45.

The Insignia

His Ascendancy Mr. Flint Fresnel of Sunyshore is shirtless every other day of the year.

And yes, he's been criticized.

"Is this really one of our Elite Four? Some hairy-chested hooligan in flip-flops cutting ribbons and clinking champagne glasses with senators?"

"Did you see what he wore at the donors' dinner for the Rowan Institute? Suspender straps hanging down to his knees!"

"Huh! That's nothing compared to the potty mouth he had during last year's Gala Island Gala. I don't think he trimmed his chest hair for that event either. Hell, you could see the waistband of his underpants in all the photos!"

"You've heard about his past, haven't you? He grew up a hoodlum. He smoked rock candy with that nepo baby Steven Stone down in Hoenn. He tried to be Sunyshore's Gym Leader and almost burned the city down. Volkner had to drop out of college to save Flint from his own failures. That was almost eight years ago now."

"And that place sparkles like a diamond in the sun now, eh?"

"If you can afford it."

"Flint can afford it, and he still won't wear a suit."

True, Flint didn't win his privileges fairly in battle. He was nominated instead. And it's a sore thing to be nominated for the lifetime role of serving and inspiring the Sinnoh region — a commitment only four exceptional Pokémon trainers can share at a time. The Elite Four are, as old Kantonese customs profess, like the four mystical winds that shape the world. They're Sinnoh's lauded guardians. They may as well be gods who walk the earth.

Any metaphorical crown Flint Fresnel wears is stolen.

And yet with his partners, he can conjure a white-hot inferno with a look.

He gives that look as he skulks into the Arrivals terminal of the quaint little Sunyshore Airport, his younger brother Buck chattering right behind. By now, Flint's yellow shirt has slid off his shoulders down to his elbows. He's still sweating from that two-hour asskicker of a training session. Superheated ocean steam has his cheeks red and raw, and he has to pinch two refrigerated gel packs in the pockets of his shorts just to get some feeling back into his fingers. His eyes sting in the sunlight streaming through the windows even beneath the dark glasses.

"You look like you're about to crash n' burn, Flonch. Sure you got enough firepower in ya for the bachelor party? I wanna see you delirious, not… delirious."

Buck is wearing a t-shirt with DEVON CORP FOOT CREAM printed across the chest. He flaps around a large square of posterboard reading NEPO BABY in permanent marker and marches confidently toward where travelers are dispersing through the duty-free doors.

Flint tips the sunglasses down just enough so Buck can feel his gray eyes smolder on the back of his neck.

"Your ass is not gonna be at that party."

Buck just grunts. "Excuse you, Your Ass-cendancy. I'm nineteen, and I have my own motorcycle. What makes you think I'm still innocent?"

"The only reason you have that bike is because mom didn't want you trying to glue any more Geodudes to broomsticks."

"And it's a rockin' ride, right? I'm thinkin' when Volkner gets into another slump I'm gonna ask him to convert it into a real-life lava bike. Then I can still live out my dream of being a wizard."

Flint's grimace deepens. "Pretty sure they're called levi-bikes on that show."

"I meant what I said."

"No, my little man. Ya didn't."

There's the usual flashing of phones as people take pictures of the famous Flint Fresnel buying lemonade from a vending machine. He poses for selfies and notes that his own wedding reception will be open to the public outside the Sunyshore Gym Saturday night — Goon n' Tonic's live performance included.

"And keep ideas like that away from Volkner," he hisses in Buck's ear after grinning and signing a sweeping autograph on a girl's water bottle sticker. "Whenever he gets in a slump the power goes out."

Buck has inched as close as he can to the belt barrier, grinning with his gaudy sign among the more serious businesspeople, who bear the names of expected guests on smart tablet screens.

"Devon Corp Foot Cream," he starts chanting. "Devon Corp Foot Cream. Devon Corp Foot Cream."

"God, was his flight delayed?" Flint mutters, tugging the warm, damp towel off his neck. "I gotta go approve the cake design, pick up Perrin at the train station… Or was Candice doing that? Fuck."

He tries calling Volkner's phone again out of sheer habit. "Heeeyyy," sighs the prerecorded greeting. "I'm takin' a nap. If you wanna battle, call the gym phone n' leave a message… Zap to the extreme…"

And Flint goes back to texting:

14:36 [VOLKNER I'M NOT MAD AT YOU. ANSWER MY CALLS.]

14:36 [oh shit didn't realize capslock was on.]

14:40 [Coffe3 later?]

14:42 [You up yet?]

14:48 [DROP THE THIRD WHEEL SHIT Omg your BEING SUCH A BABY.]

14:58 [Hey your friend is interesting. Did you take her on the boardwalk?]

14:59 [Please don't be like this. Don't keep secrets your sTRessing me out]

15:00 [I'll buy you eclairs]

15:00 [Volkner]

15:00 [Im sorry]

15:00 [ANWSER ME]

His thumbs pulse painfully. Flint clenches his jaw. Another fifteen minutes pass, and still Buck's bouncing up and down like he thinks this whole debacle is supposed to be fun.

And then the screaming starts.

Outside the terminal.

Flint and Buck and all the businesspeople turn their heads in unison. The wall is all sunny windows, facing the sea, and yet it's hard to see exactly what the commotion is about when the cars outside start screeching their tires and honking incessantly. There's the crUNCH of metal when someone's rear-ended. Hand luggage drops out of idle hands and tumbles out into the street.

The latest arrivals cringe at the noise, moving cautiously out of the duty-free doors either toward the coffee shop or the exit. Flint follows, anxious. Was someone hit!? Are we under attack!? His Infernape's Poké Ball swells to full size in his right hand, middle finger on the button. Two fingers extend on his left, poised to control his partner's powers.

"Please don't be what I'm thinking," he murmurs, expertly pushing through the crowd to squeeze himself through the exit and into the blistering afternoon. Now it's a maze of bodies and a sea of phone cameras, waving and flashing and searching for the crisis.

"EVERYONE STAY CALM!" he cries. "I'M FLINT OF THE ELITE FOUR!"

His voice, though impressive, is totally lost. Flint cranes his neck. He snatches Buck's hand when he sees him, yanking his brother close as the screaming grows louder and the crowd grows thicker. Honestly, where did all these people come from!? And why don't they seem to notice Flint Fresnel standing among them—?

Oh.

Look who's here.

Flint sighs in relief. Except for the multiplying fender benders, there's nothing to fear. A man has just arrived whose celebrity eclipses his own.

Steven Stone, twenty-nine-year-old heir to the Devon Corporation, calmly parts traffic with his presence, strolling across the street with four black-suited bodyguards and two steel-plated beasts called Lairon flanking him. His grace defies the crunching of metal. His silvery hair is undisturbed by sea wind and the stink of exhaust. He spreads his arms wide, stretching apart the lapels of a custom-tailored blue-and-purple suit jacket — one he bought specifically for today and today only — while a satin ascot spills forth from his neck and platinum rings twinkle on four of his spindly fingers.

He locks eyes with Flint and sails forth, his natural magnetism bending the horde. (Or maybe it's the Lairon, or the plasma pistols on the bodyguards' belts.)

"Devon Corp Foot Cr—!" Buck starts. Flint slaps a palm over his mouth, but the posterboard is flapping, and before he can try to hoist his shirt back up to his shoulders his brother's escaped him entirely, shouting "HE SPELUNKS ON DADDY'S MONEY!" at the top of his lungs.

"BUCK!" Flint calls. "YOU CAN'T JUST RUN UP TO HIM!"

And yet Steven Stone walks right up to Flint, softly smiling and embracing him with two hard slaps upon the back, while Flint reciprocates. Steven's spiky cufflinks poke at something, but all of a sudden the air seems to decompress around them, and Flint calmly slips the Poké Ball and his phone back into his pockets.

"Flint! So good to see you, man. It's been forever. What, the last time was coffee in Karska?"

His voice is smooth as silk. It's like he can't even notice the screams and the flashes. Flint walks in awe beside him, the bodyguards adjusting positions.

"And I've never been to Sunyshore City. I saw the skyline cruising in — are those really solar panels on every single building? This place is tight."

"Hey, good to see you too, Steve! Welcome to our shining little beacon of the north. You... uh... gave me the wrong flight to track."

Steven smirks, catlike. They cross the street to the main parking lot, where a steel-blue limousine is waiting. At a snap of Steven's fingers, the door is opened, and Flint and Buck are shown to a circle of velvet seats and a bowl of full-sized peppermint patties.

"I gave you the flight where Pierre Rochard was flying first-class. For security reasons. You know I've got a private jet, right? The debacle was about scheduling the approach. You only have one small public terminal here, so we had to land in Veilstone."

The door slides shut. The limo and its armored escort vehicles start moving — smoother than silk — and Steven pours Flint a glass of wine while Buck cracks open a cola from the mini fridge. The smart display on the ceiling looks like the roof of a cave, complete with glinting holographic stalactites.

"Of course, the lady escorts will be flying economy. I'm wiring you ten thousand dollars if you need to bail any of them out. Just pick the ones you like best. I put fun pills in their checked bags and then gave them each a kiss for good luck. They should be here this evening if the layover isn't too long."

Buck spits out his cola, half laughing, half choking. He points wordlessly at his posterboard, to which Steven can't even look annoyed. He sits like a prince — legs spread and sapphire studs exposed when he tucks a lock of silver behind one ear.

Flint swirls the glass. It's dark and dry and slightly woody. A specialty distillation of Mossdeep City down in Hoenn. Probably priceless.

"Otherwise, I brought all the treats I usually bring to my own bachelor parties. Blue rock candy, keystones, Rei Fishers… hey, did I say congratulations?"

"I'm having a conniption," wheezed Buck, clutching at a stitch in his side and dribbling fizz on the carpet.

Flint cocks an eyebrow. "Wait, Steve, you're married?"

"Divorced. Six times. I don't know if I count the fling with Cynthia. I put the ring on her finger with my mouth. Weird night. Flint, do you remember that time in Karska when we climbed down into the deepest cave ever discovered on this earth, and the limestone walls got so dark and tight together that no one could hear our voices in the next cavern over, much less on the earth's surface? I think about this a lot. Anything can happen down there that the universe doesn't know about. You can die and be buried, and the rest of human civilization will pass you by completely unnoticed. Flint, that's what I've discovered marriage is."

Flint cracks a wry grin. "To the deep, dark cave of the rest of my life," he says, offering his wine glass, and Steven happily clinks it in a toast.

"Up to you, man. Life's your Cloyster," says Steven, gazing out the window at all the solar-paneled buildings. "Now, you sure you won't let me try her out first?"

The grin turns devilish. "Not a chance. She's all mine, and you know it."

"Lucky, lucky Mr. Elite. Though I bet I could buy a girl who looks just like her. Her name's Candice?"

Steven scrolls on his tablet a bit, no doubt looking at something illegal on his Devon Corp-sponsored VPN. The wine jumps as blacktop transitions into silver streets.

"Yeah, let's be genuine gentlemen this weekend, all right, Mr. Champ? I know I can't keep my shirt on, but I'm not all enamored with your playboy lifestyle anymore. I changed when I ascended. Volkner and I are proud of the city we built together. It's not a free-for-all."

Steven's clear blue eyes glow in delight. "Oh, I'm definitely talking to your pal Volkner. Just how does he do it? Sits on his ass. Owns a planned community of thirty thousand people. He doesn't have to smile, and they just can't get enough of him! It's unreal!"

"Well, you can try him in a Pokémon battle. His thunder and lightning versus your noble steel. I'd love to watch."

"Sounds glorious."

"If he's feeling up for it, that is. Volkner's not too jazzed about this wedding. Plus this morning I found out he's been lying to me about not having a girlfriend."

"She's not his girlfriend," says Buck.

"What would you know about her?"

"Oh?" Steven asks. "Volkner's getting action? I tell you, this one girl who's coming tonight — she does a sexy thing with jumper cables—"

Buck Fresnel, no longer able to contain himself, launches out of the velvet seat and slaps both his hands on Steven Stone's thighs, shoving his nose right into a fifty-thousand-dollar eyebrow threading.

"Volkner took a shower with a terrorist!"

"BUCK!" Flint scoffs, wrenching him back. His little brother lands in his lap, grinning like he's just touched the face of a god.

"I touched Steven Stone," he burbles stupidly. "Devon Corp Foot Cream—"

"What does that even mean?"

Steven shrugs. "A failed enterprise. My father ruined that advisor's life. Now, about Volkner taking a shower with a—"

"Don't listen to anything this kid says," Flint insists. "He's been watching too much anime."

"I was going to say it sounds hot, and can I have some."

"Yeah, not really," grunts Buck, struggling as Flint restrains him from making another attempt on Steven's suit pants. "She doesn't have any eyebrows."

"She's one of Candice's bridesmaids," Flint forces.

"Extra hot," muses Steven Stone. "So that means bikini terrorist, right? God, Flint, when you told me it was a beach theme, that was the best decision ever, man. Don't mind if I do take my time while I'm on vacation—"

"Steven, you're not gonna bang my fiancée's friends or bring Rei Fishers into the Sunyshore Gym. Where did you even get those?"

"Just stay away from Visquez," Buck clarifies. "She's got an Electivire. And she kind of looks like a man."

Flint boxes Buck on the ear so sharply he shrieks.

"Not another word out of you, my little man."

Steven Stone finishes his wine, his eyes and lips never leaving their catlike smugness.

Every part of Sunyshore is flashy — none of its run-down, shadowy past preserved, and the Lustrous Hotel is nothing to sneeze at. Six stories that gleam like white nacre, an outdoor swimming pool and an indoor battle court fitted for temperatures of up to five-thousand degrees flaking off the fur of a furious Infernape. The place is a dream, and Flint's rented out a whole floor for two weeks to make his most important guests comfortable.

Flint's guests — not Steven's — and he realizes, stress heightening, that he may have made an even bigger mistake than socking his best friend in the stomach yesterday.

Flint checks his phone. Volkner hasn't answered, but now there's a text from Visquez:

15:47 [Hey, found Volkner. He's at the gym with this girl he calls captain. He's limping too. Fckin weird.]

Weird is right, Flint thinks. Steven's driver offers to take him back to Vista Village, but Flint explains beyond this point there aren't any streets wide enough to handle a limo, and it'll have to park. The solar boardwalk takes over completely, and it's foot traffic connecting Sunyshore's most opulent neighborhoods.

The Lairon lumber on out of their Poké Balls. Steven coos at them and pets them and accepts a briefcase from one of his bodyguards, which he says contains a clean new indoor suit.

"Your little miscreant isn't invited to the party, right?" he jokes before he heads into the building.

"See you later, Steve," says Flint, and then drags Buck without remorse up the shiny black steps of the boardwalk. The two of them hustle along for a good ten minutes before Buck remembers that Perrin's probably waiting at the train station and Flint's Cadillac is still at the airport.

The waves wash in, turbulent, on the beach below. The sun is excruciating. Flint of the Elite Four claps a hand against his forehead. He'd slide down and sit for a minute, but the photovoltaic floor of the boardwalk is unreasonably warm for bare skin, as the numerous placards point out.

"Buck, you just can't say shit like that. What if you'd said that in public? Then all of Steven's and my fans would've heard. Our world is at peace right now, and as His Ascendancy I help keep it that way."

Buck shrugs, leaning against the opposite guardrail. Pelipper soar by just feet above their heads.

"It's true, though. Didn't you see the woman Volkner brought home?"

"Yes. I talked to her. She's very polite. She's a little socially awkward, but so is he, so that's probably what he's into."

Buck crosses his arms. "Uh huh. And what about the Team Galactic symbol?"

"Yeah? What about it!?"

Buck blinks. Red eyes widen, and his own phone comes out of his pocket. "Uh, did you not see this? It was crumpled up in the corner of Volkner's bathtub, like he was trying to hide it. I found it in there before you picked me up. I wasn't gonna dare move it. Holy shit, I don't know how she got into Sunyshore with that. It's where HE was born, you know."

Flint's heart sinks. He's had his suspicions already today. Firstly upon just seeing that strange and reckless woman. Her plain face. Her even tone of voice. The way her eyes seemed to explore his inner soul and then rip it out and toss it away like garbage. Installing her as bridesmaid is the perfect way to watch her. Make sure she isn't who his instincts tell him she is.

The picture on Buck's phone is of the sink in Volkner's bathroom. Within, slightly damp, is a kind of robe-like feminine jacket, the sleeves of which are embroidered with an italicized golden G with serifs like spikes.

Buck flips to the next picture. Volkner's bathtub, spots of what looks like watered-down blood pooling in the middle of the floor.

"Why didn't you show me this two hours ago?" Flint whispers.

"I thought you knew! That's why I was joking!"

"This isn't a joke!"

"Knowing Volk, it's kinna unbelievable, though. There was blood on the bed and the carpet, too. Flint, if I were you, I'd haul ass. You know he doesn't like to ask for help when he's in too deep."

Flint just stares and stares at the spots of blood in the tub. Then back to the insignia. The look in that woman's eyes. Her desire to protect Volkner. To keep Flint from seeing him prone. Even the way she pronounced her name.

What if Volkner wasn't just resting? What if he was hurt? What if…

Buck spells out his own thoughts, and Flint wants to throw himself into the ocean for all his mistakes.

"So Cyrus's got a sister."

~N~

I have sinned against Steven Stone. XD (Also I'm 24 now!)

Published by scrivenernoodz on FFN and AO3 September 30th, 2024. Thanks for reading! Don't repost.