“Don’t feel bad, I lost to him, too,” Lindon said. He was sitting on the edge of Cashe’s bed, patting Cashe on his leg. Cashe was laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, having left Emilia after his loss in order to be alone with his thoughts. Lindon had little time for such things, however, and was knocking on his door only an hour or two after he lay down. “And Bulbasaur evolved, too! When I saw it I was so excited. Everyone thought you were going to win because of that, but then the announcer ruined everything by telling us the rules.”
“Thanks, Lindon, I thought I was going to win, too.” Cashe sighed.
“And Ivysaur looked so shiny! I always thought Bulbasaur looked a bit funny, but I had never seen a Bulbasaur in real life before I saw yours so I thought, ‘Maybe that's just the way they all look.’ But then, bang! Golden flowers!” Lindon spread his arms out, mimicking a giant explosion, “I bet Marcus wouldn’t stand a chance against Ivysaur.”
“Maybe,” Cashe said.
“For sure! He looked so strong and cool. Do you think he had extra vines now? Actually, does he even have vines anymore, or did they disappear like his bulb?”
“His bulb didn’t disappear, it just unfurled,” Cashe grunted.
“Really? I didn’t notice that at all.” Lindon said, staring at Cashe’s pokeball where it lay on top of his backpack..
Cashe noticed and sat up, “Lindon, would you like to see Ivysaur up close?”
“Yes, please!” His face split into a big grin, but he quickly smothered it, “I mean, if you don’t mind.”
Cashe snorted in tired amusement and rolled off the bed, picking up Ivysaur’s pokeball.
“Stand back,” Cashe warned, “He’s a lot bigger now.” He cracked the pokeball open.
Ivysaur took shape in the middle of the room, turning the already cramped space into a figurative broom closet.
“Whoa, he’s as big as me!” Lindon said, eyes sparkling as Ivysaur groaned a weary greeting.
“Ah, shit,” Cashe swore, noticing the pokemon’s tired appearance, “I should have dropped you and Mankey off at the Pokemon Center. I completely forgot. Here.” Cashe reached into his backpack and pulled out a few potions. He sprayed Ivysaur down with a couple until he looked slightly refreshed and did the same with Mankey, though he did not remove her from her pokeball. “That better?”
Ivysaur grunted and shook his body, loosening his muscles as the potion took effect.
Lindon, in the meantime, had climbed on top of Cashe’s bed to get a better look at Ivysaur, “There’s a tree trunk behind his petals!” He exclaimed.
“It’s a plant stalk, technically,” Or was there a difference? Cashe poked one of the golden petals to feel its texture and toughness, “When Ivysaur evolves into a Venusaur, those petals will bloom into a flower.”
“He’s going to have a really pretty flower,” Lindon said, hopping off the bed and patting Ivysaur on the head, “Why is he so different from a normal Ivysaur?”
“Where I come from, pokemon like Ivysaur are called ‘shiny’,” Cashe said, “But according to Professor Oak, it’s a genetic mutation. Apparently it can make it really hard for pokemon to mate.”
“What?” Lindon looked down at Ivysaur with a sympathetic gaze, “He’s so cool. Why would that make it hard? He looks way better than those boring regular Ivysaurs.”
“Pokemon have different standards of what makes a good mate,” Cashe said, “They don’t think like we do when it comes to finding someone to be with for the rest of our lives. What pokemon value most is strength and health.”
Cashe pointed to Ivysaur’s newly scarred chest, “Scars are good, because it means that they have fought and survived a vicious battle. Size is important too,” Cashe stood next to Ivysaur to demonstrate how big he was, “Ivysaur is really big being newly evolved, and he will probably be a really big Venusaur, too. It shows pokemon that he is able to find lots of food and protect young.”
Ivysaur stood a little straighter at Cashe’s words, raising his head in pride.
“That means Ivysaur would be a great mate then,” Lindon argued, “Not a bad one.”
“Ivysaur would be a great mate,” Cashe agreed, “But it will be hard for other pokemon to see it that way.”
“Why?”
“You’re forgetting the last part. Ivysaur is very strong, and everything about him tells other pokemon that, but he is very bad at telling other pokemon he is healthy.”
“What?” Lindon stared at Ivysaur with big eyes, “Is he sick?”
“Not at all,” Cashe said, “But he is different. Pokemon don’t have hospitals and doctors to tell them when they are sick in the wild, so they look for other things. Things like coloration and patterns on their skin.”
“But Ivysaur stands out! He’s unique. Isn’t that a good thing?”
“For me it is,” Cashe gave Ivysaur a fond scratch on his head, “But other Ivysaur see his uniqueness and they might think he is sick. Normal and common are better for pokemon when they are looking for a mate.”
“Oh,” Lindon said, “That’s too bad.”
“It is,” Cashe said, “But I love him all the same. Besides, he’s going to be so big and strong someday that it will be impossible to think he’s sick, so it should work out in the end.”
Lindon nodded and a knock came at the door.
“Emilia?” Cashe guessed, walking over to the door and answering it. The person standing on the other side was decidedly not Emilia. It was a sailor. He had a Machop with him who was pulling a large cart full of thin boxes.
“Sorry, bro,” the sailor chuckled, “Maybe your date will come by later. I’m just the delivery guy.”
“Delivery?” Cashe said, glancing at the pile of boxes, “Delivering what?”
“Dress clothes for the fancy shindig tonight,” the sailor said, handing him a pair of boxes with 361 stamped across.
“It has a dress code?” Cashe frowned, taking the boxes.
“Naw, not really,” the sailor shrugged, “Thing is, when the tournament started getting off the ground, some fancy folks took an interest. They like meeting new trainers, ya know? Making connections and the like. Turns out, these fancy people don’t like hanging around people who look like they are on a cruise. Turns out most trainers don’t bring clothes fit for some bureaucrat ballroom.”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
“So the tournament provides clothes?”
“Helps a lot with the prestige,” the sailor said, “That makes the tournament more popular. More popular means it looks better with the League. Looking better with the League means more support, better benefits, perks for the people putting it all together, ya get me?”
“Fancy parties lead to more fancy parties which lead to new friends who lead to new opportunities,” Cashe nodded, “I definitely understand.”
“Smart man,” the sailor nodded, “So now all the special trainers get a nice gift from the tournament. Makes the fancy people happy at the party, makes the tournament happy because the trainers are more likely to actually show up, it makes the trainer happy because they get a nice set of clothes, and it makes the League happy because the trainers are happy.”
“Everyone wins,” Cashe said, looking down at the boxes in his hands.
“E‘cept for all the tailors and seamstresses who have to make the clothes in a week,” the sailor laughed, “There are so many Spinarak at the bottom of this ship, you’d think we’re in Ilex Forest.”
“Gross,” Lindon said from behind Cashe.
“Bro, you got a kid in there when you’re waiting for your girl?” The sailor said, peering past Cashe, “That’s kind of weird.”
Cashe sighed, ignoring the smirking sailor, “You probably should get back to your cabin, Lindon. He’s going to have something for you too, and he’s not going to give it to you if you can’t prove what cabin you’re staying in.”
***
The tournament had at least one more surprise in store for Cashe: the suit fit extremely well. It was to the point where it was disconcerting. It was a tuxedo, made almost entirely of silk - Spinarak silk, going by what the sailor said - it hung from his body almost like a second skin.
The tux was dyed dark gray with a hint of steely-blue woven through the fabric. It came with a dress shirt, also silk, that was a much lighter blue. The suit was cut in a modern style. Or at least it would have been modern on earth. Cashe had no idea what the trends were here in the pokemon world.
The tux came with cufflinks, twin pieces of gold that shone bright at his wrists, a pair of black dress shoes, and a dark gray bow tie, the same color as the suit, but lacking the touch of blue to lighten it up.
Cashe examined himself in the mirror of his cabin. He had lost a lot of weight since taking up his pokemon journey. More than he thought he had to lose. He was almost unrecognizable compared to the face that greeted him in the mirror of the Oak’s guest room, all those months ago. His eyes were harder now, no longer haunted by his predicament, or lost in the misery of bereavement. The trim Hannah or Hailey had given him help a lot, he looked years younger than he did before. He felt…good, strangely satisfied as he looked into the mirror.
A knock came at the door. The third one today. Cashe was popular all of a sudden. He answered it. This time, it was Emilia.
She was facing away from him, her back to the door, arms tucked close to her chest. Her hair was down, styled in a gentle wave, and tossed over her shoulder so none was falling down her back. Her back was bare, uncovered by the open zipper of a steel-gray dress that she was holding up around her chest. The dress shimmered in the light, catching just enough to draw attention but not so much as to be gauche.
“Uh, hi?” Cashe said.
“Zip me, please?” Emilia said, “The stupid dress is too tight to do it myself.”
“Ah. Right.” Cashe stepped forward, pulling up the zipper of the dress. Emilia was right, it was tight. He had to place a hand on her hip just to keep the dress from slipping out of place as he pulled on the zipper. He got the zipper to the top of the dress and stepped back, letting Emilia squirm and tug at the dress for a moment to make it comfortable.
“Well,” Emilia said, turning around, “what do you think?”
The dress was gorgeous on Emilia, with the same quality of craftsmanship going into it as there was in his suit. The dress was strapless and form fitting, rucked with gentle waves to give the cloth some visual texture. It was a formal dress, falling well past her knees where it flared slightly to allow her to move easily.
“Cashe?” Emilia said with a demure smile.
“You look amazing.” Cashe said.
Emilia beamed at him, “Don’t sound so shocked. You’re acting like you’ve never noticed before.”
“Yeah,” Cashe gave his head a small shake, “Sorry. Was that all you needed?”
“I also wanted to check up,” Emilia let her brilliant smile fade to a look of mild concern, “But it looks like you’re doing better. Lindon talk to you?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“He has a way of cheering people up,” Emilia said, “He’s a good kid.”
“He is,” Cashe agreed, stepping back into his room and coming back out with his pokeballs.
“You’re bringing those to the party?” Emilia said.
“I need to drop them off at a Pokemon Center on the way there. I was so out of it I forgot to get them healed up.”
Emilia clicked her tongue at him in mock disapproval, “Sloppy, Cashe, sloppy. If you don’t get them to a Pokemon Center in time, they will scar when they heal. If you’re not careful, the scars will impair their movement.”
“I know, I-” Cashe paused as a loud ringing came from his pokedex.
The modern pokedex was not the same item as it was in the games. It was a research device, used not only for cataloging information about trainers and pokemon, but also communication. As Cashe had learned early on in his travels with Emilia, it had great range, still working even in remote areas where cellphones didn’t. The only downside was that it could only be used to communicate with trainers and professors with whom you had established contact already.
“Who is calling you now?” Emilia said, “Mom, maybe, to offer her sympathies for the loss?”
“Maybe,” Cashe said, answering the call, “Hello?”
“Hello, Mr Cashe,” a familiar voice said, “It is time.”
***
“The real question is if it is number two or number three,” Connie said from the floor.
Their hotel room had been converted into an impromptu work space. The spare bed was entirely covered in papers, strewn about like leaves after a storm. Both laptops were sitting on the floor, the room’s tiny desk acting as a stand for their long-range router so it didn’t overheat. That was a real issue, and they were cranking the AC to uncomfortable heights.
“How is that the real question?” Daryl said, rubbing his sleep deprived eyes as he stared, hunched over at his computer.
“If it’s number three, we can at least stop some of the fallout that will happen with the influx of trainers,” Connie said, wrapping her blanket more tightly around her, “They are going to be the most destructive once someone else figures out what caused this.”
“Are you kidding? Have you seen the radiation figures coming off of this thing?” Daryl leaned across the room and smacked the router in a desperate attempt that it would strengthen the connection to their lab in Mossdeep, “We need to make sure the pokemon feasting on those berries aren’t going to have anything weird happen to them. Some of these numbers…we could be looking at forced evolutions.”
Connie paled, “I didn’t even think of that.” Her pokegear rang, blaring out the familiar tune of a popular Kalos boyband. The emergency line. She glanced at it and tossed it on the spare bed.
“Not going to answer it?” Daryl said.
“It’s the director again,” Connie scoffed, “Probably panicking over something else he read online with no basis in fact whatsoever.”
“I never understood why they put nonscientists in charge of the world’s largest research facility.” Daryl grumbled.
Connie stood, shuffling over to the paper covered bed and flipping through them until she found a graph. She brought it back to her laptop and compared it to the figures on the chart. ‘Where’s Celebi when you need her?” Connie muttered, “I need to go back in time and force someone to set up the detection system fifty years ago.”
“Historical date lacking?” Daryl guessed, “You know we don’t actually have to find out if it is the second or the third right away. We can just tell everyone it’s the third. We have that other tree.”
“I know. But if it’s actually the second, we have to assume the third is coming and be prepared for it,” Connie frowned, “You know, if you had found Cashe, we probably could have got the readings off of him and we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Daryl looked up from his laptop, his eyes bloodshot, “You found him! You didn’t say anything!”
Connie glanced up, eyes sparkling, “Oh? Are you really complaining that I didn’t say anything?”
Daryl scowled, but his eyes drifted to the room’s unused bed.
“No,” he grumbled, “I’m not.”
*****