"Model Behavior"

Author's Note: I did not create the world of Pokémon, the creatures within it, nor the basic concept of it. I did, however, create the characters in this story and would like to be asked permission if you wish to use them. This is the first time I have written in a very long time and look forward to reading your insight on the text. I'm a lot older now, but my interest in Pokémon has not changed. Thank you.

"I can't believe this shit," I grumbled as a mousy-looking woman with a rack of different clothes-training gear and, of all things, couture dresses-filed into my apartment, her body shrinking beneath my penetrating gaze. There it was, just a half-hour before I was to catch a taxi to the airport that I discovered that I was being sponsored on my trip by a burgeoning fashion house. This was good news and all because it could only mean more work with that client in the future and, thus, more money for my-

My eyes began to well with tears as it sunk in that, until my father told me otherwise, I was more or less dead in his eyes. I gnashed my teeth in an attempt to dam the flood that I had allowed to flow so freely just hours before.

When the operator had told me in that monotonous drone of hers the amount of remaining credit in my account, the phone slipped from my hands and fell to the floor, breaking in half, the screen and the keypad separated, never to meet again. I couldn't take my eyes from it. I had looked until tears obscured my vision. My body quaked with each violent spasm and my throat burned with each choking sob.

A lone tear traced the slope of my cheek. Trying to cover it, I strode to the door and paused at the threshold. I could feel eyes being drilled into the back of my head. But they weren't accusatory eyes. No, these were kind, caring eyes.

I craned my neck ever so slightly so that the frumpy assistant could catch just a glimpse of my steely gray eyes.

"I expect for you to be gone by the time I return."

A loud shuffling ensued as she resumed her work, but her apologies fell upon deaf ears. I was already out of the room.

I'd be damned if anyone in that business ever saw me cry.

The flight had been a comfortable one to say the least. My agency always made sure that I was at my utmost comfort. I had learned to allow myself to be pampered in spite of my rustic upbringing, although it had required some getting used to.

There I stood, at the crosswalk, waiting for a lone car ambling up the street to pass so that I could cross the street. The port was straight ahead. From afar, I could see a rather large crowd of people, all abuzz with activity as a flashy designer yacht slowly pulled into port.

The smell of the salty, ocean air reminded me of the free time I used to spend at the rocky beaches along the coast of Dewford Town. I would lay down a tattered blanket-my old receiving blanket in fact-and sit there. Cross-legged. My mind would drift and I would feel at peace with the world.

Being poor had not seemed so bad. Of course, we never had been able to go on family vacations or partake of other such luxuries, but I had internalized in my mind that nothing could be better than having a beach right in my backyard.

Could this be?

With my suitcase in hand, I crossed the street, my eyes never leaving the people on the dock. Originally, I had packed only enough clothes and supplies for a duffel bag, but my agency hadn't been particularly keen on me wearing the same outfit more than once, apparently. Business is business and I still had products to sell.

If my face betrayed the emotions that I was feeling, I would have never known by the way people made way for me as I joined the crowd. A part of me thought that I should mingle with my fellow contestants, some of which I recognized upon first sight. There were actors, actresses, a famous designer, a radio show personality, another model, and even a politician, the Mayor of Celadon City. He had been very popular in his day as Celadon was deemed the cleanest and most beautiful of all the large cities in the Pokémon world. Aside from them, there was a smattering of trainers, none of which I could particularly recognize. I never had had a television growing up. Books and hard work had been my refuge. They all seemed smug enough, undoubtedly feeling that they would have the advantage in the competition.

I was unimpressed.

Indifferent towards their gloating, I found my way to a smooth railing at the bow of the boat. The yacht cut effortlessly through the ocean. Waves rolled back like layers of old skin, their foamy crests disappearing on the slippery white flesh of the Dewgong that enjoyed some twilight entertainment before heading off to deeper, colder waters.

Before long, I felt the drum of footsteps approaching me. My heart sank. I would have to be friendly if someone was coming to talk to me.

"I see that you've got your black bitch routine on lock."

So much for being nice.

I grinned, turning to face the person who had dared to insult me so brazenly. As I turned, I could see other people doing the same. In less than a second, cameras were all around me. I hadn't noticed them before, but at that moment, they became glaringly obvious.

I recognized her right away. It was Minerva. Apparently she had been a force not to be reckoned with on the catwalks a few years. But lately, she had been starting and closing less and less shows. It had all started about two years prior to this moment.

"I'll brush off what you just said," I said calmly, still facing the ocean. The sun was setting over the dense jungle of the island, spilling streaks of violet, fuchsia, and orange onto the great canvas of the sky. It was startlingly beautiful and I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to admire it as I had wanted.

Turning to face my interlocutor, I quickly sized her up. She was about an inch taller than me, bright Blissey-pink eyes, with short magenta hair that was vaguely tomboyish, and a small dimpled chin. I hated that I had to look up to her as her height already commanded attention, but I bore into her eyes without hesitation.

"But do tell me this: is your agency paying you more to start trouble with me, or are you just that kind of person?"

The crowd closed in around us and the air had become horribly thick with anticipation and speculation.

She seemed taken aback by my unresponsiveness, as she shifted her weight from her left side to the right. She was bluffing.

"You just watch your back! I'm taking back what is rightfully mine," she sneered, turning her back to me, preparing to make her grand exit to the other side of the boat.

"If you're talking about your career," I said, pausing after career so that I was sure to have her attention, "then you may already be too late." I took a step forward, innocently tilted my head, and pouted my lips. "And you and I both know how fickle this business is, don't we?"

With her back still turned to me, she retorted, "Yes, and then you will be replaced by someone else."

The thought of losing my career didn't really phase me at that moment. In the short time that I was modeling, I had earned more than my parents had been able to when we were growing up. And I was responsible enough to know how to save for a rainy day. At that point in my life, I had had nothing to lose financially. It could only go up from there. Yet in light of all that, a fleeting sense of anxiety washed over me at the thought of the uncertainty of my future.

I turned back to face the island. The sun had already dipped below the canopies of the trees. Damn.

I chuckled to myself.

"Just like you were."

The only audible sounds were that of heels furiously making their way across the wooden floor of the boat and the dull roar of people slowly picking up from where they had left off.

Pearl Island, as I mentioned before, is a small island many miles off the west coast of Sinnoh that was full of countless species of pokémon. It was one of the true sanctuaries that remained in the Pokémon World but, with his fame and his fortune, Mr. Writing was able to secure the construction of a lone house on Milky Beach and a large stadium in the heart of the Luminescent Forest, but only after promising that it would all be donated to research at the conclusion of the show.

As you can imagine, this was no ordinary house. Inside there was an opulence that I would never again bear witness to for as long as I lived. There were ten rooms, two large co-ed bathrooms—much to my dismay—, a completely modern kitchen, a large study with gigantic windows that gave a spectacular view of the ocean, a Nautilus gym with many adjoining training courts, and finally, a dining room with a long marble table among other things.

That is where we all were at the moment. A sumptuous feast of regional delicacies had been prepared for us by professional cooks hailing from all corners of the world. The sounds of animated voices filled the air as people continued to rattle on about their personal experiences in their respective fields.

Ever since the scene on the boat, many people had gravitated towards me. The attention was nice, I supposed, but I had never been of a gregarious nature. I had always been rather reserved, though I could turn it up when I needed to. I wasn't in it to make friends, but at the same time, I wasn't there to turn people away from me either.

But there was one person that seemed to be a bit more down to earth than the others. Her name was Lucie. I liked her cool, easygoing demeanor. She too had grown up on a farm, as her denim overalls, blue tube top, and braided ponytails attested to. She never seemed to be in too much of a hurry and she always appeared at ease.

"So how long have you been a pokémon trainer?" I asked, curious about her past and her ambitions for being there.

"Well," she said with a thick, though very endearing drawl, "I reckon I've been on the road for about three years now."

I nodded, taking it all in. She must be a really good trainer then, I thought, wondering which pokémon her team consisted of.

We continued to shoot the breeze for a few minutes later. It was already settled that we would room together for the duration of the show and for the first time I felt that maybe the show wouldn't be so bad after all.

"So tell me, Delphine," Lucie began, her rectangular-framed black plastic glasses sliding down the bridge of her fine nose. "Do you have any pokémon of your own?"

I told her that I did not, but that soon that would change, as the people that did not already possess pokémon, or just the celebrities, in other words, were to be given their pokémon at any moment.

"I wasn't allowed to be around pokémon for most of my life," I admitted, surprised at how freely I was discussing my past with this otherwise complete stranger.

Lucie let out a horrified gasp. "A life without pokémon?" She was scandalized at the thought.

"But once I started modeling, I've been able to interact with pokémon on a regular basis. That's got to count for something," I added, my eyes squinting as I started to giggle. It had been so long since I had genuinely enjoyed talking with another person my age. She had just celebrated her sixteenth birthday the week before. I was already seventeen.

Lucie shook her head in amazement as she rested her heart-shaped face on her upturned palm. "A real live fashion model! Well I'll be darned! I never thought that you would be so nice, especially after that scuffle on the boat! You're a tough customer!"

"Ugh, don't even remind me of that," I groaned as I took a spoonful of the delectable crème brûlée that we had been prepared for dessert.

Then Lucie leaned in a bit closer, her warm, cocoa eyes widening in excitement. She put her hand up, covering a part of her face. "I dare say that that Minerva is one rotten egg if ever there was a one."

I could barely contain myself. Perhaps I would have described her a bit more colorfully, but Lucie had more or less hit the Psyduck on the head with that witty observation. Soon, she joined in and the chorus of our laughter seemed to engulf all the other conversations in the room. The truth was that I hadn't laughed so hard in ages.

"Lucie, you really are a piece of work. I—"

"GOOD EVENING, LADIES AND GENTLEMAN!"

The chatter was immediately thrown out the window as everyone jumped in their seats, wondering where that booming voice had come from. All the lights dimmed, creating a very warm, intimate environment. Then, a large spotlight appeared, landing on a sharply-dressed man in a crisp tuxedo standing on a raised podium that seemed to have sprouted from the ground.

"I am Ronald Writing, of Writing Entertainment, and creator of this show, When Worlds Collide."

A few of the celebrities began to clap loudly, well-versed in the etiquette of kissing ass. At first, the trainers exchanged confused looks before eventually shrugging their shoulders and joining in the applause. After a few seconds, Mr. Writing raised his hand, and in that one precise movement, brought the room to complete and utter silence.

"This is a show unlike any other. People from all walks of life, of all echelons of society, are here, all united under one common feeling: the love of pokémon. It is a great occasion, indeed...

You will all face countless challenges, some unlike any you have ever experienced in your life. Some will succeed, others will fail. It all depends on you and your ability to become masters and mistresses of the situation, and your courage to overcome them...

Although the main premise of the show is celebrities versus actual pokémon trainers, ultimately, everyone is on his/her own. There will be no challenges or tests, but you are all required to have at least three other pokémon though no more than six by the time the Championships begin. Battle each other at your own discretion, but remember: practice makes perfect.

Lastly, there is no correct way to play this game. It is entirely up to you. Part of the challenge in training pokémon is that everyone has to figure out what works the best for him/her...

At this point, I am sure that you all know what is on the line here. One hundred thousand dollars will be awarded to the winner of the Pearl Island Championship Games and on top of that is the fame and recognition, as well as the countless endorsements and business opportunities, that come with celebrity...

Now! I am sure that all of the celebrities are raring to see their partners for the next few weeks. On this table are boxes that contain the pokémon that my team and I have carefully selected for each participant along with a brand-new Pokédex. I wish you all good luck with your new friends and with one another. The games have just begun!" And with that concluding remark, Mr. Writing descended from the podium and watched us all approach the table to collect our pokémon, like a proud father on Christmas morning.

"I bet you'll get a great pokémon, Delphine!" Lucie told me with a reassuring wink.

All of the celebrities were rather composed as they walked to the table, not wanting to appear overtly excited. They had to maintain a visual edge over the pokémon trainers, who often wore their hearts on their sleeves. They didn't want anything to appear in the tabloids that could potentially tarnish their images.

By the time I reached the table, I was boiling over in excitement. I could tell in how frantically my eyes darted from box to box, searching for my name. Before long, I spotted it. Delphine Delacroix was there, written in a neat, flowing, Edwardian script. I scooped up the box and headed back to the table, beaming. The weight of my future was in my hands. Imagine that.

The way back to the table seemed shorter than I remembered it. I couldn't take my eyes off the box. My own name resounded in my mind. I could hear nothing else except for the scrambled thoughts, plans, and expectations. I couldn't believe that it was finally happening.

Then, unexpectedly, another thought crossed my mind. I wondered if Mom had felt like that when she got her first pokémon. Before I had time to dwell on it, I ran into something hard. Very hard. I fell back a little, windmilling to catch my balance.

"I thought you were taught to look up when you're walking," said a clear, baritone voice, almost like a clarion call. There wasn't a hint of hostility.

I whipped my head up to see who I had crashed into. I didn't like how matter-of-factly he had uttered those words, especially since I was sure that he knew nothing about me. But when my eyes landed on a pair of bright blue eyes, I frowned upon the realization that perhaps he did. It was that photographer that I had seen at my last fashion show, then one that I had...performed for. The cute one.

He looked different up close. The first thing I noticed was how tall he was. As the tallest person in my family, I wasn't used to feeling so small when standing face to face with other people. Maybe it was something else that I was feeling. I noticed that lustrous glow of his tan and how it seemed to enhance bulge of his muscular arms, which cut a striking image against the black pinstriped vest he wore over his ribbed, white tank.

My cheeks began to burn.

"S-s-sor—"

"Don't," he whispered, with a lop-sided grin that softened his strong jawline and high cheekbones. I wondered why he wasn't a model—that is, until I mentally slapped myself for even thinking such a thing. "Models are never sorry for anything." With that, he strode off, leaving me there. Absolutely dumbfounded.

I didn't like the feeling.

I both mentally and physically shook myself before returning to my seat. I could hear whispers as I passed each successive chair. I didn't even want to know what they were saying about me.

"GOLLY! What was that that I just saw?" Lucie cried from across the table, her cheeks flushed in excitement.

"Nothing. It was nothing at all."

"That's not what it looked like!"

"Let's drop it," I hissed. It wasn't a suggestion: it was a demand.

I hurriedly opened up the box, wanting to take my mind off of that man and focus on the task at hand. True to Mr. Writing's word, there was a shiny silver Pokédex and an even more impressive Pokéball sitting next to it. My heart thumped loudly as I removed it from the box and held it up to my eyes. Then, I clicked the ball. It doubled before my very eyes, just like on TV! I debated on whether I should say something as I released the pokémon within. It wasn't long though before I ruefully decided that that wasn't exactly my style. Instead, I clicked the button and watched as a beam of red light pooled onto the table, slowly but surely revealing the identity of of my first pokémon.

While this all was happening, Lucie, along with many other people, had all crowded around me and were eagerly trying to catch a glimpse of the competition. This troubled me, for in retrospect, I realized that I should have done this in a more private place.

But in any case, I don't know what I was expecting the pokémon to be, but that which stood before me clearly was far from it. My brow raised as I gave the pokémon a once over.

It wasn't very large, maybe about two feet tall or so. Its body was a bright mauve, bordering on red violet, and...bulbous. Or maybe round was better word to describe it. Rotund. There it was. Its large, goofy looking ears flopped over towards the front, shielding its eyes from view. Small, primitive arms covered its mouth as it shook uncontrollably. It looked...scared.

"Erm, hey there. My name's Delphine. I'm your new trainer!" I said in the most cheerful voice that I could muster. I couldn't help but think that it fell a little flat, especially since the pokémon began to shake with a renewed vigor.

"Come on," I said, leaning forward. I had read somewhere that pokémon were less intimidated when you approached them at eye-level, so I sat down accordingly and moved in closer. "Let's see your eyes."

I slowly reached for its ears and gently lifted them up. They were impeccably soft to the touch. Its eyes were small and black. They looked almost unseeing at first sight, but when they widened in horror upon beholding my visage, I knew that indeed they were not. The pokémon's mouth was now agape, as if in shock. We stayed like this for a few seconds. Then, feeling the need to break the ice, I put forth my best smile and said, "See, nothing to be afraid of. We're going to be—"

But I never finished my sentence, for before I could pronounce "friends", a deafening cry pierced the air and rebounded off the walls. It was so forceful that it blasted me, along with my newfound entourage, back several feet until we all crashed into the nearest wall. All around, people clutched their ears and closed their eyes in agony, their mouths open in silent screams. But nothing that they could have produced could have possibly compared to the scream emanating from this pokémon. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. Through one eye, I managed to glimpse it on the table with its little arms flailing in the air, tears streaming from its eyes.

We all writhed on the floor in a heap, like a pit of Seviper, as I frantically searched for my Pokéball. I felt as though I would lose my hearing all together if this continued any longer.

Once I found it, I raised a tremulous arm and mumbled "Return!" before collapsing onto the floor. I could still hear a ringing in my ear.

A few seconds later, once everyone had picked themselves up from the floor, we all returned to our seats to grab our things to head off to bed. That night had proved a little too eventful after all. People whispered amongst themselves, looking back at me from time to time before turning back to talk about me some more. I fixed them with my iciest stare, but something told me that my power had been visibly shaken and that from that point onwards, intimidation would no longer work in my favor. No, not after that fiasco.

Mr. Writing bid us all a good night as we passed his podium. My posture had slipped. My head hung low and I shook it from side to side in disbelief. Of all the pokémon in the world. OF ALL THE POKÉMON IN THE WORLD!

"It seems you've got your work cut out for you," he said, his eyes squinted in mirth.

I looked at him with narrowed, accusatory eyes.

"No shit."

They'll probably bleep that out in editing.