Disclaimer: Pokémon isn't mine!

A/N: Thanks for reading!


Day 12: Write about any pairing.
Pairing: Grimsley/Shauntal
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1,459 words.


.: Scenario :.
~ She's a plot in motion ~

:: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::

She's a writer, the resident novelist, but if Grimsley wanted to, he could probably write a book too; perhaps not as grand or creative as hers, but a book nonetheless. For subject matter…he isn't sure. The genre of his book? It's up in the air. There are so many options, but he has all the time in the world. Unfortunately, Grimsley doesn't have the attention span to keep writing his unwritten novel. He rather lives in the moment, making choices that would otherwise decide his future; a constant gamble.

"So what else do you guys talk about?"

"Shauntal, questions like that are bordering invasive." He smirks, flipping a coin while remaining seated on the black leather couch in the center of his battle chamber. Resting the side of his head on the knuckles of his left hand, Grimsley watches as Shauntal writes notes in that coil-bound book of hers while sitting on the floor. He did offer her a spot on the couch—even the table where he likes to deal cards—but apparently, the Ghost-type Elite has a habit of staying in one spot when she's 'in the moment'. Grimsley flips his coin again, adding. "And may I ask why the sudden interest in the company I keep?"

"Well, after a recent writer's block, I suddenly had the idea of a mystery novel since I've yet to try writing one." Shauntal nods once, burying her nose in her current draft. "Except, I realize that even though I'm a Ghost-type Trainer, I'm not at all an expert on mystery in general and that's why I thought of you!"

"I won't deny that I'm honored." He places a hand over his heart. "However, I would rather if the accounts of my private life remain where they should."

She perks up and Shauntal looks over her shoulder to face him. He will admit that there were times when this bibliophile has moments of being…appealing; despite the fact that she doesn't realize it. Adjusting the round glasses perched on her button nose, the novelist laughs and waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, you don't have to worry about that! It's just inspiration that I need. Although most of my works do take place in the modern era, I make sure to keep the reality out of my fiction. Only…mentions here or there—cameos."

He still doesn't like the idea of leaving even one hint that can be traced back to him. There are plenty of things Grimsley isn't proud of in his life and his background as a 'has-been' aristocrat is one of them. His colleagues of the Pokémon League have a general idea of his past (sans Caitlin; the young heiress that she is), but Grimsley plans to keep their knowledge at the surface level. He does a rather good job of remaining incognito too, but then Shauntal joins the Unova Elite Four… Her curiosity is harder to ward off then her Coffagrius's Mummy ability.

Sighing, Grimsley stands up from his seat and offers Shauntal a hand. The action befuddles her, but nonetheless, she takes it and rises to her feet, gripping her notebook to her chest. Her large, brown eyes are silently asking him a question and Grimsley is more than happy to give her an answer. "I'm afraid I won't be much help for your next novel, Shauntal."

"Huh? But why?" She looks shocked for a moment, following Grimsley down the flight of stairs. "You're like the perfect source of inspiration for my book! Is it compensation you need?"

"It's not in my policy to ask for monetary needs from a lady, Shauntal." He raises an eyebrow; slightly insulted with the notion. Besides, they're both members of the Elite Four; Grimsley doubts their salaries are vastly different. Tossing the tail end of his scarf over his shoulder, he continues. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be spending the rest of the afternoon playing roulette at the tables."

He practically touches the main floor, but then Shauntal yanks the end of his scarf. Grimsley nearly chokes to death in a fashion unsuitable for a gentleman! The novelist doesn't even take notice of her (deadly) actions as she refuses the declination to her request. "Grimsley, please! If I don't write this book the way I want it to roll off my pen, I'll go insane!"

To be quite honest, Grimsley believes Ghost-type Trainers were already crazy…and a bit obsessive. "Shauntal, I would love to help you—I really would—but I am uncomfortable with the thought of my private life becoming an open book."

The sound she makes—disheartened, pitiful, and puppy-like—almost breaks his heart. The part of him that doesn't feel guilty…finds the sound utterly amusing. Grimsley cracks a lopsided smile with the intention to provide consolation, but Shauntal suddenly gets in his face after keeping her eyes on the floor. She's ecstatic; more determined for answers than to simply give up. "That's because there is something deeper than meets the eye, right?"

"…Shauntal—"

"This is exactly what I was hoping for! I'm so glad I decided to come to you!" Shauntal begins scribbling in her notebook again, muttering inaudibly to herself as Grimsley looks on.

The novelist giggles to herself once in a while, throwing curt glances (he's pretty sure she's trying to be secretive about it) in Grimsley's direction; her smiling growing with each new 'detail' she plans out. He blinks before shrugging and accepting defeat. Sometimes Shauntal can be a bit overbearing when her mind is on books, drafts, and fantasies, but her honesty and vigilance is admirable. And she isn't a liar—if she plans on using him as a 'model' for one of her characters, Shauntal makes them as unique as possible.

Suddenly, she reads a passage from her draft out loud. "'Confidence is what he uses to overshadow the dark mysteries surrounding his past. A technique of misdirection so tactfully retained, he remains elusive in the eyes of the public…' What a great passage for introducing the enigmatic character!"

Ah, there is no stopping her momentum now. "Yes, it's quite something."

"Glad you agree!" Shauntal beams, walking past him. "Now I better hurry and get everything down before it slips out of my mind—"

"A moment, my dear." Grimsley grabs the black collar around her neck before she slips away, mirroring her action moments earlier to a less painful extent. Shauntal blinks at him, but the Dark-type Elite only replies. "Since you insist on using me, perhaps I will take your offer of compensation."

Shauntal slowly nods. "I…guess that's fair! Since you're going to the casino, how much—"

He waggles a finger, clicking his tongue. "Didn't I say earlier that I have no need for monetary compensation?"

"Then what do you what?"

Grimsley lets the silence hang in the air before smirking. With movements as limber as a Liepard, he pulls the glasses off Shauntal's face and takes the moment of her confusion to plant a short kiss on her cheek, feeling it warm up quickly before Shauntal pushes him away. Ah, he should have done this earlier; maybe then he would've realized that timid, honest Shauntal looks positively beautiful underneath those misleading glasses. It doesn't help that with her blushing, baffled expression, Grimsley wants to repeat his actions.

"What was that?" she squeaks, leaning away from him.

"Compensation," he simply replies, offering back her glasses. Shauntal hesitates for a moment before swiping them; careful not to touch him. "Perhaps that can also add inspiration to your novel, Shauntal."

The glasses are crooked on her face when she pauses to look at him; face still very red. "E-Eh? How so—Why?"

"Well, isn't that something you as a writer are to determine?" Grimsley has a cunning look in his eyes that isn't missed by the Ghost-type Elite. "I doubt this character you have in mind is willing to give out all the answers from the start without a little incentive along the way."

She isn't able to provide an reply; instead mumbling incoherencies under her breath while shrinking behind her notebook. It leaves an impression on Grimsley that's both entertaining and fitting for Shauntal; the novelist who would do almost anything to write her stories. Hmm…perhaps that would be the subject of his unwritten novel: a young journalist investigating the story behind an aristocrat with too much time on his hands. The genre? A mystery with a romantic subplot.

…Somehow, he has a feeling Shauntal wants to write that very idea…

"So, if I needed more…i-inspiration, coming to you would be…?" Shauntal asks in uncertainty, peeking from behind her notebook.

Grimsley blinks before touching his lips with his index finger, smirking. "So long as you're willing to compensate me, my dear."