Chapter 9

Crossed Wires

The first thing Alex did in Lumiose - after finding a crepe stand on the side of the road - was buy himself a Pokédex. A little cellphone booth on the side of Estival Avenue yielded the prize he'd been looking for since talking to Adelaide on the train. As she had said, the little machines were expensive; nevertheless, Alex sprang for the Coastal and Mountain Dex add-ons, on top of the Central Dex that came pre-installed. To his delight, the cases were customisable, so he paid a little extra for a device in his favourite colour, green.

It really was a marvellous little gadget, he decided as he followed Veronique distractedly through the streets to their hotel. Even the wonders of Lumiose, the City of Lights, seemed to fade into the background as he fiddled with his new purchase. He pointed it at random Pokémon that they passed in the street, the Pokédex's impressively swift processor scanning the world around it, categorising it and providing pop-up information windows.

Alex quickly turned off the robotic voice function.

"Stop staring at that thing!" Veronique chided him, tugging on his wrist to stop him from walking into traffic. "You're going to get yourself killed."

Alex grinned and slipped the Pokédex guiltily into his pocket. "Sorry!"

Veronique rolled her eyes. "Come on, we need to get a move on."

"I thought there was plenty of time before the Showcase?"

"Not unless you plan to show up without showering and changing," she said, the edge on her voice unequivocally implying that he had better not be planning anything of the sort.

As it turned out, they made it to the Theatre in plenty of time. At about six fifteen, Alex and Veronique stepped out of a taxi; she had insisted upon not walking any more, especially since she was once again wearing what Alex could now only assume was her only nice dress - with flats this time.

He elected not to comment on that fact, especially as the slinky violet dress did suit her remarkably well. In fact, he found it a little hard not to stare as he followed her around to the stage door. For his part, Alex had quietly chosen to match his companion with a deep purple shirt beneath the usual off-white vest.

The stagehand at the side door checked their tickets and identified them as VIPs, ushering them inside with a smile. Before she could even reach for the pager at her hip, however, a familiar face materialised before them as if summoned from the ether.

"Ah! Our most treasured guests!" Montblanc said, a note of warmth evident in his voice despite his professional demeanour and ramrod-straight posture.

"Montblanc!" Alex couldn't keep the surprise from his voice. "Should you really be back at work already?"

"I thank you for your concern, Alex Thoreau," the older man returned, accompanying the acknowledgement with a stiff, shallow bow, "but the show must go on. Stages must be managed, and the less one rocks the boat at this late hour, the smoother the sailing shall be."

Alex frowned. That didn't sound like a man who was ready to go back to work. "But-"

"I assure you, I am more than capable of performing my duties." Montblanc's words were gently reproachful. "Nonetheless, I am delighted to see you both - and I am certain that Madame Étoile will feel the same. If you wish, you may accompany me as I make my rounds once again. This time, however, I hope we shall not be so rudely interrupted."

Alex let a wry grin slip. "Monsieur Montblanc, I am starting to think that you are tempting fate."

A perfectly groomed eyebrow, silver and thick, rose fractionally on the older man's face. "I should not be so bold," he said. "Please, come." Without a further word, he turned and led them deeper into the belly of the Theatre.

The corridors were more brightly lit than Coumarine's venue, the plasterwork on the walls less slipshod. The carpet was softer underfoot, and the warren of hallways felt less like the convoluted underbelly of the sparkling attraction above and more like an extension of it.

"I have almost finished my preliminary rounds for the evening, as a matter of fact." Montblanc's stride was a little more halting this week, but it would only be noticeable if you were looking for it. "I have only a couple more Performers to call upon, and then I shall show you to the reception area."

As the silver-haired stage manager explained this, however, another stagehand came jogging along the corridor towards them, floppy brown hair bouncing. "Sir!" he called, evidently too distressed to remember he had a pager at his side. "It's Selene Wiley, sir!"

Montblanc stopped in his tracks, the narrowing of his eyes the only perceptible sign of alarm. "Not another intruder, surely? We have security at every entrance."

"No, sir!" The stagehand reached them, bending over to lend on his knees and gasp in a quick breath. "At least, I don't think so. It's - you should come and see."

As Montblanc set off, Alex exchanged a quick glance with Veronique. They both followed, Alex cautiously tracing his fingers across his Poké Balls. "Who is Selene Wiley?" he had to ask.

"One of our Performers for tonight," Montblanc replied, his voice tight as he hurried through the halls, apparently knowing exactly where he was going. Just a corner or two later, he came to a dressing room door that had been left ajar, its placard holder empty - nameless.

"Hmm." Montblanc didn't comment, but rapped smartly on the door. "Excusez-moi, Mademoiselle Wiley?"

Silence. Montblanc knocked again. This time, the latch on the door, which had apparently not been secured, clicked open under the force of his hand, drifting open a few inches. Alex exchanged a perturbed glance with Veronique.

Montblanc sighed and pushed the door open. "Oh dear," he said stiffly, upon seeing the interior. Unlike the mostly orderly dressing rooms they had seen in Coumarine, this one had been trashed. Chairs were upended, the bench was covered in spilled coffee and wadded-up tissues, and various articles of clothing had been haphazardly dumped on the floor. Something that could have been a burn mark covered one wall, blistering the white paint black, and 'EAT SHIT' had been written on the mirror in three-foot-high letters with what appeared to be lipstick.

"Ah." Alex looked at the room in stunned wonder. What the hell?

"I do recall," Montblanc said carefully, backing out of the dressing room and pausing in the hallway, "that Mademoiselle Wiley was most vexed when informed that she would not be able to choose her opponents for this evening, despite her Performer pedigree. It would appear I was not swift enough in offering an apology."

"Monsieur Montblanc!" A panicked shout from the end of the hallway caused them all to look around. A young man in an usher's uniform jogged towards them, somewhat out of breath. "Thank heavens I found you. Selene Wiley just stormed out the front door! I don't think she's coming back."

Montblanc simply nodded towards the destroyed dressing room. "It would appear not," he said by way of explanation.

The usher peered inside and cringed visibly. "Mon Dieu! What do we do now?"

"It was difficult enough to find eighteen Performers in the first place," Montblanc said sadly. "I doubt we will find another ready to compete at this late hour."

"Can't it just be seventeen?" Alex asked.

Montblanc shook his head regretfully. "The format of tonight's Showcase - indeed, most Showcases - calls for a number of heats with three Performers each. We must either find one more, tell two of the others that they must retire, or sacrifice our integrity by fielding a round with only two Performers. I find we are plagued with misfortune after misfortune lately. Ah, but I should not trouble you two with this. This young man will show you to the reception room to wait until the Showcase begins. The show must go on, after all."

Alex began to agree, but Veronique put a hand on his arm to bring him up short. "Hold on," she said, and Alex shivered at the sudden, almost amused determination in her voice. "I have an idea."

For some reason, I don't like where this is going. Alex wanted to protest, to shut down whatever Veronique was up to before she could get rolling, but her nails dug into his arm with a finality that brooked no argument.

"Why don't you let Alex compete in that final slot? Professional Coordinator, remember?"

There it is.

Montblanc tapped his chin. "Of course, I had forgotten. But Pokémon Contests and Showcases are very different art forms. Even for the Rookie Class, I would hesitate to enter an amateur. No offense, of course."

"None taken," Alex replied automatically, "but-"

"She's a consummate pro, I promise!" Veronique cut him off. "And she learns quick."

Wait.

"Her Pokémon are top-quality as well," she continued, still leaning on Alex's arm with pointed intensity. "They've been competing together for years now, and I've never seen anyone else who takes so much care in grooming and looking after them."

Wait. No no no no no. What the hell is going on? Alex tried to protest, but his jaw appeared to have gotten stuck. He could only watch with wide eyes as Veronique blithely gave the most ridiculous speech he had ever heard.

At length, Montblanc gave a thin-lipped nod. "Normally it would be the furthest thing from my mind, to request the aid of an amateur like this. But the hour grows late, and if Mademoiselle Thoreau is willing, I would make an exception to maintain the status quo."

Mademoiselle? Hold on just a second! "But I'm not-" he finally managed to stammer out before Veronique clamped a hand over his mouth.

"She's just shy, really!" she said, smiling widely at Montblanc. "The truth is, she was hoping to enter tonight's Showcase anyway, but we arrived from Hoenn too late to sign up."

Montblanc looked Alex directly in the eyes for a moment, then nodded once more, evidently seeing no other way out of the predicament. "Very well. I thank you for your assistance in this matter. Please, use dressing room twenty-three down the hall to prepare yourself. I will go and make the necessary arrangements and send a runner with details of tonight's programme."

"Thank you!" Veronique said sweetly, waving Montblanc, the stagehand, and the usher off with the hand that wasn't still clamped over Alex's mouth. Once they were out of sight, she dragged him to the indicated dressing room, closing the door behind them before bursting into unrestrained laughter.

Alex watched coldly as Veronique collapsed into a chair in front of the mirror, howling with mirth. He was starting to get an inkling of what had just happened, but he didn't quite want to accept it. "I think I'm owed several explanations," he said tightly.

"Oh my goodness, this is just too perfect," Veronique wheezed. "I was hoping to get you into one of these things eventually, but I didn't think we'd get the chance so soon!"

Alex ran an exasperated hand through his hair, raising his eyes to the ceiling in supplication. "Give me strength," he muttered. "Okay, I understand you managed to talk Montblanc into having me compete. Let's imagine for a second that I'm okay with that - which I'm not, by the way, but let's just pretend. There's still one more thing that I think you need to explain."

Veronique wiped a tear from her eye, carefully avoiding her mascara. She was still giggling like a schoolgirl. "Okay, well, uh . . . buckle up, because there's one more thing I didn't tell you about Pokémon Showcases, and you're not going to like it."

"Nope," Alex said flatly. "There's no way in hell. I'm not doing it. How could you possibly think that this was a good idea?"

Veronique at least had the decency to look mildly ashamed, but she remained adamant. "You heard Montblanc, it's done now. You don't want the Showcase to be ruined, do you?"

"Honestly, I don't really give a damn about the Showcase. I wanted to watch it, not participate! And if you think I'm going to do it in a dress, you are sorely mistaken."

Veronique sighed. "Okay, fine, I won't make you crossdress. You can just wear what you have on, but you at least have to let me do your hair. You already pass for a girl, we just have to sell it a little more."

"I cannot believe you're doing this," Alex groaned, flopping down in a chair in front of the mirror. "Do you have any idea how much damage this is doing to my already fragile masculinity?"

"In the nicest possible way, ma amie, you never had any masculinity to speak of." Veronique sidled up behind Alex with a brush in her hand and began attacking his hair. "I think Montblanc mistook you for a slightly mannish girl in the first place, or else he wouldn't have fallen for it."

"Ouch," Alex said. "So you just expect me to go along with this? I think the thing I find hardest to swallow here is the fact that you think I would ever be anything resembling okay with participating in this madness."

"Hmm, I'd like to curl it, but I don't have the time or a proper iron," Veronique mused, weighing a lock of Alex's hair in her hand. "I guess we could just go with a ponytail like normal, but that'd probably just make you look more like a dude . . ."

Alex sighed. "You're not listening to me, are you?"

"Not unless you're going to say 'Why yes, Veronique, I'm thankful for the opportunity you've found for me', no."

"Why would I say that?"

Huffing, Veronique let Alex's hair drop and folded her arms, looking him in the eye via the mirror in front of them. "Look. If you were really, genuinely, 100% opposed to this, you could have walked out that door at any point. Admit it, you actually want to do this."

Alex attempted to protest, but couldn't find the words. Why am I even still here? As soon as she said that only women could compete in Pokémon Showcases, I should've been out of here.

"All right," he said at length. "I'll play along."

"Really?" Veronique seemed slightly taken aback. "Honestly, I didn't expect you to agree that easily."

"You have that look in your eyes," Alex said tiredly, "that says no matter what I do, no matter what I say, you're not backing down on this. Normally I'd argue with you, but right now I'm just not feeling up to it. Plus, you know . . . I'm always interested in things like this."

"Like crossdressing?"

"Like hell!" Alex snapped. "I told you I'm not wearing a dress already!" He pouted indignantly as Veronique began playing with his hair again.

"All right, all right!" she said with barely constrained laughter. "I'll let you off this time, but I still have to do something about this hair. Of course, it can't be too girly or it'll clash with your outfit. Any ideas, mademoiselle Performer?"

". . . Plait it," Alex mumbled. "At least then I can pretend it's a ponytail."

"Oh? Getting into it now, are we?" Veronique nudged him archly.

Fully aware of the hot flush of redness creeping up his neck, Alex didn't deign to reply. Instead, he simply chewed his lip as he watched Veronique's reflection gather his hair into a tight bundle - why the hell did I grow it so long? I could've avoided all this - and deftly split it into three strands, weaving them together with practised ease.

"Why do I have the feeling," he asked at length, "that I'm slowly but surely approaching my certain doom?"

Veronique sighed heavily. Her hands stopped moving, but she didn't release her grip on Alex's half-complete braid. "Look, Alex . . ." she said softly. Trailing off, she swallowed and started again. "Look. If you're really that uncomfortable with this, we can drop it. I won't pretend that this isn't absolutely hilarious to me, because it kind of is. But what's important is how you feel about it. This is all supposed to be for you, remember? To help you get back on track after the Grand Festival. I know you've been struggling, so I brought you out here to get refocused. When was the last time you actually competed in a Contest and really enjoyed yourself?"

"So you even noticed that much," Alex said heavily. It wasn't a question.

"How could I not, stupid?" There was none of the usual contempt or playfulness in Veronique's voice now, just an edge of sadness. Her eyes met his in the mirror. "I'm your best friend and your manager - it's my job to make sure you're healthy and happy. Plus I spend more time around you than anybody else in the world. If I don't notice you slipping, who will?"

"Right. I mean, you did bring me out here to Kalos and everything."

"That's just the beginning. Listen to me, Alex." Veronique put her free hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. A touch of crimson at the tips of her ears betrayed her embarrassment, but she pressed on, her tone soft but insistent. "This isn't easy for me, either. I've been with you for five years now, as your friend and manager, not to mention your number one fan. I know we fight, and we take the piss out of each other a lot, but I wouldn't still be around if I didn't care for you . . . deeply." Before either of them realised it, the words were tumbling out of her in a torrent, seemingly independent of her own will.

Alex's mouth was dry. "V, I didn't realise . . ."

"You're like my brother, Alex," she continued. "Mama and the others too, they see you as a second son they never had. But I've been here beside you all this time, and I've watched you go from a happy little kid to a really troubled guy. I didn't see it for far too long, and I'm still working out how to deal with it. But I'm not going to let you slip away any more than you already have, okay? I brought you out to Kalos because it's all I know. This place always makes me feel better. Perhaps that's just because it's home to me, I don't know. I thought if I brought you here and showed you around my hometown, took you to see Lumiose, introduced you to Pokémon Showcases . . . you might find something to grab onto. I don't expect miracles. I don't expect anything to change overnight. You've been enjoying yourself working in the pâtisserie, and that's great, but you're still not actually confronting the problem. I'm losing you, Alex, and I don't want that."

The silence hovered between them, precariously balanced on a knife's edge. Alex bit his lip and bowed his head, inhaling deeply as he tried to summon up a response. He didn't know what he could possibly say, though. At least one thing was clear: he could hardly refuse now.

"You don't have to say anything now," Veronique said, her nimble fingers resuming their work on his hair. "In fact, you can forget this whole conversation ever happened if you want. Go back to just ragging on each other like we normally do. I'd be happy with that, provided that you let me help you. Right now you're resisting me, and I have a vague idea why. But you need to let me in, Alex. You're . . . very important to me, and I don't like being shut out."

Alex nodded slightly, as much as he could with his hair in Veronique's grip. "I'll try," was all he said, but it was enough. Veronique's face slackened with relief, her tight-lipped not-quite-glare breaking into a watery smile. Alex decided it would be unwise to mention the tears in her eyes as she carefully blinked them away.

"That's all I ask," she said, her voice unsteady.

"And . . ." Alex winced. He was going to regret this. "Find me a dress."

Veronique perked up immediately, seeming to instantly forget all her concerns. "Oh my God! Really?"

"I saw what those other girls were wearing last week," he said. "I'll stick out like a sore thumb in this. Just . . . nothing too crazy, please. I do still have some smidgen of pride left, you know."

As Veronique practically skipped out of the room, Alex dropped his head into his hands, the unfinished braid coming loose over his shoulder as he did so. Ugh. He really hadn't want to make that concession, but Veronique had seemed so uncharacteristically vulnerable that an unfamiliar feeling had welled up inside him. He couldn't quite place it: a strange sort of sympathy mixed with guilt, the end result being a strangely powerful desire to cheer her up. Isn't that ironic? She's doing all this to make me feel better, and here's me worrying about her.

Guess I should be working out how I'm going to deal with the Showcase instead. Just as he was trying to remember what Montblanc had said about the various stages of the competition, a knock came at the door. Opening it, Alex found himself face to face with the young usher from before.

"Mademoiselle Thoreau," he said, bobbing his head slightly. "Monsieur Montblanc sent me to tell you that your application has been fully processed. You are now a registered Pokémon Performer, and you've been officially entered in tonight's Showcase."

"That's . . . wonderful," Alex said weakly.

"He also asked me to give you this." The young man handed over a stapled pile of printouts. "It's some general information on Pokémon Showcases, plus the schedule for tonight's event. Best of luck." With that, he bowed swiftly and dashed away, almost colliding with Veronique, who was returning with an armful of colourful garments.

"What's all that about?" she asked as they retreated back inside the dressing room once more.

"Stuff about the Showcase," Alex said, flicking absently through the booklet. Theme Performance, Freestyle Performance . . . He frowned. "Wait, there's no battle round?"

"Nope!" Veronique said brightly, laying her acquisitions out on a table with great care. "It's all based on audience voting, you see, so something like battling wouldn't fly."

"So it's basically a popularity contest?"

Veronique shrugged. "Yes, I suppose you could say that. What's tonight's theme round?"

"Uhh . . ." Alex flicked to the back of the booklet, finding the evening's itinerary. "8:10 p.m., Pokémon Styling."

"Ooh, that's a good one!" Veronique sounded delighted. "You'd be good at that, too. It's very creative."

"I don't know about that," Alex said, feeling more and more dubious by the second - and simultaneously trying to ignore the selection of very feminine outfits that Veronique was arraying before him. "I know some Coordinators make a habit of it, but I was never one for playing dress-ups. It always felt a bit tacky."

"Well, we do things differently here. You have good fashion sense and a good eye, though, so I think you'll be fine. Which Pokémon were you planning to use, by the way?"

"I hadn't really thought about it," Alex admitted. "Since I've only just seen what I'm expected to do . . ."

"How about you ask them, then?" Veronique suggested. "You can get their input on these outfits, too."

Oh, right. It's not just a bunch of strangers I have to embarrass myself in front of. It's my Pokémon, too. Steeling himself, Alex thumbed the release switches at his belt, where his four Poké Balls were habitually concealed in minimised form. A tingle of anticipatory embarrassment washed over him as his Pokémon materialised in matching flashes of blue light: Plusle and Minun, his patented tag-battle combination, on the makeup table in front of the mirror; Azumarill suspiciously eyeing the row of dresses; and Swablu perched comfortably on his head, arranging its fluffy white wings into an approximation of a Cossack hat.

"Well, guys," Alex said, "I hope you're all ready for something new, because I'm sure as hell not."

"There's no reason for you to laugh," Alex said, with as much dignity as he could muster. It wasn't helping, though. Plusle and Minun rolled back and forth on the vanity, stubby arms and legs flailing helplessly as they cackled with laughter. Even the usually jocular Azumarill wouldn't quite meet his eye. Swablu alone seemed unperturbed, having lifted off and fluttered around the room only long enough for Alex to change behind a screen.

"So?" Veronique prompted, doing a poor job at hiding her own grin. "How does it feel?"

"It's . . . drafty." Alex grasped the edges of his skirts and swished them around a little, the breezy sensation making him wince slightly. Out of the several outfits that Veronique had found for him, the one that fit best was also the laciest. A frilly black dress that nearly reached his ankles, the garment would have been positively funereal if it hadn't been quite so flashy. Black ribbons criss-crossed the chest portion, holding a mercifully high collar in place. Trimmings of white lace adorned the shoulders and waist, and the skirt fanned naturally out from the hips down, boosted by multiple layers of airy fabric that would be invisible to any observer.

"Hmm," Veronique said, looking him up and down critically. "It would look a lot better if you'd wear those extra petticoats."

"I can't believe I'm even entertaining the thought, but no. I draw the line at petticoats!" Alex flushed, clenching his fists involuntarily as he tried not to think about what he was doing. Mom, Dad, I'm sorry. Your son turned out weird after all. Well, it wasn't like he was doing this because he wanted to. Alex clung to that thought desperately.

"All right, all right!" Veronique chuckled merrily, her earlier melancholy nowhere to be seen. "You look lovely, Alex ma cherie."

Alex stuck his tongue out at her, but didn't otherwise rise to the bait.

"I mean it. Anyone would think you were a girl if they saw you now. Once I'm finished with your hair and makeup, it'll be impossible to tell that you aren't!"

"Is that supposed to make me happy? Because it doesn't." While he had been joking earlier about his 'fragile masculinity', the truth was that Alex's pride was a little wounded. Some part of him had been waiting for Veronique to admit that it wasn't going to work. To throw up her hands and complain that 'Oh, well, your jawline's just too rugged', or maybe 'You carry yourself like a man, so you're not fooling anyone'. Instead, she just kept smiling like all her Christmases had come at once.

"So! Time to get moving," Veronique said, fussing over the extremities of Alex's costume. "We have a little over an hour until the Showcase starts. In that time, you need to read all the rules, choose which Pokémon you're going to use, and figure out a strategy. I'll do your hair and makeup, so just sit down right here and get your thinking cap on!" She spun a chair around so that it faced towards the centre of the room, patting the seat encouragingly.

Sighing with painful resignation, Alex sat down - wrestling with his skirts - and faced his Pokémon. "Okay," he said, and forced himself to focus, compartmentalising his qualms and pushing them aside for now. "I need one volunteer to be groomed and dressed up on stage for the first round. If we get past there, I'll probably go with Plusle and Minun for the performance round. We've been working on that double appeal concept for a while now, so if we can adapt that into a performance we'll at least have a leg to stand on. We don't have to win tonight - in fact, I'd be beyond astounded if we did - but I don't want to embarrass myself."

Azumarill chirped snidely, looking Alex's frilly ensemble up and down as if to say 'You're worried about that now?'. Alex shot it a glare. "Looks like you just volunteered yourself for beautification," he said. "Which means Swablu, you can sit and watch with Veronique."

Trilling contentedly, the Flying-type snuggled further into Alex's hair.

"And don't think you'll be doing that with my hair, either!" Veronique said icily. "You can have Alex's seat. For that matter, shoo! I need to start working on our princess now." Veronique chivvied Swablu off Alex's head, tutting about 'foutu featherbrains', then started running a brush through his hair.

For his part, Alex turned his attention back to Azumarill - now wearing an indignant fluffy Swablu-hat between its ears - Plusle, and Minun. He flicked through his leaflet, finding the appropriate page. "Okay, so Azumarill will come on stage with me for the first round. It looks like the results are based on audience voting, so with a bit of luck we'll make it through there. I have a few ideas for what to do, but it depends on the tools they provide us. If we do make it through to the appeals round, I'm gonna be relying on you two. Think you can handle it?"

Plusle and Minun squealed happily, bouncing up and down in their eagerness to be back on stage. "Okay," Alex said, "but we're gonna have to do some brainstorming. It's a bit like a Contest appeals round, except . . . 'the Performer should participate equally in the performance with her Pokémon', apparently," he read from the booklet.

"As soon as I'm finished here, you can get practising!" Veronique said brightly, rattling a can of hairspray and blasting the acrid-smelling vapour across Alex's head, causing him to cough and wave his papers furiously in front of his face.

"Is that really necessary?" he grumbled.

"It is if you don't want your 'do to fall out of place!" Veronique reminded him.

"What are you even doing back there?" Alex tried to lean around to catch a glimpse in the mirror, but Veronique seized the sides of his head and held him still.

"Eyes front!" she snapped. "It's hard enough doing this with borrowed tools and a time limit, I don't need you wobbling all over the place too!"

"Fine . . ." Alex rolled his eyes and turned back to his Pokémon. "All right. I have a few ideas."