She was thankful that, having reached the weekend, there were no seminars to run to. After last night, she didn't want to move again in her life. If she'd failed to let her flatmates know exactly what had been happening, she'd eat her Magnemite.
Stretching out her legs, she felt the absence of the man who had fallen asleep beside her. Despite the knowledge that he would be flying to Kalos by dawn, she hoped in vain that she may still wake to find his arms still wrapped around her; a sleepy morning erection pressed against her body.
She had first met Gus while slaving in the lab last summer. With his long black hair and easy charm, he stood out a mile out from the more reclusive postgraduates, who only seemed interested in their books and lab equipment. The summer passed like a dream, although it was several months before they shared their first kiss (in a flowerbed during the last half-hour of a student house party).
What had existed between them since was vaguely defined, as he had always avoided discussing about the state of their relationship. Despite his guarded nature, being with him was always a delight; he had always been a ray of sunshine on her back.
It was difficult to believe that he was gone from her life as quickly as that; leaving her with nothing but bite marks on her breasts and the memory of that smile no girl could resist.
Augustine Sycamore tossed his broken and useless umbrella into a nearby bin. Before him stood the only bar on the North Boulevard to have not yet politely kicked out the ragtaggled pressure group which called itself Save Our Future.
He cupped his hands around his cheeks and stared inside. Inside, the bar seemed to be almost empty. A handful of students clad in evening wear were playing billiards, their glasses balanced on the sides of the table, and a huddle of about a dozen Lumiosians sat at the back of the room, listening to an elderly man, who wrung his hands as he spoke. Sycamore could just about make out his words through the glass.
"We've had more news from our branch in Santalune City. Planning permission for the incinerator on the edge of the forest has been granted. Construction work could be beginning as early as next week…"
"Boo!" shouted a woman wearing a lumpy brown poncho.
"Rubbish!" agreed her husband.
"… but I say we'll be damned if we let the forest be ravaged without a fight! I say, let's join our comrades in Santalune and show the council what Save Our Future is all about! Oho! Imagine the looks on their faces when they arrive with their diggers and cranes and find us sitting strong, high in the branches, our-"
The old man broke off as Sycamore entered the bar, bringing a blast of rain in with him. As he went to join the activists at the back of the room, he was aware of a girl in chiffon gown gazing at the back of his head.
"… we'll be sitting high in the branches, our resolution unaffected by the freezing rain, by the sneers of the masses…"
A man with a mane of scarlet hair pulled up a chair for Sycamore. As Sycamore took it, he leaned forwards and whispered:
"Are you in the right place? I've never seen you here before."
"Well, I've just returned to Kalos after three years away. This is the Save Our Future meeting, isn't it? Else I'll look so foolish!" He smiled widely, clasping his hands together.
"It is. Where were you living before?"
"Sandgem Town."
"Oh," the other young man said. His eyes rolled briefly back to the speaker. "What were you doing there?"
"My PhD." Sycamore turned his head back to the elderly man. Interest was wavering, and in response, the man pushed his voice up by an octave and a few decibels.
"What's your name?"
"Augustine. Augustine Sycamore."
"My name is Lysandre." He offered his new acquaintance a gloved hand, which he shook warmly. The speaker had finished addressing his comrades now, and was settling back down into his seat to a weak round of applause.
"Will you be going to Santalune forest, then?" Sycamore asked, nodding his head at the rest of the group. Lysandre snorted into his amber-coloured drink. "No? Oh dear. Why not?"
"This lot will protect the trees for an extra week and succeed in making enemies of the contractors in Santalune. We might be on the local radio station and some people will join the Santalune branch. But I'm not going to make a difference by sitting in a Fletchling nest pissing in a bottle." Lysandre looked thoughtful for a moment. "Tell me what you study, Dr Sycamore."
"Pokémon Evolution. I wrote my thesis on the theory of stimulated temporary evolution, specifically in Blaziken. Few in the scientific community have time for what has been nicknamed megaevolutionary theory, so I was lucky to obtain enough funding to complete the research under Professor Rowan in Sinnoh. No reliable studies have recorded the transformation, but I'm very confident that we'll be able to sustain temporary evolution for short observable periods under lab conditions within 10 years!"
"Megaevolution." Lysandre said, shifting his chair closer. "I heard that it could raise already fully evolved Pokémon to a strength that is almost unimaginable."
"Yes. Although predictions suggest that the change cannot be sustained for longer than the duration of a typical Pokémon battle. Mastering megaevolution could render a trainer practically unbeatable. This is all this theoretical. I wouldn't expect to see megaevolved Pokémon competing in the Pokémon League. Not any time soon."
"Would they be allowed to compete?"
"I don't know!" Sycamore threw up his hands and laughed gently. "This is all speculation in the scientific community."
"I would like you to tell me more," Lysandre said. "Do you want to get a drink?"
Gradually, the rest of the activists trailed away to the warmth of their flats, leaving behind a cluster of empty glasses. The bar reached closing time in the early hours of the morning, with just Lysandre and his new companion left, precisely where they had been sitting when they first exchanged names.
"There is so much left to learn about Pokémon and the power they contain," Lysandre was saying. "Even the most fragile Pokémon can wield enormous strength when provoked."
"It's humbling."
"It's inspiring," Lysandre said. "Imagine being able to harness the power of Pokémon. We could source electricity from them and reduce our dependence on other fuels. We could store energy and survive through difficult conditions." He stood and shuffled towards the door with Sycamore as the manager shooed them out, wielding his mop. "Our future would be free from so many of the difficulties we'll inevitably have to face."
The rain had stopped, and the air was fresh and cool on their faces. Lysandre was still flaring with contagious idealism.
"You wouldn't make a shabby addition to the scientific community," Sycamore commented.
"It's too late for me. Leaving education early is one of my greatest regrets."
"I understand. I used to want to be a Pokémon master and compete in the League. But I didn't catch my first Pokémon until I was 16. It was too late to begin the road to becoming a Champion." They fell into silence as they walked down the pavement, side by side. A lit cigarette appeared between Sycamore's thin fingers and seconds later, he exhaled a wisp of smoke into the air. Lysandre frowned, his brows knitting together.
"Smoking will ruin you."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I have to go. My flat's this way," Sycamore gestured down a narrow avenue with his empty hand, and the other man nodded.
"Then we shall part ways for tonight. My mid-weekly meeting has been postponed, so I will visit the Pokémon Lab this week and pick up that journal."
"Of course. I'll make there's a copy in the technician's store, just in case I'm out. Goodbye."
"Goodnight, Dr Sycamore."