"You're not planning on trouble, are you?"

The barkeeper was slender and well-dressed. He seemed amusingly out-of-place in his own bar. His beard was substantial, yet immaculately groomed. There was classiness and regality in how he held himself, as if he took pride in his work and appearance. Most wouldn't in a place like this, a dive bar serving criminals with a thirst for blood and booze alike. Victor, they called him. His business was an illegitimate underground (literally) bar that catered to patrons of the illicit activities here. Heavy traffic and sub par real-estate had contributed to a very battered appearance for the entirety of the bar. The dim lights hardly penetrated the haze, a mix of smoke, dust, and steam. Many of the furnishings appeared newer, being mismatched replacements for pieces that were destroyed in some scuffle or other. There had been plenty of those over the years. Victor rubbed the inside of a glass with a worn rag, arching an eyebrow at the stranger on the other side of his counter. The subject of his scrutiny was a sandy-haired man on a stool near the center of the counter. Victor had served the unfamiliar face three double-shots of Cinnabar Cinnamon and the guy hadn't said a word. Victor had been serving people a long time . . . he knew all about drunks. There were your happy drunks, your sad drunks, your angry drunks. . . but it was the quiet drunks that he had learned to watch most closely. Sandy hadn't given any sign of how drunk he was, but Victor knew better. Nobody held their liquor that well.

"Brother! Another. . . please," Sandy's voice caught slightly as he pushed the empty glass across the counter. The remaining ice clinked together softly, settling further down in the rocks glass. Victor considered the request carefully, scratching his beard for just a moment. He had become a bartender because he liked people. The faces that passed through his bar all had stories, histories, tales to tell. Sometimes he fancied himself an archivist of sorts.

"Pay for the others before, and tell me a story after."

Sandy glanced around the room. There was a big-ticket brawl in the largest hall, so they had little company. Aside from Victor and 'Sandy', there was only an older gentleman in an expensive suit that didn't seem to want to bother anyone. Satisfied, the stranger dug a wad of crumpled bills from the pocket of a threadbare, overlarge coat and handed them over to the bartender. The quiet, clean-shaven stranger took two sips of his reward before beginning.

"Aw, look! Little Wody finally got a pokemon!"

"Shut up, Flora,"

'Little Wody' was hauling himself up the winding path through the jagged rocks. A small black and grey canine bounced happily behind him, pausing occasionally to sniff at the underside of nearby rubble. The beach here was a jumble of boulders and gravel, serving to buffer the crash of waves rather than be a sandy playground for the townsfolk and tourists. Glitter Lighthouse towered above them, a colossus of hewn stone and peeling, faded blue accents. Flora and her teddiursa watched Wodan approach, seated on the stoop in front of the lighthouse's only door. Her raven hair was in a loose ponytail, a dark contrast to the white tank top she wore with her jeans. The boy wore a similar outfit, opting for a pair of khaki shorts in lieu of jeans. His pale blond hair was almost as long as Flora's. It his family's tradition not to cut one's hair until one was a true man or woman. It was a silly tradition, he had always thought, and in his more rebellious moods he had often considered just cutting it, but something had always stayed his hand. Today it was in a braid down his back and over the duffel bag he carried. The bag held everything he or his mother had thought essential to his survival on this trip, and a few sentimental artifacts he couldn't bear to part with. He wasn't at all surprised to note that Flora's satchel between her feet was half the size of his own bag.

"I still don't know why we needed to meet here, instead of at your house or something."

"Look," Flora commanded, pointing away from the lighthouse. She gestured back the way Wodan had come. Olivine City sat nestled in the hills. They could see a handful of the more expensive homes near the waterfront, and the broad roof of the café that was prosperous from catering to sailors, tourists, and townies alike. "Look at how small our home is, and how big the world is. I'm going to see what else is out there . . . and you're coming with me."

"Oh, that's a surprise," Flora's mildly dramatic statement of intent only evoked a sarcastic response from her young friend. "I thought I packed all my belongings just for a picnic."

Flora rolled her eyes and stood up, brushing dirt and pebbles from the seat of her pants as she did so. She crouched down and took a closer look at Wodan's poochyena, tapping her chin with a finger. Soon, a mischievous smile sat on her pale lips.

"Hey, since we'll be travelling adventurers, how about a practice battle?"

"Aw, that's not fair. You've had Kuma for a while now!"

"What's the matter? You afraid?"

Well, that sealed it. The two teens were friends of many years, and there was always a mild rivalry between them. Flora had often gotten the best of him, thanks to the two-year edge she had, but that never stopped Wodan from picking up the gauntlet.

"Grimfang, come here! Go show Kuma what a real fighter does!"

"Pfft, 'Grimfang'? Really?" Flora's smile widened, but as the poochyena gave a fierce little howl, she realized she had to respond. "Kuma, give him a good licking!"

The dark puppy bowled into the small ursine creature, landing atop him, tail wagging happily. Squirming, the teddiursa's broad tongue left a slick smear in the charcoal fur, but the dog ignored the attack as it barked playfully at his rival. Failing to throw off his attacker, the teddiursa attempted to wriggle free again. Failing, he made a pass at Grimfang's muzzle, his sharp little claws leaving a trio of shallow cuts on the black snout. With a short yelp of pain and surprise, Grimfang relented and hopped off of his opponent. Just like that, it was over. The two were still too young for an earnest battle between them.

"That's plenty, guys." Flora scratched the top of her pokemon's furry brown head as he got up. "You've got some fight there with him, Wodan. He'll be a ferocious guard some day."

"Thanks," the young man grinned, proud of his little victory. Unzipping his bag, he retrieved a bag of treats and offered one to his champion. The poochyena ignored Wodan's attempt to reward him with an ear scratch, deciding to chew on the meaty nugget that had been given to him. "We should get going, though."

"Yeah, I guess I want to get to Ecruteak tomorrow and Goldenrod the day after. The miltank ranchers should put us up tonight, but we may have to sleep at the National Park between Ecruteak and Goldenrod," Flora put a hand to her chin and cracked her neck, not oblivious to the likelihood that Wodan wouldn't remember any of the itinerary.

Then they were off, walking down the main avenue of their hometown towards the city limits. They passed all of Olivine's great landmarks: the newly renovated marina, the struggling pokemart, the swanky new restaurant that had opened on the boardwalk. They paused for a moment in front of the gym. It was an old building, but Jasmine had always done a good job of keeping it standing against the ravages of the briny wind. They had never been inside, children such as them with only one pokemon would be out of place, and their parents had often warned them against being trouble for the Leader. After a minute, they carried on, discussing their plans for the months, perhaps years ahead. The houses grew more scattered as they walked, until the homes disappeared along with the picket fences that marked the town's perimeter. Their journey had begun.