Chapter Text
In the still room, only the grandfather clock moved. A pendulum swung low within its oak case. Its motion paused lazily a moment later. The escapement ticked free another tooth. Hidden gears silently stepped along. Two hands waltzed forth. One second passed. Then another.
"Elaine!"
With a start, I tore my eyes away from the aging clock standing guard by the entryway. The comfortably grey sky outside the window had almost claimed another victim today, but I had won out against its hypnotic temptations. There hadn't been much urgency to the cry, so I called back to the familiar voice upstairs.
"Yes...? Do you want me to leave the desk?"
"Never that. Wake up, someone's coming."
Turning back to the door, my eyes passed over the clock once more. 13:52. I'd fallen asleep for at least 10 minutes. Arceus bedamned sky. Smiling with no small amount of chagrin, I straightened up in my chair and looked expectantly toward the door. The inset glass was more decoration than utility, so the form of the person approaching was hazy where it wasn't outright blocked by brass inlay. Even so, the heeling orange blur could only be a Growlithe, a clear mark of an out-of-towner.
The colors of the traveler's outfit, a bright red top and black shorts, seemed like an athletic coordination. A young trainer then, maybe a backpacker headed for the mountains who had flown into Lumiose from another region. Or possibly someone who had come by boat and through Connecting Cave, but that seemed less likely. Most such arrivals hugged the coast north or traveled to the central region by train, for whatever reason. Somehow, the cave had turned into a journey capstone rather than a starting point. Perhaps because the Rivière Walk was better enjoyed if you weren't exhausted from spelunking.
Regardless, as they approached, the traveler's height started to suggest a man, and the two thick black vertical stripes a backpack. At a distance where the glass no longer distorted the light, it became clear that I had placed my bets on the wrong Rhyhorn. A tall, elderly woman slipped through the heavy door, taking great care to let her Growlithe skip inside between her ankles.
Oh no, today had been so pleasant.
I had to consciously check the neutral smile plastered on my face. Even without her turning around, the 'backpack' was clearly a hard-shell traveling pack for a Pokémon. While the passengers were almost always adorable, their trainers invariably were the sort who could teach a Furfrou a lesson in fussiness. I didn't mind the extra work, but being dressed down for not being able to read some stranger's mind always managed to sour my mood.
Please let that slip of paper in her hand be a checklist. Written instructions are like a shield against redress since I can just follow them to the letter.
"Welcome to the Lum House, my name is Elaine. May I help you?" I said smoothly in a practiced voice.
The older woman seemed pleased enough with the greeting, but her quick glance down at her hand followed by a small frown revealed the paper to be directions of some sort.
"Yes, actually I'm told there is a Alexandre here who cares for Pokémon." My slight nod was apparently too slight, because she looked at me expectantly rather than continuing.
"That's correct; he's upstairs right now refreshing a room. Shall I call him down?"
"Please do. The hotel concierge said that he could not think of anyone better." The disappointment of not gaining a customer clashed with the relief of not having to deal with one whom I clearly had no read on. With a hair less deference now that she probably wasn't going to be our guest for the night, I smiled, nodded, and slipped over to the bottom of the stairwell. In a much more refined tone than my last shout, I called up.
"Monsieur Alexandre, a visitor is asking after you."
He had obviously been waiting, because his footsteps responded on the stairs with hardly a delay. His head dipped below the ceiling, revealing a warm smile.
"Ah, a lovely guest accompanied by two loyal friends. Alexandre, at your service, Madame." His singsong 'host' voice still astonished me to hear, a far cry from how he spoke to me outside of public earshot. Not that any part of his sweet words were fake. In fact, this effusive tone seemed to be his more genuine self.
My most basic job done, I returned to my chair to listen in and took the opportunity to study this unfamiliar lady further. Turned as she was toward Alexandre, I could see a napping Fennekin in the clear plastic dome of her backpack. It certainly had the appearance of a well-groomed pet, and seemingly not a further care in the world. The woman was without a doubt Kalosian from appearance and accent, but her tanned skin was still fairer than my own, so at the very least she had probably come west rather than east from the coast.
The outfit was also definitely some approximation of athletic, so I could count that guess as half right. However, the nearly pristine condition of the cycling shorts suggested she likely hadn't biked more than the well-traveled Route 5 from Lumiose. Unlike several routes, it was entirely possible to not encounter a single aggressive Pokémon during those three days if you stuck to certain paths.
I was interrupted from my musing by the sight of a small furry head peeking around the end of the front desk. The Growlithe's eyes locked onto mine, so I gave it a reassuring blink and held one hand down at my side in an offering of scritches. The canine huffed a prideful rejection that shimmered with heat and withdrew its head from my view.
The woman and my boss moved toward the door, so I stood up to follow. In the process, I quickly realized I hadn't caught a word of their conversation. Alexandre shot me a confused look as the cyclist stepped out the door, but recovered quickly enough to only say, "Elaine, bring out some warm towels and check what potions we have left in the back. Have one ready for us when we return, please. And fine, you can read at the desk; just stay awake this time." He held a lecturing tone throughout, but the corners of his lips were turned too far upward for the words to really bite.
Alexandre's pause at the door was brief, but it lasted just long enough for a flash of gold to hop from behind the grandfather clock's crown applique onto his shoulder. The little Chingling didn't look at me once as they joined the strange cyclist outside, so I hoped it was scanning the area with telepathy, if only so that it would feel the daggers I was staring at it.
As with the real maître d'hotel, the 'Maîtrette' thoroughly enjoyed the presence of guests, familiar and strange. Unlike his master, however, Maîtrette seemed to love needling me almost as much. I held my glare a moment more to keep up my, likely ineffectual, telepathic stabs until they were beyond what I assumed was his psychic range.
One of these days, I'll get my revenge in here by reading some smutty online story where your name's a euphemism, little bell. Gonna make sure my inner voice is shouting, too.
Of course, if he actually could read thoughts, the Chingling would probably tattle to Alexandre and my newly returned privilege would be retracted once more... and in its place daily lectures on propriety would follow, no doubt. I sighed, maybe if I ever quit.
After making sure no one was approaching the front door, I stepped into the office. A wide assortment of potions and poultices stood at the ready within the casement that made up the bottom of one bookshelf. A non-Pokécenter hotel that permitted any-size Pokémon beyond the foyer had to be well-stocked, after all. Leaving the expensive poultices for the guests who expected such natural cures, I grabbed two League potions and slid the casement closed again. Despite having zoned out of the earlier conversation, the situation had to be an injured wild Pokémon. Alexandre's wife ran a rehabilitation clinic just outside of the city limits and he was well known in town for recovering half of its patients. The Ranger office inside the walls often just forwarded calls to him whenever the Pokémon wasn't dangerous.
I picked up a clean towel as well on my way back to the front desk and draped it across my lap to warm it up somewhat. The extent of the Pokémon's injuries couldn't be that great or it they would have left more urgently, but I had made sure one of the potions now in the top drawer of the desk was Super grade just to be sure. Though, honestly, at that point it made more sense to take a Pokéball and head to a Pokécenter instead. The League played pretty loose with allowing non-registered trainers to use its services for emergencies. Or, at least, that was the case in Camphrier.
I looked up at the clock and clouded sky in sequence to mentally apologize before sliding a book out of a lower drawer. I could hardly blame either for what turned out to be a Psychic-type's hypnotic prank. It felt good to return to the familiar world of ink and paper, even if Alexandre had restricted me to 'refined novellas' before outright banning reading after sneaking up on me once. That had been cheating, though, as Alexandre had certainly told Maîtrette not to warn me like he usually did with approaching guests.
The beginning of this particular story, "Fairy-type Moon", had been a bit slow and meandering, but now a few thousand words in it had hooked me more hopelessly than any Magikarp. Without my typical psychic doorbell, I was forced to glance at the street outside every couple of minutes, pulling me somewhat out of the book. Less than twenty pages of what was clearly author self-insert flirting later, I heard a chime somewhere between my ear and my brain.
Maybe you aren't so bad, little bell.
I slid the bottom drawer closed just as the front door opened. Alexandre was cradling a rather mangy looking Espurr in his arm, the other hand capped over its head like a gentle hat. The cyclist woman hadn't bothered to return with him, but that made sense after seeing the state of the little feline's fur. Beside her two well-groomed companions, the Espurr would look twice as much like a drain clog as it currently did alone. It didn't look particularly hurt, though, so I held up the lesser potion in one hand and the towel in the other.
"Thank you, Elaine. Hold her for a moment while I spray the potion," Alexandre spoke calmly, striding over to the desk. I relinquished the potion to him and then received the furry bundle into the towel with both hands. The little bipedal Pokémon was light, astonishingly light, and didn't fuss at all despite my obvious inexperience holding a Pokémon with such a body plan. A few simple commands of "turn", "roll", and "other side" had the potion spread evenly over a number of scabs and scrapes covering the Espurr's body. Alexandre clucked his tongue in satisfaction once he was done, Maîtrette nodding on his shoulder as if he had helped himself.
"There. I'll go call Marléne. I suspect this little one hasn't slept in a while." The little Chingling nodded at Alexandre's words, which meant it wasn't just a suspicion. Maîtrette wasn't great at projecting actual words, but translating simple ideas for Alexandre and the Espurr was well within his abilities. "Make a bed on the corner chair until she gets some free time." As expected, my boss had returned to his clipped way of speaking privately that would shock any and all of the guests who'd passed through here. The two hotel managers headed into the office without another word, leaving me alone with our ...guest?
Hmph, maybe it's just guests who can pay.
I accepted my orders, bundling a circle of towel under the Espurr in the center of an old parlour chair. The entire time, she stared blankly at me with big, round eyes. That was better than protesting, but the whispers of almost-thoughts that crowded into the corners of my mind whenever our gazes met were unsettling, to say the least. It struck me that there were too many to just be the Espurr's though, like dozens of radios playing different stations just at the edge of my hearing. Weird. I hadn't actually yet touched the little Pokémon without the towel, but I found myself patting her down into the crude bed before straightening. Walking back to the desk, I managed to not wipe my hand on my skirt, but there was no way my surprise at how dirty her grey fur was could have escaped those big eyes.
Poor thing. I can at least lie to our Skiddo by avoiding their horns.
Sitting back down, I found my legs had grown accustomed to the towel's insulation, so I pulled my jacket from yet another drawer and draped it across my lap. Alexandre could hardly complain about informality with a muddy furball in the room. I waited patiently a moment, but not much longer before sliding my book back out of the desk. The Espurr was staring at nothing now and the street beyond the door maintained its steady stream of casual passersby. A remembered page number had me back to my previous spot in no time at all. With Maîtrette once again able to warn me, I fell under the ink's spell much quicker, the outside world blurring past.
Until I felt something soft drop onto my legs. Drifting back into reality, I found the Espurr sitting uncomfortably straight up on one of my thighs. She responded to my puzzlement with the faintest flickering of her pink eyes, barely perceivable as jumping between my face and the book.
Oh well, the jacket's hardly clean anyway.
I patted the tiny Pokémon down more comfortably into my lap and returned to where I'd been interrupted. Her soft breathing did nothing to stop me from swiftly becoming engrossed once more. By the time Alexandre made his way back through the lobby, the Espurr was deeply asleep.