Every trainer in Kanto knew of Team Rocket. Though many years before, many took them as a joke, and quite honestly, they were. They were high school drop-outs with Rattatas. No one to take seriously. Not back then.
Now, however, many trainers feared them. Elijah would often compare the organization as a Magikarp that evolved into a Gyarados. Beginning trainers used to be able to take on their grunts, but now, it seemed as though they couldn't be controlled by anyone.
As a kid, Elijah had actually quite admired them. For a team that had been so weak to suddenly become one to be feared... The small boy couldn't help but want to be like that. Though Elijah grew up in Unova, where Team Rocket wasn't quite as active, he still used to say that he would join them one day. Of course, back then he didn't know what exactly they did. He only knew that people feared and stayed away from them. And that was exactly what he wanted.
As he grew up, however, he began to hate them. When he had figured out what their goals really were, he wanted their team to crumble. How evil did one have to be to treat Pokémon in such a way? They were cruel to humans too, of course, but Elijah was much more bothered by their cruelty to such sweet and innocent Pokémon.
That hatred had never quite faded. Elijah would tell himself that if he were to ever encounter such a person, that he would deal with them himself.
And that was what he told himself when he saw a blue-haired man wearing the recognizable red "R" upon his chest. It wasn't quite night yet, and so seeing the Rocket in the open in Celdaon City quite surprised the young man. Was it normal for someone like him to be walking about like this here?
Normal or not, it didn't matter. A Rocket was a Rocket, and he so deserved to be punished.
Elijah looked down at the Bulbasaur at his feet and pointed to the man. "Forest, toxic." The Bulbasaur nodded, pointed his bulb at the unsuspecting man, and shot out dark purple liquid at him.
"Aw, tits."
Pchela knows that face and somehow she gets the feeling that is miiight not bode well for her. Oh, Rocket. Why are you all so... punchable-looking. And vaguely ominous. And something she's trying hard to avoid so she doesn't get roped back in.
"Hey, hey, how about you tell me that you came here for bad puns. Instead of, you know
crime.
I can supply bad puns.
Less so on the crime approval front."
(Long, long, long, long post after the cut. Seriously, I am so sorry for how long this turned out. Holy crap. Trigger warnings for mentions of blood, vomit, and major character death.)
unquestionableloyalty
It had been nearly a month since she’d seen the black-haired boy. To be precise, it had been 29 days, 6 hours, 13 minutes and— but really, who was counting? All that mattered was that it had been a long, long time and she was getting worried. Each day when she arrived at the Day-care Center, she would hold her breath upon entry in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for her there. Alas, each day was met with the same cold darkness of an empty building, silent and still.
Once every second or third day, when she was feeling particularly brave— or perhaps stupid— she would flick the switch on the radio app for her Gear, just to see if anything had changed. She regretted it every time. Still she could hear his voice, calling out to the man he called Leader, pleading with him for his return. The sound never changed and it never failed to make her heart sink lower into her stomach. Where was Ethan and why hadn’t he put a stop to all of this wickedness?
On a Sunday, more than four weeks since the last ‘customer’ had stepped through those doors, she heard the sound she’d been desperately waiting for for so so so so long. The wooden barrier creaked on its hinges and the little bell overhead tinkled to announce a visitor. Joy leapt in her heart and her legs leapt over the counter between the nursery and the lobby. Ethan was here. Ethan had done it. They were saved. She was saved. She was safe. Oh praise all the deities that could hear her silent elation!
"Good afternoon."
That voice. It turned her stomach. Froze the blood in her veins. It was vile, filthy. It was wrong. This was not Ethan’s voice. This was not the voice of the one who had gone away with a promise to return when Johto was safe once more. This was the voice that sent shivers down her spine and set her heart aflutter in all the most horrible ways.
"Y-you… what are you— why are you here?"
"I understand it has been some time since your last customer, but that is hardly an appropriate response to someone who enters your shop. Have you lost your touch in the weeks you’ve been without work?"
She wanted to scowl, to make apparent the anger that boiled beneath her skin, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t dare antagonize this man when she was alone with nothing to defend herself but her Pokemon and she knew they weren’t strong enough to face him. She did, however, stand her ground. Knowing that Ethan was out there somewhere, making preparations to bring this criminal organization down, gave her hope like she hadn’t known in months. That hope gave her courage and, nothing else, she could stand up and face this man until he was put away for good.
"You aren’t welcome here. I’m not working for you anymore, I— I don’t have to. I won’t."
The way his eyes lit up at those words knocked the wind out of her. She expected surprise, disappointment, perhaps even anger. But there was none of it. Instead, there was simply condescending amusement. Twisted mirth and something she might have called joy. He smiled that wicked smile— the one that never reached his eyes and always managed to unnerve her— and reached into the breast pocket of his blazer.
"There’s no need for such hostility, Kotone. I have brought you a gift."
The final word of that sentence struck her with such force that she nearly fell back a step. A gift? From him? What could he possibly have to give her? She swallowed thickly, the crease of her brow making her suspicion evident. Her foot pivoted slightly behind her, a flight instinct to make turning tail and running that much easier. It was pretty or glamorous or honorable, but it meant she might live another day and that was sometimes all that mattered.
From that breast pocket he produced a small, gift-wrapped box, complete with a small, shiny bow on top. The box glittered beneath the florescent light overhead, a pretty shade of gold tied beneath silver ribbon. The box itself was only the size of the man’s open hand and the way he grasped it between his first two fingers, she could tell it was very light. With the slightest bend at the waist, he extended the box to her, the chesire grin on his face ruining the respectful facade of the gesture.
"For all the trouble you’ve gone through on the behalf of myself and Team Rocket. Something I hope you will keep to remember us by."
She stared at the proffered box with a heavily beating heart. She could feel her palms slick with fear-induced sweat and she had to rub the pads of her thumb along them to hastily dry them. Dare she take the box? Worse, dare she refuse? With shaky fingers she extended her hand to take the small box and was surprised when it slipped so easily into her grasp. She had been right; it was incredibly light and it made her question that there was anything in the box in the first place.
"What is it?"
Silence was all that answered her question and she looked up only to find herself alone once more. She trembled slightly with the realization that he had exited without her notice, without so much as making a sound. Not even the bell over the door had alerted her to his departure. For a moment, she wondered if perhaps it had been a dream but for the box still resting in her palm.
She fidgeted in place, trying to decide whether or not she really wanted to open this box. Curiosity ate at her, though, in equal measure to the dread which weighed on her heart. Her thumb stroked against the soft material of the ribbon until her fingertips came close enough to it that they walked up one side of the box and then the top toward the bow at the center. Her heart pounded more heavily in her chest. She was going to regret this. She could tell already, but she still had to know.
She tore at the tied ribbon quickly— like ripping a band-aid off in a single, fluid motion to get it over with. The force of her hurried motion almost knocked the parcel from her hand and she had to lurch out to catch it, dropping the ribbon at the same time. She had assumed, at first glance, that the box was wrapped in the gold material which covered it, but it was actually just the color of the cardboard. Now that she was inspecting it more closely, she realized that all she had to do to see inside was slide the top half of the package off the slightly smaller bottom.
She swallowed nervously, fingers trembling and slick with sweat once more. She hated the almost nauseous feeling which crept through her gut. It was cold in the Day-care that morning, as it had been for days, and yet she still felt hot with sickness and a kind of sorrow she couldn’t quite fathom. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, squeezed the top of the box, and shook it slightly while lifting to pull it free of the bottom. There was a squeak of material scraping against material and then it seemed like half the weight of the already light box disappeared when its top came loose.
There. It was done. The box was open. All she needed to do was look in the—
A clatter cut the silence of the room as the box top fell from her fingers.
"No."
She was panting with the thrumming of her heart, nearly hyperventilating in an instant. Her knees quaked beneath her and she felt as though she might be sick all over the linoleum floor. For long, unbroken moments she stared into that box as a string of emotions ran through her. Anger, hatred, terror, a deep, deep, sadness all mixed together at once until a sharp pain in her legs jolted her from the mindless reverie when she fell to the floor in a heap. Her legs were twisted and tangled beneath her and she was shaking like a leaf.
"No no no…"
The fingers that still cradled the box tightened until its shape was gnarled and bent. It collapsed in her grip, inward with the motion of her tightening fist until the edges of it caught on the object inside it. Tears blurred her vision as they welled in her eyes, hot and stinging and overflowing until they fell down her face.
"E-ethan—"
Her empty hand reached for the box, slid tight fingers inside the mangled object, and pulled free the single item within. It was thin, hard plastic that fit in the palm of her hand and ruined cardboard was quickly replaced with white-knuckled fingers. The edges of the card dug into her skin but she didn’t notice. She had no ability to feel anything more than what she was already laden with.
Between the second knuckles of her fingers and the heel of her palm was an all-too-familiar trainer ID. She remembered with sudden, startling clarity the day she had first seen it— the day she’d gone with her childhood friend to become official Pokemon trainers together. He had smiled toothily through his picture— now smeared with dried blood, swiped across the picture in a pattern reminiscent of a thumb wiping some of it away— and his smile had lasted through the day. He had been so excited to finally be old enough to be trusted with a Pokemon of his own. She’d had to remind him twice to sign his name at the bottom— the signature was barely legible now where flame had blackened and melted the plastic, made it curl in on itself as if to escape the painful scorching.
Suddenly she was gasping for air, doubled over on the floor with the card still wrapped in the fist that supported her against the surface beneath her. Her stomach clenched, twisted in knots, and heaved in such a way that she was terrified it might actually come out of her mouth along with the unfinished breakfast from earlier that morning. The smell of sickness and sorrow pervaded everything in her immediate vicinity and her throat, nose, and heart burned with the acidic bile that had so violently left her insides.
Sobs, pitiful and wailing, left her throat, gargled by the thick fluid that still rested in the back of her mouth, a residual threat that there was still more for her to lose and it would likely happen soon. Her teeth clenched around the awful sounds that left her and she felt the grit of vomit eating away at the enamel. A thought came to her unbidden— I’ll have to brush my teeth to get rid of it— followed quickly by a worse one— oh gods ethan ethan ethan will never brush his teeth again— and then she was screaming the agony in her chest, choking around a second wave of sickness that spread to meet her knees, but again she couldn’t care.
She remained on the floor that way until her shoulders could no longer wrack, her stomach could no longer heave, her eyes could no longer spill forth tears. The lobby of the Day-care Center stank of her misery and the top of her stockings were cold where wet regurgitation had soaked through her. Her eyes hurt. Her face stung. Her mouth tasted coppery where her voice had turned ragged and the cords had nearly ripped with protest of the abuse from both throwing up and screaming besides. She was a mess, filthy and broken, and desperately needed to move if she didn’t want to collapse entirely.
With a muffled, whispered groan she stood on shaking legs. She winced when feeling suddenly rushed back to her legs, needles and pins lacing through the dull numbness. She reached out a hand to grasp the counter so that she wouldn’t fall and had to turn away from the sight of the floor where she’d been half-sitting. As though on autopilot, she moved beyond the counter to the incubation room and beyond, where a glass, stall shower was installed for the workers. She pried open the tall door and flipped the water over as hot as it would go. Only bothering to remove her shoes, she all but collapsed onto the floor and dragged the door closed behind her.
Scalding hot water burned her skin and turned it red, soaked through her clothes and made her hair stick to her face. She sat there, unmoving, with her legs against her chest and her arms around her shins, wound tightly around herself and shivering every so often with the too-hot sensation of the water. Her eyes closed and she cherished the blessed darkness of it. She wanted to cry, to weep again, but she had nothing left and so settled instead for the water that bathed and washed away the smell of her sorrow but not the heavy pain of it.
