Fleur d'Espoir
"Fleur d'Espoir, the flower of hope. Things are changing in the world. Companies hire on Pokémon for jobs of all sorts, but what impact could that have on the economy? Old jobs disappear, and new ones spring up. But in this time of upheaval, we all need a bit of hope. For Ladira Mercier, that hope has a name." T/M Rating. Fluffy, F/F romance, sexy times, shameless cuddles, and school life in a new region.
Chapter One—Every end, a new beginning
8-8
[off the coast of Hulbury]
I should be happy. I'm not. I'm positively giddy, can barely sit still even as the plane's seatbelt tugs me back into my seat each time I try to scoot up and down and back and forth, trying to take it all in. Galar, the port city of Hulbury, looms on the horizon, obvious even now. Waves crash on her shore; stars twinkle against the majestic rolling waves. The lighthouse twitches and gleams, its beam lighting up the otherwise dark night more than even the full moon just above the hills in the distance, reflecting off the sea as an almost siren's call to the ships—I can almost swear it reflects a little on the clouds as well as it dims the starlight for a spell. The scratchy PA system blares to life. The captain, I think, says things. I'm too busy pressing my face against the cold window to pay that one any mind.
"Come now." Papa gently tugs me back from the majestic view, chuckling as he regards me with an amused smile, obvious even through his bushy moustache. His once bright red hair has faded to copper and is sprinkled with silver, with a widow's peak crowning his noble brow. "I know you're excited, but we're about to land. Do try to sit still."
I launch for him instead, my arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, catching him by surprise. I pull back before he chastises me, but the goofy happy grin he sports shows I'm not in any trouble regardless.
"Settle down, Ladira." Maman gets on my case, elbowing papa just the same. "Stop letting her get away with murder."
"Hey now." Papa rubs the back of his head, his moustache twitching up to show his smile only grows. The utter lack of tension in his shoulders as he turns to her shows he's at peace—the way he reaches to take her hand and intertwine their fingers, it helps. "I can't much say no to you, either."
Maman rolls her laughing eyes, trying to act upset—and failing spectacularly. I lean forward just a smidge, spying how her Kalosian-tipped nails trail along papa's pale hand. He spends far too much time in the lab, so not even a single freckle has had the chance to form. Though, it could also be because we've just left Kanto's winter wonderland.
The world tilts. Peering out the window shows only the open sea, robbing me of the view I so desperately crave. Our flight attendant makes her way down business class's sole aisle, her gaze flitting about to spy if our seatbelts are fastened and our tray's in the upright and locked position. Not wanting to make her job more difficult, I ease back into my seat and get comfortable, patting and smoothing my powder blue sundress best I can.
Which hotel will we be staying at this time? Will it be near the beach, or in a more rustic and remote setting? Will I finally get my own room, or will it be the sofa bed for me again? Maybe I can convince papa to let me get some camping gear and find a quiet spot to set up? Ooh, but maman won't agree to that before I get a Pokémon—maybe I can pester papa about that first?
I can hardly wait!
8-8
[checking in]
The clerk looks up from his computer screen, smiling despite the late hour. The reception hall has three cosy-looking armchairs crowded around a dormant fireplace with some scattered art nouveau paintings decorating the pearly walls. Very understated, almost minimalist, lighting barely chases the night out—adding the chipped single door that creaks closed behind us, and I can only imagine this 'city' is far from affluent. Of all the hotels we've stayed in, this one strikes me as the least affluent of them—perhaps more of a motel? Another motel-the thought curdles my blood, but there's little to be done about it.
Still, it's a charming little town, all things considered. Not as busy as Saffron, or as exotic as Heahea. While the stores are all closed for the night, I didn't feel in the least worried walking through the streets, not with passing a dozen police officers on patrol. I still say we should have taken a taxi, instead of toting our luggage all the way here.
"Welcome to the Cosy Cottonee. Here to check in?" the clerk asks in Galarian. Much as I've travelled, I don't think I'll ever get used to the dizzying array of languages and accents out there, let alone the dialects.
"Quite." Papa nods, parking his wheeled duffle by the front desk. I cosy up to maman, grateful she wraps an arm around me as he deals with this. I don't understand why I'm suddenly tired. Perhaps it was the half-hour walk through the winding streets, up and down the gently rolling hillocks. I'm grateful the pavement is smooth, though the taxi would still have been preferable. "We've a reservation, under Mercier."
"Mercy-ay." Sigh. Another butchers our name. Maman pets and preens me as the rapid-fire ticking assaults what peace the salt air offered but a moment ago. I don't know what it is about this place, I truly don't. I was fine throughout the twelve-hour flight—now I crave only a pillow and a few days of sleep. "Ah, got you right here. Family suite. Breakfast starts at seven, closes at ten. We've only got one key, I'm afraid."
8-8
[breakfast plans]
Between the lumpy sofabed and the minimalist breakfast room, I begin to think this is going to seem my longest stint in a new region. Perhaps living in Saffron's Queen's Reverie Hotel, and Heahea's Hano Grand Resort before it, has me spoiled.
I shuffle up the line, staring at their...breakfast. Bacon, fried egg—looks to be single servings of sunny-side-up dripping with an oily substance—sausage, mushrooms, baked beans, toast, grilled tomatoes, each is displayed in their own metallic pan, as if to make them seem attractive. Five. I've lived quite comfortably in five regions, in cultures as varied and diverse as the colours of the rainbow, with the cuisines to accompany them. Not once has a meal filled me with such dubiety.
Maman saunters up beside me, the sentiment mirrored as she studies the questionable dishes so proudly displayed. We move along to the hot beverage section, three plates still empty as we grab what won't churn our stomachs.
"Plans for the day," maman begins, sitting at the table papa claimed for us, and offering papa only an espresso. I take my seat as well, quietly sipping at my cappuccino. "Theo, I'm sure you're eager to rest, so I'll forgive your opting out. Sweet pea," maman turns to me, hot breakfast in hand, "you're enrolled, we need to get your uniforms, and do a tour of the grounds."
Another new school. Well, papa can't help that his work moves us around. I nod. "Might we go sightseeing?" And perhaps find a nice café where we can find something palatable.
"Of course." Maman smiles, her brown eyes soft. "We also need to scout the local cafés, so that your papa can join us later."
"Music to my ears!" Papa's all smiles.
What is it about going shopping that's such a chore? Wait…"Does that mean…?"
"I admit to nothing." The corners of maman's mouth curl up, her eyes twinkling with mischief. A little retail rehab always puts us in a better mood. "More importantly. Summer is just starting. So we need to get you some...key items."
"Such," I jerk back, my gaze flitting to and fro as I process the possibilities, "such as?"
"And spoil the surprise?" Maman tsks, playfully waggling her finger, no. It takes my every milligram of self-control to not squeal at the implications.
8-8
[out in the city]
Cloudless summer-blue skies are littered with squawking Wingulls. Gentle salty breeze tussles my waist-length silver hair. Cosy townhouses crowd together on either side of the one-way streets, topped by uniform even-armed triangle roofs made of smooth and painted stone. Planters hang under every window, giving the cadmium yellow and lime green and muted earthy brown buildings more of a personal touch than just the bright stonework.
Stoplights have been traded for roundabouts at every intersection. Cars lie dormant in their garages, as the locals ride their basket-wielding bicycles everywhere they go, latching their shopping trolleys to the sides for easy transport. Parents march their tiny terrors, imprisoned in their strollers with shopping bags hanging from their handlebars. The open-air market is just down the way, made all the more obvious by the sporadic shrieks of whose prices are better and what wares are on sale.
The sole café on this street seems two houses wrangled together, with but six tables hidden under faded pearl parasols with midnight blue stripes. A weathered wooden sign showing 'Capitol Point Café' painted on in a bold, festive red and a chalked-on menu with prices, clearly on its last leg. A cheeky little Pokémon, Machop, I think, grabs a Poliwhirl between their thighs and squeezes with all their might, unleashing a torrential spray that lambasts the already abused sign, knocking it over and sending it careening up the way.
"Machop!" A server, just walking out with tea on a tray to see to the sole patron, chases the scamp right back to said patron, with their accomplice in tow—to a kindly old lady with glasses thick as my wrist perched on her weathered face. "Mrs Harington, really. Keep those rascals on a leash—or better, in their Pokéballs."
Biting my lip to keep the giggle-fit muted, I turn to maman and slip my arm around her elbow. It's odd. I turn sixteen next month, but maman's already a head shorter than me. She tosses her neck-length black hair, streaked with grey, as she flashes a smile that sets her eyes a-twinkle, deepening subtle crow's feet.
We round the corner, maman's body trembles with mute laughter, her olive cheeks reddening, as are mine, as we huddle together for balance—our giggling hushed best we can to not exasperate whatever just happened, and right into a three-storey building marked EVENTIDE in a cursive, mossy green.
8-8
[getting fitted]
"I assure you, Eventide's fine arts programme is second to none." The secretary keeps rubbing elbows with maman, as the seamstress runs her roll of measuring tape across my shoulders—at least she's fluent in Kalosian. Dark-lacquered wooden walls and chestnut flooring carry their voices all too well, though the potted primroses hanging about dim it somewhat. Not a combination I quite understand. At least the burgundy drapes offer some privacy, given I stand here in little more than my undergarments as I'm being fitted.
"Naturally. I wouldn't consider your establishment otherwise." Maman smiles and tosses a wink my way, setting my chest to tremble as my bust is measured. The seamstress mutters some numbers to her assistant, who diligently marks it all on some form or other. "We're to pre-apply for her electives?"
"Preferably. The sooner the better, to ensure placement." The cool measuring tape wraps around my waist and is quickly shifted down to my hips.
"Violin and piano, two hours a week each. Classical and Jazz are preferred." Maman's matter-of-fact tone sends the clerk scrambling for her Dex. "Ballet. Classical, of course."
"Of course," the clerk readily agrees, her fingers drumming a staccato to mark it all down, I'm sure. The seamstress nudges my right foot up and eases me into some strange contraption, muttering size eleven to her assistant.
"Table tennis, if at all available. Swimming. Other than that and Ponyta riding, I'll tolerate no sports to risk injury."
"We have a gymnastics team as well, Madam. In Galar's top five." The clerk's pride almost curdles my blood.
"Not something my Ladira's interested in." Too true. Ballet and swimming are plenty of exercise as is.
"Of course."
"As well. I understand you've a new master painter?"
"Madam Levant. She's also our Kalosian professor."
"Splendid! Do add that." Maman glows, no doubt grateful I'll be learning our mother tongue again. The seamstress fishes out a stack of uniforms for me to try—forest green skirt, cravat, and blazer, with a button-down mother of pearl blouse and one-inch black heels—and she motions me into the cubical to change. "I trust linguistics are part of the core curriculum?"
"Naturally. Eventide offers only the best for our ladies." The clerk turns to me, her eyes narrowed in suspicion that I've yet to utter a word. "And Ms Mercier? Any elective that catches your fancy? Theatre, perhaps? Or more of a musical lean? We've a band competition come fall, should you be interested?"
I slip the privacy curtain shut, to hide how badly I want to laugh at her predicament. Maman is many things, but she'd never force me into something I don't want. It takes me almost a minute to school myself well enough to know my voice won't quiver.
"Theatre sounds lovely," I say, enunciating properly to ensure they hear me. I'm tempted to ask if they have an LGBT club of some sort, but prestigious private schools never do. Just ask the nearest flamboyant boy, and I'm sure I'll be plugged into the local scene. "Though only if it doesn't conflict with current electives."
"Not a problem, I assure you. You've one elective unassigned. What would you prefer?"
Maman and I share a look as I exit the cubicle in proper uniform, if still wrapping and tying the cravat properly about my neck. She gives me an encouraging smile. "Sweet pea. You've been dreaming of that one for years. Why not try your hand at it?"
8-8
[reigniting passions]
A dozen screens blink to life as we enter the auditorium. A band of about six are tuning their instruments on stage—electric guitar, some modified monstrosity of a violin, bass, and electric keyboard—as the lead singer does some vocal warm-ups I don't recognize. Reminds me of wild Meowths that would sing in the back alleys of Heahea, honestly. Though the two girls making out under the bleachers does bring back memories—somehow, no one ever suspects lesbians in an all-girl school.
Instead of focusing on that, the clerk ushers maman and I over to one of a dozen screens showing documentary-style films, each showing girls in the same uniform I currently wear with the life-saver emblem of Eventide embroidered on the left breast—a private school with an in-house laundromat, we're moving up. Some are arranged in a choir, singing songs that don't reach my ears. Others show an elderly artist correcting a student as she paints a fairly impressive approximation of the Mona Lisa, if in a more modern, and somewhat chaotic, style. Yet another shows a 'live' performance of Swanna Lake, with a dozen ballerinas acting out their interpretation of it—without the headline of '2578's Swanna Lake', I'd never have guessed. Another shows a scene from Death of a Salesman—where the elderly employee is just trying to convince his young boss to pity him and promote him to a desk job, even if it means a pay-cut.
The one we're escorted towards, however…
Though it shows only girls, once again, they are in cherry red jackets with beige riding pants and knee-length leather boots. The helmet-like hats and yellow goggles would certainly set maman at ease—less risk to the riders as their mounted Pokémon prances up and down the field.
Quite the collection, mind. A Stoutland here, a Gogoat there. Even the odd Rhyhorn. But one catches my eye the instant she's centre stage: Rapidash. The flaming red mane and tail lick about in the wind as the rider goads her partner to go faster and faster, until the background fades into a blur to keep the pair in focus.
"Sport riding and dressage training sessions are one on one, as are all our electives." The clerk's droning eases more and more into the background as my whole world revolves around the scene, and the majestic Mon on display. It's as if time stands still, save the galloping beauty that stole my heart more than a decade ago, and refuses to apologize for it. The pair rush towards an otherwise pointless gate, jumping over it and the puddle behind with room to spare, before quickly changing direction and dashing off toward yet another obstacle.
Scene snaps to some dragon type or other, breaking the spell.
"Oh, absolutely. Our trainers offer an array of tips and techniques for land, water, and flying mounts. Should Ms Mercier be interested, she need not limit herself to any one mode of transportation or even to one niche in the broad spectrum of mounted shows and sports. And the competition aspect is, of course, entirely optional."
"This counts towards her piloting license, then?" maman asks. Her gaze hasn't wavered from me since we arrived at this stand, for some reason.
"Indeed. Though, she's very much forbidden from riding within city limits, as is the case for all without a license."
"Naturally." Maman's smile is more than obvious in her tone. "I think the choice is undeniable."
8-8
[café culture]
We pile into Capitol Point Café's shaded terrace, where papa awaits us. Circular tables of clear-lacquered birch wood await, with four chairs nestled around it. Not overly spacious, but it doesn't look like we'll be half-sitting in other patrons' laps, either. Quite intimate, really. Capitol Point café, there might be history behind the name, I should think.
"Enjoy your expedition?" papa asks, winking playfully as we stow a half-dozen bags between the back of his chair and the café's wall, for safekeeping.
"It was productive," Maman coos, leaning in and giving papa a peck on the lips before taking her seat.
"Advantages of summer sales." I press a dry kiss to papa's cheek, sneaking in a quick hug before I settle in. "We got winter coats and gloves. And something fetching for autumn. Don't worry, we got for you as well." I fish out a tweed jacket, with leather gloves, showing them off to him. I'm unsure why this winter gear is so different to Kanto's, though maman was insistent we but here.
"Ah-ha!" Papa takes it, trying it on. It's a dull brown, and it honestly makes him look old. But he preens himself all the same, making a show of fastening the buttons and modelling it for us. My hand shoots up to cover my mouth, though there's little to be done about the laughter in my eyes.
"Ladira picked it out," maman tattles. "Said she was sure you'd love it." I roll my eyes.
"I do indeed!" Papa leans in and makes a showing of kissing my crown. "Thank you, princess." While papa takes it off and stows it in the bag, I roll my eyes at maman so he won't see. I'll never appreciate his taste in fashion—understand, sure, but that's where I draw the line.
"Have you spied the menu?" I catch myself a moment too late. Trying to change the subject, I stumble into this?
"Eh." Papa shrugs and takes his seat, waving his hand in front of his face after stowing his new things. "Food, I suppose." Sigh. He'd eat his own shoe if we joined him. Perusing the menu again, I find the fettuccine alfredo I was ogling earlier. A Kalosian café is preferable, but this is far superior to local...dishes?
"Good afternoon, darlings. Ready to order?" The server comes, pad in hand and bearing a welcoming smile. Not in a uniform, per se, but with the customary navy blue apron of the waitstaff.
"Fettuccine alfredo for me. With a mocha latte."
"He'll have the quattro stagioni calzone." Maman double-checks the menu. "The risotto for me. With two red wines. And an order of garlic bread and mozzarella sticks to start us off, please." I offer my menu, already closed, and maman offers hers—papa no doubt only asked for two. With our orders jotted down, the waitress makes some small talk, mostly commenting on our shopping, and heads out.
"Enjoy your morning?" Maman starts her 'so not flirting', and is no doubt rubbing papa's thigh under the table as well.
"Most relaxing. And productive." Since when is he productive the day after a long flight?
My eyes narrow. "Papa?"
"Well. You know how we've been moving around quite a bit?" Hard to miss it, really. "Your mother and I have been talking. And, well. We'll be staying in Galar." Tears sting, threatening to muck up my subtle makeup. "Not permanently, but long enough that we feel buying a house is worth it."
My gaze snaps to maman, finding a familiar warmth in her brown eyes as she nods, confirming even she thinks this is going to be 'long enough'. My hands shoot up, covering my mouth and nose. Unable to hold it in any longer, I all but throw myself into papa's welcoming embrace, words flopping off my tongue as I try, again and again, to thank him.
"Oh, but that's not all," papa teases, his tone doing nothing to hide his smile or the frog in his throat. "I spent most of the morning organizing. The boxes are all in the right rooms. We head there after we eat."
I pull back, reluctant to end the hug early, but confused and needing answers—if also cautiously optimistic.
"Don't you want to pick out your room?"
8-8
[coming home]
Our home. A bright pink townhouse with two storeys and neighbours on either side. The door is unobtrusive, simple; a run-of-the-mill plastic doorbell stands ensconced in the wooden frame on one side, with an unadorned and curtainless window to the other.
Papa makes a showing of unlocking the maroon, wooden door and sweeping maman off her feet, carrying her up the three stone stairs and into their—into our—home, with her musical laughter ringing out, echoing from inside.
Dragging my suddenly leaden slippers up the first, second, third stair, I find myself standing in our doorway. The doorway to our home. No more hotels. No more living out of suitcases and hotel closets that never have enough space. Entering my home, the door creaks shut behind me.
Home.
Shopping bags plop to the floor as I venture forth. The foyer is simple, unfurnished save the dark cedar wooden flooring that leads through an archway into another room—the living room, no doubt—filled with boxes by the dozen and a three-seater couch where maman and papa are 'so not making out'. To my right is a lavatory, but I open it to confirm a comfy toilet and a decent-sized sink—utterly unadorned, so that's going to change.
Behind them is an open kitchen with a breakfast bar stacked with yet more boxes, a large window peering out into the backyard, and to one side a wooden staircase that matches the flooring. My feet lead me up, one step at a time, my hand gliding over the smooth cherry-coloured railing perched atop white-lacquered columns as I go.
On the upper landing, a simple hallway with windows before and behind me, with three doors to my right and two on my left. I check them all—finding a proper bathroom with tub and shower and toilet in one, and the rest of that side of the house being the master bedroom. Maman's and papa's room.
The other rooms are mostly the same size, laden with unmarked boxes. The one to the front has a window overlooking the street, and the one to the back has a window peering into the backyard with a glass door? It's not overly large, but there's space for a desk, a closet of my very own, and...why are there more doors here?
I open the left one, finding ample closet space, all dust-laden shelves. The right one has two wooden rods for hanging clothes.
"Definitely my room," I say, closing the doors properly and peering into the backyard. There are yet more boxes out there, strewn about the waist-high grass. There's even a small porch—barely a metre long and twice as wide, but I'm sure maman and papa would let me claim it for my own. Perhaps start a little garden?
A knock at my door. Papa leans against the door frame, arms cross as he regards me with a knowing smile. "I knew you'd pick this one, I did."
"Chino!" Maman's little Minccino marches right in, paying papa little mind as he looks around with stars in his eyes. He darts past me towards a random corner, the top of his head barely reaching me mid-shin as his fluffy grey tail dusts everything he can reach, singing little snippets of his name as if he's having the time of his life.
Cheeks warm and tighten as contentment washes over me. Overcome with emotion, I fling myself into papa's arms, wrapping myself in his protective embrace. His chin kisses my brow, resting against me and robbing me of the subtle fear that all this is just another dream.
"Home." The word comes out breathless, shaky.
"Me or the house?" papa teases, petting me even as he holds me tight. His bushy moustache presses against my brow with an audible smacking as he kisses me again and again.
"Both." I cry a little, even as I laugh. Holding him closer, tighter, a breathy sigh escapes as I nuzzle up to him, burying my nose in the nape of his neck, as I used to when he'd scoop me up into his arms. "I love you, papa."
"I," he coughs, a little emotional himself, "I love you."
"Sweet pea!" maman calls out from downstairs. "These boxes won't unpack themselves!"
8-8
[settling in]
Papa, Machamp and Alakazam plop onto the sofa, remote in hand, as the wide-screen TV blinks to life. Words are cut short, zapped from one station to another, until at last, "GOOOOOOOAL!" Papa and his partners join in with the crowd's cheering, calling out some name I can't be bothered to decode.
I peer over my shoulder and the breakfast bar, unsurprised to find Kalos's white with blue-striped uniform facing off against Galar's all red. Scene snaps to an instant replay, shown from a dozen different angles, of one of them blazing a white and black-spotted ball into the net, just beyond the leaping and stretching reach of the Cinderace goalkeeper.
Sigh. Well, papa's happy. I pluck up the last lime green dinner plate and slip it, on its side, into the dishwasher. Satisfied it can't hold another, I slip my foot up against the appliance's door and gently kick it up, pressing it closed before engaging the eco-friendly programme. A click, slurping, and whir ooze out of it, soon followed by a sucking-spraying as it gets to work.
Fridge door claps open and shut, three long-chilled beers in hand, I rummage through the drawers in search of the bottle opener and toss the first of many bent caps into an open sapphire-tinted glass jar for recycling. Slippers clap against the wood, soon muffled by a poofy cream rug. I reach out and offer papa and his usual company the opened mossy green bottles, unsurprised they absentmindedly take them, eyes glued to the screen as that poor ball is smacked about once again.
Satisfied I've done all I can, I venture through the open back door, through the gently wafting sheer white curtains, into the backyard. Trimmed, vibrant grass gleams in late-afternoon sun, broken up by a dormant and covered barbecue grill to one side mostly hidden in the wooden fence's long shadow. A pond already inhabited by a jittery Tympole darting about and lazily sunbathing Vaporeon that swishes its fin-like tail as it pleases. Though it's the round teak table with four chairs that draws me, where Maman sits under a vibrant forest green parasol, sipping her cyan-coloured drink from a cocktail glass, beckoning for me to join her and Lopunny.
As I ease into a chair, maman pours another drink, clacking it onto the table before me, careful not to spill it.
"To our new home." Maman raises her cocktail glass, gently clinking it against mine.
"Home." I'll never tire of that word, I don't think. I sip the chilled sweetness. Wingull and Pelipper cries carry on the salty breeze—I've missed living by the sea. A contented sigh escapes as my eyes greedily drink in our humble surroundings.
Home. We're home.
"Cheri." I look up from my drink, wondering at maman's beaming grin. "I have something for you." She makes to stand, walking around the table and gliding into the chair beside mine. She fishes something out of her pocket—a slight bulge previously hidden by the table.
A ball. Fire engine red top half, pearly white underside. A...Pokéball?
"But you said—"
"To be patient," she cuts me off, a rivulet stealing down her cheek as she presses the still-minimized Ball into my palm, "and you have been, Ladira...saintly patient. But, I don't have to worry about you finding us, not anymore." She thumbs away the tears I hadn't realised I shed, her palm warm against my cheek. "When you go galavanting off into the sunset, you'll make your way back home."
I lurch forward, my arms winding around her as I clutch the back of her soft, lilac top.
8-8
[introductions]
My bedroom door creaks shut as I rush over to the window above my porch door and slant it open, to chase out the heat, and plop onto my already made twin bed. My hand traces along the edge of the linen powder blue sheet, a goofy-happy grin never once leaving my lips as I lean in and sniff the lingering, spring rain fabric softener.
Snow white laptop lies dormant on my plum purple desk, showing off her array of Rapidash and Ponyta stickers. Beside it stands my step-like pink bookshelf, littered with chipped porcelain Pokémon figurines of Gardevoir and Rapidash and Tsareena and Meowstic, interspersed between literature—from breeding techniques, to Pokémon psychology and physiology, to Trainer's how-to guides, to camper's guides for every region I've lived in, and master-class battle tactics, penned and signed by Olympia herself.
Looking down to the gift clutched in my clasped hands—a Pokéball, my first Pokémon. I…
I scarcely know how to feel. Excited, to be sure, but hesitant. Years I've waited for this moment. Yet, I don't much feel prepared for it. In every story maman told me of her adventuring days, there were always the friends she'd made along the way.
Friends. The concept seems as foreign as 'home'. We never stayed in any one place long enough to truly make friends. Sure, there were exceptions, like Precious and Leonie—their parents work for the same company as papa, so there were times the stars aligned and we'd be in the same place at the same time, for a spell.
Who else could I be friends with? Who else would understand that I can't allow myself to get close for fear papa would come home that same night and announce passage has been booked and we were leaving the next day?
I fish out my Dex from my back pocket, pulling the stylized Pokéball apart to reveal the translucent screen. My background picture displays the eight-year-old me smiling at the camera, with Janette's arm slung over my shoulder.
Janette. Her pale arm is frozen in place as she holds her mother's Dex to snap the picture. Bright green hair dishevelled from whatever hell she was kicking up, with a red-stained gauze taped to her left cheek and an impressive bruise seeming to swallow the only visible bright red eye. Got into another fight with someone picking on me, if memory serves. From the face-splitting grin, she couldn't care less.
Her family had to change numbers in whichever region they left for, so we lost touch. I never got to say goodbye, let alone how I felt about her. Sigh. I'm being stupid. What are the odds she's even into girls? Let alone into someone like me…
Dex clicks and slides closed, callously tossed onto my pillow, between Drowzee and Bruxish plushies. I palm the Pokéball, thumb rubbing the nubby button to maximize it—it swells in hand, though it feels no heavier.
My first Pokémon. Well, no time like the present.
Holding out my hand, I activate the Ball. A flash of red light floods my room, briefly drowning out the sole sconce's soft yellow glow.
A form takes shape before me. Small, tiny almost. Barely able to reach my knee. A lithe, white-skinned Ralts appears, their red-horned green helmet mostly obscures curious red eyes. Bright red eyes that peer up at me, study me.
"Hey there." I offer my outstretched hand, smiling best I can. "Nice to meet you. I'm Ladira Mercier and I'll be your partner from now on, okay?"
Stubby, fingerless white hands reach for their mouth and the helmet tilts down to obscure vision, almost to hide from me.
"It's okay. Take your time," I soothe, but get no response. "You're Ralts, right?"
A little nod, their chin turning away. Is something the matter? What has them feeling…?
"Right. You can sense emotions. Sorry about that. Was just thinking about someone important I haven't seen in a while."
Ralts's chin snaps to me, curious eyes peering up at me once again. They reach out, unsure, and quickly snap the appendage right back.
"It's al…" Wait. Maman got me a…?
I dive for my pillow, snatching up my Dex and clicking it open. Screen points to Ralts while I dial in my code to unlock.
On screen, a stylized Pokéball twirls, once, twice.
"Ralts, the feeling Pokémon," comes the synthetic voice. "If its horns capture the warm feelings of people or Pokémon, its body warms up slightly."
Data loads, but only the standard fare. "Right. I can't see your data unless you're registered to me. Sorry." I look up just as Ralts hugs my shin, bright red eyes peering up at me, trusting and open and oh so vulnerable. Just like that, another Pokémon steals my heart, and won't ever apologize for it. Thankfully, this one's already mine. "I'm not registered here in Hulbury. So we'll have to handle that first."
A little nod, timid and unsure.
"How about we think of a cute nickname for…" What if it's a girly nickname and Ralts is a boy? Or vice-versa? "Alright. Here's the situation. I want to give you a nickname, but I don't want it to be weird. Could you nod if you understand me?"
Ralts looks up, meets my gaze, and nods.
"Perfect." I clap my hands together, excitement rushing through me. I'm not sure why I doubted a Psychic-Type would understand Kalosian. "Are you a boy or a girl?" I ask, but make a face. Right, Ralts can understand me, but understanding them is more the issue. "Sorry. Let's try this again. Are you a boy?"
Chin quivers side to side.
"Are you a girl?"
A nod this time. I hold out my hands with the universal 'want me to pick you up' offer. Pale, stubby arms unravel from my shin and reach up. I carefully scoop her up, pulling her close for a hug. Warm little arms slither around my shoulders as she buries her nose in the nape of my neck.
Every tender emotion in me wells up; she warms further. Steals my heart, and is uninterested in returning it—the story of my life.
"How about Rose?"
8-8
[bureaucracy]
Breeze ruffles my hair and yellow sundress; a bit chilled, but not uncomfortably so. Though it's almost eight in the evening, the sun is far from set. At least the incessant heat has passed. It's a bit of a walk to the Pokémon Centre, not a bad thing in current company. Maman has her arm wrapped around papa's elbow, leading the way as the pair chat about little things—papa compliments dinner, maman swats his shoulder and correctly points out he always says that, the usual.
Rose straddles my hip as we go, her eyes drinking in the pedestrians walking their leashed Mons. Her arm squeezes mine each time someone leers her way, before ducking against my humble bust for safety. Each time, I pet her green helmet and murmur that she's perfectly safe with me.
Up on Hulbury's tallest hillock, nestled beside the train tracks, we find our destination all lit up. It's, as usual, different from every other region, though there are similarities as well. The fire red roof is fairly standard, of course, though it looks almost as if this one wears a pointy hat, as opposed to the smooth slant I expected. Then there's the question of the blue sign displaying some white symbol I can't make sense of. Outdoor sconces hang over potted flowering shrubs to either side of the arched door. And the rustic windows are, themselves, something else entirely.
I don't hate it, I guess.
Papa holds the door open for maman and I, letting us enter ahead of him. The air is cool, likely airconditioned. I'd hoped there'd be a café here, as was the case in Alola, though I'm not surprised at its absence—Saffron didn't have one either. On the left stands a burly man with a black and white plaid short-sleeve shirt, with a yellow tie of all things, and brown suspenders. The sides of his short mane are streaked with grey, though the piercing glare of his dark eyes shows he's no one's fool.
To the right is another man, though he couldn't be more different from the first. His royal blue waistcoat and welcoming smile set me utterly at ease as he nods to us. I return the sentiment and look to the woman in the middle. The side ponytail of pink hair, the nurse's uniform, the welcoming smile and warm gaze. Nurse Joy, no doubt—I've long wondered if it isn't a title, as opposed to a given name, though I've not inquired as yet.
Papa leads us down the red carpet and right to Nurse Joy, already fishing out his Dex.
"Good...evening." Dex claps onto the counter. The constant switching to Galarian is dizzying, and annoying. "Expatriates here to register as Hulbury residents."
"Of course, Mister Mercier." Joy switches to an unaccented Kalosian. I'm impressed. "Welcome to Galar, and to the port city of Hulbury. I'll need your Dexes to register you properly."
One by one, we each press our Dexes to the reader, giving her a moment to work her magic, until at last Joy's eyes fall to me.
"You're not yet registered as a Trainer. Would you like to see to that now?"
My gaze flickers to maman and papa, narrowed with worry. They nod encouragingly. "Yes, please. My apologies for the trouble."
"Not at all, Ms Mercier." Her fingers dance over the keypad, sending the computer into a fit of clicks and whirrs as popup after popup bogs the process down. "I see you have a Ralts. Did you have her registered in Saffron City?"
"Sadly, no. We've only met today."
"I see." Joy clicks on something again, calling up the laundry list of residences I've registered to over the years. She offers me a warm smile that doesn't match the pity in her eyes. "Would you like to apply for our Starter Package? It includes a meeting with Leader Nessa and the option of choosing a Galar starter from her."
I shake my head, no. "Thank—"
"Ladira?" Why do I recognize that voice? "Ladira Delphine Mercier?" I look over my shoulder, my heart throbbing in my throat as a familiar mop of green hair mostly obscures bright red eyes. There's a small X-shaped trait scar on her left cheek I don't remember, and she traded her baby fat and pale skin for A-cups, a deep tan, and a six-pack—made all the more obvious by walking around in a cotton candy pink sports bra, beige sweats, and black candyfloss slippers. But those eyes...I could never forget those eyes.
Words form, though my lame tongue knows not what to do with them.
"Ralts?" Rose tugs on my arm, jerking me back to the present as I focus on the kindly woman trying to help me.
"Do forgive me. Could I…have a moment?"
"Of course." Her eyes smile this time, her cheeks puffed up. "Take your time."
I spin on my heel, finding masked eyes peering through the side of Janette's unkempt mane, and five green-haired people crowded around her. My eyes don't much care, nor do my feet as they guide me towards her.
My free arm slithers around her waist, her head pressing into my bust—she used to be taller than me. Her hair smells of the beach—and the little eyes seem to belong to a now chuckling Riolu. All my mind cares to process, though…is that I have her in my arms again.
No response. Another dream? No. She never looks this different in my dreams.
"You're supposed to hug back, you know," I complain, switching to Galarian for her sake.
"It's…" Her hands work their way up my arms, draping awkwardly around my shoulders. "It's good to see you, Libs." Kalosian? And a near-native Lumiosan accent to boot? When did...Wait! She learnt Kalosian and still sticks with that nickname?
"If I wasn't so happy to see you," I pull back, glaring dully as I huff and shake my head, "I'd smack you."
"Careful." She flashes a rakish smirk, mischief twinkling in her eyes as if she knows it steals the air from my lungs. "I might like it." She winks.
8-8
[bureaucracy part two]
I'm not sure how it happens. One second I'm turning down a one-on-one meeting with a Gym Leader and the free Pokémon that comes with it. The next?
"Oh yeah! I'd love to meet Nessa!" Since Janette and I both have similar histories, Nurse Joy saw to Janette's parents and elder siblings first, and gives Janette, her younger brother, and I the 'here's what we offer' talk in one go.
"I'm in!" Janette's little brother cheers, fist pumping into the air to ensure he's counted.
"I...don't mind, I suppose." I look down at Rose, unsure what to make of her unsubtle smirk as she regards Janette and Riolu.
"Perfect." Nurse Joy claps her hands, face all lit up as she checks something in the system. "She has an opening on Saturday morning from ten to noon. Would that work?"
I nod, unwilling to look up just now—to see how anyone takes my sudden shift in attitude.
Once confirmed, Joy launches into her spiel of how the Galarian system works. From healthcare services for people and Pokémon being free for all residents, to a letter of introduction being required for the Major League Gym Challenge and their televised matches, to the Minor League Gyms being free-to-enter once you attain a certain Battle Rank and how unconventional each Gym is, heedless of division—curiously, no further explanation is offered.
"Additionally, please note that all Galarian streets, heedless of which city or town, that are marked with this sign," Joy presses a button and a green street sign flashes onto the triple displays behind her, bearing the Pokémon League logo, "demark Battlegrounds. Most often these are official courts. Pokémon battles within city limits must take place within these Battlegrounds, no exceptions. Offenders face fines and/or community service."
"Arceus, it's good to be home!" Janette throws back her head, assuming a superhero pose. "They still have Battle Events?"
"I was just getting to that." Joy's eyes twinkle. "Each city has its own official website with pre-scheduled Battle Events. They're hosted by the Pokémon League, of course, and each Event affects your Battle Ranking. You must be Rank Three or higher to enter the Minor Leagues, and your progress is tracked through a free app you can download onto your Dex. Please refer to the easy to follow guide both on Hulbury's website and in the app for details on reserving Battlegrounds."
That's new. Is it unique to Galar? "Is a reservation mandatory?" I ask, head tilted to one side.
"Not mandatory, exactly, but if there is a reservation, the Battleground must be ceded to the reserving parties. Battleground referees are required to end the match if you go over your time or the site is reserved by another party. No exceptions." Joy's quiet smile fades to a hard stare. "The destruction of public property is a punishable offence. Do not give the referees a reason to call the police."
I'm not sure I want to know, but noted just the same.
"Additionally. Within city limits and outside of Battlegrounds, only licenced Pokémon are allowed to not be leashed. If your Pokémon refuses to be leashed, and are unlicensed, they must be kept in their Pokéballs at all times. No exceptions." Noted. "Licensing exams are by appointment only, and only available to registered Trainers. Said appointments can be made at the Move Relearner Counter or via your League App on your Dex. All requirements and expectations are detailed and freely available in the app and on Hulbury's website. We also have paperback and hardback how-to guides available at the store, sold at cost, should you prefer a physical copy." Joy motions to the waistcoat-wearing gentleman to my right.
"We also have a variety of Pokéballs and accessories for your partners," the clerk says, pride in his eyes as he waves us over. "Camping gear and bikes, too."
"All licensing exams and trainings," Nurse Joy tugs our attention back to her as she motions to the severe-looking man with the yellow tie to my left, "are handled by Mr Glass and his team."
"Indeed." Mr Glass nods. The indigo Pokémon ever at his side raises their fist and calls out their name—Indeedee. Hmm. The downward-spiralled horns on the sides of their head and pink markings above their eyes mark this one as female, I believe. "As Joy said. All exams are by appointment, but some trainings, like learning or relearning Moves, can be on walk-in. Check your League App for details, or feel free to ask me if I'm not occupied." As if on cue, a Lass walks into the Centre and right up to Mr Glass, and he completely ignores us as he tends to whatever she and the lightning-bolt-tailed puppy at her side need.
I've never seen that one before. I fish out my Dex, pointing the opening screen at my target as I key in my code.
"Yamper, the puppy Pokémon," comes the synthetic voice. "This Pokémon is very popular as a herding dog in the Galar region. As it runs, it generates electricity from the base of its tail."
Interesting. Speaking of…?
"Rose. I need to register you. And we'll see to your licensing exam while we're here."
"Ralts." Rose nods, fishing her Pokéball out of my purse and handing it to me. I press a kiss to her helmet, recall her into a flash of red light, and enter the minimized Ball into the receptacle on the right side of my Dex. A popup fills my screen.
—NEW POKÉMON REGISTERED!—
Would you like to give RALTS a nickname?
—YES—NO—
I click on 'yes' and enter Rose in the blank field. Her data finally loads. Level Five, Timid Nature. Known moves are: Growl, Disarming Voice, and Double Team. At least she has a Special Attack—with her Timid Nature, her Physical Attack will suffer, but her speed should be boosted. The button for 'Show IVs/EVs' grabs my attention, though I don't worry with it as I stow my Dex for now.
"Thank you for your time, Nurse Joy." Rose's Pokéball in hand, I curtsey, and cue up behind the Lass-Yamper duo, intent on making an appointment as soon as is feasible.
8-8
[night cap]
Fingers dance over my Dex's screen as I book Friday, July first, from two to four PM, marking it as Rose's Licencing Exam and attaching the Pokémon Centre's location, and Saturday, July second, from ten to noon, marking it as Meeting with Nessa and attaching Hulbury Pokémon Stadium's location. Saving both appointments, I turn to maman, about to ask something—she's too involved in a conversation with Janette's mother, and papa's quite occupied inviting Janette's father over to 'watch a game'.
With Janette and her siblings over at the bar, ordering something being my guess, and Rose in her Pokéball since she's unlicensed, I have nothing to do. I turn my attention back to my Dex's agenda app.
It's June twenty-ninth. With tomorrow being the thirtieth, obviously, that gives me a day and a half before Rose's Licensing Exam. Screen switches from Agenda App to League App and the Ralts Unleashed Exam qualifications criteria load.
Two ploffing sounds distract me, soon followed by a pair of clinks and the dragging of a wooden chair.
"It's decaf, two sugars." Janette sits beside me, elbowing my side to grab my attention and nodding to the cappuccino sitting on a coaster that wasn't there a second ago. "I take no responsibility if you can't sleep later." She palms her soft drink, a cola from the dark liquid, and sips from her tall glass.
"When did you learn the mother tongue?" I ask, closing my Dex and setting in on the table, trading it for my preferred drink.
"Kalosian?" Janette smirks, pride shining through from the erect posture to the playful eyes. "Spent the last five years tumbling about Kalos. Hard not to pick it up. Don't prefer it over Galarian, but it's become second nature just the same." Hmm. Mostly Kalosian, though the syntax is clearly Galarian—it's forgivable.
"I can't say I remember it well," I admit, stirring my coffee properly before taking a sip. "Is it nice?"
"It's super busy, but the café scene there can't be beat." Janette sounds sure, and a bit proud of it for some reason. The joy drains from her features, leaving only a familiar ache that slumps her shoulders. "Ma was super nervous the whole time. Always fretting about the next big move and never knowing when it would come, so she never allowed us to…"
"Same." I nod. "Rose is—my Ralts, I mean—she's my first and only. I got her this afternoon."
"You serious?" Janette asks, staring with wide eyes and a wider grin. "Same with me and Riolu! He's such a charmer, he is."
I smile, comfort washing over me at the proper diction and syntax this time. "Wait. You registered as…"
"Yup. Ma gave Da hell, she did. Said she isn't living that life again. So this was the last move. We even bought a house!"
"I'm glad." I hide a winning smile behind my mug. "Have you enrolled in a school?"
"Don't remind me." Janette sighs explosively, slumping against the table. "Just thinking about wearing a skirt is depressing."
My whole body quivers with mute laughter. She never was into 'girly-girl things', as she often put it.
"Still. It ain't all bad. Da signed me up for the martial arts programme. Doesn't get me out of boring lectures, it doesn't. And ma was happy I'd be learning Galarian and Kalosian. Not sure how I'm going to survive learning Kantonian, though."
"Hmm?" I tilt my head to one side. "An impressive school, if you'll be learning three languages at once."
"The best!" Janette puffs out her chest and squares her shoulders. I giggle at her over-the-top reaction. "Eventide's the—"
"Wait." It couldn't be. Could it? "Green uniform. Skirt, blazer, cravat. Life-saver crest on the left breast?"
"Yeah?" She looks at me like I'm an idiot. "Unless there's another Eventide in Hulbury? Or Galar for that matter. It's the best Public School, bar none."
"Public?" I thought it was a private school?
Janette sighs. "Yeah, sorry about that. Galar is a bit weird when it comes to this. What Kalos calls public school, we call private. So even though you're right, that Kalos would call Eventide a private school, according to Galar, it's a public school—since the public has to pay to attend."
I blink. Blink again. Head tilts to one side. I don't want to know.
"So, what school you going to?"
"What school will you attend?" I correct. She cocks an eyebrow. "If you're going to learn proper Kalosian, you might as well learn it the right way. You'll fail your exams talking like that, you will."
"Agreed." Janette nods, face lit up like the City of Lights herself. "So what school will you attend?"
"Are you sure you want to know?" I ask, once again hiding a smile behind my mug as I sip.
"I wouldn't ask otherwise." Warmth radiates through my lower back as Janette leans in and whispers right into my ear, as if to tell me a secret, her breath kissing my cheek and neck and leaving me lightheaded. "What school will you attend?"
"The fine arts programme," I want to tease her, to leave it ambiguous, but with her hand massaging the small of my back in slow, methodic circles, and her hot breath igniting something in me, I'm not sure I'm capable of denying her anything, "at Eventide."
"Oh?" Her searing breath presses every button in me I didn't know I have. Please be into girls, please be into girls, please be into me.
"We did a tour of the grounds this morning." I sip from my cappuccino, making no noise to avoid drawing attention to us just now. "I was fitted for my uniforms as well."
"Should we compare schedules," please tell me you want to know when I'm free, "to see what classes we have together?" That's even better.
"Will we know that before September fifth?" I ask, hinting I'm free until then. My Dex vibrates.
Picking it up, a notification blinks up that has Janette chuckling, no doubt spying it right alongside me.
—NEW AGENDA ENTRY!—
Eventide Fall Term Orientation. June 16th, 2579. Time: 7:00 AM - 5:30 PM. Breakfast and lunch will be provided.
—ADD TO AGENDA—SNOOZE—
I click 'add to agenda' and key in my code to confirm. Warmth recedes as Janette leans away, fishing out her Dex from her sweatpants' pocket. She flashes me her screen, showing the same notice with a winning grin. "Looks like we have a date."
My cheeks catch ablaze. "I look forward to it." Another buzzing, a new mail. I click it open, finding my schedule for the first semester and the required books with a note they will be provided during the first scheduled lesson. It's six days a week, per the norm, with Saturday being a half-day and Sunday being unscheduled. Theory is after lunch, with our mornings focusing on practical—only my electives are filled in, each noting what I need to bring and what's provided for me. They don't provide a violin, so I'll speak with papa about that later. They have only a grand and baby grand piano, along with a church organ—I've learned on an upright, so that could be interesting.
Curious. At the end of each day is another slotted lesson from my electives—alternating between violin and piano. A bit much, but nothing I'm willing to complain about.
"Sweet. You're in One-C." Janette sounds happier than is appropriate. I look up as she flashes her screen again, pointing at her assigned class: One-C. Her mornings are dominated with martial arts training, from seven-thirty to noon, with only Wednesdays and Saturdays scheduled for volleyball. "Jeez. Did you lose a bet?"
My head jerks back, eyes narrowing.
"Violin. Piano." Janette points them out as she goes, her tone becoming more incredulous as she goes. "A bit eclectic, isn't it?"
A slew of mails pours in. I shut my Dex and stow it, deciding it rude to check them now.
"You want to check that," Janette assures me as my purse vibrates—another notification, no doubt. "Sensei and Coach scheduled proper introductions tomorrow. I'm betting you have the same."
Fishing out my Dex again, its screen is inundated with agenda entries; one for each of my electives' introductory lessons, for tomorrow and Friday. None conflict with Rose's exam, but that doesn't leave much wiggle room.
"Papa?" I jump to my feet, rushing around the table to him and plopping sideways into his lap, wrapping an arm around his shoulders so I'll have his undivided attention as I fish out my Dex and show the proof before being asked. "Pardon the intrusion. I got a mail about my electives, I did. And Eventide doesn't provide violins or mounts or swim-wear or outfits for ballet." I give him my best begging eyes and quivering lip. "Could we see to that first thing tomorrow? I have appointments from eleven and onwards."
"If it's for school," papa kisses my brow, glowing just for me, "you already know the answer." I look to maman, wordlessly begging her not to veto.
"The school store will have the outfits. We need only purchase the violin and Pokémon elsewhere," maman says, not hiding the pride in her eyes. "Have you decided which you desire?" Only a decade ago.
8-8
End Chapter One
8-8
A/N: I've been sitting on this story for a bit, and I'm still unsure why this one kept bugging me to write it. I am not promissing this is going to be regularly updated. For all my regular readers, you know how sporadic updating has been recently. Sorry about that.
I'm working on an original fiction, and that is simply taking more of my time than anticipated. I'll be working on that for NaNoWriMo, but I have the first few chapters of this story already figured out, so I should be able to update this once a week (more or less).
Let me know what you guys think.