2. From Above

I sat around, moping and gawking at every Pokémon in my line of sight (have you ever seen a beached Wailord? It's a spectacle) until the sun climbed high up in the sky. Then my stomach started growling. That got me up on my feet and turning out my pockets in search of cash or snacks. I found all of ten dollars and a candy bar on me.

...and as I chewed my candy bar, I realized the first part actually didn't matter at all because I needed Pokédollars over here. Or something I could sell to get Pokédollars, at least. My jacket? I squinted down at it: smeared all over with sand, but if I could get it cleaned up, maybe someone would buy it. My guitar? No. Hell to the no.

Scowling, I crushed the candy bar wrapper in my hand. As I slowly ambled away from the sea, looking for a trashcan, I passed a group of squealing children being chased by a bouncing Breloom. Woah, that thing was fast. It hurtled towards me like a freight train and then, with an almighty leap, it pounced.

"Shit!" I cried, throwing myself on the ground. My guitar case fell heavily on top of me, which hurt like hell. "Oof."

The Breloom skidded to a halt in the sand as it caught up to the children. It poked a little girl on the shoulder, wagging its tail. All the kids laughed.

"JEAN-LUC ANTOINE BAPTISTE DE VILLEGAIGNON DUVIVIER," thundered out a commanding voice.

"Oh, no," said the little girl, patting the Breloom. "He's calling you, Jean-Luc."

Jean-Luc rocked back on its heels, tucked its tail between its legs and tried to hide behind the little girl.

A young man came marching over to them. He had a large burn scar on one side of his face, like Prince Zuko, if Prince Zuko had curly blonde hair and wore a leather jacket to the beach. Granted, I was also wearing a jacket, but I had the excuse of being dumped over here by an unexplained cosmic force with no time to pack a swimsuit.

"All right, that's enough playing," Blonde Prince Zuko declared, stepping between the Breloom and the kids, who scattered like leaves in the wind at the sight of a disapproving grown-up. Then he looked over at me with a long-suffering air, like I had spawned over here just to inconvenience him. "Did he hit you? Jean-Luc always gets carried away playing tag... even though he promised not to." He narrowed his eyes and shot the Breloom a pointed glare.

The plant-kangaroo shook its head, muttering unintelligibly.

"Ah, he didn't hit me," I said. "I just thought he would... he was going so fast. But then he went over my head like wooooosh. It was insane."

To my surprise, a tiny smile appeared on the blonde man's face. "Yeah, my Jean-Luc is a great jumper, even Ramos was impressed by him." He scratched the Breloom under its chin. "So you are fine?"

...Right. This was normal around here. Pokémon and all their superhuman abilities... all normal, and their trainers were proud of it. Sighing, I picked myself up and sent him a thumbs up. "I'm good. Ramos is... who is he, again?"

That name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

"Coumarine's gym leader," he said as if he was astounded I didn't already know. Even his Breloom looked at me funny, head tilted to the side. "Are you new in town?"

"Yeah, I just... got here... but I mean, I've heard of Ramos before, I just didn't remember his name off the top of my head." That much was true, at least. "He's a Grass gym leader, right?"

He nodded. "The Grass gym leader. But don't tell Gardenia I said that. I trained under her for a bit too, and she's great, but Ramos is on another level."

"Oh, so you're a gym trainer?" I gaped at him. Our conversation suddenly felt surreal, like meeting a NPC in real life.

"Yes, on and off. I have... some interests other than battling. But I usually come up here to train under Ramos every summer."

"Cool, cool," I said slowly. A flicker of hope sparked in my chest. "You know, I really need a temp gig myself. Like, desperately."

He raised one pale eyebrow. "Are you also a Grass-type specialist?"

"Oh, no, no, no." I snorted. "I'm not an anything specialist. Like, I don't... I'm not a trainer. What I meant is... if you guys need someone to wash the gym floors or clean up pokémon poop or things like that."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Nah, we use the pokémon poop as fertilizer. But it would be nice to have a cleaning service, I'll tell you that... usually us gym trainers have to take care of it." He grimaced. Clearly it wasn't his favorite part of the job. "Ramos doesn't really hire anyone without a Grass type. I assume you don't have one?"

I shook my head, heaving a disappointed sigh. "Nope. Sucks."

Well, surely there would be other jobs available around here that didn't require owning a Pokémon. But who was I kidding? I was essentially an illegal immigrant with no ID, no references, and a backstory that would get me sent to the looney bin if I shared it. The odds of my job search turning out well (let alone quickly enough to score me dinner) were abysmal.

...Could I survive by stealing food? Did I even want to risk that? I had a little shoplifting experience back in my younger days, but they had fire-breathing police dogs over here. I really did not fancy my chances of being barbecued by a Growlithe. So if working and stealing were out, what did that leave me with? Begging?

A hand poked me in the ribs. Except it wasn't a hand at all, but Jean-Luc the Breloom's clawed pink paw. It stared up at me with soft brown eyes, its head tilted again as if questioning me. It was unnerving, to see such... intelligence in the eyes of an impossible looking creature. Or was I imagining it?

"Are you listening? I said give me your number and I'll run the idea of hiring a cleaning service by Ramos," offered the blonde man.

"Mhm." I didn't have a phone anymore. "Can I ask you another favor... what's your name again?"

"Michel," the man said, a glint of wariness creeping into his eyes. "What is it?"

"Can you tell me what would be a good spot for busking around here?"

His brow creased. "Busking?"

"Yeah, like, street performing." I slapped my guitar case softly. "Singing and playing music. I need a nice busy spot where lots of people pass by."

"I see. I'd wager the monorail station would be best," Michel said. "Or Hotel Coumarine."

"And it's fine if I sit in front of the station and sing?"

He shrugged. "As long as you're not in the way of the tracks, no one will care."

"Great. So is it far from here...?"

"Nah. Just go straight down that road, then turn right when you reach the market stalls. The station is a big white building, you can't miss it."

I nodded. "Got it, thanks."

Waving Michel and Jean-Luc goodbye, I set off into the city. What first struck me about Coumarine was how green it was. There were palm trees lining the streets and gardens everywhere, full of chirping Fletching, Hoppip floating from branch to branch and Ledyba smelling the flowers. And wasn't that a weird sight, to see giant beetles bigger than my goddamn head? Like woah. I wandered into the seaside market, which I can only describe as the embodiment of chaos, crowded with vendors all shouting over each other. Man, did they have lungs on them. Past the colorful stalls selling souvenirs and incense and berries and all manner of thingamabobs, the white rail tracks rose up over the mountain.

As I reached the monorail station, I found myself a nice little shaded spot to sit on. Then I took my guitar out, laid the open case out in front of me to collect coins, and got to work.

I didn't have a setlist so I just played whatever. I started off with Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden, then Landslide by Fleetwood Mac, then some Jimi Hendrix, and so on. Luckily, folks passing by seemed to approve, and a few even stood around listening for a bit. At one point, a little kid walked up to me and asked me to please play Bouncy Magikarp, pretty please? I had to break it to her that I didn't know it, which she was horrified by. Note to self: learn about local music trends somehow.

After a couple of hours, I had a modest little pile of pokédollar bills on my guitar case. That cheered me up... though I had no concept of local price ranges or if this was even enough to buy me a loaf of bread or a water bottle at the café nearby. Hopefully yes, since all this singing was making me thirsty.

I was halfway through Hallelujah (Jeff Buckley's version) when it happened.

Someone decided to start singing along, but completely off-key. So everytime I went "Halleluuuujaaaaah", the stranger screamed HALLELUUUUUUJAHHHHHHH back at me ten times louder, in a nasally flat tone that hit all the wrong notes. It was like having the world's worst back up singer.

Naturally, the few people who had gathered around to listen to me walked off real quick after that. Cringing, I stopped playing for a couple of minutes, hoping this tone-deaf stranger would go away. But as I started up again, this time launching into Highway to Hell by AC/DC, there was the world's worst back up singer back at it, like nails on a chalkboard.

I looked wildly around, trying to spot the source of that horrible voice and tell them off... only to find out it wasn't a person at all. It was a bird. Some type of parrot, with a bright pink beak on its pitch black face, a flared white ruff around its neck, and yellow, blue, and green feathers.

Dimly, I recalled its species: Chatot. Not a Pokémon I'd ever personally caught on any of my playthroughs, but I'd seen it around on some routes in Platinum. Weren't they supposed to be good at singing? Well, nevermind that, this one was terrible, and it was scaring away my audience.

"Shoo," I said, waving it away emphatically. It did not move an inch. I got to my feet and said it again, louder. "Shoo, bird."

The Chatot tilted its head at me.

"Seriously," I said. "You're ruining my gig. Go away."

"...Bye bye," it replied. Chirping sadly, the Chatot spread its wings and took off.

I sighed in relief and plopped back down on the ground, strumming the first few chords of Highway to Hell once again.

A piercing sound filled my ears. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught the barest glimpse of a mottled blur. Something struck me on the side of the head hard, sending me sprawling on the ground face first. A scream tore out of my throat. The blur swooped down on my guitar case, then hurtled upwards, flapping its wings.

I clutched my head in shock. As I glanced up, the crazed parrot hovered over me, a wad of pokédollars caught in its talons. My pokédollars. Whistling, the Chatot turned in mid air.

Then a jet of steaming white bird shit poured down from it, splashing my forehead.

"AHHH!" I screamed. Shooting to my feet, I hastily shoved my guitar back in its case. "YOU ASSHOLE!"

The Chatot turned its head, eyes narrowed. "Asshole," it cawed mockingly, then flew on.

"OH, HELL NO," I snarled, running after it. "GET BACK HERE."

Author's Note: The Michel here is the same Michel from my other fanfic. Except this fic is set about ten years later, so this is the adult version of Michel. Some other characters from that fic might also feature in this one as their older selves.