enough to hurt. I found him! He rushed forward, flying through the grass, and as he approached he called out. "Dad! Dad, it's me, Silver! I came to-"
But as the grass abruptly thinned and he came out into a cleared space, his heart dropped into his stomach and his cry died. That… isn't a campfire.
Instead of his father, Silver had found a massive rapidash. It blinked at him curiously, climbing to its hooves – really climbing; it's head reached over six feet above the ground as it stood straight. The movement made its fiery mane sway and spark, throwing wild shadows across the small clearing that his little flashlight couldn't hope to match.
Silver swallowed. "…Sorry. I'll…" The massive horse lowered its head, looking him in the eye, and he was struck silent.
Don't panic. It isn't angry – just move away, slowly.
But as he stepped backwards into the grass, he got another shock: a second flaming mane appeared, then a third, and within seconds Silver was surrounded by ponyta. Oh. An entire herd. That's… bad.
Because these Pokémon looked more scared than curious. They're weak, he realised as sparks from stamping hooves smouldered and caught aflame on the dead, dry grass of the clearing. The big one doesn't see me as a threat, but these ones do. His mind rushed as panic set in. "Sorry," repeated, his hands spread wide. "Sorry." Say something else, you stupid-
A particularly angry ponyta charged, looking to tackle him to the ground, and Silver dived to the side. This set off another one, and flailing hooves caught him just under the ribs, the blow heavier than its three-foot height suggested. Silver was sent skidding through the grass with dull pain shooting deep into the core of his body, thin blades leaving papercuts across the back of his neck and hands.
He dodged a second stomp as the pony's other belligerent sibling closed in – and then something in him snapped. He rose to his feet, spitting in anger. "RAH!" he roared, and the charging pony peeled off, coming to a stop a ways away, eyes wild with fear. "Screw off! Leave me alone!" You're weak! That's why you attacked – and that's why you'll run away! He swung his backpack in an arc, forcing the herd back. "That's right! P-piss off!" All he had to do was keep them at bay for a few metres, until he was at the edge of the herd. They wouldn't leave their parent, not at night, so-
And then another mass of fire emerged from the grass, a second rapidash standing up. It was smaller than the other, normal sized – which meant it was still taller than Silver was. "Oh, come on," he muttered as the horned horse turned his way, huffing out steam. "Come on."
What was probably the other parent threw its head, sparks flying as it charged, easily three times as fast as its offspring, and Silver held up his backpack as a shield. "Hah-!" Supplies went everywhere as he tumbled, his backpack torn open and oh shit, I'm on fire! He continued to roll, on purpose this time, smothering the flames in the dirt.
As the embers died he looked up, into the eyes of the rapidash, and knew there was no way he could survive a second hit. It stalked, circling around with its head low, each footstep leaving fire in its wake – even if by some miracle he continued to dodge, more and more of the herd's nesting spot was catching; his chances of survival were rapidly dwindling to zero.
But still, he stood. He stared down the flame-wreathed Pokémon, and found that his panic and fear had drained away. "I'll fight," he said, and the rapidash's eyes flashed. "You're stronger than me, but I'll fight. I might hurt you pretty bad before I die. Is it worth it?"
The horse stared at him, its eyes – red as fire, naturally – continuing to dance in the moving light of the burning clearing. It lowered its head – but it wasn't bowing out, it was aiming its horn. It charged, and Silver reacted by springing forward himself, his broken flashlight raised like a sword, all the pain washed out by the need to fight, to reach for that continually shrinking chance of survival.
He braced for pain – but it never came.
The wickedly sharp point came to a rest as the lopsided duel was interrupted by a red flash and the visceral whump of something heavy hitting the ground.
A man in a long trench coat stepped past Silver, who had frozen in shock, and stopped behind the new and massive shape casting a shadow across the field, seemingly uncaring for the flames licking at his shoes.
"Khan, Earthquake."
This fire is… different, from the rapidash.
Silver stared, once more, into the dancing flames – but this time, it really was just a campfire. Less… alive. His father sat across from him, but he found it was completely impossible to meet his eyes.
Most of the time, his dad's face was hard. But sometimes it softened – usually with him, but Silver had seen him look at Mom the same way. It completely transformed him, and Silver cherished those moments, when it was just him and Dad and sometimes Mom.
Giovanni's face was not soft now, not at all. He was angry, and as the silence stretched on the anger only seemed to grow… until eventually he spoke.
"Sliver," he said, voice low and cold. "What did you think would happen, coming after me by yourself?"
The boy continued to stare into the dancing flames. "I found you."
His father's facial muscles tightened as anger spiked – but then, out of the corner of his eye, Silver saw as Giovanni's face did soften just a little, becoming merely stern rather than murderous. "You did. I…" He sighed. "I am proud of you, Silver. But you need to go home. In the morning, I will take you-"
"No," Silver said, and Giovanni's expression froze. "I…" The words seemed too big, refusing to pass through his throat, but he pushed. "I'll go home, but only if you do, too."
The fire crackled. In the background Don moved, the large rhydon detecting the change in atmosphere as he kept watch over the little camp.
"Son," Giovanni eventually said. "Silver. There are… Intricacies about the situation that make it better if I leave Kanto for a time. I will return, but it may take many-"
"No!" Silver repeated, and his father's face dropped back to rancour – Giovanni was not a man accustomed to backtalk, but in that moment the boy did not care. "Are you just gonna run away? Because you got beat? You're better than that!" The emotion came spewing out, impossible to stop. "You said you're the strongest trainer in the world, so- so come home, and fight that guy again, and win this time!"
Giovanni stood. He stepped around the fire, movements hard and angry, and for a moment Silver thought his father would hit him – but the man only put his hands on his son's shoulders in a gesture that wasn't quite a hug.
"Silver," he said – no, he commanded, voice calm but unyielding. "My son. I have… made mistakes. Mistakes years in the making. Losing to that boy, over and over… it was a sign. A sign that I have become sloppy, become complacent."
"Dad..?"
A sliver of tooth showed as he smiled, the expression not happy in the least. "For a long time, I thought that political power was enough. I scraped and bowed, and there was a moment when I'd believed that Kanto lay in the palm of my hand… But the very instant those fools saw a path to so-called peace, all my plans and careful alliances were blown away. So I resolved to myself that I would never be weak again, never rely on another's strength, or the corrupting allure of…" He snarled. "Soft power. I rebuilt my Team Rocket in an older image, savage and strong. But… Despite all my self-assurances, it seems that I've regressed. I have been soft…" The smile became, somehow, even sadder. "And, in some cases, perhaps… the opposite. Too harsh. The Team Rocket that I created failed me, and I it."
The warm, heavy hands drew away. "I need to return to my roots, to the most basic of basics… Just a man and his Pokémon, challenging the entire world." He looked down – and despite the emotions clouding his father's face, Silver saw the unbreakable conviction in Giovanni's dark eyes.
"Dad," he tried. "Take me with you. You, and me, and Mom, we can do it together. I'm strong too!"
A different smile. "You are. But… no, not yet." He stepped back, back to his own side of the fire, and suddenly the flames seemed so much colder. "I… need to reinvent myself. Discover the strength I'd buried… And apologize to a certain… associate. Before I can return, before Team Rocket can return… I must become the strongest in truth. No, even more than the strongest trainer…" His eyes failed to reflect the flames, black irises seeming to capture the light and smother in a deep chasm. "I must become the strongest version of myself."
Silver's eyes opened, the lingering half-nightmare fading in the dawn's scant candle-light. Ugh, came his first thought of the day, what in Dexus's name convinced me to live with a bunch of fake ascetics?
The Dragon Shrine was, like the entire cave it existed inside, dimly lit. The only natural light came from the small holes in the cavern's roof, necessitating candles if you wanted to walk around without tripping over every rock. And there were rocks, even indoors, though the priests would probably whip him if they could hear what he thought of their precious 'statues.'
No beds allowed, but feel free to drink as much as you want… His tongue felt like it had grown hair. Ugh, what a backwards place…
He rolled out of his cot and dressed himself as he shook off the last bit of sleep, eyes peering through the gloom. "Nobody here, huh?" The room was actually a lot less shrine-like than it usually was; some discarded plates and bottles were strewn about, incongruous with the sacred aura of the carved stone dragonair and old-fashioned furnishing.
No answer; he was alone. Which means I'm expected to clean everything up, of course.
With a sigh, the redheaded Gym Leader got to work. It was hard, sometimes, being the youngest Dragon Monk, but-
A cry of challenge from outside the shrine caused Silver's head to raise, and with a savage smile his hand went to the line of Pokéballs on his belt.
But the training opportunities are worth it.
Later, after Jaws had gotten his daily taste of dragon hide and the debris from yesterday's celebration were cleared away, Silver was joined by the rest of the monks, priests, and priestesses. They filed into the shrine in low spirits.
"Ha," he laughed. Serves you right, you old nags. "Still feeling it, Master?"
The ancient man clutched his bald head. "Don't be so quick to judge, Monk Capo. One day your healthy body will fail you, and you'll experience this pain as well."
Silver scoffed. "I just won't drink so much, then."
Clair came up beside the Blackthorn Clan's elder, looking just as rough – though in her case, she had a much better excuse; rather than hungover, she was still fatigued from battling a legendary Pokémon. "No fighting in the shrine," she barked, causing the youngest and oldest of the room's men to meet eyes. Rich, coming from her, the both of them communicated with a look.
After the customary tradition blah blah nonsense, the shrine saw its second Blackthorn Clan Meeting in a row – or perhaps he shouldn't even count the last one; yesterday had been almost entirely a party, the clan elders going off their collective rocker as Clair returned victorious from facing the Moltres.
"Now Clair," the Master began things on the most urgent note. "You're absolutely certain the Moltres is outside their control for now? Calmed?"
"I wouldn't say it's calm," she replied, giving a one-armed shrug. "But it's stopped circling over Fuchsia. Damn thing was heading south last I saw; probably going to an old nest in the islands. Will already has contacts scouting for it."
A murmur from around the table. "That's good," the previous Champion, Clair's older cousin Lance Blackthorn, spoke over the crowd. "The Orange Archipelago will be difficult to access at the moment, with the storm barriers up. We-" he paused. "You should have plenty of time to quell the unrest and clean house."
The current champion snorted. "'Clean house,' he says. Like I can snap my fingers and cull half the ministers in Indigo…" She looked away.
Lance's eyes, in contrast, drilled right into her. "If that's what it takes, then do it. Another Indigo War would be disastrous; whatever amount of force you need to stop it is justified." Clair looked back, her nostrils flared and brows raised, and Silver sighed.
"I'm not going to just slaughter people! This isn't the bad old days when Pryce was at our throat, we're responsible for-"
Oh, here we fucking go again. The two dragon specialists began to screech at each other, not unlike dragonite sizing each other up for a duel, and he squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers as he felt the lingering spectre of a hangover cackle, beginning to expand into a full-on headache. "Can we go one meeting without you two having the exact same Arcus damned argument?"
They didn't even hear him. For all that the two seemed physically distinct, him with his red-brown hair spiked up, her wearing her pale blue locks down past her shoulders, they were definitely cast from the same mould. Silver pushed himself off from his cushion.
"Monk Capo? Where are you going?" a priestess asked.
"I have Gym Leader business to attend to." He glanced back. "Not like I'll be missing anything."
The old woman frowned, but the man next to her chuckled. "Oh, let him go. If he misses anything important, that's his own fault."
Silver raised his chin in thanks, and made for the door.
"Sir," his most senior Gym Trainer greeted as he walked into his… Den, I suppose, if we want to be thematic.
Silver stalked forward, robes swishing against the pale brown stone, and his subordinate followed as he passed. "Tetsuro. Any challenges today?"
"Just two so far, sir. Both for their eighth badge."
He smiled, and miraculously the building headache began to fade away. Amazing what health benefits not being trapped in a cave of bickering, dragon-worshipping grannies can have. While the stereotypes of dragon trainers could be overblown, Blackthorn prided itself on being as stereotypical as possible.
"Good, I need a battle to loosen up." We'll probably see a few more stragglers as the day wears on; might get as many as four or five. "How's the team?"
The two men passed pits of open magma as they descended to the lower floor, moving further into the semi-dormant volcano that the city was built into. "They should be waking up right about now, sir. Shall I collect them?"
Silver chewed on the question for a moment as he pushed open the door to the Gym's back room, where everything from records to equipment to clothes were kept. "No," he concluded. "I'll do that myself. You go hype up the other trainers; the season's almost over, so these last few challengers had better be up to snuff." He turned to give his subordinate a nod. "If they'd just disappoint me, give them a harsh lesson." If people want an easy battle, they need to start coming here for their first or second badge.
Some Gym Leaders added little environmental challenges to their setup, making getting to the battle arena a test in itself. Silver could see the wisdom in it; being able to navigate the wilderness was a vital skill, and putting a bit of jungle or something weeded out people who had neglected the non-battling aspects of training. But he figured that getting to Blackthorn was test enough – so he'd had Clair's navigate-a-volcano thing replaced with a nice, straightforward gauntlet of the Gym's best. Straightforward power, no gimmicks or ways to cheat. That's what an eighth badge should test.
The ace trainer's grin mirrored his leader's. "Of course, sir. We'll be sure to weed out the chaff for you."
He left, and Silver got to work dressing a second time. And it was work; the Blackthorn City Pokémon Gym had a very bombastic dress code, mirroring the Blackthorn clan that had founded it, and while a formless monk robe that read as proper and humble was fine for the elders, his challengers deserved the entire song-and-dance. Red cape? No, I'll probably be using Lucky as my anchor; blue cape with the scales.
He put on his uniform, making sure to shine the gyarados scales until they gleamed, then exited out the back to meet the Gym's – and nominally his, though he sometimes had trouble thinking as such – Pokémon
Two dragonite, two dragonair, and four dratini. A kingdra and seadra. Two gyarados, a dozen magikarp, and a lapras.
If one were to look at just the Pokémon the Gym Leader had in his professional stable, they might be confused about whether this was a dragon- or water-themed Gym. The sight always brought a slight chuckle to Silver's lips, and today was no different. "Heh. Alright, naptime's over for you lot. Time to get to work." A lazy throw, and Jaws the feraligatr joined the rest in the pool, splashing down with a pleased roar. The gator fit right in; lean and muscular with hard blue scales and shockingly red crests running down his spine, Silver's first Pokémon looked as draconic as anything. The other pure water types scattered, while the true dragons and fully-evolved Pokémon puffed themselves up in territorial pride.
"This late in the season, there's only two types of trainers: slackers, who won't make it to us, and aspiring elites! That means we need to match the Elite Four!" He swung his arm forward, cape billowing with the motion. "And frankly, I'm not sure you stand up!"
Challenging roars and hisses answered, and Silver's smile widened. "Oh? Feel like proving me wrong? Pair up then! You'll be warming up against Jaws until the first serious trainer shows their face!"
More roars, with a few bleats thrown in as the seadra found their spines. Hah.
Sometimes I wonder why I stick around this dump, but being a Gym Leader isn't half bad.
Going to take a little "break" as I work on editing the rest of my previous work for publication. Not quite sure how long it'll be, but hopefully not too long. Thanks for reading.
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Thanks for writing a good story.
4.01 - Beach Day
- Location
- Edmonton, Alberta
Hey everyone.
…Well, that took a bit longer than I expected it to. But it's done; Book 2 of The Salt & The Sky is completely edited and ready for pre-order. It releases on the first of November. (Book 1 has also been re-edited slightly, for the record.) Over 600 pages for the price of a hamburger!
If you like my writing, please consider supporting me financially. If I can make rent with my writing rather than relying on a 'real' job, then my output will obviously increase – which means more chapters for you!
Okay, I'm done shilling; here's the chapter.
…Well, that took a bit longer than I expected it to. But it's done; Book 2 of The Salt & The Sky is completely edited and ready for pre-order. It releases on the first of November. (Book 1 has also been re-edited slightly, for the record.) Over 600 pages for the price of a hamburger!
If you like my writing, please consider supporting me financially. If I can make rent with my writing rather than relying on a 'real' job, then my output will obviously increase – which means more chapters for you!
Okay, I'm done shilling; here's the chapter.
Of Kanto's four coastal cities – five, if you counted an island as being on a coast – Hoshi could admit that Vermilion probably had the least appealing beaches.
It was a question of priorities; Cerulean had been a tourist spot for decades, Pallet was only slightly less popular – it was the birthplace of all three of Kanto's Champions, after all – and Fuchsia was maniacal about its appearance. Vermillion, meanwhile, was a fishing village turned industrial powerhouse and trading hub.
The city's waterfront was mostly taken up by the docks, with only small stretches of sand – and given that they wanted their celebration to be at least theoretically private, that meant they had to choose a section of coast that wasn't popular. What they settled on wasn't exactly the pristine landscape you'd see in a postcard; it was actually a bit dingy, with a texture that could be uncomfortably close to gravel and washed-up seaweed piled around, the mess being picked over by small krabby and spearow.
And on an even more basic level… the water around those cities is just plain warmer than Vermilion Bay. Even with the extended heatwave, which was at last starting to break, the water coming in past the Seafoam Islands was colder than a haunter's asscrack.
…All that being said, a beach was still a beach, and after the previous day – no, the previous months – Hoshi felt he'd earned at least a little relaxation.
Despite it being the end of September, right in the middle of that hazy boundary between summer and autumn, the sun was shining down like it was the middle of July. But a normal July, Hoshi clarified in his head. Not this year's freakshow. It felt good; between the heat of the air warming his body and the chill of the sea spray splashing against his legs, he was feeling remarkably even as far as temperature was concerned.
"You coming in, babe?" came a voice from below, and his eyes tilted down from the sky to the ocean.
What he saw made the slightly sterile experience of Vermillion's beach scene completely outshine any other place in the world – it turned out that Casca did, indeed, own a bikini.
"Fuck no, you people are crazy," he replied, only half-joking, then hopped back a few steps to dodge his girlfriend's playful splashing.
"Come on," she pouted, though the tone was ruined by a giggle a second later. "After that miserable heat the water's perfect. Get in here!" She floated on her back, seemingly at home in the gently rolling ocean, and Hoshi shivered.
"No thanks. I'll stay up here with the sane people, thanks."
Casca raised a brow, tilting her head to gesture at the 'sane' people he was referring to – and Hoshi could only laugh as he turned to follow her gaze.
Ryan and Nerine were both sunbathing with their Pokémon, but they couldn't have been doing it any differently if they tried; Ryan was in a horrendously small pair of shorts, almost a speedo – which, for the record, the man didn't fill out in the slightest – while the teenager had combined her normal punk clothing with sunscreen and giant sunglasses to create a beach outfit that left zero skin exposed. She can't have been getting any sun at all, making the whole thing pointless, while Ryan was gradually turning the same shade of red as a well-done corphish.
"…I stand by my words," he said in the flattest voice he could manage, his arms crossed and his chin high. That drew another round of giggles from the water, the sound receding as Casca paddled further out.
"Suit yourself, stud – it's your party, after all." Hoshi turned back to see her eyes flashing with amusement. "You stay nice and dry, and I'll come out in a minute when the others get tired – seriously, you Vermillions have no stamina in the water."
He rolled his eyes as he watched her paddle back to where Kenny and Puce were splashing around with their and Casca's Pokémon – it turned out that sandshrew were actually damn good swimmers, something Hoshi would never have guessed. Says the Cerulean girl. I'm surprised you people don't have webbed feet for how obsessed with water you are.
The scene was picturesque, dark blues and skin tones and the bright white of the three's swimwear. Potato the koffing disappeared under the waves for a moment, only to erupt out of the water with Candy clinging to its – her, I think? I'm pretty sure Puce said it was female – underside. The starfish Pokémon let out an excited "Huh!" as they ascended, followed by a more disappointed exclamation when its ride bobbed gently back to the surface. The three humans laughed, and Hoshi found his smile stretching as well.
Good to take a break – a real break, not just a day off. He trotted away from the water, plopping down next to Ryan and his bagon.
The blond was maximising his tan with a mirror, while his coldblooded Pokémon soaked up the heat from a platform of sand it had piled up.
"Yo, who's up for volleyball?"
Nerine flashed him a look from behind her game console. "Dude, my feet would die. This place is basically just a half-eroded cliff face."
"Hmm," Ryan hummed, considering it. "Actually, that sounds grand! I've been wanting to absorb more of the local culture – you have a ball?"
"With my stuff, yeah. No net, though, so we'll just have to eyeball it."
The day went on. Guts didn't really understand volleyball, preferring to just bat the ball around, but Crow picked it up surprisingly quickly. The others came back from their swim and dragged Nerine in to make it six-on-six – and unsurprisingly Hoshi's side won; Candy probably could have played on their own, that was how wide the gap was between it and the other Pokémon.
Then Danny finally showed up with a pair of koffing dragging a beat-up old grill, and they ate lunch.
"…And you know this…" Ryan trailed off, sending a dubious look Danny's way. "…Person?" was the word he finally decided on, after a full three seconds of silence.
"Yeah," Hoshi replied, mouth half-full of burger. Fuck, it feels good to eat some red meat for once.
Usually he wouldn't splurge like this, but the Gym win had paid out over a thousand pokédollars alone – put that together with his share of the Rocket money, and Hoshi might just be in the black for all those lessons he'd paid for. Plus there's all the overtime pay from when the city was falling apart… Yeah, fuck it, I can afford to party a little here and there. The prime tauros beef was grilled to perfection; despite all his faults, Danny was actually a decent cook.
Ryan continued to glance between Hoshi and his friend, his expression not changing.
Okay, yeah, he looks like a weirdo, but… "Don't worry, he's cool. He works for Rocket sometimes – I wouldn't have invited him otherwise."
The Viridian man's face became a touch less doubtful, and after a moment's hesitation he bit into his own burger. "…Very well," he said after chewing and swallowing. "But did he have to bring those wild Pokémon? They're spooking Puce's Potato."
He wasn't exactly wrong; the semi-wild koffing were butting against each other up above the grill – competing for the lion's share of the smoke, Hoshi assumed – and whenever the smaller, younger Potato came by they broke up to glare it away. Not sharing any food with the runt, huh?
"I'm not gonna tell the guy what to do, Sampo. He's my friend." Another bite of meat, bread, onions, and cheese punctuated the statement. "Besides, I didn't see you complaining when your bagon was bowling people over earlier. Don't be a hypocrite."
Ryan sniffed. "Bah, that was half the point of the game, wasn't it?" He turned away, though if he was conceding the point or merely tired of the argument Hoshi couldn't guess. He settled down beside his Pokémon, giving it a tiny bite of his meat when it begged.
Still a bit of a prick, huh? Hoshi snorted lightly, making his way back to his own little huddle. Whatever. Even if we aren't friends, I can at least work with the guy – I've put up with assholes my whole life, this isn't any different.
He settled down with Casca on a blanket, and polished off his food while he watched her polish her starfish with a cloth.
"Are you… waxing it?"
She nodded without looking away. "Yup. Standard care – staryu can dry out if they're out on dry land for too long."
He ignored the tautology. "Okay, but wax?"
A shrug. "That's what they told me to do. You like it, don't you honey?"
The bipedal mollusc – or whatever they were, he wasn't a biologist – gave a short, affirmative "Huh!" and Hoshi decided not to question it any further. You know, I've never really thought about it, but staryu are weird. No eyes, no mouths… "Hey Casca, what does it eat?"
"Nothing. Or…" She paused for a moment. "Light, maybe? Actually, their evolution is psychic, so maybe they're like drowzee and hypno?"
"Eh." If they ate dreams or other mind-shit they'd probably live around people. Not a lot of intellectuals out in the middle of the ocean. "Seems far fetched – that second one, anyway."
"Eh," she grunted back. "If I needed to feed her something they'd have told me. Whatever it is, she gets it just fine on her own.
Everyone ate, including the Pokémon. Guts got some lightly-cooked meat, while Crow took hers raw with a side of apple slices. The only one to abstain – other than Candy – was Nerine's ekans.
She probably feeds it whole corpses, like it would get in the wild… The thought was the slightest bit uncomfortable; he wasn't squeamish by any measure, but having a rattata of his own made the prospect of eating one… not great.
They played around a bit more, letting their Pokémon run around, and Danny even released his own – not one of his junkyard strays, but a properly captured 'mon.
The feline emerged from the worn Pokéball licking its paw. Its fur was a greying purple with a tan underside, angular rings of pale red dotted around its back and thighs. That crest around its eyes makes it look like it's wearing a mask… Hah, it looks like a cat burglar!
"Huh," Hoshi remarked, hiding his amusement. "Don't think I know the name of that one."
"Her name's Slinky," Danny replied, causing Hoshi to snort.
"The species, man."
"Liepard," Nerine answered before Danny could keep the banter going. "Dark type. Native to… Unova, I think? Either there or Galar."
The big cat – which was about the same size as the Kantonian felines he was familiar with, though more slenderly built – stretched out and yawned. It was obviously in its sunset years, even moreso than Meowth the persian; its fur was thin and wiry, its face squared off in a way that made its eyes look smaller than they were.
"Right on, sister," Danny sent the teen's way. "Had 'im since- ahh, a good long while now. No good for battling no more, but he can sniff out all kinds of stuff."
He gave the cat a stroke, while Nerine squinted – she was probably trying to parse out the old man's hideous accent. Or maybe she's trying to work out what level of ironic his fashion sense is operating at. The man was, like her, making no concessions for the environment; his heavy leather jacket, multicoloured rainbow-puke cap, and general lack of hygiene was the gunge to her punk.
And not necessarily the music genre, either.
"…I bet," she eventually said, tone uncertain. "Dark types are pretty cool. What other Pokémon do you have?"
"Oh, a whole bunch. Not like, in balls you understand, but they'll take orders well enough." He gestured to the two koffing, who had abandoned the cold grill to poke around in the seaweed. "Old school, you know? Lots'a poison types hang around the dump."
She nodded, and for once Hoshi saw the girl actually start to look a bit interested. "Anything good? I'd like to get a second 'mon before I try the Gym." She turned the Senior Grunt's way. "Our challenges are still good even though I- even though me and Puce bailed, right?"
"Surge can be kind of a hardass about that sort of thing," Hoshi started. "…But if you show up tomorrow or Wednesday it should be mostly fine. If not, you can just reapply for a small fee." Though… "But you know you don't actually need to, right? Not like any of us can actually go to the Nationals."
"Hah," Danny muttered under his breath. "Not too real of a fake, huh?"
Nerine shrugged. "Yeah, but it's… I mean, there's money for winning, and I think I can do it, so why not?"
"You know, that isn't a bad idea!" Ryan broke in, ambling over with Puce and Kenny in tow. "We should take another day to go Pokémon hunting!"
What, not satisfied with your dragon? "I can't take too many days off work, Ryan."
The ass dismissed Hoshi's concern with a wave of his hand. "So don't. The rest of us can make a day of it – you already have two, anyway."
Kenny stepped nearer. "C'mon Boss, you've got the afternoon off, right?" Boss? Huh? Where the fuck did that come from? "We're gettin' paid, might as well spend a bit on balls so we can do the next job even better. Am I wrong?"
Hoshi groaned, but he couldn't actually refute the meathead's argument. "Fine. Somewhere around six, alright? We can meet up east of town, sweep the route and maybe Diglett's Cave."
Kenny pumped his fist, and Puce smiled. Damn, even on my day off I'm having to plan for more work… Not that catching Pokémon is work, but…
"Hey, don't worry if you can't find anything," Danny said, taking back his chunk of the conversation. "I've got plenty of Pokémon going for real cheap – you ever seen an Alolan magneton?"
The rest of the group looked at him blankly, and after a second the junkyard owner slinked off, muttering in disappointment as his cat followed on his heels.
Hoshi chuckled. He thinks they all saw the grift, but… "None of you understood a word he just said, did you?"
The next morning Hoshi had leftover burgers for breakfast. He fed Guts and Crow again – he was keeping them out of storage for the most part, which was important to making sure they grew to full size – kissed Casca goodbye, and headed to work.
Which was actually pretty okay; there was still a rush of jobs left to do in the wake of the typhoon, and now that the rain was gone it wasn't nearly as stroke-inducingly humid. Everheart was in a better mood, the machop and machoke were enjoying the sun, and overall it was a better-than-average day of pouring concrete and cutting wood and a dozen other things.
He caught sight of Dabi as the day went on – and ignored him, because as hard as it was to take the warning seriously, he didn't think Casca would make that finger-breaking shit up. It's like he's an entirely different person; his body language isn't even slightly the same.
Maybe he had some kind of multiple-personality thing going on? Hoshi pondered it through his lunch break, but eventually let the growing pile of questions go. Doesn't matter, he thought as he dug into his old standby of canned magikarp sandwiched between dollar-store bread.
Dabi Mokusen's personality issues aren't my problem. I'll stay out of his way, and hopefully he'll stay out of mine. The burning curiosity might be annoying, but it was only that. We probably won't see each other much anyway – he's a big-shot scientist and I'm a one-step-from-the-bottom grunt. How often could those two groups possibly interact?
He finished his sandwich, drank down a second can of Volt Switch, and got back to work just as Everheart opened his mouth to bitch about him taking his time.
Pokéballs might be hard to get, but for all that the supply had gone down the price of a standard Poké Ball had actually decreased at about the same rate.
Probably because Jet Balls have mostly replaced them, he mused as the Pokémart employee scanned his licence. The laser darted out, bright orange clearly visible even in the well-lit store.
Just as when he'd shelled out for the Swift disk, there was a moment where Hoshi was afraid, all the way to his bones, that the scanner would somehow know; that the beep would be accompanied by the red of fresh blood rather than fresh spring green.
It didn't happen, because the fear was stupid, but acknowledging that did very little to dampen the relief when the cashier passed him the classic red-and-white balls.
"You want a bag for that, sir?" the teen – who was actually well put-together, unlike the kid in that other mart Hoshi'd visited those few months ago – asked, and Hoshi shook his head.
"No thanks," he said, the two Pokéballs magnetising to his belt just as well as the disguised Rocket Balls. "Got a thing for them."
He left the store, headed east, and in a quirk of good timing met up with Casca along the way.
"Babe," she greeted. "Only two?"
His hand went down to his belt. "Should only need two. Don't want to expand too quickly – training a whole team'll be hard enough even with a grown-up Guts and Crow getting the rhythm down; having a bunch of green Pokémon all at once would take…" He grimaced. "Way too much time to fix." His eye drifted to Casca's own hip, but it was bare; she must be keeping Candy in her purse. "So just one today. What about you? Gonna fill your whole roster?"
"Naw," she answered as they continued east. "Just one for me too. I already don't have a lot of time for training."
He grunted back, and they walked in silence for a bit. You know, the thought came as the peace drew out a touch of introspection. I've been pretty focused on the Gym job, I don't actually know what Casca does during the day. Am I a shitty boyfriend?
The thought was easily as terrifying as the dumb shock he got in the Pokémart, and after a moment's more thought he determined it was equally stupid. Fuck no. Not talking about work every hour of the day is fucking healthy, actually, and I should probably bring less of that shit home with me. But even having just said that…
"So how's the parts of the job I'm not around for, huh?" Unlike his coworker's weirdness, this was a mystery he could easily solve just by asking.
"Oh, it's a lot less exciting than last night," Casca answered easily. They passed another couple strolling through the afternoon air, the silence comfortable before she continued. "There's another gang edging in – you've heard of the Night Folk?"
Hoshi's brain turned over itself for a moment, before he burst out in a surprised laugh. "Ha! Those guys? Danny runs rings around them, they're pathetic."
Casca smiled, a hint of exasperation flashing in her blue eyes – not aimed at him, thankfully. "Oh, I wish. We're not trying to outsell them, we're trying to run them off – and that's a lot harder." She skipped, turning to walk backwards as the wilderness – if Route 11 could be called such – approached. "Oddish can grow basically anywhere, they're weeds. The moment we get enough force in place for a push, they split and put down roots somewhere else. It's like bailing water out of a sinking ship… But at least it's not hard, they don't have access to stones so they top out at gloom and parasect."
Hoshi nodded distractedly, his eyes forward – scanning for the rest of his grunts, who should be here already. If they made me come out then started without me… "Need help? I'm sure if I ask, the instructors can put us together."
She made a negative sound. "Don't bother. We have enough muscle, and it's a boring slog ninety percent of the time – you're better off climbing the ranks with another big thing."
They bumped shoulders, stepping out of Vermilion City together.
Huzzah, it is returned!