This story was co-developed by Titan127 and beta read by ShonnaRose and JhinoftheOpera.
[11-2] Chasing the Story
"Ciel Fauder?" repeated a construction worker in Jubilife.
She held the microphone mere centimeters from his face, doubtlessly pickingnup the mustachioed man's labored breathing. She had caught him on break on the northeast side, the one with the fancy, geometric condominiums. It was a pleasant place, even if the constant flow of hardhats spat in the face of the aesthetic they were creating.
"May I ask what you know about him?" she said.
Hardhat refused to stand from his seat at the base of a park tree and looked just baffled at the question. "Are you a salesman? I'm not interested."
"Chansey, if you would," she said.
Her trusted partner, a round, pink creature one head shorter than her, offered the clearly famished man the egg from her front pouch. It had been fully cooked and kept warm by her body heat the entire day, and with a tiny bit of pressure, the entire shell cracked and fell to pieces, leaving only a hearty meal.
Hardhat took it, sniffed, and tried a bite. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he struggled to keep them open, so absorbed in the world-class taste that the rest of his body went limp. He wiped his mouth after taking another large bite. "Alright, what do you wanna ask me?"
"Anything you're willing to tell me about Ciel Fauder." She held up the microphone again, while her Chansey inspected her now-empty pouch.
"I heard that name somewhere. Radio maybe? Think it was about Hearthome, so was it one of them big actors?"
Well, that was certainly disappointing. With nothing from him, she abruptly cut their conversation and bid him a nice meal. She packed her equipment, smoothed the fraying hairs on her tight braid, and made for the next big scoop.
"Ciel Fauder?" repeated a hooligan on the backstreets of Sandgem.
She nodded eagerly and hummed in anticipation.
He was just a little too comfortable flipping his butterfly knife and letting his Weavile scratch ornate designs into the stone alleyway. "Wouldn't you like to know, weather girl?"
She touched her ankles together and tried to glow through her cheeks. Furthermore, she stepped just a bit closer so that the exposed skin of her arm brushed his, her sleeve rolled up for just such a purpose. She could almost see him blush. How cute.
"He's some hotshot Trainer, right? Didn't he do a rescue for some miners? Pretty damn heroic if I do say so myself," Butterfly said. The hairs on his forearm stood on end.
She tried her luck. "Do you think he's a good role model? A Champion, perhaps?"
"Look, lady, I don't know what more you want from me. You just annoy everyone on the street you talk to?"
She wouldn't say 'annoy', but it's clear where the boundaries had been crossed. Once again, she packed her things, and left without so much as a goodbye. A good story wouldn't wait for anyone.
"Ciel Fauder?" repeated a trucker on the coast of Canalave.
This time, she'd taken a tip from one of her oh-so-reliable eyes in the field. Riley was an attentive fellow, and even though he spent most of his time in dusty caves offshore, he sometimes ventured to the mainland and kept his eyes open. This lead had led her into a wondrous little hair spa in Canalave, walls and floor painted in the same seafoam green. Not just humans but also some Pokémon received full-course treatments on their hair and/or fur, including one Lopunny lounging to her left, slices of berry over its eyes and its ears stuck into a bulbous hair steamer.
Seeking to look inconspicuous, she bought her own treatment, the employees untangling her waist-length braid of forest-green to apply a shampoo treatment. Her microphone was outstretched to the seat on her right, where a brick house of a woman lounged with her hair tied up and a magazine open in her lap. Her breath thickened to match the sinew dancing up to the lady's shoulders, even if she was a bit past ripe for her tastes.
Said woman pondered for only a second, before her expression opened like a chest of treasure. "Duh, him! Yeah, I know that kid."
She grinned and shook the microphone.
"That guy helped me with my truck when we got stuck in the Berlitz Tunnel. Woulda been stuck forever waitin' for the crews ta get out there. Real lifesaver luggin' him around," Brick House explained in a native accent thicker than the Great Marsh, motioning in circles with her hand that wasn't holding the magazine. "My wife's a big fan cause he's in tournaments and whatnot, and I heard he's been doing good stuff. If the kid ever needed a favor, I'd be on my way before the Poketch rang."
"Tell me more," she said. She leaned over her armrest to get closer and the stylist tugged on her hair in frustration.
"Oh, but," Brick House's voice faltered, "isn't he… ya'know, not doing so hot recently? Saw it in the news."
She was fully in the loop, of course, but she couldn't sell a story without a few solid testimonies, so she raised her eyebrows in feigned a gasp. "That's the first I've heard. Why don't you go ahead and tell me all about that?"
It was a magnificent score. By the time her braid was retied, her locks the healthiest they'd ever been, she had pages of material in the works. But her work wasn't done until the issue hit the shelves, so she carried on.
"Ciel Fauder: A Rising Star Gone Out?"
by Cheryl Post
Her article, her newborn baby, peeked out above the roller. As her keys brushed the fingertips, she imagined her comfortable place. The forests outside Eterna, the scent of pine and dry leaves combined with the lingering dampness from that morning's rain. It was there she'd sit in the abandoned cabin left by her grandfather, on his hundred-year-old typewriter, wasting paper and ink until her younger self conjured up a sloppy draft of absolute nothing that constituted journalism in her undeveloped brain.
That same typewriter clicked under her smooth handling. It was sheets from this device, refurbished and repaired countless times over the past decade, that churned out her first major hit: "Secrets of the Old Chateau: A Haunting Weekend Retreat". Cheryl had chased highs and lows since then—every high was a sensation, and every low still earned a tabloid paycheck.
Her mind focused on the Sinnoh Daily clipping pinned to the wall in front of her. Only days off the press, the monochrome photograph captured the somber detail of an expired wood outside Floaroma below its bolded headline. "STAR TRAINER GRIEVES FOR FRIEND, DETAILS UNKNOWN". Sucking in the soul of drama, she began her own manuscript.
"Most have heard the name by now. A foreign stranger with a stranger name touched ground in Sinnoh months ago, and since then has taken his rightful place as a sensation. But every sensation has a scandal. Every celebrity takes a fall. Every hero faces their darkest hour," she said, each word accompanied by clicks and clacks and clicks. Sentences formed in her mental jumble, and she laid them out for a best-selling hit.
But, at some point, she stalled. Her finger hovered over the return key, unsure where the next word or period or paragraph would take her, especially by how vague the article was. A fallen Pokémon, a vanished forest. That was all she wrote.
"No, no, no, no, this just won't do," Cheryl said to herself. She straightened up and wrapped her fingers within her braid, and then called over her shoulder, "Chansey! We're going to find another testimony!"
Their objective was confirmed by a squee from the other room. Cheryl tore the aborted draft from the roller, crumpled it, and tossed it in the nearby garbage bin. After a short pause, she fished it out and threw it in the recycling instead.
"Of course. I can't have my show-stopping story until I locate the source. I'll find Blondie myself."
Within minutes she was packed, her rented motel room vacated, and her feet taking her towards the headline that would rule her dreams.
Two new POV introductions in a row? What is this madness?
I was really into my reinterpretation of Cheryl here. Her game appearance was relatively brief, so I didn't have much to work off for her (in many ways, like Lucian), so I kind of tried to work backwards from her actions to give her a more active personality. I'm personally very invested.
Come back for Part 3: Take Over the Controls, and I'll see you someday!