Work Text:
Lebanne regretted her life choices.
What was she thinking, really? Well, she wasn’t thinking, not at all. How could she? She was wandering her streets, making sure that no one was causing any trouble, when this random prissy rich girl just…showed up. She looked like trouble; no one that pretty sophisticated (‘shit, that cunt’s lessons are already infecting my thoughts?!’) ever showed their face around there. And for what, to “elevate the unenlightened masses to the highest echelons of battle”? Bullshit.
Still, her talk of battling appeared to be genuine, if nothing else. She was more than willing to step up and fight, even if Lebanne noted the gleam in her eye. Then, the girl spoke:
“You seem rather confident, my friend. And yet, should I wish it, I could see you jailed; you certainly look the part of a delinquent, if nothing else, and all know better than to defy me. As such, I propose a wager. Should you beat me in this battle, I will not only leave, but I will also donate some pocket change to this neighborhood; 5,000,000 dollars is merely a drop in the bucket for one such as I. If you lose? I shall employ you at my estate for one month, and turn you into a proper, sophisticated lady, as opposed to the guttersnipe you are now.”
And well, how could she refuse? If she won, that was a LOT of money. Enough for herself for sure. Probably enough to even make her streets just that bit more safe, a bit more welcoming, a bit better for everyone. And if she lost? Well, she didn’t think she would lose, but even if she did, a stable job for a rich person for a month didn’t sound awful. Stifling, sure, but well worth the risk.
Then the rich girl sent out a mega clefable, and Lebanne knew it was a trap. Oh she went down swinging; she took down 3 of the girl’s pokemon before losing all of hers, and considering that the rich girl was a fairy specialist versus her dragons, it was no mean feat, and she savored every K.O, every sharpening of her opponent’s gaze as she had to return a pokemon. But at the end of the day, she lost.
“…Damnit. Didn’t know you were a fairy specialist, lady. Well, nothing for it, a bet’s a bet. Where to, boss?”
Silence. A long, awkward, silence. Before the rich girl grasped her chin. It wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t tight. It was commanding. Lebanne barely held back a snarl at the action, even as she felt her face grow hot.
“Yes, I have a lot to work on with you. To start, my name is Jacinthe, but you shall be calling me mistress. And I shall not accept such crassness from my staff.”
That was the first sign she had bitten off more than she could chew. The second sign was the poofy maid dress she was currently staring at on her bed. She was shivering just looking at the damn thing, even after two weeks of being forced to wear this.
And it was forced. Not by Jacinthe, no, no matter the fact that she could absolutely force it if she wished. But by herself. Her shame for being duped into such a trap, with pretty words and vague terms. Her pride, stringing her along to make sure she keeps her end of the deal, no matter that she got tricked in such a way. And her rage. Oh her rage. She would wear this dress. She would wear it for the month. And once it was over, she’d challenge her again to the same stakes. Because this haughty bitch was going down.
It was month two of her time at the SBC, and Lebanne was starting to grow concerned.
She lost the rematch, much to her dismay. And much to her shock and fear, by the time she got back to her room, the dress was already laid out for her. As if Jacinthe knew she would do this, knew she would challenge her again, lose again.
Every day was hell. She had to be on constant standby for her “mistress” (‘Jacinthe, her name is Jacinthe and I will not think of her as anything else.’), and her endless whims. A fancy drink? She was made to fetch it. Impromptu clothes shopping? She was carrying all of the bags. And battling? It infuriated her.
Because she was made to watch. Watch as her (‘not mistress! Never that’) Jacinthe battled trainer after trainer after trainer. And some of those battles were thrilling, and intense, and made her wish she was out there, free to battle whoever she wished instead of being chained here, to Jacinthe’s whims. And those were the better ones. Most of them? Most battles were just boring.
Most of the trainers that Jacinthe invited to the SBC to fight were mediocre at absolute best. Her fellow socialites? Not all that much better, and the constant fairy specialists quickly grew old. And the absolute worst thing? Lebanne could look into Jacinthe’s eyes during and after those fights. And she empathized.
She saw a fellow battler, a true battler, who would claw and scrap through every fight should she need to, for battling was in their blood. It was a sensation that no one else she met understood, only Lebanne, and Jacinthe. And she hated empathizing with her, hated that feeling of solidarity, of camaraderie, with the one who had trapped her here.
And she hated the look she was given back, the one that carried dissatisfaction. The one that had Jacinthe drag her to the private battle room, just so that she could battle someone with some fight. There were never any stakes attached for such bouts; Jacinthe wasn’t heartless after all. If there were, Lebanne would’ve fallen into hopelessness long ago, with how many losses she accrued.
And yet…those battles were the most fun she had in this place. Fighting her tormentor, her jailer, Jacinthe. And the first time she won, for she had to win eventually, if only through the amount of tries, and her team being great while Jacinthe’s was technically not…her smile. Her smile lit up the room. And Lebanne understood. She understood, and she hated it, and she hated that she didn’t hate it as much as she thought she should.
“Good morning, mistress. How may I serve you today?”
Three months. She had lost their bet again. But she was getting closer and closer each time. She almost got through the mega clefable with only 2 pokemon. It’s only a matter of time before she wins. Only a matter of time before she leaves frees herself. Why did that cause her heart to clench?
Certainly, the etiquette sessions were torture. Hours and hours of learning the “proper” way to speak, being lectured every time she slipped back to her old habits, or misspelt something, or said something with the wrong accent, or…uuuuuuuugh. But those were at least temporary. After she went a week without fucking up (‘I will swear in my head as much as I damn please!’), Jacinthe proclaimed that she had “finally taught my dragon proper manners!”. That only took a month and a half…
Which…did she always know? Because there was no way Lebanne would’ve ever learned this in the original month. Her mind continued to race as she led Jacinthe to breakfast, having already set the 27 separate forks, 13 knives, and 4 spoons for her, before introducing the food for her.
So, she wouldn’t miss those, even if they were already done. Then, the menial work? Washing clothes and cleaning wasn’t exactly fun after all. And she missed battling, she missed the feeling of being able to challenge whoever she saw, missed the feel of a good fight. And that was not to say she never battled; she was employed as the bet stated. Honestly, the terms weren’t even too bad. The pay was…a lot. She had to blink the first time she got her paycheck, snap her fingers, pinch her cheek. Everything to make sure she was still awake. But yes, she was really being paid that much.
And while it certainly was more intensive than a 9-5, it wasn’t inhumane. Jacinthe woke up relatively late, and while she stayed up relatively late, she usually preferred that final hour to herself. Although, she did have to be on emergency dial at all times. And her weekends were…odd. She technically had those off. But if Jacinthe had a party that weekend, she was expected to come along and serve her. Not even counting the gossip.
Jacinthe often showed her off to others, as some sort of boast. Talking about how she “tamed” Lebanne, “civilized” her. This, of course, made her furious. She was not some pet to be trained. And so, all of those comments were quickly met by Lebanne glaring at whoever was dumb enough to make them, which usually elected some giggling from Jacinthe, as well as whatever peanut gallery was watching at the time.
So, not that. It could certainly be much worse; no socialite ever made that mistake twice to her knowledge, and aside from that the job was alright, but…nothing worth making her feel funny.
Still, after breakfast, Lebanne was sent off to clean. And it was boring. Boring enough that she accidentally opened the metaphorical box that was her “mistress”; Jacinthe.
Surely it couldn’t be her, right? She’s crazy. She tricked Lebanne into this situation in the first place! (She never initiated a rematch; she was willing to let her go.) She’s pretentious! She’s crazy! She drags people off the street to fight her! She’s overly strict for no good reason! Hell, she traps people in her zones until they fight her! She…
…’she treats me pretty well.’
Yes, Jacinthe was probably not all there in the head. But…She looked at Lebanne, back when she was a punk, and fought her herself. She didn’t have to do that, Lebanne knows; she’s been sent out to fetch enough interesting opponents herself nowadays for that, not even mentioning the amount of times Jacinthe threw money at a problem until it dissapeared. And wasn’t that interesting in itself, how she was given that role? While Jacinthe looked at her with that glint, the one that said she knew more than she was letting on. Lebanne knew that Jacinthe knew of her battlelust, and gave her the role to sate it.
Her pay was generous. She had a good amount of time off. And Jacinthe acted…odd, to her. She never missed a chance to torment her; if there was a whim, Lebanne was called to deal with it. But oftentimes, she was given a “thank you” or a “good job” as the months went on, all in the name of manners, or so she said. Lebanne scoffed as she dusted; as if. Jacinthe is not that straightforward, there must be another reason, something she missed.
Whenever Lebanne screwed up, Jacinthe would lecture her, scold her, maybe humiliate her a bit should the mood strike. But always, ALWAYS with that damn glint. And after that was done, she would get praised-wait. That…that is basically a pet! Those little…Fuck!
“That damn…Gaaah…” and yet, the anger quickly faded. She knew, after all. She knew all of this, and yet she was still here. Why? Her pride? As if! No matter what bet was made, being turned into a rich bitch’s pet should outweigh it. Anything should outweigh having to follow this damn etiquette, and following her damn whims, and wearing this stupid frilly dre-
She got to her own room, given to her last month, “So that my personal maid may be at my side at a moment’s notice.” And laid out on her bed, was another maid outfit.
The top half was the same as her current one; it was the bottom that had changed. Instead of the big poofy dress, it was…bloomers? Attached to the actual outfit? Besides it, on the bed, there was a note, the elaborate cursive making it clear who the message was from:
“My dear Lebanne:
From day one, I had noticed that you abhorred your work outfit; found it humiliating and infuriating in a way I did not find I liked. Still, at first, I merely assumed you would leave after the month; just that bit stronger from fighting the occasional socialite. As you know, you instead decided to bash your head against the insurmountable obstacle that is me.
After that, during your second month, I merely prayed that you would come to appreciate your outfit, as you have come to appreciate some of the other fineries of life. And yet you did not, you hated this just as much as the day you arrived at my establishment, and eventually, I decided that your anguish could not be allowed to continue.
This outfit is the result of that. It took some effort, finding someone who could work the fabric in a way that would satisfy me. It then took some bribery and persuasion for said tailor to actually accept the request, the narrow-minded brute. I trust that this shall be more to your liking.
Change as soon as you can, my Lebanne, before returning to work. You are still my maid after all~
Your mistress, Jacinthe.”
Lebanne did as ordered. Immediately, it felt…more familiar. Still embarrassing, but not stifling. More…her. And then, she realized just why she felt so apprehensive.
‘Ah. It’s because she understands me. And…And I think I understand her in return, just a little.’ Enough to understand that they were kin, from a certain point of view. Enough to know that her original proclamation was true. Enough to realize that her mannerisms, while occasionally unhinged, weren’t out of malice.
And enough to know why her heart clenched when she thought of leaving. Enough to know why she often smiled as she thought of her mistress (‘Jacinthe. Mistress feels…wrong) these days. And…enough to realize that she could never tell her how she feels.
Not quite enough to realize why she didn’t mind the pet thing that much however. That answer came around 1:00 AM that night.
It had been six months. And for once, Jacinthe was left…vexed.
By all accounts, her life was as magnificent as always. She went to her gatherings, socializing with the elite. She battled trainers, to elevate their strength. And she enjoyed the finer things in life as she always had; on her whims, at whatever flight of fancy she pleased.
But now something was amiss. Her maid, to be precise. Her dear Lebanne. During most of her duties, she was as perfect as she taught her to be; immaculate manners, perfect posture, sophisticated language. Truly, the epitome of a maid; as Jacinthe knew she could be.
But when they battled, during those many, many evenings where both were left unsatisfied with the rabble, something felt…odd. More and more battles ended with Lebanne winning, and the ones she did lose were growing closer by the day. And yet, she didn’t seem as happy as she should. Oh she bragged with every win, and swore revenge with every loss, but, when Jacinthe pretended to not look, she saw her maid…melancholic.
And it puzzled her. She should be happy winning, her maid, her kindred, should be itching for her chance to earn her freedom. And she was, but was not at the same time. But what made it worse was that she understood.
How could she not understand? From the start, she knew their time together would be fleeting; there was only so many times a trainer could lose, especially one as strong and devoted as Lebanne. Oh her pride would chain her, make her demand rematches, but ultimately, she would win one of their stakes matches eventually, and go on with her life.
No one understood her. Her vision to lead the masses into a new age of pokemon battles. But Lebanne…she understood. Not everything, but more than most others. They saw that in each other’s eyes each time they battled. And through them, they grew closer.
Flights of fancy didn’t explain thanking her maid, no matter her claims of “good manners”. It didn’t explain her secret mirth at seeing Lebanne intimidate any who would try to belittle her. And how she dealt with her maid’s bad behavior…well, Jacinthe was glad there was no one around to see her blush.
So she knew exactly why Lebanne didn’t want to leave. It was the same reason she didn’t want her to leave. But…how to make her stay? No. That would be unfair to her dear maid. If it was a matter of making her, she could just pay off an endless amount of trainers. But…even her fae outlook on life didn’t allow her to do that. Not to Lebanne.
So! If she could not make the choice, the best way to handle this precarious situation was to force her maid to make a move. Because it never would matter how tight Jacinthe made the leash; Lebanne would break it should she choose. It’s what she saw in her, that fateful day, when She made her her maid. That fire, ever burning, the will to improve and overcome, that ephemeral thing she wished she could share with lumiose as a whole.
“My dear Lebanne…should you have to leave, I shall see you burn brighter than you ever have before. Bright enough to blind even me. One more time.” Mind made up, Jacinthe made her preparations. At the end of the month, things would be decided, one way or the other.
“Jacinthe. What is going on.”
Lebanne was both confused, and just a bit concerned. After all, today was the day of their monthly bet battle, but Jacinthe was…quite relaxed. Too relaxed. There was no hunger in her eyes, no glint, nothing. Instead, there she was, sitting, calm as can be, no pokeball in hand.
“Nothing nefarious, . I have just decided that our battle this time would be a bit…unique, is all.” And so, with no hesatation, Jacinthe stood up, and Lebanne’s poor brain had to hard reset.
It wasn’t the first time she had seen the aesthetic Jacinthe was going for, she herself was a punk after all. It wasn’t the first time she had seen someone wear short shorts, nor a tee shirt that was just a bit torn up. It was her first time seeing Jacinthe in that, however, and combining that with the fishnets she normally wore did things to the maid.
“Now then” Jacinthe started, walking Lebanne to the private arena as the poor girl’s brain rebooted “While our original bet did specify pokemon battle, I do believe we have since shortened it to ‘battle’, as in any kind will do. As such, I, being me, have come up with a brilliant idea; why not have us fight each other, hand to hand? I assure you, I’m not just a delicate flower, oh no. You will be properly tested.”
That brought Lebanne back to earth. After all, she did not doubt Jacinthe for a second. She will say her half truths, obscurantism details, and employ all manner of devious wordplay, but when she says something, she means it in at least some manner. As such, she brought up her fists, across the battlefield from Jacinthe, who quickly did the same.
The two rushed at each other, and from there the fight was on. Immediately, Lebanne saw the truth of her words. Jacinthe bobbed and weaved, taking every opportunity to stroke she could, all while ensuring she never got hit herself. And while Lebanne could block hit after hit, she let a few through, just due to the nature of the fight.
Still, as minutes passed, it was clear her opponent was slowly getting tired, not that she didn’t try to hide it. Lebanne smiled, and Jacinthe smiled back. Then the former punched the latter in the face. Lebanne blinked, stunned. Jacinthe, meanwhile, held her now bleeding nose, before laughing hysterically, only calming down once Lebanne starting fussing over her unconsciously.
“My my, you must get a hold of yourself my dear Lebanne, this was nothing I wasn’t prepared for going into this activity. And besides, there’s something more important right now, is there not?”
Jacinthe held Lebanne’s face, both of them quite a bit flush. “You won our little bet, Lebanne. It took you quite a long time, and I imagine it was quite the trial, but at last you have succeeded. The money will be transferred to your account, and…and you are free to go.”
Lebanne didn’t move. Neither did Jacinthe. The two just stared at each other’s eyes. Looking for something. Looking for that glint that showed when the other was enjoying themselves. Neither found it. Eventually, Lebanne blushed, and broke eye contact first. Just as Jacinthe knew she would. The only question left was, what now?
“…About time I beat you, jeez…” Jacinthe rolled her eyes; it didn’t take long for the other girl to return to her old language. But at least it was honest, at least it was her. At least…
“You won’t say it. I know you won’t. So I’ll say it. You don’t want me to go.” No response was given. None was needed either. Not between them. “I…you…Fuck. I’ll only say this once. Once we leave this room, this conversation never happened. You got that?” Jacinthe merely nodded, praying that she looked aloof, looked above it all, praying that her kin couldn’t see through her.
“I hated you, when this whole thing began. Thought you were a haughty bitch, who saw everyone else as a toy for her game.” A deep breath. “I still think you are those things!” And for the first time in…how long? Jacinthe couldn’t comprehend how long it had been since she was genuinely blindsided. And seeing Lebanne’s face, her uproarious laughter, it didn’t feel so bad.
“Heh, of all the things to catch you by surprise…Yeah. You can be an asshole at times. But fuck it, who isn’t? I’m probably a bad person for not trying to stop you from abducting random trainers from the streets, but it’s not like I’m any better by now.”
“As for how you treat me? You could’ve made this hell. I know for a damn fact you could’ve squeezed me dry until I was a husk, or skip the ceremony and just force me to do what you wished. But instead, you were there every step of this deranged, psychopathic plan of yours, until you…well, got me to be able to pretend to be proper.”
“But you paid me well. You made sure I was as comfortable as I could be. You praised my successes and punished my failures. You were there for me, and you understood me, and, well…you saw me. No one else ever did either of those things, not for a long time.”
“I looked up what ya did to that tailor. Poor fucker’s traumatized now, decently sure. Didn’t think you’d care enough about him insulting me for that, but…You caught feelings too, yeah?”
Lebanne dragged Jacinthe into sitting on the ground; this brief moment of them being equal allowed her to try, and allowed Jacinthe to follow. “Though…yeah. Can’t imagine us getting together would go over well. Especially not with those parasites.”
“So, your silence was for me then? Well, that is quite silly, my Lebanne, and out of character besides. Why, I’d figure you’d just rampage and destroy them until they accepted it; we both know you’re strong enough.” Just as they both knew that was a bad idea, as Lebanne’s grimace showed. Suddenly, Jacinthe clapped her hands.
“Fortunately, the hard part is all cleared up! After all, we already have a perfect cover, no? We’ll just say you lost again, and no one will question it! At least, not enough that I cannot cover it up with my genius and influence.”
And before Lebanne could say a word, she found her outfit in her grasp. “Now then, put it on. I expect you presentable in 15 minutes. We have a long day ahead of us, my Lebanne~”
Those last few words were ones she’s heard from Jacinthe before, but never like that. Never sultry. Her face went fully aflame, not helped when her Jacinthe (‘my mistress, my Jacinthe, mine, as I am hers’) went in for a deep kiss. Spit swapping, tongue wrestling, everything; Lebanne pulled apart just that little bit more complete.
“Oh, and one more thing, my Lebanne. After work today, drop by my room.” She recognized that voice, recognized the danger in it, she fucked up somewhere. But somehow, that danger was intoxicating. “After all, you were so crass, and you even punched your mistress. I will have to issue correction later~”
Jacinthe giggled to herself as she heard Lebanne collapse on the floor. She knew exactly what she said, and how she said it, and she chose that way for one simple reason:
‘My dear Lebanne, you will not be ready in time~ and that is all the better for both of us~’
And even though she was flustered beyond belief, Lebanne could feel the smirk, and could only bring herself to revel in it.
‘See you tonight, my love, my kin~’