Five days. Five whole days had passed since Viridian’s gym temporarily closed up shop. Okay, admittedly, Green could certainly say the break was more than welcome; rarely ever could the red lettered CLOSED sign be spotted hanging on the door, the guy never took days off, even considering a big chunk of the challengers who unconfidently stumbled in were fresh from Pallet Town with their ill-trained Squirtles, Bulbasaurs, and Charmanders unaware Viridian wasn’t their first stop. The first time – all those years ago, Arceus did Green feel old – it was a funny mishap, an honest mistake, Green would ruffle their hair, bid to see them again, and shoo them their merry little way to Pewter City, but the hundredth, let’s just say the smile he held in place was a little less cordial. It’s tedious, but he can’t keep this up forever. Challengers are scarce when you’re the last stop to the Indigo Plateau – a lot of young trainers flunk out along the way of their journeys, some just find another calling, and some simply don’t hold the drive to be the very best – but they do exist and Green’s personal team, and currently only team available, just doesn’t fit the bill.
Green’s job as a gym leader isn’t to stomp on every soul that dares step foot in his threshold, but to promote growth with Pokemon that reflect where a trainer logically should be when they come a-knockin’ – unless they’re the travelling trainer who collects badges from all the regions, still, Green has to keep it standard whether he’d like to whoop ‘em with his personal team or not. No biases. On-hand, his Pokemon are more suitable for a Battle Tower, Frontier, Tree, and the Pokemon World Tournament he participated in a few years back, not your run-of-the-mill gym battle which is why he found himself on the back of one mega evolved Pidgeot, he’s a little too tall these days for the Pidgeot’s normal 150cm, backpack strapped to his back en route of Cerulean City, with the command of ‘take it easy, boy.’ That wingspan can wreak some fuckin’ havoc.
Just before Cerulean, Green lets off around route 4, throws Pidgeot a treat before sending it back to it’s respective Poke Ball, and walks the rest of the way up to the cape. There’s a few waves shot in his direction as he makes it through the city, he waves back, a couple people even look like they want to chat, but Green, unprofessionally, scurries faster across the expanse of the city. This whole day is unprofessional, right down to showing up at Bill’s doorstep ‘cause Green needs results. The poor dude’s probably swamped with work yet here the gym leader is anyway, bag hanging off a single shoulder, extending an arm to knock, feeling something like an inconvenience.
Things with Bill have always been a little… odd. Green can’t exactly blame him, his childhood counterpart was rather unruly after all. A straight up shitbag, he isn’t afraid to admit it. He’s also acutely aware of the fact he hasn’t formally apologized for doing the man dirty either. He sighs, shoving his hands in his coat pockets, waiting for an answer.
The rise and fall is unmissable on Bill’s features, he starts anyway, “Hey, man, I don’t mean to be a pest,” No how’s it hangin’, how you been, or the like, “But something’s janked in my account, so I haven’t had access to my Pokemon for almost a week now. Had to shut down the gym ‘cause y’know no Pokemon, no gym. Think you can give me a look over?”
Bill takes a moment to collect himself before realizing he’s only standing there, gaping at the younger man.
“Yeah, uh, sure thing,” he stutters, swinging the door open. “C’mon in.”
He ushers the kid inside, his mind flurrying with the pangs of remorse, guilt, and the fear of being found out. Of course his stupid stunt would inconvenience the whole town, the whole league, even! How had that never occurred to him before? He was selfish! A disgrace! Bill takes a few more moments to mentally scold himself before turning back to Green.
“Can I getcha anything? Coffee? Tea?” With one fell sweep of his arms he clears everything off the coffee table: papers, wires, and a napping Ada. He gives Green no time to respond, concluding, “I’ll put both on.” He does.
Facing the coffee maker on the kitchen counter gives Bill a chance to get away from Green. He hopes that one could just as easily interpret his nervous behavior as the habit of a man with zero time to spare. Both nerves and business act erratically, he reasons. Both are impatient, and do not do well with silence.
“Sorry about the delay,” he says with a laugh, pushing the button on his coffee maker. “Jes’ standard issue stuff, y’know. ‘Course, this wouldn’t be the longest time someone’s had to wait to battle the Viridian Gym Leader.” He laughs nervously, trying to remember if Green was old enough to get the reference. The coffee filters are in the cabinet below the counter. Bill bends down to grab one, and he stops when he notices marks on the side of the cabinet.
The marks are scratches, almost two feet off the ground and tiny. They’re practically unnoticeable unless you get up close, like Bill is now. The unmistakable mark of a clefairy. There has only ever been one clefairy in Bill’s house, and that was Bill himself. He’s sure he must have seen these scratches before, but he has no time to install new cabinets, so the most likely explanation is that he chose to forget about them, until now.
It seems all too appropriate that Bill be reminded of them now, when the reason for their existence has come knocking on his door. He exhales sharply, grabs a filter from the cabinet, and springs back up to place it in the coffee maker. As he’s finishing the coffee, he realizes something.
It took the table ten years, but it’s finally turned. For while the scene of him and Green in this old cape cottage, one at the mercy of the other, is familiar, this time it’s Green who needs something. This time, it’s Bill’s turn to oblige. Or not.
It’s Bill’s job to fix this issue. It’s Bill’s job to help Green in his hour of need. But nowhere in his job description did it say he couldn’t have a little fun with it. He takes out two mugs and turns back to the gym leader.
“Well, it ain’t so standard stuff,” he says. “Between you an’ me, I’ve been tryin’ somethin’ new. I know you gotta get back, but maybe you’d like to take a look with me?” He runs over to his computer and shakes his mouse a few times.
The screen flashes on, and pixel by pixel Cerf, Bill’s porygon, emerges from it, flexing and tilting to get a handle on its physical form.
