Sorry for the late update. Writing battles again threw me for a loop, though hopefully I'm over that bump and will be update on a more regular basis. Enjoy!
An Offer
"He is such an idiot."
"She's talking again." Chris picked up his paper cup of lemonade from the floor and bent the plastic straw at an angle. "Your turn to deal, Wally," he said before placing his lips around the straw, starting to drink the refreshment. With his free hand, he pushed up the bridge of his sunglasses. He rolled his shoulders back and sank into the plastic beach chair, curling his right leg back and letting his toes hang in between the gaps. He rested the bottom of the cup on his bare chest, letting the condensation leave a water ring on his skin.
Wally stared out toward the glittering sea, exhaling sharply at another blast of salty wind. He dropped his hand and let his fingers graze against the wooden docks which was hot under his tips. Bringing his hand back up, he scratched his scalp through his hair, noting how warm the strands were. "Relax, May," he remarked. "Let it be. He's not here, and nothing is going to change that. Why not just enjoy yourself?"
May pulled off her sunglasses and lightly chewed the tip of the earpiece. She flared her nostrils but grinned all the same. "Trashing Brendan is my enjoyment, though," she said jokingly, lifting her eyebrows twice. She pressed her head into the back of the beach chair and stared up toward the sky, eyes squinting from the sunlight. The skies were blue and clear. The ship was cruising through Hoenn's clear seas at a lazy, comforting pace, slow enough where the equally lazy wingull were able to drop down and rest on the ship's metal railing after circling and squawking aimlessly.
"Normally, I'd agree," Chris replied, fingers still wrapped around his cup and shaking off the drops of water, "but give it a rest. Let's just, you know, not talk about Brendan and his questionable habits and fashion taste." He pulled up the frame of his sunglasses up to watch a couple of bikini-clad girls walk by. He smirked at them – idle flirtation. They didn't directly respond to him as May predicted, though one of them smiled to herself, eyes averted to the ground.
Wally turned onto his right side to look at May, his head propped up with his hand. "Yeah, I've always meant to ask you about that. What's with the shorts over pants over socks thing?"
"Is that what it is?" Chris asked as he pulled his shades over his eyes. "I thought it was just shorts with a weird leg attachment."
"Heck if I know," May answered as she hooked her sunglasses to her bag. She stared out to the sea where the grooves between ripples caught the sun's reflection. "I bought him that traveling outfit in Fortree, and it only came with the shorts. I'm not sure where he found those pants. Or socks. I don't even know what they are." She shook her head, brown hair brushing against her bare shoulders. "Whatever. I thought it was an interesting look. Made him stand out."
"He doesn't need clothes for that; he's awkward enough by himself," Chris muttered.
"Oh, hush. I thought you guys wanted me to stop talking about him, but here we are talking about him."
"I was just curious," the green-haired trainer replied. Wally flipped back onto his back and brought his hands to his face, smelling the sunscreen he lathered on his pale skin earlier. "I always thought it was weird. He's always hiding his legs."
"I bet he has lizard legs," Chris replied.
May snorted before choking out a laugh. She pressed her fingers on her lips and tugged down lightly on her bottom lip.
"I bet he shaves them," he added. "Shaved lizard legs. Such sexy shit."
"Be quiet, Chris. You're so mean." May smiled as Wally laced his fingers behind his neck and closed his eyes. "He's normal down there. I've seen him in boxers before."
"Down there with only boxers on, huh? Oh, baby, tell me more," Chris teased before biting down on his straw.
May punched Chris in the arm playfully, eliciting a grin from him back. "Pervert." She sat up, eyes cast ahead. She twirled a strand of hair around her pointer finger. "You guys want something to eat? Think I'ma get a snack."
Chris rattled his cup and nodded. "Yeah, need a refill. I'll go with you." He lifted his sunglasses and let them rest on top of his spiky hair.
The girl slipped her feet into her flip-flops and stood up, stretching her arms over her head. "What about you, Wally?" she asked, directing her attention toward the green-haired boy who remained reclined in his chair. She watched as he wiped excess sunscreen off his nose and smear it against his swim trunks.
"Just get me a bottle of water or something," he said as Chris sat up and pulled on a dark blue t-shirt. "I'll watch your stuff."
"You're a doll."
Wally smiled in return. Chris fished out his wallet from his backpack that hung from the back of his chair while she sifted and jiggled the coins in the pocket of her shorts. Her fingers pressed against something cold and plastic – her trainer's I.D, one of the three things she rarely left the house without, one being her pokenav, the other being, of course, her pokémon. There was a side of the ship that was open for the pokémon to relax and lounge themselves, but the captain – and event coordinators – cautioned to carry at least one pokémon around at all times for the sake of protection and, in the case of the event coordinators, for battle contests held every few hours that may trigger a trainer's urge.
The two of them set off for the little snack stop that was snug between the pool and the battling deck. Both of their sandals thwacked against the back of their heels with each leg movement forward, an added instrument to the cacophony of circling wingull and waves that slammed into the steel fixture of the ship. May adjusted the strap of her red bikini top so it stayed snug around her shoulder before dropping her hand and letting it brush against her shorts. Chris nonchalantly looked out toward the sea, thumbs hooked on his pokéball belt clipped around his trunks. She counted – one, two. She remembered him saying that he left most of his pokémon at home, and before they boarded, Chris transferred his charizard – his ride to Littleroot – back to Sootopolis, stating that the charizard would find much more enjoyment flying around the peaks of Sootopolis's white mountains. She idly wondered what pokémon he had with him, her hand wrapped around the pokéball that hung from a thin silver chain around her neck.
When she looked away from her pokéball, her eyes met the ones of Chris's who stared back at her curiously. Chris's eyes were red too, like Brendan's, but while Brendan's were sharp, alarming in ways like the noctowl at night who recently spotted prey, Chris's were calm, a darker shade bordering more on brown. He rested his hands on top of his head. "How are things with B Boy anyway?" he asked, rubbing his lips together.
"You mean besides him totally ditching on me?"
"He didn't necessarily 'ditch.'" Chris lifted his hands up and used his fingers to illustrate invisible quotation marks. "He just bit off far more than he can chew."
"Par usual."
"Par usual," he repeated with a grin. "Stop bugging out over it. Just have fun. We have, like, six more days. Let's just make this trip about you and me"–he noticed her stare at him, confused–"and Wally. Let me finish my sentence, babe." He winked at her.
She rolled her eyes. "I suppose. He is a dumbass, though."
"Mm." Chris pulled off the sunglasses off his head and pocketed them, allowing the wind freedom to roam through his short strands of dark hair. He tugged at his right earlobe.
She always considered Chris Brendan's opposite. Of course they were similar in ways: cocky, for example, and filled with smart-ass replies. But while Brendan was usually a hot mess in an awkward shorts-pants-socks outfit, Chris was a lot calmer, a clearer vision for what was up ahead. May was the first one to meet Chris but was the most distant to him. She knew Brendan and Chris would be close; there was automatic brotherhood when the two met, but with him and her it was ... strange. She always liked Chris – he did save her once after all – and she figured it was time to try and make their friendship an actual friendship instead of one based on a chain of relationships, the tense connection between Brendan's "girlfriend" and Brendan's "brother."
"Right. Enough of him," she said with a small smile.
The two of them could hear the joyful yells and splashing of kids swimming in the pool. May grimaced as water sloshed into the rubber sole of her flip flop; she curled her toes so her shoes wouldn't fly off. They walked toward the small, wooden side store that was next to the pool. Chris focused his attention toward the white board that had the prices of various snacks; May gazed past the pool and toward the battling deck where a few people were sweeping the field clean. By the amount of people gathering around the field, she figured another battle event was going to take place.
A cold bump in the arm got her attention, and she turned her head. Chris handed her a can of pop and a bag of pretzels, and just as she was about to reach into her pocket for her money, he shook his head. "On me," he said as he swiped Wally's water bottle off the counter with one hand while holding onto his refill of lemonade with the other. He nodded his head in the direction of the battlefield. "What's going on there?"
She opened her bag of pretzels. "Probably another battle contest," she answered before throwing a pretzel into her mouth, her tongue watering at the salty texture. "Have you competed in one yet?"
"Nope."
She chewed thoughtfully. "Surprising."
"Is it?"
"You like battling and free things and showing off."
"Very true." He grinned and rattled his drink. "Let's check it out."
May squeezed the bag of pretzels in her hand as the two of them walked around the pool and up the wet wooden ramp toward the battle deck and the growing crowd. They squeezed themselves between a few giggling seven-year-olds clad in soaked swimwear, the distinct scent of sunscreen lotion wafting from them, and a couple a few years older than May and Chris. The boy had his arms wrapped around the girl, and the girl had her hands pressed lovingly against the boy's laced hands, the back of her head pressed against his shoulder. She briefly longed for Brendan and his awkward embrace where he wouldn't know where to place his hands and would move them every three seconds, but she quickly shook the disgustingly sappy thought out of her mind. Chris's arm pressed against hers; his skin was hot from the sun. She looked down and saw him playing with the leftover strap on his belt idly.
"We should battle," he said, chewing on the tip of his straw, "if it's a double battle. From the looks of the screen"–he nudged his head toward the black, electronic screen propped up by metal poles–"it's going to be a two-versus-two battle with each trainer using one pokémon."
May held her can of pop with the crook of her elbow, ignoring the biting sensation that came from cold metal against hot skin, and threw another pretzel in her mouth. Her eyes scanned the field: it was a boring gray, conrete surface with a white line drawn in the middle and two drawn boxes at each end. The sea and sun made for a nice backdrop though. "I dunno. I'm rusty."
"When's the last time you battled?"
Twenty-two days, she automatically thought in her head. It had been twenty-two days since she had lost her battle to Wally in the pokémon league and twenty-two days since she had been too ashamed to fight, even against a wild pokémon. A battle of emotions that fight was; it was her emotions that got the better of her. Still, it wasn't like Wally was in a peaceful state of mind during that battle (it was a rough breakup as short-lived as their relationship was), but he had the ability to keep his emotions under wraps. She couldn't do that. She couldn't keep her emotions in check, and worse of all, she couldn't command a single strategy. Granted, Wally was one tough cookie now (which she loved, considering his early days as a trainer), but she was slaughtered in that fight. She couldn't blame emotion. Maybe she just sucked as a trainer, and that is the worst thought of all. Who was she?
She leaned her weight on her left leg, hand reaching up to play with her necklace. "Not since the league," May finally answered slowly, thoughtfully.
"For real?"
"For real."
He snorted. "Guess you're right. You'd make us lose."
She wrinkled her nose and punched Chris lightly in the upper arm. "Jerk."
He raised his eyebrows twice and brushed his right thumb against his nose. "You didn't disagree."
"Doesn't make you any less of a jerk."
"The correct answer is: 'I'll prove you wrong and battle!'" He raised his hand as the event coordinator, clipboard in hand, started to walk back and forth in front of the crowd as she scrutinized them for potential battlers. "You're suppose to rage and fight, like a good motivational movie."
"I'm more into romantic comedies where the awkward boy gets the girl in the end."
"That movie has already played and is okay at best."
"Lots of reviews though."
"With most of them sappy that the movie ended rather than the actual ending."
"Digressions," she said. She sighed before raising her hand. "All right, all right. Let's try to get picked."
"Flash your tits."
She punched him in the arm for the third time that day. "I hope you get a bruise."
"Then I can show it off to Brendan and tell him about all the fun we had." He smirked as she raised her fist threateningly again. "You're sick, May. Sick."
She waved her arm wildly in the air. "You better be glad we're friends."
He wiggled his eyebrows and focused his attention back on the event coordinator. She picked out two trainers – a young boy around ten in swimming trunks and a girl around May's age with a high ponytail and a bikini top on. The coordinator started to walk back in their direction, ignoring the hoots and hollers from trainers trying to catch her attention. May waved her hand hard in the air while Chris coolly held his pointer finger up, thumb lightly pressed against the rest of his slightly bent fingers ("We're not trying to catch a taxi," she muttered). The crazy waving of the girl with an equally crazy smile paired with the nonchalant stance of the amused boy seemed to pique the coordinator's attention, and with a tight, forced grin, she pointed them to the trainer's box to her left. May skipped to the spot amidst the defeated sighs while Chris walked behind her, hands pressed on top of his head again.
It really has been a while, she noted, feeling the same, exhilarating but nervous feeling in her stomach whenever she stepped into the usually chalk-drawn trainer's box. She gazed down the bare, concrete field until her eyes reached the opposite side. The "field" wasn't long or all that interesting – it definitely wasn't the size of the regulation fields in gyms nor had the quirks and crannies of obstacles – but looking at the opposite end gave her a horizontal sense of vertigo. Or maybe it was the idea of battling again. She wasn't entirely sure.
The gusty, cold breeze pricked up the hairs on her arms, or maybe that was her nerves doing that, as she reached up and tugged at the pokéball around her neck, unclipping it from the chain. Chris pulled out his from his belt with one clean, sweeping motion, enlarging the ball with the press of the button and bringing it up to his chin, letting his lips graze against the metal. The sun was hot on their heads; May thought of the sunglasses she left back on the beach chair with an irritated huff of breath.
The event coordinator strolled over toward the middle of the field and planted a foot on each side of the drawn white line. "I would like to thank our four trainers for volunteering their time and energy for putting on another exciting battle for our lovely crowd." The event coordinator's personality seemed to do a 180, May noted, no longer bitter but artificially sweet.
As the crowds cheered, the event coordinator took the time to brush the bangs out of her eyes before delicately holding the microphone part of her headset between her pointer finger and thumb. "Like all of our battle exhibits," she began, placing her free hand against her hip, "the winner, or winners in this case, will receive a free dinner courtesy of the Berriology Juice Company, makers of the ever popular "Pink n' Pecha Pineapple" and "Lively Leppa" mixtures!"
"Hell yes, food," Chris cheered as May rolled her eyes.
"This is a double battle as you may have noticed by our lovely scoreboard overhead provided by the Devon Corporation." She gestured toward the black board behind her. "The rules are the following: each trainer is allowed one pokémon each; the partner of each duo is not allowed to substitute for his partner in the event that his partner has no applicable pokémon to battle with. The time limit is ten minutes. In the event that both pokémon of each side are still able to fight, the side that has done the most damage as recognized by our judge will be declared the winner. Are we clear?"
Chris and May nodded, and May watched as their opponents did the same.
"Fantastic." The event coordinator smiled as she walked off the field and stood next to the judge. "I am Julie, your amazing event coordinator for this lovely June noon, and I hope you folks have a lovely time watching this battle!" She looked at the judge next to her who was clad in a wife beater, swimming trunks, and flip-flops. "Wave your flags down when you're ready."
With a red flag in his left hand – Chris and May's side – and a green flag in his other, the judge raised his arms for a few seconds before sweeping them back down, flags fluttering down with them. "Begin!"
May reeled her arm back before thrusting it forward, releasing the ball from her grip. "Show your stuff, Flare!" Before the ball could hit the ground, the creature released herself from its hold, landing gracefully on her long, lean legs. She clenched her claws a few times, blue eyes fiercely staring down her opposition.
"It's been a while." May could just picture the smirk on the blaziken's face. She preened down the red feathers on her arms. "I'm not disappointed though."
"I might be rusty," she warned her pokémon.
"I'm not."
The girl on the opposing side, after contemplating May's choice, pulled out a pokéball from her belt and released it. "Mismagius, let's go!" The pokémon came out in a flash of light, yellow eyes menacing and smile eerie. May had never seen a mismagius up close before, though she had to admit that it was a pretty pokémon, its purple color rich in the sunlight.
The girl's partner was the next to release his pokémon, one that May was more familiar with: an azumarill. The blue ball of cuteness brought his tail to the front and grabbed the end of it between his paws.
May turned her head toward Chris who still hadn't released the pokéball pressed against his lips. "Oi," she said, tapping him on the arm. "You done makin' out with your pokéball yet?"
He gave her the side-eye but removed the ball away from his lips. "Girl, please. Just thinkin' of tactics."
"This is a fun battle with a prize of a free dinner. You really need to think of some extravagant tactic?"
Chris turned his head, frowning. "All battles are serious business."
"... We're on a fun cruise battling for a dinner."
"GIRL, FREE DINNER IS SERIOUS BUSINESS."
She groaned, putting her hands on her hips and leaning her weight on her left leg. "Good god. Just release your pokémon already and STOP CALLING ME GIRL!"
Chris dropped his hand from his face and threw his pokéball toward the concrete field. The ball glinted in the light as it spiraled, colors blurring together before it split open, revealing the tall but lanky form of Chris' typhlosion. He roared, letting flames erupt from his back, brightly contrasting against the pale blue of the sky. "Hey, buuuuddy," the trainer said with a wide grin. "Know you've been itchin' for a fight."
The typholosion turned his head, letting the flames on his back die down, and returned his trainer's statement with his own toothy smirk.
There wasn't a coin flip to determine who would be allowed to strike first, only adding onto the many reasons that May decided not to take this battle seriously (besides, you know, the whole crashing-and-burning at the league thing that forced her to not step foot on a battlefield since then but whatever to that), though the seven year-old decided to take initiative and command, "Hydro Pump at the blaziken!"
The azumarill raised the end of his tail in the air, inhaled, and puffed out his chest before opening his mouth and releasing a stream of water that jetted toward Flare. She took the attack directly but it wasn't powerful enough to knock her down; instead, she skidded back a few feet on the concrete ground, sounding an irritating scratching noise, and groaned, eyes narrowed. She managed to lift up her claws to block the attack from assailing her chest.
"Thunderpunch!" May commanded, nose scrunched.
Flare, with one eye opened, clenched her claws together into fists, and sparks of electricity crackled down her arms. The electricity traveled down the stream of water, shocking the azumarill from stopping his attack. Feathers wet and flattened from the attack, Flare stretched out her long legs and ran toward the opposite side of the field, drops of water flying off her body and streaming behind her. She swung low and smacked the water-type in the stomach, knocking him off his feet and making him roll into a ball. He uncurled himself, looking dazed but still standing, one hand pressed against the side of his head
"Darn." May snapped her fingers. "I thought that would knock that thing out for sure."
"Nice underestimation," Chris murmured back, smirking, the sea wind ruffling his hair.
"It's not like this is a league battle."
"Ah, dear May, every battle should be treated like it's a league battle."
She snapped his head toward him and looked at him dully. "Thank you, oh wise one," she replied dryly.
"Mismagius," their girl opponent commanded, pulling her ponytail to the side and brushing her fingers through it, "Psybeam on the blaziken!"
"They're really going after you today," Chris muttered. He stepped forward, sneaker gritting against the concrete, and shouted, "Quick Attack, Bunsen!"
The mismagius floated left to right and cooed her name, eyes glowing and flickering through purple and blue shades, a mischievous grin on her face. Before she could launch the attack, the typhlosion, who had dropped to all fours, pounced on her with a vicious snarl and pinned her under his forelegs. The mismagius squirmed and tried to wiggle out in frustration as she puffed out her cheeks.
"Get 'em off with Iron Tail, Azu!" the boy opponent ordered, hand reaching up to grab the scuba mask on top of his head.
Azumarill jumped into the air and curled himself back into a ball, his tail stretching out and transforming into a hardened steel that glinted in the sunlight. The ball collided with Bunsen's back with a sickening crunch, causing Bunsen to roar and weakening his grip on Mismagius. She floated above him, stuck her saliva-drenched tongue out and licked his face, causing the beast to roar louder. He stumbled back onto his hind legs and dizzily walked back to his side of the field, paw pressed against where his opponent had licked.
"Paralyzed?" May asked worriedly.
"Nah, I think just dazed out." Chris snapped his fingers, cheeks scrunching up in amusement. "Hey buuuuuudy. You okay?"
Bunsen spun around on one foot, his tongue lopping out his mouth.
"Yeah, he's fine."
May eyed her friend warily. "If you say so." She stuck her thumbs through the belt loops of her shorts and popped her weight to her right leg. "Flamethrower!"
The blaziken ran a few steps forward and opened her beak, releasing a stream of flames that licked the concrete floor and created refraction, making the surrounding air wavy. The attack collided into both pokémon; Mismagius screeched her name and floated backward and Azumarill rolled back into a ball, his tail sticking out.
"Tell her to keep the attack going," Chris said, pocketing his left hand and rolling balls of lint between his fingers.
May nodded. "Fantastic, Flare! Keep it up!"
Flare ground her right foot in the floor and lowered the intensity of her flames so the attack wasn't as powerful but was more consistent. Mismagius managed to shake free, huffing, gray smoke rising from the top of her head. Azumarill was still curled up in a ball and was rolling left and right. Bunsen had dropped back onto all fours and was shaking his head, tongue lopping out between his teeth.
"Body fat," May heard Chris mutter. "He can take fire attacks ... most of them anyway." He winked at her. She didn't know whether to feel insulted or not but brushed the comment off nonetheless. "Bunsen is coming back to his senses I think."
"So why am I having Flare keep up Flamethrower?" May crossed her arms.
"You'll see."
"Rollout!" the boy opponent commanded with a grin.
"Pair it up with Power Gem!" his partner added.
"Shit," Chris muttered. "Strengthen it."
May widened her eyes and nodded, tugging at the chain around her neck. "One final, strong blast, Flare! Put all your power into it!" The wind blasted against the back of her throat, making her cough. She held down the top of her bandanna with her other hand, glaring against the powerful breeze.
The sudden strong bout of wind seemed to throw Flare slightly off balance, but she managed to stop her attack for a brief second, inhale deeply, and blow another jet of flames that engulfed the rolling azumarill whose was heading toward them quickly. The gems around Mismagius's neck glowed a bright red before balls of energy floated out and solidified into brown stones. Mismagius gave them a cute, little smirk as the same red energy took over her eyes, and with a nod of her head, the stones sped toward Flare and Bunsen.
"Now, Bunsen!" May noticed Chris's voice shot up to a higher pitch and cracked, which amused her. "Into the flames and use Flare Blitz!"
That's a new one, she thought as the typhlosion snarled and jumped into the fire and darted toward his opponents on all fours at a breakneck speed. The flames on his back jumped high, increased by Flare's attack (or is it the other way around? May thought). Mismagius's attack came first, but he took it head on, the stones crumbling to dust against his hard head. Azumarill and his Rollout was next; Bunsen, with another growl, knocked his opponent off course. He shot past and collided into the bewildered mismagius in a fiery blaze, which looked more like an accident than on purpose in May's eyes. He darted past her too, yelping his name repeatedly.
"So ... how does he stop? He's going kind of fast there." May scratched her head.
Chris wiped the side of his nose with his thumb. "Yeaaaah, still working on that."
Sure enough, Bunsen withdrew the flames into his back and tried to pull himself back up his hind legs mid-run. He stumbled for a few steps before belly flopping and hitting the concrete hard, twitching but still conscious. Flare stopped her attack, raising a claw and pressing it against her chest, breathing heavily.
"How ... awkward," May heard her pokémon mutter. She nodded shortly in agreement and stared at the opposing pokémon. Both were flat on the floor; Azumarill was no longer curled up but flat on his back, scorch marks all over his body and Mismagius was unmoving, too, except for the wisps at the end of her cloak moved by the wind. She looked back toward Bunsen, one eye narrowed. He was twitching still, not in shock but as a note that he was still alert; she vaguely wondered if Chris told him to do that after the aftermath of the attack. It would be easy to think that the pokémon knocked himself out after that clumsy landing.
The judge seemed to take note of this too. "Azumarill and Mismagius are unable to battle!" He pointed the red flag at Chris and May. "Red team wins!"
Bunsen groggily got back up, shaking the pebbles out of his fur before standing back up onto his hind legs and walking back toward his trainer, a tired but happy grin on his face. Chris curled his right hand into a fist, and the typhlosion did the same, bumping it against his trainer's. He mumbled his name a few times, and Chris nodded with a laugh.
"Definitely better. We need to work on it in a room filled with mattresses for sure, though that would probably just set the room on fire ..."
Flare trod over, her arm dropping back to her side and her breathing contained back to a normal rhythm. "That felt good," she said, crossing her arms.
"I know you missed it," her trainer replied.
"I do," she said, still a little breathless, "but I'm just glad to see you come out of your safety bubble. You were in there far too long."
"Forced, really."
"Your new beginnings seem to go that way, yes." The blaziken winked.
"Why am I surrounded by creatures with cryptic winking? Thanks, you brat."
Flare let out a small, amused laugh as May pulled out her pokéball and returned her in a beam of red light. Chris did the same with Bunsen, clipping the ball back to his belt.
"Good job," he said, clapping May on the back and making her choke on her saliva. She let out a few coughs before turning her head toward him and glaring.
"Softer with girls. You know, just don't even do that to girls."
"I thought we were buuuuuddaaaays, and I do that to my buuuuuddaaaays."
"I'm a different breed of 'buuuuuddaaaay' for your information." She twisted her right flip-flop against the concrete as she stared at the ground; she hadn't noticed her shoe was dry from pool water.
"Whatever." Chris clapped his hands together and rubbed them, smacking his dry lips. "So where's this dinner?"
. . .
May stared up at the crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. The shards were sparkling in the white light; solidified rain, she thought, frozen in time. She didn't know what to do with her hands. They rested on the white cloth of the table before sliding down to her lap only to place them back on the table, fingers pressing hard enough to feel the wooden structure underneath. They had just finished the main course – she had chicken with some sort of white sauce she couldn't name while Chris and Wally had steak – and were waiting on dessert. She smiled politely when the waiter pulled her plate off the table and balanced it in the crook of his elbow, trying to ease herself out of her awkwardness. No, May Maple is never awkward. That's Brendan's job. Ugh, enough about Brendan – that jerk! – already.
They were sitting at a round table, Wally on her left side and Chris to her right. She hadn't known this dining room was here – the one they ate in last night wasn't as lavishly decorated nor as formal but the food was twice as good. Still, the formality of it all seemed to restrict her enjoyment; she enjoyed dressing up, but impressing people that seemed to be of importance made her nervous.
May dragged her black high heels back, feeling the red carpet fibers tangled around the heels snap, and tucked her feet beneath her chair, pushing back the cloth covering. She pushed up the thick strap of her dress, a green ensemble, and shook her head to brush her curled hair out of her face. She gazed at the soft, gold wallpaper past the heads of the diners, most of them older couples. This ship is pretty much two different ventures, she thought, one for families and people her age and one for couples trying to keep the romance alive. It was odd being here seeing as she belonged in the former party – in fact, she was pretty sure they were the only one sitting at a group table. Everyone else was at small, square tables, most of them against the large, clean windows for ambiance purposes. It looked boring to sit there honestly; from here, all she could see was the black sea and the black sky, though maybe it was because she couldn't clearly gaze at the horizon lit by spots of gold.
Wally cleared his throat and pulled at the black collar of his shirt. "Um, thanks for ... dinner," he said tentatively, the first to say anything after their main course plates were taken away. "Especially for allowing me to come. I know the award was just for the winners of the battle contest–"
"Nonsense, Wally," the lady across from them interrupted. May gave Wally the side-eye; the lady in a tight, navy blue strapless dress had been putting an odd, high-stressed intonation on the green-haired boy's name ever since he introduced himself as Wally Wood. "We are happy, perhaps honored, to have you join us."
May turned her head to face Wally fully and could tell the boy was itching to ask her why it was such a honor, but he was too shy. These things tend to answer themselves anyway, something she learned from experience.
Chris didn't seem to care for formalities. He was dressed up, sure, a solid red, silk tie adorning his black button-up and his slacks ironed, but that was just Chris's nature: polished and a bit more fashion-conscious than his white-haired buddy (or is it buuuuuddaaaay?). But unlike May and Wally who were sitting stark-stiff in their covered, wooden chairs, Chris was leaning back. He patted his stomach and, much to May's relief, burped to himself, covering his mouth with a tight fist. "I'm stuffed," he proclaimed. "I don't think I could eat – ooh, cake." He immediately sat back up as the waiter put a plate of chocolate cake and chocolate-covered strawberries in front of him. He picked up his spare fork and dug in. She had to fight back the urge to roll her eyes and nodded politely again as the waiter gave her her own dessert.
"I managed to catch the end of your battle. Very strong, your pokémon," said the lady's companion who had introduced himself as Mr. B. The lady smiled at him, flipping her long, dark hair behind her shoulder. He reciprocated the gesture by grinning back, his teeth white, almost fake-looking. "Flare Blitz is an uncommon move around here."
Chris looked up from his cake and wiggled his eyebrows twice. "I know, right?" he said after swallowing his mouthful of dessert. "It's a very powerful move – most fire-type moves are – but anyway, I have been reading about it for ages and finally decided to try it. My typhlosion seemed like the perfect candidate. Fast little bugger, my Bunsen, and he has the ability to control the temperature of his flames. Once he masters the technique, I'm gonna see if he can integrated that into the attack, and if he can–"
May cleared her throat to stop him, and he grinned cheekily. It was endearing, actually, until May remembered who she was staring at. "Thanks," she halfheartedly addressed the couple ahead, "for the compliments and hospitality." She looked at the set of candles that were alight at the center of the table. It was hard to focus on the couple for so long; they looked too ... unreal. Too perfect, and sharp, and luxurious.
Wally picked up his fork and poked at a strawberry, letting it roll around. May wasn't too hungry for dessert either and instead opted to let her eyes sweep the room until the couple demanded their attention again. There were two empty seats next to Chris and one empty seat next to Wally, and she vaguely wondered who else was suppose to be here. The cruise did hold a couple of battle events per day, though there was an option of taking a free dinner in "The Lounge," the fancy dining area that May hadn't known existed until a hour ago, or on a voucher that worked at certain shops on the ship. She liked dressing up and Chris really wanted steak, but she could see why the other winners opted for the "less classier" route and got their winnings on paper.
Her eyes wandered to the seat to the right of Chris, the red bow tie still knotted perfectly and the white sheet covering the wooden chair undisturbed. She saw him, a white button-up adorned with a striped green tie – of course they had to match – and his hair less mussy. He would be trading snarky little jabs with his annoying best friend under mutter breaths, and they would laugh at inconvenient and inappropriate times that would catch everyone's attention, and when someone would ask what was so funny, both of them would zip their mouth shuts and go back to eating. The night would end with her raging at the both of them outside, the night air whipping around them, for being disgusting human beings – Wally would be hanging in the background, leaning against the railing, and would be staring up at the black sky, pretending not to know any of them – and they would just snicker and make fun of her dress or her shoes or how, in preparation for tonight, she burnt her neck curling her hair ("It looks like a hickey," Chris teased earlier). Those two got a rise out of each other that continued to build and build until someone got hurt – usually a slap to the face by May to Brendan.
"Ah, so you own the Berriology company. Guess it makes sense that the dinner would be provided by them," Wally said, lightly scraping his fork against the white, ceramic plate.
"Hmm?" May snapped out of her fantasy and pulled her eyes away from the empty seat, not before catching the weird gaze that Chris was giving her. The man had pulled out a black portfolio and had placed it on the empty spot to his right. He opened it a crack and had pulled out papers, and suddenly – the promotions, the dinner, the reason why they were the only one that accepted the dinner – was abundantly clear.
"No free dinner is free," Chris said with a grimace. "Thanks, May."
"You're the one that wanted steak," she hissed.
"You're the one that wanted to feel 'girly.'"
"Now, don't feel pressured," said Mr. B as he used the table to click his pen open, "but we would like to discuss sponsorship with our company. I'm sure you all are aware what sponsorship is, correct?"
Chris raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "Walking billboards," he said. "You battle under a company name, battle what they tell you to battle." He put his fork down and bit the tip of his tongue between his teeth. "Now I see. That's why you taken so much interested in Wally." He looked at Wally, who had looked to the side, probably pretending he couldn't hear or see anyone at the table. May assumed Wally had caught onto this as soon as sponsorships were brought up too. "Since he ranked so high in last season's Hoenn League, you know he would bring attention to your company if he signed a contract with you."
The lady simply smiled and lifted her glass of red wine as if to toast the answer, lightly swirling it.
"Our sponsorship programs are much more than give-and-take; if anything, it benefits more the trainer than the business," Mr B. replied coolly, lowering his eyelids to look at them with a half-lidded gaze (Scrutinizing us, May thought). He slid the papers across the table; May looked at them and noticed they were applications written in a fine, black print. "Unlike other programs, our trainers are allowed to travel around the region – to other regions, in fact – and pretty much function as ... how would you call it, Maria?"
"Freelance," the lady next to him said before pressing her heavily lipsticked lips on the glass and taking a sip of her wine.
"Yes, 'freelance' trainers. Of course, there are some stipulations ..."
Wally picked up a stapled application and flipped to the third page, reading the smaller print at the bottom. "This is a two year contract."
"You're not thinking of the benefits," Mr. B replied quickly as if used to this conversation, drumming his fingers on the table as Maria placed her glass on the table and folded her hands into her lap. "I know sponsorships are associated with 'contracts' as you said, commitments that they are forced into–"
"That's what sponsorships are, aren't they? Sure, you tell us now that we're allowed to roam around, but soon enough those reins will be pulled tighter and tighter and tighter." May was surprised that it was Wally arguing; she was sure Chris would be the one to fight against corporations being he was stuck in one for the last year, but here he was, sitting silently and reading the application pinned between his pointer finger and thumb. She looked at Wally; his pupils were dilated, filled with nervousness, but his voice was anything but shaky. She had to admire how grown he become from a year ago. He wasn't that shy, little sickly boy but someone who wasn't afraid to stand up for himself.
Mr. B tightened his lips but seemed to show sympathy in his hazel eyes. "They provide opportunities that a trainer not be able to reach on his own. They can help you reach your goals. Besides this, it's a way of giving the trainer a steady monetary income, which, as I'm sure you know, is very hard to do on the road. Some trainers aren't as lucky as you are when it comes to battle and need the help economically–" A tap on the shoulder interrupted him, and he turned his shaved head to look at the waiter. The waiter bent down a bit to whisper into his ear, and Mr. B nodded in response. He pushed his chair out and nodded at the trainers ahead. "Excuse us for a minute. Maria and I need to discuss something with some partners in the corridor. Please feel free to think about it. Read over the papers. No pressure, of course." He helped Maria out of her chair, and she placed her delicate hand in his open palm, letting him escort her out of the dining room, her hips swinging.
The three watched them descend down the corridor in silence until Wally, in a mumbled, angry tone, said, "It's skill, not luck. The freakin' nerve."
"You know what he meant," Chris answered. May squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, running her fingers down a seam of her dress. "He meant lucky with income, not with battling."
"Such crap. You know as well as I do what those programs do. They lull you into a false sense of security, making you believe they're helping you further your career and making you think you're in control, and bam – they use you. They make you advertise things you may not agree with, they whip you away from what you really want to do and there's nothing you can do about it. Your name becomes a brand; you're not a person but another dollar sign. I'm not buying into it, and if you were smart, you'd put that down"–he motioned toward the papers–"and walk away from this." Wally pulled the cloth napkin off his lap and placed it next to his dessert plate. "I thank them for dinner, but come on. I still have a soul and all."
"Icy," said Chris nonchalantly, eyes still focused on the application.
Wally tucked the chair back into the table and placed his hands on the top, leaning his weight into it. "We're trainers because we love what we do, not because of what we can earn."
May nodded slowly but kept her mouth shut, part because she didn't know what to say and part because she didn't want to take sides.
Chris finally snapped his attention away from the papers to look at the stern Wally. He snorted at the green gaze. "Such balls you grew ever since the league. Maybe since you ever visited Sootopolis and asked May out even though you knew how Brendan felt." He grinned viciously at the red that flushed Wally's face. May felt her throat constrict at her friend's bickering.
"That wasn't necessary," she said coldly.
Chris sighed, curling his application into a tube. "Fair enough. I'm just saying that they're these programs do provide opportunities."
"Besides money, name me one," Wally challenged, scratching behind his left ankle with his right foot. "Honestly, I can't believe I'm arguing with you about this. You were in a soulless corporation, weren't you? You were lured in by false promises by Maxie, no?"
"That was Brendan. You don't get it. That was different."
"Not really. Except for some cause that was supposed to 'benefit' the world that selfishly ignored the repercussions of said cause, you're thinking about joining a corporation for your own selfish needs. What kind of trainer are you?"
Chris smirked, though May could see the anger building up in his cheeks. "Look at you, my cute little Wally. Standing up for his beliefs like a big boy. I don't know whether to cry in happiness or sock you for being a complete dipshit."
May desperately wanted to back out of her chair and retreat to the safety of her room, but she knew she had to act as the referee in case things got too bad. She stared at the flickering candles, watching the wax drip into the glass plate. "Let's just ..." she trailed off and rubbed her lips together.
Chris opened his mouth, huffed, and poked the tip of his tongue against his cheek. He flicked his tongue away and ran it across his upper teeth, gazing at Wally in a mixture of amusement and anger. "For starters, you should really shut your mouth about shit you know nothing about. Whatever 'deal' me and Team Magma had is, and will be, between us or whatever parties I decide to tell that to. Was that plan stupid? Yes. Of course it was stupid. Did I agree with it? No. But, as you may know one day whether it's from me or from Brendan's big mouth, it was a position I was forced into–"
"So you're willingly walking into a position that will – and I mean 'will' not 'may' – force you to do things? Makes sense," his friend replied sarcastically. Wally clucked his tongue against the roof of his tongue. He lifted his right hand to his hair and plucked out a couple of green strands, rolling it between his fingers. "No, I don't know anything about your past nor do I think I need to. You contemplating this sponsorship is stupid."
Chris laughed. "You honestly don't get it. I didn't join that stupid team because I thought it was right thing or cool thing to do but because I had to for my family. It was money. It was for security. Tell me, Wally. How much money did you get when you placed in the league?"
Wally narrowed his eyes but didn't reply.
"Enough to offset traveling costs for a month? Two months? Half a year? More? How much did our top five placer get?"
Wally exhaled slowly, flaring out his nostrils.
Chris turned his attention toward May, who sat up, alarmed. "What about you, gym leader's kid?" May had never heard his voice go so icy. "Who'd you call when you needed money? Your daddy or Birch's daddy?"
May scraped her teeth against her bottom lip. "Don't bring me into this," she muttered.
"Hm. You see, I got shit," Chris said quietly. "Most trainers don't have monetary support."
"Don't sell who you are for money," Wally murmured.
"That's where you're wrong. It's not about me." He simpered sadly; May swore she saw him tear up, but she blinked, and the shininess at the corner of his eye ducts were gone. "It never was. I'll do what I have to do because that's my job as a brother, as a son." He looked back down at the application he placed back on the table; it had unfurled but the sides were curving up. "No, you won't get it. You neither." He directed his attention toward May. "In reality, trainers struggle. They struggle to survive. You're lucky, you two. You're out here for yourself, you're battling for yourself; I'm not. You need help? You got it. I'm here for my family because they need me to be out here. Trainers would kill for what these people are offering me."
"You're selling yourself short. You're selling yourself out," Wally argued. May twisted the corner of her napkin in her lap and looked down, staring at the rich emerald fabric of her dress.
"Who am I anyway?" Chris challenged.
Wally tried to tackle a second point. "I ... you know I didn't have support when I left for my journey–"
"Then I suppose I'm just not as 'skilled' as you, Wally," Chris interrupted. "When it comes down to it," he added sadly, "it's not me that's the selfish one here." Chris scooted his chair back and stood up, letting his napkin drop to the floor. He nodded at them both before swiping the application off the table. "I'll see you both tomorrow. I need to sleep this off."
With a twist of his shiny dress shoes, Chris headed toward the grand doors embellished with marble swirls. He walked down the carpeted corridor dimly lit by artificial candlelight. Wally stood up straight and May had remained sitting.
"If he needs help," Wally said, addressing the open space, "there are better ways to get it."
May placed the napkin in her lap on the table and stood up as well, feeling shaky in her high heels. "We don't know much about his situation," she remarked. "And he's right; we don't know what it's like to actually struggle with money. Brendan and I always had our parents support during our journey."
"Let's not group all of us together. I had no income coming in either and I did fine."
"Some people aren't as lucky as others."
Wally opened his mouth to argue this again but bit down on his lip to stop himself. "Mm," he replied, lifting his chin.
"I don't think it's fair to judge his decisions if we can't really empathize," she continued, pinching the soft material of her dress. "He's smart. He doesn't jump the gun and do things because it sounds good. He really thinks about his decisions."
"I don't want him to repeat the same actions that got him into a lot of trouble a couple years ago."
"Neither do, I, Wally. But I think we should let sleeping dogs lie. Let him do what he believes he needs to do."
Wally nudged his head back toward the applications resting on the table. "Think he'll do it?"
May pursed her lips, staring at the paper long enough where the words started to swirl together. "I guess we'll see."
