DISCLAIMER: I do not own the concept of Pokémon. I own only the specific characterizations of the canon characters as well as the assorted and individual background characters, along with the plot of this story itself. This work cannot be used, copied, reproduced or otherwise distributed. All rights reserved; Blakeface, The Pokémon Company, Satoshi Tajiri and Ken Sugimori, Nintendo, Gamefreak and Creatures Ltd.
December 18, 2000
102 Avenue L, Residence of Prof. and Mrs. Chokecherry
7:04 PM
Hortense Chokecherry was an older woman. She'd aged very gracefully, if she did say so herself, even if that was in part thanks to some expensive surgery to pull her cheeks in, plump her lips and straighten her teeth. She liked wearing long skirts and pumps, even in the house, like a good Sinnohsian housewife used to do. She liked to have dinner prepared for her husband when he came home, and she liked playing friendly games of Voltorb Flip with her friends every Wednesday afternoon. Hortense thought herself as nothing but the most perfect woman, with the most perfect husband, and the most perfect marriage, even if that didn't hold a candle to the reality of her dangerous perceptions.
Today, Mrs. Charles Chokecherry had on a long, sweeping black polka-dotted dress. Her matching pumps sparkled when she moved on the elegant tile of their expansive kitchen, reflecting off the stainless-steel appliances. She heard one of the doors of the house slam right as she was pulling the roast from the oven. As she turned to set it on the granite island in the middle of the kitchen, the slouching form of her husband appeared at the end of the hallway. He angrily threw down his coat and his briefcase before storming into the kitchen. With a barely contained sigh of derision, he fell into one of the chairs in the dining room, staring expectantly at his empty place setting.
Hortense moved gracefully into the dining room, setting plates of food onto the table for their meal. She kept sneaking glances at her reflection in the glass cabinets that held the good china in the dining room, noticing how her hair dipped just right in the light; how her skirt rustled ever-so-gently against her thighs; how her husband groaned irritably at her self-indulgence.
"You're just in time for dinner, my sweet!" she simpered in a high pitched, breathy voice. "I have the roast ready for you to carve."
Charles grunted in reply and picked up the two carving knives from the table robotically, ready to carve the roast turkey his wife had prepared for dinner. Hortense moved from dining room to kitchen as he prepared the roast, gathering tea roasted in the Sinnoh style, then chilled with ice. She set them down on the table and demurely took her place at her husband's side, waiting expectantly for him to finish carving.
"So, I went to the market today," Hortense broke into the eerie silence of the house, "and you'll never guess who I saw! I saw Amber Pinkerton and her husband, George, and their new baby Julia! Oh, what a splendid pregnancy she had. The baby is just as cute as a newborn Skitty and half as big; oh Charles, we must go over one day and see the baby. "
Hortense gracefully took the plate from her husband when he had given her an appropriate amount of the roast and began, equally as gracefully, spooning the vegetables onto the plate. Out of the corner of her eye, she would catch glimpses of the way her hands moved, just like a high society Sinnoshian woman should.
"…and then after the market I went to the craft store; you know, Charles, I've been thinking about replacing the upholstery on the chairs in the parlor—"
"Don't you ever stop blathering?"
Hortense was stunned into silenced by the cold derision in her husband's voice. The blood ran from her face as he rounded on her. She raised her hands to her mouth defensively—what was this coming to?—but Charles did not move forward towards her.
"For one moment, please, let me have silence!" he snapped, a thick wad of spittle flying from the corner of his mouth. "I can barely hear myself think, let alone be able to respond! You are physically incapable of being quiet for more than a minute and I cannot stand it any longer! I wish that you would just leave me alone! And for Cressel's sake…I don't give a damn about the market or whom you saw there or anything else!"
He rose from the table, grabbing his plate and slouching awkwardly into his study. The door slammed behind him with a quick snap that rattled the old house from one end to the other. For a long moment, Hortense sat at her place, stunned, but that soon faltered. She didn't know whether to cry or beseech Charles for answers or even leave—
Her thoughts broke off as the study door opened and Charles' slouched frame rested in the light from the study. For a long moment, the two stared at each other; each waiting for the other to speak, when finally, he shuffled past her, wheezing heavily, and retrieved the bottle for his heart medication from their bedroom. Hortense couldn't bring herself to even breathe as she watched her husband shuffle from one end of the house to the other, the raspy tang of ozone that always seemed to follow him around lingering in the air fragranced by the dinner. When the study door again closed with a slam, and the locked clicked solidly behind it, she let out a breath she wasn't aware she was holding.
With stiff, mechanical movements, she cut her roast into bite size pieces and then dropped her head into her hands and cried.
December 19, 2000
43 Malachite Street, Apartment 12
Veilstone City
2:34 AM
He was nearly asleep when the BlukBerry buzzed angrily, disturbing his thoughts. Cyrus rolled over underneath the mass of covers and pulled it close to his face, wincing at the bright light from the screen. A single text message was displayed; he opened it.
Meet me in an hour.
Cyrus sighed and ran a hand tiredly through his shaggy blue hair. He stifled the motion of annoyance, using his training, until he was satisfied that he could respond properly without the mess of an emotional appeal. Grunting, he threw the covers off and moved to the dresser across the way, rummaging around until he'd found a pair of pants and a clean shirt before moving quickly through his apartment. He quickly gathered shoes, a jacket, and was out of the apartment before his coat was even buttoned.
The hush of the snow left the world quiet. Veilstone slept from a hard day's work of digging out the feet of powder that had fallen yesterday and the night before. Cyrus was suitably certain that he wouldn't be seen; nevertheless, he took the long way around to the twenty-four hour coffee shop located by the park he knew was the meeting place. He sighed and sipped the java appreciatively as he waited for his partner to arrive. It was just the place, he figured, and he wasn't a fool. She chose everything she did deliberately.
"Hello," a voice sounded behind him, and Cyrus turned on the bench to look behind him. "You're early," the voice added as he did so.
"Didn't expect me to be late, did you?" he rasped hollowly. "Here. I got you a cup."
"Thank you," she replied sincerely, and soon his partner was sitting beside him on the bench. For a very long moment, they sat in silence broken only by the sounds of the coffee slurping through the tiny holes in the Styrofoam cups. He sighed and watched absently as his breath curled away in the chilly morning air.
"I know there's something on your mind," he choked out hoarsely. "You don't ever do anything without strategizing first. Let's see your opening move."
She was grinning a wily smile as she tucked her long black coat closer around her body. "Shall we take a walk?"
They strolled down the park through deep cuts in the snow, their boots making soft sounds as they sank through the fresh powder. For a moment, her left hand lingered by his, but it seemed like she decided against it and clutched it back around her cup as they stopped by a fence blocking their access to the field in front of them. Giant rocks rose out of the ground in front of them; during the day, they cast long shadows across the park. Even now, the tiny spotlights that illuminated them during the night shone through the snow, casting a watery glow on the scene. Four or five were scattered through deep craters in the ground's surface. Cyrus leaned on the fence and took a long sip of his coffee.
"Well?" he prompted.
"Forgive me," she replied immediately, "but this is one of my favorite places in the whole region."
"Even more than the National Library in Canalave?" he asked softly.
"Almost as much," she grinned easily. He paused, waiting expectantly. He could feel that it was close. Her opening move; they were starting a dangerous game of chess that would escalate into something terrible that neither one of them could imagine.
"Why did you kill that man?"
Cyrus nearly snorted into his coffee as he stared his companion down. He swiped angrily at his nose. "Kill him? I didn't kill him."
"You didn't?" She was genuinely surprised as she scrutinized the lines in his face, looking for any hint of a lie. She was almost surprised to find that there wasn't one.
"I need him. For my vision," he added.
"Your vision?" she repeated, the words dripping like acid from her tongue. "You're actually…still planning to go through with that?"
They let that hang in the air for a long moment, the implications of her statement ringing loudly in the silence. Cyrus looked into her grey eyes and nodded.
"I see it now," she murmured quietly, "because he was so well placed in the MarshBadge Experiment. And his credentials don't hurt either, do they? Top of his class at Celadon University, graduated early, recruited through a talent-searching group…just like you and me, huh?"
Cyrus shrugged. "I suppose," he replied hoarsely.
They paused at the edge of the park and stared at the dark horizon that fell just beyond the cliffside. Heavy clouds bunched and brushed across the night sky, but thanks to the glow of the city lights, they could almost see the dark landmass that was the Battle Island hanging far off to the right. The curve of the cliffs were nearly shear all the way to Snowpoint City. If they squinted, they could almost see the urban glow shining from that fair northern city.
She sighed, letting her breath arch away from her in a puff. "I sincerely hope…for your sake…that you know what you're doing."
Cyrus nodded and stuck his hands in his jacket. "I do, Cynthia," he replied quietly.
She shrugged and began striding down the snow-covered path, arms folded around her torso. He watched her go for a long moment, the edge of her fur-trimmed cloak hissing quietly against the ground. For a moment, emotion won over logic, and he felt his heart burst at the thought of her walking away from him forever. For a split-second, he almost called out to her—
The moment passed. His words died on his lips before he could even think to let them loose. Turning, Cyrus shuffled from the park.
Been a very long time, hasn't it? I'm surprised you're still here reading this, but somehow, I've got enough of a following to keep it going. I was really inspired by a couple people to keep going, and y'all know who you are, so thank you. Not much to say, except I've got a couple more chapters written and I was finally satisfied enough with this one to release it.
Love to you, for toughing it out.
Everything will belong to Team Galactic!