Chapter Text
You are cordially invited to witness the marital union of Reginold Dunstan of Veilstone City and Violet Williams of Cerulean City.
Periwinkle tulle brushed against the bone of her ankles, and Misty lamented that it took so long for her to feel the all-consuming love of her sisters. Today, as they crushed together, unified in their task of bringing Violet’s vivid dreams to life, she was treated to a taste of the dynamic that her elder siblings had relished in while leaving her with scraps.
Perfume clouds and whispered giggles. The odd, warm taste of being so close to someone’s face to apply makeup that their breath brushed your lips. The slow hum and beat of music turned high enough to imbue a room with life but low enough that it could never overtake the quiet, rapid chatter of three bridesmaids wrapped around their sister. Violet was a princess, her stunning blue locks twisted into intricate braids that wrapped around her head like a tiara. Manicured nails and delicate silver rings adorned her fingers like embroidery woven in silk. She stood slowly, carefully smoothing out the crisp white of her dress with long, graceful hands that twined the fabric cautiously.
Misty picked up the bouquet. It was vivid, full of rich, indulgent shades from the deepest indigo to the plumest violet, deep navy and cobalt blue shining at its core. Despite dripping with decadence, the bouquet was also lined with fresh bluebells and soft violets, wildflowers, like the wild that Violet discovered when she left Cerulean City to learn of the beauty in the wilderness of Sinnoh and returned with a fiancee on her arm. Serene and at peace in a way that Misty rarely saw her typically scattered and giddy sister, Violet accepted it from her with a genial smile. It was as though she’d won the most prestigious beauty pageant and this was her reward, pressed into her hands by an almost nervous little sister.
“Thank you,” Violet breathed, and kissed Misty’s cheek with slick, painted lips. “I’m so glad you’re part of this, Misty.”
On either side of her, Daisy and Lily nodded gently, their eyes warm. It had the opposite to the intended effect, and Misty was reminded that she would always be outside of their core. It was a surprise, it was notable, it was something to behold that she was welcomed into this moment.
“Always,” Misty blustered, trying to match the genial nature of her smile. She meant it. She wanted it. She almost wished she didn’t.
They were in Floaroma Town, a place in the depths of the Sinnoh region. Misty had loved this place from the moment they had arrived, feeling as though the dew that laced the petal of every flower welcomed her personally. In the days leading up to the ceremony, when the occasion of matrimony overwhelmed her, she had escaped to the sights of the Valley Windworks to the east and watched wild buizel and shellos play in the riverbeds. It brought her a sweet sense that she was relaxed here, that if this event was to happen anywhere it was best where it was here, where there were places for her to retreat to and process without tarnishing the places she held as her own.
Today was the day their family opened, for the first time. There had been no parent’s approval to win, no confirmation process to undergo. Reggie was to marry into their family, and with him, bring his younger brother. In the course of one day their family was about to swell in size, engorged by the addition of two men who were almost total strangers to her. Would they holiday together? The plan was currently for Reggie to move his breeding business out to Kanto; would that mean that he would stay with them at the gym for extended periods of time during that process? Misty wasn’t sure how things would unfold, and this left her with a swirling pit in her stomach that refused to settle.
Violet had surprised them all, two years ago, declaring to the sisters that it was high time she left on her own journey. She had breezed out the door with barely a backpack to her name, her boots flat for the first time in years and her hair in what could have been mistaken for a practical ponytail. Her jaw was high in the air as she, the second youngest of Cerulean’s four sensational sisters, made her way to Sinnoh with the promise of better understanding the beauty that water Pokemon possessed. Just like Misty had. Her vow had left something coppery burning in the back of Misty’s throat and it had tasted like pride. Violet sent letters, far more romantic in her communication home than Misty had ever been, with photographs that captured the stunning way a Lumineon would flutter through a canal, or the shimmer of light around a playful Mantyke completing a contest appeal. It had been here, in Florama, that she had met Reggie. He had been visiting a local store here to buy specialised berries for the Pokemon in his care, and she had spied him through the lens of a camera and made him a subject to focus upon. When she returned to Cerulean a year later, it had been with a diamond on her finger and eyes alight with a new kind of joy.
The wedding ended without fanfare, but not without tears. Misty sat next to Lily, who had frantically panicked every time her eyes had flooded with salty, fat droplets. She had not been subtle; with each blubbering tear, she had suddenly begun to wave pointed fingers towards her own eyes desperately, as though fanning them might make the water that resided there dry without note. Misty had been unsurprised but oddly guilty at the sight. She wished she could fake her tears of joy to give that to her sister, a gesture of vulnerability and elation at her happiness. Instead, she sat silently and settled for a proud, genuine smile, holding Lily’s hand in her own to show that she was trying, she really, really was trying.
The ceremony passed. The reception began. Four sisters stood in a field of flowers, Violet loftier than them all, with three supporting acts ready to receive orders. Violet pressed the tip of her finger to Daisy’s shoulder and instantly the eldest sister vanished, disappearing to manage logistics outside of a skillset that Misty owned. Lily swayed away next, aiming directly at a hub of Sinnohian natives, ready to navigate amongst them and represent the family outwardly. As Violet turned to Misty, her lip downturned and she sighed.
“I’m like,” she stage whispered, “genuinely sorry. But I need you to do some babysitting.”
“You want me to play with the kids?” Misty blinked. This was far better than she’d hoped for.
Solemn, Violet shook her head slowly, mournfully. “No,” she replied meekly. “My, eh, my new baby brother.”
Misty felt something cold slide down her spine. This day, however, did not belong to her. And so, within minutes, she had been introduced to Paul of Veilstone and whisked to a seat at the side of the room. They sat in awkward, stilted silence. He had a hard, unfriendly slope to his brow, a broad nose, and a hard jaw. There was something sullen and unapproachable in the glare of steely grey eyes and the way grey-lilac hair flopped around his cheeks. His suit matched Reggie’s, a sharp charcoal grey that Violet had chosen early on in the planning process, with a periwinkle pocket square that unified their uniforms. Bridal party and groom's party, symbiotic and one.
“So,” Misty broached, her voice firmer than her resolve, “you’re Reggie’s little brother?”
“Do you often state pointless truisms?” Paul replied flatly. Misty blinked, and then clenched her teeth together, grinding them to keep herself from snapping. Rage was familiar to her, and brutish, short tempered responses were saturated into her blood from years of defending herself against her sister’s jabs. Today, ironically for them, she wanted to be better. “I was under the impression you were going to be the more tolerable of your lot.”
“My lot?” Misty replied cleanly, her cheeks beginning to heat with a familiar burning sensation.
Paul didn’t reply, but raised an eyebrow and looked outwards to the rest of the wedding party. Lily was laughing attractively, surrounded from every angle by fawning admirers, men and women alike vying for her attention. Daisy was further back, snapping at a caterer. Violet was adrift in her husband’s arms, chatting to guests with a permanent beam that softened her face beautifully. Misty paused, considering. She had once thought wrongly of her sisters, too. But only she had that right.
“Don’t worry,” she retorted, aiming to keep her voice calm but unable to stop the bite from leaving her consonants, letting them snap over the edges of her teeth. Paul glanced back at her, and he scooped up a mostly empty wine glass from in front of him and drained it, as though it might fuel him for their inevitable spar. “We’re more than happy for you to spend as little time with us as possible.”
“Delightful.” Paul rallied, intrigued by her spine and thorniness. He leaned forward in his seat, arching towards her and preparing for a fight. “I wouldn’t want to waste my time with vapid beauty queens.”
“You won’t,” Misty sniped back, her chin quivering as she kept her anger in check. It would not do to cause a scene; not here, not with the groom’s brother, not on Violet’s day, and certainly not with someone she was cast to entertain. It went against her core, but she kept her voice low. “I can’t think of a beauty queen in the world that would bother to keep your company.”
“That explains why you sat with me.” Paul’s lip curled into a cruel smirk. “Not quite the same brand as the rest of the Sensational Sisters, are we?” There was music in the air, and people around them began to dance. Guests began to partner off together, reaching for one another and grasping at hands, tugging loved ones and friends together into an intricate weave of footsteps and offbeat rhythms. Paul and Misty had found their own.
“Coming from diet Reggie with an added antisocial disorder,” Misty sliced the air with hardened words, “I will struggle to care for your opinion.”
“Count me relieved.” He pushed back, leaning back in his chair nonchalantly, like a ten-year-old desperate for his teacher to believe he doesn’t care for the lesson he was being taught. The image was so stark in Misty’s mind so quickly that she almost laughed. He morphed from a rude, arrogant man into a petulant child in her mind and she welcomed the sight, as it gave her power in this new dynamic. The music ebbed around them fluidly and it cocooned her like a shield.
Misty looked out at the wedding again, and Violet was giving her some kind of desperate nodding smile. Regret swirled in her awkwardly, and Misty looked back towards Paul with a sense of dread. She wished she could escape to the river banks.
“Sorry,” Misty said quietly. Paul glanced at her, almost disappointed she’d dropped her nerve. “We should be trying to get along. For Reggie and Violet’s sake.”
This seemed to resonate with Paul, even just slightly, and he conceded. Returning the legs of his chair to the ground, he sat up straighter. The music changed, from a rhythmic sharpness to a softer, sweeter melody. There was love to be had in some bonds, even if not the one between the two reluctant companions.
“Fine.” His response was crisp, but it was at least something amicable Misty could work with. She took a moment to collect herself, along with her temper, and began again.
“So where are your parents?” Misty asked lightly, searching for genuine conversation: the kind that one turns into small talk at weddings. Paul blinked but didn’t quite recoil. “Are they here somewhere? I didn’t notice anyone sitting with you during the wedding.”
“We don’t have parents,” Paul replied bluntly. Misty retreated internally, a new kind of regret settling in her lungs and taking up the space that was supposed to be for her breaths. “Just me and Reggie.”
This stark admission swam between them. Meaningfully, Misty placed a hand on the table, towards him, as though reaching out over a moment that could be a connection. She scrunched the table cloth between her fingers and he watched the way that the fabric bunched between her nails.
“Us too,” she told him gently. Paul snorted.
“I don’t actually care,” he told her forcefully, but Misty could tell from the downturn in his eyes that he did. Despite this, Misty bit back a smile. Releasing the cloth in her hand, she returned her fingers to her lap and folded them together neatly, her head lowered as she looked down at them. Her skin here was coarse. There were calluses at her fingertips and in her palms from the wooden broom she used to sweep the gym floors.
“So why did you bother coming then?” She goaded, her voice lighter now. Gently, she peered at him between the strands of hair that had fallen across her face. It was easier now; she understood him more. Paul evaded her gaze. “Come on, Paul. I’ve had ten minutes of your delightful company,” Misty drawled, mockingly, and he slumped down in his seat, “and it’s been fairly obvious from step one you don’t want to be here. So why are you?”
“Same reason you’re sitting here,” Paul replied with a reluctant scowl. “My older sibling asked me to.” He stretched back, lifting his arms behind his back to click his back, suddenly uncomfortable. Misty spied the rough skin across his hands and knew this was a person who worked hard, but only for things he deemed necessary and deserving of it.
Something about his words irked her. Misty felt her cheeks heat up again.
“I don’t do things because my sisters ask me to,” she protested, her anger apparent but her voice low now, quieter, as though nervous to be heard. Paul watched her, an eyebrow tilted in a silent challenge. “I’m not under their thumb.”
He opted to approach things differently. Now, he leaned forward and rested his head upon the backs of his hands, folded together loftily with his elbows grounded into the table between them.
“You’re a gym leader,” he noted pointedly, “in Kanto. Cerulean Gym.”
“Yes.” Misty was startled by his knowledge. Paul shifted his head, as though nodding, but his hands obstructed his chin from lowering.
“Your gym ranks as the highest skilled in Kanto,” he stated, producing factual information that Misty could not hide from. Her cheeks burned for all new reasons, and she smiled despite herself, flushing with pride.
“How do you know that?” She asked quietly, and Paul’s face did not offer her a reaction.
“I know things.” He kept it brief. Misty took on a secretive smile of her own.
“You work in the Battle Frontier, in Sinnoh.” Misty knew things as well. Paul smirked, unsurprised. “You’re a Frontier brain.”
“Correct.” They measured one another. A further understanding was reached. This was enough for now.
And so they sat in silence together, looking out at the wedding and observing the dynamics of those in the room that they now consciously avoided. Paul watched Reggie with narrow eyes and an oddly patient muteness; Misty attributed IT to an uncharacteristic tolerance of the events that unfolded around them. Misty watched Daisy, who worked tirelessly, brushing beads of sweat from her brow that accumulated there and dragging small tables together to create space for every attendee to come together; Misty admired her for how effortless it was for her to remove her ego for a greater purpose of bringing her sister joy. Her eyes drifted, finding Lily, snorting unattractively but laughing earnestly as she offered people connection, life, and that little spark that she carried in her soul that drew people close to her; Misty admired her for how Lily had the ability to carry herself in conversation with anyone from the quietest, mildest child to the most gregarious, pompous adult, to liven any room she entered. With love at her core, Misty turned again and spotted Violet, with eyes as dewy as the flowers of Floaroma and arms full of love for the husband she found when following her feet at long last. Misty remembered her last words as Violet had left to search out her future, how she aspired to find what Misty had found, and the youngest sibling ached with pride.
“Why did you bother to stay sat with me?” Paul asked quietly. The question interrupted her thoughts; they had been sitting together for long past an hour, but Misty had lost track. Quietly, she shrugged.
“My big sister asked me to.” Her words were milky, and she wondered for a moment if this man next to her would consider them weak. Instead, Paul shifted his weight from one side to the other, and he nodded stiffly.
They stayed there for the rest of the night, and the next day, she challenged him to a battle by the riverbanks.