Five Pokéballs lay on the table, silent and motionless in a neat, orderly row. The boy didn't remove his eyes from the red-and-white balls as he chewed thoughtfully on an onion ring. He paused. Lifted a glass of lemonade and drank from it distractedly. Reached out and patted absently the head of his Pikachu, who had settled down blissfully in the middle of the table with a bottle of ketchup. Didn't move his line of gaze from the Pokéballs.
        He was obviously turning over something very important in his mind, but his face was neutral, impassive.
        Finally, his eyes darted to his right, as a girl returned to her chair with a steaming bowl of soup and a handful of crackers.
        "Hey, Misty?" he asked, voice cracking slightly as he did.
        She swung her leg over the chair and looked at him. "Hmm?" she said around a spoon that she was holding in her mouth.
        Ash put down the onion ring that he was holding, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. "What are you going to do with your Pokémon?" he asked in a voice that mildly surprised him, for it sounded like that of a lost little boy.
        Her eyebrow raised slightly. "What do you mean?" she asked, staring at him questionably. On her right, her green-haired friend sneaked away one of her packets of oyster crackers and snickered silently.
        Ash didn't bother to tattle, he had too much on his mind. "You know. At the Briefing, the girl said that we should give away all of our Pokémon." He motioned at the row of Pokéballs in front of his plate, and immediately, Misty's expression changed as she realized just what exactly he was referring to. Turned from one of innocent curiosity to a dark, hurt, why-couldn't-you-have-just-kept-your-mouth-shut-and-let-me-be-happy look. It moaned of ignorance-is-bliss. The boy didn't notice. "What are you going to do with yours?"
        "My Pokémon?" Her hand strayed to her red backpack. Mom, at the clothing booth, had told her that she would have to part with the bag, but the girl had decided to not listen at that particular moment. "I don't know…"
        Ash sighed. He knew she wouldn't have been much help.
        "Well," she continued, as if to spite his thought, "I want to know they'll be taken care of. And I'd want to know that they'll still be training." Then she paused. "And I might want to visit them someday, too," she added in a small voice.
        The boy nodded in agreement.
        "But, Ash!" his amulet cut in. "Didn't the girl at the Briefing say-?"
        'But I can't just forget them!' he implored silently, desperately. 'Right?'
        His amulet was silent.
        "I guess," Misty said suddenly, "I'd send them to my sisters at the gym." And her voice was calm and content in her finality.
        'What a perfect decision' flitted briefly through Ash's mind before he remembered that he didn't have a gym to send his Pokémon back to. He turned back to his friend.
        Misty, with a sad smile on her face, -- sad because she knew that she would have to part with her Pokémon, smiling because she knew she had a good home waiting for them -- had turned back to her soup.
        "Wait a minute…" she said, smile fading from her face warily. "Didn't I have three crackers?" She waggled the single packet remaining in the air, surveying the faces around her suspiciously. Claire, trying and not quite managing to keep a straight face, guffawed, and received a punch on the arm by an enraged Misty, while Faith watched, amused.
        Sighing, Ash got up from the table and walked across the food court to where Brock was tossing a salad. "Hey, Brock," he said, somewhat loudly over the general noise of the courtyard.
        "What's up, Ash?" His friend grinned. "Want some salad?"
        "No, that's okay. I was just wondering…" He took a deep breath.
        "Um, Ash? Do you mind moving? You're blocking the food."
        "Oh, sorry." The boy automatically stepped back. A young woman smiled at him in thanks before heaping salad onto her plate.
        "Thanks." Brock began to chop up some carrots. "So what were you saying?" He tipped the carrots into the salad.
        "Well, I was wondering… what are you going to do with your Pokémon?"
        The chopping knife slipped, and sliced deeply into Brock's finger.
         Ash blinked. "Um… Brock?" He waved his hand in front of his friend's face, mildly horrified at the older boy's lack of reaction.
        He didn't notice. He stared into space, a haunted look in his eyes, as his finger bled merrily onto the diced onions.
        Suddenly, Iyami was at his side. "Brock, what happened?" she gasped.
        He blinked. "I, er, slipped." His voice sounded distant.
        The girl shook her head. "You idiot." Her hand dipped into her pocket and emerged grasping several Band-Aids. "Here, you klutz. Don't do it again," but her words carried no hint of the indifference they implied. She patted his shoulder, sighed at the sight of the onions, and ran back off to her grill.
        "Are you okay?" Ash ventured after Brock had wrapped his finger in a napkin and started fumbling at the Band-Aid.
        "Yeah," he muttered, finally managing to open the bandage. "But to answer your question… I always wanted to be the world's best breeder. But now I know I can't." He sighed. "I never thought I'd have to face this decision, but… well, my oldest sibling is my sister, about nine years old, and my dad's training her to be the next Pewter City Gym Leader. I think I'll send her my Onix, Geodude, and Zubat. She'll take good care of them, they'll still be in the family, and besides, she'll need them." He wrapped a second Band-Aid around his finger and dumped the onions in the trash.
        Ash sighed. Brock had been just as much of a help as Misty. Then something struck him. His friend had yet to mention his fourth Pokémon.
        "Brock? What about Vulpix?"
        Brock looked down at the cutting-board and half-smiled. "My amulet says that I'm making a poor choice, but… well, I do love Geodude and Onix. I mean, they're a real couple of pals." His eyes displayed a sense of urgency, a need for Ash to agree that Brock cared about his other Pokémon. Ash uttered a "Oh, definitely," and Brock relaxed slightly.
        "It's just," he went on, "well, Vulpix means a lot to me. I mean, a lot. Vulpix was a gift to me from someone I really care about, Vulpix has never let me down in a battle, Vulpix has been the one Pokémon that I could show to a person and have them ooh and ahh over…" Brock grinned shakily, and met his friend's eyes. "I guess Vulpix is my very own Pikachu."
        Ash nodded in understanding. No matter what he decided to do with his other Pokémon, he could (and would) never part with Pikachu.
        "So, anyway, when I get the chance to write and send my good-bye letter to my family, I guess I'll ship my three Pokéballs with it, too," and his voice was louder than before, with a clear message of 'Conversation Over.' "I need to get back to work." He threw a handful of croutons into the salad, humming to himself, all attention removed from his younger friend.
        The boy shrugged his shoulders in compliance, and headed for his seat. Pikachu cried a happy "Pika!" as he sat back down in his chair, and Ash ruffled the Pokémon's ears affectionately, smiling. He could never give up Pikachu. Never.
        "Man, I'm glad we never could account for all'f us kids havin' Pokémon of our own," Claire said off-handedly, squirting her foot-long hot dog with what ought to be an unlawful amount of mustard.
        "What d'you mean?" Faith asked curiously over a plate of egg rolls.
        "Well, it was just a matter of feedin' 'em and takin' care of 'em. We just didn't have the money. 'Sides, we didn't have near enough time to devote to 'em. I woulda liked one," she said dreamily, but quickly snapped out of it. "We did have the odd milkin' Tauros, though. They didn't know any good attacks, but they were still awful friendly, and they used to give us rides, when we was little. I'm goin' to miss them."
        "My little sister has a couple of Rattata," Faith said, smiling. "They multiply like crazy, and my sister never wants to give up the babies. Drives my mother to her wit's end. I had a Tangela once, a long time ago, but it died of old age." She munched distantly, then shrugged. "It was real old when we got it," she added explanatorily.
        "You guys are lucky," Victory remarked somewhat enviously, and there was a note of melancholy to her voice. "I don't know what to do with my Pokémon." She reached under the table and brought out two Pokéballs.
        "Yeah. Me neither." Ash smiled reassuringly at his new friend, glad for a chance to ignore his doubts by comforting another's.
        Unbeknownst to either the blue-haired girl, or the black-haired boy who was presently grinning at her, the red-haired girl at the boy's right was fuming angrily.

        In a purple sort of area in the midst of the convention, the poison types gathered to chat amid an interesting host of booths. Steam rose from a cauldron that bubbled with Antidote, and vials of oddly colored liquids were passed from hand to inquisitive hand.
        A long-legged woman lounged on a booth-top, twining her fingers around a violet amulet as she watched the crowd through languid eyes. A white-haired boy, sporting a cerulean blue amulet, pondered the use of a wide sash of black silk he had received at the clothing's booth. A faintly disturbed-looking boy with a light purple amulet was deep in conversation with a wide-mouthed girl with choppy, light blond hair.
        Walking past the poison area with no more than a passing glimpse, a petite girl with closely cropped tawny hair skipped her way around people, humming to herself as her own amulet thudded against her chest rhythmically. Her amulet's color was also purple, but she had no use for the poison section. Hitching her oversized, faded army fatigues back over her shoulders, she rounded a bend and immediately bumped into a tall, redheaded boy.
        The redhead scowled, but the girl, giggling as she did so, had already run off. Muttering to himself, the boy continued through the convention -- until he caught sight of an Evolution booth out of the corner of his eye. He trotted over, and was soon talking animatedly to a pretty girl with an ice blue amulet.
        The Evolution booth sat on a slight hill, and ten feet directly underneath it, a handful of ground-types were testing the efficiency of a multitude of various tools as they timidly tried their hand at digging. There was already a veritable Catacombs beneath the convention, as if it had been known that people would need a way to practice tunneling. The ground-types who weren't yet ready to brave the darkness of the underground stayed on the surface, admiring the wicked-looking utensils the others were using down below, and playing with the mining equipment that Mom had outfitted them in earlier.
        A boy with shaggy black hair and a girl with bright orange hair, both with sandy-colored amulets around their neck, were bent over what seemed to be an iron armlet, when the girl pressed a small button on the side. Instantly, three long, sharp, curved claws shot out of the wristlet, glinting in the moonlight. With a 'Yipe!' and an 'EEK!', the two teenagers dropped the weapon and scampered back, knocking over a tall woman in the process. The woman, who had been carrying a tray filled with various-sized water bottles, roared in rage as the glass bottles crashed to the ground. Her amulet flaring with an angry blue light, she tore after the black-haired boy, who ran off into the convention, yelping, as the orange-haired girl hooted and whooped.
        The black-haired boy darted through a knot of electric types, (easy to identify because of the bright, neon colors they sported), who looked after him momentarily before returning back to their conversation. A slight girl with bright yellow hair slipped away from the group to admire a runaway Eevee that had slipped away from the Evolution booth. Picking it up, she headed towards the booth maintained by the Vaporean girl. As she neared it, though, she accidentally stepped into the path of the redheaded boy, who had finally detached himself from the Vaporean girl's side.
        Jumping aside with a yell to avoid hitting her, the boy came face to face with a short little girl wearing a collar and a tattered school uniform, who pushed him back automatically in surprise. His arms windmilling in the air, the redheaded boy crashed into a display of evolution stones. Cursing loudly, he climbed to his feet, while a tall white-haired woman sighed and set about to picking up the fire stones.
        "A little clumsy today, aren't we?" she said as she stacked the red stones onto her apron.
        The boy's face darkened. "It's not my fault!" he roared. "It's these little kids! They keep getting in my way! Little kids, everywhere!" His eyes were dark with a fed-up kind of panic.
        The Ninetales woman blinked, and then wisely didn't say a word. This convention had proved to be chockfull of odd people, anyway.
        "That outburst was totally uncalled for! He must be punished! Lay a curse on him! A 2000-year-old curse!"
        She smiled to herself, as the red-haired boy furiously stalked off, unbeknownst to her. "We'll let him slide just this one time, dear," she murmured soothingly to her amulet. "Everybody deserves at least one warning."

        "I'm not going to warn you again."
        The girl's face was contorted in pain, her hand massaging her side deeply in a vain attempt to stem the agonizing cramp there. "Look-" she groaned between ragged, gasping breaths, "they said… at the… thing… whatever… that we… had to go… somewhere…"
        " I know, you idiot, don't you think I've done this before?"
        She managed a shrug, though every muscle in her body was currently screaming in torture. "Dunno," she mumbled through her blistered lips.
        "Well, I have. And I know where you're supposed to go. So shut up and keep running."
        "The human body isn't built for this much physical activity," she argued obstinately, a smidgen of the pain and misery ebbing away as a familiar feeling flooded her body. Jessie's personality -- stubbornness, hardheadedness, bossiness, and all -- had been on an extended vacation ever since she had first touched this amulet. Now she could feel it returning, and it was such a welcome relief, she was getting stronger every minute. "Especially not mine," she added primly.
        The ivory amulet sent a grating sigh that prickled her brain with its suppressed anger. "Well, that's something to strive for, then, isn't it?"
        She sighed herself. "You could say that."
        "You've got five minutes, then."
        "Ten. I need ten, at the least." She was gambling now, but she had always been one of the better card players back at Rocket Headquarters, and keeping a poker face couldn't be much different than pushing this amulet's buttons… could it?
        "You know I can read your mind, don't you?"
        She cursed. The four-letter word echoed in the otherwise-silent forest, bouncing from tree trunk to tree trunk.
        Her amulet was almost pleased. "You and I are one now, after all," it began to explain.
        "Ugh," she interrupted in a disgusted mutter. "What a completely corny thing to say."
        The Persian amulet glowed for a second with irritation, then continued. "So most thoughts you harbor in your head, I have direct access to. "
        "Mm-hmm. And do I have direct access to your thoughts?" Her legs and arms and belly were stinging with the dozens of slashes she had inflicted upon herself earlier. 'Those are going to scar something awful,' she thought drearily, then pushed the thought aside before her amulet could pick up on it and become even smugger.
         "I don't bother to hide my thoughts from you, dear."
        "Right. So can I get ten minutes?"
         "Fine. But you'd better spend every second of it resting as hard as you can, because you have a difficult night ahead of you."
        "Wonderful," she muttered, licking some dirt out of a gash on her shoulder. 'Don't want an infection,' she thought absentmindedly.         
Her amulet didn't notice. "After all, I do want to get there around the same time as the rest of your group."

        There was a section for the Normal folks to meet, but it was somewhat vacant at the moment. The people who had been selected to carry normal Pokémon amulets didn't quite feel the need to sit still in such an incredible place as this convention. The Kangaskhan representative, a motherly-looking woman who had recently taken to calling herself Mom, still worked busily at the clothing booth, outfitting the stragglers who still needed clothes. The Rattata delegate, a small energetic young girl with short tawny hair and too-big army fatigues, giggled and skipped her hyper way throughout the gathering place, singing to herself as she did. The Meowth candidate, a little blond girl who cradled a corresponding cat Pokémon in her arms, was laughing as she tried a bejeweled collar on her less-than-amused friend. And wearing a collar of her own, the Ditto envoy was currently mimicking a stuffy-looking young woman, while her amulet giggled approvingly.
        The empty chairs and unattended table that sat in the vacant Normal section were lonely now, but wouldn't be for much longer. For the convention was wrapping up, the people within it were as prepared as they were ever going to be, and soon it would be time to say goodbye to the lives they had once held, and hello to the inevitable.
        Until that time, however…
        Mom was helping a nice young woman pick out a pair of boots, Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith was doing a very good impression of a stuck-up, aristocratic woman, and a certain division of the convention continued to wait, unoccupied.

        She wasn't surprised to find that Brock was going to keep his Vulpix. As for Ash and Pikachu, the thought had never crossed her mind that the two would ever split. Despite the Jigglypuff girl's warning at the Briefing that, if they were smart, they would give up all of their Pokémon, Misty knew that neither she, nor her two male friends, would listen.
        She'd thought about it long and hard, spooning baked potato soup into her mouth broodingly as she did, and she'd finally settled on a decision. It was agonizing to think that she was going to have to bequeath her Pokémon to her sisters. That was torture enough. But she'd been turning something very important over in her head for a long time now, ever since she'd learned at the Briefing that all trainers should part with their Pokémon. And she'd made up her mind.
        Well, it was now or never; if she lost her nerve now, she'd never get it done. Besides, having to sit at the same table as that girl Victory was making her stomach twist, though she truly had no idea why.
        She stood. "Hey, guys," she announced. "I'm going to go mail my Pokéballs to my sisters now." Her amulet had told her earlier the directions to the mailing booth. According to the Vulpix amulet, there would be a fleet of mail Pidgeots waiting there to carry packages and letters to all corners of the world.
        "Well, hey, that sounds like a fine idea. I've gotta send my folks a note myself." Claire stood, followed by Faith.
        "Yeah, it was nice to meet you, Ash and Victory," the pink-haired girl smiled, "but I need to write my parents a goodbye letter, too."
        Misty's eyes sought out those of the boy's, the boy with whom she had spent a good year of her life. Ash looked, to her surprise, vaguely scared, and Misty, after a very short moment of shock, suddenly felt the very same feeling fluttering deep down in the pit of her stomach. She had no idea what the next few years held in store for her, and she seriously wondered whether or not she would ever see her friend again.
        Suddenly she wanted to run forward and bury her face in Ash's new shirt and just sob and sob.
        But then her amulet sent a reassuring, calming warmth flowing through her veins.
        And then she caught a glimpse of the blue-haired girl, sitting in a chair next to her friend, and, though Victory's face was only curious and maybe a little sorry to see the girls go, the sight of her was enough to banish that frightened feeling that had been in control of her stomach at the moment and bring back the familiar sickened roiling sensation.
        And so, though it hurt her to do so, Misty merely raised her arm and twiddled her fingers in farewell. "See ya," she said as casually as she could manage, though she couldn't quite keep the two dueling emotions that were currently fighting for possession of her stomach from tingeing her voice with a miserable note.
        And she turned and walked away.
        Setting off, with her two friends trailing after her, Claire and Faith slightly bewildered by her strange behavior, Misty hugged her red backpack to her chest. Biting her lip and wiping furiously at the tears that threatened her eyes, she thought unhappily of the four Pokéballs nestled in that red bag. She would never in a million years have thought that she would be doing what she was about to do, but here she was, and in a few minutes, she would no longer have Starmie, Staryu, none of her old friends. She'd wanted to be the greatest water trainer, and instead she was passing her Pokémon off to her sisters like a failure.
        She heaved a bone-weary sigh, suddenly feeling so exhausted, and so old, and so drained -- as if she had cried and cried until not a single tear was left in her body -- that she could barely go on.
        And then she slipped a hand into her jacket pocket, and her fingers closed, comfortingly, around a single, small red-and-white ball, a Pokéball that she had, albeit hesitantly, separated from the others in her backpack.
        … Maybe it would be okay. She could still visit the Gym, and her Pokémon would be happy there. It would be more than difficult, parting with them, but… well, like she'd thought before, Ash would be able to cope because of Pikachu. Brock would be able to handle it because he would have his Vulpix. For Misty, the choice was hard to make, but she knew it was right. She'd never be able to just give it away, just like Ash could never do with Pikachu, or Brock with Vulpix. Maybe it would make it a little easier.
        Still, though, it sure was odd, she mused, that she couldn't give that particular Pokémon up. Especially it being the big, dumb, worthless yellow duck that it was.
        Oh, well. Shrugging to herself, she and her friends disappeared into the crowd.

        See ya?
         See ya?!
        What kind of good-bye was that?!
        He blinked. Who knew when they'd see each other again? Maybe never! How could she just shrug it all off like that?
        She didn't really care at all about him.
        The thought burned in his mind, and he slammed a fist onto the table angrily.
        Now that he was letting it out, it was easy to rage. Had he just moments before wanted to lunge forward, grab her hand, and make her promise never to leave? Had that thought actually run through his mind? Had he actually felt that way about her?
        There was no possible way.
        Because she was annoying, loud, whiny, and arrogant. Acting so jealous, being so cold and distant to his new friend… who did she think she was? Just who did she think she was? Well, he didn't care. He was glad he wouldn't have to see her again. As far as he was concerned, good riddance to her. He was better off with her out of his life.
        It was then that he looked down at his Pikachu.
        Its eyes were glimmering tearfully, and its lower lip was trembling. "Pikaaa…" it said woefully, and, because Ash had formed such a special bond with his Pokémon, he could understand what the little creature was saying.
        Pikachu missed her already.
        Ash Ketchum paused, as a great many foreign ideas that shocked and scared him flashed through his mind. Maybe a smidgen of realization dawned on him. He looked off in the direction that Misty had taken.
        And he wondered.

        He was in the middle of delivering a passionate lecture to his best friend on just how exactly to go about picking up girls, when, suddenly, a jolt, so icily cold it was almost hot, shot through his brain.
        His friend, having been paying an almost desperate amount of attention to the instruction, actually noticed an almost imperceptible tic in his friend's face at that very instant, though he had no idea that the young man had just experienced anything at all. A second later, however, it was quite clear that something had happened to the boy, for his face sagged into an oblivious mask and his jaw dropped in the middle of saying the word 'beefcake'.
        "Uh... Rokou?" James waved a hand in front of his friend's face uncertainly, quite confused with what had just happened. "You... okay?" Something was nagging at the back of the Rocket's mind, some odd, unfamiliar feeling that wouldn't go away. He tried his best to ignore it. Meanwhile, he was close to panicking, as James was apt to do when a friend showed unusual behavior. "Rokou!" He took his friend by the shoulders and shook him once, hard.
        Rokou blinked, then shook himself all over. " ...... what, sorry? Yeah, I'm okay." He shuddered. "Just got a command, that's all."
        "Command?"
        "Yeah, from the, uh..." His friend blushed a little in embarrassment. "From the amulet."
        "Oh."
        "Supposedly I got to go fill in for somebody at some booth or something." He shrugged in a effort to be indifferent, though he was really quite shaken. He wasn't completely used to having supernatural voices seize control of his body from time to time.
        "Booth." James, confused beyond reason, had been forced to resort to one-word answers.
        "Yeah..."
        His friend's words finally registered in the Rocket's brain. Rokou had to leave. His future was already calling, he had responsibilities, he couldn't just joke around with his best friend anymore. James would be alone again, and he'd never been alone in his life, he'd always either had Jess, or Meowth, or, now, Rokou. But now Rokou had to leave to take control of his life and the duties that came with it. From the woeful look on Rokou's face, it was clear that he realized it, too.
        Hold up. Who said life had to suck that much?
        "I guess we'd better get going, then," James said, surprised at how obvious and easy the solution to the problem was, and how long it had taken him to see it.
        Rokou blinked, then stood up. "Yeah, let's." The two of them set off. "Anyway, like I was saying, you'd think most girls would only go for a total beefcake, but they really don't..."

        Brock, in between flips of a pancake, happened to glance offhandedly at the table where his friends were sitting. He was so surprised to see that the original company was now lacking three girls, of whom one was his second best friend, that he missed the pancake on the way down. It splashed into the bubbling grease of another frying pan, a pan that had been busy being occupied by several sausage links before the pancake had crashed in on their party, and, as a result, Brock was splattered with hot oil.
         "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH!!"
        Now, Iyami was a very insistent girl, and Brock had a tendency to be whipped easily, so, earlier at the clothing booth, when he and she'd had their little discussion over whether he should wear a shirt or not, he had ended up, torso-wise, wearing an open vest and nothing else. Therefore, having been splashed with boiling oil, there was little standing in the way between it and his skin.
         "OUCH-OUCH-OUCH-OUCH-OUCH!!" He made frantic brushing motions an his chest as he ran in circles, shrieking at the top of his lungs. "OW-OW-OW-OW-OW!!"
        A hand clamped over his mouth, and he yelped, albeit futilely, in alarm.
        "Brock! Shut up!" somebody hissed in his ear, and he relaxed as much as a man with a scalded chest can.
        Iyami took her hand away cautiously and he immediately burst out, "Owowowowowowowow-"
        "SHUT UP!" she roared, and he stopped at once, looking very sheepish and remorseful.
                [Author Note: **Lizzie snaps her wrist and makes a whipping noise**]
        Iyami looked at the empty frying pan Brock had been flipping pancakes in, then at the sausage pan sizzling with boiling oil, in the middle of which floated what may have once been a pancake. It was smoking now, and giving off a very unfortunate odor. Her pretty green eyes widened.
        "I see." She raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at her friend, in a manner that could only be read as 'I don't see, so you'd better make it more clear.'
        "Uh, er, see…" Brock tried his hand at an explanation. "The pancake, um… when I looked… uh, see, I just looked…and then Misty… and the pancake…" When he noticed the aggravated way with which she was tapping her foot, he stopped, took a deep breath, and tried again.
         "It burned me," he whimpered.
        She half-smiled. "Well, poor Brock. Does it still hurt?"
        It did still hurt, actually. In fact, it really hurt.
         "No, no, I'm fine now."
        Iyami glanced at his bare chest, where angry red blotches were forming under the glisten of oil.
         "Well, maybe we ought to put some medicine on it anyway," she ventured tentatively, her eyes fixed on his face.
        "Yeah, good idea," Brock said, too quickly, and Iyami half-smiled again. 'Just like a man,' she thought, amused, 'to be too brave to show pain.'
        She paused in thought. "Well, either too brave or too stupid," she corrected herself out loud, covering a smile with her hand.
        "Huh?"
        "Don't worry about it. Come on, I'm sure there's a First Aid booth somewhere around here." A submissive Brock in tow, Iyami strode off into the crowd.

        The little shabby girl, her eyes roving the crowd restlessly, suddenly smiled slyly. Her gaze settled. She pointed a finger.
        "How about him?" she murmured.
        He had caught her eye almost immediately. He was tall, dark-haired, and pretty good-looking. (She assumedthe latter, of course; Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith didn't really care much about boys, and, as far as she was concerned, never would.)
        Hmm… well, actually, Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith rethought after another look at the guy, that third observation wasn't quite correct. No matter how indifferent she was to the looks of men, she had to admit that he wasn't that handsome. He was good-looking enough, but his entire appearance was flawed by the fact that he didn't look like a very pleasant person at all. Presently, he was leaning against a vacant booth haughtily, his flat, expressionless eyes scanning the crowd uninterestedly. He seemed to be trying to blend into the background, and, what's more, was doing a rather good job of it. 'Blending into the background', the little girl mused, was an interesting way to put it, for that was exactly what his snow white shirt was doing: melting into the black of the forest behind him in such a way that it had attracted her attention immediately.
        There was silence for a moment. Then, "Nah, I don't think you can."
        "Watch me, then!" A few deep breaths, and then Myles Katerina Madrid-Smith was immersed in her newest talent. Her eyelids drooped until her eyes were slitted with condescending arrogance. Her jaw jutted in such a way that she looked formidable, tough, the wrong person to mess with. She leaned against a small tree in just the right way, crossed her arms just so.
        Her amulet burst into giggles that tickled her mind. "You really are good!" it said when it had calmed down a little.
        She smiled smugly. "Told y-"
        "You think you're being funny?"
        The rest of 'you' caught in her throat as she stared up into the ice cold fury of Tengu. His eyes glittered with malice.
         "Do you?" he continued, voice deadpan with anger. "Because I don't think it's funny at all."
        Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. Her voice was caught in her throat, and all she could manage was a choking sound. Her eyes were huge and round as they stared into his. She wanted very much to blink, wanted more than anything else in the world to look down, but she… she just couldn't. There was something hypnotizing about him, something that, it occurred to her in a wave of fear and disgust so violent that it was almost mind-shatteringly hysterical, was very reminiscent of a cobra snake.
        'What a jerk,' her subconscience acknowledged, the thought almost lost under wave after wave of fright. But it wasn't buried beneath her shock enough: she blinked, shook her head, then uttered, her voice coming out at less than a whisper: "You talkin' ta me, punk?"
        With a snort of disgust, the young man wheeled around and stormed away, dark, dark, vengeful thoughts festering in his mind, as they always would.
        The little girl stuck out her tongue in contempt, thought better of herself, and extended a certain finger in his direction instead.
         "Yarr, matey, he be a bad 'un," a pretty good, albeit stereotypical, impression of a pirate echoed in her mind.
        "Freak," the girl grumbled in agreement, glaring at the white-clothed back of the retreating man, and wishing that looks could kill.

        She eyed the box critically, then stuck another stamp on it, just to be sure.
        "Gee, Misty, are ya sure you got enough stamps on there?"
        She glanced at the package worriedly. One side of it was almost completely covered in stamps. "Do you really think so? I mean, Cerulean City is pretty far away, and I don't want to take any chances... Maybe just a few more." She reached again for the stamps.
        "Misty, for goodness sake, Claire's just teasing!" Faith heaved an exasperated sigh. Claire, who had been busy plucking feathers from the now-annoyed Mail Pidgeots whenever they weren't looking, stuck out her tongue and grinned.
        "Claire, leave those poor birds alone," the pink-haired girl continued, frowning at her friend. Faith was the kind of girl who couldn't stand to see animals being hurt, no matter what the type of animal, no matter what the type of torture... even if all it was was just an odd feather missing from the birds' downy chests.
        "Aw, Faith, they ain't gonna miss these little old things," the Southerner replied lightheartedly, watching her small collection of fluff float away in a slight breeze. "'Sides, I don't understand why they couldn't get a good pack of Fearows to do the job. These wimpy little Pidgeys can't handle it." She sniffed indignantly, her amulet flaring accordingly.
        "Well, that is a very good point."
        All three girls jumped, startled. They'd been so busy writing their letters and carefully packaging their Pokéballs, they hadn't noticed that a person was actually sitting behind the booth covered with paper, pencils, envelopes, and empty boxes of all sizes. The young man, lounging in a rickety-looking chair, smiled up at the three girls charmingly.
        Faith blushed. "Ooh, he's a cutie," she whispered to her two friends.
        Claire frowned. "I dunno... I don't like his attitude," she replied, in a slightly louder whisper that just might have been audible to the young man. It occurred to Misty that Claire probably meant for it to be that way, too.
        "Come on, Claire, be fair," the redhead responded quietly. "He seems nice enough."
        "Now this is just a thought," the boy continued, winking out from under his shaggy brown hair, "but maybe, just maybe, Pidgeots were chosen over Fearows because Fearows are slow and poky, and Pidgeots are the fastest flying Pokémon known to man"
        Suddenly it seemed to Misty that his smile had become extra sugar-sweet, and he appeared to be focusing its sugaryness on Claire. The girl, frowning darkly, didn't seem to be appreciating it, either.
        "Oh, and maybe also because Fearows suck," the young man added as an afterthought, grinning.
        Claire bristled. Her fingers reached out for a handful of feathers.
        "Claire, no!" Faith smacked her friend's hand sharply.
        "Yeah, it'd be a real shame if your family didn't get your letter," the boy agreed, his hands clasped behind his head and his winning smile still on his face. "If you weren't to let 'em know you're gone for good, they might worry that you'll come back some day."
        "Are you threatenin' to not deliver my letter?" Claire asked shrilly, outraged.
        "No," the boy replied, his smile disappearing as he finally lost his temper, "but if you don't quit hurting those Pidgeots, they're not going to be able to fly anywhere. You sure don't have enough respect for the mailing service, at any rate. Maybe I ought to just throw your letter away."
        Without another word, Claire slipped her letter into the enormous stack of postage, somewhere near the bottom. "Well, good luck findin' it, then." She stomped away.
        "Buh-bye!" he called after her cheerfully.
        "Claire, wait!" Faith glanced back at the boy, colored a little, and ran after her friend. "You're not being rational!"
        Looking after her friends, Misty sighed and shook her head. She wanted to go after them, but she really had to take care of this business first, before she lost her nerve. Turning back to the boy, she found him staring after the two girls, lost in thought. "Um, excuse me." He looked over at her distractedly. Misty held up her package. "Is this enough stamps to get to Cerulean City?"
        The boy raised an eyebrow and laughed. It was really a very pleasant sound. "Enough and then some." He smoothed the feathers of a nearby Pidgeot's back. It strained on its tether and chirped, pleased. "Just put it over there." He gestured to a pile, his attention somewhere else already.
        Misty placed the box carefully on the pile, her eyes misting a little as she realized what exactly this meant. "Guess I'm not a Pokémon trainer anymore," she murmured to herself sadly, sniffing back tears.
        "I bet this one's hers, isn't it?"
        All thoughts vanished of the four Pokéballs and the short, explanatory, tearful note inside the box, as Misty centered her attention on the messy envelope the young man was holding up to her face. Though she had only known Claire for a day now, it was clear to the girl that the letter was hers. The Southern girl had somehow managed to crumple and tear the envelope in the fifteen minutes she'd had contact with it, and there was a good quantity of Scotch Tape on it. She'd drawn messy little people all over the envelope, probably for her little siblings and cousins to laugh over. The address, a lengthy one bursting with R.R. and Post Boxes and North-West Roads, was written in a hurried print. It also appeared that she'd crammed not only what looked like a very long letter, but also several little trinkets into the envelope.
        "No wonder it needed all that tape," she marveled out loud. The envelope was straining around the souvenirs, and it was obvious that, without the tape, the whole kit'n'kaboodle didn't have a prayer.
        "I knew it!" The young man grinned and looked at the letter smugly.
        "Don't throw it away!" Misty cried out in horror, disgusted with herself that she'd affirmed his presumption.
        The boy laughed again. "Oh, I'd never do that." He put it back on the pile of letters. "Your package is fine here, we'll get it to your folks. Go on, get out of here." He waved her away. When she didn't budge, he sighed. "I promise I won't throw it away. I was just trying to piss her off when I said that."
        "Fine. Bye." Misty ran after her friends, her considerably-lighter backpack bouncing as she did.
        Rokou rolled his eyes and tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. "Dumb girls," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. He looked at the letter again. It was just so quaint, it was almost charming. Besides, even though she had been a real bee-otch, he didn't want her family worrying about her. That girl had been a piece of work, but... he couldn't just throw it away.
        A head poked out from behind the Pidgeot pen. "Are they gone?" it hissed desperately.
        "Huh? Oh, yeah, James, it's safe." Rokou peered into the crowd. "Can't see 'em."
        Heaving a very relieved sigh, the lavender-haired boy stood, brushing off his pants as he did. "Man, that was close," he muttered.
        "So, Jamesy, why'd you hide?" His eyes twinkled. "Were you scared of those big, bad girls?"
        "Only one of them." He tried to picture what it would have been like if Misty had seen him. She probably would've informed all the people around them that he was a Rocket. Either that, or whip out a Pokéball and let Starmie HydroPump the snot out of him.
        Thank god she hadn't seen him.
        Just as he was about to break out in a very large fit of laughter at the fact that his friend was frightened of a twelve year old girl, Rokou paused to reconsider. "I don't suppose her name was..." He stopped to read the return address on the letter. The only thing the girl had known to put down was her name, and there it was, first name and last. "... Claire, was it?"
        "Claire?" He shook his head. "Never heard of her."
        His friend tossed the letter onto the outgoing pile. "Well, anyway, that's a chick to be feared." Then he burst out laughing. "SCARED OF A GIRL!! WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"
        James cracked a smile and punched his friend in the shoulder. "Oh, shove it. Anyway, I think I might write a letter of my own, and I need peace and quiet." Sticking his tongue out at his friend, he picked up a pen and a piece of paper, and marched over to a nice quiet place under a faraway tree, where he sat down and brooded over the letter.
        Rokou watched his friend for a few minutes, for lack of anything better to do. Then, with a yawn and a stretch, he leaned back in his rickety, old chair and dozed off. Though his slumber was light and ultimately didn't last long at all, it was nevertheless filled with dreams of green-haired vixens and the sky.

        "Well," she said in a very quiet voice, but the unexpected break in the silence was so abrupt that he jumped anyway.
        "Hmm?" he asked curiously. "Well what?" The two of them had been quiet for quite a long time -- they both had a lot on their minds -- so Ash knew that, if Victory had something to say, it was at least marginally important.
        "I'm going to do it." Again, she spoke with an almost silent voice, a voice so unlike her.
        Ash ruffled the ears of Pikachu, who had long ago fallen asleep from the lack of activity around it. "Do what?"
        "Dammit, Ash!" the girl screamed, attracting not a small amount of attention from the other customers of the food court. She pounded the table angrily, rattling Pikachu mightily, and this time, Ash really jumped. He was so startled, in fact, that he nearly fell out of his chair, just barely managing to catch himself on the table edge. "What do you think?"
        Ash blinked. "I-"
        "I'm going to go let my Pokémon go." She glared at him. "That's what."
        His jaw dropped, and Pikachu, who had been sulking about the rude awakening, suddenly let out a surprised "Pika!" "Let them go?" Ash gasped in shock. "Are you sure?"
        "Course I am," she answered sullenly, but tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, and Ash suddenly understood that she wasn't mad at him, she was just thoroughly upset. "What else can I do? I can't keep them, and I have no one to send them to. Believe me, I've agonized over it, and there's nothing else to do!"
        He patted her hand, and when she didn't wrench it away immediately, he, on an impulse, hugged her. "If you think it's best, Victory," he said gently, for once in his life having the common sense to deal with a situation the right way, "then that's the way to go." Pikachu, perched on Ash's shoulder, patted her head comfortingly and "Pika"ed in agreement.
        The girl let her friend hold her, though she still shuddered with grief. "I'll see you later, Ash," she said quietly. She detached herself from the boy's embrace and walked away.
        Ash stared after her. "She is nuts," he finally managed to say.
        Pikachu frowned and flicked its friend's ear. "Chu!" it scolded.
        He grimaced in pain and sat back down. "Yeah, yeah, I know, Pikachu. But how can she just give up her Pokémon like that?" He idly tapped a cold onion ring back and forth on his plate.
        "Chu. Pika, pikachu."
        "Yeah, I guess you're right. Still, though... oh, I dunno. I guess it only strikes me as crazy because I could never do it."
        "Pika?"
        "I mean, I could never get rid of you guys. Not even Charizard." He smiled. "I just couldn't. Not possible."
        Pikachu scratched its head. "Pi... pikachu, pikapi?"
        Ash blinked. "What d'you mean, 'doesn't that solve your problem?' What prob-?" His eyes fell on the five Pokéballs arranged around his plate. "Oh..."
        Pikachu sighed, and wished that it had the vocal capability to say the word 'Duh.'
        "You're right, Pikachu! Geez, I've been such an idiot! Sitting here and moping around... of course I won't give them up!" Ash laughed, the heavy depression that had been weighing down his shoulders for the last hour dissipating in a instant. He attached the five Pokéballs to his swim trunks, feeling very cheerful. Then something else occurred to him.
        'I know I'm not supposed to,' he thought quickly to his amulet, 'but please... isn't there anything you can do?'
        There was a very long, very uneasy silence. Then, "You said when you accepted this that you would give up being a Pokémon Master..."
        Ash sighed. "I know, I know!" he said out loud in his excitement. "But keeping five Pokémon--"
         "Six Pokémon," it corrected, and Pikachu wiggled its ears and said, "Cha!"
        "Yeah, six, but that doesn't make me a Master! Please! Can't you do anything at all? I can't let them go!"
         "Ash, there aren't any rules that say you can't keep them--"
        "YES!"
         "-- but hear me out. You're going to be spending almost all of your time in these next few years training. After that, your life will solely be dedicated to protecting the Squirtle species from any and every threat imaginable." The amulet gave a mental shrug. "One Pokémon alone takes a lifetime of care, both physically and emotionally. Six Pokémon... do you want to keep them and have them become miserable and sick, or would you rather them live a long, happy, healthy life in the care of someone else?"
        Ash frowned and mumbled something.
         "Sorry, didn't quite catch that, Ash."
        "I said, I want them to be happy." Ash stuck out a mental tongue sulkily.
        The amulet shone with a tiny, smug little glow. "So now you have to decide what to do with them. Isn't there anybody you could give them to? Any brothers or sisters?"
        "No." He sighed. "And Mom doesn't have the time or the money." His hand went to his hip, where the balls rested lightly. "Maybe I will have to let them go free," he said sadly. That was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. He wasn't too crazy about giving them away, either, but.... well, he was sure that his amulet would have been against it from the beginning, but he had still been counting on the possibility that, if he did give them to somebody, he could visit them from time to time. But if there was no one to give them to...
        "Pika pichu," Pikachu offered helpfully.
        His eyes popped wide open. "Professor Oak? Pikachu, that's perfect! I could send them to him right now, through my Pokédex! And when I write my letter to Mom, I can write one to him, too!" He squeezed the little Pokémon in a rib-crushing hug. And, he added silently as his Pikachu struggled to break free, I can visit them someday. But it was better to leave that unsaid at the moment.
        His amulet flickered with a sigh. It wondered when it ought to tell Ash what Jessie's amulet had been so quick to gloat about.

        "All right, jerk, read my mind now." The girl had sprinted for a straight hour when suddenly her right leg had simply given out. She had collapsed on the forest floor, and now, half an hour later, still couldn't get up. Her eyes, flat with anger and bright with the pain in her leg, stared up at the canopy of overhanging trees, through which peeked the night sky.
         "You're thinking how odd it is that it's still nighttime, seeing as how it was evening when you got here." Her amulet's voice vibrated with barely-concealed fury and impatience. It had screamed at her on and off ever since she fell, telling her to get up and keep going.
        She frowned. "That's not what I meant," she wheezed. "I got distracted. Try again." She concentrated.
        There was a pause. "That's not very nice at all."
        She'd pictured herself grinding the little ivory stone into dust with the heel of her old Rocket boot. "Oh, did you look at my innermost fantasy?" She covered her mouth with her hand mockingly. "Naughty, naughty Persian amulet."
         "Naughty is a good word for me." There was a second of silence in which the pain she'd been enduring for the past half hour continued to gnaw at her leg. Then with a burst of white hot light from the amulet, a newer, hotter pain exploded in her body. She tried to scream, but couldn't.
        She awoke later, much later, mind numb and body twitching. Her amulet glowed a contented, warm little light and purred.

        James read the contents of the letter meticulously, mulling painstakingly over every single word until he was satisfied. Finally he smiled, tapped the paper with his pen, and tucked the letter carefully into the envelope he had addressed earlier. Licking the envelope glue zealously, he sealed it and jumped to his feet, sauntering over to his friend's booth.
        Rokou was asleep, snoring lightly and every so often murmuring something that sounded like, "no, you bite me, retard…" James sighed and wished he had a bowl of warm water on hand. Or at least some shaving cream. Oh, well.
        "Rokou, wake up." He shoved the boy.
        Rokou gave a little snort and continued snoring.
         "Yo, Rokou!" James shoved harder. "ROKOU!"
        "Wha?! Huh?!" Rokou wiped his eyes wearily. "Huh."
        "I'm done." He handed him the envelope. "Be a good little postman and mail it for me." He grinned.
        Rokou took the letter. "Mary Jane's School of Etiquette?" he read on the address. "Why are you writing to an etiquette school?" He laughed and put his feet up on the table.
        James blushed. "It's, uh, actually not any kind of school at all. It's just one of many of the pseudo-addresses of the HQ." He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.
        "HQ?" his friend echoed curiously.
        "Um, the Headquarters." He sighed. "Team Rocket Headquarters."
        "Oh." Rokou blushed, himself. "'Aaaay, man, it ain't my business. I'm not asking any questions." He held his hands up defensively. "Postman's oath. It's against the law to read the public's mail, anyway." Without another word, he tossed the letter at a pile near his feet.
        James smiled appreciatively. "Thanks. But it wasn't that personal." Thinking of the message, he tried to conceal a very self-satisfied smile. For some reason, he just couldn't pull it off.
        He'd addressed it to the offices of Giovanni himself, as a matter of fact, an action that only the most important acquaintances of the Rocket leader dared to do. The letter had been quite brief, and to the point:
         Dear Sir,
        Prepare for trouble, and make it double.
        Roses are red,
        Violets are blue,
        Pikachu sucks,
        And so do you.
        We quit.
                With love.
        Thinking about it, James laughed, long and loud. It was the first time he ever laughed as a free man.
        It was a wonderful feeling.
         'Wish Jess and Meowth were here to feel this,' he thought wistfully.

        "Meowth? Did you just... feel something?"
        The cat felt the little girl who was holding him shiver.
        "Uh, can't say I did, Cassandra," he said slowly. "Why?" A horrible thought entered his over-protective mind. "Are ya hurt?"
        "Nooo," she answered hesitantly. "It just feels... weird."
        Meowth jumped out of her arms, pivoted gracefully in the air, and landed neatly on his feet, facing the girl. "Ya sure?" he pressed, concerned, watching her face.
        "Yeah," the little blonde girl said. "I dunno, it was just like..." She shrugged, a faintly haunted look still in her eyes.
        Meowth uttered an unconvinced "Meow" under his breath, and was about to suggest they continue on their way to the food court -- he was pretty hungry -- when something odd, almost out of range of his peripheral vision, nevertheless caught his eye. He whirled to find a tall black boy stop dead in his tracks and shiver violently. And a little beyond the boy was a teenage girl, who was clutching her arms, a decidedly frightened air about her. And there, to the far left, behind that booth, a woman was standing with... well, with the exact same look in her eyes that Cassandra had.
        In fact, Meowth couldn't see a single person who wasn't acting strange.
        He turned back to his friend, confused. "Dat's real weird, Cassandra, 'cause -- MEOWTH!" He jumped back, startled, but his friend didn't notice.
        She didn't notice because she was looking up into the night sky, her eyes trained on something lost in the stars. Meowth had cried out in surprise because her lips were moving, quickly, steadily, and without a break, but she herself wasn't making any sound at all. All around him, too, were people doing the same thing: it looked like they were all spewing some silent incantation. It was very very creepy. Meowth's eyes narrowed.
        "C-Cassandra?" he ventured warily, his big feline eyes watching her little girl face cautiously. The moon was shining white light down on her face, and the result was very ghostly.
        There was a second of silence, in which he got really scared. Then her eyes swiveled down to meet his. "Hunh?" She blinked. "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry, Meowth." She smiled, albeit feebly. "I'm okay. Really."
        He stared at her skeptically. "Well, if you say so, Cassandra," he grumbled, unconvinced. "Anyway, let's get going' ta dat food court bef-"
        "We can't."
        He blinked. "Huh?"
        She looked down. "That's what this just was, Meowth. It's… time for us to leave the convention." Her little-girl eyes were big and scared, and she wrung her hands anxiously.
        Meowth blinked, taken aback. "I guess the adventure's about ta begin, then, huh?" he finally managed to say, his voice husky with wonder and apprehension.
        She nodded silently, biting her lower lip. "Yeah. I -- huh?" She glanced down at the ground incredulously, and Meowth followed her line of vision and gasped. Her foot was dancing impatiently at the end of her leg, tapping the ground and shuffling around on its own accord. The two of them watched, jaws hanging wide open, as it moved edgily to the right.
        "We need to go now," Cassandra said, as her left leg took a step after her right.
        Meowth, too confused to argue, jumped onto his friend's shoulders and let the girl's amulet lead them to the Normal section.

        "You sure you don't want me to do it?"
        Brock blushed mightily. "No, no, I got it, it's cool, thanks."
        "But you're missing spots."
        "I am not."
        "Yeah, you are. Right there. Watch." Iyami prodded his scalded chest.
        "OW!"
        "See, you did miss it." Grabbing the balm from him, she dipped her finger in it and wiped it thoroughly on his chest.
        He colored. "Er, uh…"
        Iyami sighed. "Honestly," she muttered under her breath.
        It was then that the shudder ran through the convention, and the two of them stiffened in unison as voices burst into each of their heads.
        They received their instructions and directions, and after their amulets were done with the explanation, the pulling began, and it suddenly became very necessary to Iyami and Brock to get to, respectfully, the Flying section and the Grass section. But they firmly stood their ground for just a second longer, looking into each other's eyes.
        Finally they caught each other up in a rough embrace, holding on as hard as they could.
        "See you in a few years, kiddo," Iyami whispered tearfully in his ear.
        "You, too," he whispered back.
        And then the two of them were apart and running towards their separate ends of the convention, wishing their tears would stop… or at least slow down a little.

        If only he could see her one more time before they left.
        He'd mailed the letters to his mother and the Professor, he'd sent his Pokéballs Pokédex-express to Prof. Oak, and he could tell that he was supposed to be returning to the water section of the convention at about this time. But he just wanted to get one last look at her. She'd had to be around here somewhere.
        Pikachu stood on tiptoes on his head, peering out over the crowd, straining for even the slightest glimpse of red hair. So far, the only redhead they'd encountered was kind of a jerk, who'd yelled at them to get out of his way before storming around them, muttering to himself the whole time.
        "Keep looking, Pikachu," the boy gasped, feeling quite uncomfortable from fighting the pull of the water section for so long. "We'll find her sooner or later."
        "Ash? Ash, is that you?"
        For a second, he thought it was her. Then a face popped up in front of him, a face that he knew, but not the one he was looking for.
        "I thought it was you! Come on, let's go." Victory grabbed a hold of his arm.
        He thought about resisting, he really did. But after ten minutes of miserable searching and no result, he sighed and gave his friend a weak smile. "Okay," he said. "Let's go."

        It was time for the two of them to go their separate ways.
        They could each feel a force, insistently pulling them in opposite directions. One of the boys was fighting the grip of the Psychic section of the convention. The other strained against the pull of the Flying section. It was happening all around them, too: everywhere they looked, people were reluctantly, tearfully slipping away from their friends to follow the calling of their future.
        But these two boys had some unfinished business to take care of, and so they gritted their teeth and held on.
        There was silence for a moment, as they stared at each other. Neither knew exactly what to say.
         "Hey, um, look," one of them finally ventured. "If, er, I mean, when they let us mail stuff, I'll send you a postcard, okay?" He tightened his hold on the Mailing booth in front of him as he did so.
        "Yeah, that'd be, um, kinda cool," the other said, digging his heels into the dirt and biting his lip. "You, uh, wanna get together and do something later? You know, we could hang out somewhere or something." Both of them knew that 'later' could very well mean 'in three years or more'. They both knew.
        "Sure, yeah, we'll definitely shoot for that. Later." Veins were standing out on his neck, and he was forced back a step. He held onto the booth harder.
        "Um, hey, Rokou…" The second one looked down quickly, because it wasn't very manly to cry, and James was about to border on unmanliness. He hadn't had a best friend in so long --
        In the forest, a girl, darting through the trees, flinched.
        -- and now, all of a sudden, he was about to be alone again, friendless again. Well, he wasn't going to let his best friend walk away without telling him something first. He had to say something, because his friend was looking at him expectantly, and he needed to tell him exactly how grateful he was to finally have a pal.
        "You're all right, Rokou," he managed to say, smiling.
        The brown-haired boy grinned in reply. "And you're not as fruity as you look, James."
        And, for a split second, the force of their opposite sections released their hold on the two, and they each took a step forward and then shook hands.
        "See ya later," they said in unison, and then, without another word, although unmanly tears glittered in both of their eyes, they turned in opposite directions and walked away.
        And though both had to fight the urge, their masculinity prevailed, and neither looked back.

        If only she could see him one more time before they left.
        She and her two friends had finally parted, all three of them bawling very loudly and promising very vehemently to write to each other every day. Now she could feel a very distinct pull, coming at her from a northeastern direction. It was so strong, it hurt to resist it. But she just wanted to get one last look at him. He'd had to be around here somewhere.
        It was so odd to think that her life was making the turn that it was about to make. As far as she figured, the second she gave in to that force that was pulling her persistently towards the fire section of the convention, she would be completely and uttering severing the remaining ties with what was before.
        Those few lingering ties were, in a word, friends.
        And not Faith and Claire, though Misty, with her three over-bearing and self-obsessed siblings, had never known what a true sister was until she'd met the two girls. The friends with whom she was finding it unimaginable to say good-bye to, were Brock and, most of all, Ash. She'd had her own little posse back in Cerulean City as a small girl, but none of the friendships she'd shared in that little gang had been true enough to last more than a few years. She'd left them all behind, never quite knowing what it was like to really, really care about somebody. And then she had met the rude little kid who'd wrecked her bike, and then the tall know-it-all flirt who'd paired up with the brat the second she looked away, and she'd immediately felt something.
        And now, looking back on the past year with a very nostalgic heart, she realized that she still felt that same feeling, but she also felt something more. About… about him. There was something deep inside of her that refused to surface, but still managed to give her butterflies in her stomach whenever she thought about him. It was little, really… wasn't it?
        They were just kids, of course, and she was positive that the little tiny inkling of a feeling was completely and utterly on her part, and not mutual in any way, but she'd still always thought that they'd spend the next few years together, as they had the past one. And as adults… well, who could say? She had always just thought.
        Of course, that wasn't going to happen now. And she had to see him one last time, because she wasn't going to see him for another year… at least. If it was really meant to be, whatever it was, then she had to say something to him. A real good-bye, or maybe a promise? Who knew? She just had to do something.
        Which is why now, even as some sort of supernatural magnet pulled at her with bone-achingly powerful strength, she continued to stand on tiptoes as people streamed past her, peering out over the crowd, straining for even the slightest glimpse of black hair and yellow fur.
        And then she found him.
        He was walking away from her, she could see his jet-black hair, and his new blue shirt, and Pikachu's bright fur standing out on his shoulder. Feeling a great relief welling up in her throat, she opened her mouth to yell out his name.
        Then her eyes were drawn to the bright blue hair next to him, to the girl who was walking away with him, who had her arm around his shoulders.
        Something broke, deep in her chest, and tears sprung to her eyes.
         "It's okay," her amulet said quickly. "He was just a stupid dork, anyway." It sounded so concerned, and seemed so eager to cheer her up, she knew that she wasn't alone.
        She smiled, tears leaking down her cheeks. "Yeah, he was," she reminisced fondly. But a year was a long time. Maybe it would turn out right.
        Wiping her tears away with the sleeve of her new jacket, she cut the one last remaining tie with Misty of Cerulean City, the Misty who was going to be the greatest Water Trainer, the Misty who had a little inkling of a possibility of a feeling for Ash Ketchum… it snapped, and she set off at a quick pace towards the fire.

Something to think about…
        A little inkling of a feeling sparked deep inside him and, almost as a reaction, he reached up and removed her arm from around his shoulders. She looked at him in surprise, her feelings hurt more than a little, but his mind was elsewhere, hovering over the smallest inkling of an idea that he was sure was completely and utterly on his part…