DAKOTA WESTFIELD
A/N Because of this chapter, the rating's gone up. Apologies for any inconvenience!
The roar of the crowd was deafening. Overflowing with people – drop-outs, thieves, prostitutes, druggies – the air was thick with cigarette smoke and the stench of old sweat. In the middle of the crowded room a space was cleared, and in the rough circle, two pokémon fought.
Dakota stood at the front of the crowd, her eyes trained to the significantly larger pokémon. Her poocheyena was a veteran at this bloodthirsty sport. Dakota gave the match another two minutes, tops.
Sasha leapt back from a poorly-aimed blow by the nincada. Snarling, frothing madly at the mouth, the poocheyena's hackles rose and she yapped wildly at her cowering opponent.
The crowd jostled and writhed, reminding Dakota of being caught in a vortex or a rushing river, unable to swim against the churning, gnashing current. She exhaled heavily through her nose and focused on Sasha. If she made a mistake and lost her temper, the crowd would turn on her in a heartbeat. Yeah, she was a regular. But that meant shit all when everyone was high on adrenaline and speed. We're all enemies, she thought blithely.
Dakota's poocheyena had had enough. She feinted to one side, and when the nincada's sharp scythe came down and stuck fast in the dirt, Sasha pounced like a spring, sinking her teeth into the hard exoskeleton of the bug type. The nincada let out a terrible screech, and the crowd ducked and some covered their ears, screaming at the pokémon to shut the fuck up. Dakota grit her teeth and rode it out, her eyes never leaving the match before her.
Sasha shook her head from side to side, the nincada flailing uselessly underneath her, until she wrenched her jaw free. Green liquid spurted from the wound as Sasha crunched down on the massive leaf of shell she'd managed to tear away. As the nincada shrieked again, Sasha stuck her snout into the gaping hole and tore out a mass of pallid insides.
The crowd shrank back, hands held fast over mouths and noses. Dakota retched despite herself, the disgusting reek of the bug pokémon's dying body cutting through the room.
Sasha made a heaving motion and dropped the intestines back into the wound, her body shuddering. The poocheyena whined piteously, her tongue lolling, one paw batting at her snout desperately.
The owner of the nincada stepped forward and kicked the remains of his pokémon. Disgusted, he caught Dakota's gaze.
Now that the match was over, the crowd erupted, bawling insults and asides. Beside the distant entrance, a fight broke out.
Dakota stepped around the body of the nincada and Sasha's retching form, holding a hand out to the guy. He glared at her forwardness and stuck a thin white hand into his vest, pulled out a wad of notes.
"Buy yourself a girlfriend," the guy sneered, thrusting the cash towards her. "Fuckin' unfair fight, that was."
"Wanna take this outside?" Dakota snapped, moving a fist as if to sock the guy one. Serve him right too, she thought, seething. She hated going all gangster on these pathetic losers, but it was the only way to remind them that she was anything but a bottom feeder. No way in hell could they push her around.
"Fuck you!" He spat at her feet and turned, just as Dakota's fist came slamming into the other side of his jaw.
The crowd rallied, surging around the pair like mud, trampling the remains of the nincada into the dirt, already champing at the bit for more bloodshed, more entertainment. Dakota didn't look for Sasha.
She ducked as the guy hurled an arm in an arc above her above. Keeping her right arm close to her chest, she struck his stomach, and when he doubled over, lashed out and caught him in his ear. Yowling, the guy sank to his knees, where Dakota kicked his windpipe as hard as she could.
Dakota knew better than to keep on going – getting someone when they were down was the coward's way out – but she couldn't help herself, blindly kicking his face again and again, until the cap of her boot was wet and dark and the crowd was frenzied, barely giving her space to move, screaming and pushing her shoulders to urge her on.
Breathing heavily, her chest tight with adrenaline and fear, Dakota dragged herself out of it. She stumbled back, one look at the mutilated body on the ground enough to make her dizzy with nausea. Dakota whirled around and fought her way through the crowd, pushing against the current with all her might, until she shoved her way into the empty stairwell. Gasping, slick with sweat, she charged up the stairs, up and up, finally bursting out into the deserted alleyway.
She couldn't stop shaking. Dakota slumped against the rough brick wall, wanting to lie down, maybe even on the ground, anything anything to make this feeling go away. Her face was wet with sweat, but as she scrunched her eyes shut, she realised she was crying. Dakota shuddered violently, bringing her fingers to smear her face, feeling the cold air congeal the sweat and tears like old grease. She felt disgusting. She'd give a limb to be somewhere warm and safe, where there was a hot bath and a soft bed.
"Get it together, get it together," she chanted under her breath. God, why couldn't she stop shaking?
It could have been hours or minutes, but soon Dakota was aware of a warm body beside hers. She looked down through her fingers, the wet nose of Sasha catching the stuttering bare light bulb above the doorway to the underground club. The poocheyena huffed at her shins through her threadbare jeans.
Dakota gave a mighty sniff and rubbed her face hard with the cuff of her jacket. Tilting her head back to stare at the sliver of sky between the buildings, Dakota let her mind blank.
"Okay."
She rubbed her face one more time, then bent down and scratched Sasha roughly behind the ears. "You did good," she told her pokémon, the poocheyena's tail wagging lethargically at the attention, her muzzle still damp with the nincada's insides. "Let's go."
Together, trainer and pokémon made their way to the mouth of the alley. They paused, teetering on the edge between shadow and orange streetlight. The main road was relatively deserted. A nightclub on the other side of the street was churning out some drunks, the girls laughing hysterically, breasts flopping and dresses hiking up thighs. Dakota averted her gaze, though in the next instant, stopped dead.
A young man stepped out of the club, the blue neon light casting eerie shadows to play across his features. He was slender like a reed, a pair of red jeans clinging lewdly to his legs. He looked up and down the street, his eyes skittering over the retreating girls. When he glanced across the road and started over it, jogging a little as a hover car came tearing past, Dakota felt her heart jump.
It was always like this before she picked up. She'd label it the thrill of the chase, maybe, or the prospect of getting some extra cash – but she knew it was for one reason only. Or rather, one person.
Ignoring the way her stomach wrenched at the thought of him, Dakota quickly brushed a palm over her buzzcut. She glanced down at Sasha.
"Don't scare him off."
The poocheyena growled.
Checking to make sure the guy wasn't too close – he wasn't; he'd paused in the middle of the road, waiting for some hover cars to pass – Dakota fumbled for a pokéball and returned Sasha in a swarm of red light. The poocheyena was helpful when it came to fighting, but when she was trying to hook a client?
The guy started across the road, heading straight for Dakota's alley. She immediately leant back against the corner wall, letting her eyes fall to half-mast.
As he reached the pavement, he raised his gaze. When he noticed Dakota, he slowed noticeably and stopped, staring at her, his lips hitched in a slight smirk.
"Hey." Dakota peeled away from the alley wall, keeping her eyes hooded and low. She raised her head and let her chin fall upwards, exposing the long white column of her throat. She felt the man's eyes drag along her skin, drinking in her willowy body; her boy's body.
"How much?" he asked, not bothering to sugar coat his request. Good, Dakota thought savagely. Mama's boys were a waste of time. She hated having to tiptoe around kids like that; hold their hands as they fucked her.
Dakota lowered her head. No need to play coy, now. He was hooked.
She shrugged. The guy's eyes were fixed on her mouth. "Twenty if you blow me," he demanded.
Dakota didn't bother converting the amount. Japan had phased out yen eight years ago in an effort to appease the States of Unova. The currency was in dollars now, although there were still some idiots who tried to use yen.
Instead of answering, she glanced back down the alleyway. No one had emerged from the underground club – no doubt some massive fight had broken out – so she looked back and beckoned for her john to follow her. As she started down the alley, she was aware of how close the man was walking to her.
"You're a little slut, aren't you?"
Dakota resisted rolling her eyes. Great, he was a talker.
"Yeah, a little teen slut all ready for my -"
"Let's get this done," Dakota snapped, harsher than she intended. They were a little ways down the alley; the distant light bulb above the club entrance was nothing more than a blurred dim blob, the surrounding darkness swallowing up the orange street lights from the main road. Instead of looking affronted at her snippy tone, the guy just looked even more turned on.
Dakota pinned the man to the harsh brick wall, clapping a hand over his mouth when he went to kiss her.
"Got a boyfriend, have you?" he smirked.
To stop him talking, she shoved down his zipper and fell to her knees.
Dakota sat in one of the booths of the familiar diner, an abandoned plate in front of her with the remnants of a hurried breakfast. Outside, the world was dark, though occasional pedestrians hurried past, wanting to get home before they got mugged or raped or kidnapped.
She picked up her cup of cold coffee, took a hesitant sip. At the counter, a young waitress refilled the salt shakers, mouthing along to the stuttering radio in the back. There was someone else at a table near the door, but they hadn't moved the entire time she'd been there. They were probably asleep.
Dakota yawned, thinking she'd very much like to be in bed herself. After she'd finished off the john and got her cash, she'd cruised for an hour or so more, picking up ninety dollars in total, not counting the amount she made in the club. It wasn't bad for a night's work. Her pickups hadn't even been total weirdos: one guy had wanted sex, but the other two were cool with just a blow job. Dakota winced at the memory and sipped her coffee again. She could still taste them, and her arse stung.
She stared out the window for a little while longer, delaying the moment when she'd have to go back out into the autumn night air. The diner was warm and no one was talking to her. As far as Dakota was concerned, that was a win.
Running a hand over her short hair, Dakota swirled the dredges of coffee around in the cup and downed it. Rummaging in her inner pockets, she brought out her earnings, counting the notes surreptitiously under the table. One hundred and thirty five dollars. She couldn't help a small smile before tucking it all away.
Coughing – that was what you got from sleeping on the streets, she thought grumpily – Dakota left some cash on the table and left the diner, giving the waitress a flirtatious look as she passed.
Outside, the wind was icy and tore her in two as if she were paper. She swore and crossed her arms about her middle. Glancing around the main square of Saffron, she weighed her options. She could work for a few hours more – it was only two o'clock; as far as she was concerned, the night was still young – or she could splurge and get a cheap motel room.
Dakota sniffed, thinking. Across the square, a gaggle of young partygoers staggered along, ducking down a side street, their laughter and loud conversation echoing off the tall, rundown buildings. That decided it.
The streets of Saffron were wide, uniform affairs that criss-crossed the city like blood vessels. Alleyways and side streets sprouted off at regular intervals. It made Saffron seem like a duplicate city, each road mimicked by one in shadow. Dakota smirked. What an apt analogy.
She followed the huge group of drunks for a while, keeping at least a block away from them, doggedly tracing their path. There were too many for her to take by herself – she only had Sasha and her growlithe, Nix – but no doubt one of them would go off by themselves eventually; try and make their own treacherous way home… And when that happened, she'd pounce.
Dakota didn't like mugging at the best of times. It was easier to sell herself, or win a couple of fights with either her pokémon or her fists, but she'd changed her mind since following this group. They were all so drunk… it would be a crime if she didn't steal from them, really. They'd just drink their money away. Dakota needed it far more than these kids.
After a few more blocks, Dakota realised she'd gained on the staggering group. She'd also realised that she'd struck lucky: these kids were rich.
Saffron didn't have many of the upper-crust society left, anymore. A lot of them had moved away to Celadon, or even Vermillion: anywhere was better than the crime-riddled Saffron city and its spooky neighbour, Lavender. Dakota remembered reading an article about the Lavender Incident. She didn't really get why it had been such a big deal. Kids went missing all the time.
Dakota let herself relaxed, lost in the easy game of meowth and rattata. She was close enough now to see earrings that caught the streetlight, artfully ripped designer t-shirts, authentic leather boots. There were about six kids left, and they were slowing down.
Suddenly, they all swayed to a halt.
Dakota ducked into a crevice between two apartment blocks, the horrendous structures stretching upwards and dissolving into the night sky. A couple members of the group clung to a streetlight as one girl heaved the contents of her stomach into the gutter. Dakota relaxed. Maybe after this brief interlude the group would let down their guard even more – maybe even split off into pairs. She felt a brief thrill at the thought. Ripe pickings.
Some members of the group who weren't violently vomiting now lolled against the façade of an apartment block, scattered across the short front flight of concrete stairs like boneless fish, laughing with hee-hawing abundance. Dakota thought it lucky none of them seemed to have any pokémon on them. Drunken youths and disgruntled pokémon didn't mix.
Just as she started to get a bit anxious – one of the vomiting girls had fallen down, much to the amusement of her faithful peers (but what if they panicked and called the cops?) – Dakota heard something down the street.
Resisting the urge to whip around and toss out a pokéball, instead she stayed still and silent. She turned her heard slowly to the side, keeping her left eye on the group, and with her peripheral vision, she scanned the vacant street behind. Her heart rate picked up a little.
The street was swathed in shadow beyond the occasional small pools of orange light. The darkness was like stagnant water, lapping at the edge of her vision and the pinpricks of soft light from upper-story dwellings. The street stirred gently, and her eyes blurred and stung. Dakota rubbed them roughly; when she opened them again, a figure slipped under a dim streetlamp.
She was immediately on her guard. It was an unwritten rule amongst street-rats like herself – one predator to a group, end of story. If you intruded on someone else's game, you were now part of the equation. Mercy didn't exist in Saffron anymore.
Dakota inched one hand to rest around the pokéball in her right jacket pocket. In the flare of fright she'd felt, she'd turned her whole head to stare down the street. She chanced a glance back towards her group of drunks, only to see them now staggering off, shadow and light sliding over the figures like water.
The girl who'd collapsed in the gutter was still there. Dakota glanced back down the street and then stepped out of the slender alley she'd been stationed in, walking quickly to the girl's slumped form.
Vomit crusted around the girl's mouth, the front of her satin dress wet. The girl's eyes fluttered weakly and she moaned as Dakota's hands flashed in and out of the girl's bag, deftly searching her body for the typical phone-in-bra or money-in-underwear hiding spots. Dakota emerged with ten dollars and a tube of lip-gloss. So much for aristocratic teenage dirtbags. She left the latter in the girl's left bra cup and stepped away, melting into the shadows and starting after her group.
Dakota didn't bother checking behind her again; whoever had been stalking this group now knew it was taken. If they persisted in following her, well, Dakota knew how to play rough.
Regardless, she drew out Nix's pokéball and released the growlithe quietly beside a roughed-up hover car. All bases covered.
Dakota followed the drunken group for a few more blocks. Once a guy left his friends and stumbled away into an apartment block. She didn't bother to try and jump him; it was too risky.
This was proving to be not as lucrative as she'd hoped. For one, the group was moving at a decent pace – all thoughts she'd had of cornering them in some dark alley were completely out the window. Two, this was taking far too long. Dakota didn't care how long she was out of a night, but only if she was actually getting something out of it.
Dakota slowed down, allowing an extra block to grow between her and the group. Nix padded by her side like an apparition, his dusty orange fur muted against the grey pavement and dim streetlight.
Little by little the group grew smaller, most of them disappearing into apartment buildings with a lot of fanfare, the remaining friends calling out long-winded goodbyes and laughing uproariously, and more and more Dakota's patience thinned. Why had she decided to follow them again? Right, for cash. Dakota thought of the snug wad of money tucked into her pocket and thought it best to call it a night. She was irritated that she'd wasted so much time – in the hour or so she'd spent tracing this group, she could have picked up six, seven, eight johns and earned another hundred.
"Goddammit," she breathed. The group had come to an intersection and were splitting up. Only four remained, and as two went one way and two went the other, Dakota slumped against the side of a building and stared out at the now-empty intersection. The few traffic lights that weren't broken flicked diligently red-yellow-green. The sky above was lightening, dabbed with the fading orange glow of nightlife and the oncoming sunrise.
Dakota yawned. At her side, Nix whined once gently, then sat down. I could have followed one of the pairs, she thought lazily, watching a couple of skinny persian slink across the intersection. The big cats paused and eyed her, though Nix hurried them along with a warning bark. Dakota ran her hands over her stubbly hair.
"Time to get lost, I think," she told Nix. The growlithe woofed in agreement.
She didn't move. Dakota liked this time of night-morning. It was like she was all alone in the world. As if they'd been an Armageddon, and she was the only survivor in this ghost town.
Saffron was the most dangerous city in Kanto, but Dakota couldn't imagine living anywhere else. She knew each street, each alleyway. She knew which clubs could get you big winnings; which clubs the dwindling police force patrolled. Saffron was Dakota's town, that was for sure.
Dakota yawned again and turned back the way she'd come. She didn't know where she was going to sleep; maybe she'd rent out a motel room after all, as a reward for being a total fucking idiot and following a bunch of drunks halfway across Saffron.
She took a moment to gather her bearings, then set off. The mechanical act of putting one foot in front of the other coaxed her into a daze. Dakota wondered about the few friends she'd had in Saffron; wondered if they'd ever made it out of this hellhole and onto the rest of the League-approved cities. Had they earned any more badges? How were their starters? Had they evolved yet? Dakota refused to acknowledge the swell of guilt that rose within her. Think about something else. Think about what you're going to do with all that cash you made tonight.
Dakota had forgotten the anonymous person who'd started stalking her group earlier. It was only when someone stepped out onto the pavement in front of her that she remembered.
Nix leapt before her, hackles raised and lips pulled back to expose sharp teeth, brown with rot. Dakota was jerked out of her thoughts, as if she'd awoken from a dream, one of those nights when she floated through her dream palace and fell off the edge, tumbling, hurtling, through the sky to slam into the ground and jolt upright in her bed/street/pile of rubbish. Quick as a flash, she was on her guard.
"Fuck off." The warning words spilled out of her mouth without a thought. Nix snarled his approval and took a menacing step forward.
Normally, Dakota might've scared the stranger off a little, maybe staked out whether or not they were a cop (unlikely) or a potential victim (likely). And normally, Nix wouldn't have jumped so quickly to her defence… But as Dakota glared at the shadowy figure a few metres away from her, she realised that Nix had been as startled as she had. It had been a long time since either of them had been able to let down their guard.
The figure remained silent.
"Fuck off," she repeated, louder this time. She drew herself up. Nix knew better than to start barking nonstop – who knew where a police patrol was, or worse, a roaming gang – but instead snarled like a stuck arbok. A flume of flame spurted forth into the pool of streetlight that separated them from the stranger.
Then, the figure stepped forward.
Dakota didn't recognize the guy. He was tall, thin, like all Saffron street-rats were – but Dakota couldn't help but note the carefully (expensively) sculpted physique - with a massive dirty blonde mohawk. Some strands of hair straggled down in front of his squarish face in dreadlocks. He was attractive, Dakota supposed, and despite herself, she felt a flicker of arousal. If he wanted something… why not make it her?
She let a few minutes go by, before signalling to Nix, who stopped snarling quite so much and retreated to her side, bristling with pent-up adrenaline. Dakota's gaze lowered submissively; she put one hand in her back pocket, pushing apart her jacket and showing off her slender t-shirt clad frame. Still, she watched the stranger through her eyelashes with sharp eyes.
"Hey, I'm sorry for that." Dakota shrugged; no big deal. "You gotta be careful, know what I'm saying?" She brushed her other hand over her hair and hooked it around the back of her neck, letting her head fall back a little.
"What's your name?" The stranger's voice was startlingly gentle. He reminded Dakota of those rich kids who slummed it for a bit before going back to mummy and daddy. Like that movie she saw once – what was its name? My Private something.
"Dakota," she replied, as always thankful for her unisex name. By the look of this guy – tight jeans, black Docs, red flannel shirt, denim jacket, carvanha tooth earring in his left ear – he was either channelling some 90's punk revival or was in the closet. That was fine by her: she was a teen slut after all.
A boy teen slut, she reminded herself.
"Dakota." He rolled the word around in his mouth slowly, like he was savouring a sweet. The guy looked her in the eye a little boldly, a little shyly, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do. "I'm Frank."
As she smiled, aware that this action stretched her red lips and brought to mind other certain images, underneath Dakota was simmering. She was tired and irritable. If she ended up fucking this guy, she'd charge him twice as much. It's the least I deserve…
The atmosphere between them was far more relaxed now. Dakota moved closer to the guy, her stance naturally masculine, with her narrow hips jutting forward and her back curved with bad posture. Over time she'd learnt that most men she picked up liked that twink look about her. Dakota didn't touch him, but instead stood provocatively close. The guy shivered.
"What do you like to do?" Dakota asked softly.
His reaction was the last thing she expected. The guy blinked wildly at her, eyes wide, and took a step backwards. Nix growled.
"I'm sorry?" he spluttered eventually, looking very much out of his depth.
Dakota wasn't religious, but she'd have prayed to anything to get some answers on this guy. She fought to keep herself in check. Remember, you're a slut, slut, slut. "Where d'you wanna go?" she clarified, stepping back into the guy's personal space. "What d'you want me to do?"
Before she knew it, there was a flash of light, and then stout green pokémon knocked her backwards. Dakota fell heavily onto the road, grazing both elbows when she caught herself. She swore violently, jumping to her feet. Somehow, Sasha's pokéball was in her hand, and somehow, the poocheyena was in front of her, and somehow, Sasha had flown at the axew and buried her maw into the dragon pokémon's soft neck.
The guy howled and fumbled for his pokéball. Dakota was so through playing. If this was some weird kinky shit, she was out. Fucking and blowjobs. That was the end of her repertoire.
Shaking its heavy head, the axew yowled bitterly. Sasha's teeth weren't enough to break through the thick, reptilian skin, but that wasn't stopping the poocheyena, who clawed at the axew's side and managed to get on top of the dragon pokémon. Nix dashed behind the guy and snapped at his ankle; he yelped and stumbled forward, only to swerve backwards as his axew fought wildly at the foreign mass on its back, Sasha ruthlessly biting again and again at the axew's neck.
"No, no, no, no!" The guy finally managed to grab a pokéball and his axew dissolved within it, leaving Sasha to land nimbly on the pavement.
The growlithe and poocheyena advanced on the guy, Nix snapping at his heels every time he moved backwards. They cornered him against the side of a building, the streetlight above them spluttering.
Dakota's heart was racing and adrenaline flooded her system. She stalked forward and pinned him to the rough brick wall by his neck.
She wasn't one for catchy one-liners, so just as she was about to punch his face in without any further ado, the guy held up his hands and started to babble nonsense.
"Wait, wait, wait!" he floundered in her grasp, twisting like an ekans. Dakota only tightened her grip, Nix and Sasha on either side of her.
"No, please, wait, please wait! I panicked, I'm sorry, I panicked! You can have my pokémon – you can have anything – just please, no, no, no!"
"I'm going to have your fucking pokémon anyway," Dakota bit out, the words choked with anger. "And your cash, and the clothes on your back, and then I'm going to kill you and leave you naked in the fucking street, you hear me?"
"Wait, wait!" Dakota noticed the front of his jeans was wet. "You know me! You know me, I swear!"
"Shut up!" she snapped desperately, losing her patience. Dakota drew his head away from the wall by her grip on his neck, then smashed his skull against the brick wall with a sick smack. Dimly, she was aware that Sasha and Nix had taken a hold of each his legs, their teeth sinking heavily into the meat, starting to chew their way through skin to bone. All the while the guy howled at her to wait please wait as Dakota slammed his head back again and again.
When blood bubbled from his nose, the wall behind him damp and sticky, and Dakota had drawn back her fist to shove it into an eye socket, dragging the life from him satisfyingly slowly, he gave one last feverish movement to get away.
"You know me!" he bawled, sobbing and bloodied, the dying streetlight now bathing his face in a sickly grey-yellow glow. "I'm Frank, I'm Francis – Francis Rolfe, I swear it! Rolfe!"
The name shot through Dakota like lightning. Her fist hovered from his face, quivering with exertion and adrenaline.
Frank began to blubber uncontrollably. "I'm Francis Rolfe, mew have mercy, I'm Francis Rolfe!"
He opened his eyes, lashes fluttering wetly with blood and sweet and tears, his gaze dark with fear. "My brother, you knew my brother. I'm… I'm Francis Rolfe."
Dakota was instantly drained.
"My brother… my brother's Johnny Rolfe. You knew him. You knew him once."
"Yeah," Dakota whispered after a while, watching Frank's eyes dim with exhaustion, his body going slack as he fainted and crumpled to the pavement. She was shuddering as if covered in ice or the sweet flare of flame, like a martyr of old on a funeral pyre. As the early rays of sunlight flickered hopefully over the top of Saffron, Dakota dropped to her knees beside Frank. She started unseeingly at his now-familiar face. "Yeah, I knew him."