The Rocket named Kaz Kazubara lived, if Hoshi was interpreting the address correctly, right near the centre of town. Clifford Moon, on the other hand, was on the northernmost, easternmost tip of the city.
It was annoying; they were roughly equidistant from the Electric Academy, which meant they'd have to backtrack for the second one.
Could always split up, but… Nope, fuck that. There was time enough to do it the slow, sensible way. Only question left is, what order do we go in? The plan he and Casca had made last night said Kaz first, but Hoshi was second-guessing himself. Would the Enforcer take it as an insult he was left for last? I would…
The opulent halls of the academy flashed past as he debated it, green and gold an absent blur on the edge of his vision. “Hey Casca,” he eventually said as they approached the entrance, “I’m thinking we go up for Enforcer Moon first. Might be good to not leave the higher ranking guy for last.”
“Ol’ Cliff?” Mimi broke in before his girlfriend could answer. “Ooh, that guy’s hot! Maybe we could mysteriously lose a tent on the way?”
She giggled, the sound younger than her face, and Casca rolled her eyes. “Mimi, c’mon. At least try to put on a professional veneer for my man here – you’re making us aspiring Agents look bad.” She sent him an amused smile. “But yeah, that works. His address is an apartment, right?”
Hoshi didn’t need to look at the slip to reply. “It is. Kazubara's is just a street address, so I’m assuming house.” There aren’t very many apartments in the Central District, so that isn’t a surprise. It also implies that he’s a local, which could be either good or bad.
“Bart, too? Man, this camping trip is getting stacked. Are you sure we’re not secretly hitting something?”
He looked the blonde’s way, both annoyed and curious. “You know him?”
“Yeah, was one of the guys who did my… resume jobs, is what I think of ‘em as. Pretty dude, most ridiculous hair you’ve ever seen. Strong Pokémon too – I think he got a couple experiments from the lab boys.” Experiments? More hyper-genius Pokémon? “Also, pretty good with his tongue. You wouldn’t think it from how he looks but-”
“Okay, did not need to know that part,” Hoshi interrupted. “Arcus.”
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Vermillion wasn’t really a car city, the way Cerulean, Saffron, and Celadon were. Its streets were too narrow, only the two main roads – North-South from Route 6 to the docks and East-West from the Gym to Route 11 – having proper lanes. A consequence of the swampy terrain, historical precedent, and a deliberate effort to distance its architecture from that of Kanto’s Dueling Capitals.
No, the Sunset City was built for pedestrians – and for bikes. “Woah, look’it those guys. Arms bigger’n my thighs! Orange, we should come ‘round here some time, pump our recruitment numbers up.”
Hoshi glanced at where Mimi was looking. Huh, don’t recognise the symbol on their jackets. Almost every gang had a patch they’d wear on their back, an evolution – or devolution, some would say – of the expressive clan markings samurai had tattooed directly on their skin in the old days. It was a point of pride, of status; if a gang couldn’t afford to get patches done, then it was too shit to be worth anything.
Even kids had them sometimes.
“Red gyarados,” Hoshi noted, choosing to ignore the woman’s comment about casually seducing gang members. “Not very unique, but I haven’t seen that particular one before. Hyper-local, you think?”
Casca hummed. “Saffron is heating up; could be guys pushed out from their old territory?”
“Could be. They do look a bit roughed up.” Though that might just be a local skirmish – with the Night Folk cleaned out, I’m betting there are a bunch of new players trying to throw their weight around. Vermilion was also not a gang town like Saffron – the southern parts, at least. Unless you count the sailors as a gang. They stick together like one, at least…
The trio passed a few other groups that smelled of violence as they went, but the balls displayed openly on Hoshi’s belt – or maybe the hungry, brittle-toothed smile Mimi sent towards anything with a dick – kept them from being hassled.
“This should be the place,” Hoshi said as he fished the paper out to double-check the address. “Apartment number two-one-two. Second floor, then.”
A flight of stairs, one hallway, and they were there. Hoshi’s watch read 11:15; plenty of time, and so he did his best to expel his anxiety. He’s higher rank, so be deferential – but also, don’t act like you can be pushed around. Chin up, spine straight. The door was solid as he knocked, the sound heavy and carrying.
Huh. I guess this part of town isn’t as bad as I’d assumed from all the bikers; the construction isn’t cheap at all. Good paint, good floors, no trash in the halls.
The sound of a bolt unlocking cracked softly through the wood, and a second later Hoshi got his first impression of Clifford Moon.
He was tall and broad, his skin dark in a way that had to come from blood as well as time in the sun. I’d assumed from the name, but that cinches it; this guy’s from up north. Pureblooded Mount Moon. He was handsome, too, with a square, heroic jaw partially covered by a Pokéball-pattern goatee. The rest of his face was equally strong; narrow eyes, a flat nose, and crisp black hair in a one-step-from-military buzz cut tied his look together as rock hard. He’s not bulky in the way Puce and Kenny are, but he’s still fucking jacked, even under the baggy sweats he’s wearing.
Reminds me of Bob, actually. Though his face is a lot less sharp…
“Hello, sir. I’m Hoshi Mutsu; I’ve just come from the Electric Academy.”
The man’s eyes narrowed further, his swooping brows lowering. “Cliff. The faculty need anything?”
Hoshi nodded, bearing his teeth with a contrition that was only partially put-on. Nobody likes having to come in on a Sunday. “Afraid so. Things are happening that necessitate the instructors’ full attention – they need us to get the new students settled in. A survival camp down in fourteen or fifteen, they suggested.”
“New students… That’s today.” Clifford Moon looked down at what were obviously his staying-home-all-day clothes, his lips twisting. Hoshi braced himself for the coming telling-off – but the man only expelled a breath through his nostrils, stepping to the side to gesture them in. “Let’s take this inside for a minute.”
The inside of Cliff’s apartment was decorated differently than Hoshi had been expecting; the television was small, obviously an afterthought, while the pictures hung on the walls were large and well-cared-for. The only place to sit was a new-feeling couch, which the three guests were monopolising while their host changed.
Unlike Kenny’s room there was no home gym, but there was something Hoshi took a second to place: a dusty area that, after thinking about it, he labeled as artificial mountain.
He must have a geodude or graveler that hates the climate around here. It was actually something that the Senior Grunt had been thinking about in the back of his head; if he caught anything that wasn’t local, what would he do to keep it happy? His girls were fine with Vermillion’s routes and parks, and brief stays in his apartment, but most ground types – and he did still want a ground type – hated moisture with a vengeance.
Diglett is an exception, rather than the rule. I’ve been considering a geodude, but they’d be cranky twenty-four-seven from the sea air.
“Okay,” Cliff’s voice sounded out, drawing Hoshi from his thoughts. “Let’s do this properly.” As he exited what was probably his bedroom the enforcer revealed himself to be dressed in proper day clothes, a tight black t-shirt and worn jeans.
“Beef with a side of cake, holy shit,” Mimi muttered from the side, giving Hoshi’s ribs a light elbowing which he resolutely ignored.
If the Rocket Enforcer heard the comment, it didn’t show on his face. “I’m Cliff Moon, but you can just call me Cliff… assuming you are who you say you are.” He crossed his arms. “I’ll need a little bit of proof you’re from the academy – I haven’t seen your face before, and we’ve been having trouble with people skulking around. So?”
Hoshi was momentarily blindsided, but then a voice in his ear provided the answer. “Show him a Rocket Ball,” Casca said, and he nodded. Right, that’s as good a sign of membership as any.
He drew Guts’s ball, expanded it, and popped open the case to reveal the purple, evil-eyed thing hiding inside. “That enough proof, sir?”
Cliff was silent for a moment, then he nodded as well. “Enough to get me out of the house at least.” His voice was deep and authoritative, but slightly softer than Hoshi would have assumed – he’d been having a lot of his assumptions about what Rocket Enforcer meant challenged, in the last minute. “Alright, so – the instructors need me to go out with some kiddies for a while?”
“A week. They were light on details, but I’m assuming it has something to do with those security issues you just mentioned.”
He nodded again, just a quick up-and-down motion of the chin. “Makes sense. They put you in charge?”
“Yes,” Hoshi replied, with more confidence than he felt. There was a certain aura exuding from the man; solid, immovable, like a sheer rock wall. His parents named him right – man feels like a damn cliff, somehow. “I’ve already bought the supplies we’ll need for a week or so, and gotten most of the team together; it’s just you, another guy named Kazubara, and then picking the rookies up from the academy.”
Cliff unfolded his arms. “Well, that’s straightforward enough. I’ll be meeting you there.” Though it was framed as a question, there was no doubt in Hoshi’s mind that the sentence had ended with a period.
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“That’s good to hear. We’ll show ourselves out, then.”
Hoshi stood, the women following a second later, but as they made for the door the enforcer stopped them. “Wait,” he ordered, and Hoshi paused. Please don’t be yet another ass, I’ve got more than enough of those in my life. “One last thing. It’s weird that Oakley and Kidd wouldn’t let me know what’s going on; they’ve got a softer touch than the boss over in Viridian. What’s your rank, Hoshi Mutsu?”
His teeth ground against each other for a fraction of a second before he turned around. “Senior Grunt, sir.”
“Senior Grunt,” Cliff repeated. His eyes looked down, calculating, and then he smiled. “Oh. Yeah, I think I know what’s going on. You go do your part, I’ll see you at the academy.”
Great – that makes one of us. Hoshi nodded in deference, then turned away to properly leave.
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“That went well,” Casca said as they returned to the streets. “He didn’t do any big speeches; I was afraid we’d be stuck there a half-hour.”
Speeches? “Is that something he does?”
“Yeah, it’s why I remembered the name – he went on this big spiel about Rocket saving our lives before the job, and then there was another one after. Hardest day’s work in my entire life, just from the boredom alone.”
Damn, I was hoping he’d be normal. He seemed normal enough – more than most Rockets, anyway.
“Ha!” Mimi laughed. “He isn’t that bad. He’s pretty short-winded while on the field – and at least there’s something to look at while he monologues.” She wolf-whistled, and Casca snorted.
“Girl, what’s with you today? You’re, like, twice as horny as usual.”
“I can’t heeelp it,” the woman whined. “All my girlfriends are settling dowwwn. June’s engaged, and I can smell the ring growing on your finger, Orange. Cudgel wants to settle down with this office lady…”
“Wait, Cudgel’s gay? I mean she’s definitely butch, but like… It feels too stereotypical, you know?”
“She’s gay as fuck, Casca, and her girl is so boring. I don’t wanna be the only one who has fun anymore, it sucks!”
Hoshi let the banter between his girlfriend and her girl friend wash over him, feeling… kind of weird about it, actually. Casca knows a lot about me, but I don’t really know anything about her. Should I… ask?
The thought was foreign; for a long time – most of his life, it felt like – people asking about his personal business meant somebody was leaving with a bloody nose. Casca was, so far, the one exception to that, someone he could talk to about his parents and politics and shit without being afraid of judgment. Well, there’s Danny too, but that’s… less serious.
But going the other way with it still felt wrong.
…Bah, I’ll have plenty of time to think about this shit while out in the woods.
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If Cliff’s apartment could be said to be a good building on the bad side of town, then their last remaining Rocket to recruit lived in the exact opposite.
Hoshi squinted his eyes at the slip of paper James had given him, then moved them up to re-read the copper numerals affixed above the door. But to his mixed relief and dismay, they continued to match perfectly.
…Well, whatever. Who cares if it looks like a run-down ghost house, it’s where we need to be.
“Yeah, this is the place.”
“Bleh, looks like a drug den.”
Hoshi stepped forward, going from the well-maintained tiled street to wooden, paint-flecked steps. He knocked on the door, and the flimsy screen produced a dry rattle which was both underwhelming for how much force he’d put in, and vaguely sad-sounding. Arcus, is this guy destitute? I thought Mimi said he was strong; stronger Pokémon should mean better jobs, which means better pay… Right?
Or did the instructors pad out my first job to make Rocket seem better? No, Casca’s been a grunt for twice as long as me, and she’s never complained about-
His catastrophising was thankfully halted by the house’s owner answering their door – and Hoshi immediately understood why Casca had called the man ‘Big-Haired.’
“Arcus, that’s a lot of hair,” he said, only realising he’d voiced the thought aloud a moment later. “Uh, sorry. I’m Hoshi Mutsu, can we come in for a second?” What the fuck, that thing goes out like a foot and a half. It must be like wearing a milk jug strapped to his forehead…
“Hm? Oh, is this a work thing?" he answered with a question. "Jay and Jay said there wouldn’t be much for a while.”
“Yeah, they dropped an emergency job on me – sorry, can we do this inside? I know there’s nobody around, but it feels weird to talk about it out in the open.”
The man gave a lazy half-roll of his eyes. “Sure. House Kazubara, open to the public.”
Unlike Cliff, ‘Bart,’ as he introduced himself, was dressed for a night on the town. Wow… The hair is obviously the main attraction, but this guy’s kind of the whole package. Black motorcycle leathers and a bandaged midsection hid an otherwise bare torso, while the gangster’s face was, as Mimi had said, damn pretty. The man actually looked a lot like James – not in any particular facial feature, his eyes were black and his chin and cheekbones much softer, but in the fact that he could have been a K-Pop star.
Yeah, this guy isn’t hurting for money – he must just not give a shit about how his house looks.
“So, what was that? Something about Rocket business, I’m assuming.” The man spoke with a hyper-cultured accent, so anti-punk it wrapped around in a paradox of irony. Arc, yet another weirdo. Hopefully this one just looks strange.
“Yeah. Like I said, I’m Hoshi Mutsu, and this is Casca and Mimi. The instructors want us to do the orientation for the new grunts; we’re taking them out for a wilderness survival thing. We leave at two, can you make it?”
Hoshi winced internally. He probably should have finessed that a little more, but he’d been running across the city since he’d woken up, and his well of patience was being emptied a lot faster than it could refill.
“Two o’clock?”
“Yes. Short notice, I know, but…” He shrugged, palms raised and fingers spread.
The man’s black-painted lips drew down into a frown. “I’ll… need to think about it. How long will this ‘survival thing’ take?”
“One week.”
He hummed. “I suppose I could participate. By the by; are you an out-of-towner? I’ve never seen you before, but I doubt you’re a new recruit yourself.”
Hoshi nearly gnashed his teeth – and Casca’s own well must be looking pretty dry too, because she did nothing to stop him as he grimaced, his voice lowering. “I’m Bob Surge’s fucking nephew. I’ll ask one more time: will you be there at two? If the answer isn’t yes, sir then you can fuck right off.”
Bart’s thin, plucked eyebrows rose, but after a moment of incredulity his expression turned to something more in-line with his greaser aesthetic: cocky determination. “Will we be battling with our Pokémon as part of this trip, my fellow Rocket?”
“Obviously. I’ll take that as a yes.” Before any retort could present itself Hoshi turned, tugging the ancient screen door open with a final sentence before he left. “Don’t worry about supplies, Rocket’s paying for everything.”
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“Ah, man,” Mimi groused as they headed back northeast. “I was hoping to get laid.”
Casca scoffed. “You didn’t even make a pass at either of them.”
“I thought you’d let me do some of the talking! I’m, like, your senior and shit.”
Again, Hoshi let the banter wash over him – but now there was no uncomfortable feeling lurking in his skull. After a minute’s thought he spoke up, “Casca.”
“Hm? Oh hey, you look fired up! Got an idea?”
“Something is obviously going on here, something more than what the Senior Executives said. I don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? Stronger Rockets will be there, forced to be around us, so we should use this as a training opportunity.”
She laughed, the sound subdued. “Always training with you, Hoshi. But I’m in; not like there’ll be much to do out there in the sticks anyway.”
“I could think of a few things,” Mimi suggested with wagging brows, and this time Hoshi snorted along with his girlfriend.
The feeling of fire in his blood only intensified as, a few minutes later, a man with a gigantic pompadour sped past on a motorcycle.
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Okay… Time to have a little drama of my own.
Negotiating compensation with Nak had been exactly as painful as he’d imagined, but only that amount; he’d be getting all his money back when he returned, along with whatever amount a week-long training mission paid out.
Ryan and Kenny had shown up on time, so the last potential disaster was averted. They were down in the cafeteria with the others, no doubt making the Sunday afternoon a hard one for the staff.
It was just him now, returned to Nak’s room an hour later. Casca had obviously wanted to come with him, but in this moment he wanted to see if he could do it alone – he felt halfway like a leader, so it was time to see if that was something real, or just a delusion of bravado. Deep breath. You had an hour to cool off, you feel good, you feel cool. You’re in charge; don’t even think about it, just… do.
Through the door came the bland, suicidally nihilistic drawl of Nak the Rocket Grunt. “So that’s the Pokémon sorted. Better crop than you lot deserve, I’ll say that much. Now usually there’d be Poké-orientation, but the bosses have all got some major shit going down, so you little fucks’ll just have to-”
And there’s the cue. Hoshi pushed open the door, four heads bearing that iconic black cap turning his way. “Actually, there is something planned. Congratulations you three; you’ve got an all-expenses-paid training trip to look forward to. Line up and follow me – don’t fall behind, this place is a fucking maze.”
He turned, beckoning the two men and one woman to follow as he left the door open behind himself. He heard the soft sound of those rubbery grunt boots on rich carpet, and it was a struggle not to look back. Trust it. Trust the aura of authority that comes with just saying shit and expecting it to happen.
It was a solid thirty seconds before an uncertain voice sounded out from behind. “Uh, hey. I’m Tor. This training trip – is this happening, like, now? ‘Cause I’ve gotta be in Saffron in a week for Festival, and-”
“Trust me,” Hoshi interrupted. “You’ll love this. It’ll be way better than my initiation was, at least.”
There we go, ominous undertones achieved. Fucking nailing it.
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Tor Yuriyama walked through the stupidly expensive-looking halls in something of a daze. At his side walked his best friend and his girlfriend, both of them with similar looks on their faces.
Despite having been flirting with Rocket for almost a month now, it didn’t seem quite real yet. The uniform was stiff and scratchy, the hat felt weird on his head, and…
I didn’t think this whole Free the League thing would go this far. I thought like, we’d do some marching, hold up some signs, and then… that would be that? Even in his own head it sounded juvenile, so he discarded the thought. Arcus, mom’s going to kill me if she learns I’ve joined a gang…
The tall, angry looking man with the deep voice led them downstairs, then towards something he vaguely recognised as the cafeteria even before they entered. Inside were more Rockets, each looking much more comfortable in their uniforms than him and his friends.
The man turned, and introduced himself. “Hoshi Mutsu, Senior Rocket Grunt.” His smile was downright malicious, each dark purple eye seeming to burrow into Tor's soul. There were five grunts behind him.
To his left sat a fair-haired man with a dragon at his heel, while on the right there was a large-boned woman bedecked in an ostentatious amount of sapphire jewelry, a staryu perched on the table behind her. Then beside them were two extremely muscular people, a wide-faced man whose cheeks were scarred with acne with a sandshrew, and the largest woman he’d ever seen, each of her arms wider than his head, a koffing bobbing slowly around her cap. Finally, a girl with vibrant blue hair sat behind them all, playing a handheld video game with an ekans curled around her neck.
There were other Rockets in the room, but Tor’s eyes were locked on the lead figure – Hoshi Mutsu. There was something about him, about his hard eyes and sharp smile, that made his hindbrain say danger; don’t move. His knuckles were scarred, more than anyone Tor had ever seen before.
“This is my crew. I’m sure we’ll all get acquainted over the next week, but right now… Let’s see what we’re working with. Show me your Pokémon.”