Chapter Two: The Prince of Darkness

"No, I didn't see their faces. They ran just before the police came, but they didn't seem much bigger than him."

Grimsley's eyelid struggled to flutter beneath the swollen weight of a deep purple shiner. The eye itself felt as if it had been plucked out and violently stuffed back in its socket. Traumatized, it could only see the harsh, blurry light of a halogen lamp. The other one seemed lost, buried beneath his blood-filled flesh. Blinded, he was only able to listen to his digitized heartbeat and to voices of interrogation beside him.

"I don't have any idea of what he was doing there. Like I said, he's just an acquaintance."

He turned his head to make out the figures. One of them was obviously a police officer, holding a notepad in one hand and resting his other on his gun. To his chagrin, he recognized the bushy, chestnut hair and flowing, coral scarf of the other man. Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be that artist?

A nurse, aware that he was waking, scurried to his side and began to check his vital signs. This would be the beginning of his own cross-examination. For the next half an hour, nurses, a doctor, and the police asked him a series of questions ranging from his name to the last time he used the bathroom. As speech filled what seemed like an endless amount of time, Grimsley's attitude became more uncooperative. He made no effort to hide his stiff-necked behavior. He wanted out of the bed and out of the emergency room, and he'd soon be willing to claw his way out.

After shouting a slur that could be constitute a hate crime at the nurse, she tore out of the room in search of discharge papers. Grimsley let out a rough sigh as he found himself alone at last. He smiled privately. With any luck, they'd send him packing with some super effective painkillers so he could forget all about this little unpleasantness.

His pleasure was short lived. Quietly, Burgh emerged from behind the blue curtain that separated him from the rest of the sick and injured riffraff. His beloved Purrloin leapt from his arms to the foot of her master's bed, purring and rolling about in ecstasy. Grimsley said nothing to the artist, silently scratching the Pokémon's back. Yet, he did not leave.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his weak voice still able to carry a condescending tone.

"I'm the one who called the police," the artist answered crisply. "I'm just here to make sure you're okay."

"Well, I've still got all my fingers and toes, buddy," Grimsley replied. "You can go."

"Actually, no," he rebutted. "If it wasn't for me, your sorry ass might be dead. I at least deserve a bit of gratitude, don't I?"

"Oh of course!" Grimsley raved. "After all, it is such a dangerous and heroic action to dial three numbers and sit by the phone!"

Burgh, whom Grimsley had pegged for a pushover and a prig, put his forehead in his palm and let out a short laugh. Whether this action was borne of exhaustion or a hidden sardonic streak, Grimsley had no idea. It flustered him, and he did his best to glare at his savior.

"I usually don't say stuff like this to people, but you're a joke," he laughed. "You can't see past the size of your own ego, can you? I'm trying to help you, because it's obvious from the way you just got the shit kicked out of you that you don't have a real friend in the world. It's pathetic. Your pride will let you die in the street before you ever give someone a simple 'thanks,' won't it?"

Grimsley threw his head away from the artist and stared at the humps his knees formed beneath his blanket. His head spun in spite and pain. This lecture wouldn't have bothered him if this stranger was incorrect. He was alone. It was the only reason why he found himself meandering about the city at night. Grimsley bit his lip. When he left the hospital, he'd end up on the street once more, a miserable prospect if there ever was one. Scowling, he patted the head of his Purrloin and brought his gaze back to the artist.

"You know, I'm not that selfish," he declared. "I'd rather sleep on a park bench than put my friends out. However...if you really want to help out and be a pal, you'll let me crash at your place for a few days."

Burgh let out a soft groan and sat back. He needed this man in his home like he needed a hole in his head. Unfortunately, his conscience was using his stomach as a trampoline, making him sick at the thought of abandoning this fallen man. Grimsley was in a pitiful state. The way his eyes wavered below his disfigured brow reminded him of a stray dog, ravenous for food and companionship.

"Three weeks at the most," he conceded. "It's only until you get back on your feet, and you start working at it the moment you get over your beating."

Grimsley gave him a devilish grin. "You won't regret this, artsy boy."

Letting his feet drag, Burgh shuffled sluggishly towards the gentle rapping of knuckles against the door. Yawning, he greeted his visitor as she let herself in, her high heels clicking against the wooden floor. Elesa's eyes skimmed the room, detecting atypical clutter and disorganization that lay about the room in clumps. The living area was the epicenter of this disaster Burgh called his apartment. A waterfall of bedding and clothing hung over the couch cushions and emptied into a no-man's land of half-empty water bottles and used canisters of pomade. Elesa sighed and cleared a pile of laundry off of an armchair to sit.

"So I can assume that things are going well with your new roommate," she met sarcastically.

"You're not funny," he grumbled, plopping down onto the couch. After nearly two weeks, Burgh was becoming used to the mess. Nonetheless, his tolerance was wearing thin. "He can't rinse off a dish, he never puts away anything he takes out, he eats everything, and he has no concept of the word 'laundromat.'"

"Well...you wanted a boyfriend," she teased. "You just got all of the mess and none of the perks."

"He's more like a little kid than anything," he sighed, pulling an empty bag of chips from the couch cushion. "If he wasn't bringing in money, I would have thrown him out a week ago."

"So he found a job?"

"He got a job right away as a waiter," Burgh answered. Elesa raised her eyebrows and puckered her lips in disbelief. "I was surprised too, but he works every night." Roughly sighing, he closed his eyes. "It's still not enough to pay off any of my bills though."

"So I guess that means you can't come out for a drink tonight, can you?" Elesa asked, pouting. Burgh shrugged.

"I can always afford one or two, but if you want to go out, let's leave before Grimsley gets back. I don't want to have to invite him along."

"Sounds good to me," Elesa replied, smiling and rising. "We should go down to the Central Plaza and have a battle first. My Blitzle is feeling a bit neglected lately."

"So you train a Blitzle?" a voice called as the door swung open. Elesa rolled her eyes as Grimsley stepped into the apartment. Burgh let out a rough sigh.

"We were just leaving, Grimsley," he said, ignoring as much of the man as he could. "We'll be at the plaza if there's an emergency-"

"Oh the plaza!" he cut in. "Going to battle or just watch?"

"A little of both," Elesa replied shortly, taking Burgh by the arm to leave.

"Why don't I join you then?" he said, holding the door for them. "I'm not a fighter, but I would enjoy watching you battle, Elesa my dear."

"Ew don't call me that. Ever," she warned, glancing helplessly at Burgh. Though he needed a break from Grimsley, Burgh couldn't resist that pouty face. Not that he could if he wanted to. Whatever Grimsley wanted, he was sure to get, and he'd just end up following them out anyway.

"Behave yourself and you can come," Burgh relinquished.

Grimsley's sulk became a smile as if he had flipped a coin. "Well of course I will, roomie. I wouldn't want to embarrass you, would I?" Hiding his blush with his hair, Burgh hightailed it out of the apartment, Elesa at his arm and Grimsley trailing slowly behind.

As usual, the Central Plaza was filled with the buzzing of fresh talent. New trainers ran about, testing their teams and strategies, while the more experienced ones traded tales and gossip. This was Burgh and Elesa's element. If life had treated them differently, both would have started their journey's fresh out of high school. Luckily, they still had this plaza. Immediately, they began to stake out the competition while Grimsley took a rest on a park bench, hiding his milky skin beneath the shade of an oak tree.

Burgh and Elesa easily won against their first few challengers. When approached by a boy no older than ten, Burgh persuaded his Dwebble to faint on cue, providing the first "loss" of the early afternoon. Soon after, Elesa's Emolga was shot down by a powerful Rock Slide. As she collected the injured rodent in her arms, one of the bystanders approached her. It was a young man, trapped in his teens with an attitude to match.

"See, this is why pretty girls like you shouldn't battle," he remarked hastily. "You just don't know what you're getting into."

Elesa was silent for a moment, unsure how to handle this stupidity. "You seriously did not say that to me..."

"Well it's true," he continued. "The only good girl Pokémon trainer in Unova is just a Gym Leader, and she can't be that good if she just trains normal types."

"If my Pokémon weren't so exhausted I'd have them kick the shit out of you," she threatened, quietly. The trainer dismissed this threat by laughing. Elesa stared at the ground, flustered. This bout of self-doubt was short lived as a cocky shuffling grew closer. Elesa watched helplessly as Grimsley stepped forward. He grinned at the Pokémon trainer like a vampire, his eyes burning with contempt.

"Let me guess, you talk big because the most threatening Pokémon on your team is a Patrat," he mocked, putting a hand in the pocket of his jacket. Burgh, fresh from another win, looked over to where Elesa stood and watched as Grimsley taunted the teenager. Quickly, he approached the situation, not wanting any sort of escalation.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he replied. "You can prove me wrong if you'd like, but I doubt you'd be able to win."

"Alright, bud," the trainer replied, pulling a Poké Ball from his belt. "I'll take that challenge. Go, Yamask!" With a flash, the ghost Pokémon appeared before them. Though it wasn't a Patrat, it certainly wasn't more than Grimsley could deal with. He pulled the capsule that contained his own partner from his pocket and released his Purrloin. Both Pokémon and trainer glared at their opponents scornfully.

"Yamask, Astonish!" The ghost rushed Purrloin and made a gruesome face, causing Purrloin to recoil backwards in apprehension. Grimsley shouted an encouragement and ordered her to use Swagger. Purrloin intensified her contemptuous look, infuriating Yamask. It stuck back with a powerful Night Shade. Yamask shed a black aura that passed through Purrloin, chilling her.

"C'mon, Purrloin. Use Foul Play!" Purrloin hesitated, allowing Yamask to rush forward to strike. Aiming for it's gilded mask, Purrloin slammed into the Pokémon with her forehead, sending the ghost reeling backwards. It fluttered to the ground, defeated, its owner looking on in seething awe.

Grimsley celebrated wordlessly, picking up his Pokémon and giving her a congratulatory scratch on the chin. Elesa and Burgh shared the same expression of shock as Grimsley's opponent. For someone who had never participated in a battle before, he won so effortlessly. Smiling, he backed away from the battleground and turned to Elesa.

"M'lady, your honor is intact," he said, taking her and and kissing it before she could recoil. Blushing, her eyes shot to Burgh for help, but they only found an amused grin.

That evening, the three of them took to the streets as if they were kings, hopping from club to club without a care in the world. As he was a gracious winner, Grimsley paid for every last drink.

Only the breaking of the sea against the pier sullied the silence between Burgh and Grimsley as they walked along the shore. The air was warm and salty, and the clouds were a pink and citrus-colored kaleidoscope across the sky. Their walks on glorious evenings like this had become routine over the last few weeks, but Grimsley was generally more talkative. However, on this night, he remained mute as a defense. If he were to speak, Grimsley was sure that Burgh would rip his throat out, further marring an already ruined evening.

Grimsley kicked at a rock on the pavement and glanced sideways at Burgh. Despite holding a poker face Grimsley envied, Burgh was still seething behind his eyes. This was why he liked to avoid telling the truth at all costs. Honesty is often much more hurtful than a lie.

Behind his impenetrable expression, Grimsley knew that all kinds of unpleasant emotions were getting ready to boil over. Anger, betrayal, blind fury...he was ready for it all. Yet, when Burgh finally composed himself enough to speak up, a unaccounted sentiment undermined his defenses.

"I'm disappointed, Grimsley," Burgh muttered. "Why did you feel the need to lie to me?"

Disappointed. It was a term his family used to love to use in conjunction with his name. It was a heavier word now. Rather than feel outrage and resentment at the utterance as he would have with his folks, he felt an unfamiliar pang of guilt. Burgh was the last person he wanted to hear that from.

"Well, if I had told the truth, you wouldn't have taken the money, and we'd be cuddled up on that park bench, calling it home," he mumbled weakly, unable to not sound self-justifying. "I know it was wrong to lie about having a job, and the last place I should have gone the casino, but I didn't know what else to do..." Grimsley stopped and looked out at the ocean. "I'm not good at anything," he remarked. "I'm not even that lucky, but it's all I know."

Burgh stared at Grimsley from behind, unsure if the forlorn look and misty eyes were some kind of melodramatic performance or a genuine confession. It didn't feel like it mattered. He couldn't prove Grimsley's authenticity one way or the other. It was up to Burgh to act on his own interpretation.

"That isn't true," he replied, stepping forward to stand by his side in the sand. "What have you been doing for the last few weeks? Every time we go down to the plaza, you win Pokémon battles, consistently. If that isn't good at something, then I don't know what is."

"Yeah, but how am I supposed to make a living on it?" Grimsley asked bitterly. "Two out of three trainers fail to make it competitively. It's a big gamble when it comes to my life."

"You've obviously thought about this..."

"Not seriously," Grimsley dismissed. "I don't like putting Purrloin in the ring. She's a house-cat first and foremost."

"Why don't you think you can do this?" Burgh demanded, his tone more harsh than he wanted it to be. "You're extremely good at strategy, you share an amazing bond with your Pokémon, you're great with odds and your instincts, and on top of it all you're handsome and articulate enough that you could charm the pants off of anyone stronger than you to psych them out!" Burgh let out a rough sigh and crossed his arms. Grimsley stared at him, his eyebrow raised, a familiar, snake-like grin overcoming his face.

"You think I'm handsome?" he teased. Burgh quickly looked out to the sea, the twilight masking his flushed cheeks.

"Maybe if you dressed more like a normal person than the prince of darkness," he allied, knocking Grimsley on the back. To his dismay, his hand lingered on his shoulder. Yet, he soon lost control of that horror as he caught sight of the minute tears that puddled in the corners of Grimsley's icy eyes. His body working independent of his mind, he pulled Grimsley into a tight hug. Weakly, Grimsley put his own hands on his back, turning the hug into an embrace. After a moment, Burgh pulled back and lifted his hand to Grimsley's face, pushing the tears off of his soft skin with his thumb. Arms around each other, both beamed and burned holes in each other's eyes. Slowly, Burgh closed his eyes and drew closer. He could feel Grimsley's breath, the softness of his nose, the pulsing of his lips through the air.

Still, something held him back. A mix of reality and fear. He hovered over Grimsley's face, hoping that he would take the drive instead, before withdrawing and stepping away from him. Grimsley's face was an unreadable stone, seemingly undaunted by the interaction.

They spent the rest of the evening at Liberty Pier, taking part in a miniature carnival. The embrace, the almost-kiss, both had faded from Grimsley's mind against a background of colored lights and festive music. However, in Burgh's head they still burned brightly along with a stark realization:

Grimsley, in his own way, was a prince, and there was no room for a lowly artist such as he in the royal court.

"You know, you don't need to come with me," Grimsley remarked, shoving his hands in is pockets. "Sure, I can't do laundry, but I think I know how to cross a bridge."

Burgh smiled weakly in response and zipped his jacket to keep out the brisk autumn wind that blew in from the sea. As the two men walked past the piers where they spent so much of their memorable summer together, he couldn't help but feel a rock rolling around in his stomach. He had known that this day was coming, and that in many respects it was overdue, but nonetheless he didn't want Grimsley to leave.

"I just want to be sure you're leaving for good," Burgh joked. "I can't afford to have you eating my food anymore..."

"To be honest, I did steal a few cans of soup," he admitted, patting his messenger bag with a smirk on his face. Burgh rolled his eyes as he opened the door of the gatehouse for Grimsley. As he double-checked the weather on the news crawl, Grimsley helped himself to the soda machine. He remained complacent about the beginning of his journey, as if he were simply going to the store rather than exploring the wilds of his country. The expression on his face was the same bored look Grimsley had the day they met.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Burgh asked as they left the building and began to ascend the steps to the Skyarrow Bridge.

"Yeah," Grimsley replied distantly. "Getting through the forest today is going to suck, but I can handle it." He sighed and gripped the strap of his bag. "I'm a big boy after all," he added, bitingly.

There was a note of finality in the air as the two reached the top of the steps and gazed down the pavement of the bridge. The end of the path was obscured in a dense, early morning fog. Grimsley bit his lip. It seemed as if he were looking for a good reason to hesitate. Unable to find one he could validate, he took his first step towards the mist.

"Wait, Grimsley..." Burgh remarked, pulling a package out from the inside of his jacket. Slowly, he handed it to Grimsley who received it with a perplexed look.

"It's a bit early for Christmas, isn't it Burgh?" he quipped, ripping off the twine and tearing apart the brown paper like an impatient child on his birthday. Seconds later, his covetous excitement was replaced by innocent awe. Carefully, his ran his thumb across the silken, yellow fabric in his arm.

"It seemed like your wardrobe needed a little more color in it," Burgh explained, taking the garment from his hands. He let the scarf unfold and tossed it over Grimsley's head. As Burgh tossed on end over his shoulder, Grimsley did his best to hide a rare blush by coughing into his hand. There was a long quiet as Burgh's hand lingered on his jacket.

"Thank you," Grimsley mumbled, taking a step back. "Not just for the scarf, but for everything."

"You know," Burgh replied. "I wouldn't have said this three months ago, but I enjoyed it." Grimsley grinned from ear to ear at his sentiment, but remained quiet. Speaking would ruin the moment. "Goodbye, Grimsley."

He held his hand up, briefly waving before spinning around and striding off into the fog. It wasn't until Burgh was well out of earshot that Grimsley whispered his farewell into the mist.

"Adieu, mon bel ami..."

Joints cracking as he rose, Grimsley sighed and decided to find something to occupy his time. Sitting around and pulling skeletons out of his closet was no way to spend the rest of the night. He left the low-lit alleys of the slums and found himself in the safety of Gym Street. With any luck, Marshal, whom he had conned into visiting the city with him, would be in the penthouse hotel suite that Alder had so graciously let them use. He ambled along the street, watching the storeowners shut down their lighted displays until the next evening.

As the approached the end of the street, the wind lifted the scent of the brine away from the harbor and slammed Grimsley with its perfume. He could see the entrance to the hotel now. Light escaped from the lobby, passing through the glass and fanning out on the street, drawing his gaze to the darkened building facing it. Grimsley stopped and put his hands in his pockets. He stared at the viridescent stained-glass facade, unable to drive his mind away from his forlorn memories. He hadn't spoken to Burgh since finishing the Unova Gym Challenge, and as he stood there, bathed in the harsh light of a street lamp, he figured that it had been too long. To drop in now, or even before leaving to return to the Pokémon League, would be a severe breach of etiquette. Above all else, he needed to keep up appearances as a gentleman.

Yet, he could not peel his gaze away from the Gym. One hand still in his pocket, he reached up and wrapped his fingers around the flaxen scarf about his neck. He hadn't felt this lonely since he began his Pokémon journey. His stomach rolled, urging him to step forward despite his doubts, to fulfill his longing and end the restlessness he felt for so long. Grimsley would have, but a thick slip of card stock kept him anchored to the spot. He didn't have to pull it out of his pocket to know that it was a faded ace, yellow with age, his lucky card.

That ace had pulled him through some tough times. His first Gym badge, his victory against the Elite Four, even the success of his first overseas adventure were attributed to the magic of this card. It had been in his pocket when he declared Marshal his rival, when he crossed paths with Shauntal, when he discovered Caitlin in Sinnoh, and when he defeated Alder and earned his place at the Pokémon League. Without that card, he wouldn't have his job or the people he considered family. As much as his yearning and loneliness made him feel jinxed, he only needed to touch the card to gain the strength to turn around and enter the hotel, to abandon his unhappy past and walk into the future.

Grimsley had been lucky enough already. In his soul, he knew that if Providence thought it best, he would reunite with his beautiful friend at just the right moment, just like being dealt that lucky ace, completing a royal flush.

The End