Don't let me drown, don't breathe alone
No kicks, no pangs, no broken bones
Never let me sink, always feel at home
No sticks, no shanks, and no stones.

Never leave it too late; always enjoy the taste
Of the great grey world of hearts.
All dogs everywhere bark:
"It's worth knowing:
Like all good fruit, the balance of life is in the ripe and ruin."

Alt-J, "Interlude I"

The day some lousy kid was crowned the new champion was the day I decided to buckle up and, like, really— Excuse you, asshole? I'll get to her eventually. If you wanted to know about her without knowing about me, you'd have asked someone else.

So, from the top? Two years before that kiddy champion fiasco, I'd saved up some money, and I was starting off my journey. Lavender's not exactly the best town to make a fortune, and it's not like my family was ever well-off. We managed, and I never went hungry, but, come on. Look at me. Are you looking? It would be a fucking waste, right? I'd rather have died than to have been stuck at a job cleaning graves or whatever shit's available for people my age – or, you know, the age I was then. Huh? Yeah, it's a shitty-ass job, but it exists. I mean, dude, cleaning graves. Would you do it? … Yeah, didn't think so either.

Anyway – so, two years before this jackass kid gets crowned champion, I pack up and head out to Saffron. Towns with gyms give out licenses way faster than towns with nationally-known graveyards, so I made my way there. What? No, I – do I look like one of those sentimental types to you? Fuck no, I wasn't going to linger around waiting for anything. As soon as I knew I could make the trip, I bolted. My dad had been dead for a year, then, and my mother was starting to grow tired of having to take care of me. No, I'm not lying. Not everyone has the benefit of having a job like you do. What do your parents do? Something respectable and well-paid, I bet. Have any siblings? See, there you go. I'm an only child, and it's not just 'cause my parents didn't want any more kids. Mouths to feed and all that crap. You wouldn't know.

She worked at the pokécenter as a cleaning maid – you can check with them if you don't believe me – and she had to pick up another job at the Tower after my dad died. I'm not sure what she did there, exactly, but I'm pretty sure she was assigned to the burial pyres, 'cause I'll never forget the stench of her clothes when she got home at night. Fucking gross, eugh. Like burnt hair and clotted— holy shit, how long have you been working here? I'd have figured a – okay, okay, I'll get to the point. Just don't puke on me; you couldn't afford these shoes.

So I told her I was leaving, she made me promise to call knowing full well I wouldn't, and I was off to Saffron. Back then the train lines had been but a tiny what-if in the upcoming Kanto-Johto pet projects, so I had to walk all the way there like the commoner I was. Try and catch me walking anywhere, today. Fuck that, let me tell you.

I'd been to Saffron before. My dad's construction company was often hired instead of the local ones because Lavender workmanship is finer than any—pff, nah, I'm just fucking with you. Lavender manpower was just a lot cheaper, and the trip between the cities was comfortable enough to cover the costs. If you ask me, I'd have told my old man to refuse. Take no shit, just what you deserve. But what could I do? There was hardly any work for the adults, much less for a ten-year-old, and I didn't really care about my parents' professional lives anyway. The me today, though? I would have told those greedy fuckers to suck it, and I'd have rather – huh? Yeah, fine. But the point still stands. I earned everything I own, and you know what? It was easy.

Saffron isn't half the jungle people say it is. Sure, it's big, and full of dark corners – but I'd been raised in a backwater little group of alleys, and I'm more than used to taking shortcuts. Besides, I'd gone there with my dad, so I wasn't the cliché image of a country bumpkin who, well, you know – those guys who walk in all awed, you know, guys from places like Pallet or some shit, who stare at the skyscrapers like they've never seen anything so magnificent in their pathetic lives? That wasn't me. That was never going to be me.

I got to work as fast as I could. I headed straight for the pokécenter, asked for a license, took the exam, and two days later I was a certified Trainer. Capital letter and all that. I did some odd jobs while I waited, saved up on some more money – I was flat broke by the time I paid the license fee – and then I went and challenged Sabrina.

Yeah, really. You can laugh, man. No, go ahead; laugh all you want. Because I didn't fucking lose. Yeah, I'm serious. I didn't win, either, but I didn't lose – I never got around to entering the gym, actually. Ha, yeah, I know my phrasing was super misleading, but hey, at least I know how to keep an audience. Don't tell me you weren't just hoping I'd—

Why? Why what? Why didn't I challenge – oh, right.

So, there I was, two steps away from pushing those glass doors apart, and that, right then, was when I met Mush.

Chapter I:
Decisions, or I Wanna Eat The Whole Cake

She was going to miss him. In a way, she already did – even if Pierce was only going to leave tomorrow. Geneva knew him, though, better than she did herself, and the only reason as to why Pierce hadn't set out this very day was because the sun had already begun to set. She wouldn't be able to see him off otherwise.

She pushed back from the stone slab, wiping her sweaty forehead on her sleeve, and pulled the gloves off of her hands. The rubber snapped against her fingers, but she barely noticed. She pressed them into the pocket of her apron, folded in half, and rose to her feet, pushing her hair behind her ears. Mother had been insisting she cut it, but Dad had loved it long, and Geneva couldn't bring herself to, even as the summer neared and her hair blanketed across her back.

Arthur was waving at her from the gates. Only now did Geneva hear the bell tolling; she gave a tired wave back and began unknotting her apron. After it folded across her arm, she knelt again, gathering the cleaning supplies from the grass in a practiced motion. It had been difficult, at first – the detergent bottles were heavy, and the metal brushes even more so, but she'd grown used to it. The bucket fit against the curve of her hip, and she walked off to meet Arthur.

"Good work today?" he greeted, waving at some other workers.

Geneva offered a nod, walking past to set the bucket on the supply shed. It was a small house, but Arthur kept it as clean as the rest of the grounds, and Geneva hadn't been nervous about the enclosed space since her first time walking inside. She placed the supply bucket on the space assigned to her work post – tagged with the number four –, set the apron on the hanger, and made her way outside once more. It would be dark soon, despite the warm weather – the mountains surrounding Lavender always made sure the light would disappear before the sun did.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Arthur said, the lines on his face deepening as he smiled. Geneva nodded once more, trying to muster a smile in return, and made her way down the plain.

The path, beaten by multitudes of visitors and workers, unfurled into the entrance of the town. It was surrounded with drying grass and wildflowers that would vanish once the summer set in, sprawling down the valley alongside the wheat fields. Geneva took it every day on her way to the graveyard, so the novelty had faded, but she was fonder of the trail than she was of the intricate mosaics of the Lavender pavements.

Tourists loved those – the painstakingly assembled sidewalks where the pokémon of Lavender looked up to the skies – but Geneva didn't. Gastly and haunter were a common sight in the town, be it lingering above a channeler's shoulder or hovering across the Tower's roof; as a local, she had long since grown used to their presences, and the folks of Lavender were not superstitious in nature, despite what the rest of Kanto thought. Religious, yes, just not irrationally so.

As a child, however, the depictions of those ghosts had been terrifying. Gastly and haunter were snickering pranksters, mostly, but the pavements painted eerie auras and wide, unseeing eyes, and she just couldn't –

"Oh, look," someone called out. Geneva nearly startled, but then realized she had already reached the town's plaza, and there was no cause for alarm. "It's the dead girl!"

"That's not funny," she murmured, turning to look at Pierce.

The excitement in him was nearly palpable. It had been a long, long time since she'd last seen him smile so wide, and her heart fluttered despite the rest of her body wilting. Was he really so glad to leave?

"Sure is," he replied, walking past her. Geneva hurried to follow, falling in step beside him. "Looking as dead as ever. What's eating you up this time?"

"I was thinking about the mosaics again." She had to strain her voice above the dwindling market's retailers, desperately trying to get rid of any remaining produce before the stalls closed. "Because I thought about the dirt path leading to—"

"Yaaawn," Pierce interrupted loudly, rolling his eyes. "Get over that while you still can, Geneva. Like, damn, you're fourteen already. Quit being such a baby."

She pressed her lips together, staring at the tips of her shoes as she walked. They were scuffed, and lightly dusted with brown dirt – she'd have to clean them before Mother got home, or risk getting another speech about responsibilities.

"In other, far more interesting, news," Pierce went on, intertwining his fingers behind his neck, "I got a ninety on the last mock-up test I did. I'll bet you five grand I'll ace this stupid exam."

"I believe you," Geneva said, smiling slightly. She'd heard from his mother that Pierce had been a constant presence at the pokécenter for the last few weeks, practically driving the working nurses into a breakdown with how many mock-up tests he asked them to come up with. It was just like him to be so driven. She wished she could be like that, sometimes.

"Predictable," he scoffed, "but I'll take it. Don't need your money anyway – actually, how's that grave cleaning shtick going? Nice fingernails."

She felt her ears go hot, and closed her hands. Despite the gloves, she'd always had the bad habit of biting her nails, and the constant friction of brushing assured they broke frequently.

"It's going," she muttered, looking at the floor again. Behind them, the market's sounds faded into nothing. They crossed the street, nearing the shortcut into the lower district.

"Yeah? How long 'till you get the hell out of this hellhole?" he asked, ignoring the shocked glance from one of their neighbors. He really was in a good mood – ordinarily, he'd cock his head and ask, what is it now, you old bat?

"He doesn't mean that, Mrs. Florence," Geneva murmured, hoping she'd sound apologetic enough. Mrs. Florence gave them both a derisive look, arms heavy with groceries, and hurried her pace, cutting into the closest street.

"Actually, I really, really do," Pierce called out, after the old woman. He turned to glare at Geneva. "What's it matter? It's not like I'll ever have to look at her bitter old face ever again. As soon as the sun rises, I'm getting the fuck out of here. And if you knew what's best for you, you'd hurry up and get on with it."

"You're not going to visit?" Geneva asked, looking at him.

Pierce's blue eyes – like glacial seas – rolled all the way around, until they settled on hers again. Geneva nearly shrunk into herself again, but something inside her latched onto the attention, and refused to let go. First, he'd stopped calling her by her childhood nickname, and then he'd started saying he was leaving, and now he wasn't – he wasn't even going to come back?

"Fuck no, I'm not going to visit. Why would I?"

Because of me, Geneva thought, but knew better than to say.

Pierce had always been ambitious. He'd always wanted to be a trainer, even before his father had died. But without him around, Pierce's drive had augmented twofold; talks about traveling became plans, and the money he made from odd jobs was no longer wasted in ice creams or fishing bait. The two of them had always fantasized about leaving – it was what children did. Pierce would keep one of the magikarp he so often fished for her, instead of selling them away. He'd tame an awesome pokémon for himself, and they'd see Kanto together.

When had been the last time she'd heard him say that? When had been the last time they even spoke about leaving together? She couldn't remember. Lately, it was all about her, and when was she going to leave, because Pierce was going on ahead. Couldn't she see?

"Right," Geneva said, staring at the pavement. Her fingers fiddled with her necklace. "Of course; you're right."

"When am I ever not?" Pierce asked, and went down the stone stairway that led down to their street. Geneva watched him, unwilling to move. Preserving this sight as well as she could into her brain: Pierce's unruly brown hair, the swagger of his movements as he climbed down the thin stairwell, the orange sky framed by buildings and the dark cut of the Rock mountains. Her heart tightened inside her chest, and she followed after.

Her mother had come home in a foul mood, complaining about children who kept leaving greasy handprints on the graves, and the two had had a quiet dinner. Geneva had washed the dishes, had absently watched the news alongside her mother, and then had retreated to her room. It looked emptier than usual – she wasn't given to decorating, and neither was Mother, but still. One glance at her shelf found her piggy bank, untouched after years and years, and she reached out for it, unlatching the bottom lid.

Geneva would have liked to hear the clatter of the coins against the wood of her desk, but didn't want to risk angering her mother; the money sprawled across her bed covers instead. Working at the graveyard for the last couple of years – ever since Pierce's dad had passed away and he convinced her to get a job – she'd amassed a small fortune. Half of Geneva's paycheck had always gone to her mother, of course, but still. There was enough here to pay for the exam, though not for a pokédex nor a pokégear, and she would still be able to buy a pokémon for herself. Nothing too fancy, of course; something sturdy and strong, enough to protect her. She wasn't Pierce, she didn't need a flashy pokémon. She just wanted to travel alongside him, and the season for beginning trainers had begun in April. It wasn't too late to find a discount, somewhere. She could—

"Geneva."

The creak of her bedroom door startled her, though not as much as her mother's voice. Geneva turned on her heel, wishing that her body would somehow be enough to cover up the sight of years' worth of earnings as it rested on top of her bed. Her mother was already in her nightgown, her robe firmly wrapped around her – but there was no sleep in those eyes. There was only realization and the beginning of a storm.

"Explain," Mother said, walking inside and motioning towards the bed.

Geneva couldn't. Her words caught and stilled like terrified prey. She wasn't even able to muster a stammer.

"Do I need to ask again?" Her mother frowned at her, crossing her arms.

"W-Well, I—I was just—"

"Are you leaving, Geneva?" she asked.

"No! I was just – I wanted to know – "

"It's about Pierce, isn't it?" Her tone cooled over like she'd swallowed ice. Geneva's insides went just as cold. Her mother walked past her, the soft fabric of her robe pressing against Geneva's shoulder, and began gathering the bills. Most were folded in half, pristinely. She tucked them into the mankey piggybank first, and then moved onto the crumpled ones. "Why are you like this, Geneva?"

"I'm not," she whispered. "I wasn't going to—"

"You're an idiot," her mother cut in, still gathering the money. "You've run after him all your life. When will it stop?"

"He's my best friend," Geneva replied, despite herself.

The systematic clang of coins dropping into clay sounded too loud in her room.

"He's leaving without you. Open your eyes, Geneva. Open your eyes and see, for gods' sakes."

"I-I am—"

"No!" her mother shouted, turning back to face her. There were still coins on her bed, and the clay mankey was still open, lying on its side. Her mother's hands gripped at her shoulders, like a vice grip, and they shook once. "No, you're not! I don't know what you see, but it's not there! He's leaving, Geneva. He's leaving you and he doesn't care."

Geneva stared into her mother's brown eyes. They'd always been vivid, bright, and fiery. Geneva's were gray, a dark, unwashed shade that had only looked alive on her father's irises. After he'd died, Mother had hardly looked Geneva in the face.

"I know," she finally said, looking down at the knot of the robe's belt. Her voice was so small, she wasn't sure her mother would hear.

Her mother's expression twisted into something Geneva couldn't recognize. Her eyes narrowed, dropping to meet Geneva's necklace, and then rising to her face once more. Her fingers tightened even more, that ugly, sad feeling deepening all the lines in her mother's face, and then:

"Leave, then," she spat, and walked out. The slam of her bedroom's door was sure to be the talk of their neighbors, in the morning, but Geneva didn't care. She kneeled by the bed, instead, and scooped the money from inside the piggybank once more.

Once morning came, she would run out to meet with Pierce, and she'd take the exam with him. He'd get a perfect score, but she'd always joined him in the library when she had the time, and she could probably pass. Then they'd look for a starter together, and she could loan him some money, because Pierce's pokémon would likely be more expensive.

Once morning came, they would leave Lavender behind, like they'd promised. She would see Kanto with her own two eyes while he challenged the gyms. Maybe she'd even try her hand at one or two – the easiest ones, of course. She'd heard Misty was a fair, kind-hearted girl, and there were a lot of grass types in Kanto.

One morning came, Geneva woke with the sun high in the sky. Panic washed over her – she rose to a standing position, her knees and back aching, and searched for her alarm clock. It was nowhere to be found. The piggybank, at least, was still clutched between her hands, several bills and coins scattered across the covers. Geneva opened the door to her room and ran downstairs despite the awful pain in her knees, and –

There, on the kitchen table. Her mother had written: Leave, but do it alone. For once. Beside the paper, she had set Geneva's alarm clock, and the batteries. Geneva looked up to the kitchen wall, and found the red circle, the watch hands ticking away like they did every other day.

Geneva hadn't cried since her dad had died. And she didn't cry at the sight of the time (at the thought that Pierce had gone on to never return), but she didn't know how.

Arthur waved at her once she reached the gates, and made his way across the graveyard. Geneva was already sweating; the day was warm, and the climb uphill always left her out of breath.

"What happened? I didn't think you were coming," he asked. Geneva flinched, expecting to be berated, but when she looked she found only concern.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking at the floor again. "I overslept. My alarm clock didn't go off."

"That's fine, girlie," he laughed, setting one hand on her shoulder. "We're nearly done with the cleaning, so you can go home if you'd like. Oh!" He brought one hand to his wrinkled forehead and snapped his fingers. "Before that, however," he added, motioning for her to follow as he limped towards the supply shed. Geneva dutifully did so. "Got your last paycheck right here."

The envelope slid into her hands. Arthur smiled down at her, leaning against the door jamb.

"You do finer work than many folks your age, you know that? Very diligent, very focused. I'll be counting on you for the fall season, as well," he said, and Geneva's fingers crumpled the paper just slightly.

"Oh, I'm – I'm not going to be able to," she muttered, glancing over at the gates. The bell's clapper was dangling in the breeze, though not enough to sound.

Arthur's face lit up, instead of the disappointment she'd been waiting for.

"Going off on your journey, are you?" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "I heard the Outerridge boy was leaving, too. The two of you are friends, aren't you?"

Geneva nodded, fingers tight around the envelope. The doubt stung like the bruises on her shoulders. Aren't you?

"Good on you. Saw the world myself, you know. It's a good thing to do."

Was it selfish to think it would've been better if she'd gone along with Pierce? There weren't many people her age in Lavender, nor was there a trainer school for them to attend. Geneva's family had never been part of the community, at least not in the way Pierce's had. Mother was too cold – had been, ever since Dad had died – and Geneva wasn't good with people. The boys had pulled on her hair and the girls had called her the dead girl – there had only ever been Pierce. Was it selfish? Was she selfish?

"Thank you," Geneva said, and slid the envelope into her jacket's inner pocket.

"Of course," Arthur said, grinning. "If you ever get the itch to clean, you know where to find me."

She did. Some people didn't leave; some people did, but they came back. It wasn't uncommon. Arthur probably expected her to return once winter struck.

Geneva offered one last nod and made her way down the hill, while Arthur waved. The fading sounds of the bell accompanied her into the mouth of the town, along with the wafting wildflowers and the streaming wheat fields.

The clerk perked up when the doors slid open, but, at the sight of Geneva, only huffed and returned to his magazine. She immediately walked in between the closest shelves, feeling awkward, and tried to pat down the unruliness in her hair.

The air conditioner was set to a cool temperature, which helped her feel calmer, and she began analyzing the items on the shelves. She was going to need supplies – her piggybank was still at home, but she was hoping her paycheck would be enough to buy battle items. After all, she wouldn't need much; she still didn't have a starter pokémon, and she wouldn't need many potions or full heals. The road to Saffron was well-maintained, and the fair weather had been bringing pilgrims to Lavender. Despite the anxiety Geneva couldn't help but to feel, knowing the road would be populated made her believe she would be okay.

"Should've figured you were going to leave too," Joshua said, without looking up from his magazine. Geneva froze, eyes stuck on the colorful labels of the healing ointments. "I'm surprised you didn't tag along with Pierce."

"Mm," Geneva managed, feeling nervous. Joshua hadn't talked to her in years – but she supposed the fact she was always with Pierce had helped.

Holding several bottles and a first-aid kit in her hands, she walked off to the counter and dropped them there. She should've – she should've remembered Joshua usually held the lunch-hour shifts. She should've gone home.

"Is this all you're taking?" he asked, setting down his magazine. He rose one eyebrow. "Aren't you taking pokéballs?"

Geneva felt her ears go hot. Wordlessly, she backtracked to the shelves, and grabbed a couple of the cheapest models. She didn't want to tell him she didn't even have a starter yet. It wasn't as if Joshua was a trainer, but his older sister was a competitive battler of some renown, and he knew his stuff.

"That'll be two thousand and fifty yen," Joshua said, setting the items into a plastic bag. He held it out for her, while she pulled the bills out of the envelope.

"Thank you," Geneva managed, taking care not to touch him as she took the bag's handles. Her ears were still warm, and she wanted nothing more than to get home, where he couldn't look at her.

Joshua, unaware (or uncaring) of her plight, waited for the receipt to print, and offered it to her along with her change. This time, there was no way for their hands not to touch. Geneva forced a blank face, and slid the money into her jeans' front pocket.

"Thank you for your purchase," Joshua said, a little dryly. Geneva nodded, and stepped back to leave. "Look, Geneva," he added, picking up his magazine again. "I just wanted to say – I'm sorry for everything. I hope everything goes well on your journey."

She blinked at him, her stomach tight. What did everything mean? Pulling her hair when they were younger, to the point where her mother had had to cut it short? Getting into fistfights with Pierce and calling her names? Constantly making her feel like she was gum stuck to the underside of a shoe?

Geneva didn't reply, but then again Joshua probably didn't expect her to. She just left, and practically ran all the way home. She regretted it, of course, hurriedly taking off her jacket and pulling her damp shirt away from her chest. The handle of the faucet was cool as she poured herself a drink, ignoring the fact that the alarm clock and her mother's note were still in the same place. So she hasn't come home for lunch, Geneva thought, setting down the glass.

Climbing the stairs to the upper floor, she began packing a mental backpack – Pierce had gone through the theory of it so many times it was hard not to remember all the necessary items, even if Geneva was still lacking camping stuff. Saffron had a large mall, though; she could make the trip before she needed to use a tent or a sleeping bag.

She'd need a hat, a warm jacket, at least three pairs of pants, underwear, but above all – she'd need her father's old army knife. Pierce had wanted it, too, and there were lots of things Geneva would give him without a second thought, but her father's old things were hers and her mother's. He'd thrown a tantrum, and she'd apologized until he came around, but she'd never yielded to him.

It was a good knife. It was larger than most, worn and well-loved, with chipped red paint. Her father had carved his last name on it. Geneva held it in her palm, and slid it in her front pocket. It was a little too large to walk comfortably; she'd have to take a jacket with pockets on her chest or belly. She pulled it out and set it on her desk, and then pulled her bag from under her bed: another memento from her father.

They'd had to sell things, after he'd gotten sick, but he hadn't allowed his training supplies to go. Mother had been livid – you don't even have pokémon anymore – and Geneva hadn't understood, but she was thankful her mother hadn't … hadn't forced her to … It didn't matter.

Geneva sat on the floor of her room and packed, feeling oddly hollow.

The least she could do before leaving was to speak to Mother. It didn't matter that they'd argued; such things were only too common in their household, and Geneva was used to dealing with them.

She wondered if she should leave her bag at home, lest the sight of it inflame her mother's temper once more, but in the end gathered her courage and her supplies. She didn't want to have to return home to get it – the trip was tiring and the bag heavy, and Geneva wasn't too keen on having to go up and down stairs and side-streets when all she wanted was to leave.

Janet had smiled at her when Geneva entered the Tower, a mix of warmth and pity, and had excused herself from counter duty in order to go get Mother. Geneva took deep breaths while she waited, her hands shaking – the Tower had always made her feel out of sorts. It wasn't as if death particularly frightened Geneva; she'd grown used to that, too. But the Tower wasn't just death. It was dark corners and breezy rooms, where the shadows were the stuff Geneva had had nightmares about when she'd been a child.

"So," Mother's voice swept in, as the door to the break room closed behind her. Geneva looked away from the closest grave – the ones in the lower levels were always so clean they nearly sparkled – and into her mother's brown eyes. "I see you've managed to pack your bags without Pierce's help."

It stung. Geneva bit the inside of her cheek and nodded.

"I wanted – I wanted to say goodbye, mother," she murmured, resisting the urge to wring her hands. "I'll call when I get to Saffron."

She wouldn't say I'll miss you. Pierce probably hadn't, and Geneva didn't know whether she would feel the words or not. It was better to be honest, sometimes, and silence would be the next best thing.

Mother was pursing her lips, eyes drifting from Geneva's messy hair to the tips of her boots. Then she sighed, bringing one hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, and dug into the back pocket of her pants.

"I'll be waiting," she said, and set a minimized pokéball on top of the counter. "Don't forget to name it."

And with that, Mother left as smoothly as she'd first walked in. Geneva heard the door click, but her eyes were on the pokéball. They weren't very expensive, though Lavender's prices when it came to pokémon supplies were steeper than most cities. But it was a pokéball, and the red color flared against the white surface of the counter—

Geneva picked it up without thinking, and clicked the button once. It didn't feel warm to the touch like she'd expected, nor heavy with signs of life. Confusion washed over her. She looked around the room and found an old couple paying respects – she pocketed the pokéball and walked out, unwilling to draw attention in such a solemn place. What if her mother had gotten her some loud, flashy pokémon? Geneva wouldn't put it past her, if only because Mother hadn't agreed to Geneva's journey. Or was it the reason the thing she was against? Either way, it didn't matter.

The sun outside was still high in the sky. Geneva walked across the plaza, averting her eyes from the terrifying mosaics, and felt the pokéball's hard surface dig into her butt with every step she took. There was an empty alley behind the ceramics' shop – she and Pierce had made it their hideout more than once – and she entered the dusky street without regard for the kids squatting next to the trash can.

"Look," the small girl whispered, "that's the dead girl. My sister says she's a cad – a cada—"

"A cadaver," said the boy, eyes wide as they looked up. Geneva recognized him – Joshua's youngest sibling. "She doesn't look ugly at all," he added, sounding disappointed.

The small girl made a sound of distress, and crossed her arms. Geneva felt her ears go hot with humiliation, and hurried to the very end of the alley as the children squabbled.

"You never tell me I'm pretty!"

"That's 'cause you hit me when I do!"

She pulled out her pokéball, and raised it up. It didn't glint against the sun like Geneva thought it would – how silly of her. She was the one who'd walked into the shade. If Pierce had been here, he would've made fun of her, but he wasn't. She was going to have to get used to that.

The ball rolled off her fingers and into the floor – the white flash of light widened, then collapsed into itself, curling high over her head. Geneva smelled the gas, first, and only then saw the gastly peering down at her. Figures, she thought, without knowing how to react. It was an obvious choice for a Lavenderer – there were hundreds of gastly in the Tower, and it wasn't like Mother would go out and buy Geneva a proper starter. To think that she'd given Geneva one was astounding in itself.

"H-Hello," Geneva greeted, waving nervously. How did these sorts of things go?

The gastly blinked at her, and then its mouth broke into a toothy, threatening grin – and it lunged at her! Geneva barely had the time to kneel out of the way as the cloud of poison encapsulated her, the thick purple color blinding her. She brought one elbow up to curl around her nose and mouth and scrambled for the pokéball. The gastly sidled up to her, then, and the core of its body was cold enough that she shivered. There was nothing for her to touch; just the icy center of an already cold area. And the smell—

Geneva recalled the gastly with shaking hands. Her heart was so loud, inside her chest – for a few seconds, it was all she could hear.

"Did you see that," the girl screeched.

"She just ate a pokémon!" the boy shouted.

When Geneva turned to look at them, they went very still; then their hands clasped together and they broke into a run, crying out for help. She sighed, feeling embarrassed, and got to her feet while she dusted the knees of her jeans. Not even your starter wants you, Pierce's voice laughed inside her head. Holy shit, Gev, you're a riot.

Was this a normal thing to happen? In the movies, all it took was a glance, and the starter pokémon would practically run into their trainer's arms. Gastly had flung itself at her with a terrifying grin, and had – attempted to choke her? Maybe it had wanted to make her faint in order to flee? Had Mother gotten her a pokémon with no wishes to be a trainer's partner? The questions slid down her mind like a waterfall.

She placed the gastly's pokéball into the outward pocket of her jacket, where it clanged against her father's knife, and hurriedly walked off, in case either of the kids managed to convince anyone she'd been eating gastly for lunch. The plaza wasn't bustling today, but it wasn't empty, either. Geneva's dark clothes mixed amongst the rest – Lavender wasn't a city given to bright colors, despite its namesake – and she made her way to the city's gates. Friendly starter or not, she needed to start going.

The glass doors parted under her pushing hands. Inside the gateway, the air was cool. Geneva zipped her jacket together, rolling her shoulders, and made her way to the guard on duty. The woman glanced up at her from the numerous papers across her station, and offered a nod.

"May I help you, young lady?" she asked, closing the dossier she'd been reading. Geneva averted her gaze, feeling a little flustered, and nodded. The dossier cover read: Traffic Statistics, May.

"I, um, I wanted to go to Saffron to get a trainer's license, please," she managed, fiddling with her necklace. The guard had a lovely handwriting.

"I see. Do you need directions? Have you've taken this route before?" the older woman asked, staring straight into Geneva's eyes. Geneva shook her head, fingers tight around the metal cross. "Very well. The route is fairly straightforward, apart from some wild grass here and there. If you somehow lose track of where you are, either retrace your steps or wait for the guard to spot you. There are patrols every half hour."

The older woman fondled her chin, eyes narrowing in thought.

"When I made my rounds earlier, I noticed there were some trainers on the southern side, so don't be surprised if you are challenged. Other than that, the wild pokémon are calm, though it's common for a growlithe to attach itself to a youngling trainer such as you. Their puppy eyes are the bane of many trainers – I'd know."

She pointed over her shoulder. Geneva strained to look over the counter, tip-toeing, and found a slumbering arcanine by the guard's feet.

"Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

Geneva shook her head, and attempted to smile – if the guard's perplexed face was any indicative, she didn't quite succeed. Her ears went a little hot, and she bowed her head.

"Thank you for your time," she said, and walked across the corridor. The breeze of hot air swerved between the closing glass doors, and Geneva opened her jacket again.

Before her, route eight waited.

OUTTERRIDGE (English): Derived from the Old English given name Uhtric which was composed of the elements uht "dawn" and ric "power".

A/N: this chapter's song title is "decisions (ft. miley cyrus)", by bolgore.

i chose yen as the coin for the pokéworld because it was the currency the pokédollar was based on, and because writing pokédollar everytime i need to write prices always sounds off to me.

regarding this story: pierce, geneva and mush were the first OCs that i ever created. i've had their story plotted out in my head since i was sixteen, and they're very important to me. i don't know why i started actually writing this, but i did, and here we are. i would really like feedback on this, since it's my love letter to kanto – you will find a lot of headcanons here, trust me – and i'll be upfront and say that reviews really matter to me. like any other writer, i write more when i know people are expecting things from me.

with that, i take my leave. i hope you've liked this chapter!