Work Text:
Snubbull’s world is an ivy-embraced, two-and-a-half-story brick house on a quiet, cobblestone street in a tranquil river town he doesn’t need to know the name of. The world spins in a daily routine: before breakfast he collects the day’s mail, exchanging a sharp nod with the postman. Before lunch, he watches the porch and counts the passersby through the red and blue picket fence. Before dinner, he lazes on Miss Boulegran’s lap on the battered armchair in front of the fireplace, to get scratched behind the ears and on his favorite spot below his chin.
On Sundays, the world expands. Miss Boulegran loves company, coffee, and conversation. Every week she invites her like-minded human circle into the sun-drenched solarium overlooking the garden, for biscuits and hot beverages, town talk, and tittle-tattle.
She coos as she pulls bows tight with bony fingers, one on each of Snubbull’s ears. She’s laying it on thick today, having picked the frilly pink ones. She nods to herself and rewards him with a gentle pat on his head. Miss Boulegran is as perfect as a human can be. She’s generous with treats, lets him sleep in the bed, and sings for him. So, he endures.
He stands politely at her side as she greets her guests in the same order as every Sunday, her beaming smile lighting up the entire house. Snubbull follows her example, directed at the Pokémon trickling into the hallway behind their owners.
He smiles at Bellossom and the answer is a huff.
He smiles at Igglybuff and receives narrowed eyes in return.
He smiles at Teddiursa and is met with a flinch.
He catches his reflection in the spotless, glossy vase in the corner, and smiles at himself.
The image doesn’t smile back. It is, unfortunately, the fate of his existence. No matter how much he strains his facial muscles, the result is the same: indifferent at best, intimidating at worst. Not even frilly pink lace can soften it.
The doorbell rings an unexpected fourth time.
The new guest is a lady just like the ones before her, but her dress is yellow, not blue, red or green, matching the Pokémon in her arms. Mimikyu, Snubbull learns, fits right in, too: small statue, long ears, wobbly head, adorable blush on round cheeks, the biggest smile.
He smiles at Mimikyu, and it’s returned.
The surprise doesn’t show on Snubbull’s face.
Miss Boulegran ushers them into the solarium, where the regular ladies have already taken their seats. A fifth chair is added, right at the opposite end of the table where Snubbull is lifted into his favorite human’s lap. The task begins.
It’s not simply sitting there, in the comfy laps of their owners.
The discussion gets heated, and Bellossom performs a calming dance. The topic drifts into territory that makes everyone look like a lemon, and Igglybuff tries a silly stunt. The conversation lulls to awkward silence, Teddiursa yawns with a cocked head, there’s laughter, and talk is picked up elsewhere.
Their aid is met with praise. It’s as abundant as sugar shoveled into fine China, at the Sunday afternoon table. Except for one.
Snubbull tried. But all he can do is bark, which is never met with praise. Now, he patiently waits out. Mimikyu does the same, smiling through it all. It must be the nerves.
The nerves must also be why the mishap occurs when the Pokémon treats are placed on the table. Mimikyu leans in to feast, mimicking the others, but it’s a clumsy endeavor. The head smacks on the table, one ear catches in the handle of the coffee pot, Mimikyu jerks back, the pot topples over, and coffee spills.
The table is a myriad of expressions. Bellossom huffs an offended sound. Igglybuff watches with narrowed eyes as the tablecloth changes color. Teddiursa flinches, peeking through clawed paws.
Mimikyu smiles. And smiles. And keeps smiling.
Not sheepishly, not flustered, not ashamed. It’s been the same since the hallway. And while it fit before, it doesn’t anymore. Now, it’s unsettling.
Miss Boulegran cleans up the mess, assures this is an outmoded tablecloth she wanted to replace anyway, even when everyone knows it’s the Sunday best. Mimikyu’s head whips left and right, all the while stuck in a smile.
The Pokémon shift uncomfortably, warily. Huff, narrowed eyes, flinch. They don’t mean any harm, but it’s familiar treatment. It stings just as much when it’s directed at someone else.
Snubbull raises a paw, offers a small, reassuring wave.
Mimikyu stills.
Snubbull waves again, wider.
Mimikyu’s tail wiggles.
Snubbull tilts his head, and Mimikyu wobbles. Snubbull blinks, and Mimikyu bounces. Snubbull wrinkles his nose, and Mimikyu… laughs. Tiny body shaking in ripples, still the same smile, but it’s a happy one. It’s warm.
“My, isn’t this lovely? Snubbull is cheering her up,” Miss Boulegran says. It’s followed by a cascade of praise, directed at both him, and Mimikyu.
Conversation continues, the Pokémon making sure it goes smoothly. Snubbull finds his own way in exchanging gestures with Mimikyu, which elicits a human laugh from time to time.
The afternoon goes by in a blur, the guests leave too soon. Mimikyu rasps a “Kkkch!” in parting, Snubbull answers with a “Snubbull!” and the door falls shut.
“You made a new friend, didn’t you, sweetie?” Miss Boulegran winks. “She’ll visit again next Sunday.”
Snubbull grunts. He catches his reflection in the vase.
He can’t smile. Mimikyu can only smile.
The world expands a little more.