during the urbain money extortion episode, local "handyman" becomes so obsessed with the player
he takes every opportunity he can to invite you to the office or meet you at the hotel, to battle alongside you during the doomsday event, etcetc. he texts good morning, good afternoon, good night. would you like to have some coffee? with a galette on the side? how about watching a battle together? or doing a royale run?
while running errands for mable, it does cross your mind. does this man have nothing better to do? maybe he's gotten the rust syndicate to run itself real smooth so he has so much free time on his hand
(he does not but he works twice as fast and makes time to shoot his shot. philippe is really amused)
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Corbeau x Reader
(light hearted, fluff)
The Rust grunt with the Drilbur reports to his Short King of a boss that you like tall guys
"Yo, Miss MZ! Over here!"
You wanted to say that you had a name, but you just shrugged it off. Rust grunts never care about semantics, and to be real honest, you liked the nicknames.
"What's up?" you asked. It was the guy who's been working hard training his recently acquired Drilbur. You remember him.
He was at a magazine stand with his pokemon, Moomoo Milk in hand.
A lemonade does sound pretty good right now... So you walk over, deciding to humor the guy with whatever interesting story he's got. It's always fun with the Rust guys.
"Yer not from around here, we all know 'at," he says, "But are ya from Alola by any chance?"
"Sorry, I'm not from Alola, but I've stayed there for sometime," you answered, reminiscing the time you did the island's trials, and the delicious malasadas. The sun was great, but it took the tan lines quite a while to fade.
"Aw shucks," the grunt slaps his leg, and accidentally making his Drilbur flinch. You snort while he coos at the pokemon. "But can ya tell me what's good 'round there? Been wanting to bring my girl out on a trip! She hates it when it gets cold here."
How sweet! You tell him about your favorite spots, and the places with the biggest malasada servings. He asks for some advice about how much cash to bring, and if credit is alright, and if the place is friendly to tourists. It is, Alola being a popular getaway for all sorts of people (and pokemon.)
He's giddy with excitement, and he couldn't help but show you photos of him and his girlfriend. There's a whole dedicated gallery on his Rotom, photos with filters and stickers, him and this a cute blondie with tattoos on her wrists and jewels on the lobes of her ears.
They've been going out for a little more than 2 years now, and it's not exactly an anniversary trip, but he's planning to book the trip on the coldest week in Lumiose.
On that topic, "So..." he pulls down his shades and looks you in the eye. You lean at the shelf on the kiosk and raise a brow while sipping on your lemonade. "Anyone tickle yer fancy in this fine city?" He wiggles his brows.
You laugh at his antics, but decide that you aren't going to have a heart to heart with someone you're hardly acquainted with and tell him that you have the hots for his boss. But okay...
"Well," you start, and the grunt steps closer to hear better and see your reactions better, "When I first arrived here, I thought the Pokeball Lost and Found guy at Vert was pretty good looking."
The grunt scrunches his face at your response, "Really?" He can't seem to believe it. "They all look kind of the same. Maybe it's the uniform," he scratches his chin.
Well all rust grunts have uniforms too, not to mention the matching sunglasses...
"He's pretty hot though, and he's really nice." You supply, talking about your first encounter, and how the man patiently explained his job, and how they're stationed at every pokemon center. "The guy at Vert is pretty built too, and really tall." You had to tilt your head up pretty high to make eye contact.
"Tall... ya like tall fellas?" The grunt asks, his face still scrunched-up.
"Who doesn't though?" you ask, and he eventually agrees, saying that even the larger pokemon have become trendy these days. But thanks to that demand, alpha pokemon are often caught and off the streets, keeping civilians safe.
You nod and agree, having your fair share of pokemon who are on the larger side for their breed.
The grunt finishes his drink and bids you goodbye, saying he needs to cover cleaning up the mega shards in this quarter before the day ends, or boss'll have his head.
You wave, and tell him to say hi to Corbeau for you.
He calls back saying that he doesn't need to do a good job anymore because he's got a message from you.
Your cheeks get hot at what it implies, but keep your emotions in check. You need to control your reactions to the Rust grunts' teasing.
---
The grunt with the Drilbur stands facing Corbeau's desk, back straight and eyes attentive. His pokemon has also learned to stand in attention beside him. He'd be the most disciplined Drilbur Corbeau has ever seen, if he was looking.
Nose deep in excel sheets, the Rust Syndicate boss continues looking at cell after cell, brows furrowed in concentration. "Report?" he demands lightly, not looking up from his laptop.
"Sir," the grunt answers with his entire lung capacity, "The southwest quarter's cleared o' mega shards. 'S at at 265, less 'an my last rotation, sir."
"Good," his boss replies. Seems like the mega shards have decreased since The Tower Incident, but it was still good to monitor and good to keep the streets clean. While the pinks are pretty close to Rust purple, they were an eyesore. "Anything else?"
"Miss MZ says hi, sir," the grunt adds in the same reporting tone.
"Oh?" Corbeau looks up from his screen.
The grunts have talked about this among themselves, much to Corbeau's dismay and Philippe's amusement. It does seem like every time their beloved Do-gooder swings by the office, even just waving from the windows, their prickly boss does become a bit more even-tempered. They have have a little game amongst themselves, and they try to catch you during their daily routes, or even in their time in the battle zones, so that they can tack it on to their reports. A surefire and almost funny way to get their busy boss' attention, and possibly a way to get into his good books.
And this grunt in particular is trying to score an extra day of paid leave for his tropical island getaway.
"Yes, sir," He said again.
Corbeau just looks at him, and tilts his head forward, gesturing the grunt to go on.
But that's all you said, right? Hi. To Corbeau specifically.
"She jus' asked me to say Hi for 'er!" He happily added. It wasn't just a rare sighting, but it came with a message. It was really interesting how invested the boss was in you. It was as expected, as you were a capable trainer, and now the savior of this very city. Who wasn't going to be keen?
To be honest, he thinks you'd look nice together. Most of the grunts ship you guys behind your backs, though it wasn't the most professional work behavior. But everyone's cheering the boss on, secretly, so it can't be that bad right?
"Where'd you see her?" Corbeau asks plainly.
"We met at a magazine stand during my break," the grunt racks his brains for more things, nervous from being at the receiving end of his boss' expectant gaze. "She thinks the Vert Pokeball Retrieval guy's hot...?"
"What!" Corbeau stands upright, and the grunt and his Drilbur flinch at the loud sound of the laptop being slammed shut. Philippe would too, if he was a lesser man.
Corbeau hears his reaction's echo in his own ears, and shifts his stance to be something more relaxed. Exhales. He looks at the grunt again, and with a calmer voice continues, "What would she see in a man like that?" Would you pick a nameless common-looking ball boy over him? Technically, you've already picked one, if you already singled out the staff at Vert. How-
"She said she liked 'em cuz he's real handsome and.." wait a minute. He can't say that to the boss. His eyes dart over at his Drilbur, and the pokemon, standing at his straightest, shakes his head with a little panic in his eye. Don't say it, bro...
"And...?" Corbeau prompts.
The grunt gives in to the (light) pressure.
"...Cuz he's really tall, sir." he blurts it out in one breath and braces himself for the blow.
All he hears is an unintelligible sound (from the underboss) followed by a deep sigh (from Corbeau).
The boss thanks him for the report and dismisses him, and the grunt and the Drilbur retreat back to the elevator. Man he's got some news to share today...
In their privacy, Philippe lets out a good natured chuckle.
"Finding things funny at my expense, Philippe?" Corbeau slumps down on his chair, looking at the closed laptop like it offended him personally. (The excel sheets are hell, but that's besides the point.)
"No boss," Philippe replies. "I'm sure she just said the first thing that came to mind to humor the nosy guy," he assures. That particular grunt has always been parading his girlfriend around, and he's really into girl talk.
"Of all the things..." Corbeau was never insecure about anything. (Except when you cleaned the floors with him like a wet rag during the Rank Up Battle, he was left a little wounded and had Philippe become his punching bag for the weeks that followed...) "Why does it have to be something I can't change."
Though, if Corbeau was being honest with himself, he wouldn't even change his hair if you said you didn't like it.
He feels defeated by both the numbers in cells and this new information about your preferences in men.
He wasn't in love with you. Maybe?
Corbeau slides his hands under his glasses to rub at his eyes.
He doesn't know if he's in love with you yet, but he loves your company. Loves having coffee with you when he catches you at the city's cafes, or when you come by the office for a friendly battle. Loves it when you pass by and wave at him from the courtyard and inspect the statues in the fountains or the artefacts in his office.
He' sure that a big part of his feelings come from a place of admiration for you as a trainer, but there's also an unexplainable thing about spark in your eye, the tilt of your smile, and the curve of your hip that makes him feel like a teenager again.
-(1/?)-
I don't know where I'm going with this but the Pokeball guys are really hot, no?
"i think she likes me," corbeau says out of the blue. he looks to philippe, as if for validation, his fingers fiddling with the cap of the coffee cup you brought into the office 10 minutes ago.
"maybe she's just being polite, boss. ya always give her things to take home." masala from alola, wine from paldea, whatever souvenirs from his work trips or business meetings.
corbeau just shrugs and brings the cup to his lips. it's a fresh cup, hot and fragrant. you've made it a habit to bring coffee for him an philippe, and some snacks for the pokemon.
you always ask for scolipede. corbeau thinks you're trying to get to him through his pokemon.
the coffee today is a less sweet than usual.
"maybe," he replies, a frown pulling at the ends of his lips.
philippe walks to the desk and sets his own empty coffee cup down. "not to put you down, but i wouldn't count my eggs before they hatch. if you like her, you should make a move."
"perhaps," corbeau considers.
because what's the point if you don't know how he feels
---
spoiler: you use reporting to the rust syndicate as an excuse to pop by the nouveau truck and say hello to grisham and support his business. you try to ask him when his shift ends, unfortunately...
philippe is a little nosy so he's picked up on this behavior of yours and asked some grunts to eavesdrop at the truck lol
Pursuit (1/?)
Light angst | Courbeau x Reader Grisham x Reader
Pursuit
Type: Dark | Power: 40 | Accuracy: 100
An attack move that inflicts double damage if used on a target that is switching out of battle
Unfortunately, it had to take another person in the picture for Corbeau to make moves
-
FWB (or Royale Rivals with Benefits?) Corbeau who is teasing and mean and rough and more often than not let's his temper get the better of him. It's a short burst that cools easily, but it's never to the point that it betrays his true feelings. He's fond of you. It feels like it on a good day, but it's vague like that sparkly thing you see on the Lumiose streets. It could be anything.
Maybe it's like pulling pigtails? He's spent so much of his youth just trying to survive, he never got that bit out of his system.
It doesn't really bother you much. The banter is as fun as the battles, and he's very nice to look at. He's made himself a welcome presence in your life, someone you look forward hearing from in between busy days of surveying wormholes and nights of battling in the royale.
Enter Grisham.
Well, he's always been in the picture (with his no-picture royale profile) since you had to snoop around to find out who you were up against. There was a bit of friction at first, but after ranking up, thank goodness things smoothed over and it's like you were able to take a ticking time bomb off his hands.
Once the volatility has blown over, his diligence shines in it's stability. Day in and day out, he mans Nouveau Cafe honestly and consistently. He's also very sweet to you, throwing extra shots on the house during the day, but he only serves you hot milk at nights when you take breaks in between battle zones.
You notice the pleasant timber of his voice as he talks more, and that he has his own brand of humor when he talks back to Griselle on occasion.
You decide to call it a night (after 8 battles) because your new sneakers were killing you. You're not strapped for cash anwyays.
Going back to Nouveau Truck No. 1 to say hi to your favorite Charizard (and he gets a treat!) and have a longer sitdown alfresco. On a whim, you invite Grisham to sit with you, and it becomes the beginning of many cafe hangouts like it.
With a bit of exhaustion and the quietness of night time, brains tend to be foggier and lips looser. You find that Grisham is very pleasant to speak to. He's gentle and his diligence extends to the words he chooses, and he cares so so much, his values are steadfast and held close to his heart. He talks about the old flare days sometimes, and he listens to your stories about life before your extended vacation. You find that his palms are warm when he helps you up before you head home. So are his hugs, that have become a cozy refuge during particularly long days.
"I'm in love you," he says one day. A confession deliberate, full of sureness and the look in his eyes leaves no space for you to doubt. He reaches for your hand, steady and certain. Even if you turn him down, if your coffee runs get awkward, or if you never patronize Nouveau's coffee ever again, it was a risk he was taking. His feelings were overflowing and he admired you so much, it felt unfair for you not to hear it.
While it was a little sudden, you were nothing but flattered. Grisham? Lovely Grisham who makes the most fragrant coffee and the most delicious croissants... Grisham who persevered despite the horrors of his past. Grisham who is gentle and sweet, and apparently in love with you. How could you say no to that?
You were overwhelmed with feeling, but he took your silence as hestitance. There was a little crack in his armor. While he knew that rejection was an option, seeing it actually happen was still something else.
You see the crease in his brow, and assure him it's not a no. You tell him your thoughts and feelings, honestly and clearly, while holding his warm hands in yours. But it seems like you've got some loose ends to tie up it seems.
Corbeau brings you warm towels. He has a little one for you to hold on top of your eyes (you mentioned that they were a bit dry now that the weather's chillier) and he has a larger one that he uses to wipe you down. He moves you this way and that, inspecting your neck and shoulder for any broken skin that he needs to tend to.
He returns to the room with hot tea and you're sitting on opposite ends of the bed when you say it. Maybe this should be the last time.
Thankfully he wasn't taking a sip or his nasal passage might need some burn heal.
But What?
Was he no longer good? No longer enough? Do you no longer like him? He sees his murky reflection in his cup. Seems like his hands are a little shaky.
You didn't want to say It's not You it's Me, because that's not what it is. You've met someone, and you should give them this courtesy because you want to see them properly.
Corbeau realises that for once he went with the flow and it came back to bite him in the ass. It felt almost like he started at the finish line only to lose to someone who worked their way from the beginning. He shook his head, no. You weren't a prize and intimacy isn't a goal, but why did he feel like he was losing.
He pivots quickly and decides to take a different approach. He could still appeal to you.
"Oh?" He raises a brow, feigning indifference to the best of his ability, "What's he like?"
There's a painful pang in his chest when he sees you light up at just the mere thought of this man. Arbok's bite would sting less.
You talk over the rim of your cup to prevent yourself from gushing. He's really nice, you say.
Nice? A part of Corbeau can't believe he's losing you to someone who is just nice. Another part of him is speeding through the mental catalog of how many times he's sent you to work overtime, every snarky remark and sly quip, every time he pushed you a little too far, and the way he raised his voice at you publicly for messing with the Rust Human Ladder somehow the highlight of his relationship history with you. He can taste the regret in his mouth.
"I could be nice too," He exhales cooly. "I'll be the nicest person you've ever met. I'll prove it to you." There's no sarcasm, no snark. He means it plainly, and he hopes iy comes across clear.
He negotiates (and threatens) for a living. He's not backing down on some nameless faceless guy who is just nice.
OK BUT HEAR ME OUT ON THIS IDEA LOWKEY MIGHT BE A CRACKFIC BUT--
Corbeau x reader where reader is a member of Team MZ, and instead of just doing errands to help pay off their debt to the Rust Syndicate, chooses to propose to Corbeau(with the ENTIRITY OF MZ AS THEIR WITNESS) in hopes marriage will pay off the debt(whether or not he accepts is up to you!!)
@feralarchitect
Hahahaha oh damn. I'll give it a shot
Urbain won't be there though, because he's canonically MIA in this episode, and I'd like to retain that
The events that lead to the summon at Rust are a little foggy in my mind, so...
---
Mob Wife
(crack)
---
God, what a night. There's still a crick in your neck from staining it over a potted plant. Sneaking up to trainers? Easier said than done, but those Battle Cards really do rake in the Challenge Medals. You've already got a Challenger Ticket in your app, but there's a nice beanie that you've been wanting... Ten thousand pokedollars...
You sigh and give your shoulder a good stretch on the walk back to Hotel Z. Heck, a nap sounds good right now.
But that's a nap you never got to take.
Suspicious messages from unknown numbers, Urbain gone MIA, Lida freaking out, and Naveen... well he's still a downer.
While in full panic, Lida calls for a strategy meeting.
None of you have that kind of money. One million pokedollars? If you were anywhere close you wouldn't be busting your ass every night in battle zones just saving up for a new hat.
Even pooling together your funds, it could barely reach that amount.
A part of you wants to ask AZ for help, but it kind of goes against the whole thing Team MZ is trying to achieve, which is to help the hotel.
Urbain, what an idiot.
"What do you think they'll send us in for," Lida worries. "I don't know anything about Lumiose's underbelly. I'm just a dancer!" she declares. That last sentence rolls around in here brain and she suddenly furrows her brows. She turns to you and Naveen, desperate, "don't let me become a dancer in some seedy club..."
Pshh naw, you immediately refute, and Naveen assure her that there will be none of that. You don't even know the terms yet. But the terms might be hefty, considering the kind of money Urbain owes them.
Naveen slowly turns to you and starts, "This is a little wild but what do you feel about being a mob wife."
Outrageous! "So Lida is safe, but I'm for sale?" You raise a brow at the tailor in challenge. Quitting is at the tip of your tongue.
"No, hear me out," Naveen's hands are up in defence, "You wouldn't have to worry about a thing.
I know you came to Lumiose to escape something, I'm not sure what. And you're looking for a place to belong-"
"Don't I belong in MZ?!" you interject.
"Yes, but. if they've got a million pokedollars to collect from Urbain, you could buy a hundred of those beanies you've been wanting."
Putting aside the fact that your teammate is trying to ship you to the other side of the chessboard. It would turn tables and now Urbain would owe you money, if you've become Rust Syndicate.
Being promised to a rando is out of the question, but being a Rank D trainer surely would put you in a better position than grunts. It's not an A, but it makes you an asset, surely.
Though a little part of your Treecko brain is romanticizing what you think a mob wife would be like. Sounds kind of cool and kind of rich.
You're outside the Rust Syndicate office building (is it still called an office if it's not legal? maybe they're legal..) flanked by your remaining two teammates.
The grunts had a bark louder than their bite, but Philippe? He looked like he could break your neck with his pinky.
Sweat started beading on your forehead... How would he look like? The man who has this entire gang (and the city) in the palm of his hand. Someone who could overpower Philippe... Does Naveen have any authority to sell you off the the head of Rust, some hulking beast of a man?
It was the longest elevator ride of your life. (It was also a little on the slow side)
The metal doors slide open, and you're immediately met with an intimidating golden gaze.
If it were not for the fear, you would have laughed at how the man was quite the opposite of your expectations. Glasses, a somewhat small and lean frame, further dwarfed by the size of his enormous chair.
Though unmistakably, the air was heavy with the weight of the man's reputation.
"Ah yes, Team MZ. Your little friend has left you with quite a burden," He starts. You felt a chill at the back of your spine. Also Urbain is by no means little, nor is the burden that he has saddled the team with.
Introduced as Corbeau, he ushered the team to one of the coffee tables on the side. It was quite a comfy couch. You would have enjoyed resting on it, fatigue of battling 15 trainers heavy on your bones. Unfortunately you have to be running on adrenalin with your independence on the line.
You were briefed with Urbain's unfulfilled promises, with Lida and Naveen denying having to do with any of that. But the contract's signed under the name of MZ, and that being the three of you.
Urbain's actions were grating on your nerves, and the more you think about it, the more aggressive your replies got to the Rust. It was also a little annoying that Corbeau was a matter of fact, quite attractive. But at this point, you were starting to get really tired. Home...
What were even these tasks Rust wanted to offload to MZ? They wanted commitment, but they didn't state clear terms. Brain on autopilot, you made some choice replies, and the last thing you expected what Lida's life being threatened in Philippe's vice grip.
Naveen and you jumped to your feet, stress at 100%, desperate to de-escalate the situation.
"She'll marry you!" Naveen blurted out at his maximum volume.
What?
"What?" Corbeau echoed your thoughts.
Philippe and Lida were at a standstill.
Now that this has happened, it was actually such a ridiculous and naive idea. How did this make sense to anybody?
"So," the mob boss looks you straight in the eye, "you refuse to do our chores, but instead you agree to give your autonomy to me?" He scoffs and ends in a smirk.
Technically a marriage is a union and not an acquisition.
"No unions are 50-50," the man states. Did you end up saying that out loud? Must be the fatigue.
"But if I join you, Urbain's debt to you becomes a debt to me. Right?" you try.
A low sound comes from Philippe, followed by some semblance of a snort from his boss. "My, how interesting this has become." He sits up from the couch and walks over to the zen garden in the office. "Why don't we have a battle to see where you stand. If you win I'll let you vet through my vows."
-end-
I tried my best! It' felt so counter-intuitive because MZ would be giving them so much more than what they're bargaining for. I wonder if the legalities of something like marriage even mean anything to a crime ring
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Pls write for phillipe (corbeau’s right hand man! Idk how to spell his name) with a wheelchair using S/O if you feel comfortable doing it! I don’t see much for him on here :)
My dear Philippe! A lovely man. I seriously enjoyed his presence in the game, and I'd love to fill this ask. I did my best with research on wheelchair use, but if there's any wrong information, do let me know.
I've also taken several artistic liberties.
---
Lucky Dog
(fluff, mild angst)
---
Bzzt...bzzt...
Philippe's Rotom buzzed in his pocket.
His eyes dart to the boss in front of him, looking though documents on his desk, then to his watch.
2:46PM
It's a quiet day today at Rust Syndicate. He discreetly checks his Rotom.
Hihi! Delivering some files to Lumi Press
Dinner?
The texts were followed by a sticker of a Piplup making puppy eyes.
Philippe sighed. Couldn't it have been an email? The weather's been erratic lately with light rain. It would have been better for you to stay in the cozy warmth of your apartment.
He quickly types an affirmative.
Looking back at Corbeau smoothing out the edges of an A4 sheet of paper, he adds on:
Let you know if I can get off early. Pick a place.
His Rotom buzzes before he could keep it.
Cafe Gallant!
it read with a sticker of a happy Machoke punching up into the air.
The edges of his lips involuntarily pull into a smile. He shakes his head as he keeps his Rotom out of the way.
Philippe's eyes look back at his boss, and finds Corbeau looking right at him.
"B-boss!"
Whoops!
Well, there's no policy about no-Rotoms during business hours...
Corbeau's head is cradled on his palm, lip quirked up one side, eyes giving a knowing look. The syndicate head shuffles some copy paper into a file seals it closed.
"Philippe," he says calmly while taking another file out from a drawer.
"Yes, Boss!" the right hand man replies a bit too boisterously.
Hand holding the file extended, "I'll need these delivered to Sycamore Labs and the Transportation office," he says. "You can send a grunt too. Whoever gets it done can have the afternoon off."
"Yes, Boss!!"
The errand was a simple one, but made even quicker with a ride on the company car. Philippe got the grunt to drop him off at Gallant before sending him back to the base parking lot.
There you are, seated alfresco at the Cafe. Nose in a novel, glass on the table, shining in the golden hour lights. Meanwhile, your Lucario is seated opposite you nibbling on a snack. Upon closer inspection, it looks like your pokemon even has a sparkling drink to go with the pecha flavored treat.
Lucky dog.
As his footsteps get closer, Lucario picks up on it first, turning around and calls out to you. You look up from your novel and flash a smile.
Ah. It's bright and soft like the afternoon sun, and warmth fills up his big broad chest.
He pulls a chair out for himself, "Hope you haven't been waiting long."
"Oh, no no. We didn't discuss on a meeting time anyways," you say while using the receipt as a bookmark. "Hope Mister Corbeau didn't give you a tough time today."
He chuckles and talks about how he got caught texting you and got sent home early at the guise of a task.
You laugh in response saying you hope his pay doesn't get docked.
You both catch up with each others day, as if you didn't just meet over the weekend. You offer him the rest of your iced coffee. He takes it. It's often like this, fun and easygoing. Two of you with your Lucario being the bored third wheel.
The orange sunlight suddenly starts to fade, replaced by a dull gray and an increase in humidity. Lucario looks up at the sky, then turns to you and Philippe while licking the crumbs off his paws, then tilts his head towards the forming clouds.
"Looks like it's going to rain. We could get a table inside for dinner?" Philippe suggests.
You purse your lips and make a face, "I'd like to be home before it rains though... Do you think we could get it to go? You could stay over?"
Sounds like a plan. You both quickly decide on tonight's dinner menu and he calls the waitstaff over.
"I really hate it when my wheels get wet," you start, after the the staff goes back into the cafe. "Wet is okay, but it picks up all sorts things and cleaning it is such a pain," you sigh exasperated.
"Couldn't your delivery be an email though?" Philippe asks, thumbing the spikes in his sideburns. "The weather's been unpredictable. You could have stayed home today," he couldn't help but sound reprimanding. He's told you so, but from a place of love and care. He really hates it when you need to run these useless errands.
"The video files were really large! It was taking hours to attach them. It wasn't raining all day" you point out, "and it's not even raining now." You're starting to get a little defensive. Sure it could be inconvenient during wet weather, but you liked being out.
"It's not raining yet," Philippe corrects.
You blow a raspberry and stick your tongue out. He laughs, though not as boisterous as before.
Dinner is handed to you in Gallant-branded insulated bags, and they say Come Again and you and Philippe thank them for their service.
Lucario gets up from the chair and goes behind you. You pull the break lever, and the pokemon manoeuvres you out of the cafe table.
"Oop, I'll take it over from here big guy," Philippe says as he takes the reigns from the pokemon. Lucario relents easily, and you ask him if he wants to walk or go back into the ball. He points at your pouch.
You and Philippe laugh a little. He hates being the third wheel.
"Stop calling him big guy," you admonish lightly, "he hates it. And wasn't it you who was against me getting a Machamp?"
It's true. You had wanted a pokemon to help you around the house to do the heavy lifting. Or to lift you.
Machamps were known for being sturdy multitaskers, but they were also pretty bulky, and not a really good fit for your little Lumiose apartment.
"Where would he sleep?" Philippe had challenged. You scoffed and answered that it he could go back into the pokeball, duh? And then you immediately felt bad about it and scrapped the idea.
To be completely honest, a small part of Philippe did feel irrationally threatened by it.
He had insisted on a Lucario instead. It's still a fighting type (your preference) but also a steel type (his preference, even if it wasn't going to be his.) Lucarios are known for being pretty dexterous, and the size was perfect for your home.
Now you have this little guy to keep you company and also wheel you around town. It's been a few years, and Lucario has become a lovely doting companion (with a bored exterior.) And you make sure that half of your fridge is always stocked with sparking water.
"You don't always need to push, you know?" You say gently, "You can let Lucario do the work. I'd like to hold your hand sometimes."
Philippe walks with a steady pace, pushing your wheelchair down the more even side of the path. "Nah, it's alright," he confirms. It's his responsibility, his duty, his -
"I know you still think it's your fault, but we've gone through this," You tilt your head in a weird way just to get a good look at him.
"I know, I know," he responds, avoiding your gaze.
You sigh and look forward, "When you say it like that... I know it's not really me, but it's kind of my fault that you don't drive anymore..."
Philippe finds his palms clammy and his fingers tight around the wheelchair's handles. It was a constant reminder.
It had been on a motorcycle, but even his drivers license just sits in his wallet idle and just another ID.
"I-" Just as Philippe opens his mouth, a drop of moisture hands on the back of his palm.
You notice the start of the light pitter patter of rain, and the conversation stops and turns into a scramble for shelter.
Both of you manage to hail a taxi quick enough. The wheelchair folded in the boot, dinner sitting on your lap, you and Philippe sit quietly side by side in the back seat.
The drive was steady, but the rain started getting heavier. Soon it started sounding like the static in Philippe's head.
You place your palm on his hand, and his head snaps to look at you. A sad smile. He put it there. There's a pang in his heart.
"We've gone through this right? Many times." You say quietly, "You've always been here for me, thinking about me, and you love me."
"That I do," he says. He breathes out, and a hard feelings get chipped away a little.
You must have sensed that there's still a hard lump in the middle of his chest, and you pull at his hand and place a soft kiss at the back of his knuckles. It was a really funny thing to him, every time you did that. The gesture making him feel like a princess in a fairytale, and you the dashing prince. It must make an interesting image.
He flushes as eyes catch the driver's eyes on the rearview mirror for a split second before going back to the road.
He coughs a little and tugs on his collar with his free hand. Was it getting warm in here? The rest of his regrets are drowned in his embarrassment and the sound of the pouring rain. For now.
You're still holding his hand, occasionally rubbing your thumb at the back on it, and he gives it little squeezes in response.
The ride ends, and the car parks at a sheltered area by your apartment. The driver immediately helps with retrieving your wheelchair from the back, and Philippe makes sure that you're settled before leaning back in to pay for the ride.
The driver reaches for the bills from the seat and gives him a smile, not dissimilar from the one he got from Corbeau earlier in the day.
He thanks Philippe for the payment, and tacks on, "She's a nice girl. You're a lucky dog."
-fin-
it's a bit more long winded than i had planned it to be. (if i had, well.. planned it.) i do hope that the story could have been tighter, but this is what it has become! i hope it's to your to your liking!
He has more motivation in a hangnail than you have in your entire being.
Also: Ivor giving the reader a little push to try new things. Pokemon are great!
You've just picked up your coat from the workbench when the bell of your shop tinkled aggressively, and a gust of wind slapped you on the face.
"Help me, please! My Falinks!" A loud voice boomed inside your humble boutique.
Blinking at a flash of blonde hair, the towering man's face was distraught and desperate, hunched over a yellow thing cradled in his very large arms. His eyes were watery, and cheeks bitten pink by the winter cold.
"Please help me, please..." he pleaded, in a volume more suited for the indoors.
Of course, you recognize this man. Ivor of the Fist of Justice. Everyone in Lumiose knows him.
You've had the honour of tailoring a suit for this hulkingly handsome man. Lady Jacinthe sent him to your little shop and blocked the door, or at least her pink holo-self had. She was not going to have him show up in athletic wear again in her Exclusive Summer Royale.
It was quite an unforgettable piece of tailoring, your first time sewing for someone of his stature. Though for someone so loud and full of energy, it was surprising to see him stand so still while getting his measurements taken, and with impeccable posture too.
"Mister Ivor. Good evening," you greet while putting your coat back down, unsure with what he's come to your shop for. "I think you might find better help at a Pokemon Center for your dear Falinks though," you offered.
Surely there was little you could do in this situation.
"No, no! It's you! You must!" He insisted, hastily walking towards you, "Please help me! Only you can!" He uncovers the thing resting on is impressive biceps, placing it gently in front of you.
It's his Falinks alright, but a mere impression of his trusty Pokemon, in the shape of a pouch. And this pouch has seen better days. It's beaten down and dirty with shoddy patches whose seams had come off. A particularly large patch was peeled open and a pokeball was threatening to slip out of it.
"Oh! I see," you say, "May I?" You gestured at the item, and Ivor nodded quickly and easily.
You inspected the pouch. It was mostly intact, made of very sturdy material, except for the stitching on the patches that were coming loose. That was the main problem, but nothing you couldn't repair.
Ivor had been vibrating on the spot with anticipation, trying to patiently wait for your assessment.
You had told Ivor as such, "Easy peasy lemon squeezy," being the conclusion to your diagnosis. "I've got a spare satchel you can use to keep your things for the time being," you said while rummaging though the drawers, "I'll replace these patches with fabric closer to your Falinks, and it'll be 650 pokedollars total for the materials and labor.I'll have it ready for pick up on Friday if you wouldn't ...mind?"
You looked up to see his eyes round, and begging. "C-could it be done tonight?" He asked.
You smacked your lips together, trying not to let your confusion show. Your eyes dart from the pouch to the wall clock. It wouldn't take long, but it's been a long day...
"Please!" You jumped a little at his voice. Ivor bowed his head, body taught and unwavering, "Please, if you could do this for me! I'd forever be indebted!"
Since he's asking so desperately, maybe you could give in. Maybe you should give in.
Before you could open your mouth to answer, your stomach beat you to it with a loud growl that could rival your customer's volume.
Haha, how embarrassing.
-
And that's how you ended up with a box of croissants and a fresh cup of coffee, courtesy of the head of the Fist of Justice, who was observing your mending in stillness.
"Did something happen?" you ask, while pinning a yellow piece of fabric in place.
Ivor merely tilts his head to the side, a big question mark painted on his features. If you look closely, you could see a little dirt on this face and his gi that wasn't unlike the marks on his pouch.
"To this," you say, raising the Falinks pouch a little, "and to you." You couldn't help but be concerned about his wellbeing. Strange things have been happening in Lumiose after all. There's been sightings of pokemon that have been going berserk even outside of wild zones, and the pink shards have been multiplying by the day.
"Oh!" He exclaims, placing his arms akimbo, "It was from breaking the gates in the sewers!"
You stopped your stitching to look up at is pose of bravery. Wasn't that considered destruction of public property? You made a brief quiet prayer hoping that the city's sewage system wasn't affected.
He took your silence as a sign to go on, and he recounted his mission with the detective and the Team MZ rookie and their wild goose chase in search for Gwynn. He only noticed that his pouch had been in bad shape after he'd faced defeat in the Royale at the hands of MZ's newest member. Thankfully, no valuables had dropped from his Falinks pouch. His actual Falinks had ended the night in a similar condition, but he had made a stop at the Pokemon Center before arriving at your shop, and he's been in high hopes for a similar outcome.
"Unfortunately, I am not as fast as Nurse Joy," you say while laughing a little. It is quite nice to be likened to such a reliable service.
"Have you joined the Royale?" Ivor inquires boisterously.
"No," you respond, "You remember that?"
"Yes of course! You mentioned it while getting my measurements last time. I was very quiet and still," Ivor said proudly, "Gwynn would have praised me for that."
"That you were," you said while moving on to fastening the second patch with a pin.
Ivor was still for a moment before asking again, "Why haven't you joined? You seemed like you really wanted to. I heard it's pretty easy with a Rotom... not that I would know, but Gwynn made it look pretty easy..."
"Well, who would be mending poor Falinks pouches, if not for me? I'm a Pokemon Center for clothes," you joked.
"If it's only sometimes!" he says, "You can fight one battle, and go home right after. You could start maybe once a week! The worst battle is one you have not fought," he nods sagely at his own words.
You tied your last knot and cut off the excess thread. "Maybe!" you say, trying to match his enthusiasm. You dust off his pouch before handing it over, "Not good as new, but I looks pretty good if I'd say so myself. Though this little guy could use a nice soak."
"Thank you!" Ivor's gratitude overflows through his bright eyes and unguarded smile, "Your work is so neat! I knew you could do it! You even matched the yellow! Last time Gwynn could only use the spare gis that we had."
"You're welcome," you say while picking up a croissant. "And thank you for this," you wave the pastry before taking bite.
"That's nothing," the blonde man says while still admiring your handiwork. "Thank you, really!" he says again. He pays you for your efforts, and he looks you straight in the eye, "And I think you should really join the Royale. You'll have fun! It's great!"
You brush him off again talking about how you need to take care of the shop and you wanted to focus on it. Being a pokemon trainer feels like something from a different world, like just a fanciful dream.
Ivor scratches his chin in thought, and you look at him while finishing off your coffee. He's really quite an amusing character, large and towering, but even his muscles cannot keep his own eagerness at bay.
"You could try! It's good to have two things sometimes, like an offence move and a defense move! I heard that MZ does have a member who tailors as well. You could follow his moveset. There's prize money too! You won't be abandoning your shop," he says and runs his finger on the new stitches on his patched-up Falinks, "You could do it."
Naveen, was it? To be honest, you've been a little envious of that trainer. Part of a prominent team, and yet they could make quiet waves in a separate craft. How you'd want that for yourself as well. Ivor says it like it's a little too easy. But what if it is? Just that easy?
"I don't even have any pokemon," you say sheepishly, looking away. "I don't even know where to begin..."
"That's not a problem!" Ivor's large hands slam down on your workbench, startling the half-eaten croissant out of your hands. "Oh sorry," he whispers in apology and places the pastry back in your palm, but his hands linger, holding on to yours. "Tomorrow! Let's catch your first pokemon. Your first pokeball is on me. You can learn from the Fist of Justice! Free trial! Everyone's really friendly, you'll have a good time. What do you say?"
It's been a while since anyone's been so supportive of you, what more of something you've just said in passing. Ivor's enthusiasm was quite contagious, and you do find that yourself being convinced. Or maybe you've already known that you wanted to be a trainer all this while, but you're just too scared to make it a reality.
"Just the first pokeball?" You ask. You don't know much about pokemon, but you have heard stories of some that are notoriously hard to catch.
"Til you catch the first one," Ivor corrects.
"You drive a hard bargain with the level of commitment you're asking of me," you say, "I'm not sure if I can spend much time at your dojo, but I'd really appreciate it if you can show me the ropes about being a trainer." You smile at him, and joy spreads from his eyes to his big smile, and then to the rest of his body as Ivor punches his fist up in victory.
"Yes! You won't regret it! Pokemon are the best!!" He says at the top of his lungs. Ivor hastily moves his things from the satchel back to his precious pouch. "I won't take any more of your time! Get some rest!" He says each sentence with a grin on his face while he makes his way to the exit of the boutique and the bell jingles as he opens the door, "I'll be here when you close! With galettes! You can meet Falinks!!"
He gives you another wave through the glass window of the shop, and you can't help but wave back. Does he not get cold in that undershirt? Surely that compression sleeve can only do so much.
You wonder if you could even sleep tonight with all this excitement, and no thanks to the coffee you've just had.
Picking up your coat for the second time that night, you put away the empty coffee cup and lock up the door of the shop. There's a strain in your cheeks, but it's certainly not the cold, but you've just not stopped smiling.
(fin)
Thank you for reading!
I've not edited this, and just released it out into the wild.
I'm not sure what I wanted from it but I needed it Out Of My System
