2.2 - Sim
My every instinct pleaded with me: Grungy, you gotta wake up at the asscrack of dawn, there's things to do! What things, we ain't sure, but please wake up!
I pulled my jacket around my head and I kept my dang eyes closed until the sun was pointed directly into my place. New continent, same battle to force myself to rest. Eventually, my body broke rank and started its squirms, hind legs scooting away the hay.
"Fine…"
I rolled out of bed, wriggled my arms into my jacket's sleeves, and struggled onto all fours. Claw wounds and lingering poison from yesterday screwed off while I was busy snoring: no more pains and aches to speak of.
Except for one. My gut growled angrily. I was a fella used to eating his weight in crud, so this whole scarcity thing had done a number on me.
No money to buy another sandwich, and this place was clearly barren.
The box the sandwich came in taunted me from its spot by the wall.
It spoke to me through its lingering aroma. "Hey pal. Looks like you gotta go find that salandit again. Get slapped around, bossed around, and maybe you'll get another treat like me!"
I sneered at the box. Maybe I wanted to be skin and bones, and totally didn't mind the grumbling and belly-aching.
Knock-knock-knock. Someone was at my place's door. Quillon. Food. I lied. I was fucking hungry.
Most doors in Xanadu avoided using knobs, so I had little trouble fumbling the thing open with just my claws. I threw it wide and started blabbering:
"Hey, look. I'm more than happy to get right to finding Lora, but if you don't feed me, I'm gonna drop dead from hunger in the street and fellas are gonna trip over my sad little corpse and you're gonna feel real stupid. And it's probably cold outside, so how about you get me another sandwich like the…"
It wasn't Quil at the door. A shocker, since no one else should have known I was living in this dingy place. But here was that sandshrew from yesterday, his muzzle twisted into a bemused smirk as I did my spoiled brat routine.
"Good morning," he said, his tone slightly questioning. "I'm here on behalf of Quil. Her boss needs time to sort things out, so I'm here to keep an eye on you."
"Oh. Nothing up but sky, then, babysitter."
The sandshrew dangled off the doorway with his claw. "That's an Air Continent greeting. Neat."
"How do you know?"
He shrugged. "When you live in the melting pot of the Sand Continent, you hear a lot of them."
I grinned. "Ooh, gimme an exotic one. A greeting. Like, from a place I don't know."
I got one without a missed beat, my babysitter clasping his claws together and bowing his head low.
"Moon's shine, friend."
A snort exploded from me. "What? Wait, that's like, booze, isn't it?" I knew a human-world thing or two. Apparently, 'bootleggers' (like, they had boots for legs?) brewed that stuff in toilets.
"Imagine how visitors from Cresselia's Gestalt felt when every restaurant kept shuttling hard liquor to their tables. Anyhow, I'm here to make sure you're fed, watered, caffeinated."
"Caffeinated?! Fuck yeah!"
I slipped by him and down the stairs, into the sun. Nights in Xanadu were cold and unforgiving, but damn–she cleaned up when the sunshine came out. As I basked in the warmth, I couldn't help but note the way my purple fur took on heat. My old coat heated faster than this, perfect for the high altitudes of the Air Continent's mountains. My new coat connected me to Lora. To be honest, I was a bit sick of coats and jackets reminding me of shit, but this felt nice.
My attention turned to my escort, who gestured for me to take the lead. To where, not sure. Just raised an arm in one direction, towards the river rapids of Xanadu natives. So I dove in, 'paddling' my way into some space.
Right away, my traitor-ass nose begged me to sneeze. I waddled, one claw out to check where I was walking, my eyes clenched shut.
All to no avail. I let loose a boomburst, tripping onto all fours and headbutting a politoed's back. The poor fella sped up. Made sure to shoot me a pissy look, first…
"Don't worry." My babysitter joined my side and righted me. "There are a lot of smells and dander in Xanadu, and it all kicks up most at this hour. Your nose will adjust if you stay here long enough."
"I hope so." I wiped my nose with my jacket sleeve. Winced: I shouldn't have done that, not with any clue where to wash my clothes. "Been snotty every morning since I touched down." For now, padding the leather down with snow would do.
The sandshrew made a note of my fuss. "Say, mind if I ask who the pokemon on your jacket are? The haxorus, xatu… oh, there's a third one–"
"What's your name, even?" I asked, my ears freaky with twitches.
"Talk about shooting for dessert before dinner," he said. "Sorry for the nosiness. I'm Simmons."
"My name is Grungy. As for the patches: they're a band I dig, or my past boyfriends or whatever, just pretend I made up a convincing lie. I don't talk to no one about it."
Our pace faltered, as Simmons gave me a knowing frown.
"Oh. Sorry twice over, Grungy. Hey. This place here is good. Look up"
I was almost hoping he would point to an elevated porch stretching out over the street, flanked on both sides by tall office buildings. And he did! My mood skyrocketed, and I perked my ears at him to show my approval.
Simmons also recovered, his eyes lit up as he dragged me over to the building's stairwell. There were lots of things going on in this particular chunk of brick, from what I could glimpse from through the glass doors; on the first floor, there was a hardware store that promised free consultation on tools 'right for your body stylings,' as if whether a fella had hands or claws was a style thing; second floor was just a bunch of blokes arguing numbers, apparently trying to figure out the higher one–the clerk behind the desk said 'five thousand's the final value,' and a growlithe on the other side plopped his head on the counter and whimpered; the third had rows and rows of tinctures, vials, and smelled like a flower patch farted.
"Hey, wait here," Simmons said.
He went inside and spoke with the sunflora on duty. I couldn't hear what he said, but he pointed at me… then at a shelf. Money changed from his claw to her leaf, and she used a vine to snatch a velvet bottle. Then the sandshrew was back to the door–as it opened, the sunflora's sweet take care, Simmons came through.
"There we go." He presented the bottle to me–it was labeled 'lilac'-then placed it in his bag. "Shampoo. More of an essence. It works without water."
"I see, I see," I hummed. "Patrollers gotta keep clean, huh?"
"N-No… it's, uh, it's for you. You're fine now, really! Rolling in the snow won't work forever, though."
I was about to convey my wrath at being implied to be smelly, but then I realized that Simmons had bought me a gift. Was shampoo even in the parameters of his little favor? I shyly nodded my thanks.
We made it to the fourth floor. Coffee floor. The place was called Overview Café, and it downright bustled. It had chairs, cushions, perches, every place to plant any ass. And it was full-up too, the interior with many smaller species who did their best to make room for the servers, and outside with some larger fellas who spilled out over the porch's bannister into the warm air. It was all knitted together with the gorgeous scent of coffee…
"Oh, Simmons!" An audino at the main counter cried. "How nice to see you. Oh my goodness, who's the friend?"
He walked over and insisted I join him. "His name is Grungy. He's new to Xanadu."
I wondered if Simmons had a lot of friends, because this audino was in awe over my existence. She winked.
"I'm so sorry, Sim," she said, "we're out of space outside. But I can set you both up on the cushions." There was one table available, a rather small one flanked by two pink pillows.
"Quite alright," Sim told her. "I'd like a breakfast sandwich and a Morning Starter, please. Grungy, what do you want?"
I scanned the menu quickly. "Uh, also a breakfast sandwich." There were too many options, and so little time, as another customer shuffled up behind us. "And a, a… drink… that is… well, hot… called a…"
"Dialga," the rattata behind me muttered, "take me forward in time, to when this dolt is done."
I whisked around, hackles raised. "Hey, mousie! Look how many options there are. You're gonna sit behind me, force me to choose my destiny on a whim?! Do you even know what you want?"
The little fella went up on her hind legs and rolled his eyes at me. "I'm ordering four small mochas for my friends and me. How's that for decisive, you lanky purple meanderer?"
"Whatever!" I turned around and leaned in. "Uh, I'll have a small mocha." The audino nodded, wrote down the rest of our order, and added the slip to the queue. She also added the rattata's drinks.
Simmons laughed. "Hey, Woot, he's new. Try to be nice?"
"Hell, no! Kidding, kidding." The rattata waggled her paw. "Next time, try to use your time in line to pick out what you want, pal. No one likes a never-choose Nancy."
I sighed. "We were the only ones when we got here…"
Nevertheless, we sat ourselves down and soon received our drinks and food.
"Quick question," I said, taking a bite of my sandwich–my tail swished about as I struggled with the food's richness. "After yesterday, why would you do a favor for Quil?"
He took a bite of his own sandwich. "Simple. I'm doing you a favor. Quil just happened to give me the opportunity. She hates me, but she trusts me."
"We should start a club, then."
"This shall be our meeting place," he decreed. "The tomatoes–so damned fresh–in these sandwiches are actually grown on a farm within a tallbuilding. The primaries of Xerneas actually have a whole agricultural tower, each floor its own ecosystem. Tomato Tower is the colloquial name…"
While Simmons talked, my mocha evolved the pupitar of coffee into the tyranitar of fucking divine flavor. Amazing how, in a lot of places, food concoctions ranged from… apples or berries… to salads… to maybe a couple of plundered sweets from a dungeon. This beautiful place had conscience-free meat, savory and delicious, and mochas, a splendid battlefield where chocolate clashed with the black heart of the coffee bean. Even on the way over, none of us travelers had been to Xanadu. But we all had a sense that–
"Hyper beam me through the fucking skull!" I shouted.
Simmons gaped at me. "Aha. Do what?"
The rest of the cafe stared at me, and from the looks of it, some were debating taking up the offer–proper recompense for the jumpscare. Aw, shucks. I smiled and muttered an apology, before closing in on the patroller.
"Sorry, it's an Air Continent turn of phrase." It wasn't. I said my piece slowly, clinging to my train of thought. "Lora was having trouble getting off the boat, and I thought I didn't help. I couldn't. My nose was having a tantrum. But the dartrix–there's this dartrix, who basically conned her into the whole thing, and she was there to help. She wasn't bothered at all. She's a local!"
The sandshrew nodded. "Do birds sneeze?"
"Don't ruin this for me. You're a crimefighter, yeah? Have you ever crimefought a dartrix who might do that?"
His snout curved into a sympathetic smile as I asked, crushing my spirits before he answered. "Grungy, Patrollers aren't investigators. We resolve disturbances to the peace, help communities improve… battle a criminal if we see them in action, on rare occasions. We wouldn't be the ones chasing that serious of an offender."
"You also take bribes and stuff," I noted.
"That's not really in the job description," Simmons said. I didn't expect an outright admission, and not one given so casually. We hung there while he had a swig. "But that sort of brokering, I see it as essential to my work. The largest businesses of Xanadu, the ones that reside in the upper floors of tallbuildings… that order them made? They're rich and powerful, and they're going to get what they want. One way or another."
I cocked my head to the side. "Ah, and the right answer sees you making cash. Rich fellas are completely useless. If a fella's goal is to make money? Nuh-uh, they're suspicious. And if they make that money? Get me outta there."
"Some can be surprisingly generous."
"Oh, true. One time during the war, I was pinned down by ferals. Then, a gulpin made of melted gold flew down in a chariot ran by stantler in fancy suits–"
Simmons snickered. "Okay, okay."
"No, wait, lemme finish. He lectured all the stained pokemon on leading an honest, committed life, and they all took up making friendship bracelets. And gardening."
"Listen, it's me on the streets," he said. "Compromising between what asses like Willard want, and what Xanadu needs. I know this neighborhood inside and out so I can be that buffer."
I nodded. "So they're not the heroes, you are. Where's all the medals?"
"I get a lot wrong, buddy, and it's hard to know if I've made a difference. But that's the song of life. If you give it a heartfelt try, you notice an upward trend amid all the scattered outcomes." The smug bastard tapped his head. "Every snowflake on my head is a badge." A claw tap on his coffee. "A good drink means I did good."
I pulled my cup up to my mouth and took a long draw. Didn't notice how pessimistic I'd become. The frustration. The pissiness. All like dirt behind my ears, building up without a loofah in my paw. Here was a fella being patient and honest with me, and I reasoned he did it all for the nice moments. Like the one I shared with Quil at that goofy zorua's booth.
"You're right," I told him. "Ain't I a jackass…"
He laughed. "It's okay to be bitter. You just gotta stir some chocolate in, make yourself into a mocha."
"Oh!"
"Huh?" He leaned in. "Was that a good one-liner?"
Simmons wasn't a 'fat fuck.' Quil called him that because, well... he liked food a lot. Food puns, food metaphors, food itself. And that was it. She likely spoke with him often.
"It's nothing," I said, wiggling a claw. "It was a good quip, but it's not that."
"Then what is it?"
"I haven't really spoken with anyone who seems happy to be here. You're a nice, convincing change of pace."
He took in a sharp breath and nodded. "T-That's good! Glad to hear it. Say, um… I know the nightlife well. These neighborhoods, it's all about shuttering when business is done. There's restaurants with whole themes and scenes deeper into this district. Forests, ocean floor, inside volcanoes, you name it. Stuff you won't believe until you smack it with your own gawk and awe. If you want, tonight, only if you have the time and yeah, you want to, I could show you a favorite of mine?"
There was a super, mega interesting ceiling decoration hanging over the Audino cashier. It was a wicker ornament, what I believe to be a "dreamcatcher." It spun, always on the watch for pesky nightmares and their evildoing perpetrators. The humble cherry-wood brown soothed the eyes, and its weave punctuated by jade grass knots on its every joint were fun to follow and count…
I finally mustered up. "I gotta be where Sul and Quil can grab me. We need to find Lora…"
Simmons leaned back. "Oh, Arceus. Right. Ain't I a jackass?"
"You're not! Really. If I'm not, you're not."
A spritz of coffee splashed onto the table, as he shoved his cup at me. "Cheers to not being bad company." Then, noticing my confusion, he added: "you just knock your cup into mine. Not too hard."
I complied awkwardly, cup shaking in between my claws. With a gentle effort, our drinks crossed the divide and tapped against each other with a resounding THUD.
It took me longer than I care to admit to notice that thud came from somewhere besides our cups. It was from the counter. The audino who received our orders had face planted into the wood top, completely unconscious.
An aipom threw aside a bag–a small puff of yellow powder sifted from the burlap. He leaped up onto the counter and used his tail to throw the barrista to the floor. His wild, excited eyes scanned the café.
"All of you sit tight!" He shouted. "I'm robbing the place!"
