— — — Title:Under the Rose
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,312
Genre: Humor, Romance
Warnings:Crossdressing, slash
Summary:Erika+everyone, sort of. There was no business more interesting than the one of the heart.
Disclaimer: Pokémon isn't mine.
Author's Notes: For this prompt: "Erika keeps an underground love potion store and the other female (or male disguised as female) gym leaders visit her to buy stuff." (To find tons of amazing Pokemon fic prompts, some safe for work and some not, check out pokanon at LiveJournal.)
"Welcome to Sub Rosa," Erika said with a smile, hardly batting an eyelash when Whitney entered the tiny shop. While almost every client dissembled at first—sunglasses were a popular choice—they usually stopped by the second or third visit. Whitney was the only one who insisted on wearing a disguise every time, which (ironically enough) served to make her even more memorable.
Honestly, she had been surprised when the gym leader had first called upon her talents; one just didn't expect someone whose Pokémon all knew Attract to need help catching a man's eye. And she was right: that wasn't Whitney's problem.
"So how did it go?" she asked, pouring some tea as her customer plopped down across the table. In response, a wobbly hiccup came from underneath the sombrero and handlebar mustache.
"He—he dumped me after two weeks!" she sobbed. Erika leaned over and patted the girl on the shoulder.
"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry. But there has been improvement? You managed to get to the two week mark this time, yes?"
"Y-yes..."
"Then we're on the right track. I just have to fine-tune the proportions, that's all." She pushed the teacup across the table. Her customer eyed it suspiciously in-between sniffles, and the plant leader sighed. "It's just chamomile. I grew it myself."
As the girl took a tiny sip, Erika tapped her fingers, thinking. Whitney was an interesting problem; she had plenty of initial attraction, but no staying power. In her opinion, the young woman just needed some more emotional maturity, but—to be blunt—she was a perfect cash cow, so Erika kept her mouth shut. Besides, she enjoyed a good challenge.
"More magnaplant bark?" she murmured as Whitney tried to drink without ruining the mustache. "Or less persim root?" Her fingers stilled, and she looked up. "How was the taste? Better this time?" The normal leader nodded energetically, and her hat flew off.
"Oh no!" Her client lunged forward and snatched the disguise off the table. Before she could put it back on, Erika gently clasped her hand in both of her own, their fingers intertwining.
"It's all right, Whitney." The girl's eyes widened at the sound of her name. "All Sub Rosa transactions are strictly confidential. No one will ever know you've visited me." The shop owner patted her hand, and a blush spread across the girl's cheeks.
Soon after that, she walked Whitney to the door. "I'll have a new potion ready in a week," she said. "Shall I deliver it, or will you pick it up?"
"No, I'll—I'll come back." She fidgeted for a moment. "...Thank you," Whitney burst out, throwing herself on Erika in an exuberant hug. The shopkeeper staggered back a step, but soon regained her balance.
"No, no," she said, wrapping her arms around the girl with a gentle smile. "Thank you."
—
"Good evening, this is Sub Rosa."
"Hello?" Erika recognized Dawn's voice over the phone. It was a little crackly, and for a moment she wondered where she was calling from.
"Oh, hello. How are you?"
"I just wanted to tell you that it worked," she said, sounding out of breath. Erika raised one eyebrow, and suddenly stopped wondering. "On the first try, too," Dawn continued. "I didn't expect—then she invited me to dinner, and—"
"Ah, well, I'll tell you a secret. You didn't need much help, my dear."
"What?"
"Haven't you seen the way Cynthia looks at you?" she said patiently.
"No..."
"Well, you're still young." Erika suppressed a sigh; sometimes it was difficult, being surrounded by all these people in love. "Have a good night," she said with a soft chuckle, and hung up.
—
Her newest client was very cute, even in comparison to the rest of her unusually attractive customers: thick-rimmed glasses and rumpled red pigtails, a simple gray dress with black mary janes.
"Welcome," Erika said, rising to meet her. "How may I help you?"
The young woman cleared her voice nervously, and when she spoke, it was in a warbly falsetto. "Well, I heard this place—"
"Roark?" she blurted before she could stop herself, and the client clapped a hand to his mouth with a gasp. Erika immediately cringed: she would never have done that normally, but—well, she never expected the disguises to go this far.
Even his ears had turned red. When she stood to approach him, he took a step back. "...I probably look like an idiot," Roark mumbled, trying to smile and failing. "Um. I'm going to go now."
Erika reached out and grasped his elbow, stopping him before he could flee. "Please, stay. That was unspeakably rude of me, and I apologize."
He looked up at her through his long lashes. Really, he made a very pretty girl. "You...you won't tell anyone?"
"Not a soul, ever. Our business is completely confidential. Please, sit." She led him over to the table, and took her customary place across the table once he was settled. "So, Roark—" he flinched— "Oh, I'm sorry.
"...Would you like some tea?"
—
"It's my sister's dress," he explained after his cup was drained. "I..."
"Many clients wear disguises at first," she rushed to reassure him. "You needn't feel self-conscious about it."
Roark gave her a chagrined half-smile. "But they don't dress up like girls, do they?"
"You simply chose a particularly ingenious disguise," was her smooth answer. "I will admit, you fooled me at first." Roark didn't know whether to look embarrassed or pleased, and settled for grateful when Erika poured him another cup of tea. "Shall we get to the point? You've traveled quite a distance to visit me." She folded her hands. "How may I be of service?"
"I, um, I need—I was hoping—"
"A love potion?" He nodded. "That's my specialty." Erika pulled out a pen and paper. "Do you mind if I take notes?"
"Notes? Why?"
"I'll need to know specifics about the receiving party; interests, hobbies, gender—"
"...Gender?"
"Yes, of course," Erika said, nibbling on the end of the pen. "For best results, each potion must be specially designed for its recipient. So, where would you like to begin?"
Roark refused to look at her, twisting his hands in the hem of his dress. Finally, he nodded, as if to himself. "They...he..." Erika began to scribble, and Roark stopped. "Do you have to—?"
"No, not at all," the shopkeeper replied, setting the paper and pen on the table. "Please, continue."
"Well...um...he likes, um. Electricity."
"That's a large area; anything specifically?"
"Well...Pokémon."
"Is he a gym leader?"
Roark slid down in his chair, his face flaming. "Yes."
"Does he like anything else?"
"Building things."
"And?"
"Solar panels...and wires...and gears..."
Erika nodded. Well. She hadn't expected Roark to fall in love with Volkner of all people—the man was moody, unpredictable, and far too obsessed with technology for Erika's taste—but she never judged. "I think that will be enough information." Roark looked too afraid to hope, and she felt a stab of pity for the young man; it was a look she saw every day here. "I should have your order completed in one week."
"Will...it will work, right?" Roark looked ashamed for asking, but the grass gym leader gave him a mysterious smile.
"Love potions are delicate things. It may take a few tries to get right, but I boast a ninety-five percent customer satisfaction rate." He looked so relieved that Erika had to resist the urge to pat him on the head, right between his silly pigtails. "How will you be paying? In cash or check?"
"Cash," he said hurriedly. The transaction was soon completed, and Erika escorted him out, watching his skirt swirl as he disappeared into the night. He really was underdressed for the early spring weather, and she hoped he wouldn't catch a cold.
She could fix those too, of course, but it wasn't nearly as interesting as changing the heart.