mechanism (tech.) a system of parts operating together in a machine
mechanism (psych.) a mental or emotional pattern that dominates behavior in a given situation
Mechanism
There's nothing wrong with Volkner. He just gets like this sometimes.
Like there's no point to any of it. Like he might as well be fired.
When he turns trainers away by day and remodels his gym into the night. When he hasn't battled in weeks, because the drive just isn't there. When the League gets on his ass with calls and e-mails and official-looking letters, and he can't find it in him to deal. When Flint drops by Sunyshore just to check in, and he turns Flint away, too.
Flint's thinking he's going to get fired.
That's how he wound up here. It's Flint's damn fault. Flint said why not come over and have a few beers and watch some tournament streaming live from Galar and he got to the League and was halfway to Flint's when they roped him into this shit.
They're entertaining delegates from some far-off region. He's not at all dressed for it, and he doesn't care.
That Snowpoint girl seems to take it as a statement.
"Talk about a rebel fashion moment." She runs a hand along his jacket sleeve.
He shrugs off her touch. "Wasn't planning on it."
She's in a dress as short as her skirts, all silver-blue shimmer. He's in the same thing he wore to the gym, but Flint's convinced he wouldn't have thrown on a suit for this if he'd known.
Wouldn't have come, never mind that it's mandatory. Gym battles are mandatory, and he doesn't do those either. Mr. Elite Four needs to butt out and let him ruin his own life, but that's a whole other issue.
"So we finally get to talking." Candice laughs. He hears her name when the barefoot girl says hi, and maybe he'll remember it this time. "I see you almost as much as the leaders from Kalos over there."
He laughs too, because that sounds about right.
There's nothing wrong with Volkner. He's just bored.
Bored of the same kids who walk in his gym with the same Geodude in every cave in Sinnoh and expect to walk out with a badge. Bored of training, because who needs to train for that?
"You know I've always wanted to take you on?" Candice's still talking. He's only half listening.
"Try me," he says tonelessly. "Make me put in some effort for once."
Bored of meetings that don't matter, until they write him up when he doesn't show. Too bored to bother when they summon him to the League to ask what the hell his problem is.
And he probably will get fired, when Cynthia comes back from this year's trip to Undella and takes one look at his file, but so what?
"Wait till you meet my Abomasnow." Candice's gazing at him through dark eyes. Dark eyes with a bright spark. "That time I almost froze in the mountains? Totally worth it."
"You're kidding." That's irresponsible. This girl's worse than Flint. She'll bury herself in a blizzard before they ever battle at this rate.
"No way." She grins, and he frowns back, annoyed.
But not bored.
He could say he's out of practice, distracted, wasn't up to it today. Blame it on that skirt, but the last thing he needs is another complaint to the League.
And either way he'd be right. But it wouldn't be the whole story.
He was shit. That's the truth. Made mistakes. Stupid mistakes. Hated to in front of Candice, because she's all about focus and she'd never.
Not that he lost. Electivire pulled through in the end.
…Yeah, no thanks to him. He missed his chance at a Thunder Wave. Then another. Noticed the Focus Sash on her Weavile too late. Forgot his own damn movesets. Called on Luxray with the wrong attack and got back a roar of utter what.
Flint'll stage an intervention if he sees him like this. He sure as hell can't challenge the Elite Four now. And he only faces trainers who make him feel alive, so he's running out of options.
Candice can't beat him, but somehow, she does. Make him feel alive, or something.
So they battle, now and then. There's this clearing in the Survival Area where the leaders meet up. Flint's been bragging about his grandfather's plans to build a place they can hang, but it's early days yet.
And he still feels that something, even when they trek back through the trees and she tries in vain to sweet-talk him into staying out to watch the stars or sneak into the Ribbon Syndicate's pool.
Maybe it's not the battles.
Flint warned him he'd get shit for this. He's already getting shit for this.
Watching the Elites' exhibition matches from the VIP. Being a leader has its perks, however long that lasts.
And he could catch them on TV, but that's more trouble than it's worth, with the power out back home. It's nothing—no one—else, no matter what Flint says, so he stands off to the side while Candice chats with her best friend.
The barefoot one from Veilstone—Maylene, he thinks. He doesn't bother with the other leaders, and they've learned not to bother with him. He could ask Flint later, because Flint knows everyone and everyone knows Flint. If he cared.
Candice gossips between cheers, a glow on her cheeks, his name on her lips. She waves at the crowd and flashes heart hands when the fans notice.
They notice him, too. Some of them even boo him. The press point their cameras, ready to rip him apart for living the so-called celeb life while the people of Sunyshore rely on emergency generators.
"Congrats on your biggest blackout yet." Candice passes with a playful nudge. "You're not gonna do something about that?"
So he's got a reputation.
Sometimes he shuts himself in the gym and works until dawn. And if he blows the whole grid in the process, fine. He likes it like that. Dark.
The irony's not lost on him. He was born in the wrong damn place.
And he grew up in Sunyshore, built Sunyshore, made it what it is today. But that doesn't mean he can take the glare when the city lights up at night, so unlike his mood. So he loads up the circuits and blacks it all out. For hours. Then days. Nothing. Just black.
"Maybe later." He lets her pass right on by. She makes him feel more than he's comfortable with.
Makes his blank expression break into an unwilling smile. Makes him give a damn what people think—what she thinks—and that's what unnerves him most of all. Makes his gaze follow her when she goes, and like she's felt his eyes, she turns.
"You're staring at me."
"I'm watching the battle. You're in my way."
She laughs and doesn't move. He has to respect that.
He's at this skating thing near Snowpoint and he can't skate. He's a lot of places he thought he'd never be, these days.
It's cold on the lake, full of trainers in ski suits. Thick gloves. Fur-lined boots. Hats that cover half their faces like they're off to rob the nearest Poké Mart.
Too cold for a girl like Candice. But she can take it.
A scrap of a skirt, not that he's complaining. Sweater tied at her waist, to prove she doesn't need one. That the weather won't boss her around, that she won't give in to the hail and the wind and those puffy parkas that went out of style last spring.
There's that spark again, and he hopes she never loses it.
He hopes he won't wipe out.
Maylene's managing on athletic ability alone. That Wrestler Wake or whoever has more grace than anyone gives him credit for. Flint's a piss-poor skater, but the girls from Snowpoint Gym hang on him and hold his hand and he milks that piss-poor skating for all it's worth.
They don't hang on Volkner, but who's he next to Mr. Elite Four?
Or maybe he's something to Candice, because they glance at him and whisper in her ear while giggling into their mittens. He'd forfeit the battle of a lifetime to hear what about. He's not sure how he feels about that.
She glides across the lake, showing off with twirls and figure eights. Skating up to him. This isn't going to end well.
The ground slips out from under and she clutches at his arm, his jacket, anything to hold him up but like hell she can and he hits the ice and his elbow's fucking sore.
He hates skating. Hates that he can't. Hates everyone who saw. Hates himself for even coming. Doesn't hate her. Couldn't if he tried.
"You okay, Volkner?" She kneels beside him and rolls up his sleeve.
He's not hurt. Not badly.
He's not okay. Not at all.
Candice's bright-white snow, light in the dark of winter. He doesn't know what he is. An avalanche, maybe. That builds and quakes and thunders under the weight of its own misery until one day something cracks and takes the whole town with it.
She's holidays every day, romance and ribbons, made-for-Jubilife-TV movies of picture-perfect places where boy meets girl and girl likes boy and they ride off in a Stantler-driven sleigh or some shit.
And it's worn down his guard, her touch on his arm.
"You're smiling at me."
No way this'll end well.
He's the shade under the sun, the blackout cloaking Sunyshore in night. Casting shadows over everyone he's ever met, who's ever given a damn about him. Over her, if he doesn't watch it.
So he sets his mouth in a firm line and speaks through gritted teeth. "You think?"
For a girl who claims to love Snowpoint, Candice sure puts in time at the Battle Zone.
He tells her one night when he finds her still at it, and she shakes off his words with a laugh he can't buy.
"I do love Snowpoint," she protests too much too fast. "It's just the heat over here gives my Pokémon a real workout. That's why Glacia's based in Hoenn, you know, and with a record like that, she must have the right idea…"
He wonders who she's trying to convince.
Sometimes she gets in from the boat and he still feels the cold on her. It's the way she hugs him hi—she's warm like that inside, not at all how she is in his arms, icy hands and a lingering shiver. And she never complains, never unties that sweater from her waist, but he knows it now, and he doesn't want to let go.
Wants to wrap her in his jacket, hold her close to his chest, till the chill fades, till he can't feel the cold anymore. Till she can't. As long as it takes. Longer. He won't.
She's getting to know him, in battle and out. Too well, he thinks lately, and it scares him in ways he can't comprehend.
He wins again. She makes him work for it.
"Rematch?" Candice tilts her head all cute and hopeful-like.
"Nah. My team's had it. Your team's had it." It's one in the morning.
"I've got a new team I'm trying out. Give me five minutes at the Pokémon Center."
"I've had it." It's one in the goddamn morning.
"We could go for a walk, or something…"
It's almost like she doesn't want to go home.
So he relents. "I could go for a drink."
They're the last ones at the bar. The island's empty as always, which is half the reason he comes. (The other half's next to him ordering whatever he's having, but don't start.) And he'd try to make conversation, but he sucks at that stuff.
He's not good at this stuff. She's supposed to be good at this stuff.
There's something up with Candice. She's quiet—too quiet—staring idly into space. She's pale—too pale—skin translucent under the lights.
"How's it going?" he asks. And he really does mean that.
"Oh, you know." She swings one leg over another on her barstool with a smile that won't reach her eyes. "It's going. Yourself?"
Her skirt's a bit short for that, for the Battle Zone, for everything, but what else is new? She sips her drink, makes a face (whatever he's having, bad call), rests a hand on her thigh so he can't help but notice.
She didn't need to. He's been noticing the whole night.
And it's lucky he got through their battle at all, lucky his weak-ass concentration—focus, she'd say—didn't throw off his Pokémon, because honestly.
"The usual." He shrugs. "Bored."
Candice laughs and loosens the bow at her neck. "Good thing you ran into me, huh?"
He knows what she's doing. She knows what she's doing. And if he was the one to make her romcom dreams come true—some hotshot guy on Jubilife TV—he'd kiss her then and there.
She's got the wrong guy. He'll drag her right down with him.
So he ignores the way she flirts. Then ignores the way her face falls. Ignores her altogether sometimes. Can't ignore the way his chest tightens with all he's buried within, but that doesn't mean he won't try.
"On second thought, I'm gonna head out."
There's nothing wrong with Volkner. Nothing.
He doesn't hear her voice when he walks into meeting. Not chatting with Gardenia, not gossiping to Maylene.
…Yeah, he goes to those now. Flint can't believe it, either.
She's not stealing glances at him, legs crossed-then-uncrossed in her latest excuse for a skirt. Not dropping a pen to get his attention. Not toppling a chair to get his attention, like he swears she did the other week.
And he'll admit he brought it on, ignoring her as he does, but at this point she might as well say something because it's not like she's shy and he thought—fine, hoped—she would.
But there's none of that. She's not there.
Sucks that he is, now that Cynthia's back to business and his ass is good as fired. But forget the League. She's not there.
He can't ask. Maylene'll tell Candice every word he says. Flint'll tell him to grow some balls and pick up the goddamn phone. Flint tends to have a point.
He won't ask. Somebody's going to realize.
Realize what?
Like hell he doesn't know.
He has to ask. So he turns to Byron, who he's never spoken to in his life. Who steers clear of League rumors because he's old enough to be their dad—is someone's dad, that new guy in Oreburgh. Who won't give him shit and won't care.
"Where's Candice?" He plays it casual, pretends he's only just noticed.
Too casual, he gathers, when Flint sneaks him a grin. When Maylene unlocks her phone under the table. She's probably texting Candice all about it. Probably already has.
Byron, as expected, doesn't blink an eye. "Off sick."
Maylene shakes her head, like she knows too much and can't say enough. "She's been off sick all week."
So it shocks him senseless when his locked-down gym opens just enough for Candice to slip through in a sliver of sunshine before fading back to black.
"You got past the five-hundred-pound steel doors?" he asks. And at some point she might've realized they're like that for a reason—really.
"Mamoswine, Volkner. Not me."
"You wanna tell me what you think you're doing?"
She's closer than he counts on. "Surprising you."
Too close, and her arms take him next. She's in a bikini, or one of those tops that tie because there's nothing on her back but strings, and for once it's a damn shame the lights are out.
But something's different in the dark, makes him awake like never before. To her skin against his—he's ditched his shirt, in this heat—and the touch of her hands…
"If this is how you dress for the gym," she teases, "I might drop by more often."
If this is how she dresses for his gym, he thinks, he might invite her next time. Doesn't say. He's not that guy.
"AC's down," he mumbles instead. "Aren't you supposed to be sick?"
"Aren't you supposed to be, you know, battling?"
"Kind of hard." His trainers have long given up on him. They're at the beach somewhere practicing. Or slacking. He should probably care about that.
"So what's the deal with all these blackouts?"
"It's automatic. It happens." He'd rather not explain. "When a circuit malfunctions or goes over capacity, the breaker trips and cuts the power. No electricity, but no harm done."
"When the system runs into problems or things are too much, it shuts down to protect itself."
"You got it."
"Hey." Her voice's too soft for what she says. "Sounds like someone I know."
And thank god she can't see his face, or she'd see damage all over. Because if he's a machine then she's just ripped the casings wide open and what a fucking mess.
He tears himself away. "Get out."
"You're doing it again."
"The hell do you want me to do, Candice? Put on a smile and a miniskirt and act like everything's fine?"
"It's a sarong, Volkner."
Might as well be a fucking mess. "It's beside the goddamn point. You say you love Snowpoint, you're gone every chance. You say it's not cold, you shiver in my arms. They say you're off sick—"
"Okay." She stops him like she can't take much more. "I'm leaving, okay?"
He hears her footsteps, farther, fainter. Her Mamoswine's call. The doors. Then nothing.
And that night, the photos come out.
He's not sure how she thought she'd get away with it. If she thought she'd get away with it. She was never going to get away with it. Sunyshore girls don't look like that.
He could spot that Snowpoint complexion miles away. From the top of the damn lighthouse.
Whoever took those photos sure as hell did. Some asshole probably bought himself an oceanfront villa on those photos. He hopes it gets hit by a tidal wave and crashes the fuck down.
The sun on her face, the breeze in her hair, the bikini with ties, the skirt-or-sarong. She's beautiful. Not sick, as every Sinnoh news outlet's rushed to report. And in serious trouble. Snowpoint's sweetheart doesn't pull this shit.
Candice picked the week of Cynthia's return to pull this shit. He's impressed. And annoyed. She could've let him in on it. He would've skipped the gym with her. Brought her to a beach no one knows. No roads overhead, no fans with their phones out.
If she'd go with him, after that.
And he could call her, message her, something, anything. Send a bunch of flowers, if he was that guy, but which flowers, he wouldn't know, and Gardenia could help him out because if there's an expert in the League it's her, but he'd wrap up a dead Cacturne before he'd ask.
Or go to her, just go. Straight to the Snowpoint Gym. Fall on the ice, flat on his ass, maybe break an arm while he's at it.
So he doesn't. Doesn't do a thing.
Just stares at those photos longer than he should.
He knew it was coming. He's known for months. The dreaded meeting with Cynthia. Nobody blows off that many battles without getting caught.
And he's lucky it's not worse, that she didn't stick him with a disciplinary hearing or a formal League order to get his personal belongings the hell out of Sunyshore Gym by yesterday. He'll deal. He's ready.
But not for Candice.
She's on a bench in the hall. Doesn't hug him hi. Doesn't even look at him, just down, and it wrecks him inside because she's always met him with a smile and a spark and if it's gone it's his damn fault.
"Bet I know what this is about." He sits by her side. Bets she's never been in the Champion's office in her life.
"You saw."
"Yeah. And if that's what the League calls bad publicity, I don't know what their problem is."
He doesn't say stuff like that. But it gets a giggle out of her. Worth it.
"The hell were you thinking?" They're harsh words, harsher than he means, so he puts a hand on hers and hopes that helps. "I know Sunyshore. I built Sunyshore. There are places you won't be found. If you'd asked—"
"Before or after you kicked me out of your gym?"
"Shit. Sorry." It's all his damn fault.
"I wouldn't have asked." Her gaze stays fixed on the floor. "I couldn't tell anyone."
"You're gonna face the wrath of Cynthia in a minute. Might as well try me first."
"Thanks, Volkner. Doesn't scare me at all."
He can guess—and he fights back a grin—where she got the sarcasm from.
"I just thought," she almost whispers, "if I got away for a while…"
"Still love it in Snowpoint?"
"Forever. It's beautiful. It's home." Candice's stubborn as usual—until she can't be. "But it's cold. It's lonely. It's dark when I leave for the gym and it's dark when I get out. It's a lot." Her voice breaks a little. "And sometimes it's… hard."
His arms have betrayed him and he's holding her close, the way he's always wanted and never allowed. He doesn't do this stuff—not in public, not anywhere. It doesn't matter now.
"Promise you'll keep in touch if I get fired?" She smiles when they part, all bittersweet.
"You've got to be kidding."
There's hurt on her face. He hates himself for it.
"Trust me, you won't," he says, softer than before. "Know how many times I've been in Cynthia's office?"
"Is there something going on with you two?" she teases.
"The fuck? No."
"Good."
"Jealous?"
He really doesn't say stuff like that.
But she leans on him not-so-innocently and laughs. "I'd be jealous like you wouldn't believe."
"Candice? Whenever you're ready."
Cynthia's door creaks open. Candice shrinks back in her seat like any nerve she had is gone.
"You're not getting fired." He wraps an arm around her tight. "Be straight with Cynthia. Tell her what you told me. And if you ever need out of the snow, give me a call."
Cynthia stares at him like some mythical fuck-knows, and it's pretty clear why. He's been here years—the worst years of her Champion reign, no doubt—and this is the first time she's seen him not be an asshole.
…Yeah, he can't blame her.
"Come for the day. The weekend. I mean it. Anything."
She doesn't get fired. He doesn't even need to hear it.
Not with that bounce in her step as she bursts out the door. Not with the way she hugs him hi again. No cold. No shiver. He's not letting go regardless.
"I really had this whole thing all wrong." Candice's talking miles-a-minute and she sounds like herself. "Cynthia just wondered what happened, if I was okay. I mean, I'm not some problem leader who bails on my battles." She giggles at how his eyebrows quirk up. "No offense."
"None taken." That's the girl he knows.
"And she told me if I needed time away, I could've just asked…"
"Yeah." He touches her cheek, wipes a trace of a tear. "Cynthia's a hardass, but she has a heart."
Cynthia's voice shatters the moment. "Don't be so sure."
"Do you mind?" He sighs. Candice stifles a laugh in his shoulder.
Cynthia's not half as amused. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?"
"Can it wait?" Candice looks at her with that hopeful face, the same face that keeps him out past one in the goddamn morning. "…Please? For me?"
"For now," Cynthia caves. The whole League's got a soft spot for Candice. "But if I hear one more report…"
"Deal." Maybe he'll make this work.
Maybe he won't drag her down. Maybe they'll help each other up. As Jubilife TV movie as it sounds.
Cynthia leaves, and it's about time. Candice stays, only inches away, and she doesn't hold back.
"You like me."
He smirks—no, smiles. A warmth fills his chest. He's done ignoring and burying and not caring and he stares in those eyes with the spark as long as he damn well wants. "Yeah. So?"
So he sneaks off to Snowpoint when he knows she's not in. Then steals her from her gym when he knows she is.
"Volkner!" She's caught unprepared, her clothes adorably askew. "I thought we said tomorrow—"
"Just follow me."
He leads her through the dusk and flips the switch.
Networks of panels and rainbows of lights. Snowfall that shimmers with a soft pastel glow. A picture-perfect scene straight from TV. He'll be damned if it's dark when she sets foot outside ever again.
People come to look, from the gym, from the Pokémon Center, from their homes. Clapping slowly, then faster, like this is some romcom and he's that guy. Candice's eyes sparkle enough to rival it all, tears glistening at the corners.
"Volkner."
"Not bad, huh?"
She runs—leaps—into his arms. They tumble into the snow and it's cold down his back but who the hell cares when she's kissing him like that and the girls at her gym are gonna have lots to whisper about come tomorrow.
He'll give them something to whisper about, all right.
So he buries himself in blueprints of sun-simulating streetlamps and self-shoveling sidewalks. Shows her secret beach spots when blizzards blow in and the winds grow colder.
So the blackouts stop. Then the letters from the League. Instead it's the Hearthome Contest Hall, the Veilstone Department Store, the Eterna Condominiums. They've seen what he's done. They want the whole solar setup.
He's got a lot going on between battles. He's sure as hell not bored.
Flint tells him he knew, since that very first night. Cynthia tells him whatever he's doing, he'd better keep doing it. Candice tells him he's the best boyfriend she's ever had. Kind of news to him, but he likes the sound of that.
So he feels alive, or something, and the city lights don't glare. They beam and shine like her, and he hopes they always do.
So the system isn't down, and neither is he.
There's nothing wrong with Volkner. Not anymore.