Chapter One: Paper Gangster
"Relax guys-Hey, easy on the suit, buddy! Look, I'm sure we can work something out..."
"This establishment is through working things out with you, Grimsley," a voice like sandpaper grunted. The next thing he knew, the Pokémon Master found himself thrown to the curb, the harlequin lights of Castelia's gambling district spinning around him as he tumbled against the concrete. A group of girls pursed their lips, holding back spiteful laugher. Composing himself, Grimsley rose and brushed the dirt from his dark, velour suit. He gave the young women a winning smile, and they began to laugh openly. The arm of his jacket had been ripped at the seam and hung around his bicep, making him look more like a shabby bum than an aristocrat. Grumbling, he turned his back and began to limp down the street, his pride and knee crippled.
By 3AM, the streets of Castelia City became silent. Within the last hour, all of the night owls, partygoers, and nocturnal riffraff crawled, sauntered, and staggered back to their homes. Grimsley was left to wander the street, broke and piloting the streets solo. Halfheartedly, he scanned the darkened storefronts for an ATM, but he knew better. His last penny had yielded to the house. On the bright side, if he were to be jumped by a group of delinquents, Grimsley wouldn't lose a dime.
As he approached a liquor store, a dry smile consumed his face. Although the brick was covered in a thick, gray grime and the windows had long ago been shattered and boarded up, the abandoned establishment evoked memories of better times, better people, and more money than he could handle. The remnants of his youth endured in the crusty mortar and broken brick. It was here, nearly ten years before, that his journey began. He shuffled towards the door of the building and sat on the stoop. Grimsley threw his head back, fighting to find stars in the haze of the big city, trying to figure out where it had all gone sour.
Squinting, a young artist began to unpack his tools, unable to see the proper colors of his paints in the dimly lit foyer. A regal woman with short, dark hair sat at the foot of a grand, red-carpeted stairway, making smalltalk and softly stroking the back of a Purrloin. Although the lavish surroundings impressed the young artist, he couldn't help but feel intimidated. He hadn't been hired to do a job by a person so well known as Madam Stygian. For the most part, he made his living on the street selling caricatures of people and Pokémon for a few dollars apiece. The artist wondered how this woman heard of him. She didn't seem like the type that visited the Saturday markets or street fairs.
"I'm sure my children will be here shortly," Madam Stygian replied. Her voice had a somewhat pompous tone to it, as if it had been pulled right from a stinging satire of the upper class. "Grimsley is always late, but I do wonder what's keeping June..." The woman's eyes disappeared into her wrinkles as she squinted her eyes in displeasure at the thought of her children. "She has always been a responsible young lady...Do forgive me. What was your name again?"
"You can just call me Burgh, ma'am," the artist answered, looking at her through a curtain of wavy brown hair as he set up his easel.
"Oh yes, now I remember," she exclaimed. "My daughter assures me you do excellent work. I believe she said that you painted a portrait of her best friend's Audino last month."
"That's right," he replied, grinning. Although he wasn't able to get the Pokémon to sit still, he managed to capture every detail of the Audino on canvas. While some trainers caught Pokémon in capsules, there was nothing more that Burgh loved than trapping them on paper, in ink or paint or pastel. If only Pokémon could pay him for his work...
The two continued to make small talk as Burgh set up his supplies. By the time he finished, a slim girl with flowing, sable hair had taken a seat next to her mother on the stairs. Although she was quiet, her blue eyes rattled with intensity. The expression of her face was a tense mix of boredom and agitation. She obviously didn't want to be there, and her attitude made Burgh take on a tad bit of performance anxiety. Nonetheless, he was ready to start as soon as Madam Stygian's son decided to show up.
Unfortunately, Burgh only had the company of the two regal women for the next handful of minutes. He watched their faces try to hide impatience. It was contagious. Burgh had arrived at the manor nearly forty-five minutes before. He was afraid he'd need to cancel his plans for a night out if he waited any longer.
As luck would have it, the Stygian boy stumbled in through the heavy front door. Like his mother and sister, Grimley wore a crown of straight, black hair, his shaped into a style reminiscent of a devil's horns, and he shared the same bored, irritated look of his sister. His own icy eyes pulsated with an irascibility that would make Burgh's hand shake as he sketched out the man's delicate features. It was fortunate that the young man wanted to get the portrait over with. He quickly mumbled a few bitter words to his mother and sat next to his sister. The Purrloin stretched and took her spot on her master's lap, yawning and allowing Grimsley to pet her. With the addition of Grimsley, Burgh was ready to begin his work.
The family sat quietly, the mother's arms around her children and the son's hand grasping his sister's. They were as still as the grave, making it easy for Burgh to sketch them despite the Stygian children's unruly attitude. Although they hated this experience, they hid their displeasure...at first. By the time Burgh began to add the first layer of paint, Grimsley had reached up to touch his hair several times, changing his expression each time he went still. His mother and sister hissed at him to stop fidgeting, and he responded by standing up.
"Stop it, Grimsley," Madam Stygian ordered. "You're interrupting the painter's concentration."
"Jeez, mom," he replied, stretching. "It's called a photograph. It's not like it's a new invention or something..."
"Of course you'd do this," his sister mumbled. "You can't sit still for your family for one second, can you?"
"I heard that, June," he barked, turning his back to the artist. Burgh had no choice but to stop. He had the sinking feeling that he'd be asked to leave soon. "At least I'm not out whoring myself around at the clubs on Gym Street."
"You're one to talk!" she yelped. "At least I'm not out pissing away grandpa's hard-earned money at the casino!"
"Quiet both of you!" their mother snapped. "You're acting like animals in front of our guest." Grimsley directed his gaze at Burgh, his lips pouty. A chill went down Burgh's spine as he caught the frigid glare of the young man.
"He's nobody. Screw him," Grimsley scoffed, straightening his jacket. "And screw this painting." He began to saunter towards the door, his hands in his pockets. "I'm going out. Don't wait up for me." The young nobleman left his alabaster-bricked home, prompting his sister to storm up the stairs and disappear into her bedroom. Madam Stygian put her face in her hand and sighed.
"I apologize for my children,"she began. "Sometimes I don't know where I went wrong...I promise to pay you for your time."
"Oh no, I know things didn't turn out, but I can't accept payment for only half a portrait." Burgh looked over the canvas. The framework of the family was complete. "I tell you what. If you can let me borrow a few photographs of you and your kids, I can take them back to my studio and use them and my memory as a reference. I have a few more jobs to do, but I can have it done in a week. How does that sound?"
"Oh that sounds wonderful, young man!" she exclaimed, standing and running off into another room. She retuned with an envelope. "Please take your time. I couldn't thank you more."
"It isn't a problem," he replied, taking the envelope and sliding it into his bag. Carefully, he rounded up his supplies and bid farewell to his client, assuring her that despite her son's outburst, by week's end she would have a masterpiece.
Grimsley pushed his sunglasses further up his nose and sighed. His hand, although good, was not spectacular. He rubbed his thumb across three fives, watching the other players from behind the shades. The man to his side, a portly fellow with piercing blue eyes, bit his lip, signaling a poor hand. The player across from him held his composure, but the small droplets of sweat beading at his hairline informed Grimsley that he would soon drop out. It was the gentleman opposite Grimsley that would be the real competition. His composure was that of a stone.
A series of folds, passes, and calls filled the next few minutes. As expected, the men adjacent to Grimsley left the game. The only player that remained was the boulder-faced man. His cold eyes gazed past his hand, and his large fingers reflexively squeezed at his cards. This was not a man accustomed to losing. Grimsley was able to stifle the feeling of dread this man radiated by looking at his own cards. He had a straight flush; the odds of losing this game were slim. Yet, he pouted in a display of faux disappointment. He wanted to make his victory all the more divine.
"Call," the man mumbled, his voice rumbling like a thundercloud. He dropped his cards on the table. "Four of a kind."
Grimsley's eyes widened, regarding the cards as one does a loaded gun. Slowly, bringing his petrified stare up to the man's face, he set his cards on the table. As his hand fell and his fingertips alighted from the cards, Grimsley's vacant stare was replaced by a sneer.
"Straight flush."
The game was over, and the enormous pool would go right into Grimsley's pocket, much to the dismay of his competitor. Quickly, he collected his winnings and stood for the door, eager to start spending this sudden influx of cash. However, before he could turn to leave, the man on the other end of the table extended his hand.
"Good game, young man," he said. "I look forward to facing you again sometime."
"Right," Grimsley muttered, limply taking the man's hand and giving it a quick shake. "I'm happy to take your money anytime, buddy." The man's brow furrowed at Grimsley's hastiness, and he glared after him as he stepped out of the room. As he opened the door, something fell from the sleeve of his jacket. The door slammed, and the stoic competitor bent down to pick up a thick slip of paper.
"Son of a bitch," the man grumbled, finding himself in possession of an ace of spades. Standing straight, he lifted his hand and motioned for someone to come in close. A man in a dark suit stepped out from the shadows and picked the card from his employer's hand.
"Find that kid," he ordered. "Get back twice what he took from me." Silently, the suited man pulled a Poké Ball from his side pocket. With a flash of light, a Herdier appeared and began to sniff the card. Catching the scent of must and chocolate, the Pokémon scratched at the door, ready to find its mark.
At that moment, Grimsley was long-gone, already across the street at a bar, charming a barista. Safe in a cocoon of wealth and confidence, he remained unaware of the force that pursued him.
"Yoohoo, Burgh! Over here!"
The young artist flipped his hair back and caught sight of a pale, thin hand fluttering in the air. Burgh jostled his way through the neon-lit crowd and found a seat at the bar next to a petite blonde girl. Smiling, she slid him a drink and adjusted the strap of her tank top.
"I'm liking the hair, Elesa," Burgh said. "I never thought you'd buzz it."
"Yeah, my agent suggested I get a cut that keeps the hair out of my face," she replied, running her hand down the back of her head. "I guess I took it to the extreme."
"It looks phenomenal," he repeated. Taking a quick glance around the room before leaning forward to sip his drink, he spoke lowly. "So...have you found any good man-candy tonight?"
Elesa began to laugh maniacally, her high-pitched cackle breaking through the sound of the crowd. "Oh Burgh, I swear you're worse than a teenage girl." She took a deep breath. "There isn't much to work with tonight. The only really good-looking one is chatting up the bartender, but damn..." Burgh followed the gaze of her wide-set, electric-blue eyes to the end of the bar. He only needed to see the back of the young man's head, his dark hair slicked back like some debonair, gothic nightmare, to recognize that this was the same person whom Burgh had tried to paint that afternoon. He scowled at Elesa and recounted the events at the Stygian manor.
"So, he looks like a badass and acts like a brat..." she muttered. "Just what I need...another paper gangster..."
"I'm sure Prince Charming will walk into this club and steal one of us away," Burgh sighed. "Hopefully he'll be move in ready. I can barely afford to make the rent..."
"Not having much luck with painting?" Elesa asked, then ordering another drink.
"Now that summer's over I don't have as many customers at my booth downtown, and I don't have enough of a reputation for commissions yet..."
"Bummer," she exhaled. "I wish we could room together, but my agent drains me dry. My parents are the only thing keeping me afloat at the moment..." Elesa became quiet. The subject troubled Burgh more than he let on. Catching the subtle weight of sullenness on her face, she smiled and geared their conversation towards a more agreeable subject. "Well then, let's find you a boyfriend tonight."
Burgh smiled. "Only if he's rich." Elesa giggled, but Burgh's grin was fleeting. Unfortunately, the only man in the room with a lot of money was Grimsley Stygian, and he was busy chatting up whatever woman had the nerve to stand next to him for more than a second. Not that he wanted Grimsley. Burgh just wanted a man with his qualities. After all, who wouldn't want a tall, dark and handsome man with a lot of change in his pockets? Relenting his stare, he steered himself back into a conversation with Elesa.
"Have you gotten into any good battles lately?" he asked. "Last time we met you said you caught another Emolga..."
"Eh, nothing really exciting," she answered. "One of the other models at my last photo-shoot challenged me, but it was a cakewalk. I think I'm ready to battle the Striaton Gym Leader. What about you? You challenged him didn't you?"
"Oh, I lost miserably, but I want to try again. I heard that he's training his nephews to take over, so I assume he's going to retire soon," Burgh answered. "I'd like to beat him before I need to come up with a new strategy for his successor."
"Hm, I might wait then. It might be easier to challenge someone with less experience..." As Elesa discussed their budding careers as Pokémon trainers, Burgh found his gaze drifting back to the end of the bar. The seat Grimsley had taken was abandoned. Idly, he searched the room for him. It took a moment, but Burgh spotted him emerging from the hall that lead to the bathroom, flattening his shirt as he walked. Elesa noticed the silence and followed his eyes. Both watched as the bartender followed behind him, readjusting her skirt and fixing her hair. Elesa stifled a laugh.
"They didn't."
"Oh they did," Burgh remarked. They followed Grimsley as he walked across the floor. The dark Casanova stopped upon crossing paths with a young man with two girls. Slyly, he whispered something into the man's ear, causing the boy to blush so deeply that Burgh and Elesa could see it from across the room.
"He can't be for real, can he?" Elesa laughed. Suddenly, her expression dropped into a cold stare, as if she were modeling for a hidden camera. "Shit, he saw me, and I think he just winked..." Burgh swung his head around and watched as Grimsley slithered towards them, obviously finding Elesa a more appealing dish than the sheepish boy at the other end of the room. Mortified, she covered her face with her hand.
"Pretend to be my boyfriend, please," she mumbled desperately, downing her drink for some nerve. Burgh rolled his eyes as Grimsley approached. The unwanted guest leaned over the bar between them, ignoring Burgh and doing his best to make eye-contact with the beautiful model.
"I swear I've seen that face before," he greeted, his voice as smooth as his ivory skin. "The most recent issue of Fashion Weekly, I believe it was an ad for eye-shadow, right in the middle where the staple goes..."
"I'm flattered, but if you really want to stare at my face then go buy the damn magazine," she scoffed.
"Your face isn't the only part of you that's lovely," he persisted. "It's a shame that the ad was just a headshot..."
"Hey, back off buddy," Burgh warned. "She's here with me."
Grimsley gaze Burgh a sideways glance. He seemed to recognize him, but didn't appear to care. "Yeah, sure, and I'm a fucking fairy princess."
"Seriously," Elesa jumped in. "Take your greasy hair and shoddy black nail-job and back off, emo kid."
Grimsley pouted. "Well, sweetheart, if you change your mind, here's my number." He produced a card from the inside of his jacket and dropped it on the table in front of Elesa. "Give me a call when you're tired of cruising the bar for guys with this hopeless flamer..." He gave her one last winning grin and spun on his heel, sauntering back towards the shy young man at the other end of the club.
Elesa promptly ripped up Grimsley's number and dropped the remnants of the paper in her empty glass. She was flustered, but Burgh knew she'd get over it soon. On the other hand, he wasn't so sure of himself. Grimsley was the type of man that frustrated Burgh the most, the type that used his wits and charms to slide deeper into hedonism rather than to contribute to the world at large. It was a waste, especially as attractive as he was. Through narrow, vexed eyes, he watched Grimsley give up on his conquest and leave the building, pushing away a stray Herdier that barked at his heels.
"One more drink?" Elesa tempted. "Maybe that prince will show up before we finish..."
A few days passed since the incident at the bar. Elesa had gone back to modeling in Nimbasa City while Burgh remained in Castelia, scraping together whatever money he could and searching for a real job. Those fast-paced, weary days seemed like a distant memory as Burgh ambled down the sidewalks in the wealthy side of town. The weather was clear, and a cool breeze kept the heat of the summer sun in check. His shoulder grew sore beneath the weight of his bag, the canvas stored within it heavy with paint. In whatever time he could spare, he worked on the Stygian family portrait. He worried that it would not meet the discerning standards of the family matriarch, but the soft sunlight shined of pure optimism.
Yet, when he reached the iron gates of the suburban palace, this optimism was replaced by a feeling of dread. Several trucks sat parked before the great, double-doored front entrance. June Stygian sat on the front steps, chatting away on her cell phone as she stroked the feathers of her Swanna. A look of absolute hopelessness settled on her face. Realizing that the security guard that once occupied a post in the front yard was absent and the gate was unlocked, Burgh let himself in, his stomach dropping lower as he walked father into the property.
"It's bad already, and my brother's being a complete asshole about it," June grumbled into the receiver. "Hold on, Gloria- What do you need?"
"Oh," Burgh stood with his mouth open like a dying fish, "is your mother here?"
"She's inside," June answered. "Though, I doubt she'll want to stand around and chat about artwork." Burgh's left eyebrow rose as he climbed the steps and let himself inside. The once lavishly decorated foyer was becoming more bare by the second as workers confiscated the family's belongings. At the top of the stairs, Madam Stygian stood with her head resting on her palm. To Burgh's dismay, Grimsley was beside her, softly arguing a desperate-sounding plea.
"C'mon, mom," he mewled. "You can't just leave me hang!"
"I wouldn't help you if I could," she replied through her teeth. "Your- your antics have tarnished the Stygian name, and that name is all we have left."
"Please mother, whatever you have," he begged, his smooth voice doing his best to thaw her frozen mien. "There must be something left..."
"There is nothing, Grimsley," she exhaled. Slowly, she lifted her arm and pointed to a set of bags against the wall. "Take your things and go. Your father and I don't want you and your troubles following us to Undella. You managed to get yourself into this situation, and you'll have to find your way out of it."
Grimsley bit his lip and shot his mother a spiteful glare. Roughly, he tore his bags away from the wall. Pausing at the top of the stairs, he growled a terse farewell to his mother. Madam Stygian remained unflinchingly cold towards her son. He trudged down the steps, his Purrloin struggling at his heels to catch up. Catching sight of Burgh's intruding eye, Grimsley stopped abruptly at the foot of the staircase. With little distance between them, Burgh was able to see the purple bruise that marred his face and swallowed his left eye.
"What the fuck are you staring at?" he mumbled bitterly. Burgh dropped his gaze to the floor as Grimsley took leave. The front door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the emptying hall, lingering in Burgh's chest for reasons he didn't understand.
As if a faucet had been switched off, the downpour that had forced Grimsley beneath the awning of an abandoned bakery subsided. Sighing, he crept back onto the street. Carefully stepping around puddles as to not ruin his good trousers, he felt a deep regret. In a quick and desperate attempt to earn cash, he had bet the contents of one of his suitcases and lost. All he had left was a single bag filled with clothes and a Purrloin that insisted on weaving in-between his legs as he walked. As to be expected, his Pokémon's actions caused him to trip and fall face-first into the wet, grimy asphalt.
"God damn it!" he cursed, lifting himself from the pavement. "Even you manage to screw me over!" Purrloin's ears dropped and she stepped backwards. Immediately, Grimsley's face softened and he extended his hand to his feline friend. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." He stood and took her into his arms. "It's just you and me now, sweetheart, and I'd rather have muddy knees than lose my only real friend." Purrloin nudged his face and the two continued down the street.
Never before had Grimsley ventured this deep into the darker side of the city. The path before him and the buildings beside him seethed with neglect and instability. It was a place often mocked and dismissed, but never totally understood. Grimsley remained ignorant of the danger that could be behind every corner. He was a giant target, traveling alone with no defenses, no confidence, and no hope left.
He wouldn't need to worry about random thugs and overconfident drunkards. No, his assailants would have names and faces familiar to the fallen aristocrat. They had already painted his face in greens, purples, and blacks, marking him for a future collection. Grimsley's time was running out; he knew he needed to find somewhere to hide until the whole incident blew over.
The two dark figures waiting for him at the corner were in no mood to wait. At their feet, a familiar Herdier growled. Grimsley stopped dead. They looked like shadows, the luminosity of a storefront shining at their backs. At the sight of him, they dropped off of their corner, gliding towards him like phantoms. Quickly, he began to empty his pockets, raking together every dime he had. He tossed it on the street before him, but that didn't stop the advance of the demons. The time for negotiation passed long ago. It was time for blood.
Purrloin screeched and pounced at the Herdier. Despite her bravery, she was just a simple house cat, and the canine tossed her aside. Grimsley felt a force grab him by the shirt and throw him to the curb. He experienced a sensation akin to having his guts scooped out. Kick after kick, it grew more agonizing and sharp. His yelps and moans fell only the deaf ears of his assailants.
Grimsley remained unaware that just above that liquor store, in a cramped apartment filled to the brim with unpayable bills and paint cans, an artist sat at his desk, clutching a pink invoice and calculating his assets. In that domicile, the artist had just stood to flip a record, trying to drown out his worries with the power of vinyl, when an especially severe howl rose from Grimsley's lips. He was too preoccupied to know that the artist had peered out of his window at the chaos below and was now calling the police.
At the moment, Grimsley only knew a numbing pain throughout his entire body. Weakly, he looked ahead at the limp body of his injured Pokémon. Suddenly, the beating stopped. The atmosphere was still as the men began to step backwards. The whine of a siren hung long in the air, and they began to run. A white object entered his field of vision and fluttered to the ground. Feebly, he picked it up between two fingertips. A familiar ace stared back into his frosty eyes.
A weak smile filled the space between his swollen cheeks. His personal talisman had returned to him. Tonight just might be his lucky night.
