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Corbeau had silently, always looked up to men that looked put together. It was natural really, a simple driving force to see the most aesthetically pleasing figure possible. Back when Corbeau had been the leader of the Rust Syndicate for a shorter time, he hadn’t worn a suit, he’d been much more connected to the scrawny street kid that he used to be: all lean legs with jeans and jackets that looked stolen off thrift store racks.
Philippe hadn’t been much better.
He looked less like a business man and more like he was the main man in a biker gang: a dark head of hair slicked-back with a leather jacket and dark jeans. It was great for intimidation - which Philippe claimed he was only good for - but it wasn't the best to have in negotiations over territory, or convincing the cops of Lumiose that they weren't up to anything nefarious deep into the evening.
Just the previous night, Corbeau and he had been out at another gang's headquarters, deep into the construction of the city where territory had been first-come first-served until Corbeau stepped in to provide some much needed structure to the area. It had started simply enough, negotiating territory that was less a negotiation and more so strong-arming a smaller, less organized group into being absorbed by the Rust Syndicate or face disbandment.
It had almost been over, which was a massive weight lifted off Corbeau’s shoulders. He was heavily sleep-deprived from dealing with multiple thorns in his side and just wanted to get to base as soon as possible.
Just as he and Philippe were turning to leave, he heard a distant voice behind him.
“I can’t believe Corbeau lets that stray follow him around. He’s just Corbeau’s loyal mutt.”
It was a small jab. Insignificant in the grand scheme of insults and words that had been spoken about Philippe before, but for the first time Corbeau woke up from a long rest to find that comment stuck in his head.
During morning tea he noticed the small tears in Philippe’s jacket, in afternoon meetings he saw how scuffed in tennis shoes were, and evening patrols ended with Corbeau realizing he looked less like an enforcer and more like a bagman. The words slithered around in his brain every time he saw Philippe in his dark leather jacket, continuously rotating through various different jeans shaded in washed colors. Some had holes in the knees. Some looked worn enough to look years old.
To civilians, it looked like he was one comment away from starting a fist-fight or shaking them down for cash in a nearby darkened alley, but Corbeau could see with clarity now what the rest of their adversaries saw: a low-level subordinate from a dying clan, and Corbeau was not one to let his second-in-command be described as a mutt any longer. He needed something better to wear, maybe a grey coat or trousers that fit him nicely.
Or, Cobreau smiled, it was time to get Philippe a suit.
Vernal Avenue was the fashion center of the city; conveniently designated as one of the central streets of Lumiose. Any trends that surfaced and rose from the Kalos region most likely derived from a trend that was started right on this street that some overpriced fashion designer had come up with just a week before.
Philippe had been cautious when Corbeau asked to meet him here one evening. Vernal Avenue was one of the ‘no-go’ zones for men like them in the city, filled with upper-society folks that would spot the pair as outsiders the moment they stepped foot there.
The moment Philippe spotted him was the moment he knew Corbeau had planned this, and it made his gut clench. Corbeau was wearing a purple button down tucked into black slacks and polished oxfords. He had parted his hair to the side, giving him the look of a young businessman, that is, if his business was running one of the most powerful Syndicates in all of the Kalos region.
Philippe managed a small, stiff bow.
“Boss.”
“Philippe! Just the man I wanted to see.” Corbeau says. He waves a hand across his torso, presenting himself.
“How do I look? I managed to pick up a few things from a boutique close by, they offered quick tailoring too.”
“You look… different.” Philippe said. He wasn’t used to Corbeau wearing something so sophisticated. He always wore jackets that fit snug and sneakers that were off-color but practical. He didn’t wear tailored slacks, he wore jeans that hugged his thighs and waist in ways Philippe tried not to think about too much.
“Different.” Corbeau repeated. “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
“Did you want one boss?”
“Bah! You shouldn’t ask a man if he’s fishin’ for compliments. It’s considered quite rude, y'know?” Philippe didn’t know but he wasn’t going to tell the boss that. Instead, he switched their focus.
“Why are we here? I thought you didn’t like coming over to this part of the city.” Philippe asked.
“I don’t - most of these people are entirely too pompous for my taste - but we’re on a special mission.” He said. Philippe’s eyebrows raised.
“What mission?”
“You’ll see. Just follow me.“ Corbeau meandered down the street with his hands in the pockets of his new trousers, trusting that Philippe would follow him.
Vernal Avenue was the first street in the city to be renovated and that meant it was maintained in the same way a bonsai tree was maintained. Every bush, hedge, and tree were trimmed to perfection, not a leaf out of place. The sidewalks were paved without a crack in sight and everyone on the street, aside from them, looked like they had stepped out of a fashion magazine cover.
Philippe noticed that there wasn’t a Pokemon in sight aside from those on leashes that were being dragged around by their owners. Even Fletchlings above their heads passed right over the street, as if a glass cage prevented them from coming inside.
They stepped up to a small boutique named Luxe Mode, a bit off the beaten path and away from the main street. The sign had faded from decades of use and lacked the bright LED signs that most of the businesses on the main street carried.
It felt like one of the old boutiques that popped up back about a decade back, when Philippe was a child. It made his shoulders drop a fraction.
Philippe entered first, the bell above making a polite jingle as the men stepped through the threshold into a more muted setting: dimmed studio lights meant to make anyone look good, mannequins with perfectly shaped bodies modeling stock suits and wedding dresses, and towards the middle of the space sat a platform with a spotlight right over it.
Philippe realized that they had been here once. It was a boutique indebted to them; Corbeau was acquaintances with the owner, a man named Anders who came from the Unova region with a dream of fashion but no money until Corbeau took pity on him and gave him a generous loan. Corbeau did that often for those that came from other regions.
“I’ll be with you in just a minute!” Called a voice from the back of the boutique.
Maybe they were getting Corbeau nicer clothes like the ones he had on right now. He glanced around at the mannequins wearing designer clothes and out-spoken colors that looked like they belonged to someone with power. Someone like Corbeau.
Philippe looked at his boss again and he could see the idea in his mind. Corebeau wearing a suit, probably a darker color to make his skin pop with accents of purple. It would drive Corbeau even more into the mold that he wanted, one where he was commanding half the city without lifting a single finger. Men in jeans and leather jackets did the heavy work. Men in suits only fussed over the finer details.
Yes, that’s what Corbeau was, a man who didn’t need to lift a finger since he was here.
They both heard a small trill from a Pokemon and saw a Leavanny step out first with layers of fabric draped across its appendages. Its trainer followed out, Anders presumably, a tall and lean man with brown hair held into a slick-back position with gel that had been failing him for some time that day. He spotted Corbeau and a smile blew wide on his face.
“Corbeau! My friend, how are you?” Anders draped the fabric over a large mannequin bust - one that suspiciously looked like Philippe’s build - and wandered over to give Corbeau a firm handshake.
“Doin’ good, how goes the boutique?”
“Great! I’m getting loads of business over here, way better than Unova City.” His eyes slide over and up to Philippe. Even with his height, Anders had to keep his chin up to maintain eye contact with Philippe.
“I assume this is our model for today?” Anders asked.
“Model?”
“Yes, this is him, Philippe. I’m sure you’ve met before in passing.” Corbeau introduced him and Philippe went into a small, hesitant bow. He was still reeling from the fact that he was going to be modeling for…something. Corbeau actually hadn’t told him yet.
“I do remember seeing him around your base when I went by. I’ll get him all shaped up today.” Anders beckoned Philippe to take off his jacket and he complied. Leavanny took it from his shoulders to put on the coat rack by the front door. Anders took another step into the back and Philippe had a chance to lean into Corbeau.
“What am I modelling for?” Philippe whispered.
“I didn’t tell you, did I? Anders here is going to get you a nice suit. That old leather jacket has…character, but I want to see something else on you. Now, up you go.” Philippe felt his face heat as Corbeau beckoned him up on the platform.
Corbeau lowered himself into a plush velvet armchair close to the platform. It was just a few inches out of the main light above him, casting the man in a darkened light that made Philippe feel like he was a specimen being studied. Corbeau crossed his legs and set his hands in his lap, Philippe’s lone audience.
When Anders came back he leaned against the armchair with his hip and jotted down notes onto a pad in his hands, occasionally exchanging his pen for a pencil tucked behind one ear. A small figure was on the notepad with a rough shape of Philippe’s frame and his measurements that were occasionally tilted in Corbeau’s direction for him to see.
Anders approached Philippe, measuring tape in hand. His jaw tensed as Anders circled his neck, a small puff of breath against his skin that sent a wave of unease up his spine.
Philippe had never been used to people touching him so close to his neck, the last man that had tried to sling an arm over his shoulder after a job well done had promptly been thrown in the nearest table. But Anders was a professional, and as long as things stayed that way he wouldn’t cause a scene, especially not in front of Corbeau. Never in front of him.
Anders called out numbers in a low murmur to Leavanny, shoulder slope, arm length, chest width. A collage of numbers that could transform a man from looking like a member of a biker gang to the second most feared man in Lumiose CIty.
Anders hummed as he moved to Pilippe’s inseam.
“If I may ask, what is the occasion for this suit? A wedding? Business wear?” He spoke to Philippe, but Corbeau was the one to answer.
“We’ve been in…business with each other for a few years now. He’s always been by my side so I thought I’d pamper him a bit with something that fits him better than that old thing.” He waved over his shoulder at Philippe’s leather jacket. Corbeau continued with a hum.
“Maybe pamper isn’t the right word, he more so needs something a bit more professional, wouldn’t you say? It really doesn’t matter now, just make him look good.” He smiled then, the kind that told Anders this was an important event for a man of his stature.
“Does that mean you’re going to get one fitted soon too? Your lieutenant here can’t upstage his boss right?” Anders asked.
“Maybe, I’ll see how Philippe looks first before I give you any more money.” They both laughed and Corbeau looked up at Philippe.
“Don’t look so tense! You’re getting all fitted by the best designer I could find.”
“I’m probably the only designer that would work with you two.” Anders said.
“Details, details.” Corbeau waved the words away.
The fitting continued. Anders showed fabrics, holding a deep charcoal fabric up near Philippe’s shoulder, then black, and a deep royal blue. Leavanny scribbled notes furiously, looking up at its trainer and back down as each fabric was rotated. Philippe wished to walk over and see what the pokemon could be jotting down on the notepad, but he willed himself against it.
Anders pulled out a fabric that Corbeau’s eyes instantly caught on. It was a light grey, the same shade as the hide of a Skarmory’s feathers with black 4-point stars imprinted onto the fabric. Anders draped it over Philippe’s shoulders, then put a black suit jacket over it. Corbeau leaned forward in his seat with a glint in his eyes.
“Not too gaudy?” Anders asked.
“No, not at all. In fact, do you have a shirt ready with this print?” Corbeau asked. Anders snapped his fingers and the Leavanny brought over a button-up with the same print. Philippe held out his arms for the Pokemon to move the fabric over his arms and across his broad chest. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but it would do for now.
Philippe shrugged the suit jacket over his shoulders and smoothed it down with his hands to get rid of any wrinkles. He looked up and saw Corbeau smiling at him, just a small upturn of his lips that might have been the widest smile Philippe had ever seen aimed towards him.
“You look quite nice.” Corbeau purred. He adjusted his legs to lean forward more and Philippe turned a bit for Corbeau to see more.
“Yes, this one will do.”
“You don’t want to see anything else?” Anders asked.
“No,” Corbeau stood up and entered the spotlight to smooth over a small wrinkle right over Philippe’s heart. His skin heated under the touch. “This one will do nicely.”
The rest of their time was a whirlwind of decisions and traded money. Philippe stood back while Corbeau discussed payment with Anders (no, your rates are fine but you are late this month on your full payment) and after a small back and forth they had decided on a lump sum that was a small fortune.
“For the best.” Corbeau had said simply, as if he hadn’t ordered Philippe to shake-down a man’s whole operation for the same amount a week prior.
They left with a small wave, bell jingling a higher tune in their exit, and continued back towards the base.
“I can’t wait to see with the full design Anders created.” Corbeau started, that same glint in his eye sparkled against the backdrop of Lumiose city. “I’m sure you’ll look great in it. That print was perfect on you.”
“Since when have you been such a fashion snob?” Philippe prodded.
“Since I needed to see you in something better than a jacket. It makes you look more refined. You look like you belong right next to me now.” Corbeau said. Philippe felt his face heat again. He was happy he was out of the spotlight so Corbeau couldn’t see it.
“Thank you. It wasn’t a terrible experience.”
“High praise coming from you.” Corbeau said. Philippe didn’t risk a glance over, but he could hear the smile on Corbeau’s face. Corbeau had done that a lot today.
They stepped up into the Rust Syndicate base a short walk later and Philippe trailed Corbeau up to his office.
“Make sure you put the suit on right when it comes in, okay?” Corbeau asked.
“Of course boss.”
“And tell me if anything fits wrong. I’ll have Anders make you a new one the same day.”
“Yes boss.”
Corbeau took a moment to sit down in his seat and lean back enough for it to creak.
“I’m sure you will like it. It does feel nice to be in something that’s up to our level, above all the petty squabbles that the punks outside get themselves into. I’m- no, we are better than that. We should show it.” Corbeau said. Philippe took a deep breath and stepped forward to put a hand on his desk.
“That’s not me boss. It’s all you. You’re the one who got the Rust Syndicate here. You’re the one who deserves it more than me.” Philippe said.
“You are more than the brawn here Philippe, the men outside trust you more than I. They may fear me, but they listen to you.” Corbeau runs a hand through his hair. The tips of his ears were growing red. “I just want you to see that I couldn’t have done this without you.”
Philippe took a small breath in. He’d always maintained that it was all Corbeau that did this. Turned the Rust Syndicate into a force to be reckoned with. Turned the whole city into a more peaceful area through all the construction. He couldn’t believe Corbeau - bright, dangerously intelligent Corbeau - was telling him this.
Before he could speak, Corbeau stood up suddenly.
“I’m heading to bed. Just…think about it, okay?” He walked past Philippe briskly towards his quarters, leaving Philippe to stare at the one person he never thought he could reach.
A month had passed until Anders had the complete outfit prepared and hand delivered to Philippe at the Rust Syndicate headquarters with a smile and a thank you letter handwritten to Corbeau for the ‘generous payment’. He left shortly after and Philippe decided now was probably the time to get everything on.
Ten minutes later he was standing in front of Corbeau’s desk.
“Look at you all dressed up.” Corbeau commented with a rare smile on his lips. He stood and circled Philippe once, then twice to stand in front of him.
“You like it?” Corbeau asked him. Philippe nodded.
“It fits well boss.”
“I asked if you liked it, not if it fits well.” Philippe stretches his arms out wide, circling them to get a range of motion.
“It’s…it’s really nice boss.” He finally said.
“Ah, don’t move like you're going to punch somebody. The whole point is that you don’t need to do that anymore. Not like this.”
Corbeau was scolding him, but he looked happy. No creases lined his face and he just stood there for a few minutes with his hands on his hips with something close to admiration on his face. Corbeau turned and dug through his desk drawer for a small velvet-lined box.
“Now, for the finishing touch.” Corbeau opened the box and inside was a small, lined Mega Stone. Small enough to have been set onto a silver pin. Corbeau approached him and rose onto his toes to pin it to Philippe’s chest. He watched the boss move, how his lips upturned into a smile that Corbeau didn’t seem to realize he was making.
He beams further when the pin fits right below Philippe’s collarbone, perfectly in place. Philippe grabs a small mirror on the desk and looks at the small details that Anders added: the small silver pins attached to his suit jacket, the tie that Corbeau picked for him fit snug against his collar, and of course the Mega Stone.
“Is this Mega Stone for Skarmory?” Philippe asked.
“Of course, no other pokemon deserves it.” Corbeau says. Philippe leans into the mirror and shines the stone up into the light. A gorgeous grey and rainbow shone back at him.
“Where did you get this? They’re so hard to come by.” Philippe said, still looking at the Mega Stone through the mirror with an awe that Corbeau had rarely seen with him.
“I cashed in a favor with someone around Quasartico. It wasn’t cheap, y'know. You should be thankful.” Corbeau said. He looked anything but annoyed as he spoke.
“You bought this? For me?” Philippe’s voice softened. Corbeau met his gaze and the man turned away towards his desk again. Away from Philippe’s eyes that had softened just as much as his voice had.
“Don’t act like it’s such a big deal. I can pamper my lieutenant when I want to.” Corbeau waved away the thought with his hand. Philippe took one last look at the suit before leaning back again.
Corbeau was still turned away from him and Philippe took a step closer to stand over him.
“I’m grateful, boss. This really is the best gift someone’s ever given to me.” He paused, waiting for a response. It didn’t come. “It makes me wonder why you did this.”
Corbeau scoffed. He shifted around the papers on his desk in no particular order, just busying his hands.
“I never liked that leather jacket you wore. It made you look like a mutt and I…well I couldn’t take you looking like that anymore.”
“You thought I looked like a mutt?” Philippe asked, amused.
“Yes,” Corbeau confirmed, slowly, “but you aren’t one, not anymore. Now you’re my respected lieutenant who looks quite dashing in his new suit.”
“Thank you boss.” Philippe said plainly. Corbeau huffed and stepped in front of him again.
“You are terrible at receiving compliments.” He reached up, again stretching to his toes, to fiddle with Philippe’s collar. His fingers stretched the fabric just slightly to run his fingers across Philippe’s neck and fix his collar, even though Philippe knew his collar was perfect. He didn’t flinch, just stayed perfectly still for his boss to touch his collar.
“Your collar was flipped.”
“Of course.” Philippe said and his heart surged enough for his body to act in turn. He gently grabbed Corbeau’s hand and brought it to his lips for just a quick moment, a small press against his knuckles. His hands were soft and small, without a single callous on his palms. Philippe decided that he wanted those hands to stay that way, without any blemishes and always next to him. Corbeau’s breath hitched.
“Thank you, Corbeau. This truly is a wonderful gift. I hope someday I’ll be able to express my thanks for everything you’ve done for me.” He said, low enough so it felt like something personal, something only for them to hear.
Corbeau took his hand back and rested it carefully at his side. His throat worked, choosing the right words to say seemed impossible so he just shook his head and sighed.
“You’re impossible, y’know that?” He asked instead. Philippe didn’t know, he just waited for more instead.
“The next time I give you something you better not give me a sonnet about how much you appreciate it. It’s too much.” Corbeau said, but it came off weak. Philippe saw his ears flush a shade red just as they had done on their night walk back home. He wanted to see more but this was enough for now. He smiled.
“Got it boss. No sonnets.”
“You understand, good. Now go get the men in gear. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.” He said storming off, but as he did Philippe saw his ears grow a shade darker and a small grin turn up on his face.
Pampered, yes. Philippe was so very pampered.