Chapter Text
You blinked as the dim light fixture suspended from the ceiling of the rundown motel came into focus. You groaned, rolling onto your side, mouth dry. Neon lights flickered from behind the thin curtain. The darkness made it hard to keep track of how much time passed in Spikemuth.
You sat up and swung your legs over the side of the bed, wincing as your ankle throbbed. The injury jogged your memory. This all started two weeks ago. You'd been stuck in Spikemuth for two goddamn weeks.
'It's our responsibility to understand one another's cultures. You should try the gym challenge,' your father encouraged. 'It's quite different than what trainers experience in Unova.' He was a diplomat to the Unova region, where you spent most of your childhood. His job was relatively high profile, and as his child, you had a responsibility to keep up appearances. You had to admit, the diplomat life did seem pretty cushy, so you weren't totally against following your father's footsteps at the time. Maybe it would be fun to appear in an interview or two during the gym challenge. Say some niceties about bringing the two regions together. After that, you could go back to university or maybe work as an associate under your father. You had always been good at battling, and it wasn't like you actually wanted to be the champion. So, you didn't have any issues with taking your dad's suggestion. Now, it was a different story. You thoroughly resented him for getting you into this situation.
Things had gone smoothly for a while. You sailed through the first three gyms, receiving a warm send off from the leaders. The next three were more challenging, but you managed to keep up the breakneck pace.
You remembered rushing through Circhester Bay, cursing the cold. It'd been a while since you saw any other challengers. You guessed they were straggling behind. Entering Spikemuth hadn't been a problem, and you made it past Team Yell handily. You heard one whisper about how you were the first challenger to show up. Your ego swelled a bit with that one. However, after that things started to go south.
You walked briskly through the streets of Spikemuth after defeating what felt like the dozenth grunt. The alleyway opened up onto a stage, with Spikemuth's leader standing at the mic. It looked like a concert was in progress. The feedback from the speakers grated on your ears and you wondered when you could return to the comforts of literally any other city.
You pushed your way through the obnoxious concert goers to the front of the crowd. Looking down at the pit below was Piers. You knew he was the dark type gym leader, but other than that, you hadn’t bothered to do much research. After all, you were just here for appearance’s sake.
'I love you. I’m sendin’ cheers to you.'
What was he going on about? Honestly, you could barely understand the lyrics through the noise. You surveyed your opponent, impatient for the concert to end. He didn't look so strong. Surely the likes of Melony would grind the skinny man into the snow. Yet, here he was with dozens of adoring fans. Maybe people here were into the "haven't slept for days" look?
You watched as his foot tapped along with the beat. He didn't have the quite the same presence as the other gym leaders you had defeated. Your eyes wandered over his form fitting jersey and you reflexively sucked in your own stomach. He was even slimmer than the Kalosian models you knew subisted only on coffee and cigarettes.
The music suddenly slowed and the crowd seemed to quiet down. The show was nearing its end, you guessed. All eyes were focused on the gym leader. The hall lights dimmed to a single spotlight. He leaned in, eyes half lidded, fingers gently grasping stem of the microphone, lips grazing the rough surface, mouth forming around the lyrics to his final song. His eyes met yours, and you froze in place. Time was forgotten as your face flushed, your eyes went wide, and your heart raced.
He smirked, breaking eye contact, and your expression quickly changed to a scowl. You swore to Arceus you would pummel this smug jerk into the dirt.
The song came to an end and the crowd erupted into cheers. You tried to keep your things together as you were bumped around.
'I don't give encores, but you're not here for that, are you?'
Piers descended down into the crowd. They yelped and hollered as he came closer.
'We don't have much of a gym, and we don't Dynamax our Pokemon.'
Suddenly, the concert goers cleared off the floor, and you saw for the first time you had been standing on the stadium floor the whole time.
'But hopefully we can have a good battle.'
You shook your head, clearing the effects of the music. The only thing you could hear now was the sound of his footsteps as he walked to his side of the field. After taking a few steps back yourself, you maximized the PokeBall in your hand. You raised your head and gave your cockiest grin.
'I beat the others without breaking a sweat. I should have no problem doing the same with you.' A bit of an exaggeration, but he probably wouldn't realize.
'Well then…'
Piers grabbed the mic stand, swinging it around in front of him.
'Considering your confidence, you won't mind if I dedicate this next song to your defeat. Spikemuth, it's time to rock!'
--
You ran as fast as your legs would carry you back to the entrance of the city. Had the alley been this long on the way in? You swore under your breath, the colorful lights a blur all around you. Your legs burned. You sped past the Pokemon Center. Like hell you were going to hang around in this shithole. It should be a quick taxi ride back to Hammerlocke. Just as you were about to make it to the crisp air of Route 9, the shutters slammed down in front of you, blocking your exit. You came to a sudden stop, banging your palms against the cold metal.
'Hey, what gives?!'
'Sorry, can't have any other challengers coming in to face Piers. It's a good thing you lost so bad, otherwise our plan would've been ruined!'
Your face went hot with embarrassment.
--
Unable to leave Spikemuth, you challenged Piers again the next day. Surely the first time was just a fluke.
He beat you handily. Again. You didn’t get why. You tried again two days later, with the same result. You were supposed to be good at this. The shutters remained closed. With nowhere to go, your frustration mounted and you threw yourself into challenging Piers. You had been born good at this. Your attempts became more desperate each time, your Pokemon becoming visibly exhausted. You weren’t even supposed to care about battling, so why-?
On the sixth attempt nine days in, the force from a Payback knocked you back. You cried out and crumpled to the floor, grasping your ankle. A sprain. Your fingernails scratched the concrete as you bawled your hand into a fist, eyes hot with tears. You swore you heard the crowd jeering. Why couldn't you win when it had come so easily before? You slammed your fist into the ground and cried out. You ground your teeth, determined to finish the battle. You were sure Piers was looking down on you with that awful smirk. When you tried to stand, you could only stumble, knees hitting the ground and vision blurring.
After that, Piers refused to battle you.
--
It'd been four days since then, and you had since holed yourself up in your shitty motel room. You'd have to do something about money soon, as your pocket cash had been depleted in your multiple defeats.
You sighed as you unwrapped the compress on your ankle. The swelling had gone down significantly, and the bruising was starting to set in. At least you could hobble around your room without bracing yourself against the furniture.
Your stomach growled. You had been mostly aimless for the past few days, only leaving your room for food. You tightened the bandages around your ankle and stood up from the bed, walking over to the bathroom. The least you could do was splash some water on your face before you went outside.
--
It looked the same today as it had every other day the past two weeks. You stepped from under the motel awning and turned right toward the nearest pub.
The bell jangled as you pushed open the door. It was rather empty, with only a few patrons dining in. You weren't even sure what time it was, honestly.
"Oh, evening there!" The hostess came around from behind a partition. "Just you?" she asked, grabbing a menu.
"Uh-"
Before you could finish your thought, the bell jangled again and the hostess's eyes widened.
"Piers! Welcome! Thanks for coming in. Table for one?"
Your shoulders tensed. You didn't even want to turn around. Embarrassed, you stuffed your hands into your pockets, hiding the scrapes caused by your most recent tantrum. You prayed he wouldn't recognize you from behind.
"Yup, just me." You heard him take a few steps forward, and you bowed your head, desperate to avoid his gaze. You turned around in place, and attempted to escape.
Somehow, he still noticed.
"Oh, hey. You're-”
You didn't wait to hear the end of the sentence before the bell jangled a third time and the door to the pub slammed shut.
--
You showed up to the pub again the next day without much thought. It had been a while since you had anything to drink, and after yesterday’s encounter, you desperately needed one.
“Hey,” you slid onto a barstool and motioned to the bartender. “A Petal Dance, please.” He nodded in wordless understanding.
With your left hand holding your head and your right your drink, you began to pass the time.
You were halfway through your second cocktail when someone sat down next to you. You had already traced the knot in the woodgrain of the bar 79 times, so you figured you could tear yourself away and take a peek at your neighbor.
You saw a fluffy black and white mass in your peripheral. You prayed it was a Obstagoon.
“Hey leader! The usual?” the bartender called out.
The Obstagoon nodded.
You weren’t quite drunk enough to convince yourself that Obstagoon was a frequent enough patron of the bar to have a “usual.” It felt like every muscle in your body was contracting in protest of the interaction you were about to have. You started to feel chills.
“Hey.”
You gritted your teeth. That was definitely directly at you. So many thoughts were swirling around in your head, you weren’t sure what to retort back. You filled the silence by downing the remainder of your drink.
“So,” Piers started. “You’re not from around here, huh?”
You stared deeper into the wood grain beneath your hands.
“You’ve got an Unovan accent,” he continued.
Was he... making small talk with you?
“I hear there’s some strong trainers over there.”
Your knuckles started to turn white, grasping the edge of the bar.
“I’d love to go sometime, but I keep pretty busy on this side. Though I’m hoping my little sis can take over for me soon.”
You pushed back from the bar, toppling the bar stool over, but finally raising your head to face the man who had beaten you six times in nine days.
You were immediately surprised by how bright his eyes were. He blinked twice, his mouth slightly open in surprise. Your own lips were pursed shut, and you begged yourself to say something, anything.
After that, you weren’t sure if it was a low-blood-pressure-thing or a being-a-little-drunk-thing that caused you to follow your bar stool onto the floor.
As the room went dark, you had a vision of being scooped into the arms of an Obstagoon and being carried home.