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"Yeah, I told you I could find it again."
Rokou proudly surveyed the long table, overfilling with clothing and surrounded by bustling people, for a moment before turning back to James. "And you didn't believe me." He pulled his eyelid down and stuck out his tongue. "Nya ha!"
"Oh, please. Your amulet told you where to go. Get outta my way." James shouldered past his friend to the table, dipping into the stack of clothes nearest to him. After only a second, though, he blushed fiercely and lifted a bright red lacy slip out of the pile. "On second thought, maybe your sense of direction isn't quite as keen as you would have me think."
"OOOH!" Rokou's eyes widened and he clapped his hands to his heart mockingly. "Oh, but I dunno, James. You would look awfully sexy in that. But I'd hardly say red is your color... maybe you ought to try something in a green..."
"What possesses you to be so stupid, anyway?" James sighed in pretend exasperation. "Here, go try this on and I'll meet you at the fitting rooms." He shoved the negligee into his friend's arms, who was almost bent double with laughter, and turned back to the table. "Where can I find a psychic's outfit, anyway?" he muttered, half to himself, half open to the public, in a half-hearted attempt to find help.
"Psychic, dear? That'll be on the far end of the table, there to your right."
James looked up, surprised. The round woman standing there smiled at him. "It's hard to miss. See that pile of black down there?" She pointed to his right.
He looked obediently. "Yes."
"That's the psychic section." She paused sympathetically, then added, "You haven't much in the way of colors, dear."
"Well, where's the fun in that?" Rokou snickered behind him. "Poor, poor Jamesy."
"This coming from you, Mr. I'm-Wearing-The-Drabbest-Color-Known-To-Man?" he muttered half-heartedly, flushed. "Are you sure black is all there is?" he asked the woman, ignoring his friend. "I dunno, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life in that. It seems... too evil. Too dark." Blushing deeper, and staring at the table in front of him stubbornly, he continued, "It's stupid, I know..."
His eyes bored into the table before him as he added almost inaudibly, "But I've spent too much of my life being one of the bad guys."
The woman didn't notice, or else was smart enough not to make note of it. "Oh, my dear, don't worry about it. You'll get used to it, I'm sure... though on second thought..." She frowned slightly, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "It does seem odd that you'd have such reluctance. Usually people embrace their new colors whole-heartedly."
James blushed even harder.
"Oh, well, you know James." Rokou stepped forward now, clapping a hand on James's shoulder. "He's too good for any of your 'normal' clothes. Only the best for the best Pokémon, and Mew's the cream of the crop!"
"Shut up, you jerk! You're just jealous, 'cause you've got such a loser Pokémon. Oh, wow, what is it they say about Pidgey? Hmm, isn't it that it avoids all battles that it possibly can? Shucks, Pidgeot comes from quite an impressive line." The two immediately began shoving and punching each other roughly, both laughing.
"Excuse me, dear," the woman piped up after a moment. James shoved Rokou one more time and turned back to her, hiding a chuckle behind his hand. "Yes?"
"Here." She handed him a small pile of folded clothes. "You should have told me earlier that you held the Mew amulet." She smiled brightly.
"Wha-?" He looked at the items he held. There were two, a shirt and a pair of shorts. They were a light purple in color, so pale they could almost be mistaken for white. The shirt looked exactly like an ordinary sweatshirt, made of a thick, soft material. The shorts looked to be knee length, and felt almost like denim.
"Ooh, you do get something special," Rokou cooed, examining the clothes over James's shoulder.
"Th-thank you," he stammered to the woman, ignoring Rokou.
"Don't mention it, dear," the woman replied, beaming. "You've got a busy life ahead of you, and these ought to help you extensively. Oh, don't forget these." She hefted up a heavy pair of light purple boots.
"Geez, you get all sorts of special stuff," Rokou whistled. Eyeing James mischievously, he added, "And it all matches your hair. What luck!"
"I'm just a lucky guy," he grinned, though his cheeks still burned. He dipped his head in embarrassment, then, almost as an afterthought, looked through his hair at the woman. "Thank you very much," he said bashfully.
"Oh, go on, get out of here," she said cheerfully. "You have a good time, dear. You too," she added, waving to Rokou. "Now you boys run off."
James was turning to go, raising his hand to wave a final farewell to the woman when, with a flash of red hair, someone plowed into him.
as she connected with him, something seared through his mind, like a psychic link spurred by their contact. that moment was frozen in time, he was frozen in time, his mouth opened to say her name. "j" he'd been worrying where she was. "e" he'd thought he'd never see her again. "s" he needed her so much. "s" he couldn't live without her. she'd always been there, always been a steady, reliable foundation in his life. "i" he couldn't remember ever being happy without her. "e" they were frozen in time, her shoulder touching his arm, and he had to say, as long as they were here, together this way, he had to tell her that he lo-
With a shriek of rage, she broke away, darted to the table, grabbed a handful of clothing, and shot off again. It was like she had never been there.
James found himself on the ground, clothes and boots forgotten next to him, breathing heavily.
"It... couldn't have been her..." he gasped, and his eyes were bright with madness and tears. "Couldn't have been... couldn't..."
"Yikes. You okay, James?"
He suddenly found Rokou crouched next to him, real concern on his friend's face.
'I've got to brush it off, for Rokou's sake. I shouldn't freak him out.' With a dawning realization, it flashed through James's mind that, ' He really does care about me.'
"Yeah, I'm cool." With the help of his friend, James climbed to his feet. Biting his lip, he paused only for a second before blurting, "Thanks, Rokou."
"No problem." The brown-haired youth brushed it off instantly. "Hey, what was that thing?" he asked the woman behind the booth.
Her voice was sad as she answered, "Some people are unlucky enough to have genuinely cruel masters as amulets. Many of them lose almost every scrap of sanity they have. Poor, poor souls." She shook her head with pity.
Standing beside his friend, staring at the ground with haunted eyes, James shuddered.
Rokou put a skeptical hand on his friend's shoulder. "You sure you're all right?" he asked worriedly.
"Yeah," James whispered.
"Come on." Rokou crouched, still watching his friend anxiously, and picked up the clothes that had lain there, overlooked. "Let's go find somewhere to chill for a while."
'Remember Rokou! You've got to put yourself together, for Rokou!'
Shaking himself like a dog, James managed a smile. "Yeah."
His friend, hesitating for only a second, returned it. The two of them disappeared into the convention together.
"What nice young men," the plumpish woman said to herself cheerfully as she watched the two leave. "They must be very good friends. Those amulets couldn't have picked a better pair." Her optimism was that of a perpetually satisfied person.
"'Scuse me!!"
The holler came from near the water-type section of the tables. Her natural bustle won over as she hurried over. "Yes? What's the problem?" she asked the young woman who had called her. She was a tall, slender, dark-skinned girl, with stunningly big, beautiful green eyes. A tall boy stood next to her, with brown hair and squinted eyes. The round woman noticed the boy's attire with politely concealed distaste: he wore a orange shirt and a green vest, with a plain pair of khakis. The girl, however, had obviously already gotten her outfit: she wore a tight black tank top and a pair of metallic purple overalls. In fact, the woman remembered giving them to the girl. "Oh, hello again, dear. How are you liking your new clothes?"
"Oh, they're great, thanks," the girl said pleasantly, running a hand over her stubbled head. "But my friend," she pointed at the boy, who stood uncomfortably behind her, "has yet to find a suitable change of clothes."
"I see. Well, what type are you?" the woman asked the boy kindly.
"Um... sorry?" The boy blinked.
"Your amulet," the girl hissed under her breath.
"Oh yeah." He blushed. "It's a Bulbasaur."
"Grass type? That'll be to your..." In her mind, she scanned through dozens of categories that lay mapped out in her memory. "Right, I believe," she finally decided.
"Thank you, ma'am," he said politely, and flashed her a grin.
"My pleasure, dear. Are you going to need help selecting anything?"
"Nah, we'll look around first," he said, pulling the girl away, towards the grass section. "Thanks again!"
"We'll yell if we need you," the girl agreed. She tugged on his arm then, and the two turned and headed down to the section she had pointed out, walking leisurely, talking and laughing quietly, the girl leaning her head on the boy's shoulder like they had been meant to be together, and would stay together, forever.
She loped through the convention, brushing past person after faceless person with wild abandon, slithering through the gaps of the crowd, bound for the forest, unable to even slow down until she reached the cover of its sheltering treetops. In her closed fist was clutched a handful of clothes. Thudding against her chest was an ivory amulet.
Finally she reached the edge of the convention, where the crowd thinned out and the stalls grew shabbier and shabbier until they were abandoned husks of long-ago displays, and she was alone. There was no visible mark that separated the surrounding woods from the convention, but even so, the second she crossed the boundary, she could feel it. A little bit of the warmth disappeared from the suddenly chill air, and a suffocating hush dropped over her senses, smothering her. She collapsed against a tree and slid to the ground, wrapping her arms around her shivering frame, gasping and panting and choking, chest heaving as she sought for breath, muscles afire...
"Good," her amulet intoned. "You've done well."
Instantly, the pain and panic no longer mattered to the girl as she breathed a sigh of overwhelming relief.
"Rest a moment," it continued in a bizarrely compassionate way. She gulped a breath gratefully and knelt for a minute, hugging the tree, sucking in lungfuls of air. Her chest felt like it was burning, felt like it was about to split apart. Steam rose off of her overheated skin. She closed her eyes in pain and pure misery, and breathed the forest air deeply and silently.
She should have known, however, that her amulet's patience would not last long. After what seemed to her like mere seconds, the order came burning into her mind: "Get out of those rags. See how these clothes fit you."
She climbed obediently to her feet -- and instantly collapsed, her knees having buckled the second she put her weight on them. Her jaw connected with the ground with a sickening crack and she simultaneously sobbed and screamed, a heart-wrenching animal sound that was merely sucked into the silence that surrounded her.
"Get up. You're not hurt."
But she was hurt, it was overwhelming, the taste of blood was thick and coppery in her mouth. She remained on her ground, for once ignoring the commands of her amulet, clutching the grass desperately, wanting nothing more than to be able to remain still and prostrate on the forest floor.
A frustrated light flickered through her amulet, and suddenly the pain was crackling through her veins, racing through her body, traveling up and down her limbs, burning through her brain, passing through her heart like an electric shock. Her muscles were tight, her body was taut with it. She screamed and screamed, unaware that she was, the guttural sound ripped from her throat, piercing the air, the hurt was so bad. A trickle of blood dribbled its course down her chin, unbeknownst to her. The pain was going to kill her, her heart just couldn't handle it, she was dying, dying...
Then the pain stopped and she collapsed in the dust, body racked with miserable sobs.
"Do what I said."
Crying quietly to herself, she latched her trembling fingers into the tree trunk she had leaned against before, and pulled herself up slowly with throbbing arms, not trusting her legs to give her support. She paused for a moment before trying out her legs, mustering up her strength, eyes squeezed shut in horrified anticipation. Gingerly, she let her weight down, first on one foot, then the other. Her knees buckled immediately, but she had been expecting it, and managed to catch herself before hitting the ground like she had before. Once again, she went through the long process of pulling herself to her feet, and this time, her legs wobbled treacherously, but did not give out.
"I'm not going to say it again."
Her mind felt very very numb, so numb she could barely feel the dull swelling pain in her jaw, or the fiery ache that still cramped her entire body. Silently, she stripped off the ragged remains of her uniform, tossed them aside without so much of a last glance at the red 'R' that had been the center of so much of her life. She shivered in the cold now, but did so without a word, without a noise. She wouldn't dare break the silence that hung all around her; she liked how it was thick around her, like it was something she could draw around herself, to cushion her, to protect her, to hold her, warm her.
She bent, to the great complaints of her thigh and calf muscles, and scooped up the clothes that she had stolen from the booth in the middle of the convention. She shook them out, got her first look at them. She blinked in disbelief.
"Well," she murmured almost incoherently through swelling lips, "this is not going to work out."
In her blind haste to escape the crowds near the clothing table, in her desperate flight to get herself away from the young man she had bumped into there, who even now haunted her, in her random snatching of the clothes on the table, she had picked up two items: a skin-tight shirt that seemed awfully small, and a pair of stretch pants that seemed awfully long. Both were black.
"Put. It. On." The amulet's voice was lowered dangerously, and she could tell that the next time it had to remind her, it would choose a more physical approach.
Without another word, she pulled the shirt on, forcing it over her hair and jamming her arms through its sleeves, and stepped into the pants. The shirt was incredibly tight, so tight she could barely breathe, much unlike the pants, which were so long, she was stepping on the ends. She tugged at the shirt's fabric fruitlessly, eyeing the entire ensemble disdainfully.
"Now tear it. Tear it to fit."
Before she could fully comprehend the logic of the order, her fingers were carrying it out. With a mind all their own, they grasped. Nails bit into cottony fabric. With a flourish, she made one magnificent sweep of her arm, and a ripping sound tore into the air. Black scraps fell to the earth, forgotten. Again, she ripped. And again. And again. And again, and again, her nails like claws, shredding and scratching and slashing at the clothes in a mindless rage, eyes bright with madness. It felt good to hurt something. Her nails flashed in the air, she continued to ravage the clothes that she wore with a malicious delight. Soon, she began to miss the fabric entirely, instead plowing bright red furrows in her skin. But she didn't care, she couldn't stop, it felt too good to destroy. Oblivious to everything but the battle rage that burned within her, she didn't notice the wild light with which her amulet was triumphantly afire.
Finally, after an eternity, she stopped, her arms dropped to her sides as if all her energy had been drained away. Blood seeped from the dozens of scratches she had inflicted upon herself, making trails in the dust that covered her body. She surveyed the damage she had done, chest heaving with exertion. The shirt was almost completely gone, having been shredded to the point where her arms were bare, her shoulders were bare, her belly was bare, and the black fabric only covered the mere minimum that common decency allowed. The pants just weren't anymore, for they had been torn down to shorts that clung to her very upper thigh. There was something about the get-up that seemed very familiar to her, something almost homey about having her midriff and legs exposed. She shook off the feeling, but something remained, something disturbingly disconcerting. Disturbingly nostalgic.
Suddenly a whistling forest wind blew through the trees and against her bare skin. She shivered in the chill, and coughed once. Her breath was visible in the air. Abruptly she wanted nothing more than a warm place to curl up and sleep off her injuries and fatigue. She yearned for it so badly that it hurt.
Her amulet spoke then. "Good job, girl," it approved, and she half-smiled.
Then her smile vanished as quickly as if it had been wiped away with the amulet's next words. Her lip trembled, and tears threatened to spill down her cheeks.
"Now start running."
She had just gotten back from escorting a nice little girl and her pet cat to the 'normal' section when the three girls had bobbed up to her, laughing and giggling and shushing each other as one of them, pink-haired, asked, "Can you show me where my clothes are? I'm a psychic type."
She recognized two of them immediately, both them personally and the clothes they wore. But the third obviously hadn't yet made a selection.
"A psychic, hmm? Well, dear, if you'll just follow me."
The woman bustled off busily, the three girls scurrying after her to keep up. The psychic section was at the far end of the booth, and the four females passed section after section of Pokémon type as they walked. First was the water section, where a red-haired woman surveyed a blue tank-top critically. Then came the electric, where a tall copper-haired woman held up a baggy pair of copper-colored jeans and nodded satisfactorily. Then they passed the grass section, where the woman noticed, amused, that the young man with squinted eyes and his friend wearing the purple overalls were still browsing,
"B-Brock? Is that- "
The voice, soft and faltering and almost inaudible in its infantile way, came from behind. The woman stilled, curious.
Around her the rest of the convention went on, oblivious, but to Misty, it was like everything had stopped. A tear tumbled down her cheek. She had only been at the convention for several hours, had only been separated from the two boys for that length of time. It hadn't even been the length of a day. And still... she had thought she would never see him again. She had thought... she had thought...
At the sound of his name, he had looked up, disoriented. The voice was so familiar, but for an odd reason, he couldn't place it. Turning to its source, he saw a green-haired girl, a pink-haired girl, he didn't know either of them, though they were both very very pretty--
Watching his face, concerned, the black girl noticed his 'pretty-girl' expression and scowled.
-- and beside the two unfamiliar girls was a redhead, and while he didn't recognize her attire, and the color of her hair was new to him, for Brock, there was no mistaking her.
"Hey, Misty," he replied, and his voice was hoarse with emotion.
The woman in charge of the booth was a very busy woman. After all, she had to help more than one hundred and fifty people pick out clothing that would last them a lifetime. She had work to do, but she couldn't help but smile at this exchange. Nevertheless, she had to move on. She reached out and lightly tapped the pink-haired girl on the shoulder. The girl, who had been watching the dialogue before her with shining eyes and a sappy smile, turned to her, distracted.
"The psychic section is right done there, dear." The woman pointed down the table, where a faint glimpse of black glimmered beyond a pile of bright red turtlenecks. "Have fun!"
And then the woman disappeared into the crowd, still smiling.
The boy and the girl shoved their way through the crowd, each clutching their blue amulets tightly.
"Calamity said she'd meet us there, Ash. And she said to hurry up." As she spoke, the girl dodged a younger boy who was running recklessly through the crowd, laughing gaily.
"I know, I know!" The boy shifted the Pikachu he cradled to one arm, and, with the other, brought his amulet up close to his mouth and muttered, "Where exactly is this clothing booth, anyway?"
There was a slight pause, and then the words "Straight ahead," echoed in his mind.
He grabbed his friend's hand with his free hand, his Pikachu snuggled against his side. "Come on, it's this way," he said, and, together, they were swallowed up into the crowd.
"So, Misty, was that yer boyfriend?"
Claire's eyes sparkled with mirth as she watched her friend expectantly.
"No!" Misty's cheeks burned. "He's just one of my best friends." She sniffed. "I don't have a boyfriend."
"What, a purty girl like you?" If it was humanly possible, Claire's eyes got brighter. "Get on!"
"Shut up, you stupid hick!" Laughing, Misty shoved the other girl playfully.
"Well, you know, to tell the truth," Faith piped up from the pile of black clothes she was sorting through, "he was pretty cute. Except for his clothes." She wrinkled her nose.
Claire guffawed. "Well, shucks, Faith, seems to me that problem's bein' taken care of as we speak." The Southern girl elbowed her redheaded friend in the side and whispered confidentially, "Hey, Misty, it seems to me that Faith's tryin' to sneak in on yer man. Once he gets his new outfit picked out, it looks like he'll be ripe fer pickin', and Faith sounds like she's itchin' to do some pickin', if ya know what I mean- "
"Shove it, Claire!" Though she was holding in giggles as she did so, Faith lunged forward and flicked her friend's ear with deft, artful fingers. Claire yelped and fell to her knees, hands clapped over her ear.
Misty fell against the table, laughing, as Claire continued to wail on the ground. "Dang, girl, that hurt!" she cried.
Faith smiled. "Yeah, my big brother taught me that one. It doesn't look like much, but boy, does it- "
"Excuse me." Somehow, the new voice made the words sound offensive, rather than their polite meanings. "I'd appreciate it if you girls kept it down. Some of us don't quite appreciate your childish games and noise when we're trying to make an important decision."
The owner of the voice was a tall young man. His features were chiseled and handsome, like a Roman statue, and he had spiky, jet-black hair. His eyes were a clear blue eyes, so light the color was almost transparent. Around his neck hung a pure white amulet that glittered with the faintest luminance. He was incredibly good-looking, except... it was hard to place... there was something about him, some underlying element, something about his voice that just chilled Misty to the bone. She shivered, unable to tear her eyes away from the stranger's face. Faith blushed a deep hot red, her eyes as well firmly planted on the young man's visage.
Claire, however, jumped to her feet, eyes that were once bright with merriment now flashing with ire. "I'm ever so sorry, sir," she began, her eyes smoldering with anger, emphasizing the word 'sir' with great disdain, "but if yer lookin' for peace and quiet, then perhaps you'd be better off somewhere else. 'Course, silly ol' me, I don't know much at all, me bein' the childish, immature girl I am, but there's just somethin' about a fair that goes against the whole concept of 'rest and relaxation'." She snapped her mouth shut, looking like she wanted to say quite a bit more, but didn't have that option.
The young man's face remained blank, but something flickered beneath the expression, like a nervous twitch. His eerie, pale, pale eyes, however, flashed, like a match struck. "You arrogant little- " he began in a voice no louder than a murmur, deadly in its softness.
"NO!" With a cry of despair, Faith threw herself forward, her entire body shaking, to place herself between the two irate teenagers. Her eyes were wild and crazy with fear. She clapped trembling hands on the stranger's shoulders, braced herself, and looked up into his eyes frantically. "Please, don't! Please!"
The girl was actually sobbing in her fright. Claire instantly dropped her furious stance as she stepped back, worried and confused.
"Faith?" Misty said hesitantly, concerned. Her pink-haired friend was genuinely terrified.
The young man stared down at the girl, whose hands still remained against his chest, his grave face unchanged. Finally, finally, after a tense, breathless moment, he slowly, gently, removed her hands and, holding them for just a split second longer than necessary, let them drop to her sides. "My name is Tengu," he said slowly and softly, his eyes holding her's.
"Tengu," Faith breathed, body slowly calming in its shivering, returning his gaze adoringly.
"Tengu," Claire muttered, as if the word tasted foul in her mouth, and spat bitterly in abhorrence.
Misty shivered once again. "Tengu," she shuddered, and the name caught in her throat like a piece of gristle, dark and hateful and tasting of sicky-sweet death.
"Excuse me, ma'am."
The woman, who had been folding clothes, turned in response. A blue-haired girl stood there, watching her solemnly. A boy stood next to her, a Pikachu perched on his shoulder, and both he and his Pokémon were craning their necks to get a better look at a girl in the fire section, distracted by the bustle around them.
The woman smiled. "Yes?"
"Huh? Oh!" The boy whirled back around, blushing, embarrassed. His Pikachu murmured a bashful "Pika" and reddened.
The girl didn't even notice. "Hello. We need some clothes."
"Hi!" the boy cut in, shoving out a gloved hand and grinning winningly. "I'm Ash Ketchum, and this is my friend, Victory. Oh, and this is Pikachu!" He pointed at the little yellow Pokémon on his shoulder. It waved merrily. "Pika!" "How are you?" the boy finished exuberantly, his face glowing with energy.
Victory rolled her eyes and sighed wearily, but the woman answered, pleased, "Oh, I'm just fine, thank you."
"That's good. Both me and Victory are water-types, and we both need new clothes. The Jigglypuff girl that talked to us at the briefing said it was really important that we get new clothes." His Pikachu added an emphatic, "Chu!" Ash reached up and scratched between its ears, to its great delight.
"Well, she's exactly right. It is important you get new clothes." The woman smiled warmly at the boy. He was just so personable, though his friend stood next to him, silent and uncomfortable-looking. "Here. Follow me. I'll take you to the water section."
She led them away.
"Okay. You have got to get these pants."
The girl held up a pair of long shorts and grinned.
Brock winced. "Iyami, you've got to be kidding me."
"No! They're perfect!" She laid them out on the table before her and admired them proudly. "Aren't they great?"
They were a subtle green, and the same texture as a pair of khakis. They looked like ordinary cargo shorts, except for one thing: they had a very odd pattern. Adorning them everywhere were dozens and dozens of small leaves, like they had been plucked from a tree overhead and inlaid directly into the fabric.
Iyami's eyes shone. "Brock, they're so cool! Get them!"
"But Iyami, I just like plain old pants- "
"What, like those skeet things you've got on?" The black girl's eyebrow rose in disbelief. "Nuh-uh. These are too cool to pass up." She poked the boy's chest. "You are going to get these, or else. Besides," she added in a much kinder tone, "they'll look great. Trust me. I'm a girl. I know what'll look good to girls." She eyed him slyly. "And I'm an expert on what'll look good to me."
He blushed furiously. "Well, then," he murmured shyly, "I guess I'll have to get them, won't I?"
Iyami smiled triumphantly.
"Ooh, check this out!"
Faith pulled something large and heavy and black out of the pile in front of her and shook it out, grandly, reverently. Both Misty and Claire's eyes widened, and they whispered in unison:
"Wow."
The second they reached the water-section, the woman informed them that first things first, they would have to choose swimsuits.
"All water-types have to, dear," she told them. "It's only logical."
It seemed perfectly logical to Ash, and he opened his mouth to express just that when Victory's face suddenly drained and she clutched his arm in horror. Pikachu jumped in alarm, and the boy whirled to face her, surprised, and found her staring at the ground with bright, terrified eyes, her fingers wildly clutching at her amulet.
"Victory?" he cried, alarmed. The woman in charge of the clothing booth paused, confused and concerned. Ash grabbed a hold of his friend's shoulders, his Pikachu murmuring concerned 'chu's. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"
She looked up at him, and her eyes were brimming with tears. "Ash," she cried, "I just realized. I'm not a water-type! Dratinis aren't water-types. They're dragons!"
It didn't register for a moment. It took him a second to grasp the concept, the third concept that Victory had introduced to him that night that he just hadn't wanted. First it had been that he had to leave his family behind. Second had been the fact that he had forgotten his Pokémon, namely Pikachu. And now it was this: Victory was a different type than him. His first new friend, the friend with whom he had thought he could spend the next few years, the friend he was going to grow up with, was suddenly not.
"Oh, no," he whispered.
And then, inexplicably, the woman smiled, and, reaching down, patted Victory reassuringly on the shoulder. The girl looked back up at her, mystified, and choking back tears. "Not to worry, dear," the woman said soothingly. "In many other cases, you would have a reason to be so upset. But, you silly child, do you really think your amulet would have led you on this long just to break your heart now?" She chuckled affectionately. Victory blinked, then sniffed, but she held onto her amulet defensively. "The water-types have a special part of the convention set away for themselves, don't they?"
"Yeah…" Ash answered slowly, hesitantly.
"And I'm sure your amulet led you there, didn't it, dear?" The woman watched the girl expectantly.
"It did," she replied vacantly, voice faltering.
"Well, then there's no reason to worry. When it comes to training, sometimes, exceptions must be made for certain Pokémon. You're a Dratini, aren't you?" When the girl nodded mutely, the woman smiled. "Dratini's a wonderful example. They do, after all, live in the water. If you're going to be representing them, and defending them, you'll have to be quite skillful in the water. Of course," she continued, "you will have to take leave sometimes and go train with the dragon-types. But the ice-, dragon-, and water-types all live relatively close anyway, on account of how they're so similar, and how often they train together." She flashed them a reassuring smile. "I wouldn't worry about it. You two will be seeing quite a bit of each other in the next few years."
Ash chose not to react until he was sure his friend was okay. He watched her anxiously. Victory stood motionlessly, biting her lip, eyes wide and staring, and Ash didn't know what he was going to do, when suddenly, her eyes focused on him, and she managed a feeble smile.
"I think you're right, ma'am," she said softly.
"Chaaa." Pikachu smiled in relief.
The woman smiled warmly. "Now, then," she said busily, "how about those swimsuits?"
His name was Tengu and he watched the convention through half-lidded eyes. He found it all very very amusing.
Very amusing.
He had left the girls not long ago. He honestly couldn't stand to be around them. The green-haired one had been simply infuriating, and he had quite frankly hated her. The feeling had obviously been mutual, but that was no concern of his. He had no use of her favor, nor fear of her wrath. She had been wearing brown, the color of flying and ground and some normal types. The same went for the redhead; fire-types were no threat to him. In fact, the only one of the three that he had any reason to care about was the girl who had been looking for clothes there, the psychic type, the girl who had quite easily and readily and obviously succumbed to his charm. Which was good. He could use her, later. But her two friends had been very distressing, and so he had parted from their company as quickly as possible.
He hadn't bothered to stay in the psychic section long after that. After all, he had only needed to pick up a couple of items. Tengu wasn't picky: he had selected a pair of long, frayed black shorts and a pair of heavy black boots. And then he had gone to find the woman in charge of the clothing booth. She was in the water-section, helping two highly annoying-looking brats.
"I'm here for my clothes," he told her, voice mild, eyes unreadable. "I believe you have something set away specifically for my Pokémon."
Confused, she nevertheless asked him what his breed was. And, because the most irritating-looking of the two kids was staring at him nosily, the one with a Pikachu sitting on his head, he leaned in close and whispered it to the woman confidentially. Her eyes had widened ever-so-slightly, barely noticeable, but there all the same. Still, she had obediently bustled off to fetch his clothes, her professional side over-riding her common sense side. Tengu imagined that her common sense was telling her to refuse him service. That amused him greatly.
The woman was back now, with a single item, neatly folded. She carried it almost like any other piece of clothing she handled here, except deep beneath the calm of her face, Tengu could sense a smidgen of repulsion as she handled the bundle. Perhaps it was the eerie glowing of the pure white fabric. At any rate, she gave it to him quickly, as if she was glad to get rid of it.
She may have been expecting a word of thanks, or she might have wanted to give him a few encouraging words before he departed into this new world. But Tengu knew that drill, and he didn't feel the need to go through with it. The second the item of clothing was safely in his hands, he turned in one smooth motion and strode off into the crowd, already stripping off his old, faded shirt and pulling on the new, white pullover he had just received. The ghostly white of the shirt glowed for a split second, and then he had disappeared, gone into the crowd. All that was left of him was the shirt he had just removed, lying crumpled and rejected on the ground.
There was dead silence at the water-section as three people stared after him in complete and utter, foreboding shock. Then the boy piped up, his voice hushed, "What amulet does he have, anyway?"
The woman's eyes seemed unfocused, but then she shook her head, and managed a comforting smile down at the boy. "Never mind, dear."
Somewhere, deep in the convention, Tengu was smiling in infinite amusement. His pure white amulet was almost lost against his pure white shirt, and everyone he passed overlooked him.
This was one of the reasons he was smiling. For it was a very dangerous mistake indeed to overlook Tengu of the Mewtwo amulet.
"Here, Ash, take a look at this. What d'you think?"
The boy, examining the inside of a blue tee shirt, looked up at the girl. "Hmm? Whoa!" He immediately flushed, and jerked his eyesight back down to the again, face burning. "Geez, Victory…" he muttered, embarrassed, eyes still pointed stubbornly downwards.
"Chaaaaa…" Pikachu murmured, eyes shining. "Pika."
"Aw, thanks, Pikachu." The girl, who hadn't noticed Ash's reaction, smiled at the Pokémon. Then she returned her attention to the swimsuit she was wearing. It was a light powdery blue, collared like a wetsuit, and zipped up in the back. There was a big white patch on the front of it, exactly like the belly of a Dratini. Her bare arms and legs shone white in the moonlight. "I think I'm going to keep it, how 'bout – Ash?" Victory frowned. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing, nothing," he muttered, still blushing fiercely. "It looks very nice."
"Thanks!" Victory said, pleased. "Now all I need are some shorts and pair of shoes." She scanned the piles of blue clothing thoughtfully.
Ash shook his head in amazement, almost dislodging Pikachu from its perch, and absently caught hold of a shimmery piece of fabric and pulled it free from the stacks in front of him.
Instantly, a voice in his head said, excited, "That's the one."
It took him a moment to realize that it was his amulet that had spoken.
He was holding a shirt by the very corner of its sleeve, and as it hung, it twisted lazily in the air. It was made of a very heavy fabric, and it felt oddly cold. It was blue, of course, but if it was light or dark or any specific shade of the color, Ash couldn't decide: every time he looked at it, the color seemed to shift. It had a very metallic sheen to it.
Pikachu reached out a curious hand and felt the material. "Pika, Pikapi," it said approvingly, beaming.
It was magnificent. Ash shivered despite himself.
"H-hey, Victory?"
The girl, who had been focused on her clothes-searching task, looked up, disoriented.
"Hey, nice shirt," she said approvingly.
He smiled. "I'm going to go try it on."
She winked. "Go get 'em, tiger."
"Pika!"
"Hey, you picked the shorts. I get to pick the rest, okay? It's my outfit, anyway."
The girl grinned. "Fine, fine, you big baby. But why choose that? I mean, what'll you ever use all those pockets for?"
Brock shook his head, still smiling delightfully. "It doesn't matter." Her shrugged out of his old vest and pulled on the new. "Besides, I like vests."
Iyami whistled. "That's a lot of pockets."
The vest was dark green and hung almost to his knees. It was covered in pockets, ranging in all sizes, big, small, secretly hidden.
He smiled again. "It's perfect."
"No, it's pockety," Iyami persisted, but she was smiling to see him so happy. "So you're set then? You've got the shorts, the vest… what're you going to wear under the vest?" Iyami's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Dare I say it?"
Brock blushed. "I need to find a shirt," he said firmly.
"Aw, you spoil all my fun." The girl pouted. "It's just like you to be a prude."
"What, you want me to go without a shirt?"
The girl shrugged. "Why not?"
"Because…"
There was a pause.
"Just because. No, I'll be cold," he added quickly. "And that's reason enough."
Iyami rolled her eyes.
"C'mon, Brock," his amulet said, "you know the Brock I know would never do a fool thing like that."
"You're absolutely right," he agreed out loud, nodding his head with finality. Iyami sighed in disappointment.
"But, of course," it continued wryly, "that Brock no longer exists anymore, does he?"
Brock groaned. Iyami giggled.
"Now that's stylin'." Victory grinned. "Very nice, Ash. Very nice, indeed."
Ash, despite the fact that he felt somewhat out of place, smiled back. He was wearing his new shirt and swim trunks, and to tell the truth, it felt very odd to not wear the jeans and jacket he had been for years. He had even removed his official Pokémon League hat, though he had stashed it away safely in the backpack he still carried. Pikachu was having a hard time maintaining its balance on his shoulder; the slippery fabric was not a reliable surface.
The only vestige that was left of his formal self were his green half-gloves; he just hadn't been able to part with them. He was too used to them to not wear them. They were almost a part of him.
"Thanks. You look good, too." He flinched as his Pikachu nearly clipped his ear with a frantic swing of its arm. "Watch it, Pikachu," he muttered distractedly.
Victory had apparently found a pair of shorts that suited her as he had been trying his on. She was wearing them now: a pair of drawstring shorts, a grey-blue color, and very comfy-looking, "You like them? I do." She smiled.
"PIKA!" The Pokémon's efforts had all been in vain, and, scrabbling as it did so, it finally slid off of his shoulder, cheeks sparking with electricity as it did.
Ash caught it reflexively. "Whoops! Careful, Pikachu." He grinned down at his Pokémon.
It curled up against him contentedly. "Chaa."
Then the woman in charge of the booth appeared. "You two look very, very nice," she said kindly, looking them over critically. "Are you satisfied?"
"Very," they chorused happily.
"That's good." The woman frowned slightly in thought. "You too aren't quite done, though."
"Huh? Why not?"
"You, dear," she said, pointing at Victory, "need something to help with your dragon-training. And we're going to have to find replacements for your- " (she turned to Ash,) "-gloves and backpack."
"B-but-!" Ash began contrarily.
"No arguments." The woman cut him off firmly. "You simply need water-resistant equipment. Here." She bent and rummaged around in something hidden from the two kids' view. Then she straightened and tossed him something. He caught it reflexively.
They were a pair of half-gloves, identical to the ones he was wearing now, except for their color. They were, of course, blue.
"Those should work just as well. I hope you don't mind." The woman smiled apologetically. "And if I may ask you something: what amulet do you have?"
"Huh? You mean, Squirtle?"
She smiled triumphantly. "I had a hunch that said you'd answer that. Here." She handed him a large brown backpack. "It's been set aside for Squirtle's amulet-bearer. I hope it's not a problem."
Ash was already transferring the contents of his green backpack into his brown one. Stripping off his old gloves and dropping them into his new backpack, he grinned up at the woman. "No, it's okay. Thank you." Already his attention was elsewhere, as he pulled on the blue gloves and admired them proudly. His Pikachu was sniffing his new backpack experimentally, wrinkling its nose at the new smell.
"And, um, you said – "
The woman looked up, and the cheeks of the girl addressing her went from already pink to bright, bright red. She looked down, mortified.
The woman could take a hint. "Yes, dearie," she answered the unspoken question, wisely choosing, as any kind person would do, to turn a blind eye to the girl's discomfort. "As a dragon-type, you need a little extra protection. From your powerful attacks, you see." The woman looked at her expectantly.
"Uh, yeah, that d-does make sense," Victory stuttered, blushing bashfully.
The woman, feeling quite awful for the poor girl, said quickly, "Don't you worry, dear. Let me find something for you." She hurriedly disappeared, presumably hustling to somewhere at the long table.
Victory let out a breath, relieved.
"Hey, Victory." Ash stood up next to her, his new backpack on his back. "Do you not like crowds or something?" His voice was genuinely curious. Pikachu sighed and shook its head, aghast.
The girl colored, but before she could answer, the woman was back.
"Here, dear," and she handed the girl something. "I hope they're suitable."
Victory examined the new items thoroughly. They were gloves, too, albeit full-fingered ones. They were heavy, they were thick, and they were an icy grey color. The girl pulled them on satisfactorily, wiggling her fingers in composed delight.
"If you don't like them," the woman continued, anxious, "just tell me, dear, and I'll go look again. But I thought these –"
Victory cut her off with a grin. "No, it's okay. These are perfect."
With the oversized gloves on, it occurred to Ash that Victory looked very fetching.
And very dangerous.
"Nice," he nodded appreciatively, grinning.
"Pika!" Pikachu said favorably, balanced on the top of Ash's backpack.
"You like them? Oh, I'm glad." The woman looked almost relieved. "And now there's just one last thing that you two need."
"Hmm?" Victory looked up from her gloves. "What's that?"
"Yeah, I thought we were done…" Ash's voice trailed off.
The woman's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Flip-flops." From behind the booth, she hefted a heavy box up and plunked it onto the table. It was filled to the brim with flip-flops.
Victory giggled. Ash snorted.
"Dig in," the woman invited merrily.
The pair showed up at the water section, looking very relieved and very harried having reached it, as if they had been searching for it for quite a while. The two were obviously not looking for the clothes section itself, however. One was already dressed, decked out very attractively in a pair of overalls. The other was carrying his clothes, and no one could mistake him for a water-type as he did, for their colors ranged in all shades of green. They weren't looking for the water-section, per se. They were just looking for the woman in charge of the booth.
She was helping two kids when they found her. She was standing over them as they sorted through a box of what appeared to be flip-flops, smiling fondly down at them. The girl stepped forward to get her attention, but her friend hung back, disorientated and startled. There was something about one of the two kids down there. He was dressed all wrong, but Brock had the funniest feeling…
"Excuse me, ma'am," Iyami said politely, and the woman looked up. So did the kids, peering up curiously at the newcomers, and as they did, a little yellow head popped up out of the box inquisitively, a flip-flop hanging off on one of its long ears. The boy's eyes focused on Brock's face.
Brock hadn't changed his clothes yet, having only had the time to switch his old vest for the new one, so it was easy enough for Ash to recognize him.
"Huh? B-Brock?"
"Pika!"
Brock smiled inwardly. It was always nice to know your hunch was right. "Hey, Ash. Long time no see."
Ash smiled himself, looking up at the only boy he could remember that he'd ever felt even remotely close to in his life. "Ditto that, Brocko."
Deep in the dark, dangerous forest that surrounded the convention, a single boy stumbled through trees, his clothes torn and his skin scratched by the underbrush he pushed through. If he'd taken time to think about it, he would have been very surprised at the way he was acting. He had left his cheerleaders and car and chauffeur back at the campsite, and as far as he knew, he'd never see them again. He had gotten up in the middle of the night, rolling out of his sleeping bag after quite a bit of thought, packed his backpack with the bare necessities, making sure not to forget his Pokéballs and Pokédex, and set off into the silent forest. There was something odd and compelling about it, something that was calling to him, somewhere deep within the maze of trees.
Gary Oak had lived the wrong way for a very long time, and he was determined to change. Starting now, he was going to be a good person, a good friend, a good Pokémon trainer. He still wasn't giving up on his dream; he was going to be a Pokémon master, no matter what. But something was happening, something he could feel in the air, and it had persuaded him long ago to develop better morals, to be a nicer person.
The first thing he had to do was to apologize to Ash Ketchum.
Which was why he was staggering through the pitch-black forest, completely lost, without food, without shelter, without water, without heat. He could have been warm and safe back at the campsite, dreaming the dreams that Pokémon masters tend to do. Instead, he was freezing and tired and doomed to die, his body lost forever in these god-forsaken woods.
Gary Oak sighed helplessly and continued to crash through the forest, snapping low branches off of the foreboding trees as he shoved through them. He had the utmost confidence in the feeling that coursed through his body. He was doing the right thing, he was headed in the right direction, and if he was merely walking into his doom, well, then that was simply a difficulty he would have to face.
Suddenly, with a blast of warmth and light and noise and life, he broke through one last group of trees and came upon the convention.
He blinked once, overcome by its splendor.
"I can't believe this…" he whispered to no one in particular.
"It's so incredible."
He leaned against a tree and watched the magnificent display before him, all the people and colors and chatter and bustle. He wanted so desperately to join them, he wanted it so badly, it hurt, he could feel it in his bones. But for some reason, he held back. Something was holding him back.
And so he continued to watch.
He didn't know how long he had been standing there, at least an hour, when the girl detached herself from the general crowd of the convention and walked up to him slowly. She was wearing a curious jacket, purple with three yellow stripes on its back. She brushed a strand of brown hair out of her big purple eyes as she approached him. A peculiar purple amulet dangled around her neck.
"Excuse me," she said. "But why are you standing out here all alone?" She raised an eyebrow. "Don't you want to come join everything?"
"Well, yeah," he said, confused, his voice cracking. "But I-I…"
"You what?" She laughed. "Here. Come with me." She reached for him. Her hand grabbed a hold of his shirt. She pulled.
'NO!' he tried to scream, but it was too late. She had already pulled him into the convention, his body had already passed the invisible line that separated the safety of the forest from the unrestrained magic of the eerie clearing. He wasn't like these people, he wasn't special like them, didn't have what they had, he did not belong here. God only knew how the magical aura would react with this foreign, unwanted piece of ordinary flesh. He squeezed his eyes shut, dreading the most horrible of pains possibly experienced by a human being.
"Um… are you all right?"
Feeling very the fool, he ventured a peek. He was standing just on the edge of the bustling crowd, both feet planted firmly in the clearing. He was completely unhurt, seemed fully functional, and was being stared at by the girl like he was freshly escaped from a mental institute.
He laughed, feebly at first, then stronger. "Yeah, I'm okay." He laughed harder. "I'm okay!" he shouted happily, not caring who heard him.
The girl, still looking as if she were mildly scared of him, managed a chuckle herself. "Um, you want me to show you around? My name's Daija."
'You don't belong here, Gary. Don't do it. Leave and forget you were ever here.'
He had never heard the voice before in his life, but there was something very convincing about it. He paused, biting his lip, eyeing the woods hesitantly.
And then, as if spurred on by how easily it had persuaded him, the voice continued: 'It's too dangerous.'
Gary had been slowly stepping backwards, back towards the trees. At the words, he stopped.
'If you walk into this convention any further,' the voice went on to say, 'you will automatically become one of the targets of a formidable enemy. Many of the people in this convention are, but they have the means to protect themselves. You have nothing to defend yourself with.'
Gary smirked. 'And you don't know when to stop,' he answered silently. 'You almost had me, until you kept talking. You say I can't protect myself? That's where you're wrong. Not after I finish my training. Because even though I don't have whatever fancy power these other people do, I'm going to be the world's greatest Pokémon Master, and that's enough to keep me safe. And I plan to show you, too.'
Daija was watching him curiously, her eyebrow arched. 'She probably thinks I'm a psycho or something. She probably wishes she never got involved with me.' Gary shook the thought off. 'I've got a whole lifetime to convince her otherwise.'
"Hi." He smiled and stuck out his hand. "My name's Gary Oak. And I'd love to be shown around."
Ash had been talking to his friend for half an hour now, going over the past five hours like it had been twenty years, and all he could think about was how different Brock looked.
He looked so much older, even though the only thing that had changed about him were his clothes. The boy's new friend -- Iyami, wasn't it? – had made him go try them on in the middle of their conversation. Now, wearing a pair of baggy shorts and an enormous green vest and nothing else, Brock looked years older than he really was. He also looked much more relaxed and at ease and truly satisfied, and, by the way the black girl kept stealing glances at the older boy's bare chest and giggling giddily, Ash was pretty sure he knew why.
Unbeknownst to him, Brock was marveling over the exact same thing: how much the eleven-year-old from Pallet Town had changed. Without his hat, his hair hung over his shoulders shaggily. He looked incredibly comfortable in the clothes he wore, and the brown backpack he was wearing looked so much better than the green 'little kid' one he had worn before. (Pikachu looked much more comfortable on top of it, too.) He also looked very content and, looking at the blue-haired girl Iyami was talking to at the moment, Brock wondered if Ash had finally found somebody. But no, he immediately decided, that didn't make sense, because hadn't Ash always liked --
"Oh, Ash! I just remembered. Guess who I just ran into?"
The boy frowned in thought. "Um, I dunno… a Nurse Joy?"
Brock shook his head. "No, no, no." His eyes glazed over. "That'd be nice, though…" His voice trailed off and he stared off into space lustfully.
Suddenly Iyami was there, eyes flashing angrily. She bopped him upside the head. "Forget it, Brock!" she snapped.
His eyes refocused, and he grinned sheepishly. "Sorry."
Iyami smiled. "That's okay. You're forgiven." She walked back over to Victory, who had watched the entire incident smiling mysteriously.
Ash's eyes widened. "You're whipped," he murmured. Then he did a double take. "But then, since when has that not been the case?"
Pikachu snickered. "Piheeheehee!"
Brock had been staring after the black girl. "What?" he asked, whirling back around. "Sorry, I wasn't listening. What'd you say again?"
The boy made a discarding motion with his hand. "Forget it. Who did you say you saw again?"
"Oh, yeah." Brock smiled secretively. "Why, I'm surprised you haven't guessed yet. Misty will be quite offended if she hears, I should think." He winked.
"Misty?" Ash gasped almost unnoticeably. "Misty's here?"
"Kapika!" Pikachu cried, delighted.
"Last I saw, she was headed for the psychic section with a couple of friends." Brock paused. "Man, were they hot…"
"BROCK!"
He blushed. "Sorry, Iyami, sorry! Anyway, Ash, she's probably still there. Me and Iyami have better get back to the food court." He nudged his friend. "She's really good with a spatula."
"Wha?" Ash was still out of it.
"Yeah. Well, see ya later, pal. How 'bout you meet up with us down at the food court? After you talk to Misty, of course," he added hastily. "Bring her and her friends with you. I don't want to leave her without getting together one last time." Brock paused. "Hey, Ash?"
"Huh?" The boy temporarily shook himself out of the trance the name 'Misty' had put him in. "What?"
Brock looked down. "Promise the three of us won't forget about each other. Promise that we'll still be friends, even though we won't be together anymore." He hurriedly wiped a tear from his eye. "You guys were the only friends I ever had."
Ash bit his lip, and quickly swiped his sleeve across his eyes, dashing away all the tears there that threatened his manly countenance. "No way. Don't worry about it, Brocko." He patted his friend's shoulder awkwardly. "Me and Misty'll meet you at the food court." Pikachu nodded in confirmation.
Brock grinned shakily. "Thanks, Ash. Hey, Iyami!" The girl arched her eyebrow in reply. "Let's roll!"
"Yeah, we'd better hurry," she called back. "I think I left the grill on."
"What?!"
"Oh, chill out, I'm sure somebody's taken care of it by now."
"What if they haven't?!"
"Well, that's why we need to hurry."
Brock groaned. "See ya, Ash." Grabbing a hold of Iyami's hand, the boy ran into the crowd.
Ash watched the two of them disappear, smiling.
"She was cool," Victory said, appearing at his side. "And he was kinda cute. Are they friends of yours?" She pulled one of her gloves on tighter as she spoke.
"He is, yeah." He blinked. "You think he's cute? Yikes."
"Hey, shut up." Victory giggled. "What'd he just tell you? You both looked kinda upset."
"Nah, it wasn't that. He told me… that I ought to go to the psychic section. He said somebody's waiting for me there." Ash looked down at the ground, suddenly nervous.
Victory shrugged. "Okay. Let's go. But before we do…" She turned to face the booth, peering into the shadow behind it. "Um, ma'am? Are you still there?"
The woman popped into sight, smiling. "Yes, dear?"
The girl jumped. "Um… um…" She turned back to Ash, her cheeks burning.
"Thanks," the boy said, prompted. "Thanks for everything."
The woman leaned over to hug him. "Oh, don't you worry about it, dear, it was my pleasure." She turned to Victory. "I'm sure you two are going to have a lot of fun." She opened her arms to the shy girl.
Victory, wavering for just an instant, fell into the woman's embrace. "Thank you so much," she whispered. "You've been so kind."
The woman patted her on the back. "Oh, that's just my job, dear." Her eyes twinkled. "And my nature." Her brown amulet, previously inconspicuous, flared with a warm glow.
Both children's eyes were drawn to it. "Huh?"
Ash tried to catch a glimpse of the carving. "What is it, anyway? Your amulet, what is it?"
The woman smiled. "Oh, this?" She fingered the amulet gently. "It's a Kangaskhan." She looked up roguishly. "The Parent Pokémon."
Ash's eyes widened. Victory giggled.
"Pikaaa."
"And you're looking for the psychic section?" she continued, smiling mysteriously. "It's right down that way." She pointed.
"How… how did you know?" Ash blurted, surprised.
"Never mind." Victory grabbed a hold of his collar. "C'mon, let's go! B-bye, ma'am," she told the woman, faltering only a little. She smiled shyly, blushing slightly.
"Yeah, bye, ma'am!" Ash called, grinning and waving.
"Bye, you two. But please, don't call me 'ma'am.'
"Call me Mom."
"Ooh, it's cute, Faith."
"Yeah. It looks great on you, too."
"You think so?"
"A'course! Would we lie to you, Faith?"
"Well, you might, Claire."
Laughter. "Aw, shuddup!"
"But seriously, do you think I should get this?"
"Look, Faith, both me and Claire knew instantly when we found our clothes. I don't think it's something you can mess up on. Do you really want that shirt?"
"It's not a shirt, it's a sweater. And yeah, I, uh, guess so…"
"Well, then, it's not a problem, is it?"
"Oh, and by the way, I don't think you kin call it a 'sweater' eitha, Faith. There ain't enough material there to call it that."
More laughter. "Oh, shut up, Claire. Do you really think I look good in it?"
"Like it was made fer you."
"Then that settles it."
Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith came from a very esteemed and wealthy family in the richer part of Celadon. The Madrid-Smiths owned a very large estate, in the far eastern part of the city, for as Madame Madrid-Smith had complained to her husband back in the seventies, mere weeks after the two of them had inherited the mansion from his parents, " I just can't stand those horrible noisy dirty bikes." Monsieur Madrid-Smith had obligingly paid a disgustingly large amount of money to the finest construction company they could find, to pluck up the magnificent Madrid-Smith maison from its residence in western Celadon, and deposit it as far away from the bike route as possible. As far as men go, Monsieur Madrid-Smith was wealthy, but he was whipped.
They lived very plushly, which was a very large mistake considering their situation: they had been left a mind-boggling quantity of money from the previous lord and lady of the Madrid-Smith clan, but the company through which the elders had made their fortunes had fallen through years ago, and neither the Madame nor the Monsieur worked. As a result, their vast money hoard was slowly but surely being drained away for the care of their nine children.
Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith was the seventh of these children to be born, and, by then, the novelty of a child to care for, to watch grow up, and to love, had worn off for the Madame and Monsieur. They were fond of her, of course, (albeit only to a certain extent), but they hardly loved her the way they should. For them, she was just another empty room, previously used for storage, that needed to be fixed up into a nursery. There had been seventeen storage rooms in the Madrid-Smith mansion the day they inherited it. The number had rapidly decreased, however, over the years, and they numbered six by the time of Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith's birth. This had very much upset the Madame the day she had first realized it, several years later. Panicked, she had ordered her husband to add another wing to their home immediately, only to discover that their store of money had been depleted immensely over the years,
Both Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith, who had been only six years old at the time, and her six brothers and sisters had instantly been packed away to boarding school.
Now Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith was nine-and-a-half, and was sitting on the edge of a booth in this very odd convention, idly making a coin disappear and reappear behind her hand as she watched the people before her. She liked watching people. They were all really different, much more different, she suspected, than the limited people she had known growing up. That was as least one good about coming here. It had taken some work and not a small bit of anxiety, sneaking out of the boarding school window at one in the morning, but the pink amulet that presently hung around her neck had sworn she would be thankful for the decision in time. At any rate, anything was better than the unrelenting tedium of the boarding school.
Something interesting was happening in front of her. She sat up a little straighter, the coin clutched momentarily in the palm of her hand, eyes fixed on the scene before her. She was sitting not far in front of a very long, long table piled with all sorts of clothing, and coming rather quickly from her right was a boy. He was kinda short, and his black hair was kinda shaggy, and he was wearing a lot of blue. There was a Pikachu sitting on top of the brown backpack he had on.
"Oh, how cute!" she couldn't help squealing, though she did it discreetly. Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith was good at masking her emotions. (She usually managed it with a good pissy mood.)
Trailing after the boy was a girl, dressed in blue, too, though she wore a smattering of grey. She looked kind of exasperated, like she was tired of following the boy. Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith grinned and attempted to assume the facial expression the girl had.
Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith was also good at imitations.
At least, she was now, anyway.
Her amulet flickered with a giggly light, and the girl clapped a hand over her mouth helplessly to cover her reluctant laughter. It felt good to have something to laugh about.
Returning her attention back to the scene halfheartedly, she noticed out of the corner of her eye a group of three girls rounding the bend at her left. One had very red hair and a matching jacket, and another had magnificent blue eyes and curly green hair, and the third was wearing a black knit sweater, which offset her pink hair very prettily.
Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith's laughter faded as her disdainful regained control. She scoffed and tugged at her faded torn denim jacket in contempt. She wasn't one for appearances, and these three girls were too pretty for her taste.
Suddenly, her sharp eyes flicked back to the blue boy, who had without warning stopped dead in his tracks in shock. The girl behind him just barely managed not to walk straight into him, which Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith watched with a concealed snigger. The boy, however, remained dead still, and, looking at him carefully, Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith could trace the line of his eyesight to the three girls, who still walked towards him, oblivious.
And then suddenly the red-haired girl looked up off-handedly and saw the boy and stopped herself, mouth slightly open in a gape of disbelief.
"Geez, talk about your soap-operas," Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith muttered to herself, and her amulet, for lack of anything better to respond with, merely echoed what she said in a funny-sounding voice.
Shushing it, she leaned forward to catch what the two were saying. The boy had just said something, one simple word, but she couldn't quite hear them. It was infuriating. She hopped off of the table and sneaked forward a little, ears straining.
"Um, excuse me, dear."
Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith jumped about a foot.
The woman standing next to her laughed apologetically. "I'm sorry, dear, I didn't mean to scare you."
Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith forced a shaky sneer onto her little-girl face. "Din't scare me," she mumbled, wishing her heart would slow its insane beating down just a little.
"It just seemed to me that you haven't visited my clothing booth yet." The woman smiled kindly. "You're going to have to sooner or later," she chided good-naturedly, wagging her finger at the girl.
Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith glared at her, to no avail. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the blue boy and the red girl. They appeared to be hugging. Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith stamped her foot in frustration. Why wouldn't this woman shut up and leave her alone? Didn't she see she had some good eavesdropping to do?
The woman obviously didn't notice how much she was annoying the girl, because she remained unfazed. "I was wondering if you would just take a little time to pick something out." She smiled. "You know, just real quick. Just since you're here, and all."
Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith sniffed and tossed out a handful of words impatiently. "Sorry, d'love to, but I'm real busy at the moment." She wiped her nose with a grubby sleeve of her denim jacket and added, "'Sides, I'm too attached to this." She smoothed the jacket fondly, and turned to go.
There was the slightest pause, and then her amulet spoke up. "I actually think you need to," it said, sounding almost sorry. "I think it's kinda required."
She rolled her eyes and heaved a weary sigh. "Fine, fine, fine," she burst out crossly, and whirled around to face the woman. "But this better not take long," she warned.
The woman's eyes softened at the sight of the little dirty girl, wearing an old denim jacket over a torn and faded school uniform. 'She must come from a very poor family,' she thought. Out loud, she asked gently, "What type of Pokémon is your amulet, dear?"
Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith glanced down at the powdery pink stone around her neck, the only thing about her that wasn't shabby and old, and actually blushed. She mumbled something, an almost pleasant expression on her face, as she stared at the ground bashfully.
"I'm sorry, dear, what was that again?"
She glowered, eyes still pointed downwards. "A Ditto, all right?!" She let out an irritable breath. "Geez." She looked up quickly, all set to stare witheringly at the woman dressed in brown, only to find that she had disappeared. She blinked, her ill-tempered façade dissolved, if only briefly, by her surprise. But she busily recollected her grudges and managed a good grumble: "Well, that's no fun."
"What's no fun, dear?"
Once again, Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith almost had a heart attack while the woman chuckled ruefully.
"Oh, I'm awfully sorry," she apologized again, hiding a smile behind her hand. "You poor thing."
Face burning, Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith grunted sourly in reply.
The woman managed to compose herself, though a titter still quirked on her lips. "Anyway, dear, here you are." She held out her hand, and something in it glinted ominously. Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith's eyebrows rose as she tried to make out what it was the woman was holding.
"You're one of the lucky ones," the woman said cheerfully, arm still extended. "Your amulet is one of the few Pokémon who already have their outfits picked out for them." She paused. "Though you really couldn't call that an outfit, could you?" She giggled, sounding almost like a little girl.
"Huh?" Eyes wary, Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith eased forward until she could snatch the small item from the woman's hand. The woman jumped a little at her sudden movement, but maintained her cheerful smile.
It was a collar, like a dog would wear, made of brown leather and sporting a single silver ring, where a leash could be attached.
A growl bubbling in her throat, she threw it to the ground angrily. "Is this some kind of joke?" she cried furiously. "I'm not some kind of animal! I'm not going to wear a collar."
The woman's eyes flickered with a sudden flash of hurt and shock, and the smile was wiped off her face. Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith instantly felt bad. "I-I'm sorry, dear," the woman said, confused, "but I thought that… usually everyone likes their… maybe I made a m-mistake." Flustered, she wrung her hands. Nobody had ever turned down their outfits before.
"Why are you always so bitter?" her amulet asked her, innocently curious.
She blinked. "I'm not-" she began hotly, then stopped. She blinked again.
"I'll go back and recheck again," the woman was saying, "if you-"
"Wait."
Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith reached out tentatively, her hand hanging in the air for a split second, before planting itself firmly on the woman's shoulder. "It's okay. I…" She took a deep breath. "I like the-" she forced the word out, "c-collar."
The woman paused dubiously. "Do you really?" she asked suspiciously.
'No!' her mind screamed. "Yes," her mouth said.
"Oh, good. I'm so glad." The woman smiled. "Have fun, dear. Oh, and dear?"
"Huh?"
"Be nice." The woman winked.
Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith's eyes narrowed. "What d'ya mean?"
The woman had disappeared.
Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith shivered and knelt to pick up the collar. Sighing, she fastened it around her neck, with no small amount of loathing.
It felt surprisingly comfy. And the pressure of it on her neck was almost reassuring.
"It looks nice."
"Think so?" She smiled a small, timid smile, a smile that hadn't had much practice in her life. She glanced towards the clothing table. The boy and girl were gone. So were their friends.
It didn't bother her all that much.
Shrugging, Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith turned and, humming to herself, melted into the crowd.