Chapter 2
Two months later
"And there we… go," Mars said with a slight grunt of effort as she scraped the last bit of dried up Poffin batter off the inside of the mixing machine - the last in a row of twelve. Well, two rows of six, if you wanted to be technical about it. Either way, another day of work had been successfully completed, much to the crimson-haired woman's relief.
Mars had never been a big fan of manual labour, and while cleaning and maintaining mixers at the Poffin House was not the most taxing of jobs, it was certainly a monotonous one, and it still left her feeling tired at the end of her shift more often than not. It wasn't just a matter of cleaning out all of the mixers at the end of the day, no - these things had to be kept in rotation throughout the day for the benefit of the patrons. Pokémon Trainers from all walks of life would come in with berries that they had picked and perhaps grown themselves, looking to make the little fruit-filled pastries that were a longstanding part of Sinnoh culture to enjoy not just for themselves, but along with human friends and Pokémon companions alike. Nobody could get enough of them, apparently, as was evident by the sheer number of patrons who walked through the Poffin House's front doors on a typical day. A lot of them were tourists, of course; travellers looking to sample the local cuisine and traditions firsthand, and many of them had a tendency to be rowdy, laughing and joking with each other as they went about trying - and often failing - to make Poffins from scratch, typically resulting in gooey Poffin batter splattering everywhere due to these self-made 'master chefs' not having the common sense to make sure the lid of the mixer was secured properly before firing it up. As a result, Mars usually had to spend an extra hour at the Poffin House after closing time to help scrub and mop the floor, and she wasn't exactly being paid overtime for such.
That not to say that Mars' employers were unpleasant, greedy people looking to keep all of the Poffin House's income for themselves, however. To the contrary, the old couple in charge of the place were… well, sweethearts, for as much as Mars didn't care for such a sappy term. They were kindly to a fault, always patient with clients who sought to learn how to make Poffins even as they struggled to accomplish such. They were nice to Mars, too, often granting her more rest breaks than she suspected she would get if she were cleaning these mixers for some big corporation, even inviting her to join them for tea or coffee just after midday. Mars would usually turn them down, however. For as much as she disliked manual labour, having been far too used to ordering Galactic grunts to do such for her while she watched on with a cold smirk of satisfaction, she was smart enough to know that every moment she wasn't busying herself with an unclean mixer was a moment wasted, a moment that she would have to stay longer at the Poffin House in order to get everything done before she could call it a day. Time was money, as they say, and this old couple, generous as they were with breaks and hot beverages, were running the Poffin House as a hobby more than anything, viewing any money they made as a bonus. This, of course, meant that Mars' income was minimal, if even that, but she supposed that any income was better than none. If nothing else, she was, at the very least, better off than she had been when she'd first stared working here - still not well off enough to move out of her dinky little apartment to anywhere grander, but enough to consistently pay the rent, afford the necessities for herself and her Pokémon and, in short, survive.
Yep. This was her life now. Not a high ranking admin ordering grunts around with a retirement plan that falsely promised a literal utopia, but rather an average schmuck just trying to get by, just trying to make ends meet, just trying to make it through the day, her only motivator being her Pokémon and the wellbeing of whom.
Mars exhaled deeply as she stood back to admire her handiwork, all twelve mixers spick and span to the point where they could almost pass for being brand new. Almost. Today had been a good day, in the sense that it had been an unusually quiet day, with relatively few patrons coming in, resulting in relatively minimal mess for her to clean up, actually giving her an excuse to take some breaks and socialise with the old couple in charge and even some of the patrons. Granted, she usually tried to avoid interacting with others when it wasn't absolutely necessary; while she was now a few months removed from being a high-ranking Team Galactic admin, her reputation as such still preceded her, and drawing attention to herself ran the risk of giving someone she had previously wronged an excuse to come up to her and try to put some dirt in her eye.
"You've done marvellously, dearie," the old woman who co-managed the Poffin House said, making the former Commander jump slightly; she hadn't heard her employer approach. "You have a knack for presentation, as well as a keen eye for specks and spots that others might miss when cleaning these mixers. Goodness knows I would; my eyesight is not what it used to be."
"Yep, they're all…" Mars bit back a tired sigh. "They're all good to go for tomorrow."
"Here," the old woman said kindly, and Mars felt something being gently pushed into her hand. It was a small wad of Poké bills tied with a rubber band, each of them worth twenty units of currency. The crimson-haired woman noticed that there were a few more slips of legal tender than she usually received at the end of her shift. "A little bonus for all your hard work these past few weeks. Have a nice dinner on me, dearie. You've earned it."
Mars was a little taken aback. She wasn't used to receiving generosity from others. If anything, she was used to taking what she wanted by force, be it by way of using her Pokémon to literally fight her battles for her, or by having a squad of Galactic grunts raid whatever place piqued her interest of any and all valuable artefacts. She stared at the wad of money she now held, glancing from it to the old woman, who smiled up at her with kind, tired eyes. Finally, the former Commander straightened up slightly, clearing her throat.
"Your generosity is appreciated," she said at last in a polite yet somewhat curt tone of voice, putting on the stoic, disciplined front that she had so often tried to demonstrate among her former peers at Team Galactic. "Rest assured, I shall use this currency wisely."
The old woman gave a quiet, knowing chuckle, which almost prompted Mars to raise an eyebrow. "Such a disciplined demeanour. You can relax, dearie. We are all friends here at the Poffin House."
Mars wasn't sure if it was necessarily wise of an employer to consider an employee a friend. After all, an employee's value was directly tied to the work they did and how well they did it, was it not? Then again, she wasn't especially familiar with work environments outside of Team Galactic; it had taken her at least two weeks at the Poffin House to realise that she didn't need to rush her work to completion. There was no strict deadline to clean or repair a single mixing machine, especially since there were as many as eleven left to go around while one was undergoing maintenance. Sure, they needed to be kept in circulation, but that wasn't a challenge to accomplish most days; Mars was yet to have been in a position where the patrons were waiting on her to finish her workload before they could make Poffins. To the contrary, readying the mixers for use was a decidedly easygoing task, especially compared to how carefully organised and scheduled each and every task had been back when she had worked for Team Galactic. There were more than a few times when Mars had just been standing around, waiting for a mixer to break, become caked in Poffin batter or otherwise need her attention, which, despite allowing her a prolonged moment of rest, often served to highlight just how tedious and dull the job could be. All of that aside, Mars wasn't sure if she'd consider herself and the old woman in charge friends necessarily. Come to think of it, Mars couldn't remember the last time she had considered anyone a friend. Could former criminals even have friends? Did she even deserve one? Scratch that - did she even want one?
Mars hung her head as she stood there, staring down at the floor with a gloomy, sombre expression on her visage. She was… lonely. She'd felt lonely for as long as she could possibly remember. Aside from her Pokémon, she didn't have a friend in the world. Looking back, she wasn't sure if she'd ever had one. She glanced up at the old woman, who's smile had faltered slightly, the elderly co-manager now gazing at Mars with a hint of concern present on her face.
"I… I should go. Th-Thank you," Mars said hurriedly, a little shocked to find that her voice was cracking. She turned and bolted out of the Poffin House, tears starting to run down her cheeks as the door swung shut behind her. This feeling she felt, this feeling of loneliness… It has struck her suddenly and all at once. It was horrible. It made her feel horrible. It made her want to just sink to her knees, to curl up into a ball, to just collapse on the ground and cry and cry and cry until it stopped hurting, or until she perished. Whichever came first.
Mare ran through the streets of Hearthome City in a blind haze, quiet sobs and sniffles escaping her as she went, tears still streaming from her eyes all the while. She could barely see where she was going, barely knew what she was even doing, her feet carrying her along a path that she knew from memory.
The path back to her apartment.
Mars finally managed to compose herself (at least somewhat) as she made it to the front door of her apartment on the second floor of the complex, wiping her eyes as she fumbled through the pockets of her clothing, trying to find her key.
"Galactic!"
Mars let out a profanity in an audible mutter at the sound of her landlord's voice. She wasn't in the mood… Nay, she wasn't in the appropriate mental state to deal with him right now. A gruff-sounding fellow who had a personal vendetta against Team Galactic and anyone who had ever been associated with them, not to mention a real stickler for rent fees being paid as soon as possible, he was hardly the sort of person that Mars wanted anything to do with at the best of times.
"Not now," she said as the man approached, struggling to keep her voice calm and steady.
"Yes, now, Galactic!" the landlord declared sharply, marching right up to Mars, a nasty look on his face. "You're behind on your rent for this entire month as it is, and I'm hardly going to show leniency to someone who probably had a personal hand in the bombing incident at Lake Valor, to say nothing of all the other atrocities you Galactics have to answer f—!"
"SHUT UP!" Mars suddenly spat in a shriek of hysterical proportions, rounding on the man and glaring daggers at him, her eyes welling up with distraught tears once more. She then sighed before letting out a sad sniff. She held out her hand, which still had the wad of cash the old woman had given her in it. "Take it. J-Just take it all and leave me alone!" she choked out, those last few words coming out in a sob.
The landlord looked a little taken aback in response to the crimson-haired woman's outburst, but then he slowly reached out to accept the money, deciding that he didn't want to know what was going on with Mars right now, firmly telling himself that he didn't care, telling himself that all he cared about was the fact that one of his residents had finally gotten off their worthless backside and payed the damn rent, late as it was. He took the payment, leftover change and all, and walked away without another word. Mars then hastily let herself into her apartment, her hands shaking so violently that she could barely get the key into the lock, slammed the door behind her once she was inside, flung herself onto her waiting bed, her Poké Balls resting idle and minimised on the bedside table, buried her face in the fabric of the hard pillow and let out her emotions in a muffled scream before descending into a series of equally muffled sobs. After about a minute of this, she came up for air, drawing a great, shuddering breath and wiping her eyes once again, seeing that the pillow was now peppered with damp droplets. She sniffed, seeming for just a moment to be winding down from her display… and then another great sob escaped her and her face met the pillow's fabric once more.
About an hour later, Mars lay there upon her bed, staring up at the decidedly low ceiling, her eyes bloodshot from crying. She let her breath out in a long and heavy sigh, feeling utterly miserable. She couldn't stay like this. She knew she couldn't. She had to get up - to feed her Pokémon, if nothing else. After another few minutes, she sighed again, a more weary, resigned sigh, and sat up, turning her attention to the two red and white Poké Balls that awaited her. She stared at them for a moment… and then she scooped them up in her palm as she got to her feet, not enlarging them just yet. She let out yet another sigh, pocketing the capsules before proceeding to the small closet on one side of the room and pulling out a plastic bag that contained her spare set of clothes and a few bathroom products of the cheapest brands her minimalistic amount of money could by, for that was indeed the best she could afford. With everything in hand, she departed from the apartment a minute later and set off, walking the two blocks to the Pokémon Centre.
The same Pokémon Centre where Purugly had… Where it had…
Mars shook the mental image of the Tiger Cat Pokémon away. She'd shed enough tears for one day. Night had fallen by the time she reached the double doors of the building with the standout red roof, said doors sliding open with a gentle, almost reassuring mechanical whirr. Mars stepped into the Pokémon Centre's main lobby… and took a breath, glancing around as she stood there for but a moment.
In a world where Mars' reputation had her backed into a corner, where she could barely afford to even have a roof over her head, Pokémon Centres were, quite honestly, a godsend. Free healthcare for Pokémon, a bed and a hot meal at a (relatively) reasonable price, unlimited PC usage… and it was all funded by the Pokémon League, by an elaborate government that, for all intents and purposes, called all the shots in terms of how the world worked. It seemed like an impossible miracle, yet it was a reality. It was all right in front of Mars' face, and despite how miserable she was at present, she couldn't help but feel a sense of liberation as she took in the sight before her.
Nurse Joy was behind the main service counter, hat sitting atop her pink hair as straight as an arrow. How she managed to maintain that welcoming smile around the clock was anyone's guess, given that being a medical professional was far from easy, but Mars supposed that such a friendly facade was built upon years of practice. She herself could hardly be bothered to spare a smile for anyone; it wasn't like she had much to smile about…
On the right side of the counter - right from Mars' perspective, that is - stood a computer monitor with a keyboard attachment, both of which were painted a metallic blue. The left side, meanwhile, played host to a display shelf lined with magazines and pamphlets. On either side of the room, tables stood surrounded by cushioned seats, a few evening patrons sitting upon the latter, often with their Pokémon. A Youngster class Trainer was stroking the coarse fur of his Houndour companion over at one table. An Aroma Lady sat at another with a lax smile on her face, occasionally giggling to herself, seeming completely disconnected from the world around her. Mars wasn't keen on Aroma Ladies, not least because they had a tendency to positively drown themselves in the essence of whichever flower they had taken a shine to. Even as Mars started towards the main counter, she caught a distinct whiff of lavender, and she had no doubt that it was coming from the Aroma Lady, even though the ditzy Trainer was seated at least a good ten feet away from her.
"Good evening! Welcome to the Pokémon Centre!" Nurse Joy said as Mars stepped up to the counter, reciting the greeting that she had no doubt committed to memory to the point where the words were automatic. The medic's eyes landed on the bag the crimson-haired woman was carrying. "Heading to the showers?" she guessed, though it was more of an assessment than a guess; this was hardly the first time Mars had been here. Mars responded with a polite yet curt nod. "Then by all means…" Nurse Joy said, trailing off as she gestured to the doorway between the counter and the aforementioned bookcase. Mars approached it and filed through without another word.
With Mars' apartment lacking a bathroom, she'd had to rely on the Hearthome City Pokémon Centre's facilities to keep herself clean. Fortunately, the showers, much like the toilets, were free for anyone to use, though they were really meant for those who would be staying the night with paid room and board. As such, Mars made it a point to always, at the very least, drop a coin in the donation box on the main counter on her way out, assuming she had one or two to spare. Said donation box was collecting funds for Pokérus research, given that the disease in question, which was allegedly beneficial for Pokémon and the training thereof, was still not fully understood. Mars was well aware that she was many things - mainly bad things - to many people, but she was no freeloader. She had an apartment for a reason. While staying at the Pokémon Centre was, admittedly, more affordable than an apartment, she didn't want to become dependent on such a convenience. She didn't want to become complacent. She didn't want people to think she was some sort of slacker. It was a matter of pride, or at the very least, a matter of principle.
A matter of principle that was becoming a liability more and more, given her still very much limited amount of funds. After all, it was better to be a slacker than to be homeless, right?
Mars let out an irritated groan as she stepped into the women's branch of the Centre's facilities, trying to push all inner conflict from her mind as she undressed, gathered up her toiletries and stepped into the nearest shower cubicle. She fiddled with the taps until the water was at a comfortable temperature and then stepped under the spray, feeling the warm water wash a fair amount of stress from her shoulders, feeling her muscles begin to loosen up and relax. Her evening shower was easily the best part of Mars' day… and that wasn't saying much. She let out a quiet, cynical chuckle as that thought crossed her mind. "Small victories," she muttered as she prised the cap of her shampoo bottle open, wasting no time in getting ready to wash her hair.
Mars hated washing her hair with the cheap, second-rate shampoo she had procured from the local PokéMart. Her crimson, shoulder-length locks, once so regularly and meticulously groomed into a sleek, almost robotically concise look with top-of-the-line hair products that she could easily afford on a Team Galactic salary, had grown out, now hanging down past her shoulders at an uneven length. She did her best to keep it looking presentable by washing it regularly and brushing it with the cheap, second-rate brush she had also purchased - a brush that was meant for Pokémon fur rather than human hair - but it wasn't nearly as pristine as it had used to be. Oh, how she longed to go to a salon, get a deep conditioning treatment complete with a hot towel, a vibrating massage chair and all the trimmings - pun possibly intended, for she also longed to have her hair trimmed and styled back into how she preferred it by a professional stylist with professional grade hair products. Hell, she could probably do a pretty decent job of it herself if she only had a can… Nay, a mere palmful of her favourite brand of salon quality styling mousse. Just the thought of holding some of that cool, light foam in her hand, of feeling it on and between her fingers… She closed her eyes and smiled a dreamy smile of longing as she worked the cheap shampoo through her hair, feeling its lather running off of her shoulders and smelling its bland, unscented plainness, which quickly brought her back to reality complete with a bitter feeling.
The cheap, second-rate conditioner she applied next was no better. She'd only even been able to afford it because it had been part of a two-for-one sale along with the shampoo, and it was horribly cold to the point of being clammy, as well as somehow smelling even more distinctly bland and artificial than its contemporary product. It made Mars feel like she was applying paint to her hair - a cold, runny paint that made her shudder in response to the feeling of it on her scalp. Even calling this stuff conditioner felt much too generous, and it just made Mars long for a more elaborate, more luxurious conditioning treatment all the more.
The bar of soap she had brought along was yellow. Not Pikachu yellow - just yellow. It smelled even more bland and artificial than the shampoo and conditioner combined. rubbing it against her body almost felt like a crime against nature when Mars considered the shower gels and body washes she could've been using instead, that she had indeed used back when she was with Team Galactic. She distinctly remembered a coconut scented body wash with moisturising properties, and it was all she could do to refrain from whining childishly in futile, nostalgic longing. She then scowled at herself. She didn't have the luxury of whining like a spoiled child. She didn't have the luxury of… well, luxuries. She had what she could afford, and that was enough to suffice. Better to smell bland than to smell like she hadn't washed at all. She sighed before again muttering, "Small victories…"
The toothpaste. Oh, boy, the toothpaste. It was a sad day when a grown woman bought a bubblegum-flavoured toothpaste with a cartoon Aipom on the label just because it was on sale for ninety percent off… and definitely not also because it reminded her of better times, like when she had been a little kid watching cartoons and eating sugary cereals without a care in the world. She'd even found a toothbrush in her favourite colour (red) for half price at the same store. It was a sad day indeed when brushing her teeth was yet another one of those 'small victories' for Mars, and one that she had learned to relish in to the point where it was practically a guilty pleasure.
Bubblegum. Mars had never cared for it growing up. In fact, she'd never even been interested in it, and yet, when the flavoured whitening paste met her tongue as she went about brushing her teeth, she couldn't help but feel a very small and very misplaced sense of euphoria for but a moment.
This was what she had been reduced to. This was what her life had been reduced to.
The mere act of brushing her teeth… gave Mars a faint buzz. A very faint buzz, so faint that it was hardly even worth calling attention to… but a buzz nonetheless. A small, cheap thrill was still a thrill.
And so, with bubblegum-scented breath, Mars emerged from the shower cubicle a few minutes later, got dressed in her spare set of clothes and made her way back out into the Pokémon Centre's main lobby, where she handed her still encapsulated Pokémon over to Nurse Joy for a free checkup, placed an order for a plate of Tauros sausage curry and a decaf latte, using what little money she had left to pay for the meal, accepted the little paper ticket with her order number on it from the nurse and then took a seat at the table where the Youngster with the Houndour had been seated before, the boy and his canine Pokémon companion now long gone. She sat… and waited, her mind slowly becoming distant as she stared vacantly at the stretch of blank wall the table was positioned up against, her crimson eyes as unfocused as they were dull. In theory, she was waiting for her dinner. In truth, she was waiting for nothing to happen, for such was her life nowadays.
Small victories indeed…