Pokemon Masters EX released a trailer for the second part of its Galar Villain Arc last night. My friend sent me a screenshot of Battle Tower Leon facing off against Oleana and said, "Why do they look like they would actually be friends outside of work?"
The way that sentence irrevocably changed our brain chemistry.
Our conversation got increasingly incoherent as we developed this idea for Leon/Oleana gay drinking buddies. Festering brain worms-type shit.
I'm beating my chest. Oleana's earrings are based on her love for game night Settlers of Catan.
She's tearing grass out of the earth. Oleana cosplays now, and has to hide it from Chairman Rose during his biannual romp through Twitter (X?).
All of this is canon.
I was halfway through Sapphic Valley part two and dropped that shit to feverishly write Oleana propaganda until 12:30 a.m., now I'm editing in front of a bakery while waiting for my ticket time to see Barbie. Feast upon the fruits of my insanity.
The frosted glass door slides open, heralded by the soft beep of a registered keycard and its corresponding green light. It hardly has the chance to glide all the way before the woman responsible steps across its threshold, eyes glued to a notepad-sized Rotom Phone bearing the Macro Cosmos logo on its steely case.
Oleana is absorbed in one-handed data entry, typing faster than most anyone on her staff could manage using both – in spite of her immaculately sharp, ruby-red nails. However, her footwork is just as precise. Not once does the thought that she could bump into a side-table or chair cross her mind; her obsidian stilettos clack across the floor with all the grace of a ballerina. Those long, dancer's legs guide her to an ashy-grey leather sofa chair, which she stands in front of for a moment longer.
Her fingers aren't through with their nigh-ritualistic service. Oleana's jade eyes can't even keep up, focused as they may be through her naturally half-lidded gaze.
Then, she stops short. The harsh final tap of her finger on the screen reverberates against modernist, geometric black wallpaper carved out by gold trimming, and huge glass panes wiped so clean that one could easily see themselves stepping off the 86th floor of Rose Tower and flying through the circus lights of Wyndon like an old children's book; "Peter and Ribombee."
The businesswoman takes a deep breath of ambient silence, inhaling worn leather and antiseptic air freshener, and then collapses into the chair. It breaks the silence with a sound not too far from a gunshot. Her chic lab coat facsimile and iron-steamed wavy hair spread limp around the chair and the checkerboard cape draped over its headrest. Hard to believe this corpse had written the world's longest email in record time not one minute prior.
Her Rotom Pad, still floating where she left it, autonomously hovers over to a charging station near the entryway and goes dark.
But Oleana isn't alone.
She swivels her head toward the apartment's kitchen, finding a dressed-down Champion stepping through the door with a silver platter.
"Figured you'd need one'a these, love."
Motionless, Oleana watches Leon set the platter on a stout, round table between her recliner and a matching pair. It houses a bottle of half-drunk Galarian Scotch, a smooth crystalline whiskey glass, and a Polteageist tea set – kettle and cup.
Oleana closes her eyes, slowly nodding.
"Skip the tea for me, Leon." Her sharp, commanding voice has a strained quality, as if mustering the energy to speak. "I'll need something a bit stronger."
"Figured."
Leon's laugh booms even when he tries to keep it low-key. He pours a tall glass of golden spirit, and then takes it by the rim like a claw machine to hand Oleana her drink.
She cradles it in both hands as though gifted nectar of the gods, muttering a silent prayer to those same divine forces for having such good taste.
"… And that leaves a nice cuppa for Galar's unbeatable Champion." Leon says after straightening himself out with a sigh.
He takes the Sinistea cup before sitting across from Oleana, careful in his descent to make sure the fragile porcelain didn't shatter like variants used by that Pokemon. A brisk sniff of his tea washes away the sterile scent of the room, but he looks up to find Oleana already halfway through her glass.
"Day that good, eh?"
Oleana hums an affirmative into the smoky alcohol, pursed ruby lips practically blowing bubbles into the stuff. Leon laughs.
"Well, cheers to makin' it through."
He lifts his cup before taking a sip, only to determine it was far too hot. He sets the tea back down, fanning his singed tongue.
As Oleana leans back, hexagonal earrings getting tangled in her hair and the fuzzy edges of Leon's cape, she rhythmically taps her nails against the half-empty glass. Its crystal tings sell the classical tune she was going for.
Leon enjoys the show and clasps his hands together; elbows folded over shorts that are patterned after his crown cap (and a touch too small given how they strain against his bulbous thighs). It blends well with his sword-and-shield jersey, the one piece of his Champion's attire that remains this late into the evening.
Eventually, Leon clears his throat, cutting her performance short.
"So, out with it then. Who got your knickers in a twist today, Oleana?"
His speech is somewhat muffled by a tongue still prodding into the cool air of the dim apartment. Gradient pinks and blues swipe across the walls from the ever-turning Galar Hurricane, supplementing its soft lighting.
Oleana takes another deep breath, visibly shaking as she struggles to hold it together. The scotch is left to pin her pencil skirt between opaque leggings so she can press both hands over her face.
"Mr. Kabu recommended I seek out Fortree City's Gym Leader to see if she could bolster our distribution services in the Hoenn region. It's one of Macro's fastest-growing sectors, but impossible to get a foothold with Devon Corp. sucking up all the oxygen."
"Right," Leon nods. His blank stare suggests he's slow on the uptake, but trying his best to follow along. "That's Winona, yeah? I've heard of her."
Oleana groans at the mere mention of that name. Nails dig into her forehead.
"If you'd believe it, that witch is an even bigger airhead than the Gym Leader from Unova."
"Oh come off it, Oleana." Leon sips his tea again, happier with the temperature. "She can't possibly be that bad."
Daggers fly from demonic eyes shining between each break in Oleana's claws.
"At least Ms. Skyla knows how to screw her noggin on straight for her shipping company." Oleana's hands shift into her hair, exposing the snarl behind her palms.
"This morning I received a correspondence from one of Fortree's Gym trainers letting me know Winona would be 'unavailable' until she was done, and I quote, 'Feeling the wind atop a telephone pole.' What does that even mean?!"
She starts ruffling her hair this way and that, leaving it disheveled as a piercing whine escapes her prim-and-proper front. Sharp lines cut across her broad forehead.
Leon gulps more of his creamy tea to keep from snickering.
"In all my years as Vice President I have never had the displeasure of dealing with a more annoying, unprofessional, pretentious…" Oleana's arms shutter and her face contorts as she tries to swallow her words. Ultimately, they win out. "Bitch."
The last bit of venom hisses through gritted teeth.
Galar's Champion nearly chokes at that hard consonant 'B,' but manages to finish his drink with little more than an exasperated sigh. A knowing twinge hits that itchy spot on the back-right fold of his brain.
"Right."
Oleana practically pulls out hair as she leans back again, glaring at the ceiling and squirming against her leather chair with noticeable squeaks.
"I want her to sit on my face so bad."
"And there it is."
Leon's guffaw covers the demure clink of his settling cup.
"It always comes back to a pretty girl's bum for you, eh Oleana?"
"Piss off, Leon." Oleana picks up and dumps the rest of her scotch down her throat. "I know as well as anyone how much you love a good bum."
"Oi, I'm just saying you need a healthier way to work through your feelings!"
"Drinking with you feels plenty therapeutic."
Oleana finally kicks off her heels, throwing her legs around with the same reckless abandon she uses to pop the diamond button fastening her choker. She drops the leather from her fist onto her half-tucked red shirt.
"And I'll hear nothing about healthy coping mechanism from the bloke out comparing cock sizes with his boyfriend on the pitch every other week."
Leon has to clutch his chest from all the laughter.
"You're the one who told me 'n Raihan to keep our business private, Oleana! Something about the fantasy of a 'champion time' with an attainable Champion?"
"And that has been great for your image, innit?"
"Naturally." Leon sets his hands on his knees, grinning as strands of purple hair fall over his golden eyes. "Drove Raihan up the bloody wall when he couldn't post our Prism Tower pics on holiday last week."
"Mmm."
Oleana curls to the side, resting her chin on an outstretched palm that balances against the recliner's arm.
"I'd like to see those pictures with Raihan. You've been holding out on me."
"Course! Been sharing with everyone close to the chest. Rest here a spell."
The Champion shoots up, bouncing out of the chair as he makes his way toward his bedroom.
Once Oleana is alone, her eyes glaze over. Wyndon's lights are mesmerizing from any vantage, but especially this high up. However, the VP finds her attention drawn to the Ferris wheel. Rather than following its movement, she keeps her eyes steady at the apex, letting each Poke Ball-shaped carriage pass through the foci. The latest sends a pink shine through the window, color scanning across her forlorn expression like a photocopier.
"Perhaps we'll be free to our loves someday soon, Leon.