Joshua

"Wasn't the plaza beautiful tonight?" Eve said softly.

"Yeah, actually," Josh replied, lying awake in the top bunk. The thin Millennium Centre curtains let in rather more light from the street than he would like. "Lamentably, we don't have cheri trees in Mulberry Town."

"See! Dancing wasn't so bad then, was it?"

"You shush, you."

Eve went quiet for a moment. After a while she said, "Have you ever been in love?"

"In love?" Josh thought back to the warm, inconclusive mess that passed for his romantic life. "No. Nothing so intense. You?"

"Yeah. I was, once. Then he betrayed me."

The strange thing was, she didn't sound angry or bitter, just … hurt. He lay in thought for a while, trying to work out how to put into words what they both already knew.

"The ancients had two words for love," he said slowly. "Eros, romantic love, and philia, usually translated as companionship. When it came to Linda, or Adèle, I was always anxious." And always out of my depth. "I like this better," he said.

"Me too," Eve said quietly. "Tourney starts in six days!"

Josh said nothing, listening to Eve breathing as she lost interest in the conversation and drifted off to sleep. Eve might be feeling enthusiastic about the Tourney, but he certainly wasn't. The two Unovans, the shortish one and the one in the scarlet blazer, were playing on his mind. In hindsight, it was idiotic of him to think that he'd be the only one scoping out the competition. That made them more of a tactical threat, which was unwelcome, but what was unnerving was the thought that they might be scrutinising him as well as his pokémon.

Scoping out the competition … Josh rolled over and tried to turn a deaf ear to his conscience.

"You can't just ignore me, you know," his conscience said, and manifested in front of his face. It looked like a six inch version of himself, with the discreet addition of a pair of feathered wings. He ignored Josh's cold look and casually spun his sceptre. It was silver, and topped with a large pearl.

"Go away. You're just a metaphor," Josh told him. He rolled over again, trying to turn a blind eye as well as a deaf ear. His shoulder-angel simply fluttered back into view.

"Hey, be glad I'm here," he said, waggling his sceptre admonishingly. "If I weren't here, you'd be a sociopath."

"Actually, if we weren't here, he'd be a sociopath," a disembodied voice said, which then incarnated itself. "Am I late for the psychomachy?"

"Unfortunately not, Pheiton," the first shoulder-angel said testily. Against all reason, this second angel was a twin to the first, except instead of a sceptre he was leaning on a highly-polished sword.

"Hold on. Before we go any further, which one of you is supposed to be the evil one?" Josh said.

Pheiton gave him a jaded look. "You know it's not that simple."

"The hell it isn't!" the first angel persisted. "Josh, the Tigerlily Tourney isn't gender-exclusive because it's trendy. You remember what Whitney said: 'No boys to overshadow us'. Don't pretend you don't care about that!"

"Which would actually be relevant if this was 1992!" Pheiton countered. "Shall I run through the numbers? In the Imperial leagues, five Frontier Brains -"

"Out of twelve -"

"Fourteen Gym Leaders -"

"Out of thirty two -"

"Almost half, four Elite Four -"

"Out of twe-elve!"

"And one Champion. Agatha retired and Lorelei is on sabbatical, as you know damn well. The principle is redundant; this time utilitarianism is king!"

"He said 'King'! You heard him, he said 'King', he's a royalist!"

"Fuck you, Jophiel!" Pheiton yelled.

"Shall we spell that argument out? Girl trainers are doing ok these days, so I'm going to put on a skirt and pretend to be one! That doesn't strike you as -"

"Does Josh's entry prevent anyone else from entering?" Pheiton interrupted. "No. Is Josh so talented that he'd crush all opposition? No. let's get right down to it – who would be hurt by Josh entering?"

"I'm gonna hurt you!" Jophiel yelled, levelling his sceptre at Pheiton. The pearl started to glow a pale blue.

"Oh, bring it on!" Pheiton roared, brandishing his blade, which burst into white flame.

"Shut up, you celestial smuts!" Josh snapped. Both angels simultaneously opened their mouths. "I said button it! I am not arguing with a pair of metaphors, now go and dance on the head of a pin! Go on, piss off."

They reluctantly disincarnated in a couple of puffs of smudgy smoke. Josh closed his eyes but didn't sleep, kept awake by indecision. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint Eve, that was part of it. Evelina Joy, that was another part of it. It's not like she could just team up with one of her cousins. And Gabriella Joy had a certain relentlessness to her opposition that was all-too familiar. After a while it ground you down till you wanted one good moment of vindication. Tigerlily Champion was pretty damn unassailable vindication.

Except all this will be irrelevant if I can't pass as a girl …

It was Osturday morning, and the L-train rattled through the tunnel with a constant loud tak-tak tak-tak, tak-tak tak-tak. The L was bustling, as usual. Josh was nursing a bad mood. The stress and pace of life in Goldenrod was giving him daily headaches. It was getting on for 10:20 already – he was supposed to be meeting Eve at eleven.

"The next station is: The Underground. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform."

Josh stepped out onto the platform, and briefly contemplated driving a hobnailed boot into the instep of a salaryman who just barged him aside, fixated on his phone. The citizens of the Sunshine City didn't believe in hasty apologies, apparently. He hitched his seed canister further up his back; leaving it in the Centre just made him anxious, so he'd taken to carrying it around in a draw-string bag cannibalised from his sleeping bag. On the far side of the station was the archway through to the Underground. The sign above the arch read 'Goldenrod Underground: As Above, So Below'.

Finding a specific café in the Underground proved to be more difficult than he'd expected. The Underground was just over two miles long, north to south, with a multitude of branching alleys – it had an eclectic, slightly run down appearance. In places, the street was mainly illuminated by the light spilling from shop windows.

Josh found the café he was looking for on the south side of the street, in a patch of twilight created by a row of failing light panels. The façade was rather tasteful, with the name 'Holly's' painted by the door in neat copperplate script. A bell above the door gave a dignified tinkle as Josh entered. The interior had a restrained, polished aesthetic – handsome dark mahogany furnishings, elegant brass sconces on the walls, bookcases in one corner stacked with leather bound volumes. The waitresses' uniforms, too, were understated. One of them approached Josh as he glanced around the café looking for Eve, putting on a smile with practiced ease. She had on a cute little formal blouse, a short black skirt, and a ridiculously short red tie.

"Welcome, my lord," she said. "How was your journey?"

"What? Er, irritating," Josh said distractedly.

"Miss Joy will be arriving directly. Lisbeth, attend to the Earl of Mulberry."

A blonde waitress tugged gently at his arm. "Right this way, my lord. If it please you."

Josh couldn't help but wince at her deferential manner. There weren't many other customers in the café, just a few students and someone hidden behind a newspaper. He sat down, and drew out a book from his jacket.

Seedlings will appreciate warm conditions with plenty of access to light – Poké Ball acclimatisation should not be done before sunset. For the first few weeks, general health and well-being can be promoted through berry juice feedings (see below: Diet) -

"Coffee, my lord," Lisbeth said. Josh didn't notice her at first, immersed in seedling care. Until, in his peripheral vision, he spotted her going down to her knees.

"What on earth -" he started.

"Sugar for your coffee?" Lisbeth asked, adding three cubes of brown sugar anyway. She didn't get up.

"I'm used to stirring my own coffee," Josh said meaningfully.

"But I am your lief and loyal liege-girl!" she protested.

"That's as maybe, but – wait, lief?"

"Mmhm!" Lisbeth said innocently.

"Uhh …" Josh said, blushing at the implications. "I'd as lief stir my own coffee, thank you."

Lisbeth endeavoured to pull an adorably sulky face, but desisted.

Yellow apricorn juice is an excellent base for any supplement, encouraging general robustness during the critical first month. Roselia tend to dislike the sour taste – this can be balanced by any sweet fruit, but I recommend ripe petayas for building future tolerance to Bug-types -

"My lord, you're so tense!" a third waitress interrupted. Josh realised he'd been trying to massage his own shoulder. She gently moved his hand aside and took over.

"You know that's not, necessary," he said. Though that does feel rather nice … he stopped her hand in place. "Sorry, would you and your colleagues do me a favour? I'd like some space, please. Sorry, thank you."

He glanced at his Pokégear. Eve was late – that was a little suspicious. Hold on. Doubly suspicious, that the staff knew he was from Mulberry Town … that fellow with the newspaper hasn't turned a page.

"I know it's you behind that," Josh said pointedly.

The newspaper flopped down, revealing Eve. She moved over to his table without saying anything, contriving to look annoyed when she obviously wanted to smile.

"I should have known you were behind this."

"Maybe."

"Eevee, why did you do this," he said, trying to keep his tone as light as possible.

"I wanted to do something nice. As a thank you for the Tourney," Eve said just a touch petulantly.

"Eevee, I appreciate it, I do, but …" he paused and laughed weakly, wondering if Eve would understand. "I come from a family that usually takes orders in their work. All this servility, I just … feel like a class traitor, you know?"

"Well … alright then," Eve said, visibly disappointed. She sighed heavily. "So … how's it going?"

Josh altered his posture, sitting more upright, bringing his knees together. He switched to his feminine voice, saying: "I think I've got the voice down."

"Say something else like that," Eve said, giving him a thoughtful look. Josh waved his hand in an 'I don't know' gesture.

"From the mouths of the Sea the south wind flies, from the sandhills and the stones,

The wailing of the gulls it bears, and at the gate it moans."

"Hmm …" she said. "You are a good mimic."

"Thank you," Josh said dutifully, "but I'll still speak as little as possible, anyway. To that end, I've devised a simple battle sign language to avoid calling orders too much."

"It does help that pokémon trainers are an odd lot," Eve commented. It was something they'd discussed before. Pokémon trainers tended to be individualistic, sometimes to the point of flat-out eccentric. In theory therefore, Josh's own apparent oddness brought on by the pretence shouldn't stand out so much.

"I see you're taking care of your hands," Eve said. "I like the clear nail polish."

"I quite like the moisturising, I'll admit," Josh replied. "I used to have to moisturise a lot when I was marathon-making Metal Earth. You have no idea what copper dust can do to your hands."

Eve leaned forward, an iniquitous smirk on her face. "Are you looking forward to the make-up?"

"No."

"We'll keep it subtle!" Eve said, looking at his face as if it were a new piece of timber. "A bit of mascara, a nice light shade of lipstick …"

Her face was at once sunnily enthusiastic and mischievous. "You know there's only so much we can do in the time we have before the Tourney," Josh said.

"We've got five days to practice," Eve giggled and winked at him. "I'll make a girl out of you yet."

'Eclectic' was an apt way to describe the Underground. The street was jammed full of independent, quirky, specialist stores. Among the second-hand book stores, claustrophobic newsagents and coffee shops were specialist fashion boutiques and small-scale eateries. The denizens of the Underground were often just as quirky. Girls in their dojo uniforms roamed the street looking for battles; would-be delinquents lurked in side-alleys. A furlong down from Holly's, the street was narrowed by the press of the berry market. Just beyond that, in a small square, was the coordinator's market. For some reason, Eve paused to browse through Poké Ball Seals. At the edge of the square, a young man in a black beret was reciting poetry.

"Radiant cool, crazy nightmares,

Zen Lacunosa no-where -"

"What are you thinking, Eve?" Josh asked.

"Don't know yet," Eve said, idly inspecting a pack of star Seals.

"How now, brown bureaucrats -"

Eve looked up at that line, and giggled derisively. "Hey, that's what I was looking for!" she exclaimed, pointing out a store behind the alleged poet.

The storefront read 'Modern Vintage: Discount fashions'. Most of the floorspace and about half of the wall space was taken up by racks of garments. Josh looked around at all the girl's clothes apprehensively. He really hadn't been looking forward to this. Eve looked around cheerfully with a thoughtful, "Hmm …"

"Dresses or skirts," Josh reminded her unenthusiastically.

"Gotta hide those bulges, right?" Eve giggled, browsing through the racks. "Aha!" she said, producing a pleated skirt with a flourish. "Navy blue, nice and inconspicuous."

"Nice and short," Josh pointed out.

Eve gave the skirt a brief look. "Fine!" she said petulantly.

"It needs to be something more like, er, this," he said, selecting a rather longer skirt patterned in green tartan.

"Do you want to look like a schoolgirl?"

Josh suppressed a sigh. I'm supposed to look convincing, not bloody fashionable, he thought irritably, screwing his eyes shut for a few seconds – before quickly darting behind a carousel of dresses. He warily leaned round his cover, so he could surreptitiously see out into the street.

A couple of the girls walking by were frustratingly familiar. The Unovans again, contrastingly casual, one denim-jacketed, the shorter girl now in yoga pants. Neither were looking in his direction, fortunately. From this distance, he could catch some of their conversation.

"Energy root my ass, that was white bryony and that old phoney knew it," the shorter girl said.

"What's wrong with Super Potion?"

"Energy root is better," she persisted. "Fuck it, let's go to lunch."

"What the hell, boy scout, you just disappeared," Eve complained.

"Tigerlilies in the Underground," Josh explained sotto voce. "Can't be seen buying the clothes I'll be wearing at the Tourney."

"Now that they're gone can we get back to buying clothes, then?"

"Yeah, fine," he said, watching them walk away.

"Awesome, because you're going to look so cute in this blouse."

Josh sighed, but quietly. He wished Eve would be less enthusiastic about it. She seemed to be enjoying the chance to dress him up. Admittedly, she was staying within the parameters of their own design brief, more or less. The key, according to everything they'd read, was to use subtle feminine cues to telegraph 'girl'. Ah, I'm not being fair. She might be having fun, but she was also taking it seriously, no half measures.

"Oh, how about this?" Eve said, pointing something out. It was a beige-coloured sweater dress, long sleeved with a high turtle neck. The garment was probably designed for a woman taller than Josh's 5'5" frame – on him it would be about thigh-length.

"Paired with some jeans," Eve continued. "Tight enough to show some boob, long enough to hide everything else?"

"Hmm." We might get away with that. He inspected the price tag out of habit. "Twenty percent off."

"Oh," Eve said, mildly surprised, "that's useful. What size, do you think?"

"Small! It's always small."

"That's really not how women's sizes work," Eve said patronisingly. "Here. Try this one on."

It seemed Eve was much pickier about the fit than she needed to be. After she'd severely shortened his fuse by changing her mind twice about the size and making him try on a little black dress, she finally settled on small.

"So where next?" Josh asked.

"Accessories!" Eve declared brightly. "You're going to be prettier than me when I've finished."

"You always were ambitious," he said dryly.

They strolled off northwards, wending their way through the crowds. The afternoon was bringing more shoppers into the Underground, obliging them to walk much closer together. Eve insisted on browsing Pokégears at a trainer tech store.

"The Voyager would be great for you," she said. "It's just as hard-wearing as your Landranger, but, you know, better."

"Oh I don't deny it. Still couldn't afford the mobile internet subscription."

Josh swung his seed canister round to his chest, to keep it from being bumped by passers-by. He quite liked Eve being this close. He liked her familiar scent in this annoying city. Slowly, without quite knowing why, he reached over and gently took her hand. Immediately, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Eve laced her fingers through his.

"Come on," she said, towing him away. "We've got to get you a bag, at least."

Eve was right: the Underground was a good place to hunt for bargains. They'd found a hodge-podge of accessory stalls in a side-alley, just past the red and gold frontage of a Dharmic temple. Eve was haggling over the price of a bag – a small satchel, nicely practical, its sides lined with Poké Ball clasps.

Josh was less sure about the hats, though. Eve picked up a dark blue bowler, spun it and tried it on. "How do I look?"

Adorable. "Absurd."

"Hmm … you need something different, though."

Josh inexpertly tucked his hair back behind his ears. At nigh-on two months since his last haircut, it was currently an androgynous mass of chin-length curls – not cutting it on arrival in Goldenrod was a deliberate decision on his part, to avoid faffing around with wigs. It was just as well his hair grew quickly, something he never expected to be grateful for.

Just then, his Pokégear started to ring from his wrist. Josh glanced at the caller ID and promptly silenced it. "Don't need that right now."

"Your dad was calling again, huh," Eve said. She picked up a white cloche hat, its bell-shape bedashed in pink floral designs.

"Possibly," Josh replied shortly. "The less he knows about the Tourney, the better."

Eve said nothing, turning the cloche over in her hands and looking at the tag unconvincingly. "You can say it," Josh said.

"Where does the, friction, come from? Between you and your dad," she said hesitantly.

"Well … Dad likes – insists on things being done his way. And his advice sounds an awful lot like instructions."

Eve gave him another of her thoughtful looks. She abruptly jammed the hat onto his head. "We'll need to get your hair done," she said, playing with the curls behind his ear.

Josh yawned at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. It had been a long afternoon, and a shower had gone a long way towards scrubbing off the stress of the city. A quiet shave with a new razor ought to be chill-out time par excellence -

"Hey, take your time with this!" Eve called through the door. "You need to shave as close as you can!"

"Eve! I at least know how to shave!"

But there was a nettling, pink-haired, luxio prowling around outside. He supposed the afternoon could have been worse. The Underground was very much a place for misfits, subcultures and assorted square pegs. In that context, a young man going into a hairdresser's for a distinctly feminine haircut wasn't all that unusual. And since I am a square peg …

He paused his shaving to consider his new haircut. The best time to assess it wasn't while pulling shaving faces, admittedly. His stubborn curls had been relaxed into a shoulder-length cascade of fierce waves that constantly threatened to tighten up into ringlets. Rather worryingly, the hairdresser had managed to find more than one grey strand hiding amongst the black.

Josh took his time finishing his shave, ignoring the sounds of Eve's impatience from the main room. This kind of hyper-close shaving takes time, so sit down, hinny, he thought. He spent some time shaving his forearms, contemplating the array of cosmetics he didn't really understand. What was a face cleanser, and what made it different to soap? Why would anyone need a face scrub? He turned his attention to the jeans hanging from the peg on the door. A pair of Eve's, no surprise, but otherwise unremarkable. They felt awkwardly tight, though, compared to his own jeans. There's not enough room for me in these.

"Alright, I'm decent," Josh said, unlocking the bathroom door.

Eve gave the jeans a critical look. "The bulge is more noticeable than I'd like," she said.

"I don't know whether to be pleased about that," he said dryly, firmly pushing her chin up and her gaze away from his bulge.

"Oh! Guess what arrived today," Eve said. She beckoned him over to her bunk – there was a cardboard box on the end. "Behold. Your new tits."

His 'new tits' turned out to be a bra, pre-filled as it were, with a pair of foam breast forms. "Are you sure about the size?" he said doubtfully.

"Hey, they have to be big enough to be noticed. Besides, you'll only be a bit bigger than me."

Josh made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan. "Alright, pass 'em here."

He turned the whole apparatus over in his hands quizzically. The foam forms were ensconced within a soft cotton covering – Josh was faintly amused to see that Eve had fixed them into the bra with a neat surgical suture.

"They ought to be a modest C on your chest," Eve commented.

"I'm positive they can't just be made of foam."

"I bought the weighted kind. So they'll feel slightly more lifelike on your chest. The heft feels pretty real to me," Eve explained, prodding him playfully in the midriff.

"I'll take your word for it," he said, refusing to be baited.

"Come on, let's get you fitted."

Reluctantly, Josh slipped the thing onto his shoulders, rather grateful that for once Eve wasn't making this more awkward. I'm never going to get used these, he thought, as Eve adjusted the straps with a series of deft tugs.

"I really appreciate this sweetling."

"Yeah, I know," Josh said in his feminine voice.

"Do you want to leave it a bit longer?"

"No. No, let's do this," he said, arching his back in discomfort. "No point in waiting."

It was Osturday evening, and the L-train rattled through the tunnel with a constant loud tak-tak tak-tak, tak-tak tak-tak. The L was bustling, as usual. Heart fluttering like a panicking butterfree, Melissa Evans blended into the corner of the train, or at least she hoped so. Melissa Evans was a pseudonym, because Josh liked the name Melissa. Someone looking for it would notice that he was squeezing the grab rail like he meant to crush it in his fist. The thought that everyone on the L was scrutinising him dominated his thoughts, despite most of the passengers determinedly staring at the floor or a smartphone screen. Ordinary glances had a way of transmuting into searching gazes – except they weren't, because they glanced away again.

To think, some people dealt with this all the time.

"The next station is: The Underground. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform."

Josh stepped out onto the platform, Screwball hovering at his shoulder, and knew he shouldn't drive a hobnailed boot into the instep of a trainer who barged him aside. It was better to be ignored anyway. He started to stride off to the Underground archway, till the tightness of his jeans reminded him to change to a feminine walk. His magnemite was unusually well-behaved this evening. It completely ignored a passing jolteon, hovering obediently at his shoulder. It seemed to understand that he was on edge, left hand constantly resting on Ivysaur's Poké Ball clipped to his new satchel.

The Underground, the place for square pegs and misfits, was the logical place to start being Melissa. This all felt so strange. It was the hair tickling the back of his neck, it was the smoothness of his arms, the constant conscious remembering to look feminine. Look like a girl, smell like a girl. The smell of the vanilla body spray was getting on his nerves, the weight of the breast forms on his chest strange.

He circled around a skirmish between girls from rival dojos, grateful for the distraction. In the Underground, people just ignore you. 'As above, so below', or so he hoped, anyway. Josh rounded a corner and stopped, momentarily lost. He was sure this was the third street named Solidago Arcade, and still not the Solidago Arcade he was looking for. There was a noisy sports bar on his left, the sound of the airing pokémon battle and associated cheering throbbing out into the half-empty street. Down on the corner by Malapert Alley was what he belatedly realised was a bordello.

He was pretty sure he was too far to the north. After a moment's thought he decided to cut west through the alley, back towards Subterra Boulevard. Suddenly something tried to drop onto his head. Josh instinctively ducked – there was a brief impression of wiry, untamed fur. Whatever it was landed behind him, screeching with thwarted rage. Screwball instantly fried it, Thundershock throwing hard black shadows across the alley.

"Give me the fucking purse!" someone demanded, emerging from the jagged shadows. Josh kicked out, intending to put a foot in her stomach and instead glancing her shin. She yelled in pain regardless.

Josh tried to focus on his assailant – a girl in a rhinestone-spangled jacket, huge eyebrows, huge gold earrings, face twisted up with pain, red-tinted from the bordello window-lights. He glanced sideways at the girl's pokémon. A mankey, lying face down and smouldering.

"Fucking slag!" she hissed. She thrust a hand into her jacket pocket.

Reaching for a knife? Another Poké Ball? "Thunder Wave!"

A brief tangle of Thunder Wave fizzed out from the vicinity of his shoulder, leaving neon afterimages scribbled in front of his eyes. He heard the sharp clatter of the knife hitting the concrete. The girl went down like ragdoll, her attempted scream came out strangled.

[Aggressor neutralised,] Screwball commented.

"Come," Josh said curtly, stepping quickly over the whimpering girl and disappearing down the alley. As soon as he reached the boulevard on the western side he walked a couple hundred yards, crossed the street, and waited for his heartbeat to slow down.

It took a moment for Josh to fully comprehend what just happened. He realised he was feeling much more angry than scared, and much less guilty than either. This damn city … in hindsight he should have expected some sort of trouble. He probably wouldn't have done that before the ninetales had tried to rip his arm off. It was hardly gallant to Thunder Wave the girl, but it was hardly ladylike to tell her mankey to unscrew his head, either.

He belatedly realised something else. People didn't call men slags.