Forêt de Miel

happy pride month!! some aro ace Phantumps to celebrate!

It was a story about a mother whose son died young — in her grief, she turned to the whispers in the forest. There were phantump there, said to be the ghosts of children given second life as pokémon. She wanted to find her son and bring him back. She wandered for five days in those woods, forgoing food and taking only rain for water, before she found them.

There were many of them, so many dead children, weeping amongst themselves in a dead hollow deep in the forest. She called for her son over and over and not once did they respond. She stumbled through the hollow and met each child, listening to their cries, before saying “you are not my son” and moving on. Still, there was love and desperation in every interaction, and they followed her as she searched. Eventually, there were none left in the hollow, and she despaired.

The phantump had all met her now and guided her beyond the hollow to the heart of the forest, a day of marching and crying. She cried with them every step of the way. The trail was difficult. Here, the roots were gnarled and the trees old and thick. The foliage thickened above their heads until she could see nothing but the glowing of phantump eyes urging her forward. Her feet ached, her eyes stung, and her throat burned, but she did not stop.

At the end of the path was a single phantump. He was ghostly white with burning eyes and she knew this was the son that had been taken so cruelly from her. She fell to her knees and begged him to come home. She wrapped him in her arms and cradled him until his own weeping stopped. He did not move. If he would not leave, the woman decided, she would make a home in this place he’d chosen.

Over the years, the trees bowed and knit together overhead. The leaves formed a curtain, the moss a carpet. The phantump brought them food and water and lingered for a portion of her motherly warmth.

When my mother first told this to me, it was as a declaration of sorts, a promise that there was not a force in this world that could diminish or kill her love for me. She told it to me again when I left to become a trainer, this time as a promise to wait. To let me be where I needed to be.

I’ve heard that she stays there and cares for dead children, if that gives any child-less mothers out there any solace. There are rumors that if you ever bond with a shiny phantump it is because they were important to you before their death.

Clothing Based Ask Game!

clothes say a lot about you, and not just in the obvious ways. This is intended to be an ooc ask game, but I'm not your dad. These are soft discussion starters, so just ramble about what parts of each question you find interesting, but do try to think about things you don't normally wonder about. Let's go.

🧵 Cloth

What kind of materials does your character like to wear? synthetic, natural, nylon, polyester, leather, cotton, wool, etc. does your character have sensitive skin? do they choose style over comfort?

🎩 Formalwear

At some points in life you have to wear formal clothes lest you look like an asshole. How often does your character dress formally, or can they barely be convinced to not come shirtless to a funeral? what do they choose to wear, what can they afford, do they feel out of place? in short: how do they engage with formalwear?

👖 Workwear

Whatever you do to keep living, you gotta dress appropriately. how does your character approach workwear, do they have a uniform? if so, how do they feel about it? are their clothes there to be durable, mobile, appealing to clients, etc.? how quickly do they take off their work clothes and put on their normal clothes?

🧥 Outerwear

jackets, coats, unbuttoned shirt, how does your character layer? purely utilitarian to avoid the cold? annoyed that it's too hot to wear their fave jacket? when it comes to jackets, heavy or light? high tech like a bloktech or arcteryx, or low tech like a wool or leather jacket?

📏 Fitting

how does your character feel about tight or loose clothing? what cut are their pants, bellbottom, skinny, yadda yadda? do they size up, down, are they nonplussed in either direction? do they like to keep it tight in one area, loose in another?

👟 Activewear

does your character own anything they can move around in? Do they just own sweats so they can relax in? If they exercise, do they buy/wear proper synthetic activewear or do they wear the free shirt handed out on the street? when it comes to shoes, do they need specific shoes? how much cushioning do they need when moving and running? are they a freak who wears those toe shoes?

👙 Exposure

How much skin do they like to expose? if they have to swim, what do they wear? how do they feel about flip flops?

🛒 Grocery store fit

how much do they get on when going out for a quick errand? on a base level, with as little thought and effort going into their outward appearance, does their wardrobe make it clear they're fashionable? do they even care how people see them in these situations, and is fashion something that's only active choices, not a passive web of decisions?

🥻 Tradition

does your character have cultural garments in their closet? how often do they put them on, do they try to make it a part of their every day outfits? are they looked down on for their garb, how do they feel about others wearing their cultural clothes?

⚒️ Origin of Labor

Does your character care about where their clothes are from? do they think about labor that goes into clothes? have they bought from fast fashion, do they only purchase union made, are they aware yet willing to compromise? does your character look at stitch quality and details that set apart the quality works?

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

What's a weird quirk you have?

What's a weird quirk your pokemon have?

And what's a weird quirk you and your pokemon share?

I'll go first:

I can speak to pokemon.

Max enjoys investigating things with his mouth.

Zora (zoroark) loves fabric. she chooses my clothing every morning and lived out of my closet when she was still a zorua.

I hear you, and present you They literally slashing Them.

Alain sips idly at a coffee, sitting at a table in front of Café Triste, reading the open document with the enthusiasm of someone running on too-little sleep and a lifetime of bad decisions that keep biting him in the back. Which is to say: absolutely none. Maybe even less than that.

“Ark,” Zora yips, nudging his hip with her nose. He sighs and runs a hand through her fur. Evidently, he’s missed the point. Zora shakes off his hand and backs into his closet, nosing through his trainer outfits for the fancier fabrics he keeps tucked away in the back. She emerges with a lovely gold dress and a hopeful expression.

“Non.” Miel shakes his head and sits up, frowning. “That was maman’s. I’m not wearing it to an interview.”

Regardless of his input, the dress is dropped on the end of the bed with a dubious snort from Zora.

“Why did you sign up for interview if you were unprepared?” Arthur asks from the doorway. He and Zora are almost always in agreement, Miel finds. He frowns over at his old friend and colleague.

“I believe myself to be qualified,” Miel says, watching Arthur’s eyes. They’re somewhere between green and brown depending on the lighting, but they look greener here. His eyes crinkle around the corners when he smiles.

“See? You’ll be fine.” He glances at the dress and, for the first time in the history of ever, disagrees with Zora. “Maybe not in the dress though. It would look beautiful, but they may ask for a demonstration, yeh?”

“Mm,” Miel agrees, miserable.

“Here, I’ll find something.” Zora steps aside with a stink eye to allow Arthur full access to Miel’s oversized closet, fashionable hands picking through outfits of varying levels of decadence.

By the end of the search, Miel’s bed is a certifiable treasure trove of extravagant fabrics, some of which he’s certain he’s never seen before (who put so many of his mother’s dresses in here?). He settles on a loose lavender blouse with skull-shaped buttons carved from bone. They’re his father’s bones, technically, but people don’t much like hearing that story.

“Trousers?” Arthur prompts, waving his hand at the pile. Miel squints at it. Wrong shade of purple, periwinkle-meets-its-end, red the shade of Zora’s mane, flare pants, and…wonderful. Off-white bell bottoms. He pulls the fabric closer to himself and watches Arthur’s expression pinch and then recede into the pleased-but-still-neutral expression of a man who has lived a life of customer service. “Very nice,” he says. “You’ll look dashing.”

“Ark!” Zora yips, pointing a paw at the nearest timepiece.

“Good point!” Arthur praises cheerily, whisking himself and Zora out of the room. “Best change with haste!” The door slams shut behind them and Miel is left stripping in star-spangled solitude.

—

The bicycle ride is spent in a haze. It should be dangerous, but Chandelure wouldn’t let anything happen to Miel on their watch, so they arrive at Café Triste without incident.

He turns to Chandelure with a frown. “I don’t think they’ll want you out and about?”

Chandelure’s flames flicker with disappointment but they duck down to Miel’s hip to reunite with their Pokéball regardless.

He lifts her Pokéball from his hip and in a moment she stands proud beside him, rib-height and forever smug about it. With the added comfort of a friend, Miel smiles back to Alain and nods politely, inclining his head towards the indicated seating.

The lead Miel back to the tale, quickly minimizing one window on his computer to open a spreadsheet and notepad that he'd been using for all the interviews thus far.

He types down that answer. The spreadsheet is mostly just for himself, though keeping it all organized is a good way of avoiding the future headache. Why, of all things, he is being told to deal with it instead of having Diantha do so while most of her acting projects are on hold, he doesn't know, but here he is.

Verglas emerges from the café with a gently steaming tea. Miel murmurs a merci under his breath and accepts it from her, setting it onto the table with one hand and brushing the other overtop her head in gratitude.

“Toughest battle…” He looks at his Froslass with a slight frown. “The first thing that comes to mind is a fight with a bunch of unfrozen Hisuian — and other — Pokémon that escaped from what was just a makeshift clinic at the time. It wasn’t the most skillfully challenging, but, uh…We couldn’t hurt them. For the first time, our objective was different and we didn’t have a precedent to follow. We had lives we needed to save and cornered Pokémon that would not go down without a fight.”

He points over at Verglas who preens slightly at the recognition. “Without any practice, I made a field modification to one of our usual formations. Verglas and the others were able to fall into position seamlessly, but it was…stressful.”

"Probably one of the most interesting answers I've gotten so far," he comments. "It's a good one." Strength is the measure through which most difficulty is judged in some times. Alain finds that it's truly never been strength that was his issue, but everything else.

If he was a little less powerful, but any more aware, would he have avoided the roughest days of their life? That time of isolation, blinded by the hands that pulled them in the direction of a naive quest for strength? For the idea of being strong enough to protect and help others... when in reality, maybe he was the one who needed protecting?

He shakes his head. "In that case, though, I must ask this... What do you think is the most important thing for a trainer?"

Strength is the measure were much is judged. But, it's not always the correct answer, is it?

“I wish I knew,” he blurts out, then winces. Wrong thing to say. You have to know things in an interview, have to be prepared. “It was Lacrima for me,” he continues, plowing forward, mouth downturned. He’s been quiet for most of the interview, his voice soft by nature, but it is softer now. “Lacrima was what drew me into becoming a trainer…She was there for me, always. She was there through the worst parts of everything and there for the best.”

He stares blankly at the table and swallows. The wood grain on the planks that make up the table is not consistent. It changes directions between planks. Was that on purpose?

“I don’t think it has to be a Pokémon, but…a partner. A friend. Not a mentor. You can’t talk to a mentor.” Too general a statement. Maybe other people had better mentors. He tilts his head and blinks. How fast is too fast for a heart to beat? At what point do people start noticing?

The air shifts and cold washes over him, that familiar calming wave of Verglas’ attention.

Through the isolation. The realisation. The aftermath. Even when the doubt creeps in, the ideas that he doesn’t know are theirs or if they are just planted in his head, they have his team. And he knows he’ll always have them.

Bonds. To support your team and to be supported by them, too. Nowadays, Alain thinks that’s the right answer.

They let a quiet moment hang for a second as he takes a sip of cooling coffee before asking the next question. To be honest, he thinks they know what they need to by now, which is that Miel has very handily exceeded his expectations for how these interviews go.

He really is mostly doing this for the team. Prospective champions would have to get through him, and prospective champions are usually pretty good at what they do. It’ll be a good workout, a way to improve, and a way to let loose in a way that minimizes who gets hurt. Hopefully.

He swirls his coffee. It's been a while since an 'emergency situation' required league members at all. And yet, it lingers in Alain's mind all the time, even years after. Granted, though, it's only been, what? Three years? It's little time to recover from something that left scars so deep.

It's similar for the champion, though one is a much more publicized position. But, it is the reason why many Champions and Elite Four members pick up other jobs on the side, mostly just to fill the time.

"Since there's not much time of year where you'd be expected to actually work, outside of some appearances here and there, pay for the position is on salary instead of wage." He pulls up the numbers on his screen. Why would he memorize all of the employee benefits for a position he doesn't have? "Uh... so, as a new Elite Four member, your salary would be around ₽670,000 monthly, which is a little above average. The League also offers a 13-month bonus, wherein employess get an additional month's pay at the end of the year." Wow. They don't think he's ever looked at these numbers. It's not the annual salary of the most prolific of positions, but it's certainly high. "As for other benefits, the league has mutuelle-- so any healthcare not already insured by the government can be reimbursed by a private healthcare insurance that is paid for partially by the league and partially from your own salary, along with covering any costs for things that aren't fully insured by the government. Though you're not required year-round, you're still expected to be able to be called on, however, you're still entitled to five weeks of paid leave per year, excluding parental or sick leave."

"There's also family benefits, life insurance, and income and disability protection insurance, and care costs extend towards your pokémon as well. Aaaand, any injuries that happen during work is fully covered by the league. Of course there's also pension contributions and so on and so forth as well."

He considers his options over another sip of tea, suddenly acutely aware that he really has no idea how an interview ends. He almost wants to ask something stupid like “how’s the dental coverage?”