"They're self-righteous bastards, the Sinners, aren't they Ed? I swear if this were two-hundred years ago I'd feed them to the fucking Walreins."
"Now that's a bit harsh, Irving..."
"Oh, better yet, I'd toss them down Mount fucking Chimney, with cookies up their arseholes."
"What!? Have you been drinking already? This is a gathering of heads of state, not bloody Homecoming. Now, I don't want any of that sort of language at the hotel."
"Sorry boss, it was a slip of the tongue."
"Besides, using a slur like 'Sinners' does in fact make you sound two-hundred years old. Sinnoh isn't a colony anymore, you know. It has a government. As well as voting systems, trade routes. Even political parties..."
"Well, by the looks of their turnout at Gorebyss Falls, they don't sound like party people."
Edmund Locke, the Prime Minister of the Hoenn region, sighed. His watch read 7:23 PM but he was already tired. What amazed him was that the buzz from both hosting and winning the International Pokémon League could have worn off so quickly. Only last night all had been jolly; he, his family, the country, everyone was celebrating. But now everything seemed to be spiralling out of control. He had to be suited up again to make this sudden speech, there was a media storm over the Sinnoh region's actions, and all he had to look forward too after all that was aimlessly wandering around a hotel lobby for four hours. Not his dream night out.
He tried to ease his mind by objectively judging the levels of paranoia inside him compared to the amount of people, the length of the speech...yes, the algorithms said he was just overreacting. There had never been a speech he'd made that wasn't preceded by anxiety, and a taxi ride with the wild Irving Smith would leave this one without exclusion. Whatever the subject. At least there wouldn't be any press there. Just relax.
"But honestly boss," Irving rambled on, "how could they just pull out of the gathering like that? It only makes them look more suspicious. Bunch of nutters, I'm telling you."
Edmund let out a nervous laugh and stretched his legs as much as he could. Although Irving drove him up the wall he still admired the guy. He had stood out in government from his first day for two reasons: his lower class origins, having been born and raised in the fields of Oldale Town, and his fierce intelligence. And Irving was keen to show off both of these to their greatest extent. He had a thick accent and no-nonsense manner about him that meant he always got what he wanted, and over the years this hardness had even spread on to his superiors.
"You know Irving, I've always wondered how I ended up giving you the job of Foreign Minister, when in fact the one thing you hate most in life is foreigners. What could have attracted you to the role?"
"I took up the job for the simple reason that it pays me to get as far away from my wife as possible." Edmund laughed again. "Hey, how's your wife, Ed?"
"She's alright." He began to pull at his shirt collar and the sleeves of his blazer. "Though she was trying to get me to go with the kids to her father's house in the country. I thought she was joking - on a week like this? Hosting the League will probably be the most important thing I ever do, so I can't just take a break. Don't know what it is with her. Uncontrollable."
His partner nodded, knowing that married life was more like a drug strain in Parliament than anything else, so stopped asking questions.
They didn't talk for around 2 minutes.
Edmund tried to cover up his shivering. Taxis always made him feel like he was being interrogated. Even the ones hired by the government to carry him around. The dark leather seats seemed to leave huge scratches and fingerprints whenever touched. The windows always had a certain dark tint to them, and a sheen. Sometimes he felt as if he was stalking the pedestrians outside, oblivious to his presence. Other times pressing his face up to the glass sent a jolt of fear through him - they could see him. He had no idea why this happened, and it was probably something no one would be able to answer. If he ever told anyone, that is. He eventually resumed conversation:
"Uncontrollable, that woman. I don't know what I do wrong. But anyway, you did look at my speech right? I sent it to you at-"
"Yes, Ed, we've been through this. I told you that it's fine, remember? I swear, all I do is remove one joke about Cubones and you go mental..."
"I was just thinking...well...the whole thing seems a little to...triumphant, y'know? I mean, I know we won it and all, but perhaps it should be more focused on how we all achieved this..."
"Honestly, sometimes you sound like you never even went to university. Stop pussyfooting and get out the car."
"What? Now?"
"Yes, you dingbat, we're here."
Edmund gulped and steadily swung himself out the car seat into the night time air of Ever Grande City. The obsidian dome above him held a few stars, but those absent were made up for by the sky-reaching towers and glowing monuments for miles around. He stood in the heart of all this, on a freshly swept road that sprung out north of the previously occupied Battle Stadium. Looking down the avenue there was a fountain fashioned into the shape of a Gyarados with various tourists taking photos of it, smiling. But on the opposite side of the street was his destination, the Gorebyss Falls Hotel, with a mob of journalists and cameramen partly obscuring it.
The door of the taxi slammed shut. He and Irving made brave steps forwards but these seemed tentative compared to the sudden flashing stampede of reporters who had noticed their presence. "Out the way, let us through," Irving politely warned them as they got their tape recorders out, masking the thickness of his accent as he usually did in public. They on brushed through, slightly dirtying their suits, not commenting on any questions. An angry feeling churned inside Edmund's stomach. Why did he know that not admitting reporters would only make them come in greater numbers? It was such a stupid thing to do.
Once they were out of the quagmire they speed-walked to safety. One young female reporter squeezed herself out and called after them.
"Sir! What do you have to say about Robert de Gobin's actions?"
Both men tried to ignore the voice, looking straight ahead.
"SIR! ARE YOU PROMOTING WAR CRIMES!?"
They quickly nodded to the doorman and disappeared inside. Edmund wished he could get back at her, but knew he couldn't.
The reporter had stood poised for heckling, with her back arched forwards and her hands over her mouth. Once the Prime Minister was out of sight she straightened herself up with a jump and smiled at the luminescent entrance: a sarcastic, lovable smile of knowing that the truth is barred but courting its authority anyway. She turned and swished her hair, supposing that the lights of the hotel would follow her. Some stories, like readers, are stupid enough to fall for seduction.
Bouncing back to her team, stationed at the back of their HRTV News van, she noticed that they were both looking at her. Not in a particularly happy manner.
"Way to go, Faith," the man said to her, "embarrass us in front of every other news station in the region why don't you." The girl opposite him nodded. "Promoting war crimes? What kind of a question is that? You sound like you didn't even read the notes in the package properly. Sinnoh have pulled out, not join-"
"I didn't see anyone else getting their attention," Faith answered, tossing her tape recorder at the man. After that she pushed her way into the van, flicked on the radio and prepared the coffee machine. "Of course Locke isn't promoting war crimes; in fact, just looking at his face shows that he doesn't even want to be in this city. Rather on the other side of the country, Dewford maybe, soaking up some sun. Insulting people is a pretty good way of getting their attention."
"Yeah, but it didn't work," the woman reminded her. She was slightly older than Faith was and, unlike both of them, from Johto.
"Locke flinched. A little."
"But did he turn around?"
"Not exactly."
"Well, a flinch isn't going to show up on camera, is it?"
Faith looked at her co-worker in the face. She wasn't the type to lose arguments. "That's good. Then he won't recognise me inside."
She lifted the coffee machine up, despite it not being fully boiled. Lukewarm drinks were fine. It wasn't like she was out to enjoy it or anything. Sitting in the cold evening airs of Ever Grande City without even a drink to warm her hands made her feel like a war reporter. She grabbed the small, square mirror and checked herself. Yes, she was still the same, wily, fairly good looking, egocentric twenty-something and recently hired reporter that she was when she left the house and hour ago. She had only been out in the van twice before this, and those times were just small things, like a drug raid. So she felt it was almost an obligation to play her cards while she could. One of those was being unknown. She pouted. Looking good.
"Faith, you can't just sneak in to an event like this," the man said. He was a tall and burly guy, the type that felt he could intimidate people just by crossing his arms.
"Mark, please. In terms of creativity you're almost senile."
"And you are acting like a kid! You know that no reporters are allowed in. And there's a guest list, which you're not on. You'll be spotted. And then all the work we've..." He trailed off when he realised that no one was listening.
"I still think you shouldn't have said what you did to Locke. I'd have thought you'd have more control," the other girl said, already inside the fan and munching on a biscuit.
"Come on, Maria, what's done is done. There's not going to be any space in the columns tomorrow about how embarrassing I am. Unless of course you can write so efficiently as to include it." Faith's comments were met with a snarl. "Anyway, we need to get a room in a dingy hotel somewhere so I can get ready. Drive, Mark."
He shut the back-doors and quickly hopped into the front seat.
"I sure hope you know what you're doing Faith."
"Trust me; I don't think Locke would ever go out clubbing with us. We have to bring the party to him."