“ am i 𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻-𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓭 ? ” grimsley muses, as if to ask the super-sized, neon-pink and white clefairy protruding from the buildings rounded archway. the overwhelming 𝓰𝓵𝓸𝔀 of the veilstone city game corner makes him squint, but feel 𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓵𝔂 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖙 from the rest of the darkening – and otherwise – 𝓭𝓻𝓪𝓫 city, despite being smack-dab in the middle of it. it’s like finding an oasis when you’ve been 𝓭𝓻𝓪𝓰𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓰 yourself through the desert for 𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓼. grimsley taps his bottom lip in contemplation. “ 𝒽𝓂, aim for an 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷 of luck . ” he reads the sign in the window aloud, almost like a question. with two fingers, he 𝓹𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓼 the edge of his yellow scarf, tugging it 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 to the left. it’s such a 𝓼𝓾𝓫𝓽𝓵𝓮 adjustment, no one else would even notice it. “ i 𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓮 we shall test the 𝓿𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓭𝓲𝓽𝔂 of this statement at once . ” the drawn, happy-go-𝓵𝓾𝓬𝓴𝔂 smile of the clefairy mocks grimsley as he passes through the shadow of it.
he would be lying if he said he didn’t 𝓭𝓸𝓾𝓫𝓽 the 𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓰𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 of sinnoh’s game corner. through the window of the train car he took from snowpoint city to veilstone, grimsley decided that the sinnoh region is the most 𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓰 of all them. the cities are 𝓬𝓮𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓵𝔂 not up to 𝓹𝓪𝓻 with those of his home region when it comes to urbanization, population – all the --𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 words he can think of! but, the plushness and vibrancy of the burgundy carpet comes as a pleasant surprise. the walls, he finds 𝓽𝓪𝓬𝓴𝔂. the sky-blue paint – 𝓸𝓱, how it 𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖘! and the white clouds on every wall give 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 to the settings projected tone. “ i-is this 𝓽𝓮𝓪𝓴 ? ” the question comes weakly, 𝓼𝓶𝓪𝓵𝓵, opposing 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 grimsley had built himself to be. whatever hope he thought asking such a thing would give him is snuffed out before the words leave his mouth. grimsley 𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼 as he 𝓭𝓻𝓪𝓰𝓼 a finger tediously across the bar. – 𝓭 𝓾 𝓼 𝓽 ? grimsley shudders and reels his hand back as if the wood had caught on fire. he pulls at the lapel of his overcoat. there’s discomfort in every angle of his body. he keeps his elbows tucked against his lanky frame. for once, the 𝓬𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴 of pool balls and 𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓲𝓲𝓲𝓷𝓰 of the slots does not feel welcoming at all.
there are a few things 𝔀𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓰 with this picture – and it’s not 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 the 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓵𝔂 possibility of the interior designer being 𝓫𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓭 when they applied their 𝓼𝓾𝓫𝓳𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓵𝔂 artistic vision to the place. it’s also 𝓷𝓸𝓽 the lack of 𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 to 𝖉𝖊𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖑. can you believe there’s something 𝓯𝓪𝓻 more troublesome to the elite than heinous 𝓭𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓻? for arceus’ sake! he just entered 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓲𝓰𝓷 territory with the intention of, at the very 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓽, shooting dice. the home-turf advantage of these 𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓱 gamblers, with their shirts already un-tucked 𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓵 before midnight, kisses the tops of their hands. are they 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝖆𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖊 of it? this unfortunate epiphany jolts through grimsley with a sharp inhale. his eyes widen. his fingers curl and stiffen like a wax statue waiting for a glass of champagne.
“ oh no, oh no, 𝓸𝓱 𝓷𝓸 . ” grimsley mutters frantically to himself. he tugs at both breasts of his overcoat. “ this is a 𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮, grimsley! have you gone 𝓶𝓪𝓭? you cannot 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝔂 here. oh, no, no, 𝓷𝓸. you do not 𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰 here . ”
as grimsley attempts to calm himself, he notices the very thing he overlooked before. for a place that teases a potential 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷 of luck, it’s 𝓪𝔀𝓯𝓾𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖊𝖙, aside from the jazz music drifting from the speakers. the place is a vacuum of socializing-sound. pivoting on the heel of his leather shoe, grimsley surveys the game corner. the rows of slot machines – the valley of billiards and craps tables – are 𝓫𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓮𝓷. a few stragglers try their hand at the slots, but everyone 𝓮𝓵𝓼𝓮 is huddled at the bar tucked into the back corner of the casino. this phenomenon both 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓮𝓼 and confuses him. grimsley’s innate 𝓫𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓭𝓸𝓶, for a moment, vanishes. “ what ever 𝓯𝓸𝓻 ? ”
grimsley stalks closer to the patrons, waving his hand as if to 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓸 them from the air. “ excuse me? yes, if you could 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 – 𝓮𝔁-𝓬𝓾𝓼𝓮 me ! ” grimsley shoves his way through the bundled crowd. when he comes out the other side, he uses his 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓾𝓵𝓪𝓻 fingers to smooth out an wrinkles on his suit. he adjusts his lapel – 𝓽𝔀𝓲𝓬𝓮, for good measure. “ just what 𝓮𝔁𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓵𝔂 is going on here ? ”
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His gaze sets upon an imaginary opponent and like a whip, he lunges forward with his weapon in hand, lips stretched into a sharp smile. One step. Two step. Twist. Parry. Lance jumps back a few steps, body loose but ready for another invisible attack. This time, it’s accompanied by what sounds like a hymn in a language that has been far removed from the general public. Keeping his concentration on both the physical and verbal aspects of this piece is difficult but he manages to go through the entire session before pausing for breath.
Wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand, Lance grabs a water bottle, taking his time to quench his thirst. Then he grabs the piece of paper he’s left on the table, eyes scanning through the text once more. It’s a bit embarrassing that he’s having trouble with this, but his pride will not settle with anything less than perfection. This is a part of his heritage – the first language of his clan, a tongue that speaks of dragons and their might.
Time has wiped its existence from the public and even part of his clan, but it’s still practiced among the most dedicated of members. Lance might not agree on some aspects of his clan but he still carries the pride that comes with the title. They have strayed from the original path, and this is just a bit of a reminder on how it once was. A story to tell, not only to the clan children but also to the public for the upcoming festival.
An annual celebration, the Festival of the First Dragon often showcases a few performances that depicts the culture of the clan to the spectators. Held in Blackthorn City, it gives off the vibe of a regular festival. There would be stalls selling a variety of goods, ranging from local delicacies to dragon related items. The main attraction, of course, is the grand show held on the second to last night. Story telling, singing, dancing and a combination of it all.
Lance chooses to handle the most active and physically taxing of the entire thing. He took a week off from League duty solely for practicing, which he did so in his backyard. It’s a break from his normal routine, but it still demanded the same level of focus and drive he puts in his work. If there’s one thing that Lance wanted, it is to showcase the better parts of his clan through his performance.
If he’s going to do that, he’ll need to master the hymn. There’s only two more days before the festival so he’s going to kick things into overdrive. His pride is on the line here.
---
Blackthorn is often a quiet city but during the festival, it’s bustling with life. Lance watches from the window of an inn he’s booked for the night. It’s much closer to the hall where he’d be performing in, and he assumed it’ll run late into the night so he won’t have to trudge all the way back to his house. He’s already dressed for the performance – a piece that would have been worn by ancient Dragon Tamers in his clan back then. It had been a bit of pain to replicate the tattoos again but it’s worth the effect to remain as genuine as possible.
After staring at the festivities for a while longer, Lance is suddenly struck by an odd feeling of longing. He’s participated in the festival every year but he’s never truly submerged himself into regular activities. It’s always performing, acting like a proper clan member and just act like a sort of figure head that grates on his nerves. Join Avenue had been his first time experiencing a ‘proper’ sort of festival and while that didn’t end up how he expected, it was still a pretty fun time.
Still, Lance had yet to get an opportunity to have fun. Now that he’s thirty years old and occasionally giving some deep thoughts on how he’s been living his life, he decided that for once, he wants to see the bulk of the festival. Be a part of the crowd milling about, testing the wares and trying out the games instead of just performing on stage all night long. Now with that thought wedged in, there’s no stopping the Champion from getting what he wants.
After slipping into a cloak that hides his figure and face, Lance heads out and onto the streets. Of course, his choice of disguise drew attention but for the most part, people left him alone. There are a few people dressed up in dragon themed outfits, mostly by other clan members, so he’s probably not the most oddly dressed one here. Feeling a little pleased with this fact, he decides to check out the food first. His performance often left him famished by the end of it due to how physically taxing it is so fueling up sounds like a good plan.
He makes his way down the street, but it turns out to be a bit more packed than he expects. People are bumping shoulders with him, or he has to follow with the flow of the crowd to even move. At one point, someone bumped into him with enough force to even make him stumble forward, which in turn caused him to bump into someone else. Lance managed to grab a hold of their elbow before they could fall, thankfully.
“I apologize for that,” he quickly says, letting go of the person once they were upright. His cloak should shield his face from the stranger. “Are you alright?”
“Hi there! i’m Danny and it’s nice to meet you! If you want, you can ask me stuff since that was what she told me (also, don’t tell Harry but i took his phone for this).
On rare nights when Emmet is done with work for the day, he would bid Ingo a nice night as he leaves their office before he slides into Nimbasa’s night life. The city is extravagant enough during the day, but at night, that’s where you can see the people really having a fun time. Emmet easily keeps to the shadows of the sidewalk, idly glancing at the clubs that comes to the life. It’s never his sort of scene, but he can see its appeal to the younger generation.
He thinks like he’s middle aged as opposed to a man nearing his thirties. Emmet shakes his head in mild amusement, then continues to his destination.
Nimbasa doesn’t lack in bars, but there’s only one that he frequents on nights where he wants to indulge in a bit of drinking. Dean’s Bar is as simple as its name. The sign isn’t flashy, the location more tucked away than the ones that typically attracts the party goers. Emmet likes that sort of quiet, down to earth quality. After a day of busy work, he just wants to drink in peace.
Emmet enters the small establishment, eyes making a general sweep. There’s a couple of small tables occupied by patrons engaged in small talk. Soft jazz music fills the bar, which works well with the rich brown decor. A couple of frames covered the walls, some low lights keeping the bar lit but dim enough that it evokes a quiet sort of atmosphere. The counter is less occupied, so he takes off his work coat and approaches, taking the furthermost right seat.
The bartender, a fifty three year old man by the name of Jack, tips his head in acknowledgment, hands busy with some polished glasses. Emmet is not a frequent visitor -- once a month, maybe twice if it’s been a particular stressful day -- but he’s got a recognizable face, what with manning one of Nimbasa’s top attraction sites.
“An Old Fashioned, please,” Emmet requests his drink choice of the night, then settles against the smooth wooden counter. He heaves out a quiet breath, closing his eyes for a moment. Work has been busy as always, but it’s nights like this where he just wants to let out some of the steam. Emmet loves his job, demanding works hours and all but he can’t deny that it can really put a weight on his shoulders.
Another heaved breath, his lean body slumped over even more before he opens his eyes again. Emmet blinks for a moment, surprised that someone has occupied the seat next time without him noticing.
Dawn’s Pokédex reads off in its monotonous, robotic manner.『An ancient clay figurine that came to life as a Pokémon from exposure to a mysterious ray of light. The ancient people who made it apparently modeled it after something that descended from the sky. It fires beams from both arms.』
“Well, damn,” she replies, simply, clipping the capsule neatly onto her belt after healing the fresh wounds that were result of the preceding scrimmage. Cherrim, the effects of her ‘Sunny Day’ now subsiding, encloses herself back beneath purple petals, eyes shutting as her job here is done. “You were awesome, Cherry,” Dawn smiles at the resting blossom, recalling her shortly thereafter.
It hasn’t even been that long, yet Dawn takes another huge gulp to pop her ears of the altitude’s pressure. She feels the tower trembling, winds whipping and colliding with the monolith jetting from among the raging Hoenn seas. Dust rains from the levels above with each collision. She maintains her foothold, legs wobbly, and continues towards the ladder at the far end of the deteriorating room she’s reached, a room that’s looked to have been untouched for several decades now.
Luckily, only a few more floors until she’s reached that mythical Dragonhark altar.
As strange is it was for her to have even found this place — from flight, the tower had been hidden within swirling clouds, disguised among the sprawling ocean beneath her — she’s incredibly thankful, all things considered. Rumors of the Sky Pillar have long been preserved in the circles she’s found herself apart of; it was only a matter of time before the adventure-thirsty traveler made the trip to uncover its forbidden secrets.
But, even while lost in thought, the world still revolves around its own patterns of madness; mid-ascent of the decrepit ladder — and Dawn’s careful scale upwards — she’s once again reminded of gravity, someone from the level above falling down the shaft, directly knocking the Sinnoh Champ back onto the floor below.
“Talk about a crash landing,” she iterates, irritably, as she gathers herself and her composure. Still, the look of inconvenience reads quite visibly against her rosy cheeks. “This place is already off limits as is, can you at least try to be a little more careful?”
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Living within the vastly growing city of Nimbasa always took some getting used to, especially for those not use to all the hustle and busyness of the local attractions that defines Nimbasa City as The City That Never Sleeps. The newly appointed Champion of Unova knows the concept about this idea all too well, seeing as she herself frequently visits Nimbasa.
The young twenty-year-old has stayed around the city since she was a young trainer, watching the growth of the city to how it stands now. Even now, she can see the continual movement of people coming into Nimbasa, making the inside off her heart sparkle from hearing the many positive feedbacks that the tourist had to says, especially about the mini amusement park bring the city all tied together. It brought her to visit the small roller coaster that afternoon.
The line of people ran normally that day, everyone staring in awe as they saw the female stand before the entrance, a genuine smile and casual wave gracing them. It ran like this for a few hours, she even got to do a few autographs and pictures with some of her fans, since a champion’s work is never done. As she wrote her signature on a fan’s pokéball, a sudden figure approached the corner of her eyes. A familiar face suddenly broke the flow of the line, a strained look on their face.
“Well hey, you don’t mind if I tag along with you?” She casually and with grace, moved toward the trainer, patting their shoulder reassuringly.
It’s a bit cold for his liking, but when did a little chill deter him from short sleeves? He presses his black jacket to his side with a stiff elbow. Unbuttons the cuffs of his wrinkled shirt to slide the cotton up his arm.
Before his third go at the Alolan Vulpix plushie claw machine, he notices the trace of obligatory sake on his lips with a flick of concentration.
Another ₽400 for the next biggest challenge of his life.
Exaggerating? Nah.
A new chapter is on the horizon, and the calculated touchdowns of empty bottles distracting from the truly buzz-inducing side conversations makes sure of it. Whether they wrote it for him or he made it his, is still undetermined, but he doesn’t intend to say pass just yet.
Learned hits and a decisive press wins him the light blue plushie. It’s a decent deal - a good 30cm in height. Fire scratches its snout with reflex as he dedicated a season to train his own Vulpix, discovering the right time for her evolution. Was it right? Pursing his lips, he wonders if the CopyCat girl would like this— then wonders if she already has one. Losers were plenty in an arcade, so the trainer turns away from his claw machine to consider using his tired voice a little longer tonight.
