Joshua
Tuesday dawned crisp and bright. The thin Millennium Centre curtains cheerfully let the morning into the room and washed the bunk bed in May sunshine. Reluctantly, Josh abandoned his attempt at sleep, admitted that it was morning, and awoke.
He had been exhausted last night – they both had. It was surprising how hard the fatigue had hit after the final. A whole day of rest and still, last night, he'd been as tired as he ever was after exam season. Somehow they'd fallen asleep together, with Josh as big spoon to Eve's little, despite her being taller. Which meant he woke squinting at her shoulder, with – damn it – a dead left arm. On the bright side, though, no more tits …
It wasn't just his arm that was uncomfortable. His – oh, no. Not now, Ostaro, why now, you bastard! His drowsy haze instantly cleared as he realised morning had also brought a fine, firm morning wood. Hard as a seasoned holly stave it lay right next to her – well, he could faintly feel her cheek. And if he could feel her, she could feel him. And if she hadn't noticed already, she would if he moved. Oh, fuck.
Bad choice of curse.
Ok, ok, don't panic, think! Eve was still asleep. If he moved slowly and carefully maybe he could back away. Right. He patiently started to slide his hips back -
Eve stirred. "Morning luxio."
Fuck! "Uh, yeah, morning!"
"What's the matter?" Eve murmured sleepily.
She'll figure it out anyway. "Eevee, I'm sorry, thissen ay usual," he stammered incoherently, "uh, the thing is, I just – I'm sorry."
Eve peered at his acutely embarrassed expression over her shoulder for a moment.
"Oh sweetling, I don't mind. I know you can't help it," she said casually. She gave him a playful nudge with her bum. "Besides, I'mma lucky girl. It's been a while since I last woke up to a cuddle and a cock."
"What?" he said helplessly, not at all sure how he ought to feel. That was such a … an Imogen Joy thing to say.
"'M sorry, I'm just being silly. Hey, lie down bud. On your back."
She gently pushed him down and shuffled up next to him, arm-to-arm so she could lean her head on his shoulder. "There. More comfortable for both of us."
Josh immediately seized the opportunity to do some swift re-arranging when Eve closed her eyes again. Silence for a while, but for Eve's relaxed breathing.
"I trust you, you know," Eve said quietly. "I mean, I'm not quite ready to cuddle with your hard-on on my ass -"
"Nor me -"
"- but they happen sometimes. It's part of cuddling. I don't want you feeling self-conscious about it."
"… I've just realised this isn't a normal friendship," Josh said half-seriously.
"Oh, shush," Eve replied half-seriously. "It happens to girls too, you know."
"Does it?"
"After a fashion. Same sort of thing, anyway."
Silence again, but for Eve's relaxed breathing.
"I wo-on!" Eve sang softly, lying in happy triumph, a lazy feline smile on her face.
"What will ye do today?"
"I am going to challenge Whitney. It's been a short rest period, sure, but psychologically they're fired-up and ready for battle. They know they're champions."
"I'd come to watch, but I'm going to lie low for a while. Besides, I've got one last thing to do as Melissa."
Josh couldn't help but feel exposed and out of place, seated on an expensive-looking sofa in an expensive-looking office, ignoring the cup of expensive-smelling coffee the secretary had brought him. He looked out of the window at all the other high-rise offices and condos, towards the docklands and GTS Plaza. He missed the comfort and continuity of Five-and-Six Cottage.
"Miss Evans?" the secretary said. "You can go through now."
Josh had expected Madam Pemberton's office to be furnished with a lot of oak and brass, like an old university library. Instead he found something minimalist, somewhat cold, dominated by maple. A glass tigerlily sitting on the desk added a splash of vibrancy.
Madam Pemberton rose to greet him. "Miss Evans. Please, sit down."
Josh didn't accept that invitation. He placed an unopened box on her desk. "I just came to return this."
Pemberton looked at it for a moment, as if she'd never seen it before. She sat back down, looking at him expectantly.
Josh unwisely tried to fill the silence. "I only entered for Eve's sake."
"And you're not a girl."
This time Josh did sit down. Half a dozen questions were strangled off before they could spill out of his mouth. If Eve had to give up the honour of the Championship, her glory was the whole point of Melissa – and he was completely out of clever ideas. He really didn't want to see her disappointed, no, devastated face. But a small, calculating voice said: If she knew, then why is she bringing it up now?
"You knew," he said.
"Yes, I knew. Since, oh, your Quarter Finals match," Pemberton said calmly.
Wait for it.
"Did you think you were the first to try this? Although, I wouldn't panic. You most likely fooled the rest of them." She laughed dryly. "People look but they don't see."
"What are you going to do?" Josh asked carefully.
"Do? Nothing. A talented young woman won. The man who assisted her gains nothing. And so shines a good deed in a weary world," she added wryly.
Josh was pretty sure he could work this one out. "You were waiting to see what I would do."
"Clever boy. Had you not returned, then Ostaro himself could not have helped you."
"I only entered for Eve's sake," Josh repeated, not entirely sure Ostaro would try.
Madam Pemberton leaned back in her seat, and sighed. "They say gender doesn't matter in pokémon training any more … maybe they're right. Do you know how many spectators used to attend this tournament? Fifty thousand. Fifty thousand! Once every woman Master was a Tigerlily Champion. Nobody cares about my little tourney now."
"Eve absolutely does," Josh said, gesturing curtly to his tits to reinforce his point.
"Courteous of you to say as much," Pemberton admitted. "But times change, probably faster than most of us realise. They say I have to accept them now, transsexuals, transgenders, whatever I'm supposed to call them. That's the way the wind is blowing, in any case. Vive la différence."
Josh didn't say anything to that. He didn't know what to say.
"Yes, times change," she said meditatively. "Keep your prize."
"Can you do that?"
"It's my tourney. The Pokémon League has no say in it. Call it a gift, if that assuages your conscience."
Josh looked at the unobtrusive white box on her desk. Inside, $3000 of Champion's winnings. A Pokédex he couldn't possibly afford on his own. Hitherto he'd never thought about what he'd do with the Champion's prize; deep down he'd never seriously expected it would even get this far. In hindsight, that was silly.
Josh had entered the tourney for Eve, true, but if he took the prize what did that mean? But Pemberton's grudging attitude towards, towards transgender people didn't sit right with him, though he couldn't begin to explain why. So was it ethical to take the gift? The gift that he would never have been offered had he not come here today to return it.
He tentatively picked up the box. "I understand that this is between us."
"Mmm. She's a better trainer than you anyway," Pemberton said with a dismissive wave.
He didn't argue with that. Nor did he push his luck.
"Thank you, ma'am."
Unsurprisingly, he'd ended up in the Underground again. It wasn't difficult to find somewhere airing Eve's Gym battle. Goldenrod Gym battles often found their way onto the mainstream channels, but being able to casually watch them live in a bar appeared to be a Sunshine City thing. Most of the patrons were really there to watch Whitney. Behind the ditzy persona she was a tenacious, wilful trainer. But then again, so was Eve.
Josh was perched on a bar stool, picking at a bad hot pork sandwich. Screwball hovered at his shoulder, obediently ignoring the electronics in the bar. It was too tired for mischief.
The battle had hit a tense lull. Eve's meowth and Whitney's clefairy watched each other carefully. That thing might look like a giant plushie, but you underestimated clefairy at your peril. Josh sighed, reminded of why he shouldn't trust these hipster joints. This was not a hot pork sandwich. There was salad on it, for one thing – Josh evicted a piece of lollo rosso with weary contempt – and made with a stupid soggy brioche bun for another. A real Townie hot pork sandwich involved inch-thick slabs of crusty bread, served up with greasy shards of crackling like fatty shrapnel.
Meowth suddenly made a dash for clefairy. Using Meowth was a smart choice, Josh thought without surprise. He hadn't taken part in the final and was eager to get his claws into something. Clefairy swiped at him with a Mega Punch. Mere ferocity obviously wasn't going to overwhelm Whitney.
"Want te bost thissen, Screwball? Should be an easy battle for ye."
[Directive issued, confirm?]
"No, Screwball."
[Tired.]
"Yeah, me too."
Eve didn't look at all tired for someone who'd just spent a week on the battlefield. The camera was mostly ignoring her in favour of focussing on Whitney. Even though Eve looked like she belonged on that stage. Josh still felt rather like a fraud: not a natural trainer at all, but one who wins through cunning and appropriating strategies, klefki-like, from better trainers. He wondered how far cunning could really take him. Bugsy had said he didn't have any passion for battle. Josh lightly touched the four Poké Balls at his belt. Bugsy was probably right.
He ought to spend more time with little Meg, now the Tourney was over.
Meowth managed to get his claws into Clefairy, bowling her over with a flying leap. A blow cracked the battlefield as she flung a Mega Punch and ended up pounding the concrete. Ferocity might overwhelm clefairy.
Eve was in an effervescent mood.
"Check out the bling! Badge number three! Right off the back of a tournament win!" she crowed like an unfezant. "I am just. The. Cat's. Pyjamas, daddy-o."
Josh was more-or-less ignoring her. You had to, when she was bragging. He was feeling like himself again; enjoying the feeling of walking by the river without strange weight on his chest, just the heft of his bag across his shoulders again. The bag he'd bought in Azalea was more fit for purpose, but he missed his mother's hazel-framed backpack.
You almost wouldn't know the river was tidal here. The marina was rather charmingly named Mirabelle Wharf, a name reminiscent of the tropical Ultramarean Sea, albeit redeveloped without mercy into corporate blandness. The marina was populated with the sleek soulless yachts of the city's bourgeoisie. An avenue of mature plane trees at least lent it a pleasant leafiness. In defiance of the neatness a few food vendors had managed to bring their vans down to the riverine boulevard.
He could smell the sea on the breeze. He was a weird paradox, he knew, a Townie boy most at home in the forest. But there was something about the sea -
Eve called to Gail, soaring easily on that breeze. Wherever she soared, the wingull soared higher, trying to keep above her reach. They might have good reason to. Eve insisted she was becoming tame, but he saw a wildness in her eyes that said different. She pointedly ignored the call for a moment before reluctantly returning to the fist. Light exercise after hard battle was Eve's way. It probably was necessary for a raptor, admittedly, but it wasn't his way. Ivysaur had barely left his Poké Ball other than to eat; there was no way he'd let Fionn out before nightfall.
"Whoza pretty girl, den?" Eve cooed at Gail, as if she were a chatot. "I know that look. You're hungry. I'm going to find somewhere selling meat."
Josh kept wandering along the river. Much as he loved the sea, unlike the forest it was an enigma. He didn't understand the sea. He fussed around the margins, along the coast, trying to read it the way he read the wildwood. He couldn't, of course. But the sea-longing never left his heart.
Eve was catching him up, with Gail still on her fist. "What's the face for?" she said.
"I think I've had enough of Goldenrod."
"That's why we're leaving tomorrow."
"We could have left today, I don't need to get used to the weight again."
A quarter-mile downriver, near the obnoxiously shiny bulk of the Silph building, he saw the masts. Not the masts of modern yachts, but the masts of a great sailing ship, like something teleported through time from the eighteenth-century city. It was obviously not antique, built of smooth oak – and obviously a merchanter from its tubby profile and sparse gunports. She loomed almost majestically, a Middle Kingdom flag lazily flapping from the mainmast 180 feet above. Painted in gold across her stern was her name: Karego Rose.
"What a strange and wonderful thing it is, to see a Lemuriaman here," Josh said.
"Glad you think so."
The voice was coming from the quarter-deck. A cheerful middle-aged man looked down on them as he leaned on the gunwale. His face was roughened from sun, salt, and wind. He was dressed to match the ship in a cravat and bright yellow waistcoat. Behind him another sailor strode by with his hair plaited into a queue beneath a tricorne hat.
"Where'm ye bound?" Josh called up.
"Cianwood City, by way of the Orange Archipelago."
"Pity ye don't tek passengers," Josh joked.
"Who says we don't?" The man gave him a searching look. "Haven't I seen you before?"
"He was on JPLN a few weeks ago," Eve quickly deflected.
"No, no …" he said pensively. "The Regatta, two, three years ago! You were on the Mulberry crew!"
"Yes!" Josh said relief. "Yes. I was the architect. Iron King was my design."
"Including the ram?"
"Especially the ram."
The man laughed at that and slapped the gunwale. "Townie, we do take passengers, and there is most certainly a berth aboard for the man who sunk the Goldenrod Uni crew. Or one of them. Julian Livesey, captain of the Karego Rose."
Mum always said we were originally from Valencia Island. Maybe he could see it from the bow of a real ship, a ship of oak and canvas and ironwork. To wake up, and hear the sea, smell the salt, feel the sun of his ancestral homeland on his shoulders! A gust of sea air blew from the west, cutting through the ambient petrochemical smell of the city.
He belatedly realised this wasn't completely his decision. Eve was looking at him was that patronising expression women reserved for when men were feeling passionate about something. Gail glowered, because falcons glower at everything.
"No!" Eve said automatically, then paused. Her expression was a conflicting mixture of reluctance and amusement. "You do at least have a shower, don't you?" she called up to Livesey doubtfully.
"By law, yes. Most of us live here," Livesey added.
"… oh, alright then," Eve relented, which were such sweet words to Josh's ears.
To the sea! Josh was so excited he forgot to hug her. A wingull started to call, then another and another as squadrons of them suddenly made for the west.
"Come aboard!" Livesey called. "We sail on the flood tide!"