The doorbell rang, echoing throughout the house. Daylight streamed through the windows, sounds of wild Pokemon chirping outside in the quiet suburb.
Slipping a bookmark in, Darlene shut the book with a snap, setting it on the counter. She undid the knot and slipped the apron off, hopping off the stool she sat on, draping it over. Her feet found the slippers just beneath the stool, and she shuffled across the carpet. Just within her reach, she turned off the stovetop vent, promptly heading into the living room.
As she passed a mirror, Darlene caught a glimpse of her reflection. She stopped. Loose strands of hair had fallen out of the knotted hairband that held her ponytail upright. It took her mere seconds to loop the hair back through. As she did, she found herself looking over the details of her face, the lines setting around her cheeks and beneath her eyes. Her fingertips caressed a smooth section of skin, pulling away a thin layer of foundation and revealing more wrinkles.
Breathing a quiet sigh, smiling at her motherly features, Darlene moved on to the front door.
The front door opened, and at the foot of the door Minccino popped his head in, grinning eagerly. His large ears quivered and rose, his little black eyes lighting up at the sight of Darlene.
"Why hello there!" Darlene grinned. She hunched down her eyes bright as she watched Minccino run up to her leg, his tiny body stumbling over her slipper and landing face first in her ankle. The tufty fur tickled as he wormed his way up her foot, nuzzling her leg.
Just in front of the cracked doorway, Professor Juniper stepped up over the last step into the home. Her lab coat swayed behind her as a summery breeze kicked up, glowing in the daylight. Squinting through the bright, fading afternoon sun, a knowing smile crossed her lips. She put her hand over her brow and blocked the sun out, looking inside the simple living room of the small townhome. Looking down at the scene just in the doorway, Minccino reuniting with Darlene, she let out a small chuckle.
"See? Even Minccino thinks its been too long!" said Darlene. Her finger slipped down to scratch beneath his chin, and in turn his little paws grabbed the tip, bringing it to his teething mouth.
"Hello Darlene," said Juniper, her smile widening.
Darlene scooped up Minccino, cooing and chanting sweet things at him as he settled into her folded arms. She took a few steps back, opening up the door wider and beckoning Juniper to come in. She then lifted Minccino's squirming, squealing form and set him on the couch just beside her.
"I've been a terrible host! Giving all the love to little Minccino here," said Darlene. Stepping around decorations that lined the back of the couch, she opened her arms wide and beckoned Juniper in close.
Midway through slipping off her red sneakers at the front, Juniper reached over and shut the door with the hand she used to steady herself on the wall. Her bag swung beside her awkwardly, her arms full of a tall papery package, her socked feet finding the floor awkwardly. She found Darlene's arms, pulling herself in and entering into the hug.
"How have you been?" asked Darlene. As the hug broke, she stepped around Minccino as he appeared beside her legs once again. From the corner of her eye, as she passed into the center of the living room, she eyed the paper-wrapped package in Juniper's arms. "Please," she said, "make yourself at home!"
Juniper slipped the bag free of her arm, setting the fashionable burlap bag to rest on the couch. As she stepped around teh couch, finding the cushion beneath her, she reached across and handed the papery package to Darlene, the glass insides clanking together quietly.
"Here's a little something an assistant of mine picked up," said Juniper, sinking herself nicely into the couch. A quiet sigh escaped her, her arm slouching over a decorative pillow beside her.
Darlene sank into the small loveseat opposite the couch, cradling the gift in her arms. She smiled coyly. Her magenta colored long nails slipped through the tape with ease, prying apart the packaging and shredding through layers of paper.
"Auri, you really shouldn't have!" Darlene grinned, the black glossy finish of a bottle appearing. As she tore down, she revealed the thin, sepia-tone label of the bottle—'Merlot, Cherrygrove City, 2004'. Lifting the bottle out of the shell of the wrapping paper, she set the bottle on the coffee table between the two of them, then revealed a second identical bottle, the contents a richer, inkier tone and reading 'Cabernet'.
A childish smile appeared amongst all of Juniper's refined, reserved features. She sat forward, bundling her hands together in her lap, watching as Darlene's eyes lit up.
"Oh my... You really shouldn't have... This is so—!"
Juniper waved the thought away. "It absolutely wasn't! An assistant of mine gives a healthy discount for her family winery. Fringe benefits of being a professor, I suppose?" she laughed quietly.
"This... This is the wine!" exclaimed Darlene, her eyes narrowing at the tiny, scrawled label. Reaching beside her for the table stand, the lamp, she pulled out a pair of black reading glasses, inspecting the making of it. "From—"
"From the night on the lake? Yes!" said Juniper. Her voice rose with giddyness. "It has been far too long, I felt our reuniting would be such a momentous occasion as this to import the same kind of wine that Ivy's parents served us then. Importing from Johto was far worth the expense, even at the discount my little connection's connections could make."
"My goodness... You really shouldn't have!" said Darlene.
Setting the bottles on the tabletop, Darlene was getting to her feet to grab glasses when Juniper waved a hand for her to sit. Juniper produced a set of pair of glasses from her bag. She unwrapped the paper she had covered them in, setting them on the table, one for each of them. She then produced a bottle opener.
"Oh please, we can indulge ourselves every so often, right?" asked Juniper. She gestured to Darlene, waving her pointing finger between the two bottles and looking up to her. When Darlene nodded in response, selecting the Merlot, Juniper pulled the bottle from the table and set it on her end of it, pressing the opening of her opener to the top and working the crank atop it. "Besides," said Juniper, as she screwed into the bottle. "I don't suppose you've kept our drinking habits in university any real secret from Hilbert, have you? He must be eighteen or nineteen by now, right?"
Darlene had gotten up. She stood beside a set of shelves, having opened the glass cabinet to them and entangled herself in fumbling with the knobs on a receiver. An ancient CD changer beneath the cabinet clicked and whirred, queuing up an album. She paused in the middle of her setup work, her hand hovering over the volume knob as the CD changer found the first song.
"Nineteen," said Darlene. A wistful smile appeared on her as she hung around the receiver. A light, jazzy tune played in the background, coming through in warm tones from speakers. "He's turning twenty next week."
"Twenty...?" Juniper blinked, smiling deliriously. The hand that cranked on cork of the bottle paused. "W-Wow! Darlene!"
Darlene laughed softly. She turned the volume knob, hearing the speakers at the far end of the living room increase in volume. Across the room on the couch, the pop from the wine bottle sounded through the whole room, breaking Darlene's concentration. Closing the cabinet, she made her way towards the loveseat across from Juniper.
"Where is Hilbert, anyway?" asked Juniper.
A backpack slumped over on Hilbert's bed, papers scattered and falling out of it. As Hilbert hastily passed it, he tossed a book atop it, then a thermos.
Hunching over his bed, Hilbert hastily stuffed the pages into his bag, hearing several of them crinkle and tear as he stuffed everything else on top of it. Behind him, he grabbed a red notebook and tossed it in, zipping the loose backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. He grabbed his hat from his desk, squeezing it over his mass of tufty hair.
At the far end of the silent, dark bedroom, a window of fading afternoon sunlight greeted him. Hilbert approached, his fingers slipped into the latch and caught the snapping metal arm, silencing it. Pressing his fingertips to the glass, he lifted the window carefully, sliding it open with almost no sound. The warmth of summer immediately greeted him. The screen had been removed from the window, and with careful, silent precision, Hilbert lifted himself from the ground and climbed into the window, stepping out onto the roof.
Hilbert took his Xtransceiver from the windowsill, putting the rubber strap between his teeth as he squatted on the other side of the window, reached back and slid the window to a close. He took the dangling watch, strapping it to his wrist as he looked over the horizon, squinting. Carefully, Hilbert took the first few steps to the edge of the roof.
Looking over the edge, Hilbert saw the bushes beneath him.
Juniper let out a small chuckle, making a sound of delight in the middle of a long sip. Taking the glass away, she covered her mouth with a hand as she swallowed, trying to contain herself. She eyed her glass out of the corner of her eye, seeing it already down to a third.
"A band!" Juniper let out. She cleared her throat delicately. "Not such a usual priority for someone his age. I'm... Surprised! At least that he doesn't have a single Pokemon!"
Darlene nodded silently, giving a knowing look. She took a careful sip from her glass, staring at the low table ahead of her. "Nothing surprises me about him these days. I should've knew when I met 'Mister Right' that I was in for something different, to say the least."
"I just assumed that rock and roll belonged to our generation," said Juniper, smiling into her glass as she swished the murky red.
Just behind where Juniper sat, outside the window, a shadow dropped abruptly, immediately passing into the bushes. A cacophany of rustled leaves brushed against the window, followed by the sound of twigs snapping and a dull thud on the ground. Several birds chirped sharply, fluttering away from the roof.
Juniper turned her head to see, straining to see what had fallen. She squinted through the brightness of the afternoon sun, able to see a thing beyond the gently undulating tops of the bushes. She gave a look to Darlene, who met her with a skeptical look. When Darlene shrugged, she took another long sip from her glass, setting it down and letting out a sigh.
"How is 'Mister Right' anyway?" asked Juniper.
Hilbert shook his shirt free of tiny leaves, finally getting to his feet on the side of the house. Reaching behind for his backpack, Hilbert shook it loose, hearing the papers rustle and the contents of his thermos plunge.
As Hilbert readjusted his backpack, adjusting it over his shoulder, he turned his head and looked back. At the edge of the sidewalk, Professor Juniper's little sedan was parked, the cream-colored finish gleaming in the sun. As he eyed the car, he flicked his wrist and looked at his Xtransceiver.
"Five o'clock," breathed Hilbert. On the other side of the house's siding beside him, Hilbert could hear the gentle thump and swing of jazz inside, a tune straight from his mom's drinking record. "Yeah, I've got some time."
Just behind him, down the alleyway between his house and the neighbor's, a dirt path stretched deep into the endless green expanse of forest, cutting through the trees and the wild grass. Free of any Pokemon, Hilbert started down the sunlit, lush green path, leading himself down through the woods and away from the suburban life of his home town.
A searing, sailing chord rang out of Roxie's amplifier. Her fingers hovered precariously over the steel strings, letting the chord hover and slowly fade out, echoing through the former club.
The door at the far end of the room slammed shut, a clang resounding as it fell into its frame. Hilbert held himself close to where the door had shut, shuffling and slinging his backpack up over his shoulder. He took the first few steps into the club space, his sneakers thumping dully on the floorboards.
The lights were dim in the club. Only the stage lights were on, lit with warm spotlights that landed on the elevated stage platform. At the far end of the short stage, a gigantic graffiti mural of a Koffing had been painted. High above the stage, a banner had been hastily tacked on, designating it an official Pokemon League Gym. Hanging just below the overhang of the stage, a plastic, sculpted sign with the Unovan Pokemon Gym symbol hung with its lights off.
Tables littered the floor, scattered across the dark floor and set with chairs. At the far right end was a bar, the back counter lined with drinks of all kinds. The whole club was empty, only the dark shadow of Roxie appeared standing on the stage with her guitar.
Hilbert's footsteps were the only thing echoing through the room, moments before another screeching note came from the stacked amplifiers, Roxie strumming as her fingers slid nimbly over the frets. She played a few notes, aurally doodling as she found a small rhythm and made variations. The heels of her boots thumped on the stage as she expanded the rhythm and fell into it. In a few, slashing notes she tore apart the rhythm, dashing it into echoing oblivion.
A small set of stairs jutted from the edge of the stage. Though Hilbert eyed them, he stopped in his tracks. He scanned the dark, empty club, then looked on-stage.
"Where's Cheren?" asked Hilbert, raising his voice over the dull hum of the amplifiers.
"Never showed up," said Roxie. Her voice boomed, echoing in the acoustics of the stage rear. "Some friend you picked up who doesn't even show for practice. Kinda important."
Hilbert furrowed his brow. His backpack slipped off of where it was slung on his shoulders, his hand catching it with ease. He then set it on a table beside him.
"Cheren is never late... That's weird," said Hilbert. "I mean, he's not playing. We can practice without him."
Roxie had let a flurry of notes quietly build, rising and building sharply. She slapped the base of the neck, ending the feedback sharply. Her head tipped back over her shoulder, giving Hilbert a glance out of the corner of her eye.
"Yeah," said Roxie. "I think it's pretty weird that someone who doesn't want you to be in a band wouldn't show up to see you in a band."
The zipper on Hilbert's bag tugged sharply, Hilbert gritting his teeth as he closed it tight. He threw his blue overcoat over the chair at the table, holding the phone he had just pulled from his backpack and holstering it in his back pocket. Scowling, he made his way to the stage, stopping just short of the edge and leaping up, throwing his torso over the lip, quickly hoisting his legs up from behind him as he levied himself over.
Roxie paced over the edge of the stage, playing the frets on the neck of her guitar as she watched Hilbert just beneath her. Dropping the volume knob on her guitar down to zero, she continued to play.
"Is that an unfair thing for me to say?" asked Roxie. The metal twang of her strings continued to buzz beneath her voice.
Hilbert panted, pulling himself over, straightening his shirt. He rested on his side for a moment, looking up through the blinding lights to Roxie as she stood over him.
"Yeah, yeah it is," Hilbert breathed.
"It seems an awful lot like you're trying to weasel your way out of Friday."
"I'm not trying to weasel my way out! Jeez Roxie, can't I catch a break with you? It's not my fault that Cheren isn't here!" Hilbert protested. He lifted himself from the ground quickly, his arms launching himself up onto his sprung legs. As he took a breath and regained his bearings, he suddenly felt the burning gaze of Roxie staring him down. He could feel her before he saw her, feeling her get closer and closer, taking a few, pacing steps forward.
Roxie's fingers plucked light and quick at the strings on the neck, taking a few steps closer to Hilbert as she stared him down. In the silence of her guitar playing, only the sound of the strings twinging audible, she snarled.
"I like you Hilbert, I like you a lot," said Roxie.
"I don't understand how this is my fault!"
"But you've gotta stop with this kind of crap," Roxie continued, hissing. "Come on, stand up for yourself a little! We've got four friggin' days to the show and you keep coming to me with 'oh no, someone doesn't like my life decisions'!" Roxie squealed, her voice pitching in imitation. "'Ooh! Someone doesn't like my choice in friends'!"
"Roxie, that's ridiculous."
"It is! It's absolutely ridiculous!"
"Let's..." Hilbert sighed, scowling. "Let's just start practicing."
At the bottom of the stairwell, just outside the door to Roxie's gym, Hilbert swiped through the contacts on his phone. Standing, arms by his side, he found Cheren's number and tapped on it, hearing the phone dial quietly.
As he pressed the receiver to his ear, he heard the muffled, thundering sounds of Roxie turning the PA on and plugging her phone into it. Loud rock and roll thundered out of the echoing speakers moments later.
Click! "Hilbert, I—"
"Hey man, nice of you to pick up," Hilbert said, pacing slowly on the floor as he listened to Cheren's silence on the other side. "Hey listen, where'd you go? How come you didn't show up for practice?"
"I had other things get in the way. Sorry. Did you listen to my voicemail at all?"
"I don't know, man. I've heard the same voicemail just not in awhile."
Cheren scowled on the other side of the phone, and Hilbert's features turned. As he paced on the landing in front of the door, he gave a knowing look and stuffed his hands into his pockets. In the long silence that followed, Hilbert found himself looking up. A knowing look was on his face, a dull, bleak look.
"You really didn't want to come see us play at all, did you?" asked Hilbert.
"No, it's not that."
"Then what is it? You already told me you don't really care for my band. You can't even support me enough to come see us actually play, hear us and see if we're any good? You're just going to write us off?"
"Roxie really bothers me. She's loud."
Hilbert gave a passing look to the tall, steel door opposite the stairs. The hammered, steel plating couldn't hold back the muffled rock music, nor Roxie's butchered, shrill karaoke.
"I mean... You're not wrong," said Hilbert. "She's not exactly your type though, I get it. Not exactly the skirt-wearing, showering type."
"The fact that she doesn't wear a skirt has nothing to do with her personality."
"It has everything to do with her personality!" Hilbert exclaimed. "Don't you dare tell me you don't have a thing for girls in skirts."
"Shut up."
Hilbert kicked a concrete step. "Are you gonna be too scared to see me when we're in town?"
"No."
"Then let's go catch dinner," said Hilbert. "I won't bring Roxie."
"What's her name?" asked Cheren, slipping a greasy fry in his mouth, chewing pensively as he watched for Hilbert's reaction.
Taking a deep breath, Hilbert flashed his eyes up to Cheren, wadding up the napkin in his fist. "Hilda," he said. Hunched over in the booth that he sat in, watching Cheren pick at the stack of fries surrounding his burger, he hesitated in the silence, waiting for some kind of reaction.
Outside the small diner, an array of dark pine trees littered the immediate horizon, sticking like black forks against the setting sun. The lingering, small Pidove in the trees chirped quietly, rustling through the trees as they darted from branch to branch. The gentle hum of activity just beyond the leftmost corner of the diner pointed to Accumula, a gravelly path taken over an old bridge and a creek. In the center of the forest that lined the small clearing the diner was in, a matted-down section of long grass like a path was visible only to Hilbert, who had traversed the path with Roxie on many late nights.
"Eastern European, just like you. Interesting," said Cheren. He kept his attention on his fries, doubling over a few in his hands and dipping them in the dish of ketchup. His voice was a murmur, just enough above the quiet activity in the background.
"Are you going to even eat that?"
Hilbert's quip cut into the quiet conversation, but still didn't perturb Cheren in the slightest. He gave passing look to his burger, still in the paper half-sleeve, the decorative toothpick still stuck in the bun, not a single bite taken. He then returned to his remaining fries on his plate, grabbing a few more and dipping into his ketchup.
"Did you want it?" asked Cheren, pensively.
"I just... Were you even...?" Hilbert began to ask, but he cut himself off. He swallowed, suddenly feeling like his mouth was full of ready saliva at the mere thought. "Yes," he said. "If you're not going to eat it, that is."
Cheren slid his platter forward just enough, and Hilbert reached across, quickly grabbing the burger by the paper and setting it on his plate. The toothpick slid out, and grasping the sides of the burger with determination, he dove into the burger, taking a huge bite out of the burger. He chewed silently, his cheeks bulging and his jaw moving in big arcs like a Miltank. His eyes flitted down into the burger's new opening, the meat of the burger raw and bright pink beneath its charred brown surface.
Through Hilbert's display, Cheren remained reserved, slouching slightly on his side of the booth. He listened in silence to Hilbert's almost sexual moans as he took another bite, watching the juices run onto his plate.
"Jeez man..." Hilbert choked down a bite, a look of slight bliss in his eyes. "Were you hungry before you showed up?"
"No."
"Oh, man..." said Hilbert, his eyebrows raising in a display of guilt. He paused to finish swallowing, waving his hand. "Don't worry about dinner tonight, I've got it. I'd hate to have you pay for a burger you didn't eat."
The table thumped quietly. Cheren shuffled beneath as Hilbert continued to eat, his spindly legs stretching out and relaxing beneath. On the table, Cheren's hands folded together, the buttons on where his shirt sleeves folded once over his jacket sleeves scuttled on the sealed surface. Beneath a set of thin, wire-rim glasses, his eyes flitted across the surface, a slicked black lock of hair falling down over his forehead.
As Hilbert continually chewed, his groans and moans reduced to pig-like snorts, he gazed ahead blankly. The sounds of the diner filled his senses, the quiet of the after-dinner crowd as the mostly sat and talked behind him, the cleaning and conversation of the dinner crew echoing through the order window. As he finished cramming the rest of the burger into his mouth, his focus returned to the conversation directly in front of him. His eyes narrowed as he wiped away the last of the juices on his lips, seeing Cheren's visible discomfort.
"Seriously, why did you come?" asked Hilbert. "We could've gone out to... Like the park, or met at a cafe, or the store, or—"
"Roxie's?" Cheren interjected. He held a smirk. "Yeah, I tried that once already tonight. I'm not interested in seconds."
Hilbert snorted, narrowing his eyes and giving look. He scooted the plate to the far end of the booth's table, wadding up his napkin and dropping into the center. He fished for his wallet in his pockets, coming up with the beaten, black and leather-clad thing briefly before he pulled out the wad of cash.
"You didn't even go. You haven't even met Roxie," said Hilbert.
"Hilbert, who is this girl? I've been dying to know."
"Roxie! My lead guitarist!" said Hilbert. After fumbling with the wad of cash beneath the table, counting and sorting out dollars, he finally just threw one large bill on the table, tucking it under the plate.
"No, this 'Hilda'."
"I already told you," said Hilbert. "Hilda is 'Hilda'."
Cheren rubbed his temples, shaking his head. He pulled his glasses from his face, cleaning them with the edge of his dress shirt.
"Come now," said Cheren. "I didn't walk a mile and a half to hear that Hilda is just some passing interest, just another picture in the underwear catalog I need to see. That's not who you made this woman out to be over the phone. Certainly she has some value other than—what was it? A chocolate-haired, blue-eyed, trailer-trash temptress? Is that what you said?"
Hilbert cringed. "Well... Mile and a half is an exaggeration. No hotel is that far away."
"A mile and a half is the kind of compromise one makes when they can only get three days off, with one shift in the middle of a four day stretch. I did indeed walk a mile and a half."
Hilbert's intense features melted. He blinked several times, rolling his shoulders and softening up. "What? Then, was this evening—?"
"A shift," said Cheren. He gave a quick glance through his glasses, seeing that the lenses had been cleaned. "I worked later than I expected. I'm sorry I couldn't communicate that."
It was Hilbert's turn to look uncomfortable. He slipped his hat off from his head, a mess of brown hair following forward and fraying over his forehead. He slicked his hair to the side, taking in a deep snort of air and setting his hat back on his head.
"Just tell me about Hilda," said Cheren, sighing.
"She has a bit of an accent. It took me for a moment, but—"
"What did she do, Hilbert?" asked Cheren, interjecting again. "You've seen your share of girls. What makes you act on this one? What makes this one so special?"
"I mean, well—"
"She said something, didn't she?"
Hilbert furrowed his brows, throwing his hands out in a strange, questioning gesture. "What makes you say that?"
"Because words make you melt like butter. Remember when I set you up with that girl for homecoming? And you complained that you didn't like redheads up until the actual homecoming? And you said some disparaging things about her weight? And then all of a sudden that changed when you two started dancing?"
"She said something," Hilbert admitted. His head tipped down, looking into where his hands met on the table.
"What did she say?"
Hilbert forced his eyes shut. "She said 'you put your hands here'," he said.
"'You put your hands here', what?" asked Cheren, leaning in a little closer.
"... 'Handsome'."
"'Handsome' he is," said Cheren. "Now, you wanna tell me what Hilda said?"
The vinyl of the booth seats squealed. Hilbert shifted posture, scooting down and slouching in the bench, his fists balling up and stuffing into his blue jacket. He tipped his head up, the back strap trying to force the bill into his eyes. His legs sprawled out beneath the booth, the sole of his sneaker finding the underside of the booth. Outside, as the sun set and cast hazy, golden rays through the filthy windows, Hilbert squinted, his face aglow in the orange rays.
Cheren tapped his thumbs together where they met on the table, his knuckles cracking in an array as he waited on Hilbert's answer, leaning forward and over the table.
"Hilbert," said Cheren, snapping Hilbert out of it.
Hazy, golden eyes looked up to Cheren in annoyance. "What?"
"What did Hilda say?"
Hilbert sighed. "She said that playing with Roxie wasn't my destiny. She said that, somehow or some way, I was meant to be a trainer."
Cheren looked unfazed. "You mean what I said?" he asked.
"Yeah, but she said it a little differently."
"That it wasn't your destiny?" asked Cheren. His eyebrows skyrocketed.
"No, it's not—I mean, I got what she said," said Hilbert. "It was like for a moment I finally got it. Yeah, it was exactly what you said, that I was meant to be a trainer, but this is different. She, like... She spoke directly to me, you know? Like, she was talking about that, if this was an alternate universe, if this were like a retelling of a story that was already being told, something would be off or not quite right, because it's not exactly who I'm supposed to be."
"See, I don't get that," said Cheren. "I get what she's saying, but it's also exactly what I said."
Hilbert had caught himself staring into the forest just beyond the diner windows. His eyes flitted back to Cheren, catching the stern gaze he was giving him. It took him aback for a moment, making him shift in his slouched position.
"I know. I... Isn't it kind of a weird coincidence that some random stranger said pretty much exactly what you're saying? Like, isn't that a little bit strange to you?"
"It's not exactly a deep hypothesis," said Cheren.
"Is that why you just don't like Roxie? You just know? It's just that friggin' obvious?"
"I told you already," said Cheren. His eyes were affixed to the lamplight hanging down over their table. "Any girl can say anything to make you melt as long as it's halfway convincing. There's no rocket science there."
"Yeah, so that's why you think I listened to Hilda?"
"That's why I think Roxie is so dangerous," said Cheren. His gaze returned to meet Hilbert's. "It doesn't matter what she says, if she's a compatible friend or truly a sociopathic danger to you, you will listen."
The ice in Hilbert's glass clanked as he sharply lifted it from the table. The straw slipped between his lips and he drained the glass noisily, looking away from Cheren, watching as the sun slipped over the horizon and was lost between the tree tops.
"Can we review, for a brief moment?" asked Cheren.
"Sure. Go for it," Hilbert said between long sips.
"When we were in high school, you talked constantly about being the greatest that there ever was. You were going to be 'the' Pokemon Trainer that we all talked about. Every single person you ever talked to, you asked them about Pokemon and what they thought."
"Everyone talks about Pokemon," said Hilbert.
"Not like you did. Your soul was burning alive for Pokemon, you were passionate."
"So what? Everyone has passion for something."
"Let's go back further then, shall we?" asked Cheren. He sat up a bit in his booth, looking somewhat animated, digging himself deep in the conversation.
"How far back? Like when I was born? Like the friggin' dinosaurs?"
Cheren threw his hands back, staring deep into his lap as he shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Pick literally any time in our childhood friendship that we shared a good moment. Hell, pick the bad ones for all intensive purposes."
"Okay, us kids. What about it?"
"How many tapes did you own?"
"What?" asked Hilbert.
"How many tapes did you own, Hilbert? Before high school?"
Hilbert scowled, swallowing. His head rolled against the headrest of the booth, his body shifting in its slouched position. He scanned the ceiling for answers, running his tongue along his teeth as he thought.
"Like a few."
"'Few' like twenty? Or like one or two?"
"Like... Five."
"No, like two. I know exactly which two, and so do you. It was all you would ever listen to."
"Yeah, but Cheren, you liked weird stuff. Like, mellow, boring stuff. There's like no point in listening to any of that. Besides, my dad had enough tapes to play in the car to last us a lifetime," said Hilbert. He gave a long, tense stare to Cheren as he filled the silence. "Then again... I mean... He never played them..."
"Did you hold onto them?"
"Does it matter?" Hilbert interjected, raising his voice sharply. A fire appeared in his eyes, catching Cheren off-guard.
"No... No it doesn't."
"Don't use that stuff to make a point!"
Cheren shook his head, slowly. He rubbed his temples again. "I'm sorry..."
Hilbert's arms folded again. He sank back in the booth.
"My point is this," Cheren picked up again. "In the long history that I've known you, I've never known music to really be a part of your essence or core self. It just doesn't fit the person I know you to be, and that gives me—what at least seems valid—reason to seem skeptical. It raises some flags for me, and I have my theories on what's going on."
Hilbert nodded slowly. "Fair enough."
"It's not wrong. It's not vile. It's rather productive for you."
"Thanks buddy."
"Now, whether or not something is exactly your 'destiny'," said Cheren, punctuating his point with air quotes, "is pretty out there. I mean, if that's what you needed to hear, I'd tell you some story about chakras or about how the Noble of the Knights of the Holy Grail once proclaimed—"
"Cheren, drop it."
"Okay."
The concrete walls in the hall sloped down, leading down to the landing at the bottom of the stairs. A light hummed and buzzed overhead, an industrial light built into the wall, casting shadows across the graffiti-laden walls.
The darkened shadows of Hilbert and Cheren drew long over the stairs as they headed down, walking down side-by-side, their footfalls echoing on the smooth walls.
"How long did you leave Roxie for?" asked Cheren. When he arrived on the landing at the bottom of the stairs, he took a step back, letting Hilbert lead the way and pass around him, heading down the next flight of stairs. He gave a tenative look to the the beaten iron door at the bottom of the next flight of stairs, seeing the tattered posters that covered it.
Hilbert started down the stairs, his limp backpack flopping on his back, his jacket stuffed inside. When he leapt from the last two stairs, landing on the bottom floor with a clatter, he gave Cheren a passing look as he straightened his legs, leading himself up to the door.
"About two hours?" said Hilbert, a hint of skepticism in his voice.
Cheren's eyes grew wide.
Hilbert grabbed the hammered door handle, pressing in and swinging the iron door wide with a dull, metallic groan. In the dark of the club, the stage lights could be seen at the far end, pointed to the low-sitting stage. Hilbert stepped aside, holding the door open and inviting Cheren in.
The air was cool, filtered and wet, blowing from a set of two warehouse fans on the left and right of the stage. The stage was empty. From a set of PA speakers on either side of the stage, pop music pumped in through droning speakers, echoing on the smooth floors. The tables were still scattered with chairs set around them, not seeing dancing hours.
As Cheren took his few tenative steps into the space, his pacing uneven as he wandered close to the walls beside the entrance, kicking his feet without a clue of what was happening, he narrowed his eyes in confusion. Something wasn't right. He looked to Hilbert, who was heading towards the center of the club space.
"Is this Madonna?" Cheren asked, pointing to the PA speakers.
"Hilbert!" Roxie shouted.
Both Cheren and Hilbert whipped their heads around, seeing where Roxie was at the far corner of the club, beside the bar. She sat in one of the chairs that had been at a table, slouched, her guitar in her lap. Several empty beer bottles were stacked around her chair, some kicked aside, a half-filled one beside the chair leg. A portable amp was wired to the port on her electric guitar, set beside the wall, the lights off and no power going to the amp.
As Hilbert passed through tables, trying to get across to her, he watched as Roxie played on several frets on her guitar, only the sound of tinny vibrations coming from the strings she plucked on. Out of the corner of his eye, Cheren walked along the wall, following him closely but trying to stay out of sight of Roxie.
"Hey Roxie, got a bit sidetracked," Hilbert said, giving a sheepish grin.
"Probably could've gotten more done tonight," Roxie droned, staring blankly at Hilbert as he walked. She gave a passing look to Cheren, the glanced back at Hilbert, shrugging in Cheren's direction. "Who's the manpiece?"
"This is—"
"Cheren," said Cheren, cutting Hilbert off promptly. He gave a quick, awkward wave as him and Hilbert stopped just short of Roxie's cloud of empty beer bottles. "I am Cheren."
"Where were you tonight?" she asked.
Cheren seemed taken aback by the question. He paused for a moment, considering the question, before snapping back into understanding exactly what Roxie was talking about.
"I had to work late this evening. See—"
"Right," said Roxie. She rubbed the exhaustion from her eyes, taking another long drag of her beer, sloshing the amber contents about before setting the bottle down. She let out a sigh, leaning over her purple-bodied guitar, kicking the cord that ran from it with the heel of her boot and in turn knocking aside the glass bottles behind her.
Wiping his lips on the inside of his hand, Hilbert, watching the meeting between Cheren and Roxie fall apart near-instantly, cleared his throat as well. He grabbed for the brim of his own hat, adjusting it.
"Have you been doing this the whole time?" asked Hilbert.
"Pretty much."
Hilbert stifled a burp. "Awesome."
"Your mom called here like three times tonight," said Roxie. She tipped the bottle all the way back, draining it, then letting it tip over as soon as she set it on the floor. She reached up to the cardboard six pack holster, reaching in and grabbing another bottle by the neck. She used the heel of her caliced, beaten hand to pop the cap open in a single move, white smoke escaping the opening.
Hilbert blinked. "What?"
"Yeah, she said something Junebug needing a ride."
Cheren gasped. "Professor Juniper! She still hangs out with your mother?"
Hilbert gave Cheren a strange look. "Yeah, she still does. Always has. They've been friends since college. Why would that change?"
"I mean, I'm just so surprised. The professor just seems so busy these days. You would think that it would be hard for them to see one another," said Cheren.
"Well, most people don't just stop being friends because of people's life decisions," said Hilbert, his tone biting.
Cheren gave a cold look, folding his arms.
The car was parked at the far end of the underground lot, beside one of the large concrete columns that held the low-hanging roof up. The array of off-white lights built into the ceiling of the lot cast everything in an unearthly light, including the car. It was a long sedan, older, likely thirty or forty years old, rust-colored paint on the roof and hood and deep brown panels on the doors and wheel housing. Chrome lined the panels and other edges of the car. A set of boxy headlights fronted the car, jutting from a rectangular, steel mesh grill. No other cars were parked around it, it was alone.
As Cheren stood beside Hilbert, staring down the old car, he felt a strong swat on his shoulder. He flinched, jumping slightly, whipping his head around to see Roxie come up alongside him, giving a cocky grin.
"You said you could drive?" asked Roxie, giving a toothy grin.
Though Cheren wanted to answer immediately, he hesitated for a moment. The stench of alcohol on Roxie's breath was like a punch to his senses, his nose wrinkling and his gut reaction to snort coming to the forefront of any immediate reaction he could've had.
"I said I had a license. I don't have a car, I can't afford—"
"You're the only one of us who has a license and we need to drive the professor home, that makes you the driver, handsome," said Roxie. The hand that held the car keys launched them up towards Cheren as she walked away from him, drunkenly strutting towards the old sedan, clutching the bottle through the paper bag in her hand. "Be careful," she said. "It's Pops' car."
In Cheren's distraction, the keys flew past his oustretched arm, clattering on the concrete floors and skittering away. He shook off the feeling, reaching down and finding the keys, scooping them up and the standing straight. When he straightened, he met with a very amused look from Hilbert.
"Glad you volunteered," Hilbert grinned.
Cheren sneered. "When we get out of this, you and I are going to have words."
"Hey! Loverboy! This car isn't going to unlock itself!"