Team Rocket seemed to be a consistent factor in her life.
This was supposed to be a time of peace. A time where she could relax and explore just like she did before taking the place as champion. Of course, that was the naive child’s way of thinking. She didn’t know any better, and had she known the stresses that came with the title, she would’ve stayed home and helped Daisy with Professor Oak.
Just focus Leaf. It’s just a favor.
💀 ★ —
daiki cranes his neck up at the visitor, at the sound of his name. to customers, the bridge bikers and their many acquaintances, he’s known as dax, the usual moniker; his neighbors all chat about the helpful young man next door.
daiki’s had his fair share of strangers, but none have come across as innocent as this young woman — a familiar face he doesn’t have the time, nor patience, to search for in his fractured memory — and he doesn’t mean it in a nice way. like glass, he can see right through feigned innocence, but this girlies naivety is a brick wall. what’s her deal? she pets the round, fat pikachu in her arms and apologizes for the intrusion — you wouldn’t happen to be daiki would you? daiki blinks, searching her for any sleight-of-hand tricks or nervous ticks or any reason to shoo her away without, once again, being the bad guy — can’t you see i’m wor-king here, girlie? he comes up short on his inspection, and it puts him further on edge. that pi-ka-chu — daiki squints, focusing and grasping at straws to put at least two pieces together. that kid playing hero, the one that beat gi-o-vann-i. what was his name? re-something — nah, daiki. it’s just a reg-u-lar po-ke-mon.
“ and what’s it to you if i am ? ” daiki questions, wiping his hands on the thighs of his jumpsuit. running his gloved hand through his unruly, pink hair, daiki rises from the concrete. beside his feet, meowth stirs, assessing the company of this quivering stranger. daiki keeps his chin raised just a bit higher than usual, peering down at the young woman, attempting to emulate that same fear he inflicted as a rocket. “ who’s as-king ? ” he pulls out a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket, lights it, sucks on it for a few long drags.
“ i have errands in kanto to run,” daiki cracks his knuckles, playing it off and hoping she didn’t hear the prior emergency spewing from the radio — a co-in-ci-dence? the timing of it all gets daiki paranoid all over again. team rocket’s whereabouts are broadcast to the entire fucking region, then this girlie shows up, asking too many questions — one question is enough. he flicks cigarette ash on the top of her shoes. “ come back later if you want some-thing fixed up, girlie . ”
this fucking heat. who pissed off arceus today ? sweat beads brew along daiki’s pointed hairline, and trickle down his chest. the thin fabric of his grease-stained, white tank top feels like a second skin, and it’s starting to brown from the dust and sand the wheels of his rental bike cough up. daiki would certainly come down with an unfortunate case of heatstroke if confined to that damned jumpsuit of his. the neck of the tank top curves well below his prominent collarbones — at least no one in unova is afraid, much less aware, of the big, red R. the motorcycle’s engine growls as he tears through the desert resort and he’s going too fast. the fracking stations blur, stick out of the sand like pins; straws sucking up that liquid gold. daiki grits his teeth and his knuckles ache around the t-shaped handlebars — fuck you, dad.
the tires churn up coarse sand and tiny rocks that tink against the bike’s metal plating. at least it’s a rental, not up to his standards, but courtesy of the kanemoto family’s back-handed hospitality. his mother circled the fancy pants foyer of their nimbasa mansion ( where they live, what vanica kanemoto describes as, comfortably ) ranting to the expensive art: daiki, you know these vehicles are dangerous! — yusa tells me you’re still getting into trouble, daiki. — it’s been so long, you haven’t changed a bit — translation: daiki kasey kanemoto, when will you ever grow up?
but, daiki bargained: give me a ren-tal and i’ll think about it. to his surprise, vanica sighed, exasperated and dramatic, over her shoulder to the impressionist painting hanging beside the spiral staircase. like the mimosa in her stemmed glass, she is flat; deflated from the never-ending hassle and the stress and the son she couldn’t keep hidden away. vanica waved her hand, as if to shoo daiki away, fine, daiki. it’s all yours, but only if you go see your sister. she’d be glad to know you’re . . . still alive. of course, it was a losing argument. and, of course, he’s going to complain the whole time.
as he nears the archway of nimbasa city, daiki scowls. “ home sweet fuck-ing home, i guess . ” the bustling city isn’t daiki’s cup of tea — all the glimmering, neon lights and self-centered swarms of people. he feels out of place. “ what did i even used to do here ? ” nothing legal, that’s for sure. for the most part, daiki has grown out of his adolescent interests and the need for trouble. nimbasa city is full of distractions, he just needs to find the most captivating one. he revs the engine once more and — “ c’mon you hunk of scrap-met-al ! ” daiki grumbles through his teeth, grunting with each failed resurgence of the bike’s engine — it sputters and clicks. “ shit. you gotta be fuck-ing kid-ding me . ”
daiki dismounts the motorcycle. he wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, then gives the bike a swift kick, “ piece of junk. ” if he had his tools, he’d be able to fix this, and find yusa before she starts blowing up his inbox — hey, bolts-for-brains! anger pounds, hot within daiki’s chest. “ you could have picked a bet-ter place to break down, you know ! ” it’s just one thing after another, ain’t it?
“ wrench , ” daiki grumbles around the dwindling cigarette tucked into the corner of his mouth. curled tail thumping, meowth swats the tool. the wrench scrapes against the concrete floor of the garage and daiki swipes at the handle before it slides under his bike. he’s fixing up the old fatboy, just some routine maintenance on the trusty matte-black machine — brake check, oil change, tighten the chain . . . replace that fancy headlight before it burns out completely. daiki wags the wrench, as if to say: thank you, meowth!, and barks teasingly over his shoulder. “ see, at least someone is helping . ” the aluminum trashcan in the corner of daiki’s garage rattles violently. pikachu — who has earned himself the nickname, scram, because that’s all he responds to, since that’s all daiki ever tells him to do — conducts a ritual, fast-paced investigation, bolting around and cramming his little triangle nose in every inch and corner of the garage. it’s quite counterproductive, but as long as the electric-rat bastard doesn’t knock over his coffee, daiki doesn’t mind so much. he just tunes it out.
daiki rolls his eyes and puffs on his cigarette. the radio on the cluttered shelf by the door drones on with incoherent static and out-dated rock music. he still hums along, meowth purring behind him and cleaning its paws.
an emergency signal vibrates from the radio; three long pulses that make daiki flinch. the cigarette falls from mouth, the wrench slipping as he cranks it. meowth’s ears perk up and the white hairs on its neck and back stand on end. pikachu darts to a different corner of the garage — breaking news! we’re coming to you live from saffron city where there is a state of emergency ! police are reporting that multiple burglaries have taken place and incidents of arson have been conducted by — a group of people in black clothing. t-team rocket? team rocket ! the city is under attack !
shit.
team rocket is back, and closer than daiki’s comfortable with. shit, he thinks again, with a sigh of sour acceptance. “ no skin off my fuck-ing back, i guess , ” daiki grumbles, picking up his cigarette and giving it one last puff before flicking the dead thing elsewhere. “ kanto, huh? back to square one, are they ? ” daiki readies his wrench again, scoffing and his braid sways as he shakes his head, “ suckers . ”
team rocket had tired itself out, and at this point, daiki can’t muster up any more fucks to give. the hiding place he found in goldenrod — for a pretty sweet deal, too — has finally been furnished into a home and there’s no trouble here, nothing to lock his doors about, but he still does. the ruffian antics of the bridge bike gang have nothing on the terror of the big, red R. threats from the short-tempered, jackboot bridge bikers are child’s play — besides, they run their mouths and fill his pockets with cash and vices and, well, those rocket admins really taught him how to please, how to keep himself in line. blood and once-fleeting sanity were a steep price to pay when considered it was all bartered for one big gotcha! moment. in your face, gi-o-van-ni! — nah. daiki’s watched team rocket lose so many times, it’s lost its appeal. their defeat will always remain in the cards, the winning hand.
not only does daiki need to collect a few parts from the cerulean city bike shop, but his inherent hunger for trouble gnaws at his stomach — what’s the saying? once a rocket, always a rocket! — a detour to saffron city is in order — i’ll make it quick! — just to check out the scene of the crime for himself; to find out if team rocket is really the culprit; to see if they have just as many screws loose as they did when he ditched them. new recruits don’t seem like anything to worry about; they’re just more cogs in giovanni’s grandiose machine. suckers, they are.
the rock music on the radio settles to a harsh hum in the background and meowth starts making warning-sounds in its throat. the sunlight casts a human-shaped shadow, looming over daiki, but he doesn’t — no, refuses — to look up. paranoia stiffens his body, knots his throat. his fingers ache around the handle of the wrench. staying on his toes is true instinct, for trust is a nasty bitch. strangers have never been kind to daiki; no good ever comes from them.
“ you’re on my prop-er-ty. spit it out, or scram . ”
things: turn out differently
me: ah yes,,, Another Thing i have to Adapt To…… also it seems that i literally have no energy to deal with this. goodnight