> “Now stopping at: ROSEBURN CRESCENT.”
The ailing headphones’ tinny tune left the announcer’s call only barely audible. Their music was one of her few remaining comforts left—the very last, if her plan ended up not working out. Emma shook at the thought, but didn’t let it take over her mind. She would need all the clarity and focus for what she was about to do she could get her hands on.
Her gesture to stash the earbuds back into her jacket pocket caught the attention of her companion, making them hop off their seat and onto the floor of the bus. It netted them a profoundly exhausted chuckle. Which, in turn, drew their attention back over to their human.
“Not yet Spots, not yet.”
With their overeager response diffused, the Snubbull hopped back onto the seat, turning to look at their human in concern. She hasn’t been doing well for... a while now. Her mood only got worse each time the Fairy-type had lost on the battlefield. Affirmations weren’t far behind when that happened, neither were reassurances that Spots wasn’t the problem—or Noodles, for that matter. Not... inherently so, at least.
Without any distractions, Emma’s thoughts inevitably steered back to money. So dumb, so anxiety-inducing, so necessary.
So sorely lacking.
She’d done and re-done the math again and again, only ever arriving at the same result each time. Between the monthly League stipends, the pittance she got her parents to send her when she reminded them she was—in fact—still underage, and the expenses of food, Pokecenter visits, having somewhere to sleep at, and other supplies, she needed to be winning around three battles a month for the League-issued prize money to keep her afloat.
The last time her team had won was almost half a year ago.
Week by week, her upbeat attitude about it all wavered. With each loss, her battle record turned from a streak of bad luck to a scathing indictment of her as a trainer. Reserved strategies, hyper-offense, even playing as defensive as possible while trying to abuse Noodles’ Leech Seed.
Nothing worked, nothing kept working. Each time, her optimism only lasted until the first barrage of blows was exchanged, until the loathed truth shoved itself into her face yet again—Spots and Noodles just weren’t strong enough.
Emma had tried the same training regimen as everyone else, but just couldn’t keep going. It hurt her friends so, so much, leaving them almost fainted every time. She refused to settle on that being the only way forward. There was no way that everyone who’d climbed further had only managed to do so through misery. She remained resolute that her team could keep moving on and keep growing stronger without it, without subjecting them to that kind of hell.
And then; they didn’t.
That’s not what any of this should’ve been about.
Sure, rigorous training was a part of their journey, but it wasn’t supposed to be the only one! The dreams of it being all about friendship and bonds were childish oversimplification—she knew that well—but a part of her kept hoping they weren’t all bunk. That, deep inside, there really was a kernel of truth to them all, and that a no-name upstart like her could make it did if she just kept trying.
Because the alternative... there wasn’t one.
> “Now stopping at: SATOSHI STREET.”
*whi-whine?*
Spots’ audible concern snapped her human out of her anxious thoughts, making her hold the Snubbull closer. None of this was her fault, none of this should’ve been her fault. Neither she nor Noodles deserved to be forced to suffer just to keep their human afloat. Emma had promised herself that she’d rather take her own life than stain those of her companions with constant, agonizing training.
She wasn’t dim enough as to not plan for this exact outcome, though. The mere presence of the sturdy, winter-proof tent inside her large camping backpack was a cruel joke she herself and the world alike had played on her. Snap-purchased in an anxious mental breakdown a few months ago, constantly laughed about for weeks afterwards.
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Looming ever taller over her as losses piled up.
If the push came to shove, Emma was confident that she’d be able to endure for a good while out in the wilderness. She wasn’t sure how exactly, but Noodles should’ve had some way of coaxing wintering berry bushes into producing more fruit. If that failed too, petty theft. Going back wasn’t an option, leaving only ‘through’,
Or ‘out’.
She hated even considering becoming a statistic, but couldn’t deny having grown... distressingly comfortable thinking about it. Her friends would be alright with or without her. They’d grown stronger than most wild mons by now, enough so where she couldn’t even imagine them ever getting into legitimate danger. Her fate wasn’t their responsibility.
And, if survival at every cost was really what she was after, she could just lie through her teeth once she inevitably circled back to her family’s doorstep. She could say that he’d failed his journey, kowtow before his parents, and beg for forgiveness. Then, once they got their fill of expressing their anger—verbally or not—they’d magnanimously let him stay at their house while he rushed through catchup classes for failed trainers, together with hundreds of others.
And many, many years later, if she just kept grinding, kept lying through her teeth, one day she’d finally carve out a safe space for herself in this world. She sure wouldn’t ever have one at ‘home’. Not with people that already barely tolerated her before her journey—only agreed to because it’d get him out of the house—and the... personal revelations she had over its course.
...
Murder on her mind, again.
It was a theoretical that was as intoxicating to fantasize about as it was harrowing to consider the implications of. Not for herself—she didn’t fancy a life sentence, making a murder-suicide an obvious choice—but for her friends. If they were found to have had a part in it, they’d be hunted to the ends of the earth and put down. If not...
Emma doubted their prospects would be much better, anyway.
> “Now stopping at: WHITE PLAZA.”
*yank-yank!*
She’d stopped petting Spots again, hasn’t she?
The trainer chuckled to herself as her friend tugged on her hand, before lifting the Snubbull into her arms. Spots was right. Thinking about this wasn’t doing her any good—especially with her current plan.
She might’ve only come to this backwater town to look for inexperienced trainers to battle with, but the piece of local folklore she’d overheard yesterday might’ve very well been her ticket out of this pit. There was a Mismagius haunting the woods behind the local school. Been at it for a while, from what these two annoying punks told her before giving her the finger. Not a species she usually associated with battling, but that hardly mattered.
If they could get another win, if they could gather some momentum, then it’d all get so much easier.
She would’ve been able to splurge on something better than the barely edible kind of mon chow; she would’ve been able to get Noodles properly looked at. He got hit bad in a fight a few months ago, and there’s been something wrong with his leg ever since. Pokecenter did its thing and wouldn’t take a second look at him afterwards, leaving only a private consultation, which... ha.
She couldn’t even afford hormones anymore.
Even the Ultra Ball in her backpack’s pocket was acquired through... less than legal means at the local Trainer’s Mart. Their fault for having such shoddy security, as far as Emma was concerned. Normally, she wouldn’t have tried something so ballsy. The last time she’d been in anything resembling ‘normal’ circumstances, though, was over half a year ago.
The awkwardness of capturing a piece of local folklore didn’t go by unacknowledged—in that she acknowledged it, and went on with her life. Yes, it sucked for this town; it was really rude to just stroll in and catch their ghost like that, but that was her only remaining idea. Besides, since apparently nobody had seen that ghost battle, it had to be so good at it that nothing dared challenge it anymore. Must’ve been bored to hell in there.
It’d probably be thankful to her in the long run for giving it some actual battling challenge. If her lessons at the trainer school were anything to go by, battling was the one thing almost all mons desired deep down, and what they all did in the wild. Really, she’d just be doing it a favor. Spots was thankful to her right after she’d caught her, after all.
...
Emma wasn’t dim enough to buy that explanation wholesale.
The more time she’d spent beside Spots and Noodles on their own, outside of the context of battling or training... the less she believed in that all-present ‘battling nature’. It had to have been true at least somewhat; there’s no way the League just made something so basic up whole cloth and kept peddling it straight-faced.
They were scumbags that drew kids in with a promise of a heroic journey only to subject them and their mons to misery, but there was no way they’d keep bullshitting about something this obvious. Someone would’ve called them out on it sooner or later.
Right?
*woof-woof!*
“Yeah, you’re right, Spots. Our stop’s coming up.”
*growl-woof?*
“Fine, fine, you can stay in my arms for a bit longer~.”
The Snubbull huddled in while her trainer picked herself up, her oversized backpack following in tow. Just like with her mulling earlier, there was no point in pondering this topic too deeply—there lied madness and quackery. No matter what insight she’d arrive at, it didn’t change the fact that this was her last opportunity to turn things around. Her last opportunity to ensure her safety in a world that hated her—
> “Now stopping at: ALDER AVARETTI PUBLIC SCHOOL.”
—and she was not going to waste it.