Catching Stardust: Ch. III
Nicotine
Trigger Warning: graphic depictions of addiction, drug abuse, violence, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, and detox. Also, Piers is just generally kinda vulgar.
12 steps.
That was what Piers had been tasked with.
His former therapist, Darla, had the ability to make overcoming addiction sound so simple. At the very last Narcotics Anonymous meeting Piers had gone to, she had surmised the process of overcoming addiction in 12 simple, neatly wrapped phrases.
Well, fuck Darla.
Piers takes a long drag from his cigarette as he leans against the rough brick wall behind him. He's in an uncannily well-lit alley between two of the various boutiques Honey Kuma has been spendin' Mustard's money in. It's the only place he can smoke and safely take off his mask without being recognized, and Piers smokes 4 packs a day, so this alleyway is where he has spent most of his time.
Piers is no longer addicted to opiates and alcohol. Huzzah. But it isn't all sunshine 'n rainbows. He's self-aware enough to realize his dependence on nicotine is turnin' his lungs into a tarpit, but the alternative was killing him much faster. The 12 steps shoved down his throat for 6 months at A New Chapter Rehabilitation and the four months of voluntary therapy and stupid anonymous sessions had done a whole lot of jack 'n shit. Piers still wants to pop Percocets like tic-tacs and shove a needle dripping with sweet ambrosia morphine into his arm, it's just that now when he didn't, he didn't want to claw out his own heart and blow his brains out. Most of the time, anyway.
Piers' addiction is like a tiger that fell inside a trap. It clawed at the sides, roared and howled, and as the weeks and months passed it became unhinged, feral, and desperate, but would not fuckin' die.
Nicotine is the only thing keeping it from sinkin' its claws into the mud-walls of its prison and escaping in a maddened frenzy. There would be no going back for Piers if that happened.
Piers takes another drag from his cigarette, letting the toxic fumes burn down his throat and irritate his lungs before he breathes it back into the already smoggy air of Wyndon. Mustard says he needs to start cuttin' back, lest he grows a tumor the size of a grapefruit on his black lungs, but Piers isn't too bothered by the thought.
Chemotherapy can't be as bad as the fuckin' detox he did back in rehab. Piers shudders at the memory. He believed he had been dying; he had wanted to die. He definitely damaged his vocals from the amount of screamin' he had done, and he still has the faint scars from when he clawed at his chest before he could be restrained. Piers has done lots of shows wearing a straight jacket and howlin' into a mic whilst he fed into his image of a sexy, tragic bad boy–an Obstagoon in human form if you will– but after being forced into one while screamin' and threatenin' to kill all of the doctors and nurses while they got the green light from his sister to sedate him and continue treatment, well, Piers figures he's gonna have to find a new image.
Piers hears the boutique door open and the clack of pointy-stilettos and knows it's Honey, and so he takes one last drag from his cigarette before smashing it against the bricks and letting it drop to the ground. Honey is nice enough, and she dislikes it when Piers smokes, though, thankfully she doesn't voice it. Nothing pisses Piers off more than some uppity bastard bitching about how much they hate smokin', as if he's gonna able to stop cold turkey, especially considering how well it went for 'em went last time.
To repay Honey's restraint, Piers makes a conscious effort to only smoke when she's out of sight. He can be nice, after all, in spite of what the tabloids say.
"Hello there!" Honey says when she rounds the corner, though she doesn't step into the alleyway. Her arms are loaded with various designer bags, and Piers recognizes most of the brands since his old manager was obsessed with sponsorships or whatever. Piers had only cared about the music, but you wouldn't catch him turnin' down a few hundred thousand just to wear a shirt with a logo on it.
"Howdy," Piers says, pulling his black surgical mask back over his face and walking towards her. It takes concentrated effort not to check her out. Mustard has good taste. Honey is probably the perfect woman. Pretty blue eyes, red hair, nice tits, a wicked ass, 'n a nice personality to boot. Her fashion sense could use some work in Piers' opinion, but then again, what does he know? Maybe tight pants, neon sweaters, cold shoulders, and waist belts had started bein' fashionable again during his imprisonment at rehab.
"I suppose we need to head back if we're going to catch the new students. Mustard got a new video game, so I doubt he'll be waiting for them." Honey sighs wistfully, though her voice still carries its signature cheeriness. Honey is truly the happiest person Piers has ever met. At first, he thought her to be some busty gold digger who flashed her tits at an old man, managed to get knocked up and have a kid, and then live a lavish lifestyle in exchange for the occasional hand job.
However, Honey works hard alongside Mustard as Lady of the Dojo or whatever her unofficial title is. She pours a lot of herself into tendin' to the pokemon, training students, and carin' for her family. She isn't superfluous or cruel, and Piers wagers she might actually be with Mustard for love.
"Ain't so sure it's a smart idea for me to be greetin' 'em." Piers says as he steps over his pile of cigarette butts and follows Honey to their flying taxi a few blocks away. "Might turn some stomachs."
"Oh, nonsense! You are part of our family. The Dojo is your home for as long as you wish for it to be. There's no need to hide because of some stupid journalists. Besides, I think your influence will be good on them!" Honey looks over her shoulder and flashes Piers a brilliant smile. Piers just shrugs and picks at one of the studs on his jacket.
Mustard had been Piers' and Marnie's foster father after their parents met the business end of a switchblade. Honey joined the picture about 10 or 11 years ago when Piers was about 17 or 18–he can't remember– and has stuck around since. Piers had been somewhat estranged by then, so he hadn't gotten to know her well. Back then, the only person Piers cared about was Marnie. He didn't trust anyone else, so no matter how kind Mustard was, Piers kept him at arm's length and fucked off and became a gym leader as soon as he could so as to avoid being dependent on the old man for longer than necessary. Piers wagers Marnie has a better relationship with the two of them, but he'll never know, 'cause he doesn't talk about Marnie.
When they reach the flying taxi, Piers holds the door open for Honey and helps her unload her bags onto the floorboard so they can both sit down. He feels a little guilty for getting so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn't offer to carry them for her. Though, Honey seems to barely notice as she chats away with the cabbie who was blushing up a storm. Piers narrows his gaze at the man and crosses his arms and legs. Goggles can't hide how obvious it is that the cabbie is wishin' he was makin' eye contact with Honey's nipples rather than the neon green of her sweater.
The cabbie catches Piers' icy glare and stumbles over whatever words he was saying and snaps into action, bidding Honey an awkward farewell and then hopping on the back of his mighty Corviknight. Piers scoffs at the notion of such a sleaze-ball commandin' such a beautiful beast.
With just a single flap of her wings, the Corviknight lifts into the air and grabs the bar of the cab as she ascends. They lift off of the ground smoothly, and Honey clasps her hands together in front of her face with delight, her eyes twinkling. Piers looks away from her and out of the window, squeezing his thighs.
Ah, fuck me, this ain't good. Think, think! Gordie in a speedo. Fuckin'- why ain't that workin'? Okay, uh, fuck. Opal. Shit, seriously? Um, Opal in a swimsuit with saggy tits! Ahhh. Yep, there we are.
With his hormones under control, Piers breathes out and relaxes his thighs, hoping Honey hadn't noticed. Fuck, he needs to get laid, and preferably not by the wife of the man who has been so generous to him.
They carry on in silence, and Honey contently hums to herself and snaps pictures of Wyndon as it slowly fades from view. Piers follows the lens of her camera and whistles under his breath. He's always hated Wyndon, but something about that skyline and the way Rose–well, Battle–Tower scraped the clouds at the center was a nice sight. Piers reckons it's because everything is more attractive at a distance. Wyndon has a charming skyline, and the hundreds of big skyscrapers, bustling streets, and the brilliant pink 'n crimson of Rose Stadium promised naive fools success for the small price of their soul. It's when one gets close that things show their true nature. Many a-country bumpkins have roamed to Wyndon in pursuit of their dreams, only to find themselves in a cardboard box under a bridge, their throats all raw and sore from the shitty air quality. They'll miss home, but they won't ever see it again, 'cause once Wyndon gets her hooks in you, you ain't never leavin'.
On that grim thought, Piers looks away from the city.
"Oh! I'm so excited. Our new pool of students is quite interesting!"
"Hopefully not too interestin'." Piers responds idly, content to speak aimlessly if it meant Honey got to indulge in the illusion of conversation. He doesn't have any reason to be mean 'n not talk to her, but actual conversation is still one of his struggles, so he usually just settles for basic words and phrases that fit the bill of a vague-yet-effective response.
"Oh, it is very interesting! Leon's daughter, little Zorina, is going to be there!" Honey claps her hands together and makes a happy 'Ah!' sound. At the mention of Galar's once beloved lil' princess, Piers starts taking the conversation seriously.
"I haven't seen her in so long. She was cute as a button when she was little. Sweet, too, the little darling."
"You bein' serious?"
"Serious as a stroke! Leon rang Mustard a couple of weeks ago and arranged everything. We had to make some special exceptions, of course, since we had been at max capacity and she was technically well past the application deadline. Most students are on waiting lists for years, you know."
If there is one thing Honey Kuma is good at, it's gossipin'. And not in the vindictive way most upper-class women did it, either. Piers has come to notice that Honey is just bubbly, and she likes talkin', but she is never talkin' just for the sake of tearin' someone down.
"Whatdy'a think inspired the sudden interest?"
What Piers knows about Zorina isn't very happy. To his understanding, once-upon-a-time Zorina had been Galar's little princess, her every word, lost tooth, and shitty diaper blasted on the media and scrutinized by the public. She was adored, of course, and always hand-in-hand with Leon during public appearances. Hell, Piers even remembers her hair being dyed indigo when she was–what, 9? In an attempt to make her more like the champion.
Then something bad happened a handful of years ago, and there was a whole lot of public outcry over it. Zorina was plucked out of the spotlight and hidden from view, and Piers thinks Child Protective Services got involved, but he can't remember. For a year or so after Zorina's initial disappearance, there was still the occasional candid photo of her that broke the internet–shit as simple as her eating at a vegan restaurant or sitting in the backseat of a car.
In a way, Piers empathizes with her and pities her. This is why he finds it so strange that someone who worked so hard to get out of the spotlight would risk being dragged back in.
"Oh, the poor darling. She got rejected from University and then decided to forgo college entirely. Maybe she's just having a hard time coping, and so she's coming here to get away from it all, the poor thing." Honey sighs as if Zorina's plight is truly unsettling to her. Knowing Honey, it probably is, and the woman is eager to bring another lost soul under her wing and mother them.
But Piers doesn't believe Zorina is coming to the Isle to cope.
He leans back against his seat, his arms crossed as he contemplates Zorina's motives. Someone with her background had to have a specific goal in mind because public appearances for people like them–Zorina and Piers– are always a calculated risk. It may not initially seem like going to the Isle of Armor is a public appearance, but once her identity is discovered, as it inevitably will be, the media will grab hold of it 'n won't let go. Especially considerin' her father's history with the place. So unless Ms. Kingsley is an idiot, then she's purposefully tryin' to get back into the limelight.
"You said she's a student, right? So she's competin' for the endorsement like the rest of 'em, ain't just visitin' an estranged family friend?"
"Oh, well, yes. I suppose she is a competitor."
Honey tilts her head and lays her cheek on her palm. "Maybe she just wants a distraction."
And just like that, Piers has picked apart Zorina's motive.
The Kingsley family is notoriously uptight. Old money foreigners with sticks up their asses 'n their noses turned so high that if they were to get caught in a rainstorm, they'd be fucked. Leon and Hop, miraculously, are tolerable, but their rebellion against the family's typical values and behaviors is pardoned due to their shinin' success.
Zorina wouldn't get that sort of pass. Girl gone bad, useless to the media, sheltered away and earnin' the family no money or prestige turns into a college dropout, only to suddenly compete for an endorsement at the very place her father had trained and gotten his endorsement? She's clearly seeking redemption of some sort, whether it be in the eyes of the press or in the eyes of her family, or both.
Piers purses his lips and looks away from Honey and out towards the ocean, Zorina possessing most of his thoughts.
"Holy shit."
"No way-!"
"Is that-"
"I don't believe it!"
"That's Piers Motherfucking Steele."
Piers is torn somewhere between flattered smugness and the strong desire to curl into himself and disappear.
Honey takes it in stride and continues smiling as she walks down the winding staircase and continues speaking about the wind, weather, introductions, and the works. Piers is only half listening.
Piers searches the crowd for Zorina, only to realize he can't remember what she looks like.
The crowd of soon-to-be pupils is rather unspectacular, save for a few of whom are so spectacular looking that the contrast between them and their peers is jarring.
There's a set of what Piers assumes are twins hangin' in the back near Alec, the vendor who sells frozen food to tourists and whatnot for an exceptionally marked-up price.
The boy–or, man, since Piers is trying hard not to think of this lot as a gaggle of kids– catches Piers' eye first. He's dressed in all-black leather with silver studs on his pants, jacket, and belt, and even little silver charms in his hair. His makeup is admirable and shockingly sparkly in spite of his razor-edged attire, his eyes coated in a shimmering metallic crimson that blends up to his beautifully chiseled brow bone down to his sharp cheekbones. Piers makes a mental note to make sure he's over 18; his intentions entirely nefarious.
The girl is less Piers type, more white-goth-lolita-lookin', which is unsettling. Piers is abhorred by lolitas since everyone he has ever met with a lolita fetish has been a barely-closeted pedophile. Thankfully for the girl in question, it seems more aesthetic than for anything sexual, and Piers can respect her fashion. Her brother has a trashy chic vibe goin' on with the frayed slashes in his leather pants 'n fingerless leather gloves, whereas the girl is 100% name brand and straight laced-literally.
Her dress flows to just below her knees and flares out in a small explosion of tool and lace. It's sleeveless, with two black bows on the shoulder straps, but her arms are still covered by white fishnets. Though there's still some sharpness to her. Like her brother, her face is decked out in piercings. Snakebites, brow piercings, a bridge, a septum piercing, the works. But unlike her brother, whose piercings are all stainless, gleaming steel, and pointed, her's are dainty and sweet lookin', embellished with what Piers assumes to be rose quartz.
The other distinguishable figures in the crowd are less impressive than the twins. There's a girl standin' near them with puffy pink hair and a white and pink–is that a Dustox?-headband. She's staring at Piers like she's starstruck, and Piers is debating whether he should avoid her at all costs or see what her mouth is capable of.
There's another girl with jet black hair and cerulean eyes who, to her credit, appears rather unimpressed with Piers' presence and her peers' continued mutterings and whispers. She's standing with her arms crossed and her foot tapping impatiently. Her style is practical, just a cool graphic t-shirt with a red and black design of a Duralodan braced against a mighty ocean wave and jeans with red plaid under the rips and frays. She isn't here to make friends or bother about appearances, and Piers decides he likes her. Maybe she's the former champion's daughter–she certainly has the attitude for it.
The only other person in the crown that Piers hones in on is a simple, plain-lookin' woman in the group with the twins and Ms. Headband.
She's pretty enough, her face nice, gentle, 'n soft, but still evened out with solid bone structure, like a sharp jaw 'n high cheekbones. Her hair is a pretty brunette, her eyes a brownish hazel. She's dressed plainly–like any other simple country bumpkin–in a pink button-up dress with a gray cardigan wrapped around her waist. But it isn't her fashion or looks that catch Piers' eye–well, maybe her looks.
She's pale, her fingers stubby-lookin' cuz she's gnawed off the nails. Her lips are chapped from her chewin' on 'em, and she's avoidin' lookin' at Piers, instead lookin' down at her boots as she scuffs 'em on the ground.
In summary, she's pretty and lackin' in confidence, clearly affected by his presence, and Piers desperately wants to get laid. He still has his eyes on the twins and Ms. Headband, but they're the entree whereas the shy girl is the appetizer.
Honey guides them all out of the station, talking happily as she does so. Piers lingers in the back, both as a means to further study the shy girl and the girl with cerulean eyes whom he presumes to be Zorina as well as make sure there were no stragglers in the group. The wild pokemon that call the Fields of Honor home aren't too dangerous or aggressive, but there's always the chance.
When they step out into the sun, the entire group gasps and begins snapping photos, Zorina included, although to a more subdued degree. Shy-girl, however, remains quiet and unimpressed, only smiling when the white-goth-lolita-girl grabs her shoulders and points excitedly to a young Ralts darting behind some shrubbery. Piers grin upon realizing they're friends–all the more reason to find space between Shy-girl's thighs.
In the back of his mind, Piers feels gross, predatory, and sleazy. However, he tries to justify his dark thoughts with the fact he hasn't had sex in three months. Besides, he's allowed his fantasies. If Shy-girl says no to any of his advances or is overly uncomfortable, then he won't push her. He isn't a monster. No means no, and he'll survive the rejection.
The boy dressed in studded leather pauses briefly and holds up his phone for a picture, and the white-goth-lolita girl tugs Shy-girl into an embrace and smiles widely. Headband girl stands on her tip-toes behind them, not invited into the photo but seems determined to be in it. Piers quirks a brow at this, as the headband girl seemed more up the twins' alley than Shy-girl, but it seems that the twins and Shy-girl are the real friend group and the headband girl is just the straggler.
Piers notices that he's in the background of the photo and grins just as the lens snaps. He uses it as his cue to approach them.
"If ya' wanted a photo, you coulda' just asked," Piers says coolly as he approaches the group from behind, an easy-going smile on his face.
Shy-girl, the black leather goth boy, and the headband girl all look shell-shocked, whereas the white-goth-lolita girl just appears to be pleasantly surprised.
"Oh-my-god. We weren't trying to be creepy or sneak a photo. Here, I'll delete it." The goth boy sputters, his voice a pleasantly surprising tenor. He makes a show of pulling up his phone and showing it to Piers as he hunts through his gallery for the photo to delete it. His hands are shaking.
"Nah, don't. Here, I'll do ya' one better."
Piers plucks the phone from the boy's hands and holds it up and snaps a selfie, his tongue hanging out and his free hand poised in a rock'n'roll sign. The poor boy looks so red he's gonna turn purple.
"Ah, er-uh, th-thank you." He sputters.
"Name's Piers. Nice to meet ya." Piers grins, looking pointedly at the group for them to give him their names as he returns the phone. Shy-girl is turned away from him, looking between her feet and the rest of the group wistfully as they get further 'n further away. Piers tries not to frown. It isn't the reaction he'd been hoping for. Maybe his tarnished reputation has preceded him.
"I'm Klara!" The headband girl beams. Piers looks over at her with a sly grin. In truth, he'd forgotten about her, but her enthusiastic response is giving him more hope than Shy-girl.
"I'm Lancel."
"Heidi."
The shy-girl pauses, before saying her name in a whisper. "Zorina."
Piers' grin is wiped off of his face, and now it's his turn to become wide-eyed and red.
Heidi. Lancel. Zorina.
Only someone who's lived under a rock for the past 20 years wouldn't know those names, especially when said together.
Piers' bewildered gaze lingers on Zorina, his mouth still hanging open. "You're Zorina Kingsley?"
The twins Heidi and Lancel make sense. They're the younger siblings of Bede Kingsley, Hop's husband, and the Fairy-type gym leader. There were a bunch of articles and shit about it when Bede and Hop formally adopted the twins, and so Piers feels a little silly for not recognizing them when they stand out so prominently. But Shy-girl?
He still can't believe it. Piers had imagined the daughter of a former champion to be…more…well, just more. Shy-girl–well, Zorina, apparently– is a wallflower personified. Piers cusses inwardly, all hopes of boning her dashed.
Zorina looks terrified, and she looks around, wide-eyed. "Please don't say that so loud!" She squeaks, but her voice barely rises above a whisper.
And then it makes sense to Piers. Somewhat. Maybe her troubled time in the spotlight had given her anxiety–Piers knew that feeling all too well– and that's why she makes such an effort to be indistinguishable from the crowd. However, if her desire is to be unnoticed, then she's in the wrong damn place.
"Hun, if you're wantin' to go incognito, you're in the wrong place." Piers vocalizes, his manners abandoned in his shock. Zorina shuffles uncomfortably and looks away.
"Leave her be." Goth-boy, no, Lancel, bites out, his former fanboy behavior abandoned in favor of protecting his friend.
"Yeah, she's just trying to have some peace while it lasts." The girl now known as Heidi says, glaring Piers down menacingly.
Piers isn't too enthused about bein' ganged up on by some Houndoom wannabes. Still, he tries to keep the peace."I'm just bein' honest, I mean no disrespect."
"Drop it, guys. It's fine. He's right." Zorina says while chewing on her index finger. She looks at Piers apologetically, her cheeks dusted with rubies. Piers finds his heart beating faster under the dark ocher of her gaze. She's prettier than he'd originally believed.
Piers is going to apologize, but Zorina walks faster, mutterin' something about how they needed to catch up to the rest of the group. Heidi follows after her quickly, and Lancel does too, albeit a little more reluctantly. He invites Piers to continue walkin' with them, his previous venom forgotten.
"Don't take it personally, they're pretty tightly woven."
Piers looks over to Klara as he walks a few yards behind the trio. She's lookin' at the twins and Zorina with a guarded expression, though Piers can pick up on the malice. "You left out often?" Piers asks.
Klara flusters. "No! I just met them on the plane. I tried to be nice to Zorina, and she stonewalled me, go figure."
Piers trails his eyes to Zorina when she's mentioned. He has this strange sense of deja vu whenever he looks at her; as if something is tuggin' him along behind her. It's unsettling.
"She seems nice enough. Maybe it wasn't on purpose." Piers says, driven by a peculiar desire to defend Zorina. Maybe it was because she was quiet, shy, n' gentle, and thus Piers felt the need to shelter her. That's probably it, Piers reasons. Just some old habits coming back to life.
"Maybe she just thinks she's better than everybody," Klara spits out, and Piers decides he's gonna keep his dick far away from her venomous mouth.
Author's Cameo
I had both a lot of fun and a lot of trouble trying to slip into Piers mind and convey him the way I have envisioned him for this story. Getting his voice down right was a chore, so I'd appreciate feedback for use in the future! If anyone reads this, haha.
Also, I apologize in advance, well, sort of in advance, since this is the end of the chapter, but anyways. I apologize if anyone is offended by the way I chose to depict Piers' addiction and his relationship with it. Addiction is a topic and experience that is very near and dear to me, and so I portrayed it using personal experience. All the same, it can be disturbing.
