A/N: This is an attempt at writing a fic that deals with a more realistic (and gritty, I guess) view of the pokémon world. I've toyed with the idea of stranded trainers in trouble before, but I never really got anywhere until I decided to write this fic. This is also an attempt to create characters with backstory, instead of the regular OC beginning a journey. If anyone with experience in writing would like to beta this, please send me a PM or reach me at my tumblr (the link is in my profile).

French isn't my native language, so if there's a mistake anywhere, please tell me! I'm looking for critique, too, since I'm not used to using OCs or writing action scenes, so please drop me a line!

Chapter One:
A Partree of Four

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Ms. Tolbert, Mr. Lehrer had said, years ago, when she had been just a wisp of a girl, while I admire your tenacity and your obvious mental strength – please never forget to think before you act. One day, it might save your life. Or (and he'd sighed, like he was carrying the weight of the world), at the very least, someone else's. Claire often replayed this particular piece of advice to herself, though she opted to forget about it when the push came to shove. It was easier, simply, to listen only to herself – and it had never failed her before.

"Oof!" She fell on her side. The mud splattered onto her cheek, her right eye; despite the heavy rain, she could feel warm, wet breath by her calf. Claire brought her legs up, sliding across the dirt, and then cursed herself for having been so hasty. "Lambert, come up already! Shit—"

But, Mr. Lehrer, she'd retorted, crossing her arms, Papa says that if I can't take care of myself, then no one else can do it for me! And I'm still here, aren't I?

She finally managed to get a good hold on the floor and crawled up, dismissing the sound of jowls closing behind her; her ribcage throbbed beneath her skin, but she was, thankfully, feeling quite numb on account of the cold weather. With a quick look back, Claire confirmed she was still in danger – the mightyena that had been following her were still close, too close, and she was starting to realize she was having a hard time escaping them.

Yes, Ms. Tolbert, you certainly are, Mr. Lehrer had said, then, sighing once more. He'd taken off his glasses, wiping them on his shirt distractedly, and then stared at them, apparently lost in thought. Claire had thought he'd looked sad, or at least tired, very tired, but she only stared at him, impatient. Eventually, he'd put his glasses back on. Fine, Ms. Tolbert; if you have your father's permission, then I suppose there is not much I can do. You clearly look rather excited about it; there's no chance of dissuading you, is there?

The smaller one had been gone a few minutes, but Claire knew it was probably just trying to find an alternate route to her. In the rain, the tall grass quivered regardless of having pokémon running inside it or not – she cursed herself again, and then shouted profanities at the skies, still skidding backwards. Thankfully, the bigger mightyena seemed to have as much difficulty with the mud as she did.

No, Mr. Lehrer, she'd said, nodding once, perfectly determined, I am going to become League Champion, and no one can stop me.

"Lambert! God damn it!" she shouted, blindly groping at her waist. Her blond hair was matted against her eyes, heavy with rain and mud, and she didn't want to waste time just to get it out of her face. If she stopped scrambling backwards, the mightyena would finally cut the distance she'd been trying so hard to keep between them. But she couldn't risk sending out Bjorg, who would inevitably sink down through the mud, or Victor, who wouldn't win against one mightyena fast enough. Bitterly, she thought: I should've just sent out Capucine when I had the time. But there was no use in thinking and rethinking about her mistakes. She would have time for that later, when she got out of this mess.

Her back struck a soft, sturdy surface, and Claire couldn't help but to grin wildly – but her fiery mood was abruptly extinguished when she remembered Lambert was the one she'd taught secret power to. A coldness that had nothing to do with the weather spread across her limbs, as the mightyena's red eyes drew slowly closer, its mouth ripped into a victorious smile. It was growling, Claire realized, and she shoved her hair out of the way with her wrist, trying to see which pokéball was Capucine's.

It was flattening itself against the ground, now, and the sound of its growl made its way across the dirt and straight into Claire's ears. She tensed, hand on her waist, momentarily frozen, and immediately knew she'd undone herself because of that. The mightyena jumped; she kept her eyes open, willing to face it, willing to see it rip out her throat—

Lambert came spinning out of the mud, its claws slashing across the mightyena's stomach in a crossing movement. The pokémon snarled viciously, but fell short, thrown across the tall grass, curling into a miserable position. Lambert's paws were bloody, Claire noticed, but there was no time to care about having killed (had she?) a wild pokémon.

"Secret power, now," she said, breathless, her stomach still doing sit-ups.

Lambert nodded, nearing the shrub she was leaning against, and then Claire saw the other mightyena. It was circling Big's—an honorary nickname; Claire thought it was about time that stupid animal got one—unconscious body, fangs bared, eyes wide. It was smiling at her.

Claire scrambled after her sandslash, turning away from that terrifying grin, despite the urge to flip it the bird before entering the secret base.

She sat up against the sealed entrance of the secret cave, catching her breath. After returning Lambert to his pokéball (the fight had taken more from him than Claire had expected), she closed her eyes and thought.

Mr. Lehrer had been her teacher, years ago, when she was still living in Mossdeep. Claire dimly realized she'd been thinking about him while she was on the run from Big and Smile (she snorted), though she didn't know why. That had been the last time they'd talked, too. Soon after, she'd received her trainer's license and she'd left Mossdeep behind. How old had she been then – ten? She'd been so young. Her father had been even more ecstatic than she'd been. It's family tradition, requin.

How stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Claire smacked her head into the leafy wall one last time and then sighed. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, she'd noticed just how sore her right rib was. She'd fell on it, she knew, back when she'd lost her footing and slid all the way down, but it had been cold and she'd been fighting to get away from Big's jowls – she had barely even noticed the pain. Her knees were scraped, as well, but she was more than used to light wounds like that; it was the fact it was very hard to breathe that worried her.

"Va te faire foutre, mightyena," she hissed, under her breath. "No offense, Victor," she added hastily, hands pushing against the floor so as to avoid putting too much strain on her stomach.

Claire had never been the one for secret bases. She knew they came in handy – but somehow, it seemed weak to give up halfway into a route. Real trainers trudged through weather and terrain until they reached the next pokécenter. That was the way it should be. But then again, here she was, pressing a shaking hand against her side, leaning against the walls as she carefully stepped forward. If Alex could see her now …

She searched through her pocket for her pokénav – she wanted to see where she was at the moment. Rolling the device in her palm, she was dismayed to see it didn't turn on. It was wet, and when she shook it, feeling frustrated, she could hear something sloshing inside it. She was about to release a string of profanities when she realized something was off.

"Lambert," Claire muttered, stopping on her tracks and releasing her sandslash. The secret base smelled of rain and grass, but there was something else – was it sweat? Or was that just her? She attempted to look inside, but the lack of sunlight outside didn't allow her to see as well as she ordinarily would have. It was a wide space, funneling into a narrow path which, she assumed, widened into another room. At least it was spacious – she'd been inside secret bases that had nothing but twisty pathways, before.

Lambert halted, sharpening its claws in anticipation.

"Do you see anything?" she asked, her voice a whisper.

Lambert stilled, blinking twice, and then lunged, disappearing through the narrow path.

"Whoa, whoa, hold your horses, man—" someone called suddenly, voice high and anxious. Claire's heart was beating in her chest as she stepped forward, straining to see, until she finally found the source of the yell.

A boy – younger than her, maybe? Shorter, though – was being pressed into the farthest wall of the second room, Lambert's right claw hovering above his Adam's apple. It bobbed when he swallowed, his eyes on hers.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, and then felt stupid. It was a secret base, after all; he was probably taking shelter from the rain. Or maybe he'd been ambushed by the pack, as well.

His eyes flickered – like he'd been about to roll them but decided against it in the end.

"It's a secret base," he said flatly. "You mind getting your bodyguard off me already? Christ."

"Lambert," she called. Her sandslash eased, taking a few steps back, but kept his gaze pinned on the smaller boy. "I didn't notice a previous entry. How did you get in?"

"There's different ways to get inside a shrub apart from drilling a hole into it, you know."

Claire was starting to lose her patience. All she'd wanted was a peaceful time-out from the rain and the mightyena, but now she had to share a limited space with a sarcastic-looking kid? Just great, she thought.

"Okay, look," he continued, holding his hands up, "neither of us want to go out into that rain again, and I'm guessing that – as the mature, level-headed trainers we are – we can share this secret base for a while. I'm Mike, Mike Bonham," he added, extending a confident hand.

Lambert looked curiously at her. Claire frowned, but nodded, ignoring his hand and waving from afar.

"Claire—" Tolbert, she almost said, but then decided against it.

If he was bothered by her distance, he didn't show it, letting his hand drop easily and turning to look at Lambert instead. He whistled appreciatively.

"Nice-looking sandlash you got here! What's its – his? His nature?"

"Serious," she said, off-handedly, limping towards the nearest wall. Sitting down with a grimace, she took off her bag and sighed. "What kind of trainer are you?"

The question seemed to surprise Mike, who raised his eyebrows for a split second—but then he smiled easily and shrugged.

"I dunno, man. I'm just a trainer. Why do we feel the need of giving ourselves titles? Ace trainer, psychic trainers—" he snorted briefly, but went on, "—who cares? I'd rather be a trainer who wins." He sat down again, running his hand through his short, dark hair. "Why? D'you have a title?"

"No," Claire said sparingly, searching through her bag for pain killers. She knew she had them – she'd bought a box in Fortree, just in case – but she was quickly getting frustrated from rummaging around without success.

"You look like an ace to me," he said, narrowing his eyes at her. "Hey, haven't I seen you before? Have you given any interviews to Gabby and Ty lately?"

"Mm," she said, finally feeling the card box slide against her wet fingers. Pulling it out, she pressed her thumb against two capsuled pills, letting them fall into her hand.

"What's that? You sick?"

She was starting to get annoyed by the boy's motor-mouth – wasn't it obvious that she wasn't in the mood for talking? In fact, she wasn't in the mood for a lot of things, apart from a shower and clean, dry clothes. Mike's almond-shaped eyes were on her still, waiting for an answer. Claire ignored him, popping the pills in her mouth and swallowing in dry. She didn't have a lot of water, and she'd rather save it – you never know.

Half an hour until the effects kick in, she thought, while skimming through the package's instructions; she closed the card box and placed it inside of her bag once more. She had a few sets of clothes in there, but she didn't know if changing was worth it. Her hair was still dripping—in fact, Claire herself was dripping—and she had no means to dry herself. But she didn't want to risk hypothermia, either.

"Do you have any fire pokémon?"

Mike shook his head, watching as Lambert curled itself into a ball and rolled towards Claire. She returned him to her pokéball, feeling a little guilty – he was tired, and she'd spent her last super potion on Océane … Of course she'd feel guilty. How could have she forgotten to stock up on medicine? It wasn't her fault entirely – not with the horde of Team Aqua members that seemed to have sprouted out of the floor – but she still shouldn't have forgotten. She never did.

"I could ask my altaria to dry you out," he said, slowly, "but he's pretty worn out."

Claire raised her head, frowning.

"Hey, don't give me that look. I gotta survive somehow."

"Va te faire foutre," she hissed. "Do I look like I have healing items on me right now? Or would you like me to pay you in cash for doing the right thing and helping a fellow trainer out?"

"Wow, you speak French?" Mike exclaimed, suddenly straightening. "Are you from Kalos? I'm from Fallarbor, by the way – it's the first time I meet someone from Kalos! Is it true that all girls are blond there?"

Claire resisted the urge to flip him off.

"I don't know," she said coolly. "I was only born there. I've lived in Hoenn my entire life."

"Oh," Mike replied, deflating. He was back on attack a second after. "Still, you speak French! Are your parents from Kalos? Where were you born – Lumiose? What else can you say in French?"

"Casse toi," she said, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.

Mike thankfully did not breach conversation for a few minutes, and that was all Claire needed to fall asleep, one hand on her belt and another on her bag.

She was on a stage; the glare of the lights had her narrowing her eyes, but she was in her element. The arena was well-swept, well-kept, well-everything. The crème de la crème. The audience was breathless, in silence, as Claire exchanged looks with Steven. He looked as calm and collected as ever – not that she'd ever met him in person before, but the press sure had, and they loved having his handsome face plastered all over the place.

One day, it would be hers.

Steven nodded, throwing out his aggron, and Claire threw Lambert's pokéball – only Lambert was a golbat instead, and he was smirking smugly at her, tongue lolling, his wing flashing with a steely glint.

And Claire, well, Claire couldn't let anyone else beat that golbat.

But Steven's aggron was running at him, and Claire was shouting "get out of the way!", but of course her mother didn't hear her, and, well, it wasn't like Claire had ever even met her, after all, just her dad, who was now serving her a plate of pancakes – slightly burned – and telling her, mon petite requin, la championne chérie de son papa …

Claire woke up with a low, long crashing noise; when she attempted to get on her feet (a reflex honed by years on the road), her ribs kept her from doing so. She inhaled sharply, wincing, but, between the haze of pain, she noticed Mike getting on his feet, his eyes narrowed. She didn't think he'd noticed she'd woken up.

Mike released a seviper, quick eyes darting around, searching for the source of the noise; he looked different, somehow. Sharper? Claire watched him take sure, careful steps, taking in the scene.

"Find them," he murmured, and the seviper's tongue slipped out of its smirking mouth, tasting the air. The snake slithered across the floor, almost opulent, and stopped at the entrance Claire had opened before. Its (Claire had never been any good at analyzing a pokémon's sex) tail looked sharp, too – a sign of a competent trainer.

The seviper turned its head to look at Mike, waiting for instructions, and Claire felt a sharp pang of jealousy. Seviper were hard to handle, and even harder to train, but Mike seemed to have managed rather well.

"Alive, for now," he decided, and seviper was about to slip through the small opening when the leafy wall was ripped apart by muddy paws. A persian landed – quite gracefully – on the tiny square of floor that wasn't being occupied by seviper's body. It gave seviper an unimpressed look, its tail swishing back and forth.

Mike's expression didn't change, although Claire noticed his shoulders relaxing minutely.

"Stand down, Hemlock," he said, this time with a casual tone, and his seviper returned to him, curling around his legs like a strange rendition of a cat. The persian was looking rather affronted, but Claire didn't have the time to feel amused – through the hole the feline had ripped apart, two people were staggering in.

Mike sighed, running a hand down his face, and then returned seviper to its ball.

"Howdy, fellas," he said, rather brightly for someone who had just been faced with a potentially life-threatening situation, "what brings you here today?"

There were two of them, Claire noticed. The girl seemed to be around her age, give or take a year, and she was leaning her weight on the taller young man. It looked as though she'd fainted – or at least, it looked like she was close to doing so.

"Oh, sorry – I didn't notice this was taken," he said stupidly. Claire rolled her eyes.

"It's fine," Mike said, glancing over to the sick-looking girl. He whistled. "Hello, nurse! What's going on with the lady over there?"

"Maybe you could help instead of just talking," Claire said, before she could stop herself. Mike and the young man seemed startled by her sudden appearance, and she felt a little satisfied about it. With a grimace, she stood up, one hand on the wall. Mike was looking at her with an odd expression, but she hardly took notice of it. "Lay her down over there, or something. What happened? And close the entrance already," she added, in a growl.

"O-Oh, um," the young man said, looking at a loss. His persian thankfully seemed to understand her request, turning its back on them in order to disguise the secret base's entrance. The young man stared at her, then, but Claire had bigger issues to take care of.

"Do you have a laptop with you?" she asked Mike, who shook his head almost immediately.

"I don't decorate secret bases," he replied, with a shrug.

We have that in common, Claire thought, turning towards the young man, who was now carefully placing the girl on the floor. She seemed to have trouble moving by herself.

"What about you two? Do you have any laptops with decorations?" The young man looked from the girl to Claire, but then looked away rather quickly. She exhaled through her teeth, feeling her temper getting to her. "It's not a hard question—"

"Um, I don't, I – sorry, no, I don't," he finally managed, sitting down and catching his breath. His brown hair was matted against his forehead, like Claire's had been, but he didn't seem to care, rummaging through one of the two bags he'd been carrying instead of brushing it off.

Well, Claire thought, somewhat annoyed, there goes sitting on a mat or a cushion instead of on the floor.

"So, what happened to sweet cheeks over there?" Mike asked, leaning over the girl. "What're your names, anyway?"

"I'm Vincent—Vincent Chance," the young man said, with a raspy voice. He coughed a few times before proceeding. He took a sleeping bag out of one of the backpacks, unrolling it. "I think her name is Sophie, but I'm not sure – sorry."

Claire took slow steps in Sophie's direction, taking in her physical state. She seemed to be alright – no injuries, no blood, just mud and water. But her eyes were half-lidded, behind the dirty lenses of her bent glasses, and she was breathing in through her mouth, with low, rough wheezes.

"I found her stumbling out of the tall grass," Vincent told Mike, and Claire had to strain to hear him; his voice was so quiet. "I would've flown us both to the nearest pokécenter, but it's too windy to fly." He seemed apologetic, like the fact that it was raining buckets outside was his fault. "I don't know what happened to her. She was already like this when I found her."

"Huh." Mike crouched, his pale eyes raking over the girl called Sophie. "Seems like stun spore to me. Or some variation of it."

"She's paralyzed?" Claire asked, frowning. "Why didn't she send out her pokémon?"

"Who knows," the smaller boy said, grabbing at her waist. Claire tensed, but relaxed when it became clear Mike was only trying to get a better look at her pokémon belt. "Two of her pokémon are knocked out. One of them is close to fainting, too, I think—oh, man, lucky break!"

And he nicked the fourth pokéball out of her belt, releasing the magcargo in it without a second thought. Vincent's eyes were so wide Claire wouldn't have been surprised if they popped out of their sockets.

"C'est quoi ce bordel!" she said, tensing up (and immediately regretting it; her rib throbbed). "Are you crazy?"

"But it's warm," Mike complained, approaching the confused magcargo with his hands extended. The fire pokémon looked from its trainer to Mike, and something in its expression shifted.

"You—you—branleur! Ah, shit," she hissed, pulling out Lambert's pokéball and releasing it. "Cover him, Lambert!"

Her sandslash moved in front of Mike, his paws crossed in front of him. The magcargo didn't act, but its expression remained suspicious.

"The hell, man," the boy said, glaring at her, like she was the one without a brain.

"Releasing another trainer's pokémon while they look like they're halfway into death isn't a smart thing to do, you lousy piece of shit!" she bellowed, feeling her cheeks flush. "Return it now, or I swear to god I'll put you out of commission."

Mike's eyes paused on hers, but then he grinned sheepishly, the threat in his gaze lost.

"Yeah, yeah, fine." He returned the magcargo to his pokéball. He played with it for a few seconds, and then crouched down to pin it on Sophie's belt.

"And releasing a potentially harmful fire pokémon inside a shrub," she muttered under her breath, while returning Lambert to his pokéball, "honestly, the hell's wrong with you?"

Vincent, who'd only been fidgety before, was now clearly nervous, his free hand planted on his belt. Mike didn't seem to realize, or he simply didn't care; he sat down next to Sophie's unconscious body and looked distinctly bored.

"Now what? Does anyone have a parlyz heal?" he asked, resting his chin on his hand.

"I don't think that works on people," Vincent said reticently. He moved towards Sophie, and placed the sleeping bag on the floor; carefully, he managed to drag her on top of it, though he didn't cover her.

"It doesn't." Claire sighed, allowing her anger to seep out. "We just have to wait for now. It'll go away – stun spore is only permanent in pokémon. Our immune systems are developed differently."

"Wow! I didn't think you knew anything apart from yelling at people," Mike said, looking genuinely impressed.

Claire glared at him.

"It's basic biology, asshole."

"How much time 'till she wakes up, Professor Claire?"

She ignored the urge to throttle the shorter boy. Vincent was looking from Mike to Claire with a worried expression.

"I don't know," she said, letting the half-lie tumble out of her gritted teeth. She'd read about it – of course she had; one was never too prepared – and she was angry at herself for not being able to remember the exact time the spore effects lasted. It was sloppiness, that's what it was. Her bruised rib was throbbing in time with her heart, and she couldn't focus. "It's not like we're leaving anytime soon, though. We have time."

The sound of the storm outside was softened by the canopy of leaves, but it was still loud enough that Claire assumed it was still going strong. Plus – the memory of having to escape Big and Smile was still fresh on her mind, and while she did want revenge, she'd much rather do it with a fully healed team and a clear sky.

"Um, sorry, but – did either of you have trouble with mightyena on your way here?" Vincent asked, looking at Mike. His eyes flickered towards Claire, but only for a second.

"Mm," said Mike, distractedly. He was still looking ahead, towards the wall of the secret base.

"I was chased by two mightyena," Claire said, and couldn't keep the embarrassment out of her voice. "Were you chased, too?"

"Ah, um. You could say that? I mean, you could, um, yes, you could definitely say that," he managed, looking at the ground. "I had a rough time bringing, er, Sophie here. I was lucky to find a secret base, I guess." He brushed wet hair out of his eyes; he was frowning at the ground. "The pack must be running out of food – I mean, I'm not sure, of course, it's just a hunch."

"Food?" Claire muttered, and wanted to cross her arms, but refrained from doing so. The painkillers were wearing out already. She snorted, instead. "Doubt it. They were dead set on chasing me. Plus – there's more than enough zigzagoon and linoone out there. Why bother attacking a trainer?"

Vincent flushed.

"Right. Sorry."

"Yo, I think I know this girl," Mike said, leaning over Sophie's face.

"For crying out loud, back away from her," Claire said, looking away from Vincent. "Do you not know what personal space is?"

"Oh, I know what it is; I just don't care about it," he retorted, waving a dismissive hand. "Just, okay—look, isn't this Prof. Masters' daughter? I've seen her on TV a few times. I'm pretty sure that's her."

"Masters?" Vincent piped in, looking at Sophie's wet face. Her glasses were still askew. "Really? Didn't he retire a few months ago?"

"Yeah, but I heard his daughter was taking his position," Mike replied. He carefully set her glasses the right way, and then grinned. "Oh, yeah, this is her alright: soon-to-be Prof. Sophie Masters."

"I can't believe a professor to-be would let herself get attacked," Claire said, clicking her tongue. "She should know better than that. And why doesn't she have an aide?"

"My guess is that she's still an aide, herself," Mike said, looking thoughtful for once. Then, he looked at Claire, smirking. "Plus, you were attacked, too, so I don't think you have the right to say that."

"Va te faire enculer," she bit back, flushing.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, stretching and falling back on the floor. "I'm starting to get kinda drowsy. Since someone didn't let me dry off, though, I guess I'll just have to strip."

Mike gave her a very significant look. Claire rolled her eyes, feeling testy.

"I don't care if you want to sleep au naturel," she said, limping back to her bag. Her rib was starting to bother her again. She knew it would be best if she slept on it, but she wouldn't be able to without painkillers.

The smaller boy looked both disappointed and impressed: "Huh. I was expecting you to fly off the handle, to be honest."

"I don't care about seeing you naked," she said dryly, kneeling carefully by her bag. "Just don't expect me to follow your lead."

"I wasn't really going to sleep naked," Mike grumbled, pulling off his soaked shirt. "I'm not that shameless."

Claire didn't bother replying. Vincent, though, stared at Mike, looking slightly bothered, like he wanted to say something. Like the rest of them, he was soaked to the bone as well, though Claire highly doubted he wanted to take his clothes off. Popping two pills in her mouth, she watched him, vaguely curious.

He had a familiar sort of face, like the cashiers who worked at a pokémart or something. Though a little plain, he looked older than she did, too – he was old enough to shave, at least. She squinted at him. He had to be a capable trainer, to have managed to bring along an unconscious girl through a maze of tall grass and mightyena—but he behaved like a newbie.

"Vincent, do you have a fire type we can use?" she called out, placing the pills back in her bag and searching for her sleeping bag.

"Um. Yeah, sorry – I meant to tell you, but I didn't want to interrupt—"

"Really!?" Mike exclaimed, sitting up rather suddenly. "Oh man, that's great news! What are you waiting for, release it, come on, I'm freezing my ass out here!"

Claire glanced over her shoulder, curious. Vincent looked from her to Mike, wide-eyed, but nodded, searching his belt. With a casual gesture and a flick of red light, a ninetales appeared.

"Sweet baby Jesus," Mike gasped, and Claire hated herself for having been as surprised as he had. "A ninetales? Oh man, where did you get it? Did you manage to catch a vulpix at Mt. Pyre? Still, wow, managing to evolve it—man, oh man, you must be really patient!"

Vincent smiled sheepishly, but let it fade when he noticed Claire's narrowed eyes.

"We can't set up a fire in here," she said. "And since a ninetales doesn't exude heat—"

"Oh my god, who the fuck cares," Mike said, for once looking somewhat serious. "Look, you might not mind dying of hypothermia, but I'm starting to get really cold, and this isn't how I imagined my death would go like." Claire glared at him, but he looked indifferent. Turning towards Vincent, he asked: "Look, does he – oh, sorry – does she have enough control to hold a will-o-wisp for a while?"

Vincent nodded, albeit a bit unsurely. Ninetales gave Mike a look of superiority, hiking her maws, and then flicked her tails. Vincent's persian, who'd been around the entrance, walked languorously towards its trainer, and then curled around his back.

"Chama, contained will-o-wisp," he said, with a short nod, and the ninetales – Chama – opened her mouth to let out a singular blue flame; Claire held her breath, waiting for the flame to fall onto the floor and to spread across the pine needles, burning them all – but it didn't happen. Chama closed her mouth, eyes focused on the blue fire, and then flicked an ear dismissively.

"Cool," Mike said, and Claire agreed, though she didn't voice it. The air in the secret base gradually became hotter, and she unclenched her muscles, feeling warm at last. "Are you a contester?"

Vincent blinked in surprise, looking up from his persian – he'd been scratching its neck.

"How did you know?"

"Only contesters and hardcore trainers teach their pokémon to recognize degrees of attacks," he said, smiling impishly. He was holding his shirt near the will-o-wisp, looking rather content. "I take it she's your main beauty offender?"

Claire walked towards the will-o-wisp, feeling a reluctant need to thank Vincent. She wouldn't, of course; she didn't want to admit she'd been wrong about Chama's skills. Dropping her sleeping bag at her feet, she turned to the will-o-wisp and took her shirt off.

Vincent, who had been in the middle of telling Mike about his contesting endeavors, flushed red and turned away hurriedly. Mike only raised one eyebrow.

"I thought you weren't going to follow my lead?"

"Oh, tais-toi," she said blandly, not in the mood to argue. "I want to dry my clothes, too; my sleeping bag's going to get all wet otherwise."

The shorter boy shrugged, facing Vincent once more. Then, noticing the older boy had turned away, he laughed.

"Dude, really? It's not like there's much to look at."

"Avale mes couilles, grosse pute," Claire hissed, flushing in anger. "Mange ma bite."

"Okay, at least insult me in a way I can understand what you're saying," Mike replied, still grinning. "And I was referring to that top you're wearing, not your tits. But if the shoe fits—"

"Look, Mike – just piss off, okay?" she snarled, the knuckles wrapped around her shirt whitening.

The smaller boy opened his grinning mouth, but then closed it, shrugging. Running his fingers across the surface of his shirt, he smiled widely.

"Wow, Vinnie, your ninetales sure works fast!" He put on his shirt, and then gave a long, content sigh. Bending over slightly, he undid his belt, about to pull off his pants. He stopped, then, his expression compressing into acute focus. "What's that?"

"If you're about to dick around again—" Claire started, glaring, but Mike just waved his hand at her, his other one on his lips, asking for silence. She closed her mouth, frowning, and a few seconds of quietness elapsed. Outside, the rain was still drumming consistently, but Claire didn't hear anything else.

But Vincent, who had been turned away all this time, stood up and looked around the secret base, frowning. He was still flushed, which annoyed Claire, but (although he avoided looking at her for too long) he, too, analyzed every corner of the burrow.

She was starting to feel left out when she, too, heard the faraway wail of several mightyena.