11:09 - November 22nd, 2007 - 15 days until December 5th

She sighed. "So you just let him get away, then."

"W-well, I-I, err… with all due respect, it wasn't really that simple, ma'am; I-I didn't really h-have much of a say in this, but if I could've, then I would've—"

"Spoonie."

"…Y-yes, ma'am?" he replied, looking up at her.

Ornette forced the wind from her lungs, rubbing her temple with one hand and swirling her wine with the other. She didn't look at the mess of a man before her until she had a reply ready — the look she settled on was that of an exhausted pack-leading Tyrantrum. "If you wouldn't have done your job, I'd have no reason to keep you here. Surely, you are aware of this?"

Spoonie gulped. "Y-yes, ma'am."

"Then why do you expect me to care? What matters more to me is that you didn't. You had strict orders not to tolerate any suspicious behaviour, and you failed to abide by them —and now someone knows. A conference-level trainer, no less."

Drying her lips, she turned to look at nothing in the distance and took a drink. Of course, even when she wasn't looking at him, Mildred was — and so was Alice. Spoonie hated that; the only thing worse than scrutiny was silent scrutiny. Especially when it came from Pokémon who knew more about him than he did, both his past and his future. They were judging him, and they could well have been laughing. About what, he'd never know — but Ornette would, and there was no way she'd ever tell him.

Frankly, he couldn't stand it. "Look — I'm really sorry for this, eh— my l-lapse in judgement, if you would! If there's any way I can make it up to you, please—"

"Please be quiet while I'm trying to think then, would you?!" Raw rage was etched upon her face as she turned around, her voice scalding hot and hoarse. He froze in the headlights, almost certain he'd explode before he made it out of here; if only she'd let him say his piece, surely she'd understand, but apparently that wasn't allowed! Still, she'd probably find it all out through other sources as she turned to chatter with her Pokémon. "Alice — keep an eye on him, and make sure he doesn't interrupt. Mildred… please help a girl out here."

As she beckoned the Mismagius inwards with her clawed fingers, he could only be silent. Because he was under orders, after all. He could only watch on as Mildred floated by her trainer's side, making not a sound nor a face — aside from a tilt of the head, which took Ornette aback. Her desperation was slowly turning into frustration as she listened intently, and he would have killed to find out what was going on.

"Yes, yes, that much is clear," she replied as she side-eyed him, "but I still don't know what exactly it is I'm looking out for, do I?"

Which is when it crossed Spoonie's mind that he hadn't told her— Alice nearly split his head open— and would continue to not tell her what he looked like. He really appreciated the sentiment, of course; there was some important business going on, and he would hate to disrupt that. But was it really necessary to put him under such intense, eye-bursting pain— yes, it was, he was reminded, and so he kept his jaw clenched and tried not to scream. All the while, Mildred was probably divulging secrets to her trainer, things he held dear and would never tell a soul. Ornette probably knew them now, though. Her face was like a pale mask worn by a ghost who hadn't slept in weeks as she slowly turned to him, apparently fascinated.

"That works for me, dearie," she said. All was silent as he waited to find out his fate, and for a long moment, nothing stirred. Then her lips unfurled into a snarl as she got prepared to be disgusted. "Show me what happened."

"No no, that won't—"

An invisible hammer struck his head, leaving him writhing in pain as sharp jagged spikes tore up his mind. Screaming wasn't permitted, of course; it would have disturbed Mildred, and that helped nobody. Eyes as though they were about to burst, his hand scraped across his face, which did nothing to alleviate the screaming pain. All the while, she just sat and watched, blankly taking in whatever Mildred was showing her. If there was one thing he would have killed for it was better communication because this was killing him — though it wasn't like he could protest.

It'd always been like this, and it was one of the reasons Spoonie was always on his best behaviour. It was one of the reasons the mob was still around, which must have been good for something… though some days, he just didn't know what.

But she knew, she knew far more than he was comfortable with. Her eyes lit up as she rose to full attention. Mildred was smiling at him, baring teeth she didn't have.

He was in trouble.

"Okay. Right. Thank you ever so much, Mildred." She didn't turn to look at Mildred as she came back to reality; instead, she just leaned in, ghostly laughter coming through her nostrils. "Spoonie?"

There was no choice but to go along with this, and he knew that. "Uh…" he began, a soft and easing smile stretching onto his face. "Y… y-yes, ma'am?"

He could barely hear his own voice, but to her, it was loud and clear. She hesitated, her fingers tensed together as she tried to bring the right words to her mouth. "This intruder of ours — I just want to make sure I'm getting the image right here. Big, built like bricks, black hair, glasses, a lab coat; bubbly guy, but he talks like he knows things he really shouldn't — not just about us, but about everything. Is that how you'd describe him?"

"Um." This was more spot-on than he liked. He took a deep breath, concluded there was no way to dodge this, and hoped for the best. Which took a load of his shoulders, as he smiled.

"Well?"

"Yes, m-ma'am; that's… exactly how I'd describe him. Why… why do you ask?"

Something stopped her mid-thought, and she just deflated into her seat. She let it sink in with the deep breath she took, and finished the rest of her wine in one drawn-out gulp — she let it sit, swirled the empty air around until something finally hit her.

Then it hit him.

Just above the right eye, and hard enough to shatter.

"Fuck!"

It screamed like a gunshot to the temple as he nursed the bloody wound with one hand. His uncovered eye followed the broken shards at his feet right up to Ornette, off her feet and pacing around. In the dark underground room, he saw her pacing, and he swore she was shaking. Actually, that wasn't in character for her — she might have been shaking.

But then it wasn't in character for her to throw wine glasses at people. "What did you do that for, then?!" he yelped, indignant as blood crawled down the gaps between his fingers.

"Why do you think?" she yelled, outstretched in front of him and nearly blocking all the light in the room. Mildred looking and sweating — if a Mismagius could do such a thing — and even Alice was concerned, unsure whether to help her or set him on fire. "What is wrong with you— do you know what you've just done?!"

"No! Nobody tells me a damn thing!" His voice rose, about to break; he was holding together as well as the wine glass across the floor. "What's wrong, then?! It's just one guy — so what if he's in the conference?! We can take him! We outnumber him and it ain't even close!"

"And you don't think I know that?! Do you know how much extra work this is for me, getting involved here — I try to save this region from falling apart and the powers that be foist this on me! You would think I've done something to upset them — there goes us getting involved in the conference, there goes so much of our income, and at this rate, there goes my damn mind!"

She was storming around, trying to make sense of any of this — not like that was an option for Spoonie, of course. "Well, what do you want me to do about it?!"

"I want you to sit back and be quiet, while I figure out how to clean up your mess — why do I even bother sometimes? Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths…" she said, slowing her stomping as she gave herself a moment to calm down. Mildred floated to her side, her ghostly cloak wrapping around her trainer's shoulders as she rubbed her face against Ornette's cheek. For a moment, he could just see a genuine smile spread onto her lips before she turned away to have a moment to herself. "Thank you, my dear; I don't suppose you'd be able to lend me a hand, here?"

Before he could protest, Alice put him under that skull-shattering spell that he swore could've killed him. But once again, he couldn't scream.

"But they already are haunting me — right, right; I'm sorry… so… I… don't want to be too rough on him, but do you reckon I go to the Rain Houndour about this? It's better to be safe than sorry, isn't it?"

Actually, that was some solace. Dealing with Corrado wasn't his job.

"Alright," she sighed softly, running her hand through Mildred's cloak just the way she always liked. "You're always such a help, my dearie; thank you so much, once again."

Of course, he wasn't off the hook; Alice was ready to incinerate him as the fireball in her hands reflected on her bared canines. Even though her turning around stood the Delphox down, it wasn't like he was ready to let this slide just yet. "What?!"

She sighed as she slumped down on her seat, rubbing her temples. "Look, I sincerely apologise for throwing a glass at your head — that may well have been out of order — but you've disobeyed direct orders, given me a painful job to deal with, and put all of us in this organisation in the path of jeopardy. And for that, you must take some responsibility. I'll do whatever is necessary to clean up this mess, but please — can't you be a bit more diligent in future, for everyone's sake?"

'Sincerely apologise' his ass. He took a deep breath, and prepared his most impassioned defence; he hadn't been heard out fairly at all. "And I want you to look; I don't understand—"

But that didn't matter. She'd heard enough. "I'm not asking you — no, I can't ask you to understand; you know that isn't how it works," she said as she rose to her feet and looked away. "I'm simply asking that you do your job. Dismissed."

How he wished she could ask him. There were few things he hated more than following instructions he just didn't get. But it wasn't an option for now; he wasn't mentally prepared. Barely anyone was.

So, in defeat, he got up and left.

Fourteen days to beat Gardenia, and it was barely two o'clock.

"So, this is what I've got so far: Ronnie's much more docile than Byrne; Ronnie's a Rock-type and a Steel-type, Byrne's a Normal-type and a Flying-type; Byrne still can't really use his wings perfectly, Ronnie's not as mobile…" said Connor as he looked over at the chicken-scratch in his notebook. "…Uhhh… th-there's not a lot to go off there, r-really…"

Reyes was preoccupied with a burger, but that didn't stop him from making hand gestures about it. "It's a start, at least! And if you're getting your training tailor-made for your boys, the physical side of things? It's just as important as the, err — it's the, um… — look, you can't have a sandwich with just the one slice of bread, can you?"

Not the way Connor would've worded that, in truth. His first takeaway was that Reyes was really hungry, and he didn't have anything else beyond that — but then Reyes was looking at him, and he was looking at the burger. Deeply puzzled; if a sandwich needed two slices of bread, and training Pokémon needed two… things of a thing, and physical training was one of them…

"Do you get what I'm saying?"

"…Uh… w-well, er— I— I'm really, really sorry, but I-I don't — but, uhh, that's just on me; I'm sure you're on to something!" (Connor absolutely meant that; whenever Reyes was this passionate about a thing, there was always some merit to it. Even if he didn't understand it!)

The nice words didn't really do anything, though; Reyes still looked a bit dejected about the whole thing. "Ahh, I'm sorry about this, my brain's just… hungry mode right now, you know?" It didn't stop him from smiling or putting his hand on the table, though, because food brain wasn't going to stop him now. "I'm gonna get back to eating and think of a better way to put that, but I'll still be all ears if you want to use me like a rubber Ducklett, if that sounds good to you?"

"Right, right; err — sorry about that, once again." Once again, running off to become a hermit was an option; to Connor, it beat upsetting his best friend.

"Psssh, no need to apologise! Nobody has been as fine as you, ever." As Reyes dismissed it with a hand wave, Connor figured that if fussing wasn't worth the hassle; if it wasn't on his friend's mine, it shouldn't have been on his.

The physical aspects of training are just as important as ?, he scribbled into his notebook, so you need to keep them engaged.

Running over it again, this didn't seem like the proper way to word it. After all, keeping them engaged was necessary for anything, and his problem was figuring out a way to do that — but then, logically, that didn't make much sense; if physical training was a necessary part of staying engaged, surely the opposite wasn't also true? Something was missing here — the ? that was a prerequisite for engagement, the other slice of bread, the opposite of physicality…

"Oh! Uh — m-mental training, right?" said Connor as he dropped his pen, euphoric.

It took Reyes a moment to register, with sinews of pork and plant dangling from his mouth. "Mm?"

"Physical and mental training are equally important; t-that's, er, is that what you were… getting at…?"

"Mmm! Mmm — yes! Exactly that!" In the midst of Reyes' exaggerated finger-snapping, Connor couldn't help but feel a bit pleased with himself; they were finally on the same page. "Great job," he said; "now, for our next trick, let's—"

"Boys! You'll never guess who I just bumped into—"

"Arceus."

"…No, what made you—?"

Florence was halfway through the door, and she found Reyes' lack of hesitance disturbing — he hadn't even looked away for a moment. Connor, on the other hand, was still deep in thought; he was busy rattling off all the people that a) she'd know, b) they'd know, and c) could feasibly be in town. The first answer that came to mind? "It, uh — it wouldn't happen to be Gardenia, would it?"

"No — good guess though."

"Was Arceus close, at least?"

She needed a moment to make sense of it to figure out why she was bothered, and only then did she reply. "Why is this the line of questioning you're— y'know what, never mind."

At this point, her guest got tired of waiting; she opened the door herself and the boys' faces lit up in unison. "Lucia!"

"Nice to see the big leagues haven't changed you two." A smile pursed up her lips as she came over and took a seat, Florence perching down next to her. "How're you two doing, then? Any IT gigs come up for you lately, Reyes?"

"What—"

Reyes laughed and nodded, before looking her in the eyes knowingly. "I'm afraid not, but my eyes are kept open and my fingers are crossed just in case, you know?"

"Well, for everyone's sake let's hope not, eh?" she chuckled, and Reyes started chuckling too — much to Florence's visible confusion as Connor joined in. "And Connor, how're things on your end? Is your training going well?"

As Reyes set about finishing off his food, Connor took a deep breath as he thought about the question. "Things are, err — they're going well, f-for the most part anyway, thanks; training is… training, I guess? I dunno, it's just being a bit more difficult than I'd like for this gym — but thank you for asking, err; I-I hope things are going well for you? Is the job going well — or, er, what brings you to town?"

"Yeah, about that… see, I had some words with my dad and Roark, and long story short, I ended up leaving the job to become a trainer. So here I am!"

Lucia was a trainer now? Not what he'd expected, but he could hardly complain. His face lit up, and the questions started coming to him. "Oh, nice! When'd you set off — and, er, what're your Pokémon like? And are you in town for the Gym, then?"

Now it was her turn to get some answers ready. "A couple of weeks ago, my Pokémon are pretty cool — I'll show you them afterwards if you'd like? And yeah, I beat Roark a few days ago and now I'm here, same as you I guess."

"That's — you beat Roark in two weeks?" he asked, his mouth agape. "You must be really good at this already then!"

"Well, I'd certainly like to think so, but thanks! Hey, maybe we can help each other out for this next Gym then, eh?"

Connor took a moment to think about his reply, but he decided honesty was the best approach. "D-definitely works for me! Oh, I'm super excited to meet your team; you, err — you'll be pleased to know mine haven't changed a lot either, haha…"

"You guys… know each other really well then, huh?" said Florence as she leaned in, smiling. She looked at the girl beside her, who grinned back.

"Of course! She's a good friend of ours, and we owe her a bunch for all the help in Oreburgh. Also," said Reyes in between bites, "her folks know how to make some great food. Next time we're in Oreburgh, we've got to go there."

"Aw, thanks — but for now, you've got to focus on this place." Her hands beat the table as she looked at everyone. "How long are you guys planning on staying in town for?"

"Well, we're aiming to get the Gym wrapped up before the League starts. Then we're gonna head to Jubilife to watch it — and also because, y'know, two tight Gym challenges and all this travelling? We wanna spend December taking a break, and get all refreshed for the new year."

"I see. Then I'll tell you what — if we all manage to get that done before the 6th, I'll gladly come to Jubilife with you all. I could do with the break too, come to think of it; plus, it'd be fun to watch it together, wouldn't it?"

"Oh! Uh — crikey, that wouldn't be an inconvenience for you, would it?"

"Nonsense; it'd be fun to have a little group to travel around with for a bit, wouldn't it? Besides, Pokémon training can get a bit lonely if you're travelling by yourself."

Florence's eyes lit up, as she turned to the rest of the party. "Well, er — I don't have any objections if you guys don't, I gotta say," she said with a smidge of joy and zero hesitation.

"None from me! The more the merrier."

In time, Connor came around and slowly nodded as well. "I… yeah, I think that works for me, too; it'd, uhh — i-it'd be nice to have you around!"

"Well, that's very nice of you all!" She smiled politely, leaning back in her chair before turning to Reyes. "Now, when you're all done with your food, let's go out and train — I'd like to waste as little time as possible if we're on deadline."

Reyes took the hint, shovelling the last of his food into his mouth and taking minimal time to chew before he swallowed it. Once it all went down, he took a deep breath before a most devious grin crept onto his face. "Then let's get on with it, shall we, Connor?"

"Oh, uh — yeah, that's f-fine by me, if it is with everyone else…?" he asked, looking around.

Everyone seemed to be in agreement, and so off everyone went. Connor couldn't help but reflect, though; if Lucia's travelling with the group became permanent (which, really, he had no problems with; she was a wonderful person Connor had a lot of time for, her remembering who he was — and not in a bad way! — made him feel great, and Florence seemed to be more than happy about this), that'd take the group up to four people. Which was quite a lot of people, actually! A lot of people with their eyes on him at any given moment, meaning a lot of people who knew him — which meant they knew about him, which was kind of a terrifying thought, actually. Also, while a crowd of four was far from the biggest one, it was still a crowd.

Which wasn't inherently a bad thing, but of all the things in the world, crowds scared him the most.

Chills ran down Mike's back as he slumped against the wall. From the sounds on the other side, he deduced a war was being fought with only fists and thunder. It bothered him immensely that Ornette let out this space for this, and being in charge of ordering them about bothered him even more, because while they provided a valuable service he had to be honest: he couldn't stand a thing about them.

How they dressed, with their damn trench coats and fedoras on all the time — all the time, and apparently that was so important that none of them could Or how they constantly wrought all sorts of havoc in the training room and made the most unholy cacophonies with no regard for anyone else; sometimes (just sometimes!) it was him who had to clean the mess up, and he wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy. Or just the way they carried themselves, really; they were so clearly so far up their own asses, and just thinking about communicating through that gave him a hernia.

To such an extent that he even had to pep himself up with his best pal before going in. "Okay, Rocky, help me out here; do you think I got this?" he asked, his voice dropped to a whisper.

Being a Wigglytuff, Rocky wasn't capable of giving constructive advice. That didn't stop him from trying; he puffed himself up to twice his normal size, glowering as Chimchar flames lit up in his eyes and his fist thumped the wall.

Mike almost froze up at the thought of rousing attention from the other side — he'd have much rather approached them on his own terms. But then if Rocky didn't care who was on the other side, why did he?

He, too, pumped up like a balloon, a smile writ large on his face as his voice rose to normal volume. "Yeah, works for me, pal; let's show 'em what's expected from someone in their position, eh? Whaddaya say?"

Rocky pouted in determination, staunchly refusing to be put off as he bellowed, "Yoom-tah!"

"Yeah!"

Swaggering over to the wooden door, Mike met the candle and jammed his key through the hole, barging it open—

"Oi, oi!" yelled someone.

Then all of the eyes fell on him, all across the room.

Through a mass of cigarette smoke, he looked and found that everything was wrecked. Wrecked mat flung into every nook and cranny, the laminate floor tarnished by burns, and walls caved in. It seemed he'd walked in on a brawl, a Machamp's fist locked in an Electivire's paw — and each one turned to him, eager and adamant to hear what was so important; after all, sparks still danced around the two. Behind each one stood a table, and on each table, a half-drunk bottle of bourbon; leaning against each table was a mostly conscious trainer, only their eyes visible through the gap between hat and coat — but then Mike got the gist of it from just that. The only other thing that moved was a third character, folding his coat's lapels down to reveal a smile as he walked through the smoke.

"Well, if it isn't our old." His voice was as rough and murky as a tar pit, another thing Mike couldn't stand; that couldn't have been how he normally sounded. "What brings you to the Rain Houndour's lair, bozo?" (It was how he got his nickname though. Or rather, why he very deliberately started calling himself the Rain Houndour one day. "Y'know, like Tom Waits," he'd always add on — still very deliberately — in his Tom Waits voice, like the gigantic pompous prick he was.)

"Hi, Corrado," he said, wielding his best smile. "I gotta talk to you about some official business, from the boss — uhh, I wasn't interrupting anything, was I?"

"I see; boys, carry on!"

Sharing a grunt the fight continued, to the noise of fists shellacking stomach and searing high voltage — so loud Mike could barely hear himself think. Walking to somewhere quieter, he saw the Machamp lit up all over as a gigantic fist pummelled him off-guard in the chest, sending him flying into the table just as its trainer grabbed their whiskey.

Mike had to stop Rocky from joining in, and he got all puffed up about it. Truthfully, he was just as disappointed about it as his Wigglytuff.

Corrado's coat threshed behind him as he settled on his ideal place of conversation: leaning against the wall, next to the door and in the way of Mike. Another thing he hated: when he inevitably had to get out, he'd much rather not have to go around some big lug too important to take off his coat whenever he was in a room. Too lazy to shave and he'd apparently been up all night from the look of things, even though surely he had nothing going on. Still, Mike smiled, because there was no use in alienating important associates no matter how irritating they were.

"So, what can I do fer ya?" grumbled Corrado, fumbling his nose as he spoke.

"Well, the boss has requested your services for… crucially important business, shall we say." He paused so as to not stumble on his words, though in truth, he was still struggling to think. "There's… someone who might be a thorn in our side, and the boss has requested they be taken care of — it was deemed that you and your associates would be best suited for taking them on."

"Mm. Okay." He thought. "Why?"

Another thing Mike hated: repeating himself. "Because, like I said, apparently you're the best people we have for this. The boss specifically asked for y—"

"No, no; thank ya kindly, but that's obvious." He sneered as he swatted the suggestion away. "I mean, who in particular? What've they done to deserve this? Why're we goin' after him?"

Repeating himself for no reason, too! Still, he kept the diplomat's face because personal dislike took a backseat to business goals. He could barely hear himself think over the brawl because they never knocked it off.

"Okay, so — this guy, picture this: big guy, glasses, lab coat, bit of an eccentric. Y'know, he's... weird. That don't matter too much, though; he's a real big shot; gonna be in the big conference about two weeks away — as a matter of fact, I've heard he's one of the favourites to win. He drops in on our little bar one day, and he starts acting… kinda weird towards our beloved Spoonie. Kinda rude, if you would; almost like… this guy, he knows somethin' he's not supposed to, and he runs off just before we can ask him about it," he said, mostly sure he had Corrado hooked — thankfully, because he hated this. "Naturally, this ain't good, right? It puts the whole organisation in danger! Everything we stand for, everything we do — gone! So the boss decided you're our only hope of this not happening. We'd really appreciate it if you got on it so that we don't gotta worry about this! 'Sides, I'm sure there'll be a reward in it for you?"

Corrado didn't seem to be sure if Mike was done. He squinted, checking the dirt under his fingernails, leaving him hanging for an answer — and why was it taking so long to get one, it was a simple yes or no! — as he pursed his lips and thought some more. Because Corrado always did that, and Mike couldn't stand that; it took all of his deep breaths and nerve-steeling to—

"Your Wigglytuff. That thing hates me, don't it?"

"Sorry, what?"

Rocky wasn't doing a damn thing to hide his disgust for the man, and from below the brim of his black hat, it seemed he liked that; his bursts of rumbling laughter right into his pink balloony face only seemed to prove that. "Amazing," he sneered.

"Now—" Before Mike could finish, a table cut him off as it smashed into the wall next to his head and nearly deafened him. His ears throbbed and screamed as he covered them, yelping as he took a deep breath through his nose and grit his teeth. "Respectfully," he scowled, "this ain't what I came here f—"

"Ain't it? Didn'tcha know, this is the Rain Houndour you're talking about here?"

"Yeah, but given how important this is—" he was drowned out by the slightly-shattered table creaking as it was dragged back to where it stood before as lightning tore up the surrounding room. Taking a deep breath, he decided he'd had enough; he took a leaf from Rocky's book, stood up straight and up to the disinterested man on the other end of his rant. "Given how important this is, I'd've thought you'd be a bit less of an ass—"

A sharp pain cut up his mind as Corrado's eyes lit up, and before he knew it he'd been hit in the gut and everything hurt. Coughing and sputtering, he fell to his knees and started writhing on the floor; Rocky wasn't standing for this as he sucked in all the air he could and screamed, almost tearing the trenchcoat off before he was laid out on the floor too.

Corrado wiped the saliva from his lips as a half-white half-green knight-like figure stood at his side, leering down at Mike as he writhed across the floor barely able to move.

He sneered. "I'd hate to disappoint the boss. Consider us on it, bozo."

Then he walked off, and Mike was reminded just how much he hated him.

Some people were just in gangs for the wrong reasons entirely.

Nine days left, and Connor's problem would not leave his hands.

Revisiting his routine for Roark's gym, he'd returned to its roots. Byrne was set up as a harasser (a term he didn't much care for, but until he had a better word it'd suffice) and Ronnie as the focal point of the action — after all, it was an established routine and one he really should've focused on more. Surely it was a foolproof place to start?

"Okay, Byrne; dodge—"

Byrne didn't dodge the Roselia's attacks, instead opting to dive-bomb straight in and get pelted by leech seeds — which was something, because it gave him a window to send out Ronnie to do some damage, but it kind of left him unable to do anything really. So Ronnie was left completely open while Byrne was, in essence, a health bank. While the match-up between Ronnie and a wild Roselia was probably in Ronnie's favour, one between him and a Gym leader's Roserade… wasn't. (Also, this wasn't going to be a double battle with Gardenia.)

So he'd gone back to the drawing board and decided that, actually, Byrne was probably better off being the focal point for now. For one, he had the upper hand on Flying-types; secondly, getting some proper discipline into him was Connor's main concern. Secondly, given how much focus there was on projectile- and ground-based attacks, he figured that getting Byrne to spend as little time near his opponent (especially Roselia) as possible was ideal.

The next time he bumped into the Roselia — and Connor was certain it was the same one because Roselia usually weren't identical — he tried to put this into action; before Byrne could launch off, Connor got down on one knee and held him back with one hand and shushed the Staravia's fierce, pecky protests.

"You remember that technique we went over when we were training for Roark — Double Team, right?" he said, circling three fingers around in front of Byrne. Once he stopped pecking at the hand holding him, Byrne turned to Connor and flapped out his wings. "Yeah, just like that — try giving that a whirl this time, okay, buddy?"

At the very least, he seemed to understand, and there was some restraint as he approached the Roselia. The delay meant that it had some time to cook up a leaf storm, though. That sent his blood running cold, and he sucked in air through his teeth. He'd messed it up again.

Until Byrne flapped up and took flight in a ring, leaving blurred reflections in his wake. Connor couldn't actually pin down exactly where he was at any given moment. Drafts of air scattered the leaves, leaving the Roselia dazed and confused until it was lunged at. Byrne's wings crashed into it, his wings sending debris dancing in the wind as cut off bits of petal and leaf flew into the wind.

The Roselia's skin was covered in brown bruises, and it was pissed. With a shrill shout, it breathed in, exhaling and unleashing a blanket of little electric spores that dispersed through the air… fortunately, they were easily dodged by Byrne as he swooped through the air and landed right next to the Roselia, who he promptly started clobbering with his wings. With each flap came a gust of air, cutting into the Roselia's leafy skin like razors, as his wings hammered down sharp and searing bruises that grit the Roselia's teeth for them. So much crashing — bruising of skin, there was no respite — left no time to breathe as the attacks kept pounding, and pounding until the Roselia was barely conscious.

Connor was more than satisfied with that from Byrne, in truth; the prep was far from over, but it was a strong effort from him — and he was proud! He had a model to work with for next time, and he was grinning like a loon at the sight.

…Of course, as Byrne repositioned himself to finish the job, so was the Roselia. Which Connor just assumed was out of fun of the fight. Until his Staravia yelped in pain, one of his talons screwing up in agony. As he stumbled and bludgeoned the Roselia one final time, Connor got a glance of a purple spike stuck firmly into the limp foot — and then the purple spikes just sticking out of the ground around him.

So he made a note to himself: Roselia could learn Toxic Spikes.

Then he panicked.

"Ahhh, oh geez, okay," he said as he ran over to Byrne (making extra care to avoid the spikes). "Er, great job out there, buddy; I'm super proud of you, you did so well, oh gosh—" Byrne's confusion turned into sheer bemusement as Connor scooped him up over the wings, holding him close — "are you okay? Oh, please be okay, please be okay…"

Byrne considered going at his fingers and making a racket; he wasn't one to be manhandled. But then he didn't really have the energy for that after so much fighting — and, well, the spike in his foot — and he decided against it. Besides, Connor probably wasn't going to hurt him; in fact, it was quite fun being carried along as he ran to his friends. Even if the pain in his foot kept throbbing and throbbing, tensing it all up and giving him a hell of a headache.

On the other hand, Connor — deciding Byrne having a big poisonous spike in his foot wasn'tideal — looked for Florence and tried not to hyperventilate. This was definitely a big enough deal to disturb her over, as bad as he felt about that because when he found her she was fascinated by Lucia in battle. Probably because she never got her Pokémon hurt so bad, mind. Maybe Florence was just taking pointers to lessen her workload, or maybe Lucia had some practice tips to pass on— right, right, he was over-thinking this, that's what practice was for, and it was still progress.

He was out of breath as he sprinted there, Florence turning as soon as she'd heard — and Lucia as soon as she saw. "Connor?" said the nurse. "Everything okay?"

Technically, no, but it didn't feel like it: the sun was shining, and he was having fun. So he had the weirdest smile on his face when he answered: "Byrne got into a spot of bother while we were practicing…"

One misstep was all it took for Murphy to end up in a spot of real bother.

"Lake, dodge!" he called out. While his Infernape had left Sleipnir well-scorched and fatigued, she was far from out — and Nelson watched with a smile as all of that dancing, ducking and weaving left him right behind her hind legs as she reared up. Lake didn't have time to dodge, frankly; she slammed her front legs into the ground and smashed her thick, mud-coated straight into Lake's head heavily enough to send him into lift-off — his jaw spun as he clattered the wall, falling over unconscious.

Nelson wiped the sweat off his brow in relief, grinning. "See, you old geezer? I told you not to lose concentration!"

It had been a close-fought sparring match, but Murphy knew when he'd been beaten. It simply left him with areas to focus on going forward. All he could do was laugh as he came forward to shake his rival's hand. "Well, at least you won one eventually, eh? That's just how luck works!" he teased.

Nelson just sneered and accepted it. "Let's just hope it keeps going when the real thing happens, then," he said, yanking Murphy's arm up and down — if it was his turn to be victorious then it seemed he'd absolutely make the most of it.

Typical. Giving him a slap on the back, Murphy went on over to his barely-conscious pal to help him up — because Lake was a proud winner and a shameful loser, when there really was no shame in losing like this. He gritted his teeth and accepted his trainer's offer, before being pulled straight in for a hug that stole all of his breath. "Hey," said Murphy softly as he patted his back, "you did great out there, okay? That's what practice is for; I promise we'll work on it next time but don't let it get to you, alright?"

As much as he'd wanted to hide it, a little smile crept onto his face — so a much bigger one lit up Murphy's. With one last pat on the back, he was returned to his ball to get some well-earned rest.

"Alright, I'm heading off then." Nelson held Sleipnir's snout over his shoulder, giving the Mudsdale a well-earned petting after his victory. "It's not long now 'til it begins, is it?"

"It really isn't, no!" Murphy chuckled, running his hand through his hair — it was coming very fast indeed. "Great session once again, my friend; let's aim for one last one before the end of the month — does Thursday work?"

"Suits me! Toodle-loo!"

Murphy smiled and waved until his sparring partner was all the way out. After all, risking anyone at all finding out about his little investigation wasn't worth it… nor was anyone finding out about his other commitment. He sighed and slumped by the wall, tugging his necklace. "You can come out now."

The partner in his head came out, her presence bringing with it a great deal of calm. "Yes?"

"I am doing the right thing, am I?"

This gave her pause for thought; actually, it was pretty out of nowhere, so maybe that was expected. "…I should hope so," came the reply. "What makes you ask? Is everything okay?"

Murphy sighed, putting his hands on his chin. "I dunno, I just… think it's getting to me. I mean, you saw what happened in that battle, right? I made a mistake, and my Pokémon got hurt over it — and honestly, I don't want that to happen when the conference rolls around. I can't afford it, neither can you… neither can anyone in this region, right? Besides, I've got to be on the lookout at all times for more leads with the mob… and, you know, I have to have my eyes open at all times for when they do inevitably try and find me. It's a lot, isn't it?"

"This is why I was worried about that plan of yours. The path before us is inherently a stressful one. Becoming the Champion isn't easy, and nor is the role itself — I would've hoped you'd take it easy in preparation, to be honest." Though they were physically apart, he could feel her laugh from her nose wherever she was. "But you're not like that, are you? You want to help everyone you can — and while I will gladly help you in that, you must understand that not even you can take on all of this without breaks. It is a thankless task, and a weaker person would've given up by now. That you haven't is why we're working together, isn't it?"

"Precisely, but… I can't take breaks now, can I?" he said, almost laughing himself. "There's too much work to be done. And if I do become Champion, then it's not like I can do it then, either. Who knows? Maybe I'll just cross my fingers and hope Nelson gets the job instead; he knows what he's doing, and I'd get a break for once."

"I... do not know about either of those."

The only response he mustered was a cackle. "What's wrong with him? He's a good guy."

"If you insist, but he isn't you. That's my point: this job is yours and yours alone, because of who you are. But sooner or later you'll need to pace yourself. Even smaller breaks whenever you have the time are better than nothing. As much as I know you'd like to, you cannot do things non-stop, because it'll stop you sooner or later. And if you get yourself hurt I swear it to you, I will be cross beyond words, okay?"

"Haha, well... we certainly can't be having that, can we?" he said, smiling. "No, no, you're right; I promise, once everything's over and done with, I'll have a nice long nap — how does that sound?"

He could feel the roll of the eyes just in his head, and he felt proud of himself — but truthfully, the point stuck. Once all of this waiting, training, and fighting was over, he needed a break. He was looking forward to that break, more than he could say; even if he was Champion, there was a lot to be done outside of battling, and that was a different type of challenge. One he relished.

But first, he had everything else to tend to.