Cashe ate his breakfast in silence, not looking up from his bagel. Across from him, Emilia glared stonily at her own meal, a fruit cup with yogurt. By some unspoken agreement, they were still eating together, a silent acknowledgement that this argument would not be the end of their group. Or so he hoped.
Cashe's head throbbed, the results of the previous night’s binge coming back to punish him in full force. The noise from the cafeteria rang in his ears, the light stung his eyes. It was like that pokemon was in there. The drum one. Rillaboom. Cashe’s headache spiked as his thoughts surfaced for a moment to identify the pokemon. He grimaced and let them peter out into a slurry of confused emotion and impulses.
The day’s events bubbled to the surface of his mind, small bursts of memory reaching the surface of his muddled thoughts. The argument. Insults. Complaints. A slap. Another. Older thoughts came with the memories, more feelings than anything. His guilt over leaving his wife behind. His guilt over giving up on returning to her. The comfort of his pokemon. The excitement of his new life. The new guilt of wanting to leave his friends.
His stomach lurched, ending his train of emotion and regret, forcing him back into the present with an uncomfortable pang. He grimaced again and silently prayed he wouldn’t throw up during his match. He battled in a couple of hours, against some no name trainer that managed to eke out a couple unexpected wins. It should be easy, but then again, he was in a similar boat.
Cashe raised his head, careful to keep his eyes on Lindon. “Hey,” Cashe croaked. It was his first word of the day and he flinched at the vile smell of his breath. Emilia looked up, letting Cashe see her face for the first time. She had not slept either, dark circles shadowing bloodshot eyes. Her hair was tied back in a messy bun, which Cashe recognized as a cross-universe symbol for ‘I have not showered today’. What little makeup she wore was smudged and stained and she had on the same clothes as she was in yesterday. She looked almost as bad as Cashe felt.
Seeing he was not speaking to her, Emilia stared for a moment longer and turned back to her meal. Lindon looked up from his own breakfast, his eyes hovering on the bright red handprint that was still visible, even with the scraggy, unshaven shadow of a beard on Cashe’s face.
“You never told me how your battle went,” Cashe said. His voice sounded like someone shoved rocks down his throat and smashed it until they turned to gravel. It hurt to speak. It hurt to think. It just hurt.
Emilia glanced over at Lindon as well with minor interest. Cashe felt a tiny bubble of amusement rise up before it was crushed by his weary misery. Emilia had also forgotten Lindon was still in the tournament.
“I won,” Lindon said, his own voice high and nervous. He carefully did not look at Cashe or Emilia. “I got lucky again. My opponent had two pokemon that were weak to electric attacks.”
“Nothing lucky about it,” Emilia said, giving Lindon a lazy, one-armed hug of support. Her voice was tired, but not the mess that Cashe’s was, “Winning against multiple trainers with only one pokemon is really hard. And we both know trainers can overcome a type disadvantage.”
Lindon looked at Cashe after hearing her words, but Emilia did not. Still, it was obvious to what she was making reference.
Cashe nodded at Lindon’s look. “Don’t minimize your accomplishments. Winning is tricky, even with an advantage in type matchup. You should be proud of yourself.”
Lindon nodded, relaxing a little as Cashe complimented him, probably thankful that Cashe had not brought up the burning handprint on his face. Cashe wasn’t going to - it was clear Lindon had his heart in the right place, and the kid looked embarrassed by the whole situation on top of that.
The conversation died after that, lulling the group back into an awkward silence. Lindon scarfed down the rest of his meal before either Cashe or Emilia had a chance to finish and hopped to his feet, scampering out of the cafeteria with haste, leaving them alone together.
“You reek of alcohol,” Emilia said once Lindon was out of sight.
Cashe was not so out of it that he couldn’t take a hint and stood, stuffing the last of his bagel into his mouth, much to the protest of his gurgling stomach.
“I have to go.” Cashe turned and meandered on unsteady legs out of the cafeteria. It was slow progress making his way to the Pokemon Center. He got more than a few looks on his way and he was forced to take frequent stops to lean against the hall and heave, lest he lose his breakfast to the slow churn of waves below the ship.
When he finally made it to the Pokemon Center, he was sweating from the exertion, minor as it was. He lurched up to the front desk, resting his entire body against it as he caught his breath.
The nurse attending him, lacking the pink hair of a Joy for once, wrinkled his face in disapproval but reached below the desk and produced a bottle of pills.
“Take two,” he said, “It will help with the headache and the stomach, but you’ll still feel like crap.”
Cashe nodded his thanks, not trusting himself to open his mouth and produce anything but vomit at the moment. Once the worst of the nausea passed, he popped open the pill bottle and swallowed a couple.
“Thanks,” Cashe squinted as he handed the bottle back, reading the man’s name tag, “Nurse Joy?”
“I married in,” the man explained, “Hence the hair.”
Cashe grunted in what he hoped was an understanding way.
“So are you here for the hangover, or do you have pokemon here, too?” Nurse Joy said.
Cashe pulled the trainer ID off his neck and handed it over to the nurse. He took it without a word and a moment later produced Cashe’s pokemon. Cashe thanked the man and turned around, making his way out of the Center just as Emilia was entering.
She stopped in the middle of the sliding doors when she saw him, causing them to close a few inches and bounce back open in a little loop. She frowned, noticing the handprint on Cashe’s face.
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“I guess drinks with your reporter friend didn’t go well,” Emilia said. It was like she was trying to sneer, but she was too exhausted for it. She just sounded tired, “Guess I was right to keep you two apart after all. It’s going to be fun reading the article she writes about your little date.”
Cashe opened his mouth, but his stomach lurched again, the pills not yet doing their job. He was too drained to argue anyway. “It was Lindon.” Cashe said.
Emilia furrowed her brow in confusion, but Cashe pushed past her before she could say anything, heading towards the location of his next match.
***
His battle was in the stadium, because of course it was. The tournament organizers couldn’t let him battle in the underbelly of the ship after beating a favorite so easily. Now he was to be watched at all times.
It was awful. The lights of the stadium, the glare of the sun, the screaming and jeering of the crowd all raked against him, multiplying his miserable state. His head throbbed with terrible pressure every second he was onstage and ordering his pokemon felt more like thrashing around while drowning than it did battling.
At least it was predictably easy. Cashe had done zero research on his opponent and was pleasantly surprised to find he was up against a Mudkip and a Cottonee. Bulbasaur took care of them both expeditiously, needing only the most cursory of orders to win the fights. He was not able to take out both pokemon with a single solid hit each - they did not faint from the blows, but quadruply effective attacks against both pokemon meant a single hit injured them to the point that the remainder of the battle after that was all but moot.
His opponent, thankfully, had incredible sportsmanship. Crossing the battlefield shortly after Cashe’s win and shaking his hand with good natured enthusiasm, the young man looked better in his defeat than Cashe did in his victory. He smiled and waved for the cameras, taking much of the attention off of Cashe. Perhaps it was a ploy to capitalize on the extra press Cashe was getting after his battle with Steven Stone III, but he didn’t care. Cashe just wanted to rest.
He was interviewed after the battle again, this time by a man who looked suspiciously like the cameraman from the previous day. The suspicion was heightened when Cashe finally noticed that the camera was sitting on a tripod instead of being operated by anyone. He wanted to say something snarky about it, but in his bleary state he was unable to come up with anything more than single word sentences. At least Mary’s resignation from her position seemed to have some sort of impact. The cameraman was clearly uncomfortable with his new position and didn’t even bother to question Cashe on his sorry appearance.
As he was leaving the side arena, Cashe found himself exposed to something new. The tunnel from the side stage did not lead him to a lounge as the main stage tunnel did, but to a set of roped off stairs in a public area. When Cashe emerged from the tunnel, he was greeted by his first fans.
There were only three of them, and they did not have the wholesome enthusiasm of that which permeated through Emilia’s fans. To start, they were all men, and each stood alone, separated by several feet outside the tunnel entrance. Two of the three looked uncomfortable at the idea of even speaking to him, only finding their bravery once the third approached. They wore dark clothing, which Cashe found strange for a cruise, and he only knew they were fans after the first approached him and declared it as if he were announcing the presence of royalty in a cheesy fantasy novel.
Cashe spent a short time speaking with them, only taking stopping at all for the sake of appearance. Apparently, they were wearing dark clothing as a symbol of their alliance with him, which Cashe found doubly strange, since he had not worn dark clothes in any of his battles thus far. They called themselves the Bloodsworn, which made Cashe cringe all the way through his hangover and down to his soul, but he didn’t comment on it. Different cultures had different standards.
When he finally made it back to his room, he collapsed on his bed in exhaustion. Before he could doze off and actually get some sleep, Lindon again knocked on his door. Instead of slapping him or regaling him with tales of how Cashe made Emilia upset, this time Lindon gushed about his battle. Magnemite had done a stellar job from the sound of it, but was in the Pokemon Center recovering.
Lindon managed to none-too-subtly mention that Emilia had also won her battle, meaning all three advanced to the next round. Lindon also managed to mention that Emilia was alone in her room right now and probably had time to talk, but Cashe waved him away. All Cashe wanted to do right now was sleep, and Emilia probably felt the same way.
Cashe took a moment to release Bulbasaur and Mankey from their pokeballs and feed them. Mankey was irate at Cashe’s stinging breath and offensive stench, which he found a little ironic, considering she was a literal pig-monkey he found in the mud of a riverbed, but Cashe couldn’t find the energy to tease her about it. Bulbasaur, on the other hand, seemed enamored with his new state, which had confused him until he came to the conclusion that poison types were just weird that way. Cashe drifted off to sleep shortly after, finally getting some rest after two hectic days and little sleep.
***
“So Sherry says to me, ‘If you can manage it with the Lechonk, you can manage it with me!” Julius Sycamore roared with laughter at his own story, slapping the back of the cramped cab.
Blue maintained his scowl with a force of will known only to the elderly and the most crotchety of youths. “Who is Sherry again?” Blue muttered, refusing to laugh.
“She’s my girlfriend,” Julius said. He had a strange accent. Some women seemed to like it. Blue thought it was pretentious.
“I thought Celine was your girlfriend,” Blue frowned further.
“Sherry is my second girlfriend,” Sycamore said with a hand wave, “I think you missed the point of the story, see, with Lechonk-”
“I understood the story,” Blue muttered. “It was very funny. How many girlfriends do you have?”
“Three!” Julius said happily, “It is too many, they are always ganging up on me. Ah - but I love them so.” Julius gave a dramatic sigh and fell back against the seat of the cab, his lab coat falling open, the very picture of a man in the throes of romance.
Blue eyed the younger man’s unnecessarily lithe body in what he hoped looked like disapproval.
“You are grumpy, Blue,” Julius said, abandoning his dramatic flair, “Tell me why.”
Blue gestured to the small cab. He and Julius were all but forced against each other. Outside, the Galar region bounced past. Slowly.
“You promised me you had transportation lined up,” Blue said.
Julius frowned, “This is transportation!”
“This is a rickshaw pulled by my Gogoat!” Blue said, waving a hand at the front window towards the large goat pokemon, who bleated helpfully in response to Blue’s voice, "That is not you providing transportation! It's me doing it under your umbrella!"
“This was a gift from Mara,” Julius sniffed, “We use it for our romantic getaways!”
“Who’s-” Blue cut himself off, running a hand over his face, “Why did you think your vehicle of seduction was appropriate transport for us to find Red?”
“It is not a vehicle of seduction,” Julius said, turning his stupidly handsome face away from Blue. How he still looked twenty-five, Blue had no idea. “It is a vehicle of intimacy.”
“How is that better?”
“You are too grumpy. You sulk all the time and you are still mad about things long past.” Julius said, “If we are to do research together, there is a need for intimacy.”
“You and I have very different approaches to research,” Blue muttered. He turned away from the Kalos professor, watching the fields of Galar roll slowly past. The little rickshaw bounced over every bump in the road, somehow managing to push him closer to Julius each time. The same was happening to Julius, who seemed indifferent to the increased contact between the two of them.
“Not a vehicle of seduction, my foot.” Blue grumbled.
*****