Hold the Sugar - Chapter 1
Pairing: Corbeau x GN!Reader
WC: 6171
Summary: Ah, yes. The renowned soft morning of the city before it truly became alive. Corbeau was not a morning person. And his mornings were not soft.
TW: Brief description of feeding Pokémon other Pokémon, treated as nature.
A/N: 'It'll just be a little drabble,' I said. 'It won't be that long, it won't have multiple parts,' I said. (Proceeds to write almost 2000 words about Corbeau's morning routine alone) ah.
So. Here we are now. With this evolving into a multi-fic chapter. Let's buckle up, team.
As always, reader is gender neutral with little physical description. Only confirmed Pokémon reader has (for now) is a Dachsbun.
Beta Read by @nestedfeathers
This work is solely mine-I do not consent to it being used in any AI works. I do not consent to it being intentionally copied in any manner.
Lumiose truly was a beautiful city. In the mornings, when the sun crested over the horizon and began its languid ascent, the city glowed a soft, warm rose - the sort of light that doesn’t startle one from sleep, but rather gently rouses with barely-there kisses and feather-light strokes of warmth against one’s skin. It filters in through windows and sheer curtains to join you in bed, an intangible form of temptation to stay in, sleep longer; don't leave its comfortable embrace. The break of dawn is filled with birdsong; Fletchlings gathering scraps for their nests; the coo of a Pidgeot as it shepherds its younger, less experienced kin back to the safety of its wings, its soft down a shield from the lingering chill of the night.
Shortly after, the rest of the city begins to wake; the rustling of a bin of Trubbish as they organize their hunt for the day; the soft, insistent cries of the dowt of stray Espurr that have taken to begging at the door of the bakery across the street; the barks and chirrups of the local Patrat and Watchog from the rooftops that alert the entire block that it is, indeed, morning once again.
The renowned soft morning of the city before it truly became alive.
Corbeau was not a morning person.
And his mornings were not soft.
As the sunlight quietly greets the other inhabitants of Lumiose, it rudely and abruptly startles him from his deep sleep, as it always does. Its brightness meets his sleepy glare with its own, temporarily blinding his already blurred vision. With a groan, the feared leader of the Rust Syndicate flops back into his bed, burying his face in his pillow as he blindly feels around for his glasses on his nightstand. He snags them by the chain and drags them close, throwing them on as he pushes himself up to rest his weight on his forearms.
He drags a hand through his hair, once more glaring out his window.
Abhorrent sunrise. Finding its way into his room despite the mostly-drawn curtains.
He’s considered eclipse curtains, of course, but Roserade and Arbok rather enjoy sunbathing, and he wouldn’t deprive them of that. The sacrifices we make for our Pokémon...
A deep chitter rings out from his side, as it does every morning when Scolipede wakes. Contrary to his trainer’s dislike of mornings, Scolipede was an early bird…early bug? Regardless, Scolipede is already off the bed by the time Corbeau rolls over to sit up properly. He chirrups again, his half-lidded eyes bright and almost playful as he regards his drowsy trainer. The stingers at his end wag to and fro like a tail as his trainer regards him in return. The human tenses, already reaching for his duvet.
“Scolipede, don’t–!”
Too late. Apparently, he’s taking too long to get out of bed, as Scolipede takes the corner of his blanket in its mandibles and tugs hard, pulling it and its contents (read: his trainer) off the bed. Corbeau yelps as he’s quickly torn from his seat and practically flung through the air - he would’ve crashed against the far bedroom wall if Scolipede hadn’t caught him.
The giant bug trills happily, the claws near his mouth tapping against Corbeau, tickling his skin and combing through his hair. He’d be annoyed if it wasn’t so damn adorable. Upon seeing his trainer’s tired, exasperated smile, Scolipede chirps again and lets him go, content that his mission of getting his trainer out of bed was complete. He couldn’t just let his human sit around all day - there’s work to be done!
Like breakfast, for starters!
Scolipede scuttles out of the room, leaving Corbeau to wait for him in the kitchen. With a huff and a smile, Corbeau throws on his morning robe over his pajamas (plain boxer shorts), grabs his team’s Pokéballs, and pads out to join his companion. His ace is standing at the end of the island, like he always does, as Corbeau sets about preparing his team’s breakfast.
He had it down to an art by now: fresh Veluza filets (caught and prepared in Paldea just yesterday) pulled straight from the mini freezer kept solely for Gyrados, set on a tray that’s practically a basin at the far end of the island. Following that was a plate with two honeycombs and a variety of fresh berries for Roserade, set by the large window in the living room.
Scolipede and Arbok preferred to catch their own food, which he was more than fine with - he had a hard time serving up a small swarm of Kriketot and a whole frozen Raticate.
He may be a crime lord, but he’s not heartless.
Scolipede and Arbok only ate big meals once a week. Not for any cruelty on Corbeau’s part, of course - he’d feed them his own limbs if the need arose - but solely due to their physiology. Larger Poison types digested their food slower, apparently. He’s never looked into it further than that, though.
Scolipede’s toxic saliva bubbled from the corners of his mouth.
“Hold your Ponyta,” Corbeau lightly chastises for the umpteen-millionth time. That Bug could never sit still when it came to food - his trainer knows by now his scolding is in vain. “You have to wait for Arbok.”
Scolipede lets out a pathetic whine, a rather humorous noise for such a large and formidable creature. Corbeau huffs out another laugh and releases Gyrados and Roserade, who both greet him with cheerful chirps before attending to their waiting meals. After giving them both a routine morning pet, he walks to the back door, where Scolipede is already waiting.
“Arceus. You act like I starve you.”
His only response is another petulant whine. With a soft laugh, Corbeau releases Arbok, who greets him with a tickle of her tongue.
“Yes, good morning, Arbok.” He coos as he scratches under her chin. She lets out a soft ‘Sssk-ssk-sssbok’ in return, ignoring the disgruntled trilling of her fellow Pokémon, who rocks back and forth impatiently. “I’m going, I’m going.”
He opens up the back door for the pair, revealing a rooftop garden secluded from the reaches of the city. From the humans, at least. Here, there lived several different species of Pokémon: a colony of Patrat and a warren of Bunnelby had made their homes in the soft dirt and the sturdy rocks of the secret garden; recently, a swarm of Weedle and Kakuna had taken refuge in the handful of trees towards the far end of the roof - the one that had the best view of the city at night, in his opinion. A few Budew and Bellsprout hobbled along, burying themselves in the soil (freshly tilled by the Bunnelby) among the plants that littered the open space.
His own little paradise, made for those stray Pokémon that wandered the streets. A little slice of nature.
…unfortunately, even nature had to be spoiled every once in a while.
He leaves them to their hunt to return to the living room. He wouldn’t partake in the vicious cycle, if he didn’t need to.
Instead, he went to tend to his own needs - his sluggish body moved a little faster at the prospect of caffeine. Even abysmal mornings like this one could be remedied with a fresh cup of coffee.
He hears Philippe nagging him at the back of his head, as he does every morning, ‘You need something more in your stomach than coffee, boss. Breakfast’s th’most important meal of the day.’
Which is why the first thing in his stomach is pure black coffee. He’ll eat ‘actual’ food later. But right now his body needs energy so he can actually exist well enough to get food. He pulls down his favorite mug (favorite might be a strong word - it’s his most used one) and mindlessly goes about his personal routine of caffeinating–
…ah.
There’s no coffee in the cabinet. He groans, pushing his glasses up and pinching the bridge of his nose. He had meant to resupply yesterday, but then that brat showed up and beat him in their ranked match. He had spent the rest of the day running the match on repeat in his head, analyzing strategy and how they had worked the battlefield - his battlefield in his office - that he must have…forgotten about restocking.
Damn that kid. His sentiments on the brat were mixed. Frustrated but impressed, respectable but irritating…
A little too much like him when he was their age.
He feels a sharp, subtle pang at the front of his brain. A downside to being addicted to caffeine: the abrupt withdrawal symptoms when one hasn’t had their ‘routine fix.’ He can already feel the headache starting to form.
It seemed like today was going to be that kind of day.
With a sigh, he leaves his companions to finish their meals as he heads back to his bedroom, a little more force in his steps than there was previously. Luckily, his laundry was done yesterday, so his usual suit was fresh and ready to go - very much unlike him, who seems to trudge through his morning routine without his coffee.
No, he wasn’t dramatic. Philippe would insist otherwise.
Ah. Philippe. Yes.
After tucking his dress shirt into his pants, Corbeau finds his Rotom Phone charging on his nightstand - one of the newer models of chargers that had just as much style as it did practicality. Only the best for his Pokémon - even those not on his battling team. The Rotom Phone wakes up with a ‘zzrrpt!’ and hovers in front of him, ready to fulfill whatever task Corbeau had for it.
“Rotom,” he addresses the phone as he begins to knot his tie, “text Philippe, ‘Please come to work with my usual order.’” Rotom blips and trills in reply, doing exactly as asked. It continues to hover nearby as Corbeau pulls his duster from its hanger, knowing a response would come in soon–
PING! ‘Bzzzuurrt!’
“Yes, thank you, Rotom,” he fixes the collar of his jacket as he reads Philippe’s response…
‘Apologies, boss.’ Oh, great. ‘Having a rough morning.’ He and Corbeau both, it seems. ‘Will be late to work.’
Another groan leaves his lips as he drags a hand down his face. Looks like he’s getting coffee, himself. It’s not the end of the world - his early life had him enduring far worse scenarios. Still, it’s inconvenient, and regardless of his childhood, he’s allowed to be irritated and inconvenienced by it.
No matter. There was no shortage of cafés in Lumiose. In fact, Nouveau Café was just a small detour on his usual route to the Syndicate office. That was perfect - their coffee was almost unnervingly strong, they were quick, and he hadn’t said hello to Grisham in a while. A nice little bonus in his dire situation.
He recalls Gyrados and Roserade just as Scolipede and Arbok wander back inside, bellies full and instincts sated. He closes the door and recalls Arbok - Scolipede preferred to stay out when possible. Plus, the giant Bug could help order and carry treats for the team at the café.
A small smile tugs at his lips at the idea as he slips his shoes on at the door. Perhaps he spoils his Pokémon too much, but what the hell else was he supposed to do with the money leftover from his business and philanthropic deeds?
With a click of his tongue, Scolipede is by his side and the large Bug lumbers out of the high-end apartment before Corbeau. His trainer follows, locking the door behind him before leading his Pokémon down the stairs.
Time to face the day.
__________________________________________________________
You fumble with the keys to the truck. Again. You’re still getting used to these early mornings…but! That’s what you get for accepting an apprenticeship at a café. You’re going to have to get used to it if you want to open up your own someday soon…
You’ve apprenticed under Grisham and Griselle for just over a week now, and you’ve learned so much!
…of which many lessons consisted of how not to address your customers or sell your products. Thanks, Griselle.
But Grisham has been teaching you plenty, too! He’s been so generous in sharing his techniques and secrets despite knowing you were hoping to open your own café some day! From the perfect blend for iced drinks to using Pokémon moves to add a little kick, your résumé continues to grow more and more impressive.
Dachsbun barks, a sound born from a playful and feigned annoyance. You breathe out a chuckle and give him a stern look in return.
“Barking’s not gonna make me fail any faster, bud.” He sticks his tongue out at you, which you return, before you’re finally able to open the door to the little coffee truck.
It’s a quaint little get up, and you’re personally a fan of the vibe. Sure, the kitchen is a little cramped, especially when Grisham is here to mentor you, but he’s made it work all these years, so you can, too!
Especially since today was your first shift alone.
It was a thrilling and terrifying prospect. You’re honored that Grisham has enough faith in you to run his café after just less than a month of knowing you (with only a week of it being under his tutelage) and the mere idea of failing him and his precious business makes your heart rate spike. The keys in your hand felt so heavy…
But you can do this! You know what you’re doing! Sure, your specialty was with baked goods rather than the actual coffee itself, but Griselle had assured you that your attempts at brewing were no worse than the Lechonk swill they served.
…you’re not sure you’ll ever understand how Grisham puts up with that sort of criticism. So harsh, even for someone who didn’t like coffee…
Dachsbun barks to get your attention again, and this time, you shoot him a grateful smile as he snaps you out of your thoughts. Right! Time to get to work! Those baked goods aren’t going to make themselves! You throw on your apron (another honor Grisham bestowed upon you, despite his insistence that ‘it was nothing, really’) and get started with prep.
The sun isn’t even fully over the horizon by the time you’re done with the first few batches of treats and the first pot of coffee. The noises of the early morning, such as the fierce battle cries of Pokémon and their trainers participating in the Royale, begin to die down, soon replaced with the birdsong of passing Fletchlings and the chittering of the Patrat from the roofs. You stretch, a content smile on your face as the soft glow of the morning sun gently caresses your race.
Lumiose was truly a beautiful city. You only moved here just over a month ago, and hadn’t had much time to explore with settling in and hunting for a job before you got evicted from your apartment one month in…but from what little you had experienced it certainly lived up to its praise of being one of the most beautiful cities in the world!
And you couldn’t wait to explore more of it. It was nerve-wracking, sure, but…that’s supposed to be the great part of new adventures, right? Plus, you had Dachsbun with you, and you know that little fluffy Fairy wouldn’t let anything happen to you.
The sun caresses your face again, as though to silently reassure you that everything was going to be okay. The air, still chilly from the night before, fills your nose with the scent of your fresh baked pastries and a pleasant cool that settles comfortably in your chest. Your heart swells with hope, your lingering anxiety slipping away from you like the shadows of the night. Lights of apartments click on; another café worker waves and greets you from across the street as they pass, wishing you a good day, both of which you return with a smile that feels less and less forced by the minute.
Yeah. You could get used to this.
Looks like you were becoming a morning person.
__________________________________________________
He shows up ten minutes later.
“Grisham.”
You jolt with a yelp, hitting your head on the bottom of the counter from where you were retrieving some supplies. You hiss in pain as you emerge from beneath the counter, rubbing the spot where you bumped against the solid metal. You hadn’t even heard anyone approach! A glance at Dachsbun shows that he’s fast asleep on the floor, clearly neglecting his look-out duties in favor of getting some precious nap-time in. He was still adjusting to mornings, too, but how unfair!
You’re too caught up in your mental admonishment of your Fairy companion that you’ve completely forgotten about your customer.
“You’re not Grisham.” The voice says, very dry and matter-of-factly, and your gaze darts up from your Pokémon to the person on the other side of the counter. They look well put together - a crisp business shirt and iron pants that rest high on his hips and sharp business shoes. They seem to accessorize with Poison-type themed attire - a sharp white tie, glasses secured behind his neck with a chain with drooping tear-shaped beads that seemed to melt off of the metal, and an overcoat with similar tassels and lining.
A Scolipede rocks left and right beside him, chittering at the smell of the freshly-baked pastries that sat on your counter, waiting for a loving home in someone’s belly. Hopefully his. He may have just had his weekly meal, but who could say no to extra treats???
Their tone is tired and somewhat exasperated, as though your failure to be Grisham was personally offensive and ruined his day. You make a face before you clear your throat and regain your composure. You pull on your best customer service smile.
“No, I’m not, but–”
“Well, where is he?”
You huff softly, your customer service smile falling slightly.
“He’s off today.”
“He’s off?” Today just keeps getting better, doesn’t it? He can feel his headache thrumming and pulsing just under his temple.
“...yes,” you confirm, eyebrows furrowing at your customer’s apparent attitude. “He’s off. I’m running his Nouveau Café truck today.”
You see his lower eyelid visibly twitch. Yeesh. He seems to debate something, and when he comes to his conclusion, he combs a hand through his perfectly styled undercut with a heavy sigh.
“Well, if Grisham trusts you with his pride and joy, then you must be competent enough,” Rude!...you think? You’re…not really sure how to take a back-handed complement like that. “I’m sure you can handle a simple strong, black coffee.”
You feel your eyebrow twitch again. The nerve of this guy. You can understand being a little cranky in the morning without a coffee, but there was no need to be a jerk about it. Manners still existed at six-thirty in the morning!
“Yes, I can do that for you, sir,” you continue giving him your customer service smile, despite how his attitude has dampened your mood. “Is there anything else you’d like?”
“No,” he all but snaps, but he’s gently nudged by the giant Bug by his side. He shoots Scolipede A Look, but you can see his face soften as he regards his companion and sighs again. “Actually, yes. I’d like to order some treats for my Pokémon.”
He looks over the menu with a hum - there had been some additions since he last visited, it seems. Scolipede nudges his side again, half-lidded eyes big and wet like a Rockruff’s. If it had visible lips, you’re sure you would have seen it pouting. It was rather cute for a four-hundred-fifty pound bug, and you can’t help but chuckle at it.
Your customer seemed unbothered by his begging Pokémon. You could only assume this was something the giant bug did regularly, and hopefully wasn’t subject to the will of a neglectful trainer…
“...ah—”
“A box of macarons.” He demands. “The large variety pack.”
“Ah, sir–”
“And do be quick about it, would you?”
“Sir–”
“Some of us have important jobs to be doing.” What the actual hell was this guy’s problem?! You fume at that, officially and completely yanked from your good mood. Before he can say anything else, you slam your percolator onto the counter.
“Hey, would you mind taking that stick outta your ass?” You snap, voice stern. His head snaps up, golden gaze meeting yours with poorly concealed irritation and surprise. Did you not realize who you were talking to? He opens his mouth to retort.
“Now, see here–”
“I get that it’s early and all, but that gives you no reason to act like a dick,” you continue, staring down at him, one hand on your hip while the other propped you up against the counter. Dachsbun stands on his hind legs to peek over the counter and reinforce your stern expression (even though he can barely see over the counter - it’s the thought that counts). “I’m tired, too, but you don’t see me snapping at people for absolutely nothing!”
Corbeau’s cheeks tinge pink - not from embarrassment or his lack of manners, but rather the quick bolt of anger that flashes through him. Granted, he wasn’t normally this short-tempered, but there was something about your tone and the audacity to talk back to him - him - was really making him heated, especially after his already less-than-ideal morning.
“Have you any clue–?!”
“I’m not sure if Grisham allows you to talk to him like this,” which was hard to imagine - even with his soft-spoken nature, Grisham could very much stand his ground. You’ve seen him verbally shake down men much more intimidating than this one, always ending the conversation with a stern tone that resonated finality. But the nerve of this guy… “but as we’ve established before, I’m not Grisham, and if you want a coffee from this establishment today, you will not talk to me like that.”
Dachsbun huffed in agreement, once more backing you up.
Corbeau falters at that. Your expression was so firm, so no-nonsense in this moment - it was almost a total 180 from who had greeted him when he first walked up.
Even in his irritated state, he had to appreciate that sort of boldness, even if it was somewhat audacious for a barista to be chastising the leader of Lumiose’s own crime syndicate.
He stares at you for a few moments more, just to see if your bravado buckles under the weight of his glare…but no such luck. He exhales sharply through his nose as he straightens his tie.
He had two options now: one, go about his day and suffer until Philippe arrived with his coffee (he had no patience to deal with another barista, especially now that Lumiose was truly waking up and other cafés would have other patrons further delaying his sweet, pitch-black caffeination) or two, suck up his pride and leave without any further debate.
His lips purse as he mentally weighs his two options. Is his pride worth more than a 5,000 Pokédollar coffee?
After what feels like an eternity of internal debate, he comes to the conclusion that, ultimately, no. It isn’t. Not in this moment, at least. This is a personal low, but it’s a personal low he’ll live through with a strong cup of coffee to drag him out of this sluggish state of existence. His pride has suffered worse blows, anyway.
Granted, those were when he wasn’t the feared and respected crime lord of the Rust Syndicate. It’s significantly less easy to take such blows when you have an image to maintain.
…but what message was he sending acting like this? That the leader of the Rust Syndicate is a spoiled brat? That’s infinitely worse than being put in place by someone who absolutely did not deserve to be the target of his agitation.
With a sigh, he tilts his head to the side to pop the crick in his neck and rolls his shoulders back.
“...very well,” he responds, somewhat terse and strained. His hand curls into a fist and taps impatiently against his side, but he measures his tone as he continues, “I apologize for my earlier behavior. May I get one large black coffee and a box of macarons?”
You exhale sharply through your nose, crossing your arms as you weigh his apology…and finally relent, giving him a nod and a small but genuine smile, and even though you really want to, you won’t give him any more of a harder time.
“Yes, I’ll get started on that for you, sir,” Scolipede, who had been silently watching the exchange, trills happily, rocking left and right once more, though this time out of joy rather than impatience. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your throat at his antics.
You see your customer’s expression soften further as he glances back at you. Not a lot of people found the antics of his giant companion cute - in fact, most people were afraid of Scolipede. Which was good, since his public image called for it. Still, nobody knew that behind that stoic, scary bodyguard was the heart of a grubby little Venipede who acted more like a Lillipup starved for affection than a fully grown venomous predator. Corbeau could appreciate someone who could appreciate his companion, even in a smaller capacity such as this.
“Here - hold on.” You pull out a tray of fresh samples (leftover ‘oopsie’ pastries from the first batches of the morning) and place them on the counter for Scolipede to see. The bug chirrups and eagerly leans forward to sniff at them. The corners of his mouth bubble with his venomous drool once more, and he consciously shuffles backwards to avoid ruining your offered treats. His rear horns are wagging once more and Corbeau swallows back a chuckle of his own.
“I got these fresh samples for this morning - a couple of each!” You beam at Scolipede as he steps forward again, making sure not to drool on anything. With a light laugh, you grab some tongs to pull one of each onto a plate of its own to hold out to Scolipede for him to taste test. You glance back at his trainer. “Hope this is okay? Just a little something to munch on while I get your order together.”
“That’s…fine.” At his word, Scolipede happily pulls a choux au craquelin into his claws, happily munching away at it. Based on his constant trilling, it must have met his standards. Not that Scolipede had as refined a palette as the rest of his team…
You nod and set about preparing his coffee - extra strong, just as he ordered (or at least sounded like he needed) with your own special touch to it. He watches as you masterfully move about the small space to prepare his order - his drink is perfectly hot and ready for him on the counter within a minute and a half. The carefully organized macaron box is next to it a minute after that. Speedy service, as requested. With a satisfied hum, he takes out his wallet and thumbs through the bills before setting a 15,000 Pokédollars on your counter. When you go to enter it into the till and get him his change, he just raises his free hand and shakes his head.
“Keep the change,” he murmurs as he places the box of macarons on Scolipede’s head, who lets out a low chirp as he finishes the last of the sample he had nabbed earlier. Corbeau’s gaze meets yours again, appraising rather than depreciating. He had no intent on apologizing for his, frankly, embarrassing behavior - the sooner he can pretend it never happened, the sooner he could get on with his day. This will have to serve as his silent apology.
“Ah…sure. Okay.” You retrieve the change from the till and drop it into the ‘tip’ jar on your counter - another idea you brought up to Grisham. Your reasoning was the tips could be used to pay for food and drinks for their patrons who are, as Grisham lightly puts it, ‘down on their luck.’ It’s got a little cutout of an Espurr peeking over the edge, and the writing in front of it reads, ‘Found our service Espurr-cially great? Leave a Meows-tip!’
It was corny, but it worked.
“Well,” you smile to your customer with a nod, “hope the rest of your day goes better.”
“Likewise.” He nods and raises his to-go cup in cheers before returning to his route. Scolipede happily ambles alongside him, using the utmost care in transporting the large variety pack of precious treats. As much as he’d love to have them all to himself, his teammates deserved to have a taste of your wonderful baking.
Once around the corner, Corbeau finally takes a sip of his drink, a content groan leaving him as the dark, addictive substance runs down his throat to warm and settle his empty stomach…and pauses. This is definitely not how Grisham made it…but he couldn’t place what was off about it. As much as his stubborn pride hated to admit it, it wasn’t half bad, actually. In fact he found himself liking it more than he liked Grisham’s.
…you were an odd one, that much was certain. He had never seen you around before - granted, he spent a lot of time holed away in his office, but he has enough eyes in the street to know who’s who, especially if that someone was working at a coffee truck he visited frequently enough. Perhaps it had been longer than he thought - if Grisham had trusted you to run it solely on your own, you must have been there for a while. Long enough to have garnered his and Griselle’s trust, at the very least. They were good people, but they were people who didn’t really let others in easily - a trait he shares and can appreciate.
At any rate, his interaction with you is over. He’ll have Philippe pick up some more coffee for home so he wouldn’t have to go through that sort of experience again. He’ll message Grisham later - it really had been a while, and he’d like to say hello, but he’d rather not have to encounter you again, if he could avoid it. It wasn’t usual for Corbeau to feel shame of any kind, but you had certainly and thoroughly shamed and embarrassed him today, and he wasn’t particularly keen on reliving that memory again any time soon.
…still, the coffee you made was better than the blend he normally had at home. Perhaps he’ll ask Grisham about the new recipe so he could upgrade his own stash. That would get two Pidgeys with one stone.
Coffee in hand and a renewed sense of focus, Corbeau steps into the syndicate’s building. He nods to the secretary, as he does every morning, and heads into the elevator. The coffee sits at the far right corner of his desk when he sits, as it always does, and the scent wafts over as he takes a deep breath of relief. He combs a hand through his hair and opens his laptop, ready to forget about his morning.
Finally. Routine achieved.
______________________________________________________
Your smile falls as your customer walks around the corner and you all but deflate against the counter, legs buckling. Dachsbun whines and nudges your leg, and he receives a pet and an affirmation of “I’m okay, bud,” for his troubles.
That was terrifying. You didn’t like that one bit. You’re not even sure where that energy came from! Your precious Pokémon could attest - you had trouble asking for extra ketchup when out at fast food restaurants, for Arceus' sake! Standing up for yourself like that to a customer on your first day working alone at a coffee stand that wasn’t even yours was something you’d never have pictured yourself doing in your wildest dreams.
With a weak exhale, you sink to your knees, your anxiety slamming into you like the truck you currently sat slumped in. You groan, rubbing at your face, and Dachsbun does his best to distract you before you have a full-blown anxiety attack. Your beloved partner was a service-mon, specifically trained for situations like this. He hasn’t needed to alert or use his skills since he was a Fidough, however - your job left you far too exhausted to even physically go through the motions of an anxiety attack. But then, you made the big-kid decision to move to Kalos and pursue your culinary dreams.
You remember his worried little face when you were in line to board the plane, ticket clutched in sweaty, shaking palms, suddenly doubting your life choices, ready to ditch everything and run back to the comfort of your home at the drop of a dime. Hell, someone could breathe in your direction wrong and you might take off, forgetting all about your dreams and the life you always wanted to leave behind for a new beginning for the same, dull routine that may have been sucking the life out of you, but, hey, it was safe.
Dachsbun practically dragged you onto the plane himself and he refused to leave your lap until you landed in Kalos. Whenever you tried to move the little bugger before your flight’s taxi and take off to make one last desperate attempt to escape from this incredible new opportunity, he’d huff, roll over, and give you the biggest, saddest, wettest puppy eyes you had ever seen. You knew he was guilt tripping you into staying seated…and damn if it didn’t work.
Your presence here is proof enough that you really couldn’t argue with the little guy, and ultimately, you’re grateful he did what he did. If he hadn’t, there’s a high likelihood that you’d be back in your crappy apartment in your run-down corner of Castelia City working your shitty eight-to-five office job that physically, mentally, and emotionally drained the life out of you.
But in moments like these? In which you were damn near close to crying because someone snapped at you? That shitty cubicle sounded like a dream. Normally, you’d let whoever yelled at you do as they pleased, offering apologies and fixing things that, more often than not, weren’t even your responsibility to fix. Not with what you were getting paid, at least.
Dachsbun licks the back of your hand, nudging it to make you look up at him. When you do, you see his tail wagging, and you could even swear there was a twinkle of pride in his eyes.
Normally, you’d be a doormat - one that apologized to the people walking all over you that they had dirt on their shoes.
…but today, something different happened. Again, you don’t know where that energy came from, but you stood up for yourself. Beyond that, you actually managed to put that guy in his place. Oh, there were so many moments where you felt like backing down, but something in you was steadfast and determined to stand against your timid nature.
This was your new life. One you worked so hard for. One you’ve dreamed about since…forever! You had the opportunity to reinvent yourself here. Here, in Lumiose, you didn’t have to be the shy, soft-spoken office worker who did whatever was asked of them. In fact, you’re never going to be that again! Not if you can help it!
Dachsbun barks at you, his little tail wagging faster as your anxiety ebbs, leaving your body in slow, measured exhales. Your grip on your wrists relaxes and your legs uncurl from where they’re pressed tight against you. Your companion props his front two paws against your arm and licks your face, encouraging.
“...yeah. I guess I did just do that, huh?” He barks, and you chuckle. “And…the world didn’t blow up. I didn’t blow up…and we were still able to make a sale.”
Your Pokémon nods and drops to the floor again, nudging your side to get you standing. The day had only just begun, after all! Those customers (of which there are thankfully none at the current moment) weren’t going to serve themselves!
With a nod and a newfound internal strength, you stand with the help of the counter (your legs were still just a liiiiiittle shaky, but it’s nothing that wouldn’t eventually go away on its own) and prepare yourself to face the day ahead of you. You smile, determined in making the rest of the day go better - nowhere to go but up!
Dachsbun hops up onto the counter, ready to perform his sworn duty of keeping a lookout for and attracting customers. He shares a spirited nod with you and barks out happily to a passing citizen, who stops in surprise and walks over to check out the coffee truck, greeting you with a warm smile.
Today was going to be a good day.
You were going to make sure of it.
