I love this chapter title. That is all. Fight me.
In all seriousness, it means the world to me that this story now has 500 views. Whether you've been here from the first chapter or you just stumbled across this story today, thank you. There's plenty more to come, starting with today's chapter.
Current music: Need You Tonight - INXS
It was our turn to check in, and I'll be honest: Although I'd been to some hotels before, and therefore checked in to them, I had never done so alone. However, from observing my parents, I knew that one needed to show an ID to the receptionist.
Needless to say, this presented a problem. Where would I have an ID on my person (or Pokémon?)
"Amanda, you have our luggage, right?" I enquired. I thought I'd seen her grab it upon leaving the plane, though things had been so chaotic that I may have been wrong.
My wife nodded. "Our passport cards are in there."
"Wonderful", the receptionist, a thirty-something woman who was the epitome of "conventionally attractive" (but still nowhere near as beautiful as my wife, sorry), said. "You'll just have to state your names and purpose."
I glanced at Amanda, who nodded. This gesture evidently constituted permission for me to handle this transaction, so I turned back to the receptionist. (She'd stepped out from behind her desk. Otherwise, I'd have barely been able to see her.)
"I'm Lucas Snow" I told the receptionist with as much authority as possible. Of course, that's not saying much when you're about two feet tall. "And then this is my wife, Amanda Mariner."
The reception lady nodded, typing a few notes onto her tablet computer. "I see, I see. Newlyweds, I've heard?"
"Yes" I asserted. "We are here for our honeymoon, for whatever that means."
"I take it that you didn't expect to stay here?" the reception lady asked.
"No, we didn't" Amanda retorted, giving me a glare right afterward.
"This isn't what we had planned, I'll admit" I told the receptionist. "But we'll make the best of it. I mean, look at this place! It's a tropical paradise."
"Indeed it is! The Alolan Castle will make you feel like royalty for every day of your stay, and if there's anything that might make your time here just a little more pleasant, do not hesitate to let us know!"
The receptionist grinned at the end of that spiel, showing off her glittering white teeth. Mind you, there's nothing wrong with taking care of your teeth - we should all do that - but she was taking it way too far in my mind.
Once we'd stepped away from the front desk, and out of earshot from the other guests, my wife gave me another glare, her scarlet eyes gaining a sort of "blaze" if you know what I mean.
"What's wrong?" I enquired.
"You should have confronted her about ending up here. We're supposed to be walking around Charlotte Amalie right now, not wondering where the hell we are."
"Amanda, she probably doesn't know how it happened. For better or worse, we just have to deal with it, okay?"
My wife looked as though she were about to pout, but then calmed herself. "Okay. Let's go up to our room. It's the honeymoon suite, right?"
"I'd assume so. That's what we booked, is it not?"
"Well," Amanda continued, glancing down at the card she held, "our key is for room 373. I hope that's the honeymoon suite, otherwise I'll feel pretty ripped off."
What I didn't tell my wife (but she probably guessed anyway) was that I felt far from confident about this. After all, we hadn't gotten the destination we'd booked, so why would we get the room we booked either?
It would fit in with the pattern of Lady Luck frowning on us ever since we'd left Miami, that's for sure.
We took the elevator to the third floor; as a quadruped, climbing two flights of stairs was out of the question. Getting off the plane had been difficult enough.
Once we were on said floor, we walked down the hallway (well, Amanda walked; it's perhaps more appropriate to say I crawled) until we found room 373. You couldn't miss it - it was a suite at the end of the hall.
"The honeymoon suite is supposed to have a balcony with ocean views and a private plunge pool" Amanda mouthed, sounding rather like she'd eaten an encyclopedia. "So if we don't have that, we've been duped."
"Could you call it duping if the people doing it don't realize they're tricking you? Maybe the pilots didn't know the right flight path, and we ended up in some vortex."
"Whatever" my wife uttered. "Let's see what's inside."
The suite contained two rooms, each with a king bed. This was a relief for me - even in our marriage, I still wanted some space. (No, I wasn't planning an affair. I just liked having my own bed.)
There was also a rug with the pattern of the Alolan flag, a jungle green couch and armchairs in the same color, fine oaken floors, and a granite countertop. All in all, it was everything I'd hoped it would be, but Amanda didn't seem satisfied.
Looking out the door to the balcony, my wife's face turned towards the ground. Not for the first time in the last few minutes, I asked, "What's wrong?"
"There's a balcony out there, but no plunge pool. And our view is of the mountains, not the ocean."
"Amanda, it's not that big a deal" I insisted. "We got our compromise, I guess."
"The point is, Lucas, that this isn't what we booked. We're getting ripped off, and you don't seem to care."
"But you get your beach - it's down past the pool. And I get my mountains - they're right outside the window. It's the best of both worlds."
"You don't get it, do you?" my wife asked.
"Maybe I don't, Amanda," I replied. "The point is, this room is plenty romantic. We'll have a good time here, and then we'll head back to the States and have the most insane story to tell."
Amanda huffed a bit. "That's assuming we get to head back to the States at all. For all I know, maybe there's no way back."
Truth be told, I had my doubts as well that the trip back would be as "easy" as the trip here had been. I didn't want to voice them, because to do so would be admitting that I might be wrong - and if there's one thing I hate, it's being wrong.
"Let's make the most of this week" I insisted. "We only get one honeymoon, after all."
"I say we go down to the front desk and ask Grimlock why we didn't get the room we paid for" Amanda muttered. "It's a service we shelled out good money for, we should get the real deal."
"Yeah, I'm down for that," I said. "At least, I'm fine with that. Let's explain, and maybe they can hook us up with the honeymoon suite. It could have been a mistake."
"All right, let's go down now" my wife suggested.
I shook my head. "No. They'll still have people checking in. I don't want to look like an ass by butting in and interrupting the check-in process. Let's wait a few more minutes."
Officer Lee: Upon learning from your wife that you hadn't been given the honeymoon suite, what was your reaction?
Mr. Snow: I told her that we could talk to the front desk, but only after the other guests had finished checking in. That could take a while, after all.
Officer Lee: Let's go back to the topic of Amanda Mariner. Your wife was very disappointed that the room wasn't up to the standards of what you thought you'd paid for, wasn't she?
Mr. Snow: Yes.
Officer Lee: It's fair to say that she didn't think you took her concerns seriously?
Mr. Snow: I guess it is.
Officer Lee: What did you tell her to alleviate these concerns?
Mr. Snow: I suppose I just tried to convince Amanda that we could still have a good time. That we should appreciate our honeymoon while it lasted, because eventually we'd settle into regular married life. Maybe we'd have kids, and then we'd get very little sleep, among other things.
Officer Lee: Did you want to have children with Amanda Mariner?
Mr. Snow: That's not relevant.
Officer Lee: Okay, let me phrase it differently. Did your frustration with Mrs. Mariner cause you to regret your marriage?
Mr. Snow: I wasn't frustrated with her. There's a difference between disagreeing with someone and regretting tying yourself to them. I loved - I still love - my wife.
Officer Lee: Fair enough. Let's continue.
After the line to check into the Alolan Castle had dissipated, my wife and I walked up to the front desk yet again. Once more, I had to crane my neck to see the receptionist's face - I was going to get sore before long from doing this.
"What would you like help with, Mr. Snow?" the reception lady asked me.
Amanda spoke up. "Ma'am, we have a problem. We booked the honeymoon suite for our week here, since it is our honeymoon, but that's not what we got."
The receptionist typed a few notes onto her tablet, then raised an eyebrow at us. "So you'd like the honeymoon suite?"
"I mean, I don't mind very much" I piped up. "The room we have is still pretty nice."
"But we're not getting the full value of our money here" my wife said scathingly, shooting me a glance. "So yes, we would like the honeymoon suite."
The receptionist frowned as she glanced down at her tablet. "I understand your frustration, Mrs. Mariner. I really do. However, the honeymoon suite has already been booked."
"I don't get it," Amanda whispered loudly, grabbing the receptionist's desk as if to steady herself.
"What do you not get about it, Mrs. Mariner?"
"Well, when my husband and I made our reservation, we received confirmation that we had the honeymoon suite. That's what we paid for, and it was good money, even if it was in the Virgin Islands and not Alola."
You know, it shouldn't be that shocking that this didn't go according to plan. Why would it, when we're in the wrong country? More than that, we're on the wrong fucking planet.
"I won't comment on the Virgin Islands bit" the reception lady responded curtly. "But the honeymoon suite is still booked, and we won't just throw out a guest who's paid for their room. Once you've paid for a product - ".
"But we paid for it too," Amanda responded. "I get that you can't throw this person - or Pokémon - ".
"I cannot comment on the identity of that guest, unless they have written their name in the guestbook."
"Whatever" my wife snapped. "The point is, ma'am, that we understand you can't kick them out prematurely. But could you at least give us the honeymoon suite once that person leaves this resort? We have as much a claim to it as they do."
The receptionist frowned again. "According to the records, that guest's stay runs entirely concurrently with yours. They leave on the same day as you - next Saturday."
Amanda gasped. I wanted to tell her to drop it, that we were still getting plenty of value from the Alolan Castle, but I didn't want to attack my own wife like that. We were in the literal honeymoon period.
"There's got to be an explanation," Amanda stated.
"I'm sure there is."
"I don't understand. Why would you double-book a room? Hotels aren't like airlines - at least, they shouldn't be."
Amanda and the receptionist bickered for a few more minutes. Even now, I couldn't possibly tell you what exactly was said, just that the argument became increasingly heated until it wasn't just my wife's eyes that were red.
"Amanda, we should calm down a bit" I said eventually. "Head somewhere else."
"Fine" she huffed. We stepped away from the front desk.
"Another thing I don't get," my wife told me as soon as we were out of earshot from the receptionist, "is how someone managed to book the honeymoon suite before us."
"I'm sure there's an explanation" I said, echoing something the receptionist had asserted not five minutes ago.
"But we were the first ones in line," Amanda muttered testily. "Isn't it a little suspicious that they already had someone in the honeymoon suite?"
"This is not a grand conspiracy, Amanda" I told my wife in as measured a tone as I could. "They just made an honest mistake, that's all. We can either spend the week moping about it, or we can enjoy our vacation."
Amanda sighed audibly, but she didn't protest any further.
"Come on. Let's head to the pool, maybe meet some of the other guests. They say that traveling is a great way to meet others with similar interests."
My wife did not dispute this. In fact, she nodded in assent, having evidently lost her will to fight with me any longer. Quite frankly, it hadn't been a fight exactly, just a minor row that was bound to happen in any marriage, no matter how perfect it might look on the outside.
"We should go back to our room first" Amanda said, glancing at the elevator. "We have to get our bathing suits and such - ".
It was then that a proverbial light bulb went off in my head. Right away, I knew my wife was wrong about this.
"I don't think that'll be necessary, Amanda," I replied. "I mean, look at us."
Amanda looked at me, then at herself, and gave a slight giggle. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Our bathing suits won't fit us. I guess that's one silver lining to not being a human - getting ready for the pool is a lot easier."
A few minutes later we'd settled into a pair of lounge chairs next to the swim-up bar. I rolled over onto my back like a turtle, though I wondered whether it would be possible to stand up from this position later. Oh well, Amanda could help me with that.
My wife held a strawberry daiquiri in her right paw, and was sipping it through a straw every few seconds. I, on the other hand, had ordered a virgin piña colada, gulping down the cold pineapple milk or whatever is in those drinks.
One thing is clear, I thought. Staying cool is going to be a priority here. The sun is already pretty strong, and my fur is going to roast me (literally) if I'm not careful.
"Do you wanna jump in the pool soon, Amanda?" I asked my wife. "I'm sure it's quite pleasant."
She shook her head with a snort. "Alcohol and pools don't mix, Lucas. I'm fine right here."
It was remarkable just how much her attitude had changed since we'd arrived at the poolside. My wife had seemingly come around to the idea that the joys of life were to be savored, whether or not they were always what you expected.
"Suit yourself" I replied before springing off the chair and leaping into the deep end of the pool.
In hindsight, this was a huge gamble. I did not know if my difficulty walking would have translated to difficulty in propelling myself through a hotel pool, but it should have seemed like a good bet. Luckily, I took to it pretty easily and did a doggy paddle (Litleo paddle?) to the swim-up bar.
There was already someone there: Spencer, the Riolu boy who'd shown so much thrill about being in the world of Pokémon. I could tell it was the same Riolu because…I just could. Don't ask me how that instinct worked; it just did.
"Oh, hey, look at you!" Spencer exclaimed as he saw me paddle over. The kid looked as though Christmas had come early, or maybe as though he were viewing an exotic creature at a zoo. (That exotic creature, of course, would be me.)
I snorted with slight laughter. "Nice to meet you. You're Spencer, right?"
"Yeah, that's me," the Riolu replied, curving both sides of his mouth into a smile. "And I'm a Riolu now!"
"I can tell. Though I can't say I know too much about Pokémon. It was pretty insane when we learned that the flight had diverted to a completely different world."
"Insane in a good way!" Spencer exclaimed, bouncing upward and nearly upsetting his glass of what looked like root beer.
"It might have been good for you, Spencer," I told him, "but it wasn't great for my wife and I. Well, moreso my wife. I want to make the best of it, whereas she's kinda…".
I trailed off, realizing I shouldn't be so loud. (I'd noticed that my ears felt more sensitive today; if that was a Pokémon thing, it stood to reason that my wife might hear me if I wasn't careful.)
"She's kinda…what, exactly?"
With a sigh, and while weighing my words carefully, I responded slowly. "I guess she's more of a glass-half-empty person. I like to look at the glass as being half-full, but she doesn't see it that way."
"Huh?"
"Well, let me put it this way: Spencer, your glass is full to the brim. You seem genuinely thrilled to be here, to be a Pokémon, and I'd just like to understand why."
"It's been my dream for a while. I mean, it's something I love - Mom calls it a 'special interest,' a 'hyperfixation', or what have you."
I frowned. "We're all passionate about some area of interest. Is that supposed to be a bad thing?"
"Mom sure thinks it is."
"Well, how old are you, Spencer? If you don't mind - ".
"I'm fourteen," the Riolu responded. "I'd rather have been a Lucario, isn't the average age of evolution ten?"
"Uh…aren't we always evolving to fit our environment? Haven't you taken biology? Like, at school?"
In response, Spencer merely snorted in mild laughter. I asked him what was so funny, and this is how he replied:
"Evolution doesn't work in the world of Pokémon the way it does on Earth" the Riolu replied, completely candidly. "After a while, an individual Pokémon will evolve to become more powerful; in my case, I would evolve from a Riolu to become a Lucario. Clearly not yet, though."
I glanced up at the ceiling of the bar, trying to wrap my head around this new concept. "That sounds kinda like…I dunno, when a caterpillar becomes a butterfly? What's that again?"
"Metamorphosis?"
"Thanks, that's the word" I said, blushing at the knowledge that I hadn't been smarter than a 9th grader. "Anyway, it's like that? A Pokémon evolves and 'graduates' from its lower status?"
"Precisely" Spencer replied, and I saw the kid's tail start wagging. (Come to think of it, did I have a tail too? That would take some getting used to.)
"Sorry for not knowing the word. I'm not a Bio major" I said.
"You're in college?"
"Was. I graduated with a bachelor's degree in Political Science."
"Wow, you look so much younger than that. How old are you again?" Spencer asked me, the wagging of his tail picking up speed.
"Twenty-five and happily married."
The Riolu boy appeared amazed, like his world had just been shattered by my statement of fact. "Are you really twenty-five?"
I rolled my eyes. "Spencer, I could show you my passport card, but you wouldn't believe me, would you? We're all these creatures now…didn't you call them Pokémon?"
"I did!" Spencer exclaimed happily.
"Well, let me tell you something: I always thought of Pokémon as that trading card game all the nerds were into at school. And yeah, I guess we're all nerds about something, but I figured Political Science was at least useful!"
"Political Science, huh? Well, tell me…will Trump win in 2028?"
I snorted, a humorless sort of laugh. "Don't ask me, ask Nate Bronze."
"Nate Bronze? Who's that?"
"Look, it doesn't matter. The point is, I would never have guessed that those trading cards would actually have some truth to them."
Spencer beamed at me. "How much do you remember from that game?"
I sighed, not knowing how to answer. Just then, a bartender came by, and I ordered another virgin piña colada. (Hey, no alcohol, no guilt.)
"I asked you a question," the Riolu boy continued.
"Oh…well, not much at all, really. Just that all those characters - Pokémon, they were called - had a different type or whatever. What that meant, though, I have no idea."
"Awesome, that means I can teach you about it!" Spencer announced emphatically. I couldn't help but groan internally at the thought of getting schooled by a 14-year-old, but sometimes that's how life is.
"Teach me what?" I asked. I tried not to sound condescending, but at the same time, I couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't still the most vivid dream of my life. Of course, that was probably wishful thinking at this point.
"Well, a Pokémon's type determines all sorts of things!" Spencer continued, wagging his tail even more. "It dictates what moves they can use, as well as what other types of moves they are strong or weak against. For instance, I've become a Riolu, and that means I'm a Fighting-type!"
I flinched a bit. "You're not going to…fight me, are you?"
"Of course not!" the Riolu kid exclaimed, as though appalled that I'd even think about accusing him of wanting to attack me. "It just means I have a lot of energy and power if I do choose to attack!"
"Fair enough" I mouthed, feeling a bit better (though no less guilty about hurting Spencer's feelings, as exasperating as that kid could be.)
"In terms of the moves I can use," Spencer continued, "I've got a few of them. Quick Attack, Endure, Metal Claw at Level 8, and a few others…the list goes on and on as I'll level up."
"So life's a video game, huh? Where you level up through combat and whatever, with experience points or whatever they're called?" (It should go without saying that I'm not much of a gamer.)
"Yes!" Spencer cheered. "And what's more, if my Happiness reaches a certain level during the day, I'll evolve into a Lucario, and then I'll be able to make Aura Spheres and whatnot!"
"Your mother…she became one, didn't she?" I asked, remembering the sight of Marilyn on the beach and how she'd looked like Spencer's mom.
The Riolu boy nodded, bouncing up and down as though his seat were a miniature trampoline. "Yes, she did!"
"But she doesn't seem thrilled about it. She was probably like my wife and I - we didn't expect to end up in a video game."
"The best things in life are surprises!" Spencer replied enthusiastically.
"Well…not always. Anyway, what types are my wife and I?"
Spencer responded breathlessly. "You're a Litleo, the Lion Cub Pokémon. You're a Normal Pokémon - ".
"I guess I'm generic, then."
" - and also a Fire-type. You will evolve into a Pyroar at Level 35, and then you'll be the mightiest lion in the land."
Okay, so I'm also in an incomplete form. I guess I'm not shocked by that - I mean, look how puny I've become.
"And then my wife?"
"She's a Braixen. That's also a Fighting-type, though it's not paired with any other types. They say that Braixen has some special magic, with twig wands or whatever, but what should I know about that?"
Uh, it seems like you know almost everything there is to know about this fictional universe, which isn't so fictional after all. I'm surprised you wouldn't know about these magical powers my wife may or may not have.
Oh well. I can't be too upset with Spencer. He's only fourteen, after all - in the grand scheme of things, just a kid.
"Anyway," the Riolu kid continued, "she evolved from Fennekin - ".
"Evolved? She's been a Braixen ever since we entered this world!"
" - or rather, she would have evolved from Fennekin at Level 16. Eventually, she'll become a Delphox at Level 36. So I guess she's right in the middle right now."
I frowned. "How do we level up, exactly? Fighting enemies? Are there any enemies at this resort?"
"Well, there are gyms and such where you can hone your battling skills in a relatively safe environment" Spencer asserted. "I don't know how else you'd level up. But quite frankly, I'm in heaven right now."
I turned to the Riolu boy and said the following: "I wish I could believe in heaven."
"You don't? Isn't this proof enough that heaven exists? I'm living my dream!"
"Your mother doesn't seem to be living hers. Isn't she thinking about how worried her husband must be?"
Spencer's smile vanished. "Not really. Parents are divorced. He's not her responsibility anymore."
"Oh. Sorry to hear that" I responded.
"Happened pretty recently. Mom booked this trip to celebrate the split. Nothing lasts forever, though."
When my drink arrived, the conversation between Spencer and I ceased entirely. I was too focused on enjoying the cool, sweet goodness of a virgin piña colada. (And no, I wasn't caught in the rain.)
Man, I hope Amanda doesn't consider this trip grounds for divorce. Maybe I shouldn't have dismissed her worries about the suite we got.
No. I can't already be thinking about divorce while we're on our special couple's trip. It's too soon, it really is.
My thoughts then turned to what I'd asked Spencer about there being no enemies at the resort. And mind you, it's not that I'd suddenly come to believe I'd been wrong.
However, doubt started to creep in as I slurped up the last bits of pineapple juice, and I wondered: I've been wrong before. What if there are enemies at this resort?