“Oh, they won’t?” Malva asked with a tone of feigned disbelief as her deadpan eyes flicked up from her tablet. “And here I was thinking that they would be begging to lick my boots—of course they won’t talk to a reporter!” She continued typing away at her screen, adding the last few relevant parts of Grimsley’s statement to a small document listing all of her information so far.
“It’s all a moot point anyways—since I currently don’t have anyone to talk to.” Finally done compiling and updating her information, Malva gently put her tablet screen-down on her lap and turned her gaze towards Grimsley.
“Putting what you said with what was already known, though, I think there might be someone you can speak to--if you care about preserving your freedom, that is.”
…A small part of her still wanted to just smack his smirk off and leave it at that, but she knew at that point that was no longer productive. If she wanted to use him for the plan that was quickly beginning to line itself up in her head, she needed to clue him into her logic.
“If Rocket would’ve learned anything from their two colossal failures, it would be to have their eyes trained for any unwanted presences; so, I doubt you were followed. Either you were bugged…or you had a rat in your midst—and I suspect it’s the latter.” Pausing to note the blush of red sneaking across his face, she prayed he was still sober enough to comprehend her.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t at least thought about the fact that, despite your meeting involving multiple Rockets, you were the only one named in the article? After all, these parasites only care about stealing my place as Kalos’ premiere reporter; you and Rocket were merely the best tools to initiate their plan.”
She crossed her arms tightly now, her frown only deepening. “So why the care to mention as few Rocket affiliates as possible? Naming as many as they could would only make my case seem all the more damning, no?”
Ideally, she expected Grimsley to make the connection by now, but she wasn’t too optimistic with how much champagne was missing from the bottle. “Do you understand? They protected their ‘source’s identity because their source was one of your little ‘friends’ at that meeting—perhaps they even struck a deal to ensure as little names were released as possible.”
Malva didn't reward Grimsley's tantrum with any sort of response, keeping her attention purely focused on her tablet.
"...It's such a cliche, but he truly is a pig," Malva thought to herself as she listened to Grimsley's banging against the table. She lazily rearranged the tabs on her page, waiting for him to take his tantrum into the hallway so she could focus again.
Once she saw a pair of hands wildly gesturing at and obstructing her screen, she finally lifted her head--and a hand. It was about to begin to pull back into a ferocious slap the moment any part of him touched her things. To her partial disappointment, though, he did finally pull away. Part of her still wanted to drag this buffoon out of the room at this point, but then he finally mentioned an unexpected piece of information that caught Malva's attention.
She hadn't heard that from any of her sources yet.
"...Well, well, next to the article, this is probably the most unexpected moment so far," Malva eventually began after a small pause, swinging her legs uncrossed as she straightened up in her seat. "You finally said something pretty useful."
Already, her fingers were flying across her tablet as she began prodding the Internet and her sources for any extra information on Team Rocket. "These reporters are new upstarts--they don't have any access to sources outside of Kalos or the Internet, and no older articles or sources I can find ever mention your specific familial connection to Rocket," she explained as she examined the fresh tabs on her screen.
"They had to have collected this information recently, which means you might have had an unwanted ear at your little meeting."
He huffs when she smacks his hand, nose wrinkling up in disdain for the action. He’s only trying to stop her from doing something foolish, from ruining everything he’s worked to achieve and for what? He hasn’t the faintest idea and is about to tell her he doesn’t care, but that honestly wouldn’t be the truth of it all. He’s intrigued, but a part of him doesn’t wish to be disappointed with the entire ordeal. Malva was known to go after any little thing so there was no telling what minuscule amount of crime was going on in the bellows of the ship.
Back still facing him, Malva let a small and snarky smirk peek across her lips. Even before Siebold hissed his reply at her, she could always feel the sudden tensity in the air right when she successfully scores a hit on his nerve. She ignored his indignant response as she carefully pushed down the door handle and inched it open. Though lit only by a few stray, basic overhead lights, Malva could tell she was in the right place. After taking one more quick glance to ensure the room was empty, she was about to leave Siebold to whatever it was he decided to do when he asked her a question she did not expect to hear.
She pulled the door back to a sliver and turned halfway towards him, shooting him a half-astonished, half-confused look. Narcissism of his magnitude, even as long as she had known him, still managed to somehow surprise her every day. This time, it actually took her a few moments to catch up with his unorthodox logic.
“When did I even ask for...”
A pair of distant footsteps cut her response short, however, eliciting a frustrated scoff under her breath. Realizing instantly she had only one available path to take, she carefully snuck inside, not caring whether Siebold stayed or followed. Once she was sure the door was completely closed behind them, she made sure to waste no time making her way deeper into the room.
Towers of crates filled the rooms in neat sets of rows at various angles, like a puzzle, making the floor path akin to a maze. Each crate had various scuffs and stamps alike on it, all helping to distinguish what they might have inside. The extent of her informant’s information ended at the door lock, unfortunately. Which of these crates contained the smuggled goods, if any, she would have no idea unless she searched them one by one. Time wasn't that generous today, especially with each stack of crates being not only sealed shut but also bound together by thick straps.
As she pondered about her next move, something about the buckles caught her eye.
"...These things are terribly rusted," she commented softly. "How can they bear such heavy--!!" Suddenly, the floor lurched beneath her feet, accompanied by the sound of a deep horn. It was enough to throw her, as well as all of the crates, off balance. Unlike Malva, though, the crates didn't havey any way besides the old buckles to keep themselves upright. At the same time Malva regained her balance, the sound of several old pieces of metal snapping echoed off the walls all at once, followed by a series of terrible tumbles and crashes. None fell on her, luckily, but she did spy one nearby crate that had spilled its contents all over the floor.
From what she could see in the dim lighting, it was a pile of Poke Balls. Once she got closer, she realized they weren't mere Poke Balls, but Cherish Balls.
"...Hm..." Eyes narrowed suspiciously at the huge collection of the rare Ball type, she picked one up for a closer look. Turning it over in her hands repeatedly, she focused on the bottom half of the ball and rubbed her thumb against it. Almost immediately, a red blotch of paint stuck to her thumb, leaving a white layer of paint exposed on the Ball.
"Hah," she spat triumphantly, holding the smudged Ball up for a picture. "Counterfeit Cherish Balls to go with their smuggled rare Pokemon. How much extra cash do these people think they can squeeze out of ignorant buyers..."
Satisfied with her photos, she set the fake Cherish Ball back down to get a full shot of the fallen crate. "The fact that they did such a shoddy paint job is a crime in and of itself." She got a few different quick snapshots of the crate before calling it quits, leaning down to pick up another Ball so she could release the Pokemon inside. That photo would be the final piece of evidence for her article. As she reached for one, however, a particular Ball in the edge of the pile caught her eye.
"...Hold on..." Picking the 'Cherish Ball' up, she did another smudge test, turning the Ball over in her hands again as well. "...This one is real."
A small quiver from inside the Ball suddenly began rocking wildly, climbing rapidly in intensity until it opened by itself. She was expecting some kind of rare Pokemon to be inside, obviously, but as the Pokemon took shape, she couldn't believe just how rare of a Pokemon this was until it turned towards her and forced her to acknowledge its presence.
"What is..." The gold hoops adorning its small body were unmistakable to Malva, matching exactly with the simple childhood stories she was told by Avise.
"...Hoopa...?!"
With every ounce of that damning champagne Grimsley poured, Malva could feel the temperature of her blood inch another notch closer to boiling. Her fingers were already beginning to curl, wanting so badly to just wipe the glasses and bottle right off the table in a single swipe. Cold dedication to the pursuit of her necessary scoop was the only thing that kept her hands stuck to her tablet.
Her eyes remained fixed on the hapless alcoholic in front of her though, slowly melting into a glare as he drawled on with his empty quips. Her now-fragile composure was still maintained, though, up until his very last question; the sign of it finally breaking was marked with a narrowed set of eyes and pursed lips.
"...The only thing I can absolutely assume here is that I have greatly overestimated your competence." She put her tablet on powersave mode with a tap of the power button, putting it down on her lap as she laid back in her seat and crossed her legs disinterestedly.
"I invited you here from the police station so that we might work together towards reversing the damage from that noxious tabloid trash. Instead, you've done nothing but suck on a bottle and endanger our positions even further."
Tilting her head to one side and supporting it with a resting hand, her posture still somehow appeared rigid and ready to strike should Grimsley so much as open his mouth.
"If you want to drink yourself all the way to a jail cell, do it on your own time, but I refuse to waste mine babysitting some spoiled child. I have a future that I actually want to protect."
Never once did she touch her champagne glass, her glare trying as hard as it could to wish the infuriating thing away.
"If you have nothing to contribute to stopping the spreading of this libel, get out of my sight. And if your idiotic behavior threatens my freedom again, I will ensure you arrive at the police station in an urn."
Still holding her tablet in her lap with one hand, Malva reopened it and began bringing up other possible leads. Grimsley may have already left the room by now--Malva wouldn't have noticed nor reacted either way.
Grimsley wasn’t quite sure what was happening. Kalos had been wonderful so far—it wasn’t necessarily his first time there by any means, but definitely the first where he had time to play outside business, and Lumiose City was wonderful for such a thing. Or it had been.
The sound of that awful banging alone was enough to make Malva begin her rush for the door to quiet the idiot doing the knocking, but the comment that followed was enough to make her fling it open. The deep scowl was more than enough to convey her feelings, but Malva began to add a few more comments of her own just to make it all the more clear. Upon seeing the bottle of champagne in his hand, though, her voice fell away, as did her scowl. In its place was a face of utterly dumbfounded horror; her brief silence that accompanied it as she quickly checked each side of the halls, face completely frozen, spoke far more than any quip she could make.
"...Oh Dieu aide moi..."
Once she concluded there were no prying eyes or ears nearby, her scowl returned with a vengeance as she practically dragged Grimsley into her hotel room. It took all of her composure just to close the door without a huge slam, so she had to dig especially deep to keep her voice at a very tense hiss of a whisper.
"Do you want to give them even more actual evidence to support their lies? And where did--" She was about to ask where he even got the bottle, but the unique labelling on the glass told her way more than she ever hoped to know. "...What did you tell the receptionist when you asked for the champagne?" She said through a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose.
She didn't give Grimsley any time to answer her question, though, instead immediately adding, "Ugh laisse tomber, the damage is done now anyway," with a dismissive hand wave. She made a small mental note to deal with the receptionist herself before they left, pulling a tablet-like device out from a tote she had sitting on one of the beds.
"What matters now is information, so..."
Seating herself opposite the other Elite, she activated her tablet and opened up a fresh document, readying her fingers to write. "...what do you know about that wretched article?"
He busies himself within the kitchens on the ship; at home among the roiling waves and with his own personal staff to assist in making this party perfect. He’s honored to be there, honored to serve up some of his specialties for the crowd to try. He always aims to make a name for himself, and seeks out more than that. He wants his food to be remembered beyond when it’s consumed and already he knows he asks too much of that from the crowds that are far too absorbed in gossip alike to even note what they’re eating beyond it tasting of heaven and a need for more. It will be forgotten by the time we’re off this ship.
Malva halted mid-step as soon as she felt Siebold’s hand around her arm. Had she not known who it was, she would have already had their arm twisted around their back. Instead, she first gave him a small smack on the hand, both to make him release his grip and to warn him not to try it again. Crossing her arms, she turned to face him properly, her expression a very sensitive deadpan that threatened to turn much more threatening should she be provoked any more.
"If you knew anything about what this ship is actually doing you'd know that the real party is down here in the storage area." Her voice was a whisper like his, but decidedly more impatient in tone.
Knowing he would still follow her, she decided to finish the last few steps she needed to reach the door to the first storage area. She leaned down to inspect a lock, confirming that it used a keypad, just like her informant told her.
"I don't know why I always seem to find you on ships dealing with illegal smuggling and trafficking," she continued casually as she pulled out her Holocaster. A small reminder was pinned to her home screen, displaying a PIN when she tapped on it. "But if you value your reputation, you should run along back to the top deck and leave before the it departs." Putting her Holocaster back in her pocket, she started typing the PIN into the keypad, repeating each number in the combination to herself to make sure she was typing it correctly.
"Or you could continue to play the role of an unassuming little pawn like all of the other empty-headed aristocrats up there," she added with a shrug, not taking her eyes off the keypad. "It makes no difference to me." Upon the final number, the color of the keypad analog screen switched from red to green with a small 'deet', followed by the sound of a mechanical lock whirring open.
"Come tomorrow, Kalos is going to wake to the news of the largest rare Pokemon black market since Team Rocket's Golden Age."
Utter, amateur trash--that was the only thing Malva used to describe the fanatical hitpiece some gutter tabloid had published about her.
'PRIVATE SOURCE: HOLO CASTER NEWS'S TOP STAR POSSIBLY CONNECTED TO KALOS CRIME SPREE'
It was typed in practically banner-sized, cheap font letters across the top of the second-rate news site's 'Breaking News' tab, begging for clicks. She had only given it one click in total--just enough to skim through the 'article,' if one could call it that. 'Supposedly's and 'possibly's littered the sentences, each one stating a more outlandish accusation than the last. The part that stuck out the most to her during her first and only read-through was the summarizing paragraph, which read:
"Holo Caster News Anchor and Elite Four Malva Elvire, according to an anonymous source, is one of the secret players in a violent gang takeover orchestrated by a Kalos-based Team Rocket cell. As the star reporter for the premier Kalos news group founded by Team Flare Boss Lysandre, Malva has supposedly been under-reporting on the rampant gang attacks in Lumiose so as to keep the group's movements out of the limelight. Having already previously under-reported on the activities of Team Flare while they were active, it does set an interesting pattern. Ms. Elvire has also been reportedly seen with Elias "Grimsley" Herod, the Dark-type member of Unova's Elite Four and cousin to a prominent member of Team Rocket. Mr. Herod had only recently arrived in the Kalos region for the first time when he was seen with the Kalos Elite, approximately 2 days before the crime spree began. As the only daughter of the disgraced Elvire family, who had their title of nobility revoked after being accused of leaking military secrets, this would not be the first instance of corruption in Malva's family's tarnished history. The source did not want their name or information released, in fact, due to a fear of retaliation from the Elvires, saying he would be 'disappeared.'"
It was all absolutely baseless, and Malva immediately clicked out of the article the moment she finished the last sentence. If anything, the only thing in the article that genuinely chilled her blood was its mention of those nagging Flare rumors that had been swirling about. Ever since the fallout of Geosenge, she had been careful to avoid having those rumors directly addressed or brought to the forefront of discussion in larger circles, but they never left. Always brewing in conspiracy theorist groups and the like, they kept the only real threat to Malva's life as she knew it alive.
Even knowing this, though, she never expected anything more than some extra heavy gossip to spread about this. She expected people to at least understand a baseless or unproveable source when they saw one, and this was nothing but a childish article of 'he said she said.'
That morning, however, as she found herself being greeted by a pair of Lumiose police officers, she realized she needed to lower her expectations of people even further. While they weren't arresting her, they did say they wanted to 'ask her a few questions' down at the station. She complied, of course, but her rage had definitely begun to build in her throat, ready to explode on the next person who so much as opens her mouth in her direction. Instead of exploding immediately, though, she waited.
They brought her to the station in complete silence, exchanging only cold formalities. While they waited for the interrogation room to open up again, she still said nothing. Even once she was escorted into the room and introduced to the detective, she said nothing.
Only once the detective brought up a slight allusion to the disgusting hitpiece article did she loosen her lips, unleashing her entire angry rebuttal upon the single detective.
"Madam, please, I understand your anger," began the rattled officer inbetween one of Malva's rare pauses, "but--"
"No, I don't think you do, actually," she immediately interjected, slightly leaning forward towards him. Her eyes were ablaze and her tone was laced with venom. "In fact, this whole fiasco has made me question whether the Lumiose police knows what century it's in."
"Because, correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm almost certain the last time law enforcement used baseless gossip as actual pieces of evidence was during the Inquisition!"
"It's not baseless, it--"
" 'Not baseless hm?" She repeated with false interest. "Fascinating! Please, do tell me then, which part of that 'article,' as it relates to the recent crime spree, is truth?" She may have phrased it as a question, but the loud, condescending tone and refusal to allow him any time to respond told him it was nothing he was supposed to reply to.
Yet, he still attempted to reply, talking over Malva in his effort to do so. "We were concerned about your tendency to under-report--"
"Is this the first instance of gang violence in Lumiose, detective?"
"H-huh--?"
"Is this the first instance of gang violence in Lumiose?"
"N-no, but--"
"This city has been riddled with gang activity for decades!" Malva hissed. "You're as likely to catch a Luvdisc in Coumarine Bay as you are to catch a bullet in Lumiose's streets! It's hardly headline news anymore!" She was starting to stand up from her seat now, keeping her hands planted on the table as she arched over it. "People with far worse records than those of Grimsley's ilk freely enter and leave the country every day, yet you choose to chase him and another Elite with an utterly spotless record of her own because a source, one that you can't even verify as belonging to a living human's, said we might be involved?"
"..."
It didn't take much more than a few extra minutes after that for the door to the interrogation room to open, but Malva was still in the middle of her tirade as she walked out. The detective had completely given up, keeping his hat tipped low in embarrassment while he simply let Malva continue.
"What a complete waste of my valuable time," she remarked bitterly as she began to open her Holo Caster. The detective had begun to say some sort of flimsy apology to her as a weak hope it'd get her to stop, but Malva had begun to tune him out. Someone had caught the corner of her eye as she was striding past. A sharp hallway corner cut off her view almost immediately, but all she had to see was a brief glimpse of that coin the man was fiddling with in his hands to know exactly who it was.
"...I wonder what information he has about all this?"
Carefully slowing her speed a little, Malva spoke again. "Well, thanks to this goose chase, I'll have to redo my entire schedule for the week." It was definitely loud enough for Grimsley to still hear her, but luckily, that wasn't out of the ordinary at this point after the lashing she just gave the detective. "Hotel Richissime had better still be holding my reservation, or I'll be expecting you to pay for the late cancellation fee."
She left the station quickly after that, immediately making a path for her usual room in the hotel on the 5th floor. She practically had it on reserve, so she had no problems immediately taking herself up to the room and parking herself on the couch to wait.
"He better not be as stupid as those worthless police..."
Malva slunk in and out of clusters of mingling party-goers, offering several of them false niceties as she went in order to placate any suspicions. She felt a little alone without the warm presence of Lise nagging against her legs, but the knowledge that she and the rest of her Pokemon were lounging in luxury at a local Pokemon Spa made the emptiness bearable. She shouldn’t need any of their help for this little party anyway. The most she had to do was casually avoid the wandering eyes of the cruise staff, which with her social facades were easy enough. Quietly but pointedly sticking her nose into a conversation when a staff member passed, flexing her notoriety a bit when another wanted to ask a few damning questions—the usual methods of misdirection.
So far, these tools were all the power she needed to weave her way from the very front of the bow to the back of it. The several levels of the cruise’s upper decks, layered neatly and sloping inwards as they ascended, were now in perfect view. It was the stairs, though, that Malva wanted, the ones that led below decks. It was simply a matter of charming the nearest waiter into dribbling out the directions to the proper set, and she was now carving out a path instead of dancing towards it.
Yet, something about what the waiter was bringing out dragged her heels for a moment. The smell, too, was very familiar. She only caught a brief glimpse of it, but the lingering aroma of the food continued to tickle her memory. She couldn’t be caught standing still now, not when she was already halfway there, but the thoughts only continued pestering her to connect them as she neared the stairs. It smelled like, the Kalos League building? No, more specifically, it was the Kalos League building around break times. She’d be sitting with the other Elites and Diantha, talking ‘pleasantly’. It had been so long since she’d seen the stained glass windows of that place that she’d nearly forgotten the daily routine: show up, battle challengers, and then break for lunch. She’d always try to leave and Fly somewhere, but she’d always get nagged by the others to stay for the food that--!!
The sound of a nearby door swinging open matched the forceful noise her own thoughts made once she finally put all the pieces together. Instinct couldn’t help but make her glance in its direction, but the voice inside her head was begging for it to stop. With her karma up to now, she knew whose eyes she was going to meet with when she glanced over there. Yet, this didn’t make the moment of silence, somehow not obscured by the crowds, any less unpleasant. Even still, she kept her face straight as the two’s gazes exchanged all of the words they needed to understand why the other was there…
…and just what they thought of it.
“You’re going to be as meddlesome as ever, aren’t you?”
Rolling her eyes in order to finally break their mere second-long gaze, Malva took advantage of a huge swarm of people pouring out from around a corner to disappear quickly down the stairs. “For as much as that chef proclaims his love for cooking…,” she began to muse to herself as she strode deeper below decks, “he certainly seems quick to abandon it if it means nosing around in my business!”
All of the clamorous voices that once filled the air slowly began to fade into mechanical clanks and hums as she stealthily snuck around another deserted hall. Only occasionally did she have to withdraw behind a pipe or corner when a few noisy engineers approached. Other than that, no staff members had seemingly bothered to chase her down this far. All except the one, that is, who she was now expecting to be in her ear any moment now.
((Hey guys, so my final muse turned out to be this bitch again lol. She’s mean and can make things difficult, but I hope I can find excuses to force her into interacting with people haha. I may do a starter call later but, I’m not sure yet how much I’ll need to raise my cap to accommodate her for thread slots. That said ofc, please still feel free to shoot me an IM if you wanna plot! Ty! Hope you enjoy her!))
Her words were wrought from a misunderstanding he couldn’t possibly hope to rectify to her likeness. He wished to wave her words away with a flick of his wrist, to wash away ire that now bubbled anew over the apprehension of even approaching her with this matter. His suspicions and expectations were proving true the longer she drawled on–it was to end with mockery and carelessness. As expected, a waste of his precious, precious time.
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With Tachete’s Gale Wings and Tailwind, the flight to Anistar’s Route 18 entrance was pleasantly quick. It was certainly far quicker than any of Siebold’s Pokemon could possibly hope to accomplish, and that was just how she wanted it. She crossed her arms, her head beginning to nuzzle into the tall collar of her black, military-style, asymmetrical raincoat as she and Tachete scouted the Route. The volatile mountain air had already begun to chill, foretelling the heavy storm that was already beginning to swirl above her head.
Striding through the waiting area, she quickly confirmed Siebold hadn’t arrived yet before making her way to Anistar’s Pokemon Center. Since the Pokemon Center was only a stone’s throw from the waiting area, she didn’t need much time to get Canter and Savate out of the PC. Despite all of this, nothing seemed to be moving fast enough. The dark clouds seemed to slow everything to a crawl with their invisible pressure, turning even her brisk walk back to the waiting area into a seemingly lethargic stroll.
She wondered why couldn’t the rain just fall already as she opened the waiting room door.
The dense mental fog clogging the atmosphere almost immediately dissipated with a literal clap of thunder, however, as her eyes fell on Siebold anxiously fiddling with his Holocaster. Tachete perched on Malva’s shoulder, trilling softly as Malva watched Siebold’s fussy primping, her hand slowly drifting to her hip. When he was finally satisfied enough to give Malva his attention, her restrained glare immediately looked past his formal facade and into his apprehensive eyes.
“I was beginning to wonder if something had become of you.”
“I’m still wondering that myself,” she mused with dry sarcasm, her slightly sharp tone making the comment double as a warning not to remind her to think about it any more. His gesture with the door managed to phase her for a moment with a surprised blink, her glare breaking.
Mild shock was quickly replaced with disgust as she rolled her eyes. A soft mumbling of, “Oh je t'en prie,” escaped her lips with a small groan as she hurriedly strode past him onto the start of the Route. She made sure to place a hand firmly against the door to remind him that her own arms worked perfectly well.
“This weather is hardly appropriate for what we came here to do.” She spoke quickly as she motioned for Tachete to search the grass from above one more time. “If enough water enters a Heatmor’s tail, it drowns, so they have no choice but to take shelter in the mines.”
Several more bursts of thunder began to rumble overhead as she finished speaking, each sounding louder and more foreboding. She normally would have enjoyed such a powerful storm approaching, but the only feeling she seemed to have right now is agitation. She did not want to make this longer than it needed to be. A small clap of her gloved hands brought Tachete back to her shoulder, the fire bird giving Malva a small shake of its head.
“And it seems they’ve already done just that,” she sighed, looking up at the mountains. “Unfortunately for us, that is where they’re the most difficult to find.” She contemplated trying to draw them out first before committing to any cave expeditions, but the increasing frequency of the thunder made her hesitant.
The day’s matches were all but faded memory; scarce recollection and filled with foolish proclamations hailed from would-be victors. “Challengers”. Strategy fled them and often their courage and wits too when facing one of the four; beating them brought no pleasure or satisfaction and disinterest swam within cold blue hues that mimicked the very depths of riled and restless waters enveloping his chamber. Their faces, their pokémon, their words— all were lost by the time he took leave of his chamber and stepped out into the placid hallway that connected them all.
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At first, Malva was simply awaiting his retort; what other reason besides a fight would he come into her chamber after all? Yet, as he spoke, her smirk slowly straightened, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. What ‘problem’ could possibly warrant him to come all the way to her chamber for him to personally ask her? Then he spoke again. Immediately, she began to lose interest. Of course. Of course it would be related to his passion. Nothing else ever motivated him like his cooking did. But why was anything to do with his kitchen suddenly her problem? And then he spoke something she thought she’d never hear a Water Master like him ever say:
“…I find that the kitchens are in dire need of another fire type.”
Now Malva studied him with fresh interest. She tuned out most of his complaints about the rich–that was old news, idiots being idiots–but his interest in using a Fire type wasn’t. Malva only thought Rotom frequented Siebold’s kitchen to annoy him–this was the first instance she heard of Siebold actually trying to use it to help him cook. Malva couldn’t help but begin to cringe as Siebold explained how the Heat Rotom would literally work itself until its mechanical appliance it possessed became uninhabitable. She put two fingers to her temple, rubbing slowly as she quietly repeated the same phrase under her breath:
“…Ahhh mon Dieu…mon Dieu…” She wasn’t even lacing it with her usual snark–just simple exasperation at the mess he put before her.
Where to begin?
“You say it’s been ‘sufficient,’ but Heat Rotom’s only learnable Fire moves are Sunny Day, Will-O-Wisp, and Overheat; that should’ve been an immediate indication that one is nowhere near properly suited for all the challenges your job entails, most jobs really.” She had the back of her one hand propped beneath her chin, the other raised matter-of-factly as she continued to speak. Her tone still lacked her typical malice; this was all business for her now.
“Overheat is an exhausting move to constantly demand of a Fire type. It also lacks the consistency and control you need for what you do. Furthermore, Will-O-Wisp’s only use being to burn means it is also incredibly limiting. As you’ve seen already, Heat Rotom will ultimately never really be suitable because its powers will always accelerate the decline of whatever machine it possesses too quickly for demand. Its most appropriate use is for slower days or emergencies, at best.”
“Honestly, the fact that you have been able to get by as you have can only be described as sheer luck, and dumb luck at that. If you had kept going as you were, you’d have probably ended up killing the poor thing–or sending half your kitchen staff to the burn ward.”
She normally didn’t consider whatever messes that happened in his job to be her problem, and this one was no different. However, anything to do with her precious Fire types was another story. If this fool couldn’t handle a Rotom, she’d hate to think what would happen to any other Fire type he’d try to use. That, and her thoughts still couldn’t help but think back to that night, the one where he helped take on quite a big problem of hers–one where every bit of common sense said he should’ve chosen to have nothing to do with…
…So it seemed to be settled, then.
Sighing, Malva began to mentally cycle through all the Fire-type Pokemon in her head, trying to find one suitable enough for the Chef’s finicky work, but one that also wouldn’t be too finicky for him. It would be nothing short of agony for Malva if she were forced to watch the wrong Fire-type suffer under an amateur’s hand. Not to mention, she did so hate to see perfect things get ruined, so it was imperative she make the right choice.
“Mmmm, you need something that’s not much bigger than a human at most,” she spoke slowly as she fell back in her chair, rapping her fingers on its arm as she continued to think, “something with the ability to have the utmost control over the size and temperature of its flames, something that can maintain absolute consistency with them for however long you need….” Malva had heard enough of Siebold’s cooking rants to have an idea of most of the everyday challenges his occupation presents, so now it was a matter of matching.
Her brow furrowed as she removed her glasses, twirling them about with her finger. Malva began envisioning the last few Fire types she had narrowed her search down to. Once it was between two, she started trying to picture each of them in Siebold’s work environment, how they’d each handle it, how Siebold would handle each of them. Finally, after a long pause, she broke the thick air of her room.
“…Heatmor.” Malva replaced her glasses as she spoke, leaning forward a little. “Heatmor would be your most suitable choice.”
“Heatmors take in air through their tails and exhale flames through their mouths, which means their flames can last indefinitely with little change in form or temperature. Their tongues help guide their fire, and the slender shape would make it ideal for the same level of precision you’d expect of a machine.” Rising from her chair, Malva began to stride down her chamber steps.
“They’re also plentiful in a particular area of Kalos, so availability isn’t a big issue. They are a little more sensitive than I like for a novice, but the pros they offer for you far outweigh the cons.” She continued her walk, Lise following closely beside her as she passed Siebold on her way to her chamber doors.
“If you’re still serious about this,” she turned her head slightly back towards him as she spoke, her chamber doors sliding open, “I’ll see you at Couriway’s Route 18 entrance…” Malva didn’t need to say when; She knew Siebold would understand she meant asap. With that, she and Lise stepped into the League hall, her chamber door sliding shut behind them.
Malva threw her head lazily over the arm of her chair, right leg digging into the opposite arm while her left hung lazily over the edge. She gazed up at the stained glass that adorned her tall Burning Chamber. It stared back at her hollowly, its empty, fish-eye gaze almost making her have a sense of rare serenity. Embers flying past her peripherals were the only thing that made her keep an eye trained on the battle that was quickly winding down in front of her, but only just barely.
“You know, call it crazy,” she began with a light, sarcastic giggle as Lise’s Hyper Voice tore through the opponent’s Gliscor’s Substitute,
“but I was under the impression you came here to battle?” Another Hyper Voice later, and Lise had blasted the Gliscor right out of its Substitute, nearly crashing into his Trainer in the process. The young man was too shaken by his strategy being almost literally thrown in his face, however, to have the thought to come up with a retort. Instead, he gathered as much composure as he could find before sending out his last Pokemon, a Greninja. Malva made no movement, except maybe for her sadistic grin widening a bit.
Lise weaved through the Greninja’s Protean-boosted Hydro Pump easily, baring her fangs as she leaped on top of the Pokemon.
“I can’t possibly imagine why, but I just thought, what with this being the Pokemon League and all, that you’d be, oh how do I say this….”
Ignoring Malva’s quips, the Trainer called for another Hydro Pump, but Malva had already preempted him; Lise had taken the chance to fire a close-range Dark Pulse right into the poor Greninja’s helpless face.
“A serious Trainer, perhaps?” The dancing pillars of fire silhouetted against her pale complexion, coloring her grin into a menacing sneer.
Finally forcing Lise off of him with a flurry of Water Shuriken, Greninja tried to dash in close for a Night Slash. Lise didn’t move, her mouth slightly agape as sunlight began to collect into her maw. “I don’t remember signing up to entertain children, after all.” Malva’s voice faded into the multiplying echoes the spacious room created, yet one could almost see the cuts they left on the Trainer’s face. Realizing what was coming, the Trainer vainly called for his Greninja to abandon his attack. A simple snap of Malva’s fingers stopped the Trainer’s screams and Pokemon in their tracks, though; He could only watch as Lise’s Solarbeam completely engulfed the Greninja seconds before he could sink his Night Slash into the Pyroar. A complete knockout.
Straightening herself, Malva gave a deep sigh as she nonchalantly crossed a leg over the other, head slightly tilted into her lightly coiled fist. Lise was still standing sideways at the Trainer as he recalled his Pokemon, a restrained glare radiating from her sharp eyes.
“Oh well, at least it was quick, I suppose. Now shoo.”
Quivering with indignation, the Trainer tried to raise his voice, give her a piece of what he thought of her, but Malva cut him off with a few waves of her hand. “Goodbye~” She sung as Lise took a quick step forward, roaring the startled Trainer right out of the Burning Chamber. Once he had skittered away, Malva tapped a button on her chair’s arm, turning the imposing fire pillars off with a simple ‘fwip.’ A calming black shade washed over the room, the only light now coming from the filtered light of her stained glass windows from above. She stretched her arms as Lise trotted back to her master, hopping into Malva’s lap with a grunt.
“Ooh, yes he was a foolish one, wasn’t he?” Malva had to adjust herself to keep all this Pyroar draped over her from falling off her small lap. Lise chuffed in response as Malva stroked her muzzle. “‘You oughta be the least of my problems,’ he says.” Lise gave a low moan of protest. “I know, dear, he was wrong, so very wrong.” She moved her hand down to Lise’s neck, who stretched it to the farthest it could go to fully enjoy her master’s scratches. “It’s ok, though, I don’t think that idiot will be back anytime soon.”
Almost as soon as Malva had finished her last sentence, she heard the door to her Burning Chamber sliiiiide open again. Was he really back so soon, she wondered? She didn’t take his attitude for the masochistic type, but she’s been surprised before. Suddenly turning her head up from Lise, Malva turned her attention to the door. Lise had already hopped down, just in case it was time for another battle.
The rare ease in Malva’s expression had begun to fade as soon as she heard the door, but it was now completely gone as her eyes fell on the figure now standing in front of her. It was an idiot, alright, just not the same idiot who just left. This was her special idiot–the one who angered her more than the rest of the world’s idiots combined. It was quite the common sight for Malva to chase him into his Flood Chamber to initiate one of their ‘battles,’ but why Siebold suddenly decided to willingly enter her Burning Chamber she hadn’t a clue.
“Did that Rotom’s kitchen fumes finally damage that big head you love to hold so high, or has it gotten so big you can’t even see which Chamber you’re entering anymore?” She immediately quipped, her tone like one a person would have when pitying a lost, pathetic child, albeit far more venomous and sarcastic. This was about as much of a welcome as Siebold ever got, only ‘recent events’ seemed to have put her on even more edge than usual.
She’s so confident about her proclamations, her words dripping with cynicism about their fellow associates. He can’t help but agree, their own self interests sending them on more wild goose chases that end in meager reliefs and falsified hopes that everything is right and ok in their little worlds. His frown stretches thinner with the thought, bitterness tracing the thin lines of his lips as his brow furrows in concentration. There were better things to be doing than meandering out here in the snow with her, it’s only a mater of time before she–
He notices the Pokemon before them, backs his own Rapidash back several paces as the snow swirls in agitation. Before he can shout over a howling wind she’s chosen her Pokemon and it’s very presence fills his entire being with dread. Chandelure sways at her master’s side, it’s dance as alluring as it is terrifying. Non. Is the singular thought that crosses his mind as he finally pulls his gaze away, focuses on Malva and watches as she does the only thing he expects her to do: snaps her fingers. Issuing her order to attack and on such treacherous footing! It’s reckless. You are not here on your own, Malva. He wants to shout but there’s no time.
As fire brandishes its mark on the land, sears away the ice and their current threat he draws forth his own ball and calms the expression on his face. He will never give her the satisfaction of bearing witness to his unease, his cautions seeming for naught. “And once again we have another grand miscalculation by the League, what a surprise–” until he feels rumbling in his saddle, hears it over the haunting song of her dreadful Pokemon.
The elite is not as adept as Malva, his expertise at riding ending the moment his Rapidash stumbles back, her distressful cries drowned over roiling rocks and snow. She rears before he can calm her. He can’t hold onto the reigns or remain in the saddle with her buckling frame and with a yell he’s thrown from his saddle. Gyarados senses the danger his trainer is in and without a summon from Siebold’s lips he’s out of the ball the chef so dutifully clings to. Before snow and rock can do more than tug him downward he grabs ahold of his cold and scaly frame and lets the Pokemon drag him to safety.
That safety is further down the mountain, off the path they were following. That’s all he has time to register before the roar of a Beartic draws his focus. He looks up, eyes searching for Malva and of course he finds her with an upset contender. He wants to quip that this is all her fault, and for that reason he refrains from sending his own Pokemon to assist. She can handle it if she wants to provoke every already upset Pokemon out there.
His head pounds as he uses Gyarados to pull himself up from feet of snow, and he uses its body to regain balance before looking around. He spies his mount up where it is safe and sound and a part of him rings with bitterness as she stares right back from her perch so high. He sees no way to make it up the slope and as Chandelure deals the final blow he’s ready to confront the other elite.
“The next time you want to stir up the community and drive us down a mountainside please refrain from it.” His tone drips with ire while Gyarados remains his support. He’s shaken with anger and adrenaline, his fondness for such extremities nonexistent as his hand curls against the creature’s scaled skin. “Because while yes, you took care of two problematic issues we are now stuck down here and I don’t know if you’ve noticed with all your theatrics but the storm is only getting worse.”
Malva was unimpressed, surprisingly disappointed even; that much was clear from her momentarily pursed lips.and slowly blinking eyes. She gave a relieved glance to the poor Rapidash trapped all by its lonesome at the top of the trench. She trusted the Fire type’s ability to fend for itself and, if necessary, find its way home, but that didn’t alleviate the weight in the pit of her stomach. Her mood didn’t improve with Siebold’s accusatory quips, either. She raised a brow as he finished talking, pausing for a moment to make sure no more crazed Pokemon were coming before speaking.
“…I know cowards love to point the blame at others to make themselves feel better about their own ineptitude, but I at least expected you to be more mature about it.” Rococo had hovered back to Malva’s side now, happily swaying next to her. She put a hand on his glass head, pulling him close to her side to show her satisfaction with his work.
“Honestly now, if I truly had as much power over the world as you imagine, don’t you think I wouldn’t have already erased it all by this point?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, turning Canter back around to face the only available path before them. “The sooner we solve these beasts, the sooner we can be rid of each other’s presence and this depressing mountain–that’s all.”
Lightly kicking the sides of her Rapidash, Malva resumed her march, not even bothering to check and see if her partner was following. She couldn’t afford any more distractions now, not when she could feel the cold beginning to penetrate her thick layers of winter gear.
“Oh but please,” she began to add with a dismissive wave of her hand, “if this is too much for you, feel free to go back to your cozy little kitchen.”
The week continues to worsen for the elite; it always does when he’s stuck in her company. A bitter companion, a bitter cold, just what he needs out here in these god forsaken mountains. He broods on the matter as they arrive in Snowpoint, his words as icy as the mountains around them towards Wulfric and anyone else he speaks with before they set off. Off to a ranch where two Rapidash await them, though their warmth does little to lift mood and spirit.
With rocky and uneven terrain and the perilous swirl of clouds above them he wishes to stop their exploration early, to turn back, but as always pride keeps him from even making the suggestion. Not around her and her judgments. Still, the feeling of unease swims about in the pit of his stomach and he finds himself chancing glances up at a storm born of nature and possibly troubled pokemon. It makes his jaw clench, his brow furrow as more than a few times he hears a cry or two against a lashing wind.
That’s when it begins to snow and before they know it the storm surrounds them in relentless bouts of wind, snow and ice. It’s harder to see, and as he buries his nose into his scarf, leans in closer to the warmth of his mount he focuses on the nearby glow of the other Pokemon. This was ridiculous. He already argued that fact with Wikstrom before leaving, but his friend was unyielding, especially when orders to keep an eye on Malva accompanied this whole ordeal. Thus two elites, thus his suffering based solely off a lack of trust. If you don’t trust her so much, then why aren’t you out here to confirm or dismiss your suspicions? His thoughts are aimed at the ones who oversee even them, though he keeps it to himself while Malva complains.
“It’s to be expected, Malva. They’ve been overly cautious as of late,” especially since they all failed when it came to noticing what danger the region was in. The reality of it stings like the slap of wind across his cheek and with a huff he pushes snow from his face, hair from his eyes. “We’re being sent out a lot more lately and for a lot less.” His tone comes across far more sour than he wishes it too, as if he’s implying he has better things to be doing other than freezing out here.
“Regardless, I keep hearing them out there. They’re closer than they should be and are likely responsible for some of this mess of a storm…” He follows her example, his mount slower in working around the edge but she manages.
It’s all a matter of finding them and driving them back now though the closer they got the worse it seemed to get.
“Hah,” she spat in sync with a disgusted tail flip from Canter. “Those beancounters couldn’t recognize danger if it walked right up to them.” Her mind began to drift back to the days of Flare’s activity and how she was able to fool the entirety of Kalos with ease. “Being overly cautious just means they’ll be jumping at shadows while the real threats sneak right by.”
“Now–” is what she started to say, but the sound of rustling made her pause and instinctively pull Canter back several feet with a few quick steps. When she had the time to look up, she noticed the arm of an Abomasnow inches in front of Canter’s hooves. There was an indent in the rock path from the Wood Hammer it had attempted to sideswipe them with. A sly grin was hiding under her layers of clothing as she stepped back again to dodge another Wood Hammer. “–if they were really dedicated to stopping the spread of crises…,” she continued casually, whipping out Rococo’s Poke Ball and calling the Chandelure out with a flick. The Abomasnow looked ready to charge again, but Rococo simply swayed and danced from side to side, slowing the entranced Ice Pokemon’s run to a crawl.
“…they would be the ones to personally nip them in the bud.” With a cold, echoed snap of her leather gloved hand, the sheer force of Rococo’s Flamethrower blasted the wild Pokemon clear off the mountain. The winds briefly stirred the lingering embers around the air, creating a brilliant contrast with the snow as Rococo sung an ominous victory tune.
As the embers bled away, she shot a bored glance back at Siebold. “And once again we have another grand miscalculation by the League, what a surprise–” Malva was going to go on, but she a new noise stole her attention. She realized now that that was what Rococo was actually singing over, this low rumbling…The sarcasm and snark instantly vanished from her eyes as she quickly seized Canter and directed him towards the ledge of the mountain.
“Bouge!” Was the only warning Malva managed to give before she and Canter leaped from the ledge, dodging out of the way of the oncoming rock slide. Despite the distress she felt prickling across Canter’s skin, Malva maintained loose and in control, deftly guiding her Rapidash down the steep drop and around the mounds of cascading boulders racing alongside them. By the time she and the rocks found horizontal ground to rest on, she noticed they had been dragged down into a mountain trench. She grit her teeth as she glared up, mumbling something bitterly under her breath.
She didn’t have a lot of time to wonder about where they had fallen or where Siebold was, because a Beartic, the perpetrator of the landslide, was coming right for her throat. A plain-toned “Rococo” was all she needed to say to summon her Chandelure, who had easily anticipated the slide, once again. As her Pokemon gleefully dealt with the Beartic, she turned around to check and see what had become of her ‘partner’.
Another blast of frigid wind cut right through Malva’s many layers of rugged winter clothing. Malva pulled her scarf back over her nose again with a small shudder as she took another quick glance around her. Her eyes, pretty much the only visible part of her face at the moment, squinted as she tried to see beyond a forearm’s length. The snow was pouring so fast and so heavily that she could barely keep her bearings amongst all the white. The sky proved to be no help either, as it was colored the same bleak tone of grey-white as the snow and ice-tipped mountains they were climbing. Only the bright orange flames of Canter’s mane served as a suitable means of keeping her orientation, creating a small bubble of visibility around her as she navigated the crumbling mountain path. Ice clung to the fringes of her coat constantly, forcing her to occasionally roll her arms to free them up.
“Bah, this is ridiculous.” She pulled her glasses away to wipe the snow off of them.
“I don’t care how urgent Wulfric was about this.” She paused and stopped at the edge of a small gap, carefully guiding her Rapidash over it. “I highly doubt a few rampaging Pokemon warrants the need of two Elites to go and search this whole godforsaken mountain range.”
