Mike had an incredibly hard time waking up. Robin, who had been left out on her leash to wander, managed to make her way into the tent with him. She half-dozed next to his head, clutching a square of folded paper, her flame burning strong - yet unnaturally dim.
Mike finally rose from his stupor to the feeling of something pulling in his chest. It was as if the coils of his anxiety were being tugged towards the Litwick's flame. It wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but it did have the effect of making him feel as if he hadn't slept at all.
"Robin," he mumbled, prodding her gently, "are you... eating?" The candle roused itself. Mike could only just make out her yellow eye through his bleary vision. He succumbed to sleep.
A moment later, he jerked himself back awake and met her gaze again.
"Can you stop?" Mike forced the question through a yawn. The Litwick tilted her body slightly to move her fringe and better see her trainer eye-to-eye. Mike felt as if she knew she was being spoken to, but had no idea what he was saying.
Remembering something from the night before, he thought Stop as hard as he could, and tried to imagine 'stop-ish' thoughts:
Running, then stopping.
Eating, then stopping.
Holding his breath.
He found it was quite difficult to think 'stop-ish-ly,' but after a few moments Robin's eyes widened in recognition. Her flame promptly sputtered and died, leaving only a wisp of fragrant smoke.
The pull in Mike's chest subsided instantly, but the grogginess stuck around. Not to mention the pinch of dehydration. He hadn't gotten that drunk, but he did forget to drink anything but wine.
Mike also clocked a familiar, very intense feeling: Hunger. The desire to recklessly stuff his face with anything he could get his hands on. A single-minded drive to eat, eat, eat. His stomach growled as dread began to grip him. Robin may indeed have been a very big mistake.
He forced himself to drink a long pull of water from his flask. He found his phone and punched various foods - and two and a half glasses of wine - into his calorie counter. Needing to kill the all-consuming gluttony somehow, he added the apples he'd said he would discount. He wound up only slightly over.
He had intended to guilt away his hunger, not reinforce it. He didn't even need to enter eight hours of walking to know he had a ridiculous surplus to work with.
The sun was higher than he expected when he emerged from his tent, and with a pang he saw that he was alone at the campsite. The sun was already quite high, which did nothing to help his shock and guilt. The night before came rushing back in a tumble of emotion.
Where was Stephanie?
Robin squeaked behind him, having followed him out. Mike ignored her and looked around the cove for any sign of his… he didn't know what to call her. But he knew she wasn't there. No tent, no trash, and only his pieces of his mess kit remaining. His kettle was sitting in the ashes of a fire, still warm, and - he noticed with a swooping mix of thankfulness and sadness - filled with fresh-ish coffee.
Robin was now pulling on his leg as he tried to set up his own mess kit. He was too absorbed in abating his hunger and trying not to feel too jilted to notice the irritation building in his little friend. He worked silently to get a pan ready; to get eggs, bacon, and bread out; to change into something fresh.
Mike didn't acknowledge her until she shrieked at him as he opened his clothes trunk again. He had no idea how she managed to get into it - perhaps when he had grabbed some fresh underclothes earlier? His whole body jolted hard as a wave of some foreign energy washed over him.
"What?!" He boomed back, bewildered and frazzled and already at the end of his rope. Robin recoiled with a whimper and tried to vanish. The only thing that gave her away was her striped harness and faint, quick hiccups. Mike immediately felt like a monster, and tentatively reached in to lift her up.
"I'm sorry, Robin," he murmured, picking up the disembodied harness. He pulled her into a hug, squishing her somewhat soft body against his chest and face. "That wasn't very nice of me. I don't- uh, well, jump scares suck. It's not your fault, it's okay. I was ignoring you. I'm sorry."
Mike knelt and held her quietly for a moment. Robin gave a few gentle little sobs as she faded back into reality, her little arms wrapped around her trainer's face. She finally pulled away and slapped him with the little square of something she was holding. He laughed, knowing he deserved it. She did it again, and he snatched it from her.
"Stay out of my stuff, you little—" Mike caught himself, seeing his name written in thin violet ink on the neatly folded paper square. It wasn't his at all.
His heart hammered with excitement. He turned it over, looking between it and Robin, and suddenly realized why she had been trying to get his attention all morning. He opened the letter with hands that began to tremble, coils gripping him tightly as ever.
Mike,
Thank you for being a gentleman last night. I enjoyed our dinner and wine and stuff! I woke up early to fish the low tide and immediately caught myself some 'soup.' I'd leave you my number, but people out on these routes can be total creeps, and I don't want someone stealing this and spamming me with dick pics.
I'm so sorry for bailing, but the sun isn't even up yet, and I promised some friends I'd meet them in Accumula for lunch today. They're also my ride to Castelia, and if I miss it I've gotta leg it the whole way. I have no idea if I'll see you again, but I make a habit of treating myself to
The Pallet on Friday evenings. They're a Unovan chain of cafes with open mics, cozy seats, and great wine. Maybe we'll bump into each other sometime?
See you soon (I hope)!
Stephanie
xxx
Those three little kisses made Mike's whole week.
The remaining walk to Accumula was much worse than the day before. The terrain was similar: a sturdy dirt path, leading once more through what seemed like purposeful patches of grass and scrubby shrubs.
The walking, however, was agony. Even with all of his preparation, Mike found that his feet were more tender than he ever felt before. His glutes and calves eked out a low wail of pain and his thighs twitched and twinged.
He found himself chuffing, "Thank you Scott, thank you Scott," periodically, his cargo wonderfully lightened by Scott's gifts. He decided wasn't tracking food at all today, content to shovel fuel into the cumbersome engine he had become.
The thankfully light Litwick made herself at home in the top of his bag again, and - save for the whimper or yawn - slept the day away. Mike strongly envied her. She didn't have to walk, and didn't have to tangle with the tumult of emotions from the night before.
If she was sleeping - which Mike was certain she was from the occasional tiny snore - she must not have been too offended from his raised voice earlier. That thought looped another coil around his chest, adding to everything else that was already hampering his breathing.
They didn't stop for lunch, out of Mike's fear of never being able to move again. Sometime past noon he finally saw the edge of Accumula. It was, as he remembered, a town built on gentle hills and into valleys. Very nearly a city in its own right, but not quite. He could make out loosely packed red brick buildings, their tops staggered strangely by the various swoops and dives in altitude. In time they found the final stretch of path, which dissolved into gravel, which abruptly became smooth pavement.
They made their way past a raised town square and directly for the Pokémon Center. Mike had made good time: most of the cafes and restaurants lining the square were quiet, and he would be able to snag a gratuitous meal in relative peace. Not quite yet, though. He desperately needed his 'Three S-es;' A shower, a shave, and to use a real toilet.
The Pokémon Center was likewise none too crowded. The PokéMart outlet at the front showed the only sign of real life, with a few young trainers and an Ace he didn't recognize milling about the aisles. Mike trudged towards the check-in counter and tried to book himself a room without so much as a second thought to what he was supposed to be doing here. The nurse lit up a little at his name and began to explain something he knew was important.
"Please," Mike interrupted with a comically exaggerated wheeze, "can I come back later?"
"Oh! Of course sir," the nurse replied with quick, articulate cheer. She launched into a speech that was clearly well-rehearsed. "The evening seminar will begin here around seven, which is where you'll receive your activated Trainer Card. Rooms start on the second floor, up the elevators or stairs to your right." She pointed over one shoulder.
"Just swipe a payment card or scan your ID at any door with a green light and you're good to go! Each night's stay beyond the first per week is only forty dollars or four thousand Poké. That also comes with two meals in our cafeteria, which is down that hallway to your left," she pointed over the other shoulder.
"First door on the right. Meals include up to six Pokémon.
"Thank you for using the Accumula Town Pokémon Center, we hope to see you again!"
"We survived! Just! Uh, anyways, I just wanted to let the world know we weren't, uh, dead. By the way, I get why they're called 'Nurse Joys.' How anyone could endure a trainer's—"
"Wih!"
"stink and still be that happy—"
"Li-wiih!"
"to see them must be—"
"Liwiwiiiick!"
"What, you booger? It's a phone. See?
"Look! Hello! That's—"
"Wiiiiih!"
"Hey!
"Give me that!
"Robin!
"The ball, where's your stupid…
"Hold... Still!
"Okay. Oh-kay... is this still… Oh yeah... I'm posting this... for sure… God damn am I out of shape…"
Two of his three S-es later, Mike decided he wasn't quite ready for a shave and collapsed into a rather-too-small bed. Robin, not at all happy with her firm reprimand for trying to escape with Mike's phone, was busy trying to push her way through the door.
Her paws flailed feebly through the surface, but her harness caught her shoulders and held her fast from escaping. Mike sucked in his gut so he could watch her from where he lay, smirking as she whined and wiggled in vain.
"The sun isn't even down yet, goober," he chided. She didn't react. He pushed some pillows behind his back to prop himself up a little better.
"Hey, Robin," he called. "It's okay. We'll go out later." Robin turned slightly at her name, but otherwise didn't cease from her escape attempt. She began to jump up towards the handle, tiny arms flailing fruitlessly. Mike heaved himself back up onto his sore feet and went to double-check the deadbolt.
"No, Robin," he sighed, testing the knob, then flipping a latch shut on the door, "You barely know your name. We'll figure out free-feeding soon, but for now, nap-time."
Robin whined, long and monotonous. She leaned her forehead through the door to the point where the harness sat on her shoulders. Her mouth, much to Mike's chagrin, was still on his side of the door and keening louder than ever. He recalled her in a flash of light and returned to his tiny bed. He was out before he hit the pillow.
The orientation was barely useful, but Mike attended anyway. A bubbly aide of Juniper's met their small group. She distributed their Trainer Cards with some difficulty, fumbling the devices more than once. Their eager recipients were quick enough to catch them, save Mike, who fretted over a small ding on the corner.
The aide then led a short tour of the Pokémon Center; the PokéMart outlet, the wall of computers and complicated electronics that made up the PC System, the front desk (for the second time), the Cafeteria, the front desk (which Mike, finding her adorable, almost didn't point out that they had seen twice before), and the elevators to their simple lodgings. At each point she emphasized how all Centers followed this style, and that the trainer rates for staying covered almost everything not Mart-related.
"Okay, so, front desk again, which means we're all done!" She fixed their small group with a cheerful grin. Mike returned it, possibly the only one in the group to do so.
"Hey, gringo," a familiar voice hissed in his ear, "act like I was here, will you?"
"Capiche," Mike replied, barely able to stop his smile widening.
"Any questions?" The aide's voice was so full of hope that Mike almost made one up. Everyone took that as their cue to leave, save Mira, who inquired about her card, playing up a dottering old lady act that Mike barely bought.
When she had finished and the two turned to leave, Mike realized he did have a question.
"Excuse me, uh," Mike floundered for the aide's name. He wasn't entirely sure she had said it.
"Oh! Duh, sorry," the aide replied, realizing the same herself. She then cupped her hands to her mouth and called out, "I'm Bianca, by the way! Feel free to— aaaaand they're not listening. Anyways! Heeey! I have a feeling you're Mike, right?"
"What gave it away?" Mike knew very well what gave it away.
"Uh," she stumbled, having been caught, "actually it was the s-smell?"
"The what?!" Mike couldn't help but exclaim with joyful bewilderment. He had not expected that reply at all.
"No! N-not like— I mean— you smell like—" She pulled her somewhat ridiculous green hat down over her head, "it's weird, this is weird, it's to-tal-ly weird."
"Yes, I agree," laughed Mike.
"You smell like the Litwick habitat," Bianca finally got out, which Mira must have heard given the cackling that erupted behind them, "it's like this oily, smoky, cheap-lily-scented candle smell. It's not bad! You smell great, I swear— I mean— oh wow please let me dieeee."
"You're free to die in just a sec, I promise," Mike laughed out, "but first, Professor Juniper said I could get my Pokédex here?"
"Right, thank you!" She flipped open a small green purse and dug around for a moment. She soon pulled out the holstered device Scott had given him a few weeks ago. She handed it over with a wide, albeit frazzled, smile. "Congrats, by the way!"
"Uh, thanks?" Mike didn't hide his confusion.
"On your weight loss!" He was instantly flattered, and both loved and hated the feeling. She glowed as she continued, "the Professor showed me your blog! We think it's a-ma-zing! You can totally see it in your face!"
After an awkward round of 'thank-you's and 'excuse-me's, Mike extricated himself. He joined Mira, who had been shamelessly eavesdropping and was grinning widely. The two made their way towards the front door.
"You never said you were losing weight," she replied, with a tone that felt like she was his offended grandmother.
"You never pulled the '¿Qué te están alimentando?' routine," he shot back with a smirk.
"Didn't think I had to, big guy." Her off-handed retort and side-eyed measuring up cut Mike a little deeper than he expected. He never liked other people making the fat jokes; that was his sacred ground. "And lay off the Spanish, gringo. Your accent is terrible."
"Wh—!"
"I like you already," she continued, unabashed. "You try too hard. Unless you want to practice, save it." Mike wasn't used to someone shooting so straight with him, besides his mother. He flushed with embarrassment.
"Noted. I— I'm sor—"
"Cállate. Come, let's eat. 'You're wasting away.' Apparently."
They made their way to the cafeteria, gossiping about their first few days as they went. The set-up reminded Mike a little too much of his college's dining hall: stacks of dishes still damp from the washing machine, a mess of hot tables with various inoffensive fare, a few stalls where you could get omelets or burritos and other messy foods hand-made, and always too few chairs for so many tables.
The most major difference was the addition of a separate room with a few serving tables and stalls specifically for Pokémon. Mike and Mira toured it out of curiosity. They understood immediately why it warranted a separate room, as they were hit by a peculiar but not horrifically unpleasant odor as they opened the doors.
The Pokémon dining hall included various grades of kibble, mats of grasses and small brush in disposable trays, vats of chum, raw cuts of meat, a stall with various live seafood, and another stall which held a staff member in a hazmat suit, a bin of compost, and a small silo with a wide spigot. The silo was labeled with various hazardous symbols and a list of 'recommended Pokémon.' The odor from several yards away was enough to send them scurrying back to whence they came.
Mike hated eating like this. Portion control was hell at restaurants anyways, but a buffet? He might as well write the whole day off. Which, after having recouped some sleep, he was intent on not doing. Mira watched with vague curiosity as he entered a mess of different energy bars and trail mixes into his calorie counting app. He was relieved to find he wasn't over budget, even after halving his walk's distance. His macros were a complete mess, but that didn't matter to him. Mira scolded him for his high sodium and carb intakes, intent on 'giving an authentic experience.'
They ate, and gossed, and poked fun at poor Bianca, but Mike kept his night with Stephanie close to his chest. Though it was clear enough that he wasn't doing a good job of hiding anything.
"You're certainly smiley," Mira insisted after Mike cleaned a rather small plate. "Talk to your dear, sweet abuela."
"Okay, okay," Mike rolled his eyes, "I get it. No more spanish."
"I'm more offended by the grandma stuff," she said with a wink. Mike now felt even worse. "But I'm glad that's hit home, too. Anyways, you're glowing about something."
"Thanks, it's the sunburn," Mike returned in a ridiculous voice, fluttering his eyes. She smirked but otherwise ignored it.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you got lucky." Her comment was so deadpan and so close that Mike choked on his decaf. She gave a loving little titter. "Well don't you work fast!"
"I— we didn't—" Mike was too busy coughing coffee out from the wrong pipe to argue much more. After mopping himself up and clearing his throat, he finally replied: "nothing happened. I mean, not much."
"Oh dear, I didn't think you could get much redder," Mira chided, "So? Who was it? I think there was only one girl your age. Oh, I'm sorry, unless—"
"Nah, that narrows it right down," Mike confirmed.
"So it was her. The short one with the long curls?" Mike nodded his response. Mira leaned forward almost confidentially. "She got coffee with me this morning and had a very similar look on her face." Mike grinned down into his lap, where he was gripping his phone as if it might ring any second. It wouldn't, he knew, but he could hope.
"Hey, wait," Mike looked up, "I had to cover your ass for the tour. How'd you see her?"
"I was here yesterday," she replied nonchalantly. "I decided to skip it and get some rest. Niles, that brute, he's running me ragged. I overslept for the evening orientation, but it's for kids. I'm not stupid. I was surprised to see you there at all, Ace."
"Surprised and lucky," Mike replied. Mira gave a conspiratorial little smirk in return. They rose to see if there was anything left worth picking at. Mike had been judicious for their first round, but he remembered how miserable he felt that morning and abandoned his diet. No, he thought to himself, we're not abandoning it. We're feeding Robin. Don't be stupid.
"How will you be getting to Aspertia," Mira asked sometime later. She'd just finished fawning about her grandson, who was coming to town to check out her Sandile and give her a ride. Mike pushed a wilted floret of broccoli around his plate, not wanting to think about it.
"Uh, I won't," he replied, "I can't— I didn't expect to need to." Mira frowned.
"I wish I could help," was all she could say. Mike nodded glumly into his plate. They were only just friends, he didn't expect a handout like that.
The two said their goodbyes sometime later, getting off the elevator on the same floor and sharing a tight hug outside of Mike's door. She was leaving first thing in the morning, and with Mike intending to catch up on some much-needed sleep, this would be the last they saw each other for a long time.
Mike called her back and showed her his blog, then called her back again to swap numbers.
Then she called him over for another hug.
Finally he went inside.
"Alright everyone, new to live streams, but yeah, so, uh, happy Friday! I just did my first on the road weight check this morning! And…
"Well, I didn't really gain anything, at least. I'm up a third— a third-ish of a pound. Which is much better than I thought we would be doing.
"Robin is a very hungry little girl. Does, uh, does anyone know exactly how much they eat? Is there an app for that? I swear Professor Juniper said something about it but—
"Oh hey! Hi Juniper! She says: 'I thought I told you? It's roughly five hundred kay-cals.' Kay-cals? Kilocalories? What the heck—
"Oh. 'Kay-cals are just calories, hope you are doing well! Love—' Aww! Hi Scott's mom!"
Mike spent most of the next day not doing very much of anything. He woke up late, groggy but not nearly as exhausted as before. He forced Robin to stay awake until he had finished breakfast. It didn't feel so much like forcing once he'd found her a small bowl of minnows, which she methodically drained, killed, and ate with glee.
His legs were sore and his feet were very tender, but - loathe to spend any more than he needed to - he insisted on traveling the town by foot. He stopped in a few different stores, longingly perusing their merchandise, but remembering that he would be out forty dollars that evening should he want to stay another night in civilization.
It was either that or set up camp on the outskirts of town, which - while financially tempting - seemed like a physical impossibility. They had to camp on a Route, and the closest proper campsites were a few miles in any direction. Far too much walking to even consider.
He took a light, late lunch at one of the eateries on the town square. Sitting under an umbrella, the heat was almost bearable. He nursed a diet soda and nibbled at a salad with one hand. The other he wrapped around his new Pokédex. Mike sat there for a few hours, losing track of time and becoming acquainted with the device. Robin sat asleep on the table, which - if any of the few other pet- and Pokémon-laiden tables were any indication - was completely acceptable.
"At least it's just wax, right?" Mike's joke drew a polite smile from his waiter. Robin had been shifting to follow the umbrella's shade, leaving a faint white trail on the dark metal grates of the table.
The Pokédex certainly seemed useful. Mike was bombarded by information, but only about his Litwick. He saw that she was already identified as 'Robin,' and as belonging to himself, along with various other tidbits: Her type - fire and ghost - which he knew; her 'level,' which seemed to be an indicator of relative strength; several statistics, all quantified somehow; Her 'ability,' which was listed as 'Infiltrator,' which answered a lot of questions he had about her habit of mysteriously popping up in places. He silently thanked Juniper once again for the harness.
The little machine even tried to quantify her personality. Nothing about her felt particularly 'modest' so far, but 'highly curious' felt bang-on.
Little waxy hands appeared around the side of the device, gently trying to tug it away. Mike was more than ready to be robbed this time, and - with a rush of relief - realized she could now be tracked. He made sure to set the tracker as his home screen, and even synched the Pokédex to his phone for good measure.
He ordered a charcuterie plate and another diet soda, logged the plate, and spent a lazy afternoon sorting out his new life. He was worried sick about his money, and consequently his time. He looked at his bank account, scribbled down some numbers onto a notepad he'd snagged from his room, then checked his funds now available on his ID. Fifty thousand Poke was nothing to sneeze at, but it really didn't give him too much more to work with.
"So," Mike spoke to Robin, whose lone visible eye was half-way open, "if we wanna stay inside the whole time, we have about five months." He circled a number on his notepad. Robin's focus honed in on where the pen met the paper, apparently noticing the phenomenon that was ink for the first time.
"And if we only sleep there for the one free night, and try to spend only twenty dollars a day on supplies, we can double that. Ish."
"Lih," the Litwick mimicked. She reached for the pen, which Mike gave to her.
"And it takes about two months per gym, if we're very good." Mike spoke slowly, purposefully, taking the end of the pen and helping Robin to write a '2.'
"Two," he spoke as they drew. The Litwick marveled at the symbol she made.
"So if we have ten months," he helped her make ten little circles, "and it takes two months to get a badge," they circled two of the dots, "how many badges can we get?"
He remembered how he 'spoke' to her the morning before, and had thought very, very hard about each step of the simple problem.
To his great surprise and elation, she circled four more sets of dots.
"Five badges! That's right!" The two beamed at each other.
Then she circled all of the dots.
And his math problems.
And everything else he had written on the sheet.
It had still been more than he expected from a baby starter. He tore off a sheet so that she could doodle freely, and she filled it with little circles in short order. It was a good distraction from the coiling anxiety in his chest.
Ten months felt like very, very little time. Especially when every lost battle could also be a lost day. He had anticipated to just enjoy his 'vacation' of sorts as long as he could, but he had anticipated training for at least a year. How was he supposed to make any real diet progress in less than a year? Or training progress? Or anything progress? The thought threw another loop into the coils. Robin stopped scribbling and looked up to him, cocking her head.
"You feel that, huh?" Mike reached out and rubbed his little friend. She smiled and returned to doodling. As she did so, her flame ignited, and he felt something familiar in his chest: a tug in her direction, as if the flame itself had grabbed at the coils and was gently pulling. Unwinding them, ever so slightly. The difference wasn't spectacular, but it was noticeable, and he was suddenly incredibly grateful for his new friend.
"I worry too much," he muttered with a smile. "Which I think you're gonna enjoy, huh?"
"Wih!"
"You don't have to be so happy about it."