"Come on, you have to think of a better name!"

The big headed thing holding a tablet with arms too small for its body is named Jones. He certainly looks built like a fighter, what with his barbaric proportions and spikes along its body, but make no mistake - his species is the only thing impressive about him. He is too thin, too soft-spoken to be a fighter. Although he is supposed to be her manager or whatever he still talks like a hatchling presenting to a class.

In his mouth is a wet brush, a pen to check off a list of scribbles on his tablet. This is what gives his voice the signature whine, well other than his everything Crainados looks to her with burgundy eyes, the tapping of his claw being drowned out by the shocked roars of a nearby crowd.

"It's only five minutes to game and you want me to do a change?" She snickers. "Cmon Jones, don't do this to me."

"We're not friends, we're business partners. I'm your talent manager, that's how things work here." He sounds like he is reading from a script. "I need to sell you to people, and I can't sell a name like yours."

"What's wrong with Luka Diamond?"

"It sounds like 'look, a diamond' for one, and you don't look like a gem. You're rough and -" The Craindos shakes his head. "What are you supposed to be, Heel or Face? You've never said. Let's start there."

"Heel or face? What kind of question is that? You can expect my heel to your face if you keep that up."

There is a brief pause. A tremendous shout from the crowd echoes in the distant, making their backroom shake like jelly. Jones groans.

"Heel it is. The Beast's had her fill by the sound of it, you're up next."

Instantly, the image of an impossibly burly pokemon enters her mind. Like an arcanine, or a machamp, someone with credentials in this league. She is tiny, a magikarp in sharpedo waters if what she is going up against for her first ever gig is someone deserving to be called "The Beast".

"Beast? Wait a minute, I thought this was a rookie gig." The confidence in her voice falters, the dark of the backroom creeping in as the candles suddenly feel as if they are dimming. "I'm new here, this is my first time, and you still haven't told me what you meant by heel or whatever!"

Sounds of hurried footsteps echo outside the door along with can only be the muffled noises of someone's body being dragged along the squeaky clean flooring. There is a knock on the door, a loud one.

"One Minute!" A gruff voice shouts. "Be ready or we will make you ready!"

As time runs short Jones rolls his eyes. He plucks something from a bright red satchel around his stubby body, a seed, which he forces into Luka's taloned fingers.

"Keep this in your mouth, bite if you feel yourself about to faint or worse. We'll know if you used it early. If you do, you're considered defeated."

She instantly catches a mint-like waft from the seed. Reviver Seed, great, she is really in for a beating. No wonder the pay is so cushy. Luka slips the seed into her beak. It feels awkward at first, but she is able to press it down into the corner of her beak where she will not bite into it so easily. Her tongue keeps it pinned in place.

"W-what about the huheel st-"

Jones looks at her as if she has said the stupidest thing on the Mist Continent..

"Heels are bad guys, Faces are good, you give me the feeling of a heel so I made you a bad guy. We don't rig our battles, but people like a show, they like stories and characters to follow. You're still fighting for real, though, don't lose sight of that." His expression gets stern. "You remember what you read on the way in, right?"

No clawing of the eyes, orifices, or throat area, no permanent disfigurement, no external items or outside help. Fight until the first person faints or is pinned to the floor for five seconds. How did she remember all that?

This is exactly what a person can expect from a fighting league or gladiatorial nonsense, but this whole extra angle of a "show" is the twist in all of this. Luka is hardly the public speaker, it is why she wants to be a fighter, not some cushy explorer! Now she has a whole crowd to entertain!

She just nods her head anyways. She will figure this out, she always does.

"Good." His smile returns. "This is a rumble. We got four behind you, one by one, you're here to job so go out with a bang and I'll see you after the show."

What is that supposed to mean?

Unfortunately, time is up. Jones nudges her back with his big old head, then opens the door. Bright lights and a roar of the crowd line one end of the hallway, while on the other side, is a hound of a Granbull leaning against the corridor. Awful, magenta-colored fluid leaks from a scar along his hip, dripping down onto the floor into a putrid puddle. He is chewing on a berry, and his laughter fills the hall.

"Oh you're next? Good luck! Haha!"

Oh, how inviting. She gets one look of the sludge then turns away, trying to act tough while doing everything she can to not puke on the spot. The roar of the crowd, the bright light from the corridor, it is a complete overload of the senses. Luka takes a deep breath, puffs up her feathery chest, then enters into the light.

There are dozens, no hundreds of occupants surrounding this venue. All the people here get a view of the newest talent on the block, a hawlucha in dark plumage. Streaks of black feathers around her eyes are nearly enough to drown out the horrified look in her gaze, utterly overwhelmed by, well, everything. The people, the whole scenario, and her opponent lying below her.

At the bottom of the ramp there is a raised stone platform, cracked, and freshly bloodied by the fellows before her. There stands a tall figure, soaking in the spoils of the crowd, all the whilst her heart pounds. A booming voice overtakes her senses, speaking over the crowd.

"Give it up for Luuuuukaaa Diamond! Will she be the one to topple the indominable Aquamarine or be ground into dust!"


"You've been staring at that thing for hours, honey. You'll hurt your eyes if you keep that up."

Caught staring, staring at the pamphlet again. Her meal, assorted aspear and greens, grows colder the longer she spends reading this thing over and over. Some machoke out in the streets have been handing these out by the dozens. The Fog Fighters Federation, which she is well aware of and has been since she moved here, is looking for new talent for an up and coming event - a "rumble".

It goes saying signing up for any group of pokemon who fight often - be they guilds or societies or whatever are out across the sea - is not something a fellow should do on a complete whim, but given her circumstances here in so-called Paradise this may just be the break she has been waiting for.

The Hawlucha gives it one last read before stuffing it into a tiny bag around her waist, a bag filled to the brim with all sorts of other papers that it is damn near impossible to keep them from spilling out. She needs an exploration bag if she is to keep this up, a mail poke's bag maybe.

Fighting suits her. She is a fighting type, her grandpappy, momma and daddy were too apparently. Luka is not the most intelligent, nor gifted in anything, but she had learned to fend for herself a long time ago. Battling is in her blood, whether or not Lene likes to acknowledge it.

"Yeah, I get it momma. Get it plenty." Luka plucks a roast berry, biting it. "I was just thinking about you know…"

Lene is at the back, cooking berries over a roaring fire. The mandibuzz, clad in bone ornaments, had been a relief explorer. In exchange for settling down she was given ownership of this abode. Well, partial anyways. The mayor is the one who really owns it.

"Oh, I've talked with him already." The dark feathered pokemon smiles. "It is all paid for a bit, don't you worry. We still own this place."

Then why are we eating bitter aspear? Luka wants to say, but has not the heart. She chows down without fuss. A meal is a meal, she should be thanking her lucky stars it is a warm one. They used to be so rare.

"I know, I know." Luka says between bites. "But why do you have to keep paying?"

There is a deep sigh from the fireplace. Lene lifts up a heavy, metal pot, and leaves it to stew on the stone counter. She splashes a pail of water onto the fire, dousing it in a puff of warm steam. She glances back to the Hawlucha.

"You know how things are, dear. We've inherited a debt by coming here. I'm doing what I can to pay it off, but you'd ought to leave these things to me. A place at the heart of Paradise is prime land, you know? We should be fortunate that we live this close to everything, I can't imagine what outsiders are living like."

Probably better, to tell the truth, though a slicker like her is not one to judge. Dad is supposedly from around the Sand Continent, here in the Mist Continent is probably better than the blistering heat over yonder. Maybe he was planning to move and gave her the abode, debt included.

"You find anything which fancies you yet?" Lene asks a tired old question. "You can't be staying in here doing nothing forever, you know that. You're a grown woman."

Yes, she has, and as a matter of fact it is the type of job Lene would absolutely hate. She is her precious little thing, though little at this point is a definite understatement. The Hawlucha taps her pouch, the innumerable papers crinkling beneath her claws. She smiles.

"Eh, maybe. I gotta check it out first."

"Not going headlong into a dangerous venture?" Lene asks with a smile. "You're a bit better than your dad in that regard."

She is absolutely going headlong into nonsense, a battling federation. Worst comes to worst she will come back with some scars she will have the time of her life trying to explain to dear old Lene, though best case scenario they will not have to eat Aspear for another couple days. She finishes her meal, stuffing as much as she can into her beak before chewing down and letting that horrid, smoky taste overtake her senses.

Lene laughs, taking the warm pot in her wings.

"Well then, whatever you have found I hope it is not with those rapscallion Gurdur. I know you're strong, but there is more in life than carrying around big things for a living." She smiles. "I gotta get this to Swanna before it gets cold. I'll be back later, okay?"

"Okay"

And out the door the Mandibuzz goes, her huge, old wings and talons barely being able to lug the soup pail out of sight. As soon as the door closes, the Hawlucha plucks the paper from her pockets, and reads it once more.

Her eyes glaze over reading all the rules and nonsense till they settle on the number at the bottom. A thousand poke? That's a bunch of apples and food, enough to tide them over, or even pay off a pittance of the debt on their shoulders.

All she has to do is go in there, get roughed up, and be paid for it. She can do that, right? Fighting is her typing after all; battle is in her blood. What is the worst that can happen?


Her heart is pounding, the droning sounds of the crowds is only broken up by the voice of someone behind her. Jones is yelling.

"Go, get a move on!"

Luka's feet move without her volition, trudging down the long slope while the crowded bleachers berate and gawk at the new blood.

"You're dead meat!" a Vigorth shrieks through the silence.

"She's shivering!" Another voice echoes through the noise.

"Oh come on, I shouldn't've bet on you!" a third bemoans.

No one is cheering for her. They are cheering for her opponent. Tall, clad in bloody-looking face paint, a gaunt warrior revels in the crowd with her poison-drenched claws outstretched. The way all the lights hit her as she stands cast a shadow onto the walkway. Luka approaches the ring, her pace quickening with the beat of her heart. As soon as she is off the slope into the fighting area her foe bursts into laughter.

"Oh, you're the best they could send? Don't make me laugh, little girl." Her foe speaks with a brutish, sneering voice. "Come on, get up already. You're gonna learn what Aquamarine does to newbies like you!"

She does not recognize the pokemon she is. It looks vaguely of a Sneasel, tangentially. Sneasel do have claws but none are the size or hers, none have the same poison dripping from their ends. Her grayish fur, dark makeup, the single feather dangling from one ear like a ponytail, she gives off one heck of a barbaric first impression. A first impression, which if she wants to admit it or not, terrifies her.

The Sneasel thing, obviously sensing her fear, continues laughing in her face.

"Hurry up, runt! Do you need a stepping stool or those wings just for show?"

This gets her to move. Luka scurries onto the sandy center of the ring, drowning out the crowd's whole presence with her heartbeat. She moves to the end of the ring, puts her hands on the stoney-looking foundation, then realizes something.,

It is not all stone. It feels like leather. It has a soft bounce to it, and is real sturdy, enough that the Sneasel-thing's clawed, boot-looking feet don't rip it to shreds. Probably meant for smashing people's heads without serious injury, then why are the stones everywhere bloo- nevermind.

Aquamarine is her opponent's name, right? Probably not her species but she tries to keep the name on her mind.

"Aight, Aquamarine." Luka musters up a snarl. "I'm comin for ya!"

She gets chest above the platform when Aquamarine steps over to extend her clawed hand. Thinking of it as a mere courtesy, she accepts it, and is immediately suspended over the tall lady's head, powerless. The crowd ignites into cheers, and her opponent's voice overwhelms their voices.

"I got you for two minutes, you ain't gonna last through one!"

Oh, fun. Those claws of hers are so big she does not want to know what happens if she tries to wriggle out of their razor grasp. She is utterly helpless, held aloft like a trophy, when she hears a whisper from below.

"Shoulders first." Aquamarine commands, so quiet she can barely hear it.

And before there is time to question it, her body is spun around overhead, then tossed downwards like a stone. She instinctively follows the command, allowing herself to hit the mat with her shoulders first, somehow absorbing the brunt of it, and not leaving her a disfigured wreck. Make no mistake, it hurts like any throw should, but she is alive afterwards.

The crowd explodes into applause. Rather than capitalize on the bird on her back, Aquamarine entertains the crowd, relishing in their calls for bloodshed. Luka is given the moment to climb back onto her feet, dizzy. She has never been thrown around like a toy, but suppose there is a first time for everything.

"Two minutes, you're not even done yet!" She shouts to her. "First lesson of the day, I don't ever give out handouts."

This is a show, she could have easily done her in with the surprise blow. The real game starts now that they are both on the top deck. What now? Luka shouts the first thing on her mind.

"What's the second lesson? That you never shut up?"

The crowd loves this, breaking out into oh's and awes. Her foe flashes her a smile, then puts back on her stern looking face.

"That you ain't leaving here alive!"

She scrapes her claws together, ichor dripping from them like sparks. She has had her fun, gave the crowd what they want, now the real fight actually begins. Blood is about to be shed, Luka's blood. They gave her a reviver seed for a reason. Luka assumes a fighting stance, her hands outstretched, feathers draping from her arms like a cape.

"Bring it!"

It sounds lame, but the crowd still sucks it up. The pace of the battle instantly shifts, as Aquamarine dashes forwards, swiping downwards with her gigantic claws.

Thinking quickly, Luka uses her smaller frame to slip underneath her arm. Now behind her, she spins around and delivers a kick to the pokemon's back. It sends Aquamarine forwards, reeling for all of a split second before she turns right back around.

"Good stuff!" Aquamarine laughs. She puts her claws together, grinding them together they produce a loud shing which sends the crowd into stunned silence. "How bout I make ribbons outta you! No one lays a hand on me and gets away with it!"

No more foolery, she is actually gonna tear her to ribbons. It finally registers to Luka, and she freezes, allowing Aquamarine the split moment to rebound right into her grasp - slashing with depth precision. One hand misses, turning the tips of her wings to ribbons, another does not. Claws drag across her chest. Tipped in purple fluids, the poison seeps into her skin immediately and she becomes nauseous.

Not nauseous enough to lose herself entirely. Luka goes for a sweep, which is tough luck, as Aquamarine bounds right out of her range. From above she comes careening downwards, claws first. This is the moment, this is when she has her chance, and letting her fear be drowned out by the cheers she answers Aquamarine's claws with a bounding leap, into her range mid-air.

Not one for fighting in the air, her claws miss, while Luka's hits right across her snarling visage - raking into her with an out of practice but still very effective aerial ace. The Sneasel thing barrels past her, and Luka lands, just as awestruck as she is - staring at the so-called reduced to a pile of gray fur.

Then the cheers come. A cacophony of claps, actually congratulating her. Luka is overwhelmed. She is supposed to job, she is supposed to lose, but did she win, did she truly? She has no idea, she just revels in it all, extending her winged arms to the crowd who now shower in praise.

"No way!"

"Nevermind, I'm getting paid!"

"Luka, Luka!"

"Luuuuka!"

The voices ring through her ears, her eyes grow weary, flooding with teardrops. Because of course she would get overwhelmed, the closest thing she has ever come to anything like this is momma telling her she has done good, but now is a full on colosseum of people showering her in admiration and praise. Nevermind the poke for this gig, this very moment, of having the crowd to her whims, feels like nothing else. She wishes she could capture this somehow, find the words to say to them.

"Luka, Luka!"

"Luka, Behind-"

Oh, how she wishes she could have heard the last one sooner. She turns around, then finds herself face to face with a frenzied Aquamarine. She spits in her face, a sweet powder enters her nostrils, sucking the energy out of her body. Luka wanes, teetering back and forth.

"Ooo! Sleep Mist! Luka's going down!"

Yeah, she does not need a second voice to tell her. She coughs, and hacks, trying to maintain consciousness through her blurring vision. The crowd descends into jeers. Aquamarine grabs her once more, lifting her overhead.

"Ain't no one toppling me!" She shouts to the masses.

And she throws her right down into the sand. Hitting the floor, shoulders first, Luka crumbles into a sphere of feathers. With a cough, she bites into the seed pressed against her cheek, letting the minty sensation flood through her body as the other, invasive "mist" floods through her. They counteract each other, bursting into a flood of strange alchemic energy.

And Luka falls into a deep, unprompted slumber. The last thing she remembers is numerous hands descending onto her, dragging her up the ramp to safety, for another fool to come down to try and challenge the legendary Aquamarine.


/ title art by HaShouTy