III. Responsibility
She stood over the oven, allowing the oddly refreshing steam to caress her face. She watched the leeks lying inside the pot as the boiling water bubbled heavily beside that would eventually transform it into a dish of wonderful consistency. It was to be paired with the finest of sauces, a vinegary red wine concoction, and to be topped upon a display of bowtie pasta graciously covered with the aforementioned sauce. Megan backed away and looked dreamily at the boiling stems, seeing into their tasty future.
Megan had worked in this small resturaunt in the bustling metropolis of Goldenrod City for a good five years, and had believed that her cooking was excellent. But, if one was to judge this upon the average number of diners and the multitude of complaints given to waiters over this period of time, they would have to beg to differ. Her unique, worldly style did not strike any chord with the people of the city, who apparently saw trying new, adventurous foods as a risk not worth taking. No direct complaints were made to Megan, however, so her lack of culinary success was completely unknown to her. So she kept on making her dishes and kept reveling in what she thought to be perfection on a plate. Irony, in the best sense of the term.
As the clock behind her released a small wooden Pidgey along with five chimes, Megan finished her plate at last, and with a dash of parmesan cheese as a quick send off, she placed it on the table for the "to be served" plates.
"Another day, another painful day, eh Meg?" asked a tall man behind her as she grabbed her subtle black purse. She stood up and looked at him.
"I don't quite know about painful, but we'll see at the conference tonight."
The man took off his nametag and placed it inside his pocket as he followed Megan as she started towards the door. "Tonight? I must have dozed off this morning reading the newspaper. Um, sure, I suppose I'll go. Want a ride?"
Megan opened the door and leaned on it to keep it open. Her oaken brown eyes closed slowly as she directed them downward, gazing at the hardwood flooring that nearly matched the same hue. "Sure… eight. I'll be out front," she said with a bright smile that shone through the red hair that obscured it. "Just remember a notebook, Sean- I'm sure that there will be something interesting about the convention besides a bunch a losers talking about… well, not much."
He took his hand and held the door from under Megan's own weight, as to return her favor. She looked up and laughed, then quickly darted out the door with her purse's black shimmer reflecting the street lights.
Ignorant, Sean thought as Megan shut her car door and pulled out of the parking lot, but yet so beautifully cognizant…
The night's unique rhythm of chirps and squawks filled the night with mournful echoes. Out in the middle of a tree-lined meadow of long grasses interrupted by grey lawn chairs was a quaint stage. It was backed by an aluminum half-dome and appeared old and decrepit. The stage had been used for many events before for many years… and had the rusted edges to prove it. The lawn chairs were slowly being filled with people who came from the parking lot a few minutes away, with the front seats being claimed much faster than the others. Everyone who sat down had a notebook in their arms and a pencil either in their hair or in their pocket; an awfully wise-looking crowd, but each bearing a timid expression and a nervous aura that counteracted the pride brought by supposed knowledge. Grass-type Pokemon trainers were extremely easy to spot.
As Megan shut the door to Sean's car (after the second attempt to do so from lack of enough force) and brought up her notebook to her arms, she recalled her previous experiences at the "Annual Grass Pokemon Convention". The event was usually very small and most often only included one highlight: A visit to the nearby National Park to witness several Chikorita evolve at long last into the impressive form of Bayleef. The splendor of watching such a momentous occasion was always a source of awe and inspiration. But according to this year's information booklet about the event, the same was not to happen this time.
"Got everything?" Sean said as he watched Megan stare out into nothing while fumbling with her notebook.
"I guess so. But what if-"
"-You forgot something? Don't worry about it. I'm sure you won't need… whatever it is." He shook his head and locked the car with a swift click of his keychain. "You worry too much. Someday you're going to come into work and deep-fry your own hand…"
Megan giggled. "Yeah, like you did last March? Hypocrite." She sneered sarcastically and started walking away from the vehicle.
"Oh yeah?" he called, "Well, I'll be sure to ask for Extra-Crispy instead of Original next time."
She continued… but smiled.
"Hello all you out there! Welcome, once again to the Annual Grass Pokemon Convention Kickoff!"
The stage was now adorned comparably well, with a podium and a pair of large speakers on either side. The woman behind the podium, bearing an entire outfit of green scented by Pokemon pins, leaned comfortably on the stand while she gazed at the people scattered across the lawn chairs. Realizing that the number of attendees was not exactly record-making, she sighed and bit her lip.
"Um, in case the… handful of you didn't know, the theme of this year's convention is 'Chomp-Tastic: Being Creative with Grass Pokemon-Accented Food'!"
As the "crowd" applauded, Megan finally made her way to a pair of empty chairs near the right aisle. She sat down, with Sean next to her, and smiled wide.
"Did you hear that?" she asked. Sean was currently dealing with a rebellious chair- it had been threatening to fold on him since he sat down. After a fast twist of his arm, an attempt to keep the chair straight, it flipped forward and he was left with his face in the grass. "Um, do you need help?" Megan muttered as the people sitting in front averted their gaze from her fallen friend.
"Nah, I'll… sit on the grass." He pushed the chair aside and sat cross legged on the ground. "It's probably good for my… something or other."
"What I was going to say was the theme is about food! I already use Grass Pokemon leaves and other stuff in my dishes; this will help make them better!"
Sean calmly rolled his eyes.
It had been hard enough to keep that one thing from her, but it became even more grating on his nerves as the night continued. Sean was used to that feeling of want, the feeling that pushed him so hard to tell her of the… lackluster results of her work, but there was enough contempt in his heart that he somehow was unable to do so.
Ever since he had come into that diner on that cold winter day after seeing the warmth and company it could bring amidst all the chill, he had known Megan. Her light smile, her laughter, and her sheer drive and spirit were enough for any pure-blood male to melt and dedicate himself to her… but Sean refrained. He saw the end result from afar; attachment meant honesty and for the two of them, honesty would cost a job. Eventually the desire for companionship wore away and was lost with the snowflakes. A watched pot never boils, they say, and the pot of Megan's ingredients of wistfulness had stares as long as the time it took to explain it…
"Now did you hear that? Sean, are you even paying attention?"
The sound of Megan's voice alerted him of his submission. "Attention? Yes, something about the nullification of Sleep Powder for seasoning… can we go now?" Sean was obviously feeling the pain of a late night.
She crossed her arms. "Now? The night is still young, mister." Megan adjusted her notebook on her lap. "Is there something bothering you?"
Sean fumbled while he leaned against his chair leg and nearly fell once again. How come people always ask that when you are? He thought. So nice, yet I have to…No wait, she will eventually figure it out. But what if it all ends and the manager follows through? His head was reeling as he swayed back and forth between opinions, and the at last the sword had broken through the barrier and won the fight for honesty.
"It's the Tangela," he stated. Megan, who was furiously scribbling down notes in her book, quickly looked up at him with strands of her hair's orange glimmer falling in front of her cherry-hued cheeks.
Her eyes squinted. "What? What are you talking about?"
"The Tangela vines… I think you should lay off of them for the time being."
Megan's expression was coarse. "Do they taste bad? Is it the consistency?"
"Just… don't use them for a while…" Sean's voice trailed off.
Megan the saw a light in Sean's eyes that she hadn't seen since the day he joined the kitchen. It was a small glint that appeared with the same luminosity as a star, yet with the same color as a flame… it was a sign, surely, but she would have to wait to find its meaning.
And wait was what she did. The days got colder and so did her expression as the days of the winter rolled on. The manager had done as promised and gave her the last free meal for a while. Jobless. Hungry. Yet what was not fulfilled on a superficial level was completed on the inside by the communication with Sean, although how little it was. Something constantly told her that this man was responsible for everything…
…Yet responsible for nothing.