A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.
Saffron City Gym, Sabrina's Office 12:05 P.M.
SABRINA
WHAP.
WHAP.
WHAP.
WHIRRRRRRRRRRR-BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT.
Sabrina had trained herself over the years to achieve an inner mental peace when it came to meditation. If she wanted to, she could shut herself off to the world and contemplate the greater and deeper mysteries of life with her trusty Alakazam as her companion in the great unknown.
WHAP-WHAP-WHAP.
Of course, this was usually without the sound of a hammer and nails (along with a table saw) roaring away outside her window.
Scrunching her eyes in frustration, she stomped over to the window and looked down. Sure enough, there was that dumb old kid busting his butt working on that dumb old dojo. She had taken pride in seeing the many holes and rotted boards on the roof of the place. Now the kid had patched most if not all of them up. In a way she was morbidly impressed. He'd, in the span of maybe three days, completely redone the roof of the place. He'd upended the old shingles, replaced rotting studs, and hammered home a new and quite frankly healthy-looking selection of lumber to replace it all. Now the damned place was starting to look like a gym again.
Of course, the boy wasn't alone. Starting about a day or so ago, Sabrina had noticed that there was this old man who was walking around with him, doing some of the lesser grunt work. Things like replacing the windows and cleaning up the yard. He was a short and pudgy guy, with a face that looked like it had been squashed. Certainly not a beautiful creature, and he was sweating profusely in a rather unflattering way, but he was working harder than she expected. There was also a big and lumbering Pokemon as well sauntering around the yard carrying huge bars of wood and steel to use for the building itself. The thing was barely above four feet tall, but Sabrina knew that one would be foolish to insult a Conkeldurr. Those concrete pillars they carried around were built for smacking around asinine trainers.
She noticed that the younger man was sitting on the edge of the roof now, peering down at his two partners. He was shouting something to the older man, but Sabrina couldn't tell what he was saying. She could probably read his mind if she wanted to…but that would be weird.
With that, she returned back to her work, and tried her best to block out the noise of construction outside.
Outside The Fighting Dojo, 12:10 P.M.
TRODAIRE
"Yo, Paulie!" Trodaire shouted from the roof. "How's it going down there?" He asked. Below him, the pudgy old man scowled as he pulled away another piece of broken glass.
"Takin' its sweet ol' time, Troddie!" Paulie shouted loudly. The old man was a native of Saffron, and had developed a pronounced twang in his accent. The first time he'd met Trodaire, he'd scrunched his eyes up behind his thick glasses before asking incredulously "What the hell kinda name is Trodaire? Forget that, I'm just callin' yas Troddie!" Trodaire had laughed, but did not object. He needed help with this project, and the chance occurance with Paulie was too good an opportunity to pass up.
PAULIE
If there was ever a guy who represented the old Saffron grit before Sabrina moved in, it was Paulie Frank. He'd grown up in the city, got a job working the factory plant of Silph. Co., married his high school sweetheart Bettie, put two daughters through college from his assembly-line job, grown old with his wife in their cozy two-bedroom house, and now was getting restless in his older age. He'd always been a fighter who believed in old fashions and traditions, and hated the way Sabrina had brought a detached and hyper-clean attitude to the city. "It's like the place is colder, like a permafrost!" He'd complained to his ever-patient wife one evening. She encouraged him to find something to do if he was so upset, to find a way to make a difference.
So he tried running for city council. Despite being beloved in his neighborhood as that curmudgeonly grandfather-type with a heart of gold, he was not a good public speaker or campaigner. He swept his district of the city near-unanimously, but outside of his rather blue-collar neighborhood was rolled up and tossed aside in favor of someone "more in touch with the rest of the community." A grumpy Paulie attributed it to the guy being favorable to Sabrina. His wife had patiently nodded, knowing it was probably for the best to let him rant instead of arguing. Also, she felt he had a point. Sabrina had the city council in her pocket, for all intents and purposes.
So he tried coaching youth sports. He'd been a boxer in his youth, and the principal of Saffron High was an old classmate of his who knew his ability to connect with kids. And it worked. Again, he was well liked by the parents and beloved by the players. For three years he worked the Saffron High Men's Boxing Team to a competitive edge that looked to challenge for the regional championship, and he'd even helped get a Woman's team off of the ground too. When asked why he went through the trouble, he shrugged and said "Women oughta have the right to beat their men up. It'll get every morose slacker in the city in high gear!" In the end, however, he was again cut out from underneath. Budget cuts to local schools meant auxillary programs needed to be cut, and it was unfortunate that boxing was first on the chopping block. Desperate, Paulie begged the school board and the city council to keep the program running if only to give troubled and at-risk students a healthy outlet. The Council relented (The Chairwoman relented, herself also an old classmate of Paulie's), and they kept the program on one condition: They'd have to save money from somewhere, and Paulie agreed to resign. They'd been paying him peanuts, but now they brought in a clueless and spineless graduate student who they could pay even less. Paulie knew that the program was not going to be the same. He'd remembered seeing Sabrina in the crowd during his hearing, and again spited her.
That was a year ago. He and Bettie were living fine under his retirement benefits and her part-time work as a secretary for Silph Co. (Paulie had grumbled that at least they hadn't stolen his pension away from him), but both of them knew he was getting restless in retirement. Paulie needed to do something for the city he'd put so much of himself into, and he needed to do it soon.
In the end, that was where Trodaire had come in.
Paulie had been there at the meeting to determine the fate of the old Fighting Dojo, and admired the way that the kid had stared down that frigid bitch Sabrina, and had kept the place running…at least for now. That was where Paulie felt he could come in. After the meeting, he waddled out of the courthouse as fast as he could and caught up to the kid.
"Hey, kid! Wait up!" He wheezed. Trodaire turned around and saw a squat little man running towards him. He was quite a sight, panting and wheezing out of breath. Trodaire took pity on him, and waited patiently for the old gent to catch his breath. As soon as the red disappeared from his cheeks, he spoke.
"Is there something I can do for you, sir?" Trodaire asked. Paulie scowled.
"Don't 'sir' me, you great big oaf! I'm not Lady Caitlin! I'm Paulie Frank, and I wanted to say thanks for rescuing the Dojo from that ice queen Sabrina! What's your name?" He asked, feverishly shaking Trodaire's hand. Trodaire raised a confused eyebrow.
"Uh…I'm Trodaire." He said. Paulie stopped shaking hands, and looked disbelieving.
"Trodaire? What the hell kinda name is Trodaire? Forget that, I'm just callin' ya's Troddie!" He shrugged. "Whatever. Listen, what are your plans for that place?" Trodaire shrugged.
"Uh, fix the place up and turn it into a gym for trainers to get training in. No badges, no judging. Just a gym." He said. Paulie couldn't believe his ears.
"That's great! I'm in!" He said. Trodaire was about to object, but then Paulie indignantly cut him off. "No, listen to me. First of all, I'm an old fart so you are legally allowed to pay me almost nothing. Secondly, I highly doubt you are planning on fixing that place up just by yourself. You're gonna need help. I got 50 years of work experience in that old Saffron plant working with electrical and foundational equipment. I know how to rig together an electrical system. I know how to fix the plumbing. I know how to put together a roof, how to fix a window that's not broken but that isn't doing its job. I know how to replace rotting wood and studs. Bet you didn't know how to do any of that? Didn't think so. Also, my wife has a Conkeldurr that's dying for some work too. Think of how much we'll get done with him helping!" He finished proudly. Trodaire took a moment to process all of this, and then spoke.
"So, if I agree to let you help me build up the Dojo, what do you want in return?" He asked. Paulie scoffed, as if the answer was the simplest thing in the world.
"HELP, you big oaf! I wanna coach again! I'll be your little secretary; I'll run the books, go get bagels on Friday morning, and be the guy to train when you're off doing your own thing. I just want to be involved again." He ended slightly pathetically, realizing how feeble he sounded. He was 68 years old, and he'd just thrown several years of existential angst on this poor soul. He almost regretted it, before Trodaire took his hand and firmly shook it.
"Deal. Paulie Frank, welcome to the staff of the Fighting Dojo." He said.
For the first time since he'd started that pitiful boxing program, Paulie Ulysses Frank felt alive again.
He thought back to that moment three days ago, as he sighed and took a seat on the grass next to Trodaire and the tired Conkeldurr. The trio stared at the Fighting Dojo in front of them. It'd taken three days of non-stop work, but they could be content in the knowledge that it was no longer worthy of being condemned. Now it could be used.
"It's a pretty sight, isn't it?" Trodaire asked. "A little beat-up here and there, the paint could be a little more modern, it's certainly not the high tech place the real gym is, and it might be a little poorly-lit and dusty inside…"
"It's perfect." Paulie said with a smile. "The place is just perfect for a guy like me."
Conkeldurr grunted, and nodded in agreement.
"Ya got a name for it?" Paulie asked Trodaire. Trodaire shrugged.
"I dunno. Just figured for something simple and clean. Something like 'The Fight Club.' You like that?" He asked. Paulie grinned.
"'The Fight Club,'" He said, experimenting with the phrase on his tongue. He approved. "I like it! Sounds like a good old-fashioned, hard-nosed place to get stronger." He let out a satisfied sigh. "Now that we're open for business, I think that this is gonna be the start of a beautiful partnership." Trodaire chuckled.
Well, it's one thing to have the equipment we need and the space available, Paulie. Now we need clients. Customers, if you will." He said. Paulie smirked.
"I think I know some people…"
A/N: Chapter 2 down! Next chapter, The Fight Club is open for business!