A/N: Hi everyone! Today we're finally meeting Lucas, and boy is he in for a surprise ;) Reviews always appreciated XD
NATE
The moment I step of the ferry at Canalave port, a blast of freezing air knocks all the warmth out of my face. Whilst Unova was still blistering in the midsummer heat, the air here didn't get any warmer than a mild 18 degrees this far north. A shiver runs down my spine, the pale evening light doing little to warm my body. The icy temperature seeps easily through the thin fabric of my shorts and t-shirt, and I can feel blood rushing to the surface of my face. They had warned me in the tourist brochure things that Mt. Coronet had some sort of cooling effect on the whole region, but I'm a professional at not heeding the sound advice of anyone. Why give up and actually do something smart for a change?
I shuffled through the alighting crowd gathered at the terminal, trying to get to a quiet bus stop or somewhere to get to the hotel (motel). Most of the passengers had tour guides holding up placards and competing to see who can scream named loudest, but my lack of any sort of impressive financial capabilities meant that my trudge out of the customs area was a lonely one.
The crowd thinned as I approached the public bus stop. Bus stops in Unova are actually stands, with proper roofs and a board to tell you which services stop there. This one was a single sign with what looks to be an amputated cow painted in white on a sun-faded blue background. . Even the road in front was just cracked enough to let you know that it's old as hell, but not in such bad condition that it would need to be immediately replaced.
There is also no bench.
I am forced to stand at an empty bus stop.
I am already beginning to hate this place.
By the time the bus arrives, several others have joined me at the pathetic excuse for a stop, likely the other stragglers who had too little money to afford any of the five star beachside resorts. They all carry gigantic backpacks stuffed full of camping equipment (and probably thermal wear) that they have to lug up the steps into the coach. They even bother to use up the overhead compartments, stuffing their oversized canvas monstrosities precariously above their seats. I just plop my trainer pack onto the aisle way and lie across all five back seats. A backpacker struggling to lift her oversized sack wrinkles her nose at me. Even in a fucking empty bus, and people still get picky about taking up more than one seat.
The ride to Jubilife lasts long enough that the city lights are already bathing everything in their harsh brightness when I arrive, starkly contrasting to the warm country tones that Sinnoh had been filled with so far. The metropolis begins almost instantly, with none of the horrendous urban sprawl that afflicts Unova's megacities, a crisp line between grey concrete and lush forest just beyond the city limits, and our bus instantly enters a wide avenue surrounded by high-tech offices and shopping malls. The palm trees lining the road are too tall, artificial in the very sense of the word, planted precise distances apart. Each sign looks perfect in its placement, glaring enough to grab your attention, but directing your gaze to all its neighbours as well. The world beyond my window is perfectly planned, a masterful execution of straight edges and obsessive clinicality.
It feels fake, like something out of an architect's wet dream. Jubilife is the tourist centre of the region, built purposefully to maintain the highest standards of perfection. The locals had protested for months against its "destruction of the region's rustic charm" in a famous saga four years back. However, the controversy it brought to the normally peaceful region attracted enough attention (and tourist cash) to pretty much guarantee the project's completion.
Sucks to be them.
We roll up to a stop situated under the gaze of the giant mega-complex of hotels that would soon be my temporary home, and a few other touristy types that got on along the way spilled out along with me. A single step off the bus is all it takes for me to be hit with a waft of city air, stale and punctuated by the slight hint of pollution. Just like home.
A giant billboard announces it as "The Palm Heart" (where home is), dwarfing the single lonely palm tree growing in its neon luminescence. The steel and concrete megastructure beckons with giant beam lights and pounding music, a perpetual party of tourist excess and a complete lack of fucks given to noise pollution.
Even approaching the entrance brings about a headache of sights and sounds. The swivel doors leading into the lobby suck me through a brief world of pink fluorescence, before spitting me out into the eerily quiet lobby on the other side. A little vulpix that entered behind me chases the door in circle, mewling at the impressive trap it found itself in. I can tell immediately that this isn't my lobby - the impressive noise cancellation and lavish decor is far too high class for what I paid - and I head to one of the side corridors leading deeper into the warrens of the building.
Dancing Flamingo... Where to find a hotel that might also be a strip club...
An information kiosk gives me directions towards the seedier side of the Palm Heart, and I traverse the ever thinner and shadier corridors, until I am thrust into a new, considerably smaller lobby, the faint sound of club music and dubstep swelling in the background. The lobby seemed to be part of the hotel itself, as a bar occupied the left side of the room, a single man perched with a glass of beer, and the unlit sign with the words "Dancing Flam-co-" written in broke neon tubes occupied the entire opposing wall. At the far end of the little room, an unmanned reception desk sagged under the weight of a cracked poke transfer station, looking just as dismal as the dreary surroundings.
A young woman pops out from behind the door marked "staff only" once I ring the counter bell. Her outfit consisted much more of skin than any sort of decent clothing, miniskirt riding up just a tiny bit as she plops down on the creak, offering me a glimpse of quite a bit more thigh than I really wanted.
"I booked a room here?" It's more a question than a statement. My confidence in anything travel related has already been fried.
"Take number 3." She hands me a single key with the room number scribbled in permanent marker on the base, and waves me away like she had more important things to do.
"Uh, thanks," I reply. She starts to file her nails. I take that as my cue to leave.
The rooms are in a cramped corridor at the end of the lobby, with a single creaky door separating it from the main entranceway. As I move past the other rooms, faint sounds of what could either be interpreted as passionate sex or a gruesome murder emanate from within. I quickly head to the flimsy looking oak door marke "3", and fumble with the keys in an effort to vacate myself from the weird strip club corridor.
My room's interior is tiny, albeit decorated in remarkably better fashion than the rest of the... hotel(?). The walls are a warm but faded velvet red, and a large window occupies most of the far wall. Next to the small entryway is a plastic screen leading to the ensuite, and a (comparatively) huge king size occupies nearly all the space in the room, with a single nightstand hogging what little remainder was left.
Too exhausted to care about showering or changing, I plop myself onto the surprisingly comfortable bed, a welcome relief from the stress of travel, and my myriad of fuck-ups. With the remainder of my sadly depleted reserves, I release Dewott from his ball and I snuggle up completely dressed, too exhausted to do anything more than drop off...
LUCAS
The first thought that came to my mind when I clambered through the window of some sleeping person's room was, "what kind of teenage guy books a room at this place?"
A poor one.
Anyone who chose the Dancing Flamingo either couldn't afford a proper place to stay, or wanted some cheap company for the night... I couldn't quite make out the face half-covered in a pillow, but at least there was only a single body under the sheets.
Remember when you found that lady riding on that man's-
A shudder runs down my spine.
Most of the rooms at this place were vacated on weekdays, and finding that my usual Jubilife stop was occupied surprised me a little. I'd even stashed a whole load of peanut butter chocolates in the medicine cabinet that the staff never cleaned. It was, after all, basically my own private apartment. So technically, it was the random kid who was trespassing on my property.
He'll also probably beat you up if you tell him about your supposed ownership rights.
Either way, the kid really seemed out for the count, judging by the obnoxiously loud snores he seemed to emanate from beneath the sheets, and I needed to grab a few more items before I could properly depart for Oreburgh, so I tip-toe past the motionless figure into his/my slightly moldy smelling bathroom. Thankfully he left the million-year-old door wide open or everyone and their Pokemon would have been rudely ejected from their dreams by the sound of a million splinters shattering at once. Truth be told, it wasn't the best maintained place.
I just needed to grab the three potions and antidote inside the cabinet above the sink, stealthily make it out of the toilet and past the sleeping guardian, through the gate into the morning sunlight and down a precarious spruce trunk to the safety of the earth below. Piece of pecha berry cake...
It all immediately went to poop.
Just as I flung a leg over the sill to scramble out of the hotel, a sharp tug on my right foot dragged me promptly back into the darkness of the room. I landed face first onto the dank carpeted floor, my vision swamped by old fake fur and a fine coating of dust. A crushing weight pressed itself into my back, and I could feel a hand pressing my head further down into the plush mess.
"The fuck are you doing in here?" The now very much awake occupant's voice resounded through the cramped hotel room. I try to say something, but the carpet that I was being forced into only let me make a few weak spluttering noises. He pressed what I can only assume to be his knee harder onto my spine, sending a sharp wave of pain shooting down the length of my back.
"I'm sorry I didn't mean to enter it wasanaccident-owowoww," I managed to splutter before his knee pressed down with renewed force.
"Why. Are you. In. My. Room." His voice is closer, I can feel his breath just behind my ear, and a dangerous lethality permeates his tone.
I desperately try to think of a way to worm myself out of his lock, but the pain prevents me from forming anything more than barely coherent thoughts.
You messed up now, Lucas. Big time.
"I - I can pay you. If you... agh... need any money," I cry weakly, hoping that his meagre surroundings were indicative of an unfortunate financial circumstance. Surprisingly, the oppressive pressure removed itself, and I groaned as I rubbed the sore spot where he had rested his entire weight. Gingerly, I picked myself off the floor, dusting off my vest.
"So about that money..." The icy edge that his voice had while pushing me down was replaced by an easy disinterest. Hah. If he'll forgive me so easily as to let a stranger in here for some cash, then he's probably more than a little desperate.
"I have some, to cover the costs of my unfortunate, you know..." I reply calmly, reknotting my scarf snuggly around my neck. "I'm really sorry about the intrusion, you see I normally come here in my free time," I venture, turning to face the room's other resident, "I work part time-"
Hey it's that guy.
Sitting at the edge of his bed, a mixture of curiosity and annoyance plastered across his features, is Nate Black. Brother of Unova league champion Hilbert T. Black, reknowned throughout the regions for his sensational rivalry with his sibling, recent runner-up in the Unova junior surfing league, defeated by Leader Elesa at Nimbasa gym earlier this month...
And your crush.
Suddenly my calmness from being let off without a hitch shatters into a million flustered pieces. It's him. Nate. The one from all those surfing mags stored securely under my bed. The one with the breathtaking smile and the even more stunning frown. And he's here in real life. In front of me. And he hates me.
"OH. Oh my god, i'm sorry, I should introduce myself. Uh, I mean I'm sorry. Wait, no, uh, I'm Lucas, sorry, yeah. I mean Iusuallyusethisroomandsorryforgoinginlikethat-"
"What?" The Unova boy arches an eyebrow at me.
"No no I'm sorry I really am I was using the room and then I wanted the potions but you were using it actually I wasn't it's yours really but I said it was mine and-"
"CALM DOWN for fucks sake I don't give a shit about your life story. Just give me your goddamn money then start talking." His outburst immediately shuts me up, leaving a painfully awkward silence hanging in the air. The irritation in his eyes now grew to full blown pissed-off.
Off to a fine start, aren't we?
"Yeah. Yeah money, I have that. How much do you need?" I wanted to bury myself in the ground in embarrasment. Just moments ago I thought I had lucked out by stumbling into the most broke trainer in the region, but it now felt like he was the one dealing all the cards.
"Five hundred thousand".
Oh.
The urge to fling myself out the window grew considerably after hearing his demand. I fish out my wallet tentatively, prising the it open as slowly as possible. A few notes wilt feebly in the pocket. I count out a wad of 12 thousand. From his perch on the bed, Nate doesn't look impressed at the meagre sum resting on my palm.
"I thought you had money," he says matter-of-factly.
I think that's code for 'you are screwed'.
"I-I mean this is quite a lot. You could, uh, buy a couple of full restores with..." My gaze sinks to the suddenly wildly interesting carpet. I never knew that you could actually stare someone into submission, but Nate pulled it off. Perfectly. Just like everything else about him. It's no time to fanboy, you gay freak. No matter how dreamy those eyes are, he's still going to murder you.
He rises from the bed, hair mussed up in that cute way only ludicrously good-looking guys can make work. He prods my chin up, forcing me to peer directly into the same eyes I had fawned over with the girly teenage magazines stashed under my cupboard (next to the swimming ones). Under any other circumstances, I probably would have exploded with excitement, but the deadly flames that flicker behind his hazel irises crushes any chance of inappropriate fanboying.
"So. What do we do now?"
The sheer menace behind those words chilled me to the core. For a brief, yet seemingly eternal, moment, I was genuinely afraid that I was going to be murdered at 17 in a shitty sex hotel by possibly the hottest guy on earth. Definitely not how I planned to go.
Nate pushed me hard into wall behind, slamming my still sore back painfully into the peeling wallpaper. He loomed over me with all the nonchalance of a Glameow cornering a mouse, left fist balling into what would surely be quick and excruciating end of my all too short youth. I could feel my knees giving out under all the apprehension as he raised his arm, finally ready to put an end to the meddling kid who'd rudely awoken him in the middle of this awful city.
I didn't fight back, or even try to put up a pathetic defense, knowing it would just prolong the struggle. Take it like man. Still , I couldn't help but flinch when brought his fist down with rapid finality...
To flick me on the forehead.
A/N: Dramatic finger flick cliffhanger wowza. How will Lucas get out of this one? Also there was very little Lucas here but I promise more is coming soon :)