Chapter 5
Lance sat alone at the bar with a shot of haban rum untouched beside him. It wasn't that there weren't other people there. The Prism was the best hotel in Blueport. It wasn't a bad hotel, either. It's rooms were clean, with standard amenities, it's staff was professional and friendly. It's bar was an Unovan throwback, a smokey affair with a long, gleaming bar, blitzle shoes, and fire-proof rapidash riding equipment as decoration. Despite its frontier feel, The Fire Horse was a bar for the business-folk of Vestige and did not feature any sort of line dancing.
Lance fingered the rum absentmindedly. He watched the reflections in the big mirror behind the bar. Steven and Tracey Stone were around a table, chatting amicably with an older gentleman and a young girl. The girl was their daughter, he was certain. Tracey kissed the child on the head often and even Steven smiled the child's way when she talked to him. The gentleman Lance did not know, but he was a friend of the Stones and no concern of his.
He had enough to contend with.
He saw Cynthia's reflection as she pushed through the Unovan style swinging doors. He did not turn around to look at her. Instead he watched her progress through the busy bar in the mirror. When she slid onto the bar stool next to him, he wasn't surprised. It was too much to hope that she was here for any other reason.
"An eevee, in love at nighttime, with a twist, and a water, Snowpoint Springs if you have it, please," she told the bartender.
"Vodka, Cynthia?" Lance asked moodily. "What is the occasion?"
"Vodka, coffee liquor, expresso, two shots of cream, and a whole lemon ring floating on top," Cynthia corrected. "And the occasion is you. Straight haban rum is not like you. You like wine, Sparkling Pink Pecha in particular."
Lance looked at the Sinnoh Champion in surprise. She was looking back at him, not concerned, not worried, but frank. He looked away.
"You're right," he admitted. "I don't care for hard alcohol."
He continued to finger the shot glass, spinning it idly and alternating between watching its reflection on the shining bar and Cynthia's in the mirror. The bartender brought her bottle of water and a glass. She thanked him and poured herself some.
Lance waited for her to say something, to follow through with the obvious question. She didn't. She sipped her water until her drink arrived, and then she turned her attention to it.
He would not have called the silence oppressive, but he was starting to get agitated. He knew that she wanted something from him, he even suspected that he knew what it was, but she simply sat in silence and enjoyed her drink. She never did what he expected, and that was one of the things that made him uneasy around her.
She finished her drink and ordered another. Lance gave in with a sigh.
"What do you want, Cynthia?" he asked.
"To keep you company," she said. "You look like you could use it."
"I don't want company," Lance said testily. "I have enough to think about."
"The company of your own thoughts doesn't appear to be helping you," Cynthia said.
Lance clenched and released the shot glass.
"I often keep my own company. It's familiar," he said warningly.
"As do I, but on occasion, I enjoy being around others. It is very rare that I am ever in the company of my peers. I find it to be relaxing and enlightening. It is rare to find those who understand my duties, and even more so to find those who are qualified to offer advice," Cynthia said.
Lance frowned. Damn her reasonable tone! Again he found himself listening to her. He even knew what she was getting at, but she was so pleasant about it he couldn't even get reasonably mad at her!
That didn't stop the unreasonable anger though.
"Good for you," Lance muttered. He spun the shot glass again, this time pressing it hard against the mirrored bar. He hoped it would make a mark. That it did not didn't help his temper.
"I consider you a friend, Lance," Cynthia said. "As well as my respected peer. You are the most senior member of the League Champions, as well as our president. This is a position of high honor, but, as you pointed out earlier today, it is also steeped in responsibility. In Kalos they say 'It is lonely at the top.' What would you say?"
Lance snorted.
"It sounds Kalosian enough," he said. "They're wrong though. It is freeing at the top. When you are finally in charge, no one questions you. No one can."
Lance gripped the glass again. No one was supposed to, at any rate.
"The only people who feel alone in power are those that don't know what to do with it," he sneered. "If they think the top is bad, then they should head back to the bottom and see what it's like with no power at all."
Cynthia watched him over the rim of her glass. She took a drink and set the glass back down.
"It doesn't bother you, then?" she asked. "Being responsible for everyone and answerable to no one?"
"No. Does it bother you?" Lance shot back.
Again with the reasonable tone! There wasn't a hint of malice in her question, but it still set him on edge. When she gave him a reproving look, he actually felt embarrassed. He grit his teeth and ground the glass into the bar.
"Yes, it does," she said.
Lance refused to look at her, even in the mirror.
"Does that bother you?" Cynthia asked.
Reasonably, reasonably! If she wanted to pick a fight with him, then why couldn't she use a more aggressive tone? He'd give her a fight. He was up for it.
"By your definition, I am weak and unable to make full use of my power. Because I remember being surrounded by people and everyone of them my equal, and I recall those days fondly. What do you say? Am I unworthy of my status?" she asked.
Lance balled his free hand into a fist.
"Do you want to fight?" he asked tightly.
"No," she said. She placed a hand on his clenched fist and ekansed her fingers into his. "Do you?"
"Arceus, yes! I just want them to listen to me, damn it!" Lance snapped.
Heads turned and Cynthia put a hand on his shoulder.
"Let's take this outside," she suggested.
Lance stood up and he strode out the double doors, Cynthia trailing in the wake of his cape. The haban rum was left on the counter. He had never really intended on drinking it.
They walked out of the hotel and onto the streets of Blueport. It was late, but Lance had no fear. He was spoiling for a fight. Let them come. He'd show them who was in charge here!
Cynthia followed behind him, a silent shadow that was no less intimidating in her own way. He smiled, although it was cynical. She was the one person here he was proud to have by his side. Between them both, they could take this situation in hand. They were true Champions.
"It's the others that let this happen," he said bitterly. "They are weak Champions. Spending their time in their peaceful palaces, shutting out the world, aloof to its troubles. An eight year old girl! What were we thinking?
They are lax, they are lazy, and people see it! Because of them we've lost our respect! No one will listen to those they deem weaker, and that's us! Because of them, people don't respect me!
They don't care! They don't even understand the danger we're facing. 'We can't fight Blue's choice of Elite. He gets to choose.' He does not! Is he a Champion? Have I ordained him? Only a Champion chooses. And he does not!
They don't understand. They think it's a game, a vacation from our duties. They are wrong. This is more important than anything they've ever done before.
This upstart challenges our sovereignty. He stands against us and the system that has governed our world for generations, centuries in Kanto and Johto. He would rip us apart for his own gain, and they would sit back! They would sit back and watch, worse, allow and encourage his impudence!
John Blue is wrong, he is our enemy, and an enemy to every person and pokémon. If he succeeds..."
"Then Surge can as well," Cynthia said.
Lance froze. His words died and he clenched his fists.
"Lance," Cynthia said gently. She put her hand on his shoulder. He shrugged her off.
"So you know," he said roughly. "Don't read too much into it."
"I'm only sorry I didn't think of it sooner. Of course, if you confided in any of us, we wouldn't have to discover these things on our own."
This time there was reproach in her voice. Lance smiled. Finally.
"I do not have to tell any of you anything," he said haughtily. "The Indigo League stands alone, as it always has, as all Leagues do."
"No one 'stands alone.' The very notion is absurd and against the spirit of the Pokémon League. Besides the pokémon we carry, we can rely on our fellow trainers. It is arrogance itself to claim otherwise and it is destructive to the bonds between all things," Cynthia said hotly.
"Destructive? Bonds end where betrayal begins. Do you think I am incapable? I am the President of the League Champions! My strength and that of my partners have been tested and proven. We have been proved in the fires of battle again and again. I have earned my place, I have earned my respect!"
"And how do you justify Kanto, then? How do they fit against the great god that is Lance, Dragon Master?"
"Weigh your words! I don't have to justify anything to you!" Lance shouted. He clutched dragonite's pokéball.
"Then I will. You think that you are so mysterious and unfathomable, and that is your armor. That and your position, the respect that you crave. You fancy yourself a king, and that pleases you.
Well, your armor is more fragile than you think. You need the illusion of control. You need to be the best for your own sake. You hide your uncertainty behind your arrogance, and justify your mistakes as the wages of war.
Yes! War! That is what you call Kanto's rebellion, isn't it?"
She didn't need any words from him. He knew his expression was murderous.
"It shames you to no end to face how little power you really have, and how much of it comes from those who are beneath you. You call us the heads of our regions? Hardly. We are the dream of children and pokémon. We are celebrities, famous athletes and a far cry from any sort of government."
"Shut up," Lance hissed. "How dare you belittle my position? It is your own also!"
"And how dare you inflate it? To add to a thing is just as much a sin as to take away. So tell me, am I wrong?" Cynthia asked, eyes flashing.
"Yes!" Lance roared.
"Am I unworthy?" she demanded.
"Yes!"
"Then who is? Who lives up to your standards, Lance, Indigo Champion, if Wallace, Iris, and myself are unworthy?"
Lance could barely find his voice.
"There is only me," he managed.
"Then you really are on your own, and who needs you? It appears that there are more of us than there are of you," Cynthia said.
Lance released Dragonite. It loomed over him. It sensed its master's mood and did not look cuddly.
"Fight me," Lance demanded, making eye contact. She couldn't refuse.
"As what?" she asked.
"As you, who else?" Lance snapped.
"You made it clear that titles are important. Who are you fighting me as? Am I Champion Cynthia, your equal and peer, or Unworthy Cynthia, the wayward child you have to chastise with your might?"
"What does it matter? You can't refuse!"
"And all trainers have types, what is mine?"
"Champion, obviously. Now fight me!"
"Why Champion? I thought I was unworthy?"
"That is not for me to decide," Lance growled.
"Why not?"
"Sacred Ashes, Cynthia!"
"No! Why not? Why don't you get to pick whether or not I am a Champion?"
"Because I'm not the only one!" Lance screamed in frustration.
"You're right! You're not," Cynthia said, her own voice wavering on the edge of shrill.
It was silent then. Dragonite watched him curiously, but was too well-trained to ask. He and Cynthia stared at each other, both breathing hard. He felt horribly embarrassed suddenly and Cynthia's normal calm was no where to be seen.
"Can't you see? You're not alone. None of us are. Yes, we are powerful. Yes, we are wise, but we are not and never will be an island. We have our pokémon, we have our friends, and we have each other and we are fools indeed if we fail to take advantage of that," she said.
She sagged and Lance reached out and steadied her. She leaned against him, her color up, her breathing heavy, and her eyes oddly dewy. He was trembling himself and when Dragonite came up behind him, he leaned back against him gratefully.
"She didn't leave," Lance said.
"I know. Neither did mine," she said.
"I went to her, challenged her, beat her, and told her to leave. She refused. She refused and walked away," Lance said.
"Mine was the same."
"It was humiliating. She acted as if her defeat meant nothing, as if I had no right to demand such a thing from her. As if I had no right..." Lance clutched Cynthia closer and rested his head by hers.
"I'm afraid, and I hate it. I'm afraid and it makes me so angry. The Indigo League has been stable for five hundred years. If I don't stop this, if I can't make Blue obey, then what's to stop Surge? He cut his ties with the League, but he never would have dreamed of making his own. I have to win, I can't let this happen. I can't let it fall apart, not under me. I can't have it, Cynthia. I can't."
She didn't say anything, but her arms came up around him, under the cape. She held the man behind the cape, the man and not the Champion, the man beneath the Dragon Master. Lance gasped, and fought the sudden sob that was ready to wring tears from him.
He held her close and nestled his face in the crook of her neck, and, pressed between her and his Dragonite, he allowed himself to be a man.
He allowed himself to be afraid.