Tomatoes
Word Count: 1,240 Characters: Griselle, Grisham Summary: You're harvesting some crops from Lumiose's community rooftop gardens for the soup kitchen you all volunteer for since their supplies are low. When you find out that Griselle absolutely hates tomatoes, well...you decide to be a menace to her.
This is part of my fruit-series for Griselle XD
The rooftop gardens were a riot of color, sunlight glancing off the glass and steel of Lumiose’s skyline while the three of you threaded through a jungle of tomatoes, peppers, and sprawling squash vines. The city below shimmered in the heat, but up here, the little pockets of green felt like a world apart—your world, coaxed from stubborn rooftop soil, wild Pokémon, and the stubbornness of someone who refused to believe Lumiose couldn’t have countryside pleasures.
The air buzzed with the scent of ripe tomatoes, waxy leaves, and the faint sweetness of basil baking in the heat. You knelt in the soft soil of Hotel Z’s rooftop garden, hands sticky with tomato resin, a woven basket already half-full of glossy red and yellow fruit. Grisham stood a row over, his flame-colored hair cinched into its tidy ponytail, glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he delicately pinched sprigs of thyme and parsley, a second basket already brimming with tea leaves.
Griselle, who was closer to you, looked distinctly out of place among the tangled squash vines, her neat ponytail bobbing with every exasperated huff. She picked peppers with the air of someone performing a community service against her will, muttering under her breath about the indignity of hard labor. Her sigh was so theatrical it nearly wilted the basil. “You know,” she called, snapping a pepper off its stem, “if you’d just ordered enough from the shelter’s supplier, we wouldn’t be out here risking heatstroke for a bunch of vegetables.”
“We’re short because the shelter’s demand increased,” Grisham replied, voice calm and annoyingly reasonable. “And this is hardly extra work. It’s for a good cause.” He gently placed a bushel of parsley leaves he snipped into his basket. “And you’re the one who insisted on fresh, Griselle.”
She shot him a withering glare. “I meant fresh from the market, Gris, not from the gardens where it’s hot like Pyroar’s breath.”
Grisham didn’t look up from the neat bunch of thyme he was snipping. “You know what the gardens mean to the folks out here.” His voice was patient, a slight smile playing on his lips. “After all, we started Cafe Nouveau for those who can’t afford the high prices of the cafes. What better way to provide for the people than community gardens?”
You looked up from the tomatoes, feeling the heat on your cheeks as you wiped the sweat off your brow. “I think the rooftop gardens might be the best project I’ve ever forced the city into.” You grinned, popping a cherry tomato into your mouth and savoring the burst of tangy-sweet juice. “They’ve been doing so well up here. I think it’s because of our arrangement with the local wild Pokémon. They keep the pests down, help tend the plants, and only take what they need. It’s a win-win.”
Grisham nodded, the faintest glimmer of a smile tugging at his mouth, as he straightened and brushed dirt off his knees. “Your idea to broker peace with the wild pokemon two summers ago was a brilliant solution. I’ll admit, I was skeptical, but the results speak for themselves.” He nodded toward a pair of wild Fletchling pecking delicately at a patch berries, their feathers gleaming in the light. “Shared labor, shared bounty.”
That made your smile widen, and you started filling another basket with tomatoes, fingers flying over the vines. “You know what? I think I’ll make some gazpacho too. Something cool to go with the ratatouille. We have so many tomatoes, it’d be a crime not to.” You looked pointedly at Griselle, who was glaring at a row of peppers like they’d personally offended her. “Hey Griselle, could you grab a few more peppers? And maybe a few cucumbers?”
Griselle’s ponytail bounced as she jerked her head up to look at you. “Cucumbers? Why? Isn’t the ratatouille enough work?”
“I need it for gazpacho,” you replied, filling your palm with sun-warmed tomatoes. “And there’s plenty to go around.” You reached for another cluster of cherry tomatoes, singling out one and popping it into your mouth, savoring its umami and sweetness.
Griselle grumbled but moved off toward the next row, her movements quick and irritated. She shot you a sidelong look as you snacked, wrinkling her nose. “How can you eat those things raw?”
Grisham, busy with his tea leaves, didn’t look up. “Let her enjoy herself, Griselle.”
You licked juice from your thumb, grinning. “I adore tomatoes. Grew up with tomato sandwiches—just thick slices, a sprinkle of salt and pepper, a little mayo, and nothing else. Sometimes I’d eat them like apples.”
Griselle blanched, her blue eyes going wide behind her glasses. “That’s disgusting. Seriously, who does that? Raw tomatoes are the single worst thing to ever happen to food. They’re slimy, they’re seedy, and they ruin everything they touch. I don’t know how you stomach them.”
You shrugged, popping another cherry tomato into your mouth, letting the juice burst across your tongue. “You’re missing out. Tomatoes are summer in fruit form.”
She made a face, muttering under her breath about “tomato freaks” and “culinary crimes,” but kept picking. You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.
The next time Griselle stomped by, basket full of peppers and newly picked cucumbers, you caught her eye, and selected a particularly plump cherry tomato. Then, making sure she was just close enough, popped it between your teeth, biting down with a flourish so the juice squirted straight at her, splattering across her white tank top.
Griselle shrieked, dropping her basket, peppers and cucumbers tumbling, hands flying to her shirt. “You fucking bitch!” She frantically looked around for something to wipe it off with, spotting some towels on a table nearby. “Ew, ew, ew, ew, ewwwwww!!!”
Grisham walked up to your side with his baskets, heaving a long-suffering sigh. “Was that really necessary?”
You grinned at him, licking tomato juice from your lips. “Absolutely.”
He regarded you with that inscrutable, almost amused look, then glanced at Griselle, who was busy swearing under her breath and trying to blot her shirt with a towel.
“You realize she won’t speak to you for a week now,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Probably won’t even acknowledge your existence.”
You shrugged, before moving to collect the fallen vegetables. “You mean a week of peace and quiet without someone grumbling and complaining? Oh, whatever will I do?” You gathered and placed the vegetables in the abandoned basket. As you straightened you ginned and stretched in the sun, the prospect of a Griselle-free week tantalizing. “What about you, Grisham? Will you ignore me too?”
He considered, lips quirking in a rare smile. “Tempting. It might be restful, just for a bit.”
You pouted, batting your lashes. “Yeah, right. We both know you wouldn’t last a few minutes without putting your hands on me, knowing Griselle would be out of the picture for a bit.”
He laughed, low and warm, shaking his head. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t, but I’m willing to risk it for the novelty.”
Griselle, tank top ruined, stalked off down the row, muttering dire threats under her breath. You and Grisham watched her go, then shared a look—a silent agreement that, for once, you were both on the same side. The sun blazed, the gardens thrived, and the promise of cooking ratatouille and gazpacho for dozens with laughter, friendship, and just the right amount of chaos.
