Emilia and Cashe watched in silence as the bartender placed a large plate of nachos in front of them. He seemed to sense the tension between them and didn’t say a word, retreating as soon as the plate was out of his hands.
“What was that?” Cashe said to Emilia as soon as the bartender was out of earshot.
“That was an interview with the media,” Emilia said, taking a cheese laden chip from his plate and stuffing it into her mouth, “You obviously aren’t media trained, so I took over to make sure you didn’t screw up."
“That’s not what I meant,” Cashe said, pulling the nachos out of Emilia’s reach. It was a petty thing to do, but his chest was twisting with unfamiliar emotion he was having trouble thinking. “What was that other stuff?”
“I was teasing. You said you don’t feel lucky to be traveling with me so I made some jokes, too.”
“No. I was teasing. You were doing something else.” Cashe said, “I may not always emote to your satisfaction, but I know when a person is joking. You were not.”
“So what?” Emilia said, eyes narrowing, “I’m not allowed to complain now?”
“In front of a reporter?” Cashe said, “You couldn’t talk to me back in our cabins? And don’t give me that crap about media training. You were answering questions that weren’t even interview related.”
“What, so you want to get drinks with the reporter now?” Emilia said, throwing up her hands in frustration, “Not sure if you remember the last time a woman flirted with you, but you put her Mantyke in the Pokemon Center for a week.”
“I see,” Cashe said through a clenched jaw, “You were protecting her from me. Because what they say about me online is completely true.”
Emilia scowled at him, her face heating with anger, “Now who’s being disingenuous? You know I don’t believe that. I’ve been with you from the first week you came here. I know you better than anyone.”
“Of course, that’s why you were worried about what would happen if I actually answered for myself.” Cashe said, the swirl of emotion in his chest taking the familiar form of frustration and rage.
“You’re ungrateful, what a surprise,” Emilia said, her voice scathing, “I don’t know why I thought you would stop taking my help for granted, but I did.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cashe said, hands clenching into fists, “I’m ungrateful? Fine. Where is your damn Mega Stone, we should return it because I’m so goddamn ungrateful.”
“That’s my whole point!” Emilia said, “What is with you? Are you desperate for a connection or are you terrified of it? I’m not asking for gifts, Cashe, I’m asking for a bit of fucking honesty.”
Cashe felt a stone of anxiety form in his chest, “What?”
“A Mega Stone is an engagement present,” Emilia shook her head, “Not just any engagement present, it’s the king of engagement presents.”
“I-I didn’t know that.”
“I know!” Emilia shouted, bringing her hands to her face and rubbing the tears from her eyes in a few jerky motions, “And I know just as well you didn’t think ‘Oh, this is a normal present to give between two friends.’”
“I-” Cashe swallowed. Did he think that?
“Every time someone gets a little bit close you pull away,” Emilia continued, “And then you make these big, grand gestures. You barely talk to Lindon, then you want to catch him a pokemon, you run away from me, then you punch that asshole in the face, you focus only on training for a week and barely speak, and then you get me a Mega Stone. I know you are going through things, Cashe, I know! But it’s been months, you could at least do us the courtesy of communicating with us!”
“And so you brought this all up in front of a reporter?” Cashe said, “You think that’s the best time to argue about this?”
“Fine! I shouldn’t have brought it up. Now how about you tell me what was so important that you had to abandon me last night after I specifically asked you to escort me to keep freaks like Stonehead away?”
Cashe’s heart thundered in his chest. He had nearly forgotten about Mr Maple’s offer. A chance to get home, for good. Cashe clenched his jaw and placed his hands firmly on the table, pressing into it until the top of his fingers went white, “It was nothing,” he said, “he just rambled about philosophy.”
“Of course it was nothing. Why would I expect it to be anything important?” She slammed her hands on the table, causing the entire thing to jump and the nachos to tumble to the floor, “Thanks for the chat, Cashe. Hope you have fun with your reporter.”
Emilia stood, storming out of the lounge.
Cashe stared down at the nachos, frustration, guilt, and anger all fighting for control in his heart. He bent below the edge of the table and began scraping the scattered food onto the plate. Once he finally got it all cleaned up, he got up, but smashed his head against the underside of the table and spilled the entire plate again.
“Dammit!” Cashe shouted. He tossed the plate against the cushion of the booth, where it bounced off and fell to the floor, cracking in half, right down the middle.
He gave up, extracting himself from under the table properly and collapsing in a heap on the seat. Within a minute, someone approached the table. He couldn’t see anything besides a pair of polished black shoes from his position, so he sat up, trying not to look like he was holding back tears of frustration.
“Hello, Mr Cashe,” Mr Maple said, a smooth smile on his face, “I came by to congratulate you on your win, but I can leave if it is not the best time.”
Cashe sat up, fixing him with an openly hostile glare. “What do you want?”
“Nothing special,” Mr Maple said, sitting down across from Cashe without permission, “I noticed your traveling companion was quite upset when I came in, I thought you might want a friendly ear to air your troubles.”
“And your ears are friendly?” Cashe said.
“I have never been anything but open and honest with you,” Mr Maple shrugged, “If you do not wish for me to help you with your burdens, I will not pressure you to do so.”
Cashe frowned. It didn’t feel that way, but when he considered it, what Mr Maple said was true. Cashe sighed, “Emilia and I had a fight.”
“I noticed,” Mr Maple said, “Pardon me for saying so, but I think the entire lounge noticed.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Cashe craned his neck to look around the bar. It had emptied some, but those who remained were carefully avoiding looking in his direction.
“Great,” Cashe rubbed his face, “Can’t wait to see what people say about that.”
Mr Maple clicked his tongue, “Frankly, Mr Cashe, I do not see why you care.”
Cashe looked up from his hands, “Public image is important for trainers, or so I’m told.”
“Public image is important for trainers who wish to be worshiped by the sheep of this world, Mr Cashe,” Mr Maple said, “You are not someone who seeks fame and glory. It may come to you, but those are not your goals.”
“You know me so well,” Cashe said, sarcasm thick in his voice, “After all, we’ve spoken for what, an hour?”
“I know you better than you know yourself, Mr Cashe,” Mr Maple interlocked his fingers and rested his hands on the table, “And I have known you from the moment you approached me on the docs. We are kindred spirits, you and I.”
“Right, we’re Anne and Matthew, us. Or are you more Dianna?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr Cashe.”
“That’s such a Dianna thing to say.”
“Mr Cashe,” Mr Maple said, leaning forward in his seat, “If I may, a piece of unsolicited advice: do not hold yourself to the standards of others. It will only bring you misery.”
“No offense, but that sounds like terrible advice.”
“You are a man filled with great potential, Mr Cashe. It is why young Miss Oak is upset with you.”
“It’s not.” Cashe almost laughed, “It is definitely not because of my great potential.”
“Is it not?” Mr Maple mused, stroking his chin. He didn’t have a beard, but the action looked sinister, nonetheless, “Indulge me for a moment, what is Miss Oak’s greatest wish? What drives her to her great heights?”
“She wants to be champion,” Cashe said.
“Is that it?” Mr Maple fixed Cashe with a level stare.
No. That wasn’t it. It was the means, but not the end.
“She wants to be noticed,” Mr Maple said, “She wants to stand out among her family. She yearns to live up to the great heights of her parents, of her sisters. To stand above them all and be recognized as the very best.”
“The best there ever was,” Cashe couldn’t help but say.
“Exactly,” Mr Maple said with a nod, “Few even dare to dream with such ambition. Even fewer have the potential to pull it off. Emilia is one of those precious few. Anyone who has seen her battle knows it.” Mr Maple brought his voice low, almost to a whisper, “You are another.”
Cashe snorted, “You really don’t know me.”
“Perhaps not, but in this I am not mistaken,” Mr Maple said, leaning back in the booth, “You defeated one of the most promising of your generation taking only two glancing blows. You beat his ace with a single order for your own. Tell me that is not worthy of notice.”
Cashe frowned. It did sound impressive when he put it that way. “Emilia isn’t upset because I am doing well.” Cashe said, “She has only helped me, only offered support every step of the way.”
“We often become the most hostile when we are at odds with ourselves,” Mr Maple said, “She is a good person, who wishes to see you succeed. She is a vicious competitor who wishes only for your downfall. In this conflict we see what truly upsets her. She is jealous. Petty and small as it is, she is jealous that you might outshine her. You, the one she helped on a whim, might steal from her her greatest desire. So she lashes out. I doubt she even knows why. But mark my words, she will do it again, and before long, your happy little group will split up.” Mr Maple stood, moving out of the booth. He paused as he left, adding one more thing over his shoulder, “When it does, Mr Cashe, I will be there.”
Cashe sat back in the booth, a small frown on his face and watched him go.
***
Cashe staggered his way back to his cabin. It was late afternoon, and most of the battles for the day were done. The hallways of the cruise were emptying as people made their way to the trainer cafeteria on higher floors. The ever present rumble of the ship’s engines echoed through Cashe’s head, reflecting the static of his thoughts.
He was exhausted, but he remembered to stop at the Pokemon Center on his deck and drop off Mankey and Bulbasaur for overnight healing. They would need it for his battle tomorrow. It was brutal, the format of the tournament. With almost three thousand contestants, even in a single elimination tournament, one had to win a minimum of twelve battles in a row. With battles back to back and only a single rest before the top quarter finals, it was beyond draining. After only his second, he was already unsure if he could go on.
Cashe stumbled into his cabin, closing the door with a haphazard slam and flopped across the room and onto the bed. The sea was calm, but he felt like he was spinning in place as he lay there, rocking slowly with the pitch of the ship.
Before he had the chance to pass out, a knock came at his door, the sound of knuckles on metal ringing through his ears like an alarm from hell. Cashe groaned loudly, but did not get up from his bed. Apparently, the hell knocker took that as consent to enter and the door creaked open.
“Go away.”
“Apollo?”
The voice was a child’s and only one person called him that. Cashe rolled over onto his back, looking bleary eyed at Lindon as he closed the door behind him. The kid’s eyes were red and he had a runny nose. He wiped it with a hand and wandered over to the bed. He sat down on its edge, ignoring Cashe’s mental cries to leave him alone.
“How did your battle go, kid?” Cashe said.
“Emilia is really upset,” Lindon spoke, looking down at his hands. His blond hair fell in his face, covering his eyes from Cashe’s sight, “She yelled a lot and then cried a lot.”
Cashe grunted at the information, “Did you win?”
“She shouted your name a lot,” Lindon continued, taking a long sniff, “Not like normal. Like she was lost.”
“We had an argument,” Cashe said, “It’s fine. Adults fight, Lindon. But we’ll get over it.”
“You smell like alcohol.”
“I had a drink.” Or three. Or more. He wasn’t sure. Multiple drinks.
“My mom fights when my dad drinks,” Lindon said, “She says he’s not allowed to anymore.”
“Yeah, well, we fought before I had a drink,” Cashe muttered, “I’m not your dad.”
“My dad is Jan Stroute. He’s the gym leader of Vermillion City.” Lindon confessed in a rush, “He’s not really a bad guy, he just acts like that for the League. He’s actually really nice. I love him a lot.”
Cashe snorted, “I know, kid.”
“You do?” Lindon looked up, wiping tears from his eyes.
“You didn’t hide it very well,” Cashe said. Lindon flushed in embarrassment.
“He doesn’t have to be a bad guy all the time,” Lindon said, moving on.
“You said that already. I get it.” Cashe sat up, shaking his head as a bout of dizziness overcame him.
“Then why are you a bad guy all the time?”
“I’m not a bad guy all the time,” Cashe snorted.
Lindon’s eyes were wide and bright, “Emilia wouldn’t be upset if you were being nice.”
“We’re not fighting because I’m not nice, kid,” Cashe tried to shake his head, but stopped when he almost lost his balance and his vision blurred, “We’re fighting for other reasons.” Cashe made a disgusted face, “Because I won.”
Lindon frowned, the expression almost unnatural on his earnest face, “She was upset last night, too.”
“She was?” Cashe said, scrunching his face as he tried to concentrate, “That doesn’t make any sense. She’s upset because she thinks I’m taking away her spotlight.”
Lindon’s frown deepened and he stood up, walking over to Cashe. Cashe watch him wearily, unsure of what was going on. Lindon raised his hand behind his head and slapped Cashe across the face. Hard.
Cashe was so shocked he couldn’t think. Pain blossomed in his cheek as a thousand nerves suddenly caught fire.
“Ow.” Cashe groaned, eyes watering from the pain.
“You shut up! Don’t talk about her that way!” Lindon shouted, pointing his finger in Cashe’s face like a disappointed mother. He was crying, big tears streaming down his face, “That’s not why she’s upset! She loves you! She would never think that!” Lindon brought his arms to his face, wiping his tears with one and his nose with the other, “Don’t say things so stupid!”
“What the hell?” Cashe groaned, “What do you know, kid?”
Lindon slapped him again. Just as hard. This time on the other cheek, “Promise you won’t say that again. Don’t even think it!”
Cashe held up his hands, “I won’t! Jesus, kid, just don’t hit me again.”
“Good. And I'm not a kid.” Lindon crossed his arms and marched out of the room, slamming the cabin door behind him.
*****