a/n: they were playing card games downstairs while I was on vacation. naturally, everything turned to this. i do like this pairing quite a bit though, and grimsley is a favorite character.
pairing: grimsley/shauntal. if you're crazy, then alder/shauntal too. maybe.
word count: 2300 on the money.
disclaimer: i don't even own people in my dreams. if only.
t r u m p c a r d .
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"Sometimes I wonder if you prefer books to people…"
"That's because I do."
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He throws one of these parties every year, and every year he won't let Shauntal see what it's all about. She finds this extremely obnoxious; she's curious of all things, and curiosity never hurt anybody (save for a few unfortunate felines). But Grimsley doesn't budge when he's made up his mind, so his door is locked and he's tucked the silver key into his suit pocket.
(Given his prized Liepard, Grimsley is ultra-sensitive where felines are concerned.)
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Shauntal hasn't an ounce of patience in her petite body—she insists it's a "writer thing"—so she relents to primal, immature urges and spies on the arriving guests through the peep hole in her door. She prays Alder doesn't find out for two reasons:
He'll accuse her of having a crush on Grimsley—something he does often and in a totally serious tone of voice—which is annoying.
It really is poor form to spy on a fellow Elite, and she will likely be called out in front of everyone which is embarrassing. And annoying, come to think of it.
She waits, breathing shallowly.
.
She watches a guy with a bizarre pink Mohawk clad in a vintage vest—Sidney of Hoenn, clearly—amble up the steps and pass by the golden statue. Before she can stop herself, Shauntal hurtles herself from her door and halts him dead in his tracks.
Wiping the initial surprise off his young face, Sidney beams. "Oh! Look-it! You're Shauntal, aren'tcha?" He holds out a hand, clasping hers and giving it a firm one-two shake. "I've heard loads aboutcha from my mate Grimsley! Say!" He grins wholeheartedly. "You're cute. It's no wonder he…" He trails off, as though thinking twice on the matter. "Know what? I'm late, eh? I reckon I should meet him in there."
Shauntal grips his bicep. "His party?"
"The very same!"
She presses, "What kind of party?"
Sidney narrows his eyes. "The best kind? It's right hard to describe. Seriously though, I wouldn't want to be tardy."
He shakes free of her, shooting her an apologetic expression, straightens his sleeve, and marches over to Grimsley's door, rapping once and being admitted inside almost immediately.
Shauntal calls after him, "Tell me about it later, 'kay?" to no avail. As expected, she's been blatantly ignored.
Grimsley's voice crackles over the League's main intercom. "Nice try, Shaun! Better luck next time!"
Angrily, she shoves her glasses up the bridge of her nose and retreats back to her room, flashing a rude gesture to no one in particular.
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"I will not accept defeat. Not in cards, not in battles. I'll make the odds roll into my favor."
"Unless you're up against ten year olds named after colors."
"They have, at times, proven themselves an issue, yes…"
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About an hour later, Karen of Tohjo struts in smirking, a hand poised on her exposed hip. She's dressed skimpily, her light hair rippling down the open back, and her make up purposefully smudged for effect.
(Shauntal for a moment ponders the idea of Karen as a victim in a horror novel—she's equal parts sexy and stupid.)
As the heels click-clack over the polished floor, Shauntal stumbles out of her room and blocks Karen's way.
"Hey," Karen greets at first with a tilt of the head—but then recognition all but slaps her across the face. "You're that nerdy girl Grim says we can't let in. Huh. Interesting." She treads around Shauntal—click-clacking again and nearly stomping on the author's foot—but Shauntal blocks her again.
"You're headed to Grimsley's party?" Shauntal inquires.
Karen stares her down. "What of it?"
"What kind of party is it?"
Karen stares on for a while, but then she laughs out of the blue rather loudly. "Arceus! You're serious! Grim told me about this, and I thought he was joking!"
She settles down and tosses her hair over a shoulder. "It's none of your business," Karen says, attempting to gently shove the Unova Elite aside. Shauntal doesn't budge.
Crossing her arms defiantly, Shauntal asks, "Are there any other guests?"
"Nope. Just Sid and me. Can I go now?"
"You're late, aren't you?"
"Uh huh. Fashionably."
"What kind of party is it?"
"An orgy," Karen dead-pans, and Shauntal's eyes widen in surprise. She snickers. "Kidding. Like I said, it's none of your business." Karen shoves Shauntal aside more forcefully, but still, Shauntal refuses to move.
"Why is it such a secret?"
"Okay." Karen taps a slender finger to her chin. "Okay, so you have…hm, about five seconds to get out of my way before I sic Umbreon on you, know what I'm saying?"
With a quick glance down at her depressingly empty belt, Shauntal grudgingly concedes.
"Glad you can see things my way," Karen says, and brushes past Shauntal to Grimsley's room.
Shauntal watches the witch disappear before Grimsley's voice crackles from overhead. "Close but no cigar!" Shauntal can sense the smugness in his voice. Disgusting. "That's two losses. Try for a hat trick?" He fades away.
"Son-of-a-gun," Shauntal mutters, retreating.
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"When I die, I am going to haunt my publisher."
"Yeah? When I die, I'm going to play poker with Jesus."
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Writing is something Shauntal does well. In the course of her time aboard the S.S. Earth—round, blue, irritating, but necessary damned planet—she has published thirteen novels of various genres (mostly horror). Every book, except for one, had been written while she worked for the Unova Pokemon League (mostly inspired by Grimsley's infuriating personality).
As her pen furiously swiped over the page in the form of letters, words, sentences, she realizes that this may very well be the start of a fourteenth novel (mostly inspired by her inability to cope with Grimsley's infuriating personality).
Oh well. Here's hoping he won't press libel charges. She'll make sure to change the names later when she's less irate—to Horatio or Leonardo or Portobello or something. Dramatics are important.
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"You're surrounded by ghosts—no, walking horrors day and night. How can you possibly deal with it?"
"Easily. I write."
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Four hours pass. She's dozed off at her study and now dreams of concepts, and they sure as hell aren't visions of sugar plums doing the Nutcracker ballet.
Grimsley wanders in—the door isn't locked; it's like she wants friendly axe-murderer visits!—and examines row after row of heavily stacked bookshelves. Some titles are familiar—he read Crime and Punishment back when he was seventeen; some not so much—like the volumes with Runic titles and romance novels with broken spines.
Smirking, his eyes finally fall on a deck of fancy playing cards next to her collection of Russian Existentialism, and he chuckles to himself. Except there is no humor here—the place is fucking creepy.
He gazes at her sleeping figure, still smirking—he's always smirking—and gently places a folded-up scrap of parchment against the bend of her ink-stained, sweater-clad elbow. Then he yawns and returns to his own room, throwing his bright yellow scarf on a coat rack.
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"I'm a professional, Shaun. Cards can't predict the future!"
"But the future can predict the cards!"
"…Gee. That helps me a lot."
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"You are some kind of persistent little fucker, I'll give you that," Grimsley laughs. He can transform coarse language into velvet with that chocolate-smooth voice of his. Shauntal's noticed this before—yes—but it's never been quite so…attention-drawing. Or intense, rather.
"What do you want?" Shauntal snaps.
Grimsley raises his hands as though in surrender. "Relax! Sheesh. I joke. Don't be so pissy."
She grimaces, then trudges deeper into his room, admiring the décor.
"I'm waiting for the bunny-waiters to emerge," Shauntal says. "It's almost a casino in here."
Diamonds, spades, clubs, hearts…
"There're a couple slot machines in the back," Grimsley admits. "All in good fun, of course."
"You're addicted."
"Possible," Grimsley says. "Probable, even. But when you're good, you break out on top. It's a life of glamour. I'm not broke. Not ever."
"Not yet," corrects Shauntal.
"Pessimist."
Shauntal spots a red plastic cup, crushed upon the carpeted floor. There's a pale pink lipstick stain on the side. "Haven't cleaned yet?"
"We're getting there."
"I take it back; it is a casino in here."
"And I'll repeat: all in good fun." It's a stalemate, per usual.
"Right." She dismisses it.
Aces: all four suits on the ground, underneath tables, underneath chairs. Everything's draped in red and gold. She picks up all fifty-two and then drops them immediately—a knee-jerk reaction.
"They're sticky! Gross."
"A couple of spilled drinks here and there." Grimsley shrugs.
Shauntal questions, "And you're not hung-over?"
"I can't be intoxicated if I want to count well. They say the two go together like jam and jelly, but they're oil and water if you want to win." Grimsley smirks. "You should have seen Karen in her ridiculous heels after about the sixth cocktail. She practically sprained her ankle, drunk as anything. Sidney took her home; he had to, and she puked all over his vest, too. Tipsy-turvy and nothing short of hilarious."
Shauntal doesn't smile. "Tell me about the damned party, Grimsley."
He shushes her. "Tsk-tsk. Magicians don't reveal their secrets, do they?"
"Shut it!" Shauntal rolls her eyes.
"I'll cut you a deal," Grimsley says, taking a seat in a backwards chair, legs spread around the back. He crosses his arms over the top and rests his chin on his right arm, leaning towards her. "I'll tell you, if you read your next novel to me. I saw a brand-spankin' new manuscript on your desk. My interest—in short—is piqued."
Shauntal shies when it comes to her work, especially in its early, unedited stages, especially when it's about him of all people. "That's utterly ridiculous."
"You're passing?"
"Obviously."
He pouts playfully. "No deal then. Fine by me." Nonchalantly, he leans back against a card table.
She isn't sure whether to see red or green, because:
She's horrendously furious. But,
She's amazingly jealous that he can get away with all this, because
It's not like Caitlin of Marshal will ever take her side, and
Alder will only make fun of her no matter what she does. And that brings her to:
Fuck it. I'll read him the fucking manuscript. Dammit, dammit, dammit. Card counter wins again. He always wins.
And behold, his nonchalance still blinds her. At about five o'clock in the morning, she retrieves her manuscript from a quiet, haunted room.
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"That's an excellent poker face you have there, Shaun. Absolutely picture-perfect! …Just like that. If you can stay that way, you'll have no trouble winning everything—oh. Oh! You're turning blue!"
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When she finishes mumbling the story to him, she slams the patchwork book shut and regards Grimsley expectantly. His face is painted with eyes shut and tiny smile spread.
"Could you reread the last part again? I liked that part."
"Where the beautiful, bespectacled woman beats her no-good, gambler boyfriend into a bloody pulp with the 'Mo-Mz' World Book Encyclopedia 2003?'"
"The imagery was utterly spot-on," he comments, opening his eyes to wink. "Read it, please?"
"No."
"Ah, whatever. Will there be a sequel anytime soon?"
"We'll see."
"We'll see?"
"That's what I said."
Grimsley claps his hands together. "You're so fun to mess with, Shaun. You'd like to know what that meeting was all about?"
"Dear Arceus. Yes! Indulge." Her eyes sparkle with anxiety from behind her thick lenses. She takes a seat next to him at the card table. Total undivided attention rests on his voice.
Grimsley pauses for irritating effect, and then says," We were playing bridge."
Shauntal decided she hasn't heard him right.
Grimsley nods. "Yeah. Bridge Night, fun times. Real card-io. Get it?"
"…There were three of you." It still doesn't compute.
"Bisharp adores a good game of wits."
She gapes at him. "That's it?"
"Sure is. A little booze, a little gambling on the cards. We dark type users seem to have such a strong affinity for this sort of thing. Well, Sid and I do. I think Karen just likes drinking." He pulls at his collar awkwardly.
Shauntal remembers—all of a sudden—what Sidney told her:
"Say! You're cute. It's no wonder Grimsley…"
She demands, "What do you tell them about me?"
"Gossip? Yikes. Who said anything about gossip?"
She repeats her question. She knows that he knows that she knows he's mentioned her once, twice, or thrice. And once again, he reaches out and rides her curiosity like a rodeo Tauros. He's still hanging on for dear life, or worse yet, the fun of it.
"I said…I said…um, you're very bookish, and that's something I admire about you." The poker face is on display. He's a dreadfully apt actor. He smiles sheepishly and adds, "I really do enjoy messing with you, as I've said on many an occasion."
"Anything else you might've shared?" Shauntal bites her lip.
Grimsley's eyes dazzle. "Any more manuscripts?"
"Maybe. Anymore gossip?"
"You first. I prefer payment up front."
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"Four aces. I win again!"
"Lies! I have five, Grimsley. I win."
"Cheater."
"Live a little."
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end