Loneliness gives the dark a physical presence. It crawls under the skin like a thousand miniature venipede legs, causing the heart to flutter and the brain to go faint. N paused to pull his coat tighter about himself, gaining a false sense of security from its touch. He wanted Zahir to be with him, but for all he knew something could be lurking past the range of his lamp. They were a paranoid culture. The presence of his zoroark could be all the incentive needed for an attack.
For the umpteenth time the light flickered and he glanced around to reassure himself that it was a shadow and not a living thing that had lurked into his space.
N loved pokemon, he really did. It was just horrifying to be stalked by one in the forest. Alone. At night. The light flickered again like a whip and vanished. He blinked and couldn't even tell that his eyes had closed. N shuddered.
"Keep your pokemon in their balls."
A telepathic voice touched his mind.
N did not realize his hand was hovering over Zahir at his waist. He pulled it away.
"Good boy."
The darkness was pushed away by the florescent glow of the pokemon's rings. An umbreon. N relaxed. He'd imagined something much bigger.
The umbreon sat before him, poised like a cat. Her eyes refracted light like mirrors as she looked him up and down. She leaned forward, sniffed in his direction, and finally said, "My name is Mila. Because of my experience with humans I've been assigned to be your partner in overlooking Recovery Center Three."
Her eyes glittered up at him. "There are no humans in this war. Why are you getting involved?"
N appreciated her bluntness.
"I have a moral obligation." There was something more, but N felt it better not to say.
"Morals." Mila deadpanned. "Morals will not protect you from death."
"I'm aware, thank you."
The umbreon did something along the lines of a shrug and circled his legs slowly, brushed her flank against his calf briefly and went to make a fighting stance at a distance. An edge of excitement sharpened her mental voice.
"Enemy patrols will not begin until dawn. We have until then to see how well your pokemon can fight."
UNOVAN POKEMON LEAGUE, 3:28 PM
"Areal Ace!"
Tsarmina the liepard propelled herself into the air, a sinewy beast of muscle and loose skin. Her polished ebony claws caught the unsuspecting braviary in the gut as he was in the midst of a wing attack. His wings beat furiously to regain balance and this drew both himself and the big cat high above the posh arena.
"Shadow Claw!"
It hardly needed to be said. Grimsley's faithful cat had already shoved her hooked claws into the bird and was tugging upwards. Her foreleg quivered with effort as the bird began to shriek.
"Oh Arceus!" The challenger cried. "Stop! I forfeit!"
Tsarmina kicked off the braviary with her hind legs and dived the stomach churning distance to the ground. She landed perfectly on all fours and returned to her master's side to self-servingly push her forehead under Grimsley's palm. Downy feathers sprinkled over the stage like snow.
Grimsley scratched her behind the ears and fixed his icy eyes on the defeated opponent. "If somebody wins a battle, then, without doubt, someone else has lost the battle. That's the way of battle. A real warrior doesn't dash off in pursuit of the next victory, nor throw a fit when experiencing a loss. A real warrior ponders the next battle."
The trainer glanced morosely at him over his injured braviary. "You say that to everyone."
"Ah. Well, here's a twist." Grimsley tossed the boy a full restore. "Perhaps next time luck will smile on you."
Grimsley waited until he was gone to kneel and give Tsarmina an adoring kiss on the cheek. "You were stunning. As always."
Tsarmina rumbled with a throaty purr.
It was cruel, but Grimsley felt a higher gratification than usual in this easy battle. It was really the olive in the martini since it was his last appointment for the afternoon. He unclasped a silver canteen from his belt and took a swig. Within moments his X-tranciever rang.
"Alder?"
"That better not be what I think it is." The Champion said gruffly.
Grimsley looked away from the watch to address the hanging security camera alongside the stage set where Alder watched him. He held the gleaming flask up to it with a grin. "Its tea."
Alder made a discontented noise. "I'm still coming down to check."
Grimsley hung up on him and went to his desk behind the couch. The day's battles may have been over but he still had to catalogue them. It wasn't a trying task- busy work, really. Tsarmina crept into the space meant for his feet.
He put on his headphones and set the flask at the edge of the desk. Grimsley did not plan to acknowledge Alder when he arrived. Although, they both knew that Alder's suspicion was not unwarranted. Less than a year had passed since Grimsley showed up to work with an impressively anesthetizing hangover. The warning he received from the league's network was foreboding and Alder kept a close eye on him ever since.
The champion arrived without Grimsley's noticing. He remained ignorant as his flask was scooped up from the desk, and reacted with shock when his elderly colleague ripped the headphones from his ears.
"Excuse me!" Grimsley sassed.
Alder dropped the headphones on the ground, where Tsarmina glowered up at him with flattened ears. Her penetrating feline growl echoed in rapport with her trainer, whom hackled up at the sight of the furious champion.
"You are acting like a child."
"It's tea!"
"Why didn't you bring it in a bottle?"
"Because I own a FUCKING FLASK."
Alder's eyebrows scrunched together in disbelief. "Don't you have any fear of what will happen if you lose your job? You can't make a living battling on the streets! Or did you plan to continue that promising career of yours at the Rocket Casino?"
The dark trainer blushed with embarrassment and leapt to his feet. "You just want to harass me!
"You know that's not true."
"Then what do you want?" Grimsley pointed furiously at the flask. "You've seen what you came for, now get lost!"
Alder laid a hand on his coworkers shoulder, it was meant to have a calming effect but Grimsley shrugged him off.
"Okay." The Champion said, rubbing his temples with the rejected hand. "Grimsley, I can't say this without offending you. You're an alcoholic, you're skinnier than a bellsprout, and you gamble non-stop."
Grimsley began to spit out a sharp retort.
"No, hear me out. I know for a fact that this job is the only thing keeping you afloat. And believe it or not, I actually care about what happens to you and it disturbs me to think that you, with your prestige, do not. What do I want from you? I want you to pull yourself together."
Grimsley fixed him with a loathing stare. "How selfless you must feel right now." He said. "I bet you'll be congratulating yourself after this "tough love" drama. Well, when you're replaying the scenario in your head later, don't forget this part: stay the fuck out of business that doesn't concern you."
Grimsley returned to the silent treatment and knelt to retrieve the headphones at his feet. It did not take Alder long to decide he should leave.
Tsarmina trilled worriedly at her trainer's face. Grimsley wrapped his arms around her neck. She smelled dusty and sweet, just as she did when she was a kitten. His nerves were calmed, his expression grew vacant. After giving the her a peck on the cheek, he returned to work as if nothing had happened.
Later that night, after an afternoon by himself, Grimsley stood up on his bed with a thumb black with wet paint. He was no painter, and had no desire to be. However, above his bed Grimsley kept a 30x40 canvas on which, on days he felt something had happened to affect his state; he would leave a smudge of either black or white paint with his thumb. This night he added another black spot.
When he stood back and smiled, it was not an expression of pride at his skill, or the reflection of some private and entertaining thought. That is not at all what Grimsley's smiles ever meant. When an artist creates he cannot help but leave a part of himself in the work. It was with morbid curiosity that he observed the darkness that so clearly dominated over the white on the canvas.
He washed his hands and returned to creep under the sheets. The tempest of meaningless and obsessive thoughts which dominated his mind relentlessly were subdued by humming alcohol. It was early for him to sleep, but he felt a chill.
Darkness was certainly his medium. Grimsley nestled into its gentle embrace. He did not realize it until the present moment, but darkness has an inept ability to captivate the insecure. His mind wandered to his childhood friends, pale teens with black hair and marked wrists. They also liked the dark. His confused misery had emanated from him like the gleam of the jewelry that mutilated his ears, his nose, his mouth.
However, secretly, he admitted to himself that he gained pleasure from the judgmental glances; because despite the hurt they tore into his heart, he knew in an aloof sense that he was growing a thick skin from the battery, becoming superior and better prepared for a future in which he could fearlessly bare his soul to the hungry, prying eyes of the world.
In his present age, that theory seemed to have taken a near 180 turn. And in spite of his efforts, he did not realize until now that what he truly wanted, his actual and unrealized ambition, would never be a reality. His family could never forgive him for how he screwed them over.
So what now?
He curled even tighter, the empty piercings, which he now concealed under thick layers of foundation, tingled as if losing circulation. The dark, Grimsley, supposed, was appealing because it could hide that scarred and vulnerable part of himself. The malicious eyes that he feared and loved are blind in the dark.
But now that he was safe, another pain emerged- a vacant space in his chest that ached for the closeness of another human being. How ironic, he thought, that the very thing that he needed came from the very thing he despised.
Grimsley's mind began to meander back and forth between sleep and consciousness. He was ready to doze off, but something kept pulling him back. Slowly the thing grew stronger and, like a dragon dancing haxorus, it hit him suddenly and with devastating force.