Training with Araquanid was a difficult endeavor. Not because Araquanid was difficult to train. No, he had much more trouble with Primeape and her rage issues or Hattrem with her emotional sensitivity and unique personality than he did with Araquanid. Araquanid, if anything, was eager to train. He seemed to relish the opportunity to battle, though it was often hard to tell. The enormous bug pokemon was not the most expressive. Or at least Cashe had difficulty understanding Araquanid’s expressions.
This was partially because of the water bubble that covered Araquanid’s head at all times. Any noise that Araquanid made was warped and warbled by the water, making it difficult to interpret. Araquanid was also the only one of his pokemon that did not seem to say his own name when he wanted to communicate, resorting instead to hisses, cries, and other forms of communication.
Despite that, the real reason that training Araquanid was difficult was because he was large, and because Cashe was trying to keep him a secret until he faced off against Zil.
This meant trudging out into Malie Garden every day for five days straight. Each trek brought back unpleasant memories of his march out of the swamp. His boot proved to be impossible to disentangle from Araquanid’s web, a fact the enormous pokemon was suspiciously proud of, and the journey out of the garden was a lesson in annoyance and frustration because of it.
Heading back into the gardens made him a recognizable face among the guides, and his repeated journeys and need for secrecy regarding his pokemon caused looks of incredulity to be thrown his way. While he understood the looks, (after all, who but the lowliest of trainers would fail to catch any pokemon in an environment curated towards rookie trainers with that exact purpose) they still left a bitter taste in his mouth, despite knowing it was a necessity for his ruse. Worse, was that with unchanged teams, neither Emilia nor Lindon needed any secrecy in their training, leaving Cashe to venture into the garden by himself, which did not help his image among the guides.
The training itself was successful, at least. Like with Sneasel before him, Cashe focused Araquanid’s training on the fundamentals of timing and synergy rather than trying to learn new moves. Adjusting to Araquanid’s timing, in particular, was tricky. He was the slowest pokemon in Cashe’s team, by a considerable margin, and when Araquanid paired up against his other pokemon for mock battles, he took many more hits than he dished out. It wasn’t until Cashe figured out that Araquanid’s best bet was to attack while receiving the blows of his opponents that Araquanid managed to come out on top of some battles. Naturally, the strategy left Araquanid battered and bruised, but the water bubble pokemon proved to be more than enough to power through.
With only four days to train, Cashe did not have much time for his other pokemon, but he did start them down promising paths. With Ivysaur, he began training in both Toxic and Venoshock. Venoshock was a move so obviously powerful for Ivysaur that Cashe felt stupid for not trying to learn it earlier. Toxic, on the other hand, intrigued him. He had firsthand experience with the negative stigma surrounding ‘poisoners’, but he had yet to figure out why that stigma existed. As far as he could tell, poisoning was no worse than anything else that happened in a pokemon battle. After a brief text exchange with Bruce, Emilia’s brother-in-law, he learned that the reason came down to Toxic. As a trainer, Cashe couldn’t let something so obviously powerful be left untouched, so naturally, he started training Ivysaur in it right away.
Primeape was still working on Sunny Day, refusing to learn another move until she got it down. Luckily, it seemed she just managed to, though not, as Lindon predicted, by calming down to embrace the attitude of Sunny Day, but rather the opposite. In order to use the move, she raged and beat her chest, tearing out fistfuls of fur not yet fully regrown from her battle against Araquanid, letting her anger bring forth the energy necessary to use the move.
Sneasel had a fine move set already, thanks to the training he received on the farm where he was born and raised, and while he could learn a large variety of useful moves, Cashe didn’t want him to become too generalized at the cost of his primary strengths. Instead, Cashe leaned into it starting Sneasel in his training to learn Swords Dance. Sneasel took to the training with obvious joy, as the first few steps for learning the move, according to his pokedex, revolved around learning the actual dance. This meant that while Ivysaur was busy with the grueling task of improving the concentration of his poison, and Primeape was working herself into a frothing rage, Sneasel was gallivanting around, hopping merrily from one foot to the other as he memorized the movements of Swords Dance.
Besides Araquanid, only Hattrem was not training a new attack. Instead, Cashe had her leveraging her natural abilities to her advantage, encouraging her to read the emotions of her opponents in an attempt to divine their attacks before they were made. Hattrem was his second slowest pokemon, and would only get slower when she evolved, so the ability to read her opponents and react before they could would be an important one. Like every other time Cashe gave her focused training, she took to it immediately, showing remarkable improvement in the short amount of time they trained together. Cashe was beginning to suspect his stolen Hattrem was something of a genius.
By the time Monday rolled around, his pokemon were tired, but Cashe was satisfied. The progress they made over the four days of training was as good as could be expected, and although Araquanid was not quite up to the standards of the rest of his team, Cashe was confident he could at least hold his own when the time came.
***
Monday morning was quiet in the trainer residence where they were staying. Cashe, Lindon, and Emilia, all eating in relative silence, focused on their upcoming battles.
They made their way out at the same time heading to the gym during the city’s morning rush, people all leaving their homes to head out for the day, crowding the streets as they made their way to work. They pushed through the crowd until they arrived at the gym. In contrast to the bustling city around it, the Malie City gym was quiet in the early morning. Few people entered or left as they approached, the lobby quiet as they made their way to the reception desk.
As they signed in they were greeted again by the gym leader. Kev strolled out of a nearby hallway, grinning ear to ear, arms spread wide. He was no longer in the loose Alolan shirt and board shorts, instead wearing his full gym leader regalia - a form fitting one piece suit made of some sort of advanced performance material dyed in the colors of his gym, red and black. They formed a dizzying pattern on his chest as he moved, making the leader hard to look at. The outfit took the gym leader from a friendly figure to an imposing one, his once welcoming grin now lined with a competitive edge.
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“Welcome back,” he greeted, “Not many people show up for morning battles, for obvious reasons, so we don’t usually feature competitive battles this early. I’m hoping you three will buck that trend.”
“You’re making us fight at the same time,” Lindon complained as the gym leader approached, “I wanted to watch my friends’ battles.”
“What’s this? You beg me to fight as soon as possible and then complain when I give you exactly that?” Kev placed a hand over his heart, dramatically, “It hurts to be so taken for granted.”
Lindon had the decency to blush at his words. Emilia yawned, paying them no mind.
“It is a little early,” she said, “Are you trying to give your trainers an advantage by forcing us to get up with the sun.”
“He’s trying to blind us with his costume so we can’t see the battles,” Cashe grinned, “It’s the only explanation for wearing that.”
Kev snorted, turning and leading the trio through the gym again “I could say the same for you. You look like you’re dressed up for a party exclusively inviting people with bad taste.”
“This is the city’s latest fashion,” Cashe informed Kev, “A teenager told me so it has to be true.”
“Trainers in the city dress up for battles,” Lindon said, “We look cool.”
Cashe didn’t know if cool was the right word. They had gone shopping for some more modern clothing in order to meet the standards set for gym battles in the city. They found a trendy boutique, where an excitable high school student had insisted on helping them pick their clothes, as according to her, they needed all the help they could get.
As a result, Cashe felt like an old man trying to blend in with ‘the kids’. He was wearing a loose, dark, sweater, made of some sort of ultra thin material, that had strategically placed holes in it to show off he was also wearing a colorful shirt underneath it. His pants were dark red, and a little too tight, making it awkward to walk in them, while his shoes were more suited for a skate park than a gym battle. The whole thing felt awkward and uncomfortable on him. He had never been one to traverse the cutting edge of fashion back on Earth.
Emilia was much more relaxed in her outfit, and looked much better, if he was being honest. While his outfit felt over designed, hers was chic. She had on a white, form fitting crop top that was only not a tube top thanks to two, thin straps that ran over her shoulders. Her pants were a matching, brilliant white pair of high-waist jeans that were so tight Cashe would have thought they were painted on if he had not seen her purchase them herself. While that alone made her look good, it was hardly modern fashion. To make up for this, she wore what appeared to be the top fifth of a sweater on top of it. It was also white, and made of two loose, long sleeves that bunched around Emilia’s wrists and connected the the neck of a turtleneck sweater in two elegant extensions of the cloth. A tan peacoat lay over her shoulders that was acting more like a cape than anything else.
As the youngest, Lindon was both most and least suited to the modern style. Perhaps he could have looked better than Cashe, or even Emilia, if he had taken the advice of the young woman in the boutique. Alas, ever the folly of youth, Lindon’s pride was not going to let someone else dress him. The result was something of a mess. Thick, black platform boots met tan joggers and a green, faux-leather jacket, two sizes too large. They had a leather jacket that actually fit, but Lindon went with the extra large size instead, taking inspiration from Cashe’s own ill-fitting sweater. If anyone had the misfortune to see under that jacket, they would find a sequin shirt done up in every color under the sun and a bright blue tie, wrapped around Lindon’s collarless neck. Emilia, ever acting the part of the older sister, tried to talk him out of it, while Cashe only took a few photos on his phone for posterity.
Together, they looked like a pop group gone wrong, one good note in exchange for two bad ones.
Kev stopped in the hallways with Lindon’s words, eyes tracing over their eclectic clothes, “Word of advice, kid,” he said, “Nobody cares how you look if you don’t win. Doesn’t matter if you are in the city or not.”
“They don’t?” Lindon said.
“People will gossip about every little thing while you’re in the spotlight,” Kev confirmed, “But if you don’t win, they won’t bother to even learn your name.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Cashe said, carefully not looking at Lindon’s clothing, “Because we are definitely going to win.”
***
The living doll did not react well to Connie’s frightened whimpering. In fact, it did not react at all. It stood beside its pile of berries staring at Daryl and Connie with its unblinking eyes.
Those very eyes flashed with light again, and Daryl saw they were not red, but rather pink. It took a step towards Daryl and Connie. Connie squeaked in alarm and pulled herself closer to Daryl. The doll took another step, but its foot caught on a gnarled root beneath the moss carpet, and it felt flat on its face with a surprisingly heavy clang.
It froze there legs kicking uselessly in the air for a moment before its arms twisted around in its sockets and it managed to push itself onto its feet. They were pointed and sunk deep into the moss as it rolled off of its stiff, metal dress and back into a standing position.
“Are you okay?” Daryl said. The words were reflexive, the short doll thing’s fall unexpected enough for him to forget his shock at its appearance.
The doll chirped at him, its voice strangely organic, sounding like the chime of a doorbell if made from a voice box.
Behind him, Connie relaxed, “I think its a pokemon,” she said. She peaked out from behind Daryl, “Are you a pokemon? Do you have a name?”
The doll chimed again and moved its arms back and forth. They clacked as they moved, as if motorized by gears instead of organic muscles.
Daryl reached for his pokedex and the doll cried out again, sounding agitated.
“Don’t worry,” Daryl hushed, “I’m just going to take a scan. It doesn’t do anything else.”
Whether it understood his words or not, the doll calmed down, bleeping softly. Daryl brought up his pokedex and gave it a quick scan. It returned nothing back on the pokemon’s identity, of course, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t learn anything from it.
“Fairy and steel type energy flowing off of it like crazy,” Daryl said.
“Don’t call her a thing,” Connie said, coming out from around Daryl as the strange pokemon showed no signs of aggression.
“Her?”
“Obviously. Isn’t that right sweetie?” Connie cooed, taking a step towards the pokemon. It - or she - whirred and matched Connie’s steps until they were standing only a foot away from each other. Connie patted her on the head, though it wasn’t clear if the doll was comforted by, or even felt, her hands on the metal surface of her head.
“Seems relaxed at least,” Daryl said, “So why is it staying here?” Daryl looked around the small grotto, “Or was it being kept here?”
On cue, Colston Holston stumbled into the grotto, shouting, “You can’t take her away! I won’t let you!”
*****