Forbidden Waters – 19
“So, uh… Eighteen Hundred, huh?” Emil said to Richard, glancing around at the small crowd of eccentrically dressed nobility that were busy savoring the privilege of their proximity to the guests of honor. “Probably wanna get away from these people for that.”
Richard nodded, for the first time in his life looking exhausted and anxious. “Mhmm.”
Emil pushed his shaded glasses back up over his eyes. He stroked Vaporeon’s chin as she purred, licked his palm, and nibbled playfully at his thumb. “That’s the same time as the Harrison-Horace match.”
Richard raised his palm and shook his head at a husky middle-aged lady with a pink and white versicolor Furret wrapped around her shoulders and a sapphire dress bejeweled with fat, fiery diamonds, flatly denying her social advances. He sighed and slumped forward, resting his arms on his own lap. “Yep.”
Em leaned onto the back of the red velvet lobby couch, snagging a tall glass of champagne for himself and another for Vaporeon from a silver platter carried around by a Chespin in a slick black and red tuxedo. “You alright with that?”
There was a look on him, an utterly unfamiliar one; the look of a juror called at the end of a long, difficult trial, torn between two unsavory outcomes. He frowned in thought, then curled one side of his mouth up into a wry smile. “This is my chance, Em. Ain’t gonna get another one.”
Emilio tilted his head and winced a little as his mate nipped his ear and licked his cheek, giggling playfully. Alcohol always did this to her, he thought. “This is probably your only chance to be here, to win this thing, Rich.”
His friend groaned quietly as those words hit him, stirring up all the doubts he had just managed to settle down. “We can watch it tomorrow on the reels. Harrison is serious world-class competition and I’ve never even heard of that Horace guy until today; pretty sure I know who’ll come out on top. Takes a special kind of scary to hold onto two gyms and keep an elite-four seat.”
“Sure, just don’t want to see you leave your dream behind chasing shadows,” Em said quietly, then sipped at the sweet, bubbly elixir between his fingers. Vaporeon finished hers long before he had even started, and he set the glass down for her, stopping the chespin from automatically handing her another. Three was enough when your body fit in a suitcase.
Richard winced and nodded. There wasn’t much to say to that, he knew Emil was right. He almost always was, and normally he would have accepted his best friend’s guidance without question, but something inside him wished to climb the mountain every sensible person said couldn’t be scaled. He chuckled after the feeling had started to pass and slugged Em in the shoulder. “Bet the girl you end up with won’t have ya risk’n everything to have her.”
Emil chuckled at the irony of that and ran his fingers along the crease between her skin and the row of spines down her tail. She shivered and nuzzled along the back of his head. “You never know.”
“Y’know, Jun likes ya lots,” Richard blurted out.
Emil felt a sudden, strange hotness in his cheeks. What was that? Embarrassment? “That’s sudden… um… I didn’t really… I guess I wasn’t really paying attention.” Vaporeon started licking Emil around his ears, grooming his silky locs back into a shape that pleased her eyes.
Richard laughed and took a long swig from the tall glass, and belched a little as the sparkling brew caught up to him. “Hehe, nah, she’s always playing her cards close to the chest. She’s really shy when she’s not carrying placards, but I know she’d like it if ya took her out.”
Emil rubbed Vaporen’s flank and she hummed happily as she used her claws to comb a stray knot of hair from her lover’s mane. She wrapped her tail around his waist as support and instinctually started picking through his hair from behind.
He thought about it for a while as he put up with his lover yanking his head back and forth in her fruitless search for parasites, then shrugged. “Sure. Can’t hurt. She’s a nice girl.”
Emil felt four rows of long, sharp claws start to push against his flesh through the clothing and he heaved a little as her tail tightened around him. She growled, low and guttural, with her throat laid against his collarbone, too quiet to be heard by anyone else, but loud and clear to him.
Richard grinned and slapped his leg. “Nice. Thanks, bro. Hehe, who knows, maybe I’ll be calling ya ‘cuz in a few years instead.”
Richard couldn’t escape the attention of Prince Meyer, unfortunately. The host of the massive party wasn’t someone you outright ignored, despite Emilio’s exhaustion with the whole affair, and Richard intercepted him to find out what strange affluent activity he had planned now.
Emil rubbed behind her ivory fins and gave her a stealthy peck on the cheek. “{I’m faking it, honey. Make people less…} Um… how’s that word said again?”
She eased up, rolled her eyes, curled herself back up around his neck and shoulders, and rubbed her cheek against his. “Opeveo.”
He pushed his head against her too, smiling calmly. “{Make people less suspicious, yes.}”
After wasting precious breath turning down some-influential-someone’s-something-in-law’s Bouffalant commodities market investment opportunity for half an hour, Em’s social battery was well and truly spent and he struggled to maintain the faux image of interest Richard taught him so long ago.
More so than that, though, he struggled to track the swarm of handlers that had ballooned in size since their law enforcement fiasco, hovering at a respectful distance but always close enough to keep them within sight. Mandibuzz circling the herd, waiting to snatch up any troublesome situations that poked their little heads up. He did his best to catalog each one, and he was sure the number assigned to their group was up to twenty people now. He stroked Vaporeon’s tail for assurance as he processed his own conundrum, and she rubbed her tail fin along his side and chest to soothe him as she realized he was entering an episode of deep thought.
Like she always did, Vaporeon hummed quietly and continued rubbing his chest and neck soothingly. The air became slightly more humid, smelled slightly of her, and her tail took on a barely perceptible lavender-colored glow. This energy she’d draw out from within her body was something subtle and special, a unique energetic ensemble she created specifically for her Emmi: a little bit of Aqua Ring, a little bit of Charm, a little bit of Alluring Voice. She didn’t have a real name for it, and she wasn’t even sure if Emmi was aware that she was using a move on him, but it was a sure fire way to carry her Emmi through his trance energized, relaxed, and utterly unaware of all the petty things going on around him. She’d keep him safe in the meantime.
Emil’s eyes slowly closed, like a parent falling asleep during a long, boring kids movie, as he was left alone with his thoughts.
…yeah I need to get far far away from this soirée if I’m going to manage a rendezvous with Val and Gyarados three four oh four dollars for that cab Meyers wouldn’t let us pay for probably need to break a ten to have the cash on hand without him the window of my suite leads to an alley behind that stuffy bistro we ate at when we got here back gate isn’t locked and through there down the wall a few hundred meters hide in the crowd while we get one of those old school ‘mon-pulled carriages to the other side of the city it’s anachronistic but it’ll do a real shame we can’t make babies in my own bed is a lot better bit rude that Val was gonna meet Rich at six when shes gonna be with us at five the distance on foot is at least two hours from the complex guess I shouldn’t Houndoom her for the way she plans on dealing with Richard’s insane infatuation just gotta be there when he needs me haha Jun likes me heh that’s unfortunate Richard’s earned this check he’s about to cash regardless Rich needs privacy now more than ever not a Snowrunt’s chance in Asado that Meyers guy is gonna let Rich get dumped by Val in peace or dignity with how often he waxes poetic about that duty to orchestrate the ‘Divine Comedy’ or the other worrying religious fixations he’s living with Valorie staying out of sight for reasons she’d rather not explain and I like having her as a friend so I’d rather not know the details about a distraction sounds good and Vaporeon does need practice for Gods’ sake maybe I can get a second away from her to get something special better make it a fifty…
While Emil was busy getting his Unown in alphabetical order, a sixteen-year-old stock broker they recognized from a few days earlier honed in on Emil as soon as he wasn’t interacting with anyone and swaggered forward. The kid looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and his briefcase was barely able to shut, full to bursting with pages of earnings charts sticking out the sides. “Hey there, Mr. Mallison! I talked with some folks, I was thinking we could leverage yo–”
Vaporeon lifted her back up in a stiff arc, her spines straightened to needle points, her dewlaps flared to hide Emil’s face, and she hissed something fierce. “{Get lost!}”
The boy jumped in his own chest, panicked as her growling grew more serious on his approach, and then decided to start up his business proposal with someone on the other side of the room. Emil’s eyes fluttered open for a moment and then sank again as he stroked Vaporeon’s tail. “Wha’sat hun?”
Vaporeon looked around, realized that everyone had moved a few extra feet away from Emil and her, and smirked as she ran her claws through his hair and tenderly laid her glowing tailfin upon his shoulder. “{Nothing, Emmi}”
What seemed like hours for those in the gab passed by in a few moments for Emil. In his trance he watched the bustling of the crowd, like a researcher who would observe the movements of large colonies of bug Pokemon, running through his thoughts as he noticed the strange instinctual patterns of the creatures there. That lady? She fidgeted and wandered in a wide circle through the crowd when she was rejected. That guy? He put his hands on his hips at the end of every conversation. That other guy, she’s not his Pokemon; probably a rental from the boutique for the day.
That last thought made him feel a sort of sharp, unexpected sorrow.
Finally, Richard went into the bathroom and Emil woke up with a snap, giving Vaporeon’s rear end a slap. “Right, let’s go.”
Vaporeon trilled happily as he lifted them both up off the couch, moving with purpose, shoulders comfortably slumped, eyes darting back and forth as he consumed the world faster than it could possibly dish itself up.
This was the way she liked her Emmi; master of material and man, knowing what the future will bring because he would make it so. She didn’t care where her loving vessel would take her, she had the utmost faith that they sailed toward success. She smiled and looked out upon the crowd as they navigated the sea of clueless, star spangled partygoers, filled with a sudden, very impudent pride. This was Emilio Estrella Mallison. This was her mate. He was brave, and clever, and true, and together, with him, they would hatch the finest of children; if they were the least bit like him, she would be satisfied. Look upon him with envy, human wench, for you couldn’t possibly hope to match his majesty.
Emil typed an order on his Dexnav to the ‘Banke-de-Lumiose,’ one floor down, then slowly counted the seconds in his head with his back against the wall as he found a few seconds to muse. The fancy names they gave the Pokedollar Stations always humored him in an ironic sort of way; always some chintzy, baroque moniker that evoked times gone by when regional governments declared little bits of nothing had value and inflated their economies into oblivion.
It was like everyone in the world was trying to pretend that they didn’t know where real money came from.
When Richard reemerged, Em placed his hand on his bestie’s shoulder and quickly noted the cleanliness of his nervously wringing hands, the impatient look on his face, and something else far less flattering. “We’re going… your fly is open.”
Richard smirked and followed without hesitation. “Where? And I’m not falling for that old trick.”
Emil ran his hand from the top of Vaporeon’s head, all the way down her back, to the tip of her tail. “Out.”
“Vaporeon, use Substitute,” he said as they turned a corner.
She leaned over his back, retched with her hackles raised, and then puked up a wriggling, amorphous blob of technicolor liquid that broke from her lips and fell to the floor with a wet smack. The thing slowly formed itself into a facsimile of Emilio and Richard walking to a nearby corner, bantering playfully. She’d seen them do this enough, so she could force her substitute to mimic it pretty well. Two at a time was tough though, so she closed her eyes and focused on maintaining her move as they made their exit.
Richard grinned and followed behind his friend. “Ha, we just straight up playin’ hookey, are we?”
Emil nodded once, sharp and simple, peered around a corner before marching forward, then swaggered around the corner to a service stairwell leading to the next floor down.
“Rich, order room service to your suite. Express as you can get it,” he directed as he peered back and noticed an obvious flaw in the placement of a security camera’s field of view. He then slunk into the blind spot, drawing his trusty multitool from the inner lining of his pants. “Head down that hall, I’ll follow in a bit,” he mumbled as he thoughtfully selected a thin, jagged metal spike from its many interesting options.
“Anything you wanna see along the way? We’re gonna be a bit early if we Combee-line it to the…” he started…
…and saw Emil violently jamming the thing through the lock of a nearby security door like it owed him money and turned the handle when it yielded to its new master. He left it propped open on its own deadbolt, totally disinterested in the room’s contents, and then lazily chased after Richard with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“Yeah, actually; Boutique Couture, if we can help it.”
Richard opened his mouth to ask why in Zekrom’s good name he was doing such a thing, or how the hell he learned to do that, but then he remembered the last time Emil got like this. A mood exactly like this one was the reason he could legally hold regulation tournaments on his property, and another one saved his dad millions in maintenance costs for one of his buildings. When the nerd started giving orders everyone in Stonecastle knew whose drum to march to.
Rich messaged the hotel service number, said he needed it right then, and followed Em’s lead. “Real highbrow; this place must be rubbing off on you.”
He gave Rich a wry smile and met his eyes for a brief but unmistakable moment. “Yeah, like a wine stain,” he said, hand held out with his dexnav unfurled towards some sharply dressed tellers across a black marble countertop. “I’m picking up. One-K in Dixies, paper for the rest.”
The identical looking blonde-haired blue eyed-beauties took his dexnav, plugged a cable into its security port, then smiled and handed it back with a perky hop in her step. “Standard paper split? Right away, Sir,” one practically sang while the other collected a thick stack of freshly printed notes and rolled a hundred little silver-colored coins in wax paper.
Curious, Emil unwrapped the end and held a single silver Dixie up to the light as he moved toward the lobby elevators. One side marked ‘X’ in an attractive floral design growing out of a wavy banner etched with the coin’s serial number, on the other an image of a Floette with a three-petaled flower above the words ‘Peace is Prosperity’ in bold font.
Rich looked far back down the hall and noticed a gaggle of familiar tagalongs from Meyer’s crew barking orders at the security staff, who stood gawking at the door Em had just victimized.
Emil tugged Richard around another corner and towards one of two elevator doors that had conveniently just opened to let an elderly couple onto that floor. He peered around the wall as he held the door open, saw one of the watchers assigned to them exit the other elevator carrying a silver room service platter, and then allowed the elevator to finish taking them to his floor. All of Meyer’s handlers were preoccupied and unable to monitor their every Klink and Klang. For a day, at least.
As they walked down the hall, Emil fidgeted with his wallet to look for his room key. “So what happens if you and Val end up being a thing?”
Richard was taken aback by the question. He wasn’t entirely used to being asked dumb questions by Emil, after all, so he suspected there was more to it than met the eye. “I mean, we keep on keep’n on. She would move in, I guess.”
Emil nodded, eyes fixed forward as he focused on his thoughts. “What if she doesn’t wanna leave Kalos?”
Richard chuckled and put his hands in his pockets. “Ha, well, I guess I’d move here.”
Emil smirked as he opened the door to his room. “Interesting. Guess I’d have to move too?”
Richard realized why Em was asking this now. “Ah, well… I guess I didn’t think about that.”
The smell hit Richard recognized the smell immediately. It wasn’t nearly as pungent as it was back in Emil’s home, but he could tell that Vaporeon had staked her claim as soon as they arrived at the suite. There were pheromones that some Pokemon secreted, with or without urination, that communicated all sorts of things, but he didn’t have any idea what Vaporeon was saying here. He saw that the bed was an absolute disaster, Emil’s clothes were folded and laid out with mechanical precision, and the jetted tub in the middle of the room was littered in bottles of expensive scents, oils, salts, and lotions.
“Jeez, Vaporeon. You gonna give Em’s wallet a break sometime?”
She giggled, eyes still closed as she focused on her task at hand, and shook her head with a smile.
“No go on that, Bro. Girl needs pampered; it’s all in the paperwork. Err, well, not everything was in there, lots of stuff the labcoats overlooked. Probably because bath-bombs aren’t typically on a gene lab’s supply list.”
Richard smirked. “Guess you’ll be asking for a raise soon, eh?”
Emil mirrored Richard’s teasing expression as he approached the window with the multitool he always carried with him. “Now you mention it, I should! Thanks for the idea, Boss.”
Rich punched Em in the shoulder and laughed aloud. “Help me win this thing and you got your raise, sir.”
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“Aaahaha, Margot, you always have the most entertaining plots in play. I suppose it all does come with the territory, I shouldn’t be surprised, dear cousin,” Meyers said to Miss Margot, Kalos’ one of two news-anchor superstars present at the soirée.
She smiled in a shallow, bored sort of way, offering up a lithe palm littered with a cobweb of jeweled threads. “You always were a disgusting flatterer, Meyers.”
Despite the soft insult, he smiled confidently, kissed her fingers, and hugged her around the shoulders, doing well to avoid ruffling the expensive Hisuian Zorua pelt collar. “Flatterer and spoiler, as you soon shall be reminded. You remember that fellow you covered, the one who saved the de Blanc lady from the slammer?”
She chuckled softly, hungry eyes beginning to form in the ceramic skin of her face. It was a look of joy, the kind of joy a predator felt as some hapless prey-mon delivered itself to their den. “How could I forget? I’ve longed for some excuse to poke a little fun at that stuffy old house in the clouds for some time now.”
He twisted his beard in anticipation. “I have as well, I think we both can agree they run all together too much industry in this city for how little leadership they offer up. Have you heard from them on the matter? I’m sure they were quite excited at the news.”
She laughed, sultry and intoxicated with her own atmosphere. “Hardly, they won’t answer any of our calls. A second cousin of mine that married into the de Blancs did give me some interesting information, though. Apparently, whatever she did got her inheritance annulled.”
Meyers visibly guffawed. “Poverty, for a little military insubordination and a fight or two?! Ha, it must be a prison behind those old walls.”
Margot stood, excited to finally talk shop. “Indeed, which is why I believe there is so much more to the whole thing. An old house like theirs wouldn’t do such a thing for just any old reason.”
Meyers took her by the hand and walked her towards the end of a long hallway, where he saw that Emilio and Richard had been standing in for the last twenty minutes. He had given them plenty of privacy, friends need time to bond, after all, but he didn’t have everyone gathered here for nothing. This was his business, connecting the well to do with the soon to be. “Well then, I suppose you’d be delighted to have a private interview with Prince Charming himself.”
Margot, who up until that point was a barely moving tapestry, suddenly animated with intense excitement. “Oh, Meyers, you shouldn’t have!”
He turned away from her and reached out for Richard’s shoulder. “Consider it my pleasure, Miss Margot, to introduce you to Richard Steven Stone! Pokemon master, someday soon, I should ex-”
Meyer’s hand passed through Richard's body, and he stood before her in complete shock as the substitute broke and burst with a spray of water that left both of them bedazzled with blobs of freshly created water.
One would expect a woman of her station to be horribly offended at such a faux-pas. Instead, she intercepted the tiny black crack of mascara running down her cheek with a sable Cottonnee-wool handkerchief. Then she smiled like a jester. “I was being formal, darling, no need to go and send them off like that. I really was looking forward to grilling that Stone boy… and that friend of his, hmm.”
She pressed a long, black fingernail into her lip.
Meyers was suddenly filled with a deep, overwhelming anxiety. The performance was not yet finished, and two of the most crucial players were now missing in action! He rubbed the back of his head, blushing at the mishap. “Haha, the two of them are real jokers. They play pranks on everyone all the time. If you’ll be so gracious as to open up your schedule, I can get you a private dinner with Stone and his Damsel.”
She waved her hand, face hardened into its typical statuesque form. “I suppose. Don’t keep me waiting too long, or I might just go hunting myself.”
Meyers flipped open his dexnav, tapped a few buttons, and ran around a corner as Margot left the hallway. “Carlisle! Do you hear me?” he said in a forced, totally audible whisper.
“Loud and clear, Master Meyers,” the old man with the perfectly manicured facial hair replied. He gave a friendly smile and a wave as he transmitted from what appeared to be a corner library nook. “It is teatime, sir. We were expecting you.” He positioned a portable kettle and saucer atop a doilied side table, a steaming porcelain cup of tea held politely just below his lips.
“Courage is missing in action. Ready the arsenal, the Mask performs again, tonight!”
The old man’s eyes glowed on the screen as he reviewed a clipboard in a comfy leather reading chair. “Goodness, and you were so certain things were going according to plan. Unfortunately, I must inform you that you’ve booked out this entire evening, Sir. Something about uh…” he squinted, holding his glasses, “...busting a black market prostitution syndicate? Also, the-”
As Carlisle reviewed the data, his hand shuddered a bit, screen pixelating with orange and blue artifacting. He nearly spilled his earl gray! “Apologies, my lord. I may need to schedule an appointment with that specialist again.”
“Blast it all… You’re right! As much as these clumsy players desperately need my direction, that wretched Danse Macabre flouncing within my own fief is of far greater concern. Ah…” He smiled, hammering his fist into his palm with great enthusiasm. “But what a fabulous opportunity for the Combuskin to spread their wings and fly! Get the dynamic duo ready, my good man.”
He paused dramatically, looking off into the distance for but a moment, then glanced back at the screen. “Oh, and book that specialist, stat. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
Carlisle’s image flickered in and out, leaving tracers as a smiling, ghostly orange figure played in the static. “Indeed… I’ve accessed the city’s cameras, sir. Return to base, by the time you arrive I will have located our wayward hero-o and fu-u-ueled-d the Blazic-c-car.”
His jaw, eye, and limbs suddenly shifted around with random, surreally precise motions as he attempted to adjust his glasses. “Ahem. I’ll let the missus know the children are booked for the evening.”
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Emil, with Vaporeon curled around his neck, followed Richard out of the old red and white ‘mon-drawn carriage, showering the coach driver's palm in coins for their excellent service, and their tight lips. A noble looking pair of Pyroar with neatly braided manes and immaculately manicured coats of fur roared and carried their charge away when the driver cried his commands, leaving the two of them on Vernal Avenue, taking in the impressive architecture of Kalos’ old district.
Around them were upper class Kalosian natives, often accompanied by expensive purebred, versicolor, or genetically modified Pokemon partners. They casually went about their business, spending vast sums of cash rearranging their lifestyles to suit whatever flippant flight of fancy fascinated them, definitely unconcerned with the identities of a couple well-dressed tourists and their purebred Eeveelution.
Emil gazed up at the building. Boutique Couture, as requested. It was bigger than he expected, having four stories and sporting lavish architectural elements, including beautifully sculpted marble pokemon perched atop massive stone half-columns along the side. As he thought about it further he wasn’t actually sure how the could have imagined such a place being any smaller; everything in Lumiose was opulent in the extreme.
Vaporeon rubbed Emil’s cheek, squeezing his neck in delight, and he started trodding up the marble steps toward the gilded revolving door.
Richard shook his head and laughed. “You go ahead, man. Ain’t nothing in there for me. Pretty sure Val would just kick me in the nuts and call me a moron if I showed up with anything from that place… I guess this is where we part ways.”
“Yeah, best to start with one transport method then switch to another. Pretty sure that’ll buy you some privacy ‘til tomorrow.” Em turned and looked around. “You just gonna stand out here? You got a while ‘til your date with Val, even if you got a long walk ahead of you.”
Richard chuckled and pointed a thumb over his shoulder at a folksy, flowing, hand-painted sign that read, ‘Stone Emporium’
Emil nodded. “Should’a known better. See ya tomorrow.”
As soon as he made it past the entrance, Emil was stopped by a busty woman with shining black hair and a perfectly pressed black and gold blazer that matched the swirling marble floors. She looked him up and down and one side of her mouth tightened up. “Don’t recognize you. You lost?”
Emil was shocked a bit by the sudden intrusion. “Just here to shop, lady.”
She shook her head. “I see, well, this location caters to an exclusive list of clientele only. If you want, the public outreaches are in the Golden Circle. I can get you a ride, since you’ve clearly been misinformed.”
Emil’s face suddenly warped into a confused scowl. “Huh, kinda rude, honestly. I was directed to this place under someone’s recommendation. Kind wish they’d told me.”
The lady’s eyebrow raised. “Whose recommendation, may I ask?”
Emil opened his mouth to mention Meyer’s name, then thought better of it. If they contacted Meyers to verify then his cover was totally blown. He quickly reran the memories he had of the party they’d just bailed on, working very hard to dredge up just one of the many very important names he had deliberately chosen NOT to remember.
Vaporeon smiled, raising her paw. “Miss Margot!”
The attendant jumped with surprise and then chuckled. “Hahaha, a Speaker! Catches me by surprise every time.”
Emil glanced nervously at his mate, then remembered that, yes, the spooky news anchor had been skulking around a few moments before they skidoodled. “Yeah, Miss Margot said my little lady could get some, um, excellent skincare lotion here.”
Vaporeon sniffed the air and pointed further within. “And aromas!”
The lady leaned on her hip with pursed lips. “Sounds like her. One moment, sir.” She flipped open a sleek, jet black dexnav with gold trim, quick as a snap of the finger, and started typing away.
They stood there with her tip-tapping away on her device for a few minutes before Emil started feeling a shuddering sense of concern in his chest. “I, um. I’ll just, don’t worry about-”
She snapped a picture of Emil’s face before he knew what was going on.
Her dexnav chimed and the lady’s entire demeanor transformed, as stark as the sun and moon, then she took his hand in a way that somehow didn't feel at all like she’d just touched him without permission, gently guiding him inside. “My mistake. Consider it my honor to be the first to welcome you on your first visit to the world-famous Boutique Couture. I’ll have your membership registered posthaste, Mr. Mallison. I won’t have you bothered like this again, rest assured.”
Emil looked back as Vaporeon leaned forward with excitement. “Wait, how do you-” he uttered as Vaporeon leapt off his shoulders, barely suppressing her urge to march her way through the side of the boutique smelling of everything conceivably pleasant, all rolled up into one single oppressive odor.
“Is there anything I can help you find before I process that membership?”
Emil thought about it for a moment, then he put a finger up, beckoning her to wait. He ran his hand down Vaporeon’s back and rubbed behind her fins . “{Get whatever you want.}”
She gasped and looked up at him like he’d just promised to make her Queen of Kalos. “{Really?!}”
He nodded, smiling, and booped her on the nose. “{Please be gentle.}”
She grinned, chirped as she hopped around in a few frantic circles, and then bolted off into the labyrinth of luxuries.
Emil suddenly turned to the woman with a face devoid of expression. He leaned in and started whispering. “Alright, I’ll forget the little thing earlier if you help me out and don’t tell anyone about it. That ‘mon is very special to me and, well, I wanna get her something without her knowing. She’s distracted, for now, but that’s not gonna last long.”
The lady nodded, suddenly awash with a look of serious intent. “Hush hush, you got it! Whatever it is you could possibly want, you’re in the right place; and if we don’t have it, I assure you we actually do.”
Emil nodded, opened his dexnav to bring up an itemized list he’d worked up, then handed it to the attendant.
She smiled, returned Emil’s ‘nav, and beckoned him toward the stairs at the opposite end of the boutique’s ground floor. “Allow me to show you why Boutique Couture is the best in the business.”
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As Richard stepped into the aging building, with parts of the molding around the door flaked with loose chips of paint, he sorta marveled at the unkempt nature of the place.
The Stone Emporium felt somewhat like the weird naturalist shop that his Vaporeon was allowed to blow tons of Emil’s cash at, but antique and with less granola. It looked empty, though, which confused him since the street was bustling with activity. Perhaps all their real business was commercial and this retail spot was kept open out of tradition?
All along the walls were framed, preserved archaic evolution line diagrams, hand illuminated evolution stone weight guides, and folksy advertisements in old languages for energy stone cutting services in currencies he didn’t recognize.
All down the aging, wooden display cases, with immaculately cared-for hand-cast glass panes that rippled a little with the imprecise nature of their original production. Within were carefully cut, weighed, and polished energy stones in little velvet boxes, priced with handsome labels, folded from yellowing artisanal paper into neat polygonal shapes for customers to read in bold ink.
The light within came from above, natural illuminance spilling down from a massive single frosted stained-glass skylight. It locked him in place, stuck gawking up at the ceiling in amazement. It was beautiful; a vivid recreation of the myth of The Hatching, the creation of their world and its gods, masterfully expressed in glistening panes of hand-cut glass faceted into a web of shimmering solder.
Richard remarked that he’d never been in a place like this. Were they always so grandiose? He supposed it must have been. Evolving was, in most cases, the most important moment in a Pokemon’s life. For ‘mon in human care, that relied on energy stones to evolve, places like this must have seemed like temples. They would only ever need to enter their walls once, so that moment would need to be very special.
He felt a little sad that he never got to experience something like that as a kid, all his pokemon either came to him fully evolved or had no need for stones to do the deed in the first place.
“Eeee…ooooonnnn…” Richard heard from below and he shouted a little in complete shock. His vision shifted to his feet and he gazed in amazement once again.
At his feet, looking up at him was a Pokemon. It looked very familiar to him in some ways, but belonged to a species he’d never seen in his life, nor heard of from anyone at all. Up to his thighs on all fours, it looked like an Eeveelution, and its vocalizations hinted at that too. Its rich, coffee colored coat was accentuated by a narrow, regal mane made of curly plumes of cream colored fluff that made it seem as if its head was cradled in off-white fire. The mane extended down to its chest, running the entire length of its underside, and similarly colored silky plumes of hair extended from the edges of its long, springy ears and the ankles of its legs. At its rear-end was a long, flowing ivory tail that curled around Richard’s leg as the thing rubbed its haunches against him in welcome. Most shocking of all was its eyes; haunting, milky white cabochons with rainbows dancing just beneath the surface that appeared brighter and more stunning the longer you looked.
There was no color in those eyes at all, if he was asked in court he’d say they were just white, and yet he truly believed he could see those impossible fiery waves of color deep within its gaze. That reminded him… there were stories people told, religious folk, of times they claimed to see Arceus in their dreams, been saved by Mew after they’d wandered into the woods as a child, or after they stumbled upon some hidden, blessed place far from mankind’s influence. They almost always described seeing impossible shades of something the faithful started calling the Colors of Creation. Even his own father claimed to have seen ripples of Gods’ Breath dancing in the clouds as a boy. Was it anything like tha t, he wondered.
“Hey there, what are you?” Richard asked, running his palm from the top of the thing’s head, down to the tail, and it purred as it chose to circle him once more. His skin tingled at the touch, not electrically but more like the pins and prickles you got when you’d rolled over one arm and it fell asleep.
“Beautiful isn’t she?” Richard heard a quivering old voice from behind.
He flipped around, shouting again as his concentration was broken for a second time. An elderly woman in an old school floral dress stood behind the counter, smiling calmly, highlighted by a beam of dusty orange light from the mural up above. Her eyes were nearly hidden away by crowded clusters of wrinkles; thick layers of bark growing upon a venerable old tree of a woman who’d grown deep roots into the soil of that ancient city. She silently closed the door she walked through behind the counter, knobley hands clutching a tiny velvet box.
Rich chuckled and walked around, attempting to restore some of his bravado, gazing in at the displays like he knew a good customer should. “Yeah. What is she? I’ve memorized the ‘Dex and ain’t ever seen anything like her.”
The lady slid the wooden back of a nearby display open and laid within a glistening, polished moonstone cradled in a silk-lined box. It had been shaped into a fist sized sphere, reflecting the entire store with its chrome-like surface. She plucked up a small slip of hand pressed paper and started folding it. “Why don’t you take a guess?”
The creature hopped up onto a reinforced shelf and curled up like a curious statue, licking its paws, and Richard rubbed his chin. “It’s an Eeveelution?”
She nodded, and then grabbed up an inkwell and a quill after a little display had been folded into existence. “Very good, what else?”
Feeling like he was back in preschool with craft glue dried to his jeans, he walked closer to the Eeveelution’s perch. “Is she a ghost type?”
The old lady brought her fingertips up to her mouth and giggled weakly. “Surprisingly close, but no.”
He smiled and tapped his foot. “Can I ask for a hint, teacher?”
She nodded and opened a tiny notebook. She scrawled on the label with hands that, despite her age, moved with fluid precision as she scratched tiny calligraphies onto its surface.
“What stone was used to evolve her?”
She grinned, showing off her ancient, yellowing teeth a bit. “None at all.”
Richard thought about it, puzzled but undeterred. “Is she… normal type?”
The old woman clapped her hands together happily and nodded. “Yesss yess, you’ve got good sense for these things, Richard. Not to be unexpected, of course.”
He squinted at her, smiling at the praise but a bit nervous too. “I… don’t suppose we’ve met?”
She chuckled and sat onto a stool with wooden feet that had lost a few inches to raw time and abrasion with the floor. “No, I suppose we haven't Mr. Stone. Such a shame, too. You’ve grown to be a fine young man. I’m sure the ladies must be climbing you like a fruiting Skwovet tree.”
Richard felt very much like leaving just then, but he also had some strange sense of curiosity budding within him. She wasn’t making passes at him like the creepy old persians that prowled about the grocery stores, it felt more benevolent somehow. In fact, this woman seemed familiar, and he absolutely couldn’t place how. “Well, now I’m wondering how you know me so well, ma’am.”
The thin smile she’d drawn across her face didn’t fade at all and she allowed herself to relax, spine slumping forward in the kind of statue he’d expect from your stereotypical old woman from the old country. “Oh, I’ve been keeping an eye on your career for a while, young man. My name is Diantha,” she started, with her hand outstretched.
He leapt forward in an instant and trapped her hand in both of his. “No way! You’re the Diantha? Champion Diantha?!”
She recognized the palpable spark of excitement, it reminded her of something in her past and she started a long, hearty laugh that her old lungs simply wouldn’t supply.. “Oh, indeed, but those days are long long behind me.”
Richard looked around, suddenly aghast. “What are you doing here? Not- Um, not that there’s anything wrong with this, this is really cool!”
She brushed Richard’s folly aside and folded her hands together. “I was dethroned, there was a war or two, I fell in love. I enjoyed my time at the top of my game, but there was so much I never got to see while I was blinded with the limelight… so I stepped off the stage. This was my family’s trade before I started my acting career, and so I decided to restart my life at the beginning.”
“It's an honor to meet you. My grandfather spoke very highly of you, told me a lot of stories about training with you in his youth,” he said, full of excitement at the prospect of standing in the presence of a regional champion.
She laughed. “I suppose he would. Back to your original question. She’s a rare type of Pokemon known as a pseudoevolution. This one is a particularly stable example, even having unique identifiable vocalizations.”
“Eeeeeveeeeooooon,” the Pokemon sang.
She nodded, “Yes dear, I know… Anyway, it's an unstable form, if I were to accidentally touch her with one of the traditional stones in here she’d turn into the appropriate type right away.”
Richard considered this and continued, “How do you make an Eeveeon?”
She chewed on her lip a bit. “Well, normally these days if someone wants to make an Eeveeon they take an unfortunate little Eevee and bombard it with raw normal-type energy in some big, gods-forsaken machine. Doesn’t last very long, but sometimes it’s enough to keep for a few years. Then they inevitably return to their Eevee form, or develop a bond with a trainer, or get hit with a particularly strong move, or touch a stone on accident.”
He raised a brow, “But she’s different, I bet.”
She nodded, looking up at Richard, impressed with his instincts. “She’s one of three recorded cases where it happened outside of a lab. Once was during the great war when a dying Eevee was healed by a great number of Chancey all at once. Another was a trainer and his Eevee; both wanted to discover an all new Eeveelution, after twenty years they got their wish. …and then there’s her.”
His head tilted. “And how did she do it?”
Diantha shrugged. “Hard to say, any time I’ve asked what she wants to be, she never answers. When I show her the stones, she turns them away. Been like that since your Grandfather gave her to me all those years ago. One dreary morning she just stood up, walked out into the rain, smiled up at the sky, and evolved. A part of me thinks she’s got her eyes on something none of us can see. Fitting, really…”
Her wilting, gray eyes turned to the floor a little in despair. Then she realized the mood had darkened and stamped her foot down and she reached into a cabinet for something in a tiny wooden box. “The first evolved into Sylveon days after their trainer awoke, discovering they had survived. The second eventually turned into an Umbreon mid battle. Ah… and perhaps, maybe one day she’ll change too, but, if you ask me,” she leaned in, whispering, “I’m not holding my breath. She gets a lot of pets and treats being so pretty.”
“Ee, vee, eeveeooonnn!” Eeveeon cried indignantly.
Richard and Diantha laughed and the old woman handed Richard the box. “I’m delighted to meet you, Richard. I just knew you’d come in here when I heard you were coming for this tournament.”
Eeveeon frowned and raised its chin, “Eon!” she barked.
Diantha scowled. “Yes, yes, you did tell me! Smart ass ‘mon won’t let an old woman forget a damn thing,” she murmured.
“I gotta go here in a bit, Ma’am. But could I ask you for some advice? About battling, League stuff, getting to the top.”
She nodded, and began speaking as if she’d been waiting decades for someone like him to waltz in there and ask her that very question. “Don’t work so hard at something you want that you miss the thing you really need when it comes along.”
She fidgeted under a silent, awkward pause in their conversation. “I have something for you, I do hope you’ll accept it.”
Richard looked at that moment like it was Giftmas early. “From you? I’m honored, Ma’am.”
She let go of the little box with a woodburned makers mark reading, ‘Lilycove Lockets and Lapidary,’ but her hands still held the box firmly as he pulled it from her grasp. As the box left her possession her hand reached for it, but she got herself under control and brushed her hair with her fingers nervously.
Rich opened the box and inside was an elegant golden wedding band. He was dumbfounded as he pulled the ring out and read the words engraved on the ring’s interior.
“First to the top. First to my Heart.”
She took his hands and closed them around the ring as she realized Richard had nothing else to say. “Tell Stanley his Momma misses him.”
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“How was your day, Father?”
22:50 - Evening Sanitation
Dr. Cress strode, towel around his waist, towards the laboratory crew showers.
SQUEAK
“Effective,” he replied, burying them both in a cloud of tap water mist.
23:00 - Garment processing. Evening consumption.
A wrinkled set of gray fatigues and filthy white lab coat, tossed down a stainless steel chute.
“That’s better than usual. I had a remarkable day too!”
Indoles bit onto a sealed packet of clothes from a pile of identical plastic packets in a bin.
23:15 - Return to Sleeping Arrangement.
“Your metrics today were wholly within expected projections; what exactly was remarkable?’”
He donned garments between mouthfuls of Nutrimix washed down with Mealshake.
Cress exhaled in sync with the pneumatic hiss of the door as he sat and leaned on his shins.
23:30 - Check Personal Correspondence.
Laid on a shimmering steel desk, Indoles rolled over and stretched his aching body.
“Well, I heard my daughter made the cut for my program today.”
He watched intently at his master’s eyes, hoping for any reaction to his words.
23:45 - Medication and Preparation for Sleep.
Cress’ eyes popped open as he read a few lines on his personal desktop computer. “Your offspring did, indeed, show remarkable aptitude. In what way does this affect you?” he asked, scanning the message again and again as he gestured towards Indoles in a way indicating he was still listening.
Indoles, spurred on by the challenge, purred with excitement and inspected his claws. “Is a father not right to take pride in the accomplishments of his children?” he asked, looking up at Cress with a presumptuous smile.
Cress stopped for a moment, ready to lecture him into submission about the dangers of taking credit for others’ work, but one microsecond spent glancing at his creation’s smug little grin was enough to tell him the little shit had cornered him again. The old professor grunted quietly, rubbed Indoles between the ears and caressed his little chin. “I suppose he is.”
Cress winced as he raised a little green pill to his face, then silently admonished himself with a tight jaw and clenched fist around the thing. He knocked the pill back, washed it down with a mouthful of dihydrogen monoxide, and nervously waited for the hydrochloric acid bearing fluids and various unpronounceable protein enzymes in his stomach to metabolize the miserable thing so his medicine could get on with its grisly work.
Indoles placed a paw on Cress’ hand as he clutched a squishy Pokeball stress toy that came apart along a spider web of fractures in the foam from years of loving abuse.
After ten minutes sitting straight spined in the chair, shuddering and gnawing at his own teeth, he wiped the water from his eyes, cleared his throat, and placed the comfort toy back where it belonged. Out of sight. “I’m going to make a call. Keep your ruckus down, child.”
Indoles hopped up, peering at the screen. “That Emilio guy?”
He nodded and started typing an encrypted code into a no-frills executable. “Indeed.”
Indoles frowned a little, tilting his head as he saw several pictures of him with Vaporeon on his shoulders, nuzzling the tan-skinned nerd. “You don’t buy the official story at all, do you?” He scurried away to his own little laptop and started looking up League battle records and tournament schedules.
“No, and I’m surprised that the Police believe it as well.” Cress waited for the other end of the connection to resolve. “A grieving, ground-level, immigrant maintenance worker with middling academic marks aces tests for upper level tech out of nowhere and nobody thought to look twice?” Cress peered at Emilio’s photo on the screen. “No, you didn’t lose a child at all, did you?”
The executable flashed green as a connection was achieved and a little window popped up with Cliffe’s smiling face. “Good evening, Doctor! In fine health, as always.”
Cress didn’t wish to entertain the pleasantries, but he knew the purpose behind them. “As fine of health as an old crook can hope for. Crypsis?”
The police investigator nodded. “Covenant.”
Dr. Cress sat with his back against a stainless steel chair, hands folded together. “Interesting report you’ve dredged up, Sergeant Cliffe.”
“It’s my pleasure to serve, good Doctor.”
Cress shook his head. “Continue accruing data for now, but in one week’s time I need you to return here.”
The man’s head tilted in childish confusion. “You said this was of the utmost importance.”
“It is. But you have time, especially in the light of the things you’ve uncovered already,” Cress said.
The Investigator nodded. “May I ask what sort of urgent need am I being recalled for?”
“I’ve got some socio-political weeds that need pulling.” Cress’ cheeks and eyes remained expressionless as he said this, getting it out of the way like donning gloves before a dissection.
Cliffe’s confused face curled into a stomach churning smile. “Very well. I will conclude my business here and return with my green thumb ready.”
“Very good, wait for me at your apartment. Your children and ex have been calling the precinct, do take time to interact with them.” Cress started rolling his shoulders and working out the knots in his muscles from the meds.
Cliffe huffed. “Inconvenient. Very well, I shall provide enrichment until you come to debrief me. Cliffe out.”
“Grand Masters Qualifiers?” Indoles browsed Lumiose Grande’s event schedule for the Stone Crown with a gengar’s grin. “Ol’ Acey is there too, eh?” He chuckled and tapped the keyboard with a single, lazy claw. “So very, very interesting,” he mused, peering at the picture of Vaporeon on Richard’s expected roster.
On the other end of the line, Cliffe closed his dexnav while standing in a poorly maintained brown-tile bathroom, pocketed the computer, smacked his cheeks again and again, put on a mean smile while he swaggered about with a jockish gait, then left with a totally different demeanor.
He looked out onto a massive warehouse floor, illuminated only by nasty yellow halogen bulbs and the simmering glow of moonlight. Technicians moved with frantic pace as they collected tools from massive steel shelving units into threadbare belts and snagged travel arrangements with dark shadows of exhaustion in their eyes.
The dark lord of them all sat at a coffee stained desk, portulent rolls of fat barely kept from spilling out on all sides by the wobbly arms of a reinforced rolling office chair and the strained buttons of his wrinkled Ducklett-print dress shirt. His bald head was immaculately waxed, however, and his face smeared with a groomed goatee wound up into pretentious little curls.
“Sorry about that, Mr. Tate. Long walk down those warehouse lanes.” Cliffe said, leaning against the man’s desk.
“Warrant, or I’m gett’n ya booted, chief,” Karl Tate said, glaring up at him with bloodshot eyes. He slurped from a massive Lechonkatonk convenience store soda and pointed to a young tech scrambling to his feet. “Change of schedule, Hulburman! Trade tickets with Vilk!”
Cliffe bobbed his head back and forth. “Shucks, I’ll need to put off this investigation into that feller from Mauville.”
Tate glanced up. “What ‘feller,’ exactly?”
Cliffe smiled patiently, but shrugged. “I’d be able to tell you that, if you cooperate freely. You’ve seen my badge, you know I’m the real deal. Just want access to some things of his so I can get some justice served.”
Tate’s face lost any and all expression. “He in trouble?”
Cliffe nodded, lips pursed and cheeks inflated with eyes wide like he had a lot to say but just couldn’t let it slip. “Hooo, boy. Wish I could tell ya how much.”
Tate fumbled around in his desk, hands shaking with repressed rage. His sweaty, portulent fingers found an oily wreath of brass keys, pried one loose, and eyed a brown cabident nearby, third drawer down… and then he stopped. He put it back where it belonged, and cleared his throat. “Don’t want any good evidence getting dismissed then. Not on my good name. Get a warrant and you can take the whole warehouse.”
Cliffe could barely contain the frustration pulsing in his veins. “Oh, very well. Good man, procedure is life, after all.”
Tate nodded. “Damn straight, later.”
Cliffe left the man’s area with a hand on his chin. The desk area was open concept, wide open concept, so many witnesses… so little time… His eyes wandered to a forklift driver a few rows down and he smiled with childish glee.
Investigator Cliffe snuck around, keeping a close eye on the cameras and roundabout mirrors, then stuck his hand through a gap in the cabin to the e-brake to release it. He wrapped his arm around one side as the driver was inspecting a load six levels high, turned a key, and set it to cruise before making himself scarce.
An unbelievable racket shook the senses of every man, woman, and ‘mon inside the place, like being inside a struck bell. “Oh, Fuckfetch’d! What did you idiots do now?!” Tate screamed. He lurched out of his chair and started waddling towards the massive industrial shelves that had fallen and dominoed six other isles of tools and parts into an inharmonious heap of technical refuse.
With everyone’s eyes stuck onto that convenient little tragedy, Cliffe casually walked towards the cabinet and withdrew the navy blue pokeball from his belt, releasing Klink.
Cliffe’s hand played around with the capture device’s smooth features as the little ‘mon jittered and jingled in terror, black beady eyes jolting back and forth. He peered up at Cliffe, shuddering, unable to move while trapped in his shadow.
Cliffe pressed and held the button on the Pokeball, pointing to the cabinet. “Open it.”
