#pkmnfic

   “Hah?” Corbeau sneered.

   To say he was taken aback by the absurd suggestion would be saying the absolute least but Phillipe could feel it. This was where he was meant to be: by Corbeau’s side as his number one and second-in-command. And so, Phillipe stood his ground against the twilight that ensued around them.

   It was so cliche. The orange that burned, the indigo that sank deep into the sky behind Lumiose City’s skyline. A breeze swirled and Phillipe stared, gruff and with his bottom lip chewed as fine. Corbeau relented.

   “Do as you want.” Corbeau said. He made a flippant gesture. “Just don’t drag me down.” His hand returned inwards and he adjusted his glasses. 

   “I promise. I won’t.” Phillipe replied and he had to suppress how giddy he was inside to have successfully plead his case.

   And so began the beginnings of the Rust Syndicate as they knew it today.

   Corbeau was the brains and Phillipe was the brawn. They made an excellent team as they brought the best out in one another. Competition, reliability, and more. Together, they made a formidable pair which allowed them to accrue more and more in the shadows as they walked a path which strayed from the usual lights of Lumiose City.

   They looked through its shadows and its alleyways, unafraid. They made acquaintances. They made enemies. They recruited underlings and even grew the group so big they had to acquire personal premises for themselves and had even begun to decorate it as the ranks of the wild side began to take notice of them. 

   Through it all, thick and thin, side by side, they faced it all. If the streets were tough but they were tougher. Of course, they sharpened their teeth and honed their claws all the same as anyone else.

   Poison and Steel were unnatural together and that’s what made it a good combination. Doubled down on their strengths as much as it did their weaknesses. Poison couldn’t touch Steel and Steel could hardly touch Poison. They posed a challenge and every so often, they did go at it for a rough house. 

   During one such round, Phillipe and Corbeau taught each other more than lessons of the type match up chart.

   Skarmory was still Phillipe’s ace. His longest standing partner with long claws and sterling feathers. Corbeau’s wily, little Venipede had evolved into its second stage as a Whirlipede where its defences became yet more indomitable. Even against a partial Flying Type.

   They went at it in their personal court. It was kind of a garden but nothing planted had grown yet. It was hard work and not overly important, even if it was conducive to beautifying the city of its grime.

   They had been waging war on each other all day. From dawn until now, dusk. They were battered and bruised but neither of them could say they were beat yet. Not when there were forces bigger and uglier than them out there that they needed to be able to go toe to toe with so neither were going to go down just yet.

   Even as the sun got in their eyes over the chainlink fence around the garden. The sky, splintered by the cityscape, burned a bright orange in the distance as an autumnal wind blew. They sweated under that sun, worked hard and fought harder as yet another match came down to the wire. 

   “Go, Wing Attack!” Phillipe commanded his partner Skamory.

   Its wings unfurled and it chirped a great noise. It wasn’t going to give up. It was a dependable partner, it had won and it had lost and it wasn’t about to lose again. It swooped on Phillipe’s Whirlipede who dodged masterfully. 

   “Excellent response,” Corbeau praised his Whirlipede, his arm swung out forcefully, “retaliate with Rollout.”

   “Pede, pede!”

   His Whirlipede’s carapasce turned rock hard as it threw its body at full force at Phillipe’s Skamory. They tangled in the middle, Skarmory tried to squivel out the way but the whole of Whirlipede’s body came down on it like a boulder. It cried out and took a critical hit.

   “Ack, hang in there, Skarmory!” Phillipe cried out with more emotion than he meant to.

   “End this with Poison Sting!” Corbeau instructed, taking the opportunity.

   Whirlipede obeyed but at what cost.

   Steel Types were immune to Poison Type moves after all but Whirlipede didn’t know that. It had complete faith in Corbeau’s order as it spun forth and when it sprang up, he spat a poison barb forwards.

   Skarmory crooned, long and tired but barrel rolled out of the way. It dodged expertly. It gracefully rolled to the left but Phillipe stood directly behind it. Perfectly aligned to Whirlipede whose head chucked forward with eyes clenched close. All its might concentrated in the Poison Sting that it flung.

   Phillipe’s eyes widened. He could feel the arrow of the barb all the same as a bullet from a gun.

   In a split second, Phillipe managed to muster himself.  He raised his arm to cover his face in defence. He cringed as he took the attack. Low powered but with a chance of poison. It ate through the fabric of his jacket’s sleeve and into the skin. It dug and it stung.

   Phillipe suppressed a whimper. It turned into a grunt or groan. Highly undignified but had nothing on Corbeau who went into panic mode: something he never did.

   “Return, Whirlipede.”

   He zapped up Whirlipede quick as he could with his PokeBall then ran across the basketball court. His eyes slitted, his arms flailed. He hadn’t a lick of good posture for this kind of thing since he was all books and no balls, it honestly put a smile on Phillipe’s face as he let Corbeau fuss over him.

   Phillipe chuckled nervously, “‘M fine, boss.”

   “Inside. Now.” he commanded Phillipe all the same as his ace Pokemon.

   Phillipe obliged. He cringed as he lowered his arm and he went inside. He did his best to stay calm and upright but there was a hobble in his usual, headstrong march. Corbeau forged ahead, however, and got everything they needed. Chairs, a first aid kit, ice and more. He wasn’t taking any chances and that stirred something within Phillipe’s core.

   Their premises wasn’t much to look at. He pulled up a stool and Corbeau sat across from them. They had grand plans, once they had enough money, ideally made off their own backs but maybe Lysandre wouldn’t object to their plans to renovate. It was basically a warehouse for now with some attempt of looking professional. 

   But for now?

   It was draughty and dimly lit. The furnishings were the most basic aluminium they could afford. Phillipe hunched over and offered up his arm to Corbeau. He folded Phillipe’s sleeves back and was appalled to see the state of Phillipe’s arm.

   Corbeau’s eyes keened as he took this care to move aside the sturdy fabric of Phillipe’s jacket. He swallowed at the shape of Phillipe’s wrists – thick, bulky – and the swell of his forearm that matched the size of his bicep. In between was where the injury had been sustained, next to some veins and even a mole.

   Phillipe might have had an affinity with Steel Types but his body was flesh and blood all the same as anyone else.

   As such, the wound that had opened in even the few short minutes it took to evacuate the battle had worsened. There was a semi-deep gash from where the barb had to be removed, the flesh around it had congealed and looked nasty. It had a purplish tinge.

   Corbeau got to work. Phillipe chewed his lip. He was dabbed and swabbed at, spritzed with alcohol-based sanitiser. No precaution was ignored as Corbeau did his best as first aid.

   He shook his head though. Phillipe was uncertain if the palpable disappointment was aimed at though. Corbeau gave no hints as he remarked at long last as he finished up the wound care.

   “I’m sorry about this.” Corbeau said.

   Toe to toe, he and Phillipe sat together, Phillipe’s free hand in Corbeau’s as Corbeau attended to him more like a miniaturist before a project than a doctor meant to be mending him. Phillipe, for as tough as nails as he was on the outside, whimpered as Corbeau poked and prodded, he sanitised the area and cleaned up.

   “It's fine. These things happen.” Phillipe shrugged.

   “It's not fine.” Corbeau retorted.

   His brow twinged and Phillipe realised he should drop it.

   Now was not the time to harden up, knuckle down, and act like he was immovable. So, he softened. He let Corbeau have his worries because in it, Phillipe noticed something about Corbeau.

   He cared for him deeply.

   Their devotion to each other went both ways. It might have been more apparent on Phillipe’s end given that there was neither measure nor length that he would not go to in Corbeau’s name but it was mutual. He was simply a private man: he could not show weakness for fear of creating an opening that could be exploited.

   This was true unto strangers as much as it was Phillipe. Corbeau was guarded. The goodness that he had within was small and prickly. Even so, he was nothing less than dedicated to the cause that he had found himself the shadowy champion of.

   He continued to be gentle with Phillipe. With the wound cleaned, Corbeau bandaged him up. Phillipe watched studiously. He couldn’t help but be a touch enamoured with the tautness of the material, the beige shade of it and how precise Corbeau was.

   Corbeau believed in tough love, of course. He tied it perhaps too tight but Phillipe was not about to complain. His beloved Steel Types might have had Poison immunity but he did not. He couldn’t be saved from this. That’s what Phillipe thought to himself as he was weakened by Corbeau’s care: the strongest poison that he could fathom and the rarest one, too.

   But it wasn’t just an overly tight bandage that Corbeau portrayed his tough love through, though. It was his words, too. He couldn’t take this injustice lying down. He blamed himself for the misfire of his Pokemon’s move: he had a lapse in judgement and as a result, he had responsibility to take.

   “I’m done.” Corbeau said.

   “Thanks, boss.” Phillipe mumbled.

   He remained seated. He had a feeling that he would be scolded if he got up too quickly – and honestly, he knew that if he tried, he would get light-headed on his own means, too. Unfortunately, this made him a helpless audience as Corbeau disciplined his subordinate properly.

   Corbeau produced Whirlipede’s PokeBall. He clicked its central button and he called forth Whirlipede silently.

   Whirlipede cooed and bounced. It was carefree as it vied for Corbeau’s attention. A pat, a caress, anything but Corbeau kept his hands to himself. They slid behind his back as he turned on Phillipe to address Whirlipede. Phillipe had no doubt that Corbeau’s expression would be fearsome. His stomach churned as he listened to the lecture that ensued.

   “I told you, Whirlipede,” Corbeau sneered as he wagged his finger pointedly at his ace Pokemon, “we do not hurt our allies like that. Bad! Whirlipede!” From behind, his arm jerked sharply.

   Phillipe flinched as he watched Corbeau come down so hard on his partner Pokemon like that. He approached and placed his hands on Corbeau’s shoulders – difficult as they might be to do given that his right arm was patched up like a mummy’s.

   “You don’t have to be that harsh.” Phillipe said. “I know Whirlipede didn’t mean anything by it. Training jus’ gotta out hand is all.”

   He rose up from his seat. He stumbled forward and placed his hand on Corbeau’s shoulder.

   Corbeau prickled at the touch. He closed his eyes and suppressed the initial surge of disgruntlement that would otherwise control his behaviour and reactions. No one ever touched him so casually as Phillipe. No one certainly berated him like that either. This was a privilege that only Phillipe had with him. 

   “I’m sure Whirlipede already feels bad enough about it.” Phillipe said.

   Corbeau sighed. This voice of Phillipe’s, as he defended Whirlipede, was soft. He displayed such fondness that Corbeau found alien.

   “I know, but it will never learn if I don’t have strict rules and boundaries.” Corbeau said.

   He sighed through his nose and opened his eyes. His Whirlipede was in front of him and it looked… more scared than it should of its Trainer. It looked up at him with such an ache in its insectoid eyes, anyone would feel guilty to have caused such pathetic ire. So, that hit Corbeau’s side like a Poison Sting, too.

   He crouched down, took a knee so that he would be at Whirlipede’s level. Phillipe stepped back. He watched as Corbeau apologised to Whirpede.

   “I’m sorry.” Corbeau said in a soft voice. “I was angry and spoke out of turn. We’re partners, okay? We have to work together. We can’t do that if we’re lashing out our…” He glanced at Phillipe out of the corner of his eyes. A subtle micro-expression that didn’t mean anything - that shouldn’t mean anything - and yet. He overcorrected. He closed his eyes. “Just, save your attacks for our actual enemies. Not our second-in-commands.”

   Phillipe nodded. He knew he shouldn’t expect too much of such a guarded heart as Corbeau’s but still. It stung. He held his bandaged hand in his other and it weighed a tonne with this second blow. It possibly hurt more than the injury.

   Corbeau got up again, “Let’s call it here.”

   He turned around and faced Phillipe. Their eyes met ever so briefly. He stepped towards him. This time, he reached out. He placed his hand on Phillipe’s shoulder. 

   “Roger that, boss.” Phillipe agreed.

   Corbeau patted him and kept on walking. Whirlipede followed and Phillipe was left in the dust. He held his own hand and took a breath. It was time to take their leave and have a rest. They had fooled around long enough for one day. 

   But it had still been a tremendous day of excellent results.

   Whirlipede learned from its mistake. The bond between Corbeau and Phillipe deepened. Just as Corbeau had been the one to wrap Phillipe in those bandages, he had been the one to remove them too and to his not so secret relief, Phillipe healed just fine.

   Though, it did take time.

   Fine by them as they continued to take the underworld in stride. Their headquarters evolved. They finally got around to doing renovations to transform their warehouse into a proper office space and they did work in the gardens. The basketball court was torn down for a more dignified entry way inspired by the zen gardens of Johto and Sinnoh. Bamboo grew and they rolled out the finest carpets for their boss’ ambience. 

   Years went by and their combination only turned more lethal. There was nothing more deadly than the Rust Syndicate’s Boss and their second-in-command. It caught both the eye and ire of those who lived their life in the light they shunned.

   Which made it all the more curious as one day, Phillipe found something amongst the general mail. It was shuffled in amongst the bills, death threats, and spam that they normally got and yet, stood out like a sore thumb. Phillipe whistled as he admired it: it was addressed directly to Corbeau, too.

   So, he took it upon himself to deliver it. Being second-in-command sure had a lot in common with being a secretary. He took the elevator up and when the bell dinged, he stepped out with a smirk.

   “You have mail, boss.” Phillipe said.

   He walked from the elevator up to Corbeau at his desk. His boots thudded as Corbeau looked up from his pre-existing paperwork.

   Phillipe offered him the singular letter he had come with, “Its from Quarsartico.”

   Corbeau regarded that with suspicion: an arched eyebrow, an incredulous twitch along the thin lines of his lips. He reached across and accepted the letter.

   It was in pristine condition, with gold ink lettering the faint embossing of the company’s logo and motif. Corbeau looked it over once or twice, as though assessing it for a trap or even the possibility that it was an incredible forgery. Once satisfied with its veracity, he took his penknife from his stationary holder on his desk.

   Corbeau opened the envelope with grace. He sliced through it gracefully with his penknife, then coaxed out the contents. He unfolded them and read thoroughly, though his eyes skimmed at a fast pace. One which boggled Phillipe’s mind, he had never been good with that sort of thing. Literacy. 

   “What’s it say, boss?” Phillipe asked.

   “There will be big changes to Lumiose City soon, there will be new technology going up throughout the city to facilitate an all-out battle experience for those who wish to tread in these locals.” Corbeau reiterated what he had read.

   Phillipe nodded, “Good. Keeps the kids busy.”

   “Us, too.” Corbeau agreed.

   “What do you mean?” Phillipe asked.

   “We have been personally asked to join and what’s interesting is that Quastartico promises a wish to anyone who conquers the challenge posed.” Phillipe said. “This is as much a courtesy call for us to be mindful of when and where we conduct business as it is a writ of challenge.” 

   Phillipe smirked. He cracked his knuckles, “Me and my crew could do with a little stretch, I guess.”

   “Mine, too.” Corbeau smiled.

   He set the envelope on the desk and swiveled in his office chair. He pointed away from straight on, away from Phillipe’s eyes which gleamed with determination. He knitted his fingers together and tapped his chin in thought as he pondered what a “wish” could entail.

   Phillipe, meanwhile, was not as interested in a wish. He was satisfied with what he had. He didn’t dream big, he was happy where he was with his meaning tied to Corbeau so whatever Corbeau wanted, he was content to want to. It was precisely because he was the big ideas guy that Phillipe was so attracted to Corbeau to begin with.

   A smirk split across Corbeau’s face. His eyes glinted in the twilight that they caught in the dim window of their office.

   Corbeau hummed thoughtfully as his musing culminated, “Yes, this Battle Royale of Quarstico’s is sure to be interesting.”

   He spun around in his chair again and he met Phillipe’s eyes. A spark. Then, he reached across for the letter again. His movements were enigmatic and yet exact. He toyed with the letter of invitation between the fingers of his right hand. A paper letter in of itself was novel in this digital age. He danced it in between his fingers, turning and spinning it so he could muse over it. He had his head, however, perched against his left hand's knuckles: both elbows on the flat of his desk.

   “I don’t trust Quarstico’s CEO as far as I can throw her,” he continued, “so there must be something up with it. Especially with the carrot that it dangles. A wish. As if.”

   “A shrewd assumption.” Phillipe agreed.

   Corbeau slapped his hand down. He trapped the letter between his palm and the desktop. He got up, turned around. Now it was he who twisted and spun rather than the letter.

   He let go and his hand plunged through his coat’s pockets. “Let’s go all out in this brawl, what do you say, friend?”

   Every corner of Alola had been nothing but a feast for the senses. Coming off the high of her first Totem Battle and even learning the intricacies of Z Moves, Selene felt so very honoured. She had been welcomed so warmly to the Region with such open arms and boundless camaraderie. It was a very different experience, she thought, to what she had so far in life.

   The sight of Melemele Meadow consumed all of Selene’s vision as she stood on the other side of its entrance with Lillie. Lillie, meanwhile, did not have the stars in her eyes for this secreted, little locale than Selene as she desperately scanned the area for her precious Nebby.

   Her chin pruned as she chewed her lip, “Oh, where are they…?”

   “Right there!” Selene spotted the cosmic critter.

   “Ah, thank goodness,” Lillie breathed a sigh of relief until she realised, “oh dear, I-I couldn’t possibly, there’s so many wild Pokemon a-and I only have so many repels.”

   “Not to worry, I’ll go bring Nebby back to you.” Selene offered.

   Lillie turned on her shoes and faced towards Selene, her skirt bouncing in the wake. She clasped her hands together and clasped her hands together.

   “Thank you so much, Selene.” Lillie replied, appreciation soaked her voice.

   Selene threw up a thumbs-up for her and a cheeky grin to match. She giggled and Lillie’s apprehension over how too adventurous her Nebby was. She nodded and Selene got to work.

   She readjusted her bag, checked her Pokemon’s health status, and then turned to face the meadow again. She took one big step for Nebby and then face planted.

   Selene tripped over a loose pebble in the grit and dirt underfoot. She went down, arms flailing, and was head over everything else. She ate it good and Lillie shrieked in solidarity. Selene, meanwhile, had hardly made a noise as she kicked up a cloud of dust in her clumsiness. 

   Lillie’s eyes were wide and frantic, she hid her mouth with her hands as she waited for a sign of life from Selene. She groaned and grumbled as she came back up. She got onto her knees and readjusted her beanie. 

   “A-Are you okay?” Lillie squeaked. “C-Can I help you?”

   Selene folded her legs underneath her and laughed, apologetically.

   “I’m so sorry.” Lillie said. “I-I shouldn’t have asked you to help me. I-I should just wait for Nebby-”

   “Lillie, it’s fine, I’m fine.” 

   Selene interrupted her catastrophizing and looked up over her shoulder at poor Lillie. To console Lillie, that it was just an accident, she flashed a smile that was as wobbly as it could be and put her hand out.

   Lillie took the hint and she helped Selene to her feet. Selene groaned again as her legs rebelled against her and Lillie struggled but they both got there in the end. Lillie had some toothpick thin arms and a weak grip but she did her best and Selene couldn’t thank her enough for it. 

   Once upright, Selene stumbled again, to both their fright, but she was fine. She stabilised. She was on two feet, was dusted off, and bleeding at the knee.

   “Selene!” Lillie gasped.

   “Huh? Oh, uh…”

   Selene hadn’t even noticed it but it was the first thing that Lillie did. Selene put her leg out slightly and angled her knee around. She was bruised very lightly, more dirty than anything else but yes, there was a bit of blood in between the orange dirt specks and minor bruising.

   “Let me help you.” Lillie insisted.

   Selene blinked. She had been half expecting Lillie to faint but instead, Lillie steeled her nerves, her brows furrowed as she pouted - and rearranged her bag.

   “I don’t just have Pokemon medicine on me, but human medicine, too.” she said.

   “Thanks, I won’t mind a bandaid and some steriliser if you have them.” Selene replied.

   “On it.” Lillie replied.

   She came down to her knee and Selene put her foot down. Lillie rummaged around in her bag and then produced a little kit that she could use to clean Selene up. It was a white, canvas baggie with a green cross embroidered on it. It looked brand new. She opened it up and selected carefully from its contents. None of which were out of place, or seemingly previously opened. Selene was impressed. Lillie was awfully prepared for such an easily frightened girl.

   Now, what she chose resembled the potions and elixirs that PokeMarts stocked for Pokemon. It was a bottle with a pink plastic base and white nozzle. She wielded it with surgical precision and checked in with Selene with a most serious gaze.

   “This might sting.” Lillie warned.

   “Okay.” Selene mumbled.

   She watched, curious, as Lillie had all the seriousness in the world under her wing as she made good on her word. She gave the spray bottle a good squirt and Selene could have jumped out of her skin. 

   “Eek!”

   “Sorry!”

   “I-It’s okay.”

   Both girls sounded surprised and embarrassed over their respective outbursts. Selene wanted to prove she was strong, that she wasn’t a wimp. It’s not like she had a big bruise and gaping wound or anything and Lillie wanted to be so gentle as she played nurse. As such, their reactions were at odds against one another and had them both blushing, making a big deal out of not much to begin with.

   The spray that Lillie was wet. Obviously. It came on cold but it was also spicy, for lack of a better word. It was odourless and sprayed on clear but turned greasy the longer it stayed on Selene’s skin. Otherwise, it only looked as though Selene had been spritzed with water. It sterilised the injury and caused dirt to clump: perfect for Lillie to wipe clean.

   Of which, Lillie was thorough and she had good technique, too. Or so Selene assumed. Her expression was so determined, her movements were precise: up and down, left to right, then repeat. Until Selene was squeaky clean. No dirt, no blood. Though her skin was ruddy and sensitive but on the whole, Selene would say she was as good as new.

   “Okay, I’m just going to put a bandaid on to protect it.” Lillie said.

   “Thank you, Lillie, you're so thoughtful.”

   Lillie couldn’t take the compliment but her expression was so bubbly and excited as she replied, “And you are too kind. There we go.”

   She patted down Selene as she plastered a bandaid over where she had been hurt. The colour of it was a bright yellow. It was shiny in the sunlight and sticky and Lillie was going to make sure it stuck, or so Selene helped her. She was forceful as she placed it down and gave Selene a massage just to make sure that it wouldn’t come off anytime soon as Selene ran and jumped amongst the flowers in the meadow.

   “You are good to go.” Lillie announced.

   “Thanks, Lillie.” Selene replied.

   Lillie smiled, relieved, as Selene admired her leg. She was all patched up and couldn’t be happier, or more raring to go. Nebby was still on the loose after all and a peculiar Pokemon like it shouldn’t be getting into mischief.

   Lillie returned to full height and adjusted her bag. She refilled it with her little first aid kit and seemed quite pleased that she was able to help Selene out. 

   “Alrighty,” Selene proclaimed, “let’s try again and go rescue Nebby.” She pumped her arm to show off her determination and slapped her hand over her bicep to seem even more enthusiastic.

   Lillie bounced on the spot, “Thank you again, Selene. I really appreciate it.”

   “Save the gratitudes for after. First, let’s make sure I don’t biff it again.” Selene laughed.

   Lillie joined her awkwardly and Selene turned forward again, into the vivacious flora of the Mele Mele Meadow. She took a breath. On her marks, get set, go. Selene was off like racing stripes into the flowers so she could go corral Nebby and this time.

   They shook firmly on it. Nemona’s hand was tough, she had a good grip and she wasn’t afraid to show it. Juliana relished the crush, honestly, the way it made her fingers tingle and her heart flutter.

   These matches were always the highlight of Juliana’s week. Since becoming Champions, and resolving the mysteries of Area Zero, she and Nemona had vowed to go at it at least once a week to stay in tip-top shape. Just because they were the best of the best did not mean they could rest on their laurels. 

   Since beginning this tradition, today’s battle had indeed been a cracker. The weather was perfect: it was mild and balmy, with warm sunshine and cool shadows in the shade of trees or buildings. Mesagoza bustled with all kinds of people, showboats and students, tradespersons and salarymen. It made for quite the spectacle for everyone, young and old, to see Juliana and Nemona go back and forth with nothing held back and only their greatest partner Pokemon. It got the blood pumping and the heart going.

   Another bounce of their hands in the shake, they pulled back and Nemona’s stomach growled.

   She recoiled back, embarrassed, put her hands up, “Ack,” she exclaimed, “looks like it's time for lunch.”

   “Do you want to grab something with me then?” Juliana asked. “I’m a bit peckish myself. It’ll be my treat, anything you want.”

   “Eh? Really?” Nemona asked.

   “Yes, of course.” Juliana replied with a bright smile.

   Nemona smiled, giddy. She held her chin in thought and tapped her foot as she weighed her options and dug deep for what would best satisfy her cravings. Juliana would be happy with anything. She loved her carbs and she loved whatever she could pile on them: sandwiches were by far her favourite thing to have for lunch and she would eat them every day.

   Everything from sweet concoctions with jam and cream, marshmallows to anything overloaded with salad and veggies. She liked tofu and salt and pepper. Her mouth watered just thinking about some of her unusual creations when Nemona finally made up her mind.

   She snapped her fingers and grinned, “I’m in the mood for a cheese pizza!”

   Well, that was good, too. Who didn’t like pizza?

   Juliana was totally in. So long as she could go as maximalist as possible versus the humble cheese pizza.

   With their lunch menu decided, they found the nearest restaurant which served up the iconic slice and got comfortable in one of the booths. It was rustic with woody architecture and an evocation of Unova in style and furnishing. Mature, at least by the standards of a pair of fourteen year olds.

   They sat on a pleather booth, underneath criss-crossed wooden beams supported by metal plates and strings of fairy lights and triangles of plasticky bunting. They sat at a huge, thick table which had a laminate covering atop of it and a bounty of the usual decor: salt and pepper shakers, serviettes, and a pair of menus, one for food and another for drinks.

   All in all, the restaurant had a rather groovy vibe and it smelt mouthwateringly good in here, too. They got comfortable and snuggly on the seating and Nemona twiddled her thumbs whilst Juliana actually studied the menu she picked up.

   “Okay, so you know what you want but what do I want…?” Juliana mumbled as she perused the menu.

   Her eyes scanned here, there, and everywhere down the page of pizza pies. She looked for anything with a minimum of three lines worth of toppings. Money was no object when it came to the bottomless pit which was her stomach. She soon chose some kind of tricked out supreme which was full to the brim with sundried tomatoes, jalapenos, pineapple, onions, capsicum, basil, and more. 

   A waitress swung by when it seemed like they were ready and they made their orders. They got a pizza each and then some drinks: a sparkling lemonade for Nemona and a cola for Juliana. The drinks came out shortly but the pizzas took a little longer.

   The two filled in the time easily enough with small talk and strategising. They gushed to each other about how brilliant the other’s Pokemon had been during this morning’s battle. The fight had been fierce and there was much to dissect about how they could both get better. Neither had a shortage of ideas or passion when it came to Pokemon training and battling.

   Thanks to that, it felt like their food came out in the blink of an eye.

   Nemona's eyes lit up as she was served her pizza on a wooden board. They had plates to use to divvy up between them and she looked overjoyed by the sight of her food. She picked it up and took a bite.

   “Mm, so yummy, so cheesy…” Nemona all but moaned as she wolfed down the first slice.

   Juliana watched and it only appetised her more. Both pizzas were cooked to perfection: golden cheese over herby tomato sauce that was thick and luscious, thin, flat bread underneath which was brown and crisp. This place got nothing less than five stars on looks alone and the fragrance of oil meeting the aforementioned hers, oh, it was delicious.

   Yet Juliana made no lunge for her slices like Nemona did, she was onto her second slice when, instead, Juliana had something else on her mind.

   “Let’s get a commemorative photo.” Juliana suggested. Her tone was uppity and almost announcement-like.

   Nemona hesitated as her face darkened with a scant embarrassment, “Aw, now why would you want to go and do that?” she asked whilst she fiddled with the metal straw that came with her tall glass of sparkling lemonade. “Our food will get cold if we take too long.”

   She sounded like she was making excuses, however.

   “Because I want to remember this.” Juliana said. “I want to make it a page in my scrapbook. It’s full of precious memories of the Treasure Hunt and more. Your more than just my best friend Nemona, your my rival and…”

   Juliana’s voice trailed off. Her heart thumped in her chest. She almost let slip something a little too terrifying and a little too intimidating for Nemona to know.

   And Nemona noticed. She blinked. Her huge, amber eyes bore into Juliana who blustered.

   “I mean, if you don’t want to, you don’t want to!” Juliana attempted to backtrack. 

   “Well, if you put it like that…” Nemona murmured and she set down her drink. “I’d love to. I’m really glad that we have this bond, Juliana. I would be honoured to be another page in your scrapbook, that sounds really cool, actually. You have so many hobbies and interests, it’s what makes you so interesting. I’m just battle, battle, battle, and you’re just go, go, go.” Nenoma laughed.

   But it was a self deprecating laugh that Juliana didn’t like one bit.

   She reached out across the table, she smiled sympathetic as she covered Nemona’s hand with her own.

   “And there’s nothing wrong with that either. You know what you like, I have to try everything to be sure. Besides, it's our differences that enrich our lives. Or something.” Juliana replied.

   “Thanks, Juliana.” Nemona replied. She perked up, went back to her full throttle thunderbolting self. “C’mon, let’s take that commemorative photo.”

   “Thanks.” Juliana squealed thankfully.

   She whipped out her phone and they posed with the pizza and the table. She sat up so she had her back to Nemona but Nemona was posed so that it looked like, from a trick of forced perspective, was right next to Juliana rather than across the table. Their pizzas were in the middle, still wafting steam from being fresh from the wood fired oven. 

   It couldn’t have been more perfect and photogenic, with moody lighting and fun abound. As a result, the composition was eclectic and quirky. Just like them. Nemona lifted up a slice of pizza and let the cheese go as stringy as possible between her and the slice. Juliana laughed as she grinned.

   “Say cheese!” she jeered.

   “Cheeeeeese.” Nemona dragged out the word with her mouth kind of full.

   Juliana snapped picture after picture. She couldn’t have been happier as she got an array for future use in her scrapbook. She returned to her book and turned off her phone.

   “Thanks for humouring me,” Juliana said, “alrighty, time to eat.”

   “Dig in and enjoy,” Nemona cheered her, “it's scrumptious!”

   Juliana couldn’t agree more whilst she finally got to start on her first slice. They must have used at least three different kinds of cheese in these pizzas, it was so thick and gooey yet golden and crisp, the variation was all melted and melded together. She couldn’t get enough of it – and to say nothing of the freshness of the other toppings added. It was all so crisp and wondrous.

   If Nemona hadn’t already demolished half of her margarita, Juliana would say she was missing out on the true extent of a wide and diverse flavour profile. Still, so long as she was happy with her choice, that’s what mattered most to Juliana. Even if she worried it would be corny to say out loud.

   Nemona was her best friend. She was her rival. She was her crush, too.

   From the on set of meeting her, Nemona was larger than life and brash, a grin from ear to ear and had wind tousled hair. She was strong and Juliana admired that: she only got stronger because she wanted to be able to overcome the insurmountable force of nature which was Nemona and her team of lovingly reared Pokemon. She was the standard by which Juliana measured her own efforts and passion.