With a piece of posterboard, a bold permanent marker, and a corner of the square she'd claimed as hers, Ninette is ready to break the law.
In order to earn money to get home, of course. So what if she's misrepresenting her professional skill level when she'd written "PROFESSIONAL KALOSIAN STYLIST - POKÉMON GROOMING - ONLY 1000!". And so what if she doesn't have a license to practice in Galar or know the local trends.
The facts of the matter are that she is a Kalosian pokémon stylist and she is good enough to already be pro, and then some. She's just a little young for it. And a little not in Kalos. But skills are skills, and she's willing to share them for a very generous price. And she needs to get home to stop this train of illegality, so really, Galar would be better off letting her commit this one last crime for the greater good.
Her first customer is a sharply-dressed elderly woman with a persian next to her; Ninette knows her type very well. Well-to-do with a spoiled pet and an eye for pristine presentation. The woman studies her sign, studies her, then back to the sign, while the persian yawns and looks about. It butts up into the woman's hand when she absently reaches down to scratch behind its round ear.
"My, a Kalosian pokémon stylist? Here?" the woman finally says with a jovial air, but a thread of wariness underneath. Even with the cheap price, she's likely guarded against scams.
"Yes'm!" Ninette chirps. She gestures again to her sign. "I'm traveling for a little while longer in this beautiful region and thought I'd share my skills with the people here. I've been trained in Laverre and Lumiose!" She'd only spent a week in Laverre City with her mentor, but she's counting it, since it was a working vacation. "But since I'm on vacation, and I'm sure a lot of my customers will be on vacation, I decided to put my skills on sale."
"A steep sale," the woman sniffs. She glances down at her persian and pets it fondly again. "But I am most curious to see if you are as talented as you appear, little miss. I'd like to order a grooming session with you for my dear little Diamond here. We're in town for the music festival, and it's been such fun, but it's quite draining to be up at all hours, and I'm afraid we're both quite rumpled."
The woman looks very well put together, and Ninette cannot see anything off with the persian. Granted, feline pokémon notoriously hide their hurts and messes, but she counts herself lucky that her first two grooming customers had been a meowth and a persian. She's had plenty of practice on such common pokémon.
She beams at them both. She sets her cardboard sign to the side and gestures to the spread out picnic blanket next to the wall and her roll of basic tools. "If you'd come right this way, then! Is it alright if I give your persian any oran or pecha berries while I work?"
"Oh, he's quite picky. I doubt he'll take them from you," the woman simpers.
In five minutes flat she has the persian literally eating out of her hand as she brushes him. Good thing she'd stocked up on more berries, because he's eating with the gusto of a pokémon normally only allowed to eat fine dining. (She also knows that type very well.)
Persian are large pokémon, but easy to groom if you respect them. Ninette spends extra time on his back to relax him before moving onto his legs, then switches to her hands to rub his face. All of his fur is silky smooth and free of any tangles or burrs. She can tell from his temperament and teeth that this is an older pokémon, but not an elderly one, so she doesn't need to take extra care.
If she were back in the salon, the brushing would be followed with another rub down with another textured brush, finished with a delicate pokémon-friendly perfume and complimentary bow tied onto his (diamond, of course) collar. Here, she only has two brushes, and one would be useless for fur, and zero nice-smelling things. Ninette has the skills to treat a persian right and plenty of bribes, but not much else.
"Is he a battling pokémon? Would you like his nails trimmed?" Ninette asks as she coaxes Diamond onto his side so she can carefully brush his belly. (Always a tempting but fraught target on felines.)
She knows that this is a pet and likely has never battled in his life. But the customer comes first.
"Only his front ones, if you'd please. I've heard it's bad to let kitties have their back paws trimmed, in case they need to climb somewhere."
This is technically true. But it's normally true for pokémon that need to climb—as in littler things that may get picked on by bigger things. A fully-grown, non-battling persian wouldn't have much to worry about from any would-be bullies. But Ninette doesn't say a word since the less she has to trim claws, the happier she is.
To her pleasant surprise, Diamond doesn't care when she holds his paws still to extend his claws. "What a good boy," Ninette coos and grabs her larger clippers. She gets each claw done in short order—not forgetting the thumb like an amateur, either—and gives him another two pecha berries. Diamond even licks her fingers afterward this time, starting up a deep, loud purr.
"My," the old woman says, hand to her mouth, "he's normally not so friendly with strangers. You truly have a way with pokémon, little miss. And his fur looks so shiny now!"
All Ninette has done is give him two thorough brushings and trim two paws' worth of claws. (And bribed him a lot with berries.) But even this simple service would start at seven grand in the Lumiose salon. They don't even offer something so simple by itself, she's pretty sure.
Ninette ensures that Diamond is a happy camper before getting back to her feet and grinning at the woman. "Thank you, ma'am! As you can see, I'm the real deal. Thank you for your patronage, and you have a nice night! Er, morning. Rest of day."
The old woman smiles at her and Diamond resumes his position at her side, now looking even more sleek and languid. A feat, for a persian. Ninette can't help the pride swelling in her chest. She hands over a pair of bills—twice the requested thousand.
Ninette knows better than to turn down a tip. She bobs her head with another, "Thank you!"
Raising her voice to be heard for the few students watching (Ninette hadn't noticed getting an audience, however small), the old woman says, "You're quite skilled! I've been to Lumiose, and you're undercharging yourself. I'm used to paying ten times your price! You're running quite the special sale, little miss, and I can't imagine anyone would be fool enough to miss it."
Ninette grins a little harder. "Thank you," she repeats, again, glancing sideways at the pair of students whispering behind their hands. She knows word of mouth is better than any ad.
She hardly gets all of the persian fur out of her brush before one of the students approaches her. More shyly than the old woman, probably never having been to a stylist before in his life, and he reaches into his (hideously colored) shorts' pocket to pull out a pokéball. He releases a fletchinder. "Um, hi there. Do you do birds, too?"
Aha, another easy one. "There's no pokémon I can't groom!"
Ninette has a line.
She sort of regrets not charging more—not because she's low on cash anymore, because wow, she already nearly has enough for a new cab fare—just so she wouldn't get swamped once the student body and other tourists heard about her super special sale. And here she'd been worried about getting no customers.
It's not too bad; all of the pokémon so far are easy to take care of. Only one had been snappish, a houndour of course, but even that one had accepted berries as a bribe for good behavior. And it somehow caught on with the swarming students that she was using berries—so instead of cash tips, she was soon given berries by the handful by wide-eyed and overjoyed students, most of them proudly explaining where they'd found them. She doesn't even recognize most of what she's been given, but she has a plethora of oran, pecha, and aspear, and those are safe for most pokémon. She can investigate the others later.
And she eats a mago berry herself as a reward for her hard work.
The sky has turned orange and a punk-dressed customer with a toxtricity tips her with a large coffee from a nearby cafe. Ninette feels bad taking a full break with so many kids eagerly waiting on her instead of going to see any of the concerts, so she hasn't yet. But she should be going back to the pokémon center soon. They're probably done with that flittle's surgery.
The crowd of students parts like wishiwashi around a sharpedo.
The tourists and band fans don't edge out of the way in the same manner, but they look about curiously as a teenaged boy with a mop of two-toned hair approaches. He's dressed just as garishly as the other students, perhaps extra garishly due to the bright puffy vest, but the behavior of the others is what concerns Ninette most. He's older than most of the newbie trainers she's served thus far. And with the sun rising and the rest of the city waking up, she's more cautious, unsure of what sort of attention she may garner now.
In short, she thinks he's some sort of strict student council guy, based on the whispers of the other students. She does not want to get in trouble, and is ready to pack up and bolt, but he offers her a pleasant smile and asks, "Do you groom mabosstiff here?"
"There's no pokémon I can't groom," Ninette cautiously replies. She doesn't know what a mabosstiff is offhand, but he's polite. Maybe just one of those bigshot type trainers that intimidate the others, then?
The boy releases a large canine pokémon and Ninette relaxes. Its fur is incredibly long and appears quite fine, but she can make do with what she has here. It'll only take a long time.
"Are you here for a trim?" Ninette asks, even more cautiously, eyeing the long fur.
"Oh, no! Just a… Well, whatever you're doing here that's caught so much attention. I don't think mabosstiff is too dirty, but he is a battling pokémon again, isn't that right, buddy? Just whatever your regular service is, please!" He seems nice enough. And his pokémon seems pretty well-behaved, too.
Interestingly, however, this is the first pokémon of the night—day, morning, whatever—that turns his nose up at her offer of berries. Ninette pulls back her fistful of oran berries with a confused blink.
"C'mon, buddy, don't be picky now! Sorry about him. He'll behave himself, promise, but he's gotten sort of picky after getting accustomed to certain kinds of foods," the boy explains with an embarrassed wince.
Ninette sets the berries aside and pats her lap. The mabosstiff obediently comes over and places one massive paw on her thigh. Far be it from her to complain about a well-behaved pokémon, and she can save a few berries to boot. This one looks like he could eat a lot.
The boy hums and sits opposite her, as if sensing how long it'll take for her to brush through this shaggy fur. (The fur could stand to be trimmed, but the customer is always right. Supposedly.) Even now, there's a wide circle of students who will not get any nearer than fifteen feet. Whoever this guy is, he has some sort of reputation. She can't parse it, but she also doesn't care that much, because she assumes she'll get paid and this is a very good boy she's working on.
"Have you had breakfast yet?" the guy asks, apropos of nothing.
"Hm?" Ninette pauses a moment, working her way down the mabosstiff's back, and the offer processes. Her cheeks heat despite herself. "Uh—no?" Is he offering? Why is he offering? I guess he's pretty cute, but I'm on a job here.
"I've gotten in trouble too many times for setting up cooking stations in the middle of the city, so I can't cook you anything, but I know where all the best cafes in the city are. I've seen other students bring you food or drinks, right? It's the least I could do," he offers.
"Oh, alors… That's very sweet of you, thank you. But I can't eat while I'm working on a pokémon—especially with fur like this. I'd just have to brush him over all over again," Ninette awkwardly replies. Though, at the reminder that she's been up all night and burning calories with stress and walking untold distances, her stomach rumbles. Loudly.
The guy smiles at her. Ninette quickly drops her gaze to his pokémon and brushes a little harder. "Afterward, then. I wouldn't want to ruin your concentration. You're a real professional, huh?"
"Of course I am." Is this another case, like the old lady from before, where he didn't believe she was a real Kalosian stylist? Well, joke's on him, because she is going to groom his pokémon so well.
If the way the other students in her audience gave this guy a wide berth was akin to wishiwashi before a sharpedo, then now, they've all become abra. The uniformed trainers surrounding her vanish entirely, and so do a few of the tourist-types, when a teenaged girl with a ponytail strides up.
"Hey, Arven! Fancy meeting you here! What are you up to so early this morning?" the girl asks with a brightness that only comes to morning people. She offers Ninette a grin and a wave. Ninette nods back, even more cautious, because why did everyone else run as soon as she appeared? She can't be much older than Ninette, though she carries herself like the mature type. Maybe she's the strict student council type?
The guy, Arven, winces very briefly before craning his neck back to look at her upside-down. "I'm in Mesagoza for the music festival—I've been helping out with one of the catering companies. I'm surprised you're here, Nemona."
"Well, you know how it is! I'm only here to look for—"
"I'm not ratting out my little buddy."
"Oh, c'mon! We haven't battled in almost a month now, did you know that? A whole month. And I've looked all over! I know La Primera asked any champion-rank trainers to be here for the publicity, so I was thinking…"
"Didn't Geeta also forbid you from battling in the city during the festival?" Arven mutters under his breath.
From their odd dynamic, Ninette not only gathers that they know each other and have reputations, but she also gathers that the Nemona girl is some sort of battling fiend. She looks genuinely upset at the thought of not battling someone else.
"Say, you're doing really well with mabosstiff, there!" Nemona comes around and squats beside them, offering the canine a fond scratch behind his floppy ears. "You know a thing or two about pokémon, right?"
"Nemona—"
"Uh, yes?" Ninette replies, accidentally cutting across Arven's exasperation.
"Do you want to battle?" Nemona asks with positively sparkling eyes. "You sound like you're from—hmm… Kalos, ey? I bet you have a lot of really cool foreign pokémon! Can I see them in a battle? I'd love to see your techniques!"
Her enthusiasm activates some hindbrain fight or flight response—firmly in the flight direction. "Je parle pas votre langue! Je suis pas un dresseuse—je ne peux pas combattre ici!"
"Ah, je parle un peu Kalosian! Voulez-vous combattre avec moi?" Nemona happily replies.
"We take foreign language classes at the academy," Arven advises in a deadpan.
"I'm just a stylist!" Ninette practically squeaks and all but hides behind the mabosstiff, brushing like her life depends on it. It just may.
"Stylists from Kalos are pretty serious business!"
"I don't have any pokémon!" Ninette insists, sweating at the reminder of Théodore's ball in her pocket.
"Come on, lay off her, Nemona," Arven butts back in. "Not everyone is as battle-crazed as you."
"Except for your 'little buddy', huh? C'mon, just a hint! I'll go search the music festival myself!"
"We're busy here, and you're interrupting a business transaction! Mabosstiff deserves some pampering. That means we won't battle you, either!" He adds the last part in a rush based on how Nemona's enthusiasm turns on him like a predator scenting blood. "…You didn't hear this from me, but maybe check around Ryme's venue. I heard they were practicing doubles together again."
"Gracias!" Nemona cheers and is off like a shot. Ninette hopes her sigh of relief isn't too audible. She's never been good with those gung-ho type trainers.
"Ugh, sorry about that. She gets carried away easily, and doesn't care who she gets carried away with. We might've been at real risk of getting caught up in a big battling spectacle… Director Clavell would've had our hides for it, too. We're not supposed to be battling in the city, especially not right now, with all of the crowds. Of course, Nemona usually gets all the permission she wants when she battles, given that she's a draw, too. But that's a champion for you!"
Ninette hardly knows what he means, outside of how narrowly they'd both avoided a battling bullet just now. She nods along anyway.
Then his words actually process.
"That was the Champion?!" she all but shrieks, hands stilling in her work for the first time.
"No, no, a champion. Right, Kalos only has one, huh? Here, we have it as a rank that multiple trainers can hold at one time. Doesn't mean they're any less strong, or any less of a celebrity, but it's not just one person. Well, mostly…?"
Ninette again returns to nodding along, glad she didn't miss the opportunity to style the Champion's pokémon. Then again, a champion still seems like a pretty big deal. She's not here to hunt for glory or connections, but bragging rights never hurt anyone… She guesses she never heard who took over after Leon got defeated, so maybe Galar decided not to force such a spotlight on one person anymore.
Then again, with Champions like Leon or Diantha, it was hard not to shine a spotlight on them.
It takes the better part of an hour and the sun is peeking over the edge of the eastern buildings before Ninette is done brushing out mabosstiff's long coat. He'd behaved the entire time and never took a single berry from her. Arven disappeared as she was winding down, but based on context clues, she was pretty sure this was a battling pokémon, so she didn't bring out the nail clippers. She pet mabosstiff until his trainer came back; his fur was like the finest silk, and she could have happily spent another hour here just petting him. And he seemed more than happy with that arrangement, too.
But his droopy ears perk before long, and he raises his large head when Arven comes back with a plastic bag he immediately thrusts at Ninette. "Here, breakfast paella! And it's a thousand for the grooming, right? Or did he go over the time because of all that fur?"
"Oh, no, it's a flat fee. But thank you very much." Ninette looks down at the styrofoam bowl in the bag; even through its vented plastic lid, she can smell good food. She's never had paella before and doesn't know what breakfast paella could entail. But she's hungry enough to be the opposite of picky.
"If you want me to talk to Nemona for you…?" Arven trails off, glancing in the direction she'd run off. "I mean, if you want a fancy, celeb customer like her. I could also talk to my little buddy, since I'm sure they've found each other by now. Not that I'm dismissing myself, but y'know. I could talk to them for you. You can handle battlers, right?"
Ninette is not strapped for more customers. In fact, since Nemona's presence scared off most of her assembled crowd, she plans on making a break for it back to the pokémon center right now. "Oh, thank you—wait, yourself?"
Arven cocks his head at her with a mareepish grin. "Eh, nevermind, we're probably not all that famous outside the region."
Did I just groom a celebrity's pokémon, Ninette wonders in horror. Well, okay, she's done that before. But never without knowing who the famous owner was!
"Thanks for your hard work! Mabosstiff looks great! Come on, buddy, let's go make sure Nemona doesn't rip apart the stages." Arven waves goodbye, ignorant to Ninette's embarrassment, mabosstiff at his side and looking particularly shiny in the brightening morning light.
Well, whatever. He was nice, Ninette did a good job, and she got paid and got food out of the deal. She rolls up her toolkit, tucks her cardboard sign under her arm, and scampers back toward the pokémon center before anyone else can approach her.
The pokémon center is even more crowded with the light of the early morning. The trainers look collectively hungover, aside from the mass of bright-eyed and bushy-tailed uniformed trainers from whatever that fancy academy is. She catches the names Nemona and Arven more than a few times as she slides past all of the gossip.
So they are a big deal.
But she's not here to make connections. It's probably better that she's not known to be here right now, given how semi-legal her presence is.
It's the same Nurse Joy as earlier that morning at the desk. She recognizes Ninette with a smile. A smile means good things. The desk is swarmed with trainers, however, so Ninette can barely push her way to the front without getting stepped on. A fraxure and its trainer jostle her on one side, and a sobbing little girl with a fainted armful of goopy grimer is trying to flop her way onto the desk on her other side. "I'm here for the—the flittle!" Ninette tries to shout over the din of other trainers demanding attention. The grimer oozes onto her elbow and she rears back with an indignant squeal. Wiping off her cardigan sleeve, Ninette tries to wave away the girl's apology, but she can hardly hear her, either.
Thankfully, the Nurse Joy had recognized her, and it only takes a few gestures for her to retrieve the pokéball. Ninette waits a beat, for a form or demand of payment or something else, but the nurse is swiftly tugged to another trainer and his suspiciously shining voltorb.
Ninette beats a hasty retreat, and a few others try the same, but even that threat doesn't clear the crowd completely. Wow. Breakfast hanging from one hand, pokéball in the other, Ninette finds a semi-quiet place on the other side of the courtyard to hear herself think.
Right now, all she wants to do is get something in her stomach. She can go back when the center isn't so swamped to ask about release forms or payment or whatever else she needs to take care of. She considers it a great gesture of trust that she was allowed to walk away, so she doesn't plan on returning to her earlier spot to busk; she'll stay within sight to make good on that trust.
Plus, she made over ten grand just this morning. Another afternoon of this and she's set. With extra spending money, too. Having cash again takes a huge weight off her shoulders and lessens her concerns about her time limit here.
Ninette discovers that breakfast paella is delicious. She can't identify anything outside of rice and eggs and peppers and what may be some sort of seafood, but it's exactly what she needed (something she rarely thinks about non-dessert food). She's not used to this selection of spices, either. She doesn't often have spicy food, and this doesn't make her cry or anything, but she's definitely gulping down plenty of water (and the last dredges of her coffee) to go along with her meal.
So, she stayed up all night. And her body is not happy with this. But she has caffeine and food in her system, and the growing daylight improves her mood, too. The flittle will be okay, or is already okay, she presumes, based on the facts that the Nurse Joy returned it—her, she reminds herself—and she'd been smiling. People don't smile over dead pokémon. She'll need to take care of whatever else before returning to Los Platos and releasing it, or maybe she can ask here about that process, but she can spend the afternoon here and enjoy the city in daylight.
It'll get more crowded, and she already hears the buildup of the faraway music again, but it's not an ugly city. Not as pretty as Lumiose, or that glittering city on the coast, but few places are. She has some pocket money and renewed excitement to try local cuisine.
Everything turned out alright, overall, she decides.
"Um, excuse me," a soft voice interrupts her thoughts.
Ninette looks up to find a dark-skinned boy, probably about ten, staring down very solemnly at her. He's dressed in the same terrible uniform as most other kids his age, though he also has a beret that's almost cute covering a small ponytail. At least he has that very small charm point to counteract the ghastliness of the rest of his ensemble.
"Are you the pokémon stylist everyone was talking about? They said it was a blonde white girl from Kalos with freckles and stockings," the boy continues.
Are those my markers? Ninette wonders wryly. "Ouais, that would be me. How can I help you?" Her breakfast has been inhaled and while she had wanted a break, she doesn't want to turn away a kid who'd gathered the courage to approach her.
"Pokémon styling is like grooming, right? And that helps pokémon?" he continues with a seriousness belying his age.
"I'd certainly like to think so! But if your pokémon is actually hurt, then there's a center right over there—"
"He's not hurt," the boy says with downcast eyes. His thick lashes fan over his round cheeks. "But I don't know how to touch him. He keeps zapping me. If you know how to deal with pokémon, I thought maybe you could help me."
Okay, so break time is officially over. Ninette stands, dusts off her shorts and stockings, and gestures to the boy to follow her to a nominally less crowded space. She's guessing he has an electric pokémon and there's a charge built up in its fur or skin. It's pretty common with them. Most people know the basics, like not to touch a pikachu's cheeks or dedenne while their tails are plugged in, but electric pokémon can be tricky for newbies to deal with.
Pity she doesn't have any rubber gloves with her. She hopes this isn't anything too strong.
Ninette picks the bench where she'd piled the combee last night. There's an open seat she aims for—but instantly gets swarmed by said combee, who apparently recognize her and are quite grateful. She doesn't know how to deal with an abrupt face full of buzzing bug pokémon outside of a short scream. The boy apparently doesn't know how to deal with this, either, given that he stands there and stares at her.
After the happy combee are fended off, Ninette combs her fingers through her hair with as much dignity as she can muster. "Ahem. Well then. Please, release your pokémon, and I will do my best to help you."
"You're weird," the boy bluntly tells her.
"And you're the one asking me for help," she reminds him, voice flat. She shoos another happy combee away from nestling in her hair. "I did them a favor last night—this morning—that's all. It only proves that I'm a pokémon expert, right?"
He nods, still solemn, and she wonders if this kid ever smiles. He tugs a pokéball off his belt and releases a small pokémon between them.
Ninette doesn't recognize it at first. She doesn't know every pokémon in the world, and she's in a foreign region, but this is a first. She'd been lucky until now.
It's a small bird, that's obvious, with black and gold plumage. She can see the static washing over its feathers even without touching it. It flaps a few times in the air, then settles on the stone bench between them, stretching its stout wings with a chirp.
After much fishing around in her overstuffed duffel bag, Ninette comes up with her mother's ancient pokédex. "Wattrel," it supplies, "the storm petrel pokémon. An electric/flying type avian pokémon, this pokémon is known for diving into the sea to hunt its prey via electrocution. Unlike most other electric-type pokémon, its bones are its electricity-producing part."
"What is that? A pokédex machine?" the boy asks and leans forward toward the device.
"Of course it is!" Ninette retorts. So what if it's a little old? It's perfectly functional and obviously helpful. She stashes it again, then, after another glance at the wattrel, grabs her wooloo wool beret out of her bag. "…What do you use here, if not a pokédex?"
"We have those. But it's an app on our rotom phones."
Despite only being fourteen, presumably only a handful of years older than this boy, Ninette catches herself thinking kids these days. But she pastes a smile on and beckons the wattrel over with an offer of a berry. It eagerly hops onto her extended hand—and yep, she gets a static shock from it. A strong one, too.
The boy sadly explains, "That happens every time I touch him. Sometimes, they really hurt, too. I can tell he's noticed it, because he doesn't touch me very much anymore, but that's not good for a starter. We're supposed to be bonded, aren't we…? My mom said that wattrel were good pokémon to have, since they can charge phones and stuff, but I don't know what to do. Nurse Joy says it's not a health issue."
"Yeah, no, this is a healthy little guy," Ninette agrees and hefts the bird up high. He has a grey underbelly and more yellow plumage underneath his little beak. Even after the initial shock, she can feel an uncomfortable thrum in their connected skin. It doesn't hurt, but it could, and she assumes that if the wattrel could manage its electrical output, it would have already. "Alright, so, I think this will be an easy fix! Genuine wooloo wool collects static electricity." She pulls her cardigan sleeve down over her other hand and pets over the pokémon. He preens at the touch, probably unused to something so soft, and she hears a faint crackle of more static, but doesn't feel its sting. She rubs down the wattrel as thoroughly as she dares with a small bird pokémon.
She then holds him back out to the boy.
Tentatively, he reaches out and runs one finger over his wing. He doesn't flinch back, and the wattrel must notice the lack of shock, too, because he spreads his wings again with a delighted squeal. (Weird sound for a bird to make, but she's pleased this has a happy ending.)
"Voilà! With a pokémon this size, I'd say you have to rub him down once a week or so, and probably after every other battle, depending on how much electricity he uses. That one, you'll have to do trial and error, because I don't know much about battling or what these little guys are capable of. It has to be real wooloo wool, though."
The boy reaches up to his beret.
Don't call it cheap, Ninette warns herself, and hastens to tell him, "No, that won't work, that's—not the right material for it. You'd need something like this." She presses her own beret into his hands. "Or like my cardigan! Obviously, I can't give you that, but here. This is plenty big enough for a little guy like this. I'm guessing wattrel evolve—most bird pokémon this size do—and he should gain better control of his electricity then. Most evolved pokémon do. But if he doesn't, then looks like you'll have to invest in your own wooloo wool cardigan and do a whole bunch more trial and error to figure out that."
The boy stares at her with huge eyes, the first time he's looked anything but vaguely sad and very serious. He has very pretty eyes, too, the same dark blue as the night sky.
He opens and closes his mouth a few times. He finally manages, "I can't take this from you, it looks fancy."
"It's a stopgap measure for your pokémon's sake!" She can't in good conscience ask a kid to pay for it, but she does add, "Plus, I'm still asking for my styling fee. A thousand pokédollars flat fee."
As he rummages around in his backpack for his wallet, Ninette realizes that she has been a huge idiot.
She's spent the early morning surrounded by a ton of people. She's made conversation with many of them. She's had time to burn and there are more locals packed into this city than she could ever meet.
She seizes the boy's hands before he can pull out the money. "Wait! I need your help—you live here, right?"
"Not in Mesagoza—"
"I meant in the region, that's all. I'm looking for a wooloo!"
His eyes slide sideways to her beret, still clenched in his other hand. "Those are pokémon, right…?" he asks with the delicate awkwardness of a new trainer realizing they don't know everything about pokémon.
Ninette mimes a circular shape. "Very round, very fluffy pokémon that people shear for wool. They're livestock pokémon! Do you know where those are found here? I've been looking for them, and I need one really badly."
"Oh, those. I'm fairly sure those are found near Cortondo."
She has a location! From a local! With wooloo there. That's almost worth that beret, given that her plan is finally coming back together in her mind. She has funds and she has a location. "Great! Where is that?"
"To the west of here, not very far, I think. Um, I'm actually headed there next, my mom wants me to catch a fidough, so I could take you. Since you're not a trainer."
She has a location and a native escort! Ninette practically feels giddy. "I'd love to take you up on that, merci beaucoup! When can you leave?"
He balks a moment, and she worries that he wants to stay in the city for as long as that music festival lasts. But, after a moment of solemn consideration, he replies, "I can leave tomorrow morning. I'd have to pack." His eyes dip down to her rounded duffel bag. "And maybe you should repack."
She can do tomorrow morning; that gives her the rest of today to gather money and figure out what to do with the flittle and the ensuing paperwork. Hopefully it'll give her a night to fix her sleep schedule, too.
"My name is Elias," the boy adds, a little miffed, as if annoyed he hadn't been asked for introductions yet. "And this is Shadow. Thank you very much for the beret and the advice."
"Oh—I'm Ninette!"
They shake hands, because Elias seems precisely serious enough to do that when meeting new people, despite his age. "I'll meet you at that pokémon center early tomorrow morning, alright? Around this time."
And she avoided the issue of not having a working phone number to share. Everything is coming up roselia. Sure, Ninette still has a pile of many other little things to take care of—should she spring for a hotel room since she has the money, she doesn't know how much that surgery cost or what the fees related to the accident could be, she'll need to figure out a way to sneak Théodore out to feed him and explain that they're almost done with their trip here—but the broad strokes of her plan are finally coming back together. Call her a psyduck, because she's on cloud nine.
With a new spring in her step, Ninette returns to the pokémon center, pleased to find it slightly less busy than before. At least there are no voltorb around anymore, and the grimer's goop had gotten cleaned up, too.
But there's a new Nurse Joy manning the desk, so Ninette can't rely on gestures this time. She elbows her way to the front and waits until she can get her attention. Trainers with hurt pokémon take precedence, but it doesn't appear as if there are any true emergencies right now, since the Nurse Joy comes round to her after a few minutes. "Yes, can I help you?"
Ninette thrusts out the pokéball. "This pokémon, a flittle, was in for surgery early this morning."
"Oh, yes, I remember reading over the night notes about that. Is everything alright?" Her eyes widen at the thought of complications, but Ninette is quick to shake her head hard enough her hair flies.
"No, no! It's fine. I think."
"You haven't checked on your pokémon?"
"It's not mine—I mean, I caught it sort of accidentally, so I'm not sure about the registration—"
"Don't worry, dear, pokémon are automatically registered to their trainers the first time you visit a center with the ball!"
"That wasn't my concern—" Who did it even register to? I'm not a Galarian trainer—I'm not a trainer at all!
"If there's no complications with your flittle, then I have to help others."
"It's not mine, I need some sort of paperwork or something to release—"
The Nurse Joy bustles off to attend to an unconscious pikachu another trainer released onto the counter. Ninette chews on her lip before ducking out of the way of others vying for medical attention.
So that was a bust.
Or so she thinks, until she hears a loud pop of bubblegum that startles her into whirling around.
A taller girl, probably only just older than her, looks down at her with her head cocked. She chews bright pink bubblegum with her mouth open. Ninette registers the same hideous uniform as most other trainers here, but what really catches her attention is her hair.
Most of it is a soft, dull greyish blonde, but it's streaked through with every color of the rainbow—but the colors have faded. The blue has faded almost to green, the yellow looks sickly, and the only pretty color is probably what was the red and is now a pastel pink. It's one thing to let a dye job fade, but her hair is cut into a sharp, chin-length bob, and that looks maintained. This girl has absolutely been to a hair stylist recently. But she let her hair go like that?
"Yer tryin' to release a pokémon, right?" the girl asks with another pop of her gum. Ninette nods dumbly. The girl tosses her head—multicolored, dull hair flying—and rolls her eyes. "I'm in the same friggin' boat. It sucks. I'll save ya some trouble and let ya know that pokémon centers don't care about releasin' pokémon—it's not their jurisdiction. Ya gotta go back to where ya caught the pokémon and do it there, and they ain't sayin' anything else on the matter to folks like us."
A trainer wants to release her pokémon? Ninette wonders, then catches herself. She's not a trainer, but she is in the same situation. She has no place to judge. She doesn't know this girl or her circumstances.
So that means she has to return to Los Platos—or, well, wherever it was she found that flittle. She's sure there is a grace area of location she could release her in, and it would likely be easier to find those short cliffs in daylight, but she's not looking forward to it.
Unless, perhaps, she could ask Elias if he knows that area? After catching a wooloo, she can go and release the flittle, and then leave from Los Platos. The flying taxi rates would be way cheaper out of any cities, anyway, and Los Platos is the opposite of a city.
"Hey, good luck, alright?" The girl claps Ninette on the shoulder with a sharp grin.
"Oh, um, merci. For the advice. I probably would've waited in line five more times for the same answer…"
"No prob! Yer the Kalosian stylist everyone's goin' on about, huh?"
Ninette nods and wonders if she's going to have another customer already. But the weird-haired girl cocks her head, reaches over, and curls some of Ninette's light hair around her finger.
"Ya gotta look a little flashier, don't ya? I thought Kalos was supposed to be fashionable."
Ninette fumes. "Kalos is fashionable—it's the home to all of the fashion centers in the world! Wyndon and Nimbasa wish they could compete!"
She has the gall to chuckle at her. She tugs, lightly, on Ninette's hair before releasing it and patting her shoulder again. As if in sympathy. Before Ninette could continue, probably rudely pointing out the girl's awful faded color, she offers Ninette a mock salute and another sharp grin. "If ya say so. Good luck with that release! Hope ya got more luck than I do, anyway."
Ninette nods but scowls as the girl disappears back into the pokémon center crowd.
The next morning finds Ninette rested, though still sleepy from the early hour, with money to burn and two pokéballs to her name. (Well, a pokéball and a luxury ball.) It had been nice to sleep in an actual bed and the free breakfast hadn't been terrible, especially before it'd been picked over by the rest of the tourists, because they got to sleep in a bit more.
Why did I agree to meet practically at dawn…? Ninette thinks with a yawn.
"Oh. You didn't repack."
At least Elias is on time. He has a larger backpack than yesterday with a neatly rolled sleeping bag strapped to the top. Very unfortunately, he's still in his garish uniform.
"This is the only bag I have," Ninette complains and hefts her heavy duffel bag.
He looks her up and down. This kid is way too serious, even if he has a point. "You rented a camping kit and a picnicking set from the pokémon center, right? We can return them."
"Do I look like I own a sleeping bag?"
He sighs. At her. Ninette reevaluates her life; surely there are numerous other locals she could ask, especially now that she has a vague location, even if she's forgotten the name of the city he mentioned. "Alright… Return the picnicking kit, since I have a smaller one. Then let's repack things together. I can help you carry a few of the larger things. You should have brought a backpack, though, then the weight would have been distributed evenly over your shoulders. You'll get a bad back like that."
Scratch that—this kid is actually pretty nice. Blunt and too serious for his own good, but nice. Ninette ducks over to the pokémon center and thankfully they accept the return of the kit, despite her having grabbed it in Los Platos. Her shoulder already feels happier for it.
Elias leads her west through the city (which she only knows from the rising sun behind them) and they pull up short in front of what looks like the gate to a castle. Or perhaps a walled city. Galar had one of those, right? Well, duh, she's apparently here, and hadn't noticed since she'd flown in at night.
They sit by the stone wall and Ninette unpacks as carefully as she can without dumping out the entirety of her bag. Elias takes the camping kit from her and straps it on over his sleeping bag and even offers to carry her stylist toolkit and the bag of pokémon food she'd bought for Théodore. Bless this polite old man in the shape of a young boy. He doesn't even ask why she has pokémon food with her.
Sure, she still has to navigate how to feed Théodore—and the flittle, probably—out of sight of him, but that can be tackled later. They'll be in wooloo territory in no time, she'll thank him, probably groom his wattrel for free in extra gratitude, and then she can return to Los Platos, release the flittle nearby, find a flying taxi, and finish up her admittedly convoluted Galarian trip.
It didn't go exactly to plan, but she's circled back around. Ninette can still do this.
LIST OF NINETTE'S CRIMES SO FAR:
+International travel without valid visa
+International travel under false pretenses
+Travel as a non-training minor without parental permission
+Intent to capture pokémon without training license
+Intent to smuggle pokémon across regional borders
+Transport of trained pokémon without valid visa
+Transport of purebred furfrou across regional borders without valid visa
+Theft of pokémon
+Misrepresentation of professional skills
+Accidental injury of pokémon
+Capture of pokémon without valid training license
+Capture of foreign pokémon without valid visa
+Pokémon grooming without valid professional license
+Pokémon grooming without valid local license