Unfortunately, FFN does not support strikethrough or coloured text, so that's a bit of an irritation. Regardless, here's chapter two. Many thanks to my beta readers CouchMaster, Magnive and cezyou (even if they aren't called that on this site...or even visit this site at all).

Chapter 2: Opportunist

Shock held the bar silent for maybe ten seconds, before a wave of whispers began to build. Across the arena, if it weren't for her eyes, which bounced erratically between her pokémon, Don and I, one might mistake her for a mannequin. Not that I could hold her shock against her. You don't expect to lose with a truly mythical pokémon on your side.

For anyone who spends enough time climbing the training community's social ladder, running into a pokémon with the moniker 'legendary' is inevitable. Even ignoring misapplications of the word by the ill-informed, such as Arcanine and Rotom, there were enough instances of true legends amongst upper echelon trainers that running into one is a matter of 'when', not 'if'. There were many public figures who had a legendary dog or bird or golem in their back pocket, in case of emergency. The general public wasn't privy to this fact, but rumours escaped frequently enough that it could barely be considered 'news'. If the owner was some no-name trainer instead of a Frontier Brain or member of the Elite Four, then that might attract attention, but only because such a feat is 'impressive', as opposed to 'impossible'. With that in mind, even amongst legendary pokémon, some are definitely more legendary than others and Mew landed squarely on the 'more' side of the spectrum.

Until that moment, if forced to declare an opinion, I would've leaned towards disbelief in the pokémon. Not 'There's not way this could exist!', but more 'I have seen no proof and I default to scepticism'. On the whole, it wasn't exactly a pokémon I thought about very often. I rolled it into that vague, nebulous concept of 'myths and folklore' that held little relevance to my life. I know a lot of children dream of growing up to become a pokémon master with half a dozen different bed time stories on their belt, but that was never my cup of tea. When I was young, I was always a little more grounded than that, unfortunately.

Then again, perhaps the present 'I' was better positioned to acknowledge this pokémon's existence than my ten year old self. It's a far greater stretch to believe in Mew when Dratini is the rarest pokémon you've ever seen as opposed to, say, Regigigas. With hard proof in front of me and the shock muted by my surroundings, accepting its existence wasn't difficult. Far more baffling was how a relative newbie like my opponent could get her hands on one. It was no doubt a long and complex story. A part of me wanted to storm over there and wring it out of her, but I restrained myself. That would be improper.

My eyes were drawn back to the offending pokémon. Truly, in such a state, it was unsettlingly mundane. Small. Pink-furred. Vaguely mammalian. The tail and head shape were somewhat unique, but not particularly exotic. Ask a person with no knowledge of myth and they might assume the pokémon before me was but a common unevolved psychic type (or perhaps a normal type if they were especially uneducated). Despite the number of injuries it appeared to have sustained during the fight, it appeared mostly unharmed. Vague memories of tests done with Smeargle informed me that a pokémon did not directly retain injuries it received while transformed, but the subject would often faint immediately afterwards, especially if it needed to replace lost mass. Its breathing was somewhat shallow, but it appeared stable enough. Without medical training, I obviously couldn't be certain, but I'd seen enough injured pokémon to have an informed opinion.

I cringed internally as I realised I'd been staring. That was classic breach of battle etiquette and truly unbecoming of a gentleman. A subtle motion of my hand returned Don to his pokeball. My step was sure and deliberate (perhaps overly so) as I crossed the broken arena and offered her the traditional handshake.

"Well fought, Miss."

Ten seconds passed before my words and motions finally reached her and she accepted the shake. No weight or movement behind it and as I let go of her hand, it just sat there for a little while, still extended. She made no further movement, still obviously a thousand miles away. As was often the case, I felt perhaps the tiniest bit guilty for doing this. I hovered there for a second or two, uncertain of what I should say, if anything. Again, my gaze was drawn back to the unconscious pokémon behind me for a moment, and thought crossed my mind.

I cleared my throat.

"You may wish to return your pokémon."

It took a moment for her to respond.

"Um...Oh. Yeah."

She did so. She screwed up her face for a moment, before stomping off. I only caught a glimpse of her face, but she might have been on the edge of tears. It stirred the usual feelings of guilt that bedeviled me whenever I was responsible for a (mostly) undeserved thrashing and, as usual, I did my best to ignore them. It took me a moment more to accept that speculation would get me no more easy answers and I too left the arena. Around me, the tension in the air seemed palpable as I made my way back to my seat. Jim's expression, a dash of horror mixed into a bowl of disbelief, mirrored those of his patrons.

My pasta had gotten cold. Pity.

"Uh, Alex?"

I swallowed that last bite and wiped my mouth clean with the napkin before answering.

"Yes, Jim?"

"So...Uh... Ya kinda...Uh...Arena's gotten messed up again."

I chuckled. That was a bad habit of mine.

"Mmm, sorry about that. I'll see Clay tomorrow and he'll have his boys level the gashes again. I'm sure the insurance will cover. Don't think it'd see much use tonight anyway; looks like everyone's lost their appetite for more matches."

And with that, I returned to the food. Jim fixed me with a pointed glare as I tried to finish my meal.

"Can ya at least pretend to be a little surprised?"

I gave him as serene a smile as I could muster ('I have my mouth full, Jim'). Unfortunately, that smile was wiped from my face as, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of pink. It seemed my opponent, expression still that nasty mix of anger and dejection, was altogether done with this place. With the arena out of commission, there was nothing for her here, so it made sense.

That gremlin, guilt, reared its ugly head once more.

Yes, great work, Midnight. With this single loss, you have stripped a young trainer of almost all her liquid funds, caused her great angst, potentially causing lasting damage to her self-esteem and revealed a personal secret of hers to a crowd of strangers. The 'lesson' you wished to teach will surely be internalised immediately without angst or misinterpretation and your actions will be completely justified. It couldn't possibly be that that your pride would cause you lead you to lash out at someone who lacks the life experience to understand the faux pas they committed.

'Fix this' warred with 'Haven't you done enough damage?' for a moment, before I turned to Jim and made the request.

"So, the money, Jim?"

"Hmm? Oh, er, right."

Two piles of notes were produced from behind the counter and he tidied them into a neat stack as he handed them over. I split it in half as and put each in a separate pocket. This prompted a worried look from Jim.

"Alex..."

I waved him off with a good-humoured chuckle.

"It's my money, fair and square. I'll waste it how I please."

He glanced nervously over my shoulder.

"Look, I'm just looking out f–"

"Don't worry, I'll be discreet. Wouldn't want trouble."

For a moment, it really looked like Jim wanted to say something further, but couldn't find the words. In the end, he decided it wasn't worth the effort and shooed me off, grumbling under his breath the moment he thought I wouldn't hear him.

It was at that point that I realised the actual reason Jim was worried. The girl (Samantha, I suppose?) was currently waylaid by one of the regulars. The thug in question was known to his friends as Greg. Full name, Gregory Phillip McMahon Esquire. Your typical aging roughneck: tall, bald and quickly going to seed. A biker jacket that might have fit half a decade ago over a black t-shirt and a ratty pair of jeans. An unsavoury sort, to say the least.

I missed how it'd happened, but he'd managed to get in front of her just before she'd left the building. He was easily able to obstruct anyone attempting to pass him, even if he wasn't quite wide enough to completely block the exit.

"C'mon, girly. Why don'tcha stay here fer a bit longer? This place don't close till eleven."

She tried to push past him, patience obviously waning. I assume she hoped he wasn't particularly serious about blocking her, but he shifted to match her angle and she immediately backed off. With no way of passing via brute force, she decided to ask politely*.

"Get out of the way, you jerk. I need to go heal my pokémon!"

One would assume that the smile Greg gave her was intended to be warm and friendly, but unfortunately, he didn't have the face for it. The dull lighting did him no favours, nor did specifics of who he was talking to. It also didn't help that he was a remarkably predictable man whose motivations were easily discerned by even the merest acquaintances. Regardless of his expression, in my mind's eye, I could see his dollar sign-shaped pupils.

"I've got this friend o' mine who's a pokémon doc an' he can come o'er n' fix yer... 'mon right quick. Y'don't wanna hafta go all t' way through the cold, do ya?"

Well, that is a lie by omission if I ever saw one.

Even if I hadn't already been in motion, overhearing that would've drawn my ire and interference. My approach went unnoticed, which suited me fine. I cleared my throat.

"If you are referring to Doctor Lee, I will remind you-"

-Which is to say, reveal the semi-important detail that-

" –that his Doctorate is in Zoology, not Veterinary Science or any kind of Medicine. His presence would likely extend the delay in healing her pokémon, not expedite it. I am quite certain that her initial assumption was correct and it is in her best interest for her to make haste towards the nearest pokémon centre."

He dropped his affable facade for a moment to shoot me an angry glare.

"Nobody asked you, Midnight."

I gave him that usual grin I reserved for those who I had naught but disdain for.

Does this look like the face of mercy to you?

"I am but granting assistance to a fellow trainer whose immediate future is perhaps more precarious than what she is being lead to believe, Mr McMahon."

With the death of any chance he would achieve his goals using reason, Mr McMahon switched to a more familiar tactic; intimidation. He puffed up his chest instinctively and tried to loom over us as best he could. As a great percentage of his volume was filled with adipose tissue, the effect wasn't quite what he intended. Not that it would've mattered with the scum I'd dealt with previously, but as it stood, it was more comical than anything.

"What are ya, some kinda white knight?"

I mimed thinking about it for a moment.

"Well, I would prefer the term 'Chevalier', as is the traditional name for such a person in my place of birth."

He sneered at my anaemic attempt at humour.

"Suuuure. Ain't she a bit young fer you, Midnight?"

I would I say I was surprised he was trying to insinuate that, but I'm really not. The bait was irritating, but ultimately unappetising. I'd heard far worse. I decided to turn the condescension up to eleven.

"Mr McMahon, while I applaud your attempts at defending her virtue, you are but tilting at windmills, for I have no interest in her in the insinuated way. In any case, I think you may have gotten off track. While I am aware you believe you deserve the 'finder's fee' for some reason, you appear ignorant to the fact that it's her pokémon, thus she has the ultimate say. And, unless I am sorely mistaken, she has already turned down your proposition."

Picking up on my opening, Samantha echoed my sentiments.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to Versailles! He's my friend!"

Admittedly, it was entirely possible nothing would have happened to 'Versailles' if she acceded to his request. If the situation was handled by someone with integrity, some pictures would be taken and perhaps a few non-invasive tests, then, assuming they were unable to finagle the trainer's permission, that would be the end of it. However, I had little trust in any of the parties that would likely be involved in that process so I didn't bother actually mentioning this fact.

"Indeed. That is all there is on the matter, Mr McMahon. Perhaps, if you are so short on money that you are resorting to such tactics, you should consider reapplying for your old job at the foundry."

I can only describe the noise Mr McMahon produced as a snarl. I won't repeat the words that followed it, but I assure you, they were not the sort one uses in polite company. To summarise, he expounded upon his previous point, then went on to attack my character in more generic, less relevant ways. Perhaps that final comment was unnecessary, but it ultimately opened a window for me to present my trump card, now that it was apparent to all that this was an argument.

I began with an overly dramatic sigh.

"Well, Mr McMahon, if this is a matter you feel so passionate about, would I be incorrect in assessing that you wouldn't be averse to taking this outside to settle the 'traditional way'?"

That stopped him in his tracks as he remembered just who he was talking to and, more importantly, what pokémon everyone associated with me, yet had not appeared (and thus had not been injured) in that last little scuffle.

"You wouldn't dare, Midnight! You don't have the balls!"

I stepped towards him and he recoiled like he'd been burnt. My smile remained its usual, cordial self despite the temptation to shift it towards a more predatory grin.

"Please, call my bluff. I'm a Milquetoast coward who would get his clock cleaned if he ever had to get his hands dirty. Isn't that what everyone says?"

I've been waiting for an excuse like this.

I allowed the pause to last long enough to be embarrassing; long enough that my comment couldn't be mistaken for a rhetorical question. He wisely remained silent, in fear of 'removing all doubt'.

Perhaps calling a completely bog standard pokémon battle 'the traditional way' might be considered deceptive. If called out on it, I would've answered that anyone who thought any upstanding trainer would attempt to provoke another into accepting a full-contact seven on seven was fooling themselves. Quod erat demonstrandum, he had no-one to blame but himself for that incorrect assumption.

"I suppose you don't feel like pressing the issue that far. If you'd please stand aside, that'd be appreciated."

A reluctant shuffle to the side later saw our passage once again unobstructed. Before she could continue on her way, I addressed Miss Pink-Haired-Girl-Whose-Last-Name-Wasn't-Mentioned.

"If I may, I would like to accompany you to the pokémon centre. There are all sorts of unsavoury people around this part of Driftveil and you are without a large portion of your team... For which I apologise."

A suspicious look crossed her face and I wondered if I had come across as creepy (again), but after a moment, she acquiesced.

"Fine."

We departed into the cold, Driftveil night, unphased by the daggers glared at our backs.

*As anyone who has dealt with contracts and other kinds of unreliable legislature knows, an asterisk is legalese for "I lied!"

As soon as the closed door blocked the line of sight from inside, I retrieved the girl's half of the wager from my pocket.

"Here."

She looked down at the wad of cash I had offered, then back to me, expression quizzical. A moment of awkwardness passed while I tried to articulate myself.

"Ugh. So, going into that whole mess, my initial intention was to take your ego down a peg. Yes, I'm entirely aware of the irony, considering I allowed my own pride to unduly influence my actions. My intentions aside, baiting you like that was unbecoming of an experienced trainer and I'm certain a thousand dollars is a sum you can't afford to suddenly lose."

She eyed me sceptically; an understandable response, considering how tidily the confrontation had ended. I would think something was up as well. After a moment's hesitation, she accepted the money and shoved it into one of her pockets. I almost told her to put it somewhere safer, but stopped myself. As I had often found in the past, people (especially those under the age of eighteen) typically found such reminders to be insulting.

At least, with the knowledge that I'd returned it, the little voice in my head that liked to complain about such things was temporarily placated.

I looked off towards the docks. The nearest pokémon centre was a couple of kilometres in that direction. If you took the route past the wharf, it was about half an hour's walk. Going as the Murkrow flies might have been faster in theory, but the maze of alleys and dead-ends that was southern Driftveil was a risky prospect.

"I assume you're fine going past the Wharf?"

She nodded stiffly. Obviously, she wanted as little to do with me as possible. I resisted sighing. Whilst there were plenty of people out there who shared similar opinions (a depressingly large number) and I was mostly fine with that, knowing I'd made an error always stung.

We hurried through the cold streets, our steps echoing in the gloom. As much as Clay had done over to reverse the urban blight that'd plagued the city for the past few decades, there were still places like this that stood as a reminder that, until seven years ago, Driftveil had been dying a slow, ignoble death. Graffiti and smashed glass as far as the eye could see. This close to the water, the salt air ate at everything. Signs of concrete cancer plagued half the buildings. Lingering here was unwise, even with adequate self-defence. I added the question "Why come here?" to the list of questions I pointedly didn't ask.

The journey was taken in silence and I pretended not to notice the occasional apprehensive glance. Number one on that aforementioned list was still how she came into possession of Mew of all pokémon, but, considering she hadn't offered one, I doubted she would answer truthfully if prompted. Thus, I occupied my thoughts by collating what I knew about her and tried to, if not solve the puzzle, at least find some of the edge pieces.

The simplest (and, according to Occam's Razor, the most likely) answer was 'She got lucky and stumbled across it in a field somewhere'. If that was it, I would be thoroughly disappointed.

Before long, we'd reached the waterfront. Ten more minutes and we'd be at the pokémon centre. The distinct, mildly unpleasant smell of the sea wafted up from the harbour. My travelling partner took a moment to gaze out across the bay at the glow in the distance. Unova's famous 'Nimbasa Lights'. I'd never seen what the fuss was about, especially here where you couldn't even see the city properly. Then again, when compared with Luminiose on New Year's Eve, I suppose any light show is a bit of a letdown.

A slight twinge behind my eyes instinctively sent my hand to the flask on my hip. I hesitated, looking down to the innocuous metal bottle in my hand. It'd been years since the last time I'd actually needed it.

Why now? It's not like-

I looked across at the [girl] Samantha (I really should think of her by name). My thoughts churned for a moment as plausible scenarios ran through my head. Appeasing my paranoia, I took a swig and swallowed as quickly as I could, though doing so left me coughing and spluttering. I'd never gotten used to the distinctly dry taste, but then I guess you weren't meant to. The girl shot me a scornful look, but I paid her no heed.

Let her think it's alcohol.

I took a breath and kept a much closer eye on immediate environs. This was no Undella; Driftveil Wharf was a distinctly unsavoury place. Unlike the streets leading up to it (plenty of hidden corners for potential observers), the Wharf was open and any intruders could be immediately spotted. If someone was planning an ambush (or were looking for an opportunity), this would be the perfect spot to attack. Lo and behold, no more than a minute or two later, my suspicions were vilified (And verified).

From out of the shadows, a man appeared (where was he hiding?). Someone began laughing ominously (actually, it's more of a chuckle) and though an unnatural echo obscured its true origin (Scare tactics) (Fun), I had to assume it was him (Unless someone else is using psychic powers to mess with our heads) (Or maybe he has a ventriloquist assistant). He began to approach us, each step slow and deliberate. I guessed he was confident in the knowledge that neither of us were at full power (which was silly, since I had plenty of 'power' left in the tank).

I had hoped to glean more once he'd approached, but even once revealed by the dim street lights above, useful details were still sparse. Dressed in a black coat (long and formal, but I have no clue what kind) (He probably thinks it looks cool) [Okay, perhaps a little], his features were entirely obscured. He was big and, assumedly, muscular (not the right body type for that to be fat) and that was my eyes could tell me.

I still couldn't be certain he was the one laughing. His face was entirely obscured by a metal mask (is it even a mask?) (did he tape a block of steel to his face, paint it purple and call it a day?). I immediately pencilled him in as either supported by a psychic pokémon (more likely), or in possession of psychic powers of his own (more appropriate), for there was no way a normal person could see through a solid, featureless metal sheet. I could immediately tell he was trying some mental trick, but I was ready for that (I had danced this Charleston too many times before to be taken out like that).

Then, he started clapping. It was a slow, vaguely sarcastic clap and the contempt I could sense behind it only put me further on edge.

"Well done, trainer. Very well done."

I do have a name, you know.

Though surprisingly soft spoken for such a large gentleman, his voice was as deep as you'd expect. I edged forward slightly. Obviously, as was always the case, he wasn't after me, so it was best if I was out in front. I couldn't immediately tell what his deal was (Psychic powers) (Sneaky) (Ghost or dark type assistance?) (Built like a brick outhouse), so I stayed my hand. Vaguely threatening though he was, he hadn't technically done anything that constituted a 'threat' ('had a funny feeling' doesn't hold up in court). Perhaps it would have been smarter to send Scrape out immediately, but regardless, I simply stood my ground and let him talk.

"I had almost thought no pokémon could defeat that guardian. You have done me a great favour."

I spent a moment unpacking that statement [Is she the guardian?] (No, the Mew) (Not his first attack) ('No pokémon') (Tried multiple times?) (Tried different tactics?). Unfortunately, while my mind was occupied with that, I failed to do anything useful. Rather than prepare a pokémon to send out, I began to run my mouth.

"Well thanks, I suppose. I couldn't possibly guess why you'd want her pokémon defeated and really, I wouldn't advise attempting anything that would require such a prerequisite. Really, if you're going to act in such a way, you'll quickly find yourself in trouble with the law. Now, if you'd be so ki-"

"Now, however, your job is done, stand aside."

I idly noticed he made an odd motion with his right hand, but I really didn't care. He stopped in front of me and waited expectantly. If he thought I'd get taken in by some freak trick (probably Hypnosis) (maybe Confuse Ray) (probably Hypnosis), he was in for a rude surprise. I folded my arms and remained stationary. A second or so passed and I gave him a smug (overconfident) grin.

"Sorry, but I'd really rather not. As I was saying, if you'd be so-"

I was ready to catch his arm when he tried to push me aside (it was more like a swipe, really). Unfortunately, what I should've been ready for was whatever psychic powers (external assistance or otherwise) slammed into me before his arm made contact. It really shouldn't have been so much of a surprise. I already knew he had some kind of psychic powers or assistance, so telekinesis shouldn't have been out of the question (Come on; how come they always have other tricks?) (I guess if they didn't they'd be rather stupid). I'd been watching him so closely that, if a pokémon had me in their sights, I really wouldn't have noticed until too late.

I was thrown clean off my feet.

I guess I really was asking for tha-

CRASH

The guy (she knew his name started with an 'A'; she might not have been paying much attention earlier) slammed into a bunch of garbage cans. She wanted to see if he was okay. She really did. At first, she was soooooo convinced he was just another jerk trainer like the rest in the bar and then that he was all weird and patronising and she thought he might be a bad guy, but then he actually stood up to the hunter and he tried to help, and then that happened.

She snapped back to the hunter. He was smiling under that mask. She couldn't see it, but she knew. He was savouring having her at his mercy, with all her pokémon knocked out.

No...I still have Ember. Solomon can't fight, but Ember...

She grabbed the ball off her waist-

-No, she can do this!-

-then released it at her feet.

"Go, Ember!"

Her first pokémon jumped out, standing firm between Sammy and her attacker. It hadn't been so long ago that she'd evolved into a Combusken and she was still getting used to her new, uh, everything, but she was still really strong!

For a moment, she saw Ember waver, but Sammy believed in her pokémon.

I believe in you, Ember.

She totally did! And she definitely wasn't remembering what happened last time, no siree!

Noticing just who exactly she was up against, Ember's stance faltered slightly, but she put up a brave face.

"...Don't come any closer!"

He looked down at Ember and paused.

"How cute."

She swallowed, before rallying. He was trying to scare her! She wouldn't fall for it!

"Ember, use Overheat!"

Ember hesitated. Sammy hoped she hadn't forgotten that, despite looking, sounding and acting like a human, the thing in front of them definitely wasn't. Probably. She took a single deep breath, before exhaling a whirling beam of flame at her opponent, large enough to engulf him completely. Seconds passed as the road blackened beneath the attack. Surely, he couldn't have withstood such power!

But no, as it all dwindled down to nothing, the hunter was none the worse for wear. Not even his clothes. That was totally cheating. She knew he was grinning smugly behind that mask. She could feel it in her bones. Ember braced herself, hands on her legs. As Flannery had told her, Overheat put all a pokémon's effort and energy into one attack. It was all or nothing. Without that single hit knock out, Sammy knew that her last line of defence was on the ropes.

"You really are defenceless without the rat."

She let a hint of anger melt the edge off the cold fear in the pit of her stomach. There was no way she was going to let him get away with insulting Ember and Versailles like that!

Before she could issue another order (she would totally have thought of something, given the chance), the hunter's hand began to glow.

"Sleep."

He did a weird motion with it and all the fight went out of Ember. She dropped to her knees, struggling to stay awake. A moment passed and then she was out, soundly asleep. Knowing there was nothing else her starter could do in that state, she returned Ember to her pokéball.

As bad as things looked, Sammy stood defiant, as he slowly closed in. She didn't know how, but some way, she'd beat him!

Yeah!

Her throat definitely wasn't dry and she definitely wasn't on the verge of tears.

Definitely!

As he closed in, hand still glowing, she grit her teeth and racked her brains and-

Somewhere behind her, there was a heavy thud, followed by a loud, rallying roar.

"Scrape! Charge and pin!"

"CAVALRY, FORWARD!"

Like an oncoming train, a massive dragon pokémon charged into view. It was bigger than any pokémon she'd seen before.

Okay, maybe Brawly's sumo guy. And the herd of Tropius near the institute. But aside from those, the bigger than any other pokémon she'd seen. She'd never seen a Haxorus before, but his cry revealed his identity. The hunter tried to brace against the charge, but the Haxorus slammed into him and knocked him over with as much effort as if he were a paper cut-out (WHAT?!). Before he could put up a struggle, the dragon-type slammed his foot down and held him firm. Though he strained at the ground, the Hunter couldn't budge the foot. Seeing his captive completely helpless, the Haxorus bent down, face to face with the masked man.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Scrape."

He pressed his foot down even harder.

"And that's all the courtesy you're getting."

From the direction the Haxorus had charged from, came a familiarly stuffy voice (with just a hint of a Kalosian accent). She snapped her head round for a moment to find the guy (what's his name!) picking himself out of the stuff he'd slammed into. He was slouched over even more than he had been (and probably a little bruised) but otherwise fine. At his side was a large, pink pokémon with a seashell crown.

"Nicely done, Scrape."

The hunter once again did the funny thing with his hand, even though he could barely move his arm, but before he could finish, a sparkly green field covered the area and the glow around them winked out.

"As usual, Consigliore, thank you very much for the Safeguard."

"Of course, Alexander."

Oh right, that's his name!

The pokémon was actually talking! In English, even! Without an order, he let out a wave of pink energy and the trainer stood up just a little straighter. He rolled his shoulders, straightened out his jacket and gave a scholarly little chuckle.

"You're a life saver, Consigliore."

"That is my job, Alexander."

Maybe she imagined it, but she thought she saw a hint of a catlike grin upon the otherwise taciturn pokémon's lips. She blinked and it was gone.

Now that the tables had turned and they weren't in danger, they could finally get to the pokémon centre (and she could pretend this night hadn't happened!). Alex, on the other hand, had other ideas. He strode over to the fallen hunter and peered down at the man still trapped under two hundred pounds of pokémon.

"Now that I have your attention, if you'd be willing to answer some questions before I call the poli-"

Before he could finish, the Hunter vanished, leaving only his metal mask behind.

Alex sighed.

"Well, that's just typical."

I nearly gagged as I forced down another sip of the tea. The two packets of sugar I'd unceremoniously dumped in it had done little to dull its bitter taste. It allegedly contained Persim juice, but I had my doubts about that. Across the table, Samantha was faring little better, but we continued to struggle through it. Disgusting though it may have been, it was a well known treatment for those afflicted by status ailments and every pokémon centre carried its ingredients. I let Samantha think we were drinking it to remove any side effects from the masked man's hypnosis attacks.

It never hurt to be cautious, in any case.

Every now and then I noticed her glance towards the healing station. She would frown uncertainly, before pointedly switching her attention back to the tea. An agonisingly long forty minutes passed like that (though we thankfully ran out of tea after half an hour), before I was allowed to collect my pokémon. Again, I found myself with a thousand and one questions that I couldn't bring myself to ask. Whatever fire had been driving her previously had guttered and died in the silence of the pokémon centre foyer. When the call came, Samantha also made her way to the front desk, anxious to know how much longer.

The nurse shot her a dirty look as her only reward.

"They'll be done when they're done."

We returned to our seats. On one hand, the removal of those specialised screens that displayed the progress of the healing they used to use was inconvenient. On the other hand, there was definitely something to be said for the added privacy, Hippocratic Oath or not. Especially in the unlikely scenario that a trainer was concealing a pokémon that may or may not be straight out of a fairytale.

But what are the chances of that?

Multiple times over the wait, I entertained the idea of letting the authorities handle this. I had no doubts that they would do an...adequate job of both protecting the girl and ensuring that, whoever was chasing her, would have no opportunity to hurt anyone else. He might have been slippery for a single trainer without any kind of specialised equipment, but the police were another matter altogether. Unfortunately, my curiosity held me to my decision. If she hadn't done so already, there had to be a reason for it.

Unfortunately, such mental questions were all the entertainment available. The centre was almost exclusively used by dock workers, most of whom had long clocked off (or had yet to clock on, for the late shift). I also briefly considered looking through the magazine rack in the corner, but I already knew from past experience, I would find nothing interesting there. Like the entire pokemon centre, it was woefully out of date.

It wasn't long after the clock chimed eight, nearly an hour later, that the distinctive beeping from healing station finally wound down and Samantha was called to retrieve her pokémon. She returned to her seat immediately afterwards and an awkward moment passed as she was unable to meet my gaze.

Well, don't all talk at once.

I stood up.

"Walk with me."

She hastily followed me outside.

"W-Where are we going?"

"There is a small diner near here. It has a very popular signature dish by the name of 'Privacy'."

I looked over my shoulder. She had trouble keeping pace with my stride. If I were less tired, I might have slowed down.

"And then, I think a little discussion of recent events is in order."

Arthur's was less than a five minute walk. For all appearances, it was a brightly lit, family friendly little place; the picture of a typical Unovan diner. For the most part, it was exactly what it looked like, as far as I knew.

Ms Alice Gate was at the register, as usual. I replaced my stern countenance with a polite smile for the 'public'.

"Ah, good evening, Ms Gate. Is the quiet table available?"

A curt nod.

I dropped a couple notes on the table, which quietly vanished into the till.

"Thank you very much. We'll order when we're ready."

The aforementioned 'quiet table' was situated in a claustrophobic little back room. Its original purpose was unknown, but most probably sinister. With the door closed, the sounds of the evening customers were completely silenced.

I folded my arms.

"You've got some time to sort yourselves out with your pokemon. After that, some answers would be appreciated, if that's all well and good with you."

She hesitated, before nodding and releasing her pokémon. It appeared in that same prone position, but jolted awake. It took to the air for a moment, before turning to face Samantha. They stared at each other for a moment, most probably communicating telepathically. Then Samantha gave it a hug and it was all very touching.

Allow me to break out the box of tissues.

The Mew suddenly swivelled round to face me, eyes wide in panic (?).

VS: YOU!

It pulled back, interposing itself between its trainer and I.

I blinked, rather nonplussed.

"Indeed."

Usually, I would've been amused by the display of loyalty, however misguided. Right now, however, such an act was just another delay.

VS: Stay where you are.

The mental voice was something of an enigma. It was vaguely male, but not enough so that I could say for certain. It didn't seem particularly old, nor especially youthful. Ultimately, what few assumptions one could make from it were unreliable at best. It was entirely possible the voice had no relation to the age or gender of the speaker (?) and it was even plausible that it was deliberately misleading.

It turned its head back to look at its trainer. Without a prominent mouth, it was difficult to accurately divine its emotions, but its eyes spoke of a barely hidden concern. Watching a psychic type's eyes spoke volumes of what they were thinking, though doing so was a risky prospect. Though I could tell they were conversing silently, I chose to let them continue for now. Still, my patience was beginning to wear quite thin. I crossed my arms and resisted making a snide remark.

Finally, the pokémon returned its attention to me.

VS: It seems Sammy thinks you deserve answers.

Its expression turned pensive for a moment.

VS: Well, we haven't much time. We must escape this prison before-

"Wait, what prison?" "Uh, we're in prison?"

I found it difficult to see how this might be considered a 'prison'. While it might have had a low ceiling, no windows and and unvarnished wood as the floor, I didn't see anything screaming 'prison'. Apparently baffled by our inability to see the 'obvious', it immediately continued.

VS: This psychic-proof cage that-

I felt compelled to field this one.

"We're in the backroom of a diner I occasionally frequent. The building just happens to be insulated against telepathy. I thought it prudent to elude prying minds."

Despite the street façade, classic Unovan diner furnishing (complete with tacky checkered floor tiles) and squeaky-clean current management, the building's sinister past remained unchanged. Arthur's was originally a safe house for Driftveil's most influential organised crime syndicate. For an eavesdropping psychic, the building was more difficult to penetrate than a Pawniard's... Let's say skull.

How I learned this little bit of trivia was a story in and of itself.

VS: Hmm... Well, if that's the case, we have no time to lose. I don't know why he hasn't struck already, but the hun-

"Uh, Versailles, the hunter already tried something."

Samantha's face had spent the last thirty seconds struggling to figure out whether it wanted to be 'curious' or 'embarrassed'. As her pokémon suddenly froze in mid air, stunned by this revelation, she settled on the latter. Seconds passed and both were replaced with mild frustration.

I pointedly cleared my throat.

"I don't suppose either of you intend to share with class?"

The Mew looked back at me briefly, then turned his attention back to his trainer. I took note of the way Samantha's eyes lingered on that specific action.

If you won't be up front, I suppose I shall have to make inferences.

"It's nothing."

I mentally replayed her actions during the battle. Not the most sound information to draw conclusions from, but I began to piece together a picture in my head. I inched around so that I might observe the Mew's face. A variety of expressions played across the faces of both pokémon and person, though it seemed that Samantha was tending towards the more frustrated side of the emotional spectrum.

"Versailles! I'm serious! We already fought him off."

I was accosted by the urge to correct that 'we', but held my tongue (as seemed to be the continuing trend). Instead, I decided to reveal the souvenir I'd been keeping inside my jacket. With its distinct shade of purple and the various markings and runes revealed under proper lighting, it was obvious that the 'mask' was actually an unaltered Psychic Plate. How he managed to wear it without obvious modifications eluded me.

"If I may, you might find this pertinent to the discussion."

The piece was snatched from my hands and levitated over to the Mew, who spent maybe thirty seconds scrutinising it. With the pokémon seemingly satisfied, it was placed carefully onto the table. With this information, it seemed I had suddenly become worth acknowledging and the Mew gave me an appraising look.

VS: I must admit, I was...sceptical that Samantha would be able to handle herself against an enemy as difficult as the Hunter, but it seems that, working together, you were able to overcome him. Your assistance was invaluable.

The truth is a strange and shifting beast that appears drastically different to each observer. Despite this, I was quite certain that the aforementioned statement was a lie wearing the skin of the truth as some vile disguise, and that the speaker's knowledge of the facts was either heavily warped or completely absent. While the inappropriately distributed credit was a minor hit to my pride, I decided to first address the other falsehood.

"Mmmm...I wouldn't have called him a 'difficult' enemy. If I hadn't been as careless as I had been, or if I'd been certain, rather than suspicious, of his intentions, he would've been 'summarily' defeated, as opposed to 'casually' defeated."

Curiously, the strangled sound came from the trainer, not the pokémon, who fixed me with a bewildered stare. Then, the two were back to staring at each other. The Mew attempted to maintain a calm mien, though way it seemed to shift and the darting of its eyes betrayed a building panic. Samantha quickly moved past 'frustrated' into 'angry' and possibly all the way into 'furious', though the degree of her ire was difficult to discern. Unfortunately, no matter how she screwed her face up, nor how deep the frown was, her features were far too soft for 'furious' to look appropriate.

Then, one party decided to switch mediums.

"I CAN TOTALLY TAKE CARE OF-"

A pause. I assumed the Mew was speaking.

"AND WHERE WERE YOU?! YOU SAID YOU WOULD- I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU. "

Another pause.

"NO, Y'KNOW WHAT? SHUT UP. I'M DONE WITH THIS."

She reached for her belt. The pokémon's expression turned desperate.

"I DON'T CARE ANYMORE."

In one swift movement, she returned the Mew to its pokeball. A few moments passed while she just stared at it. Then she pulled a chair out from under the table, sat herself down on it, and dropped her head onto the desk.

Again, I felt the impetus to ask questions, but found myself unwilling to interrupt her moping. Even with what little I'd overheard, it felt like I'd intruded upon something quite private. Fortunately, it seemed that my intentions were already quite obvious.

"Well? Ask your stupid questions."

Startled by her suddenly despondent voice, it took a moment for the most pressing question to come to mind.

"Will the masked gentleman be returning for a second round in the immediate future?"

She took a moment to answer

"Dunno. Don't think so."

"Will he be going after anyone else in the mean time?"

"Don't think so. He's after me and Versailles. That's it, I think."

'Me and Versailles', yet he spoke of the 'Guardian' more as an obstacle than a goal. Interesting.

I took a seat near her. She gave no indication that she'd noticed. I had the sneaking suspicion this would take longer than I'd anticipated.

"How are you holding up?"

She picked her head off the table to look at me. I tried to ignore the way her eyes watered slightly.

Please no. Can we have something else? Something I have experience in dealing with, as opposed to the crying teenage girl?

"What kind of question is that?"

I sighed.

"Look, I mean... Let it be put on the record that you do not owe me any answers. I would most certainly like to hear them, but mostly in effort to satisfy my curiosity and most definitely not if doing so would put someone, who I have already wronged to some degree, in a greater distress. With the two mandatory questions answered to the best of your ability, assuming there are no other pressing matters, it would be preferable to deal with... Whatever you are going through. So, I'll ask again. How are you holding up?"

She dropped her head back onto the table.

"How do you think?"

I leaned back slightly in my chair.

"I...Honestly can't say. My ability to evaluate your current mental state is limited by the fact we can barely be considered acquaintances."

We sat there for a minute or two, before she broke the silence.

"Why am I so useless?"

I froze, uncertain where that had come from.

"Apologies, but you were attacked while three of what I assume is your five pokémon were unable to battle. While I am unable to speak for your past history, it is unreasonable to blame yourself for what was, in essence, a stroke of misfortune."

"Yeah. Without the two pokémon who always b-bail me out, I'm useless."

I really, really don't like where this is going.

"Having certain pokémon more powerful than your others isn't unus-"

"BUT I DIDN'T TRAIN THEM."

For a moment, I thought she expected an answer, but she continued unprompted.

"Versailles and Eclipse... They were already strong when-when they joined up with me... I-I can't even say 'caught', since I didn't have to fight them."

I remained silent as she stopped trying to hold back the waterworks.

Best just to let her vent...I guess?

"Every time. Every time I'm in t-trouble, one of them saves me. I just... I'm just an anchor they're pulling around. I screwed up getting sent here to this place, I screwed up earning money for a ticket home, I screwed up helping out Solomon's trainer, all I can do is screw up. Every time I meet up with Jack, I just watch as I get beaten over and over despite how hard Eclipse tries and it's taken me an entire six months just to get four badges and then there's how much I screwed up with-"

-Wait-

"Woah, woah, hang on. How many badges did you say?"

She sniffed.

"Only f-four."

"Okay, my apologies, but there's nothing 'only' about four badges in six months as a trainer. Personally, it took over two years from the day I obtained my license for me to see my first badge, and another year to earn my next three-"

"Seriously?"

I gave her a pointed look.

Nah, I'm lying to make myself look worse.

"Yes. I was not the most naturally talented trainer. But in any case, that is not even especially slow. I've heard of trainers who spend a decade training without seeing one, and there are many who quit well before that. Four badges in six months without help, regardless of region, is-is an absurd rate. And if the gym leaders you were up against decided to actively award you those badges, they had to have seen something in you. If they thought you were cheating, or that your pokémon were inordinately well trained for how you were acting, they're well within their rights to withhold your badge."

She looked up at me, tears still dripping down her face.

"Do you-do really think I'm actually good?"

Weeeeeell...No, but you're actively 'terrible', if that helps?

I most definitely kept that particular evil inside Pandora's box.

"You're not a bad trainer, okay? Look, I know it might seem odd to think, but six months is nothing as a trainer. I know you probably think it's an eternity, but trust me. The reason why you feel like things are changing slowly is because you've only just started. And I know the loss earlier was probably hard, but here's the thing. I've been battling for fourteen years at this point, and I've been learning about training since I could walk. I mean, I get that it's cold comfort, but there's gym leaders out there who wouldn't have fared much better against me."

Maybe a bit of a white lie; does it count if there's only two?

"It's really strange for me to be saying this, since I'm not exactly an old man, especially by trainers' standards, but you're still very young. You've barely started. Sure, you might have received a slight boost from your Mew, but that doesn't mean you're 'useless'. That you attracted the attention of two pokémon as innately powerful as the ones on your belt is a demonstration that you have some kind positive traits to your name."

I really wish I could just send out Don and have him do this. He's the one with the experience.

"Look, Miss Samantha, I know-"

"Please."

She looked up and wiped off her eyes with the back of her arm.

"Please call me Sammy. I hate it when people call me Samantha."

Ugh, abbreviated names. Fine. For the girl who's crying.

"Fine, Sammy. I know you probably think you're trapped; you look at your pokémon and you don't want to order them, because you don't have the experience for super complex strategy, and you don't want to put your pokémon through the tougher kind of training-"

"I-I don't want to be mean to my friends. I don't like it when people treat pokémon badly."

How do they put it? 'Oh darlin''?

"There's a line, most definitely, but if you can't stomach actively training your pokémon and perhaps putting a little strain on them, either you're destined to eventually drop out of training, or you're a hypocrite of the highest calibre-"

She shot me an angry, hurt glare. I made the universal 'stop' motion.

"Let me finish. If you can't handle putting your pokémon in tough situations, you're eventually going to run into a brick wall where any trainer you fight will qualify as a 'tough situation' and you'll either become steeped in doublethink, where you think it's entirely the other trainer's fault that your pokémon's hurt, or you'll be unable to watch and then you're done for. If you just want friends...Then why are you doing this? You don't need to travel to catch pokémon who want to be friends, and you don't need to force your pokémon to fight."

Her expression took a turn for the pensive. We just waited there for a couple minutes, as I allowed her some time with her thoughts. I'd just dumped a small pool of information on her. I had no doubts she wouldn't absorb most of it; it'd taken me years to figure it out myself. Nonetheless, it was a bunch of lessons she'd have to learn at some point.

"I...I want to be a trainer. I want to travel. To battle gym leaders and earn badges. I...I can't explain exactly why, but it's... A dream of mine."

I nodded. My own reasons for becoming a trainer hadn't been particularly noble. With how hard the media liked to push the dream of being a pokémon trainer... I couldn't fault her for it. Statement of intent complete, she went silent again.

Eventually, she spoke up once more.

"How do you do it?"

I blinked.

"Do what?"

"Have so many powerful pokémon."

I chuckled.

"I trained. Long and hard. Don, my Honchkrow, has been with me for the entire fourteen years. It took me a long time to figure out what I was good at; I'm no good at catching pokémon, and I'm not so good at making them listen to me, but I know how to train them, and I know how they're meant to fight."

She again wiped away the last few tears and stood back up, bracing herself against the table.

"Could you...Could you help me a bit? I want to be a strong trainer. Not just a trainer who happens to have strong pokémon."

I probably shouldn't have been so caught off guard, all things considered, but I was. I looked at her for a moment, slightly perplexed, then I absorbed her question. I mulled over it for a moment. And then another moment. I folded my arms and unfolded them, before shoving my hands in my pockets to keep myself from fidgeting. In the end, I think the thing that persuaded me was how she said it.

A 'strong trainer'.

If you every find out what that means, let me know.

"I'm not going to be a miracle cure, you realise. It's something that will take a lot of work, especially if you don't want to rely on that Mew of yours."

She nodded, her expression set with what one might tentatively call 'grim determination'.

I took a deep, centring breath that eventually morphed into a sigh.

"Pokémon centre, nine o'clock tomorrow."

She nodded, a small, uncertain smile gracing her lips, and wandered off (she may have waved goodbye, and I may have absently waved back), leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Well, I definitely gave more answers than I received there... I guess I never really specified who I would've appreciated the answers from. Hah.

Now, there's only one last question that can be answered.

...

I poked my head back out into the main diner.

"It isn't too late for coffee and cake, is it?"