Chapter Text
That familiar sight was in front of me yet again. A kid, probably no older than 13 at best, kneeling down and giving their 'mon the tightest hug they could muster as they celebrated achieving one of their first victories.
In this case, it was a boy with his Ratata. Maybe he caught it recently, maybe he didn't. It didn't matter. Right now, all that really mattered was that he was still standing whereas mine was not.
I sent out the red beam of light I had become all too acquainted with as I called back a Caterpie I had sent out. Full credit to them, they were getting really good at pretending I was their usual trainer. The conversation that followed went by in a blur. They probably said something nice–something along the lines of "Thanks for the match, mister"-but they were far more happy to receive their prize money and move on. Just another step in their journey. Another rung in a ladder that they would never remember.
Had I started with a Caterpie? A Weedle? Did I have a Mid-Stage Evolution? Come to think of it, what was my name again?
It didn't matter. After all, who remembers the smaller folk? But, I do have a name.
My name is Jacob. Jacob Hyles. And I am a bug trainer.
Bug Catcher? Bug Enthusiast…?
The name changes every now and then, and I honestly can't be bothered to keep up. The point is that I like Bug-types. They're simple, yet complicated, much like my life.
You're likely wondering why any of this matters. Why is a Bug trainer so inclined to tell you about their life? What difference does it make?
For you, probably none. For me? Well, I have bills to pay. I have a job to do.
You know how there's actually a pretty surprising amount of adults that are still actively pursuing pokemon battles? The ones that are way too eager to have battles with folk, years after their journey probably would have started, but with pokemon that seem… for lack of a better word, weak.
Yeah, that's on purpose, actually.
Pokemon League sponsored Inspiration for Newcomer Combatants. Folks call it "PLINC" for short.
Basically, some people are asked by the league to function as checkpoints of sorts. It's a way to help filter out and assess trainers as they progress through their journeys. In many cases, these trainers actually benefit from these PLINC members, having a way of getting experience in official battles so as to prepare them for upcoming gyms.
The more prepared they are, the more interesting the battles. The more interesting the battles, the more folks buy tickets to see them. The more tickets, the more money goes to the league, which goes into league funding and projects, etcetera, etcetera.
All things considered, it's actually a pretty good system. It's also one of those "open secret" kinda things. Most adults know about PLINC trainers, and chances are that some kids do too. So long as you don't bring it up to whoever you're battling though, it's never really an issue.
I've been doing it for quite a few years now, believe it or not, and I've never really had any problems with the job. You go to some specified route, challenge a few trainers a week with a team you're assigned, report back, and you're good. They even give you the expected payments that you would be required to make to any combatants you lose to. If you win, you get to keep the prize money and whatever is left over.
Cards on the table though, I don't win a whole lot. Speaking of…
As I looked out to the distance, past the trees of the Petalburg Woods, I could see that the sun was starting to get awfully low in the sky. I cycled through everything I had done for the week. 25 battles, with one win today against a particularly unlucky kid that brought Zigzagoon which couldn't tell apart its Tackles from its Sand Attacks. That quota had definitely been met.
I rolled the pokeball of the Caterpie in the palm of my hand a couple of times as I started down my usual path home. It's weird to think that there were actually some kids who worried about Petalburg Woods. By all means, it was a pretty safe trip through and back again, even without a Pokemon to keep you safe. Then again, kids. I could vaguely remember feeling nervous the first time I ventured through here too.
That was years ago though, back when I was an enthusiastic twelve year old. Now? Now I was a less than ambitious twenty-four year old man, all too happy to live my life day by day.
Not to say that there was anything bad about it. I actually didn't mind the job. I like things that are simple to do. Stuff that's easy to just blank out on while I'm doing it. And besides, my time as a professional trainer, my hopes for going further into the field… I wasn't exactly fond of revisiting those memories.
Rustboro came into view quickly enough. Like I said, the trip through the woods was barely anything worth mentioning.
I always thought the path there was peaceful. The way the water shone in the afternoon, the slight rickety groans of the wooden walkway across the pond. I would always wave at the people who worked at the gardening shop right outside of town. Sometimes they'd wave back, if they weren't too busy.
At a glance I could see that some Oran Berry were blossoming, a tell-tale sign that the plant would be providing their bounties before long. I had some extra change from that one win for the day, so I decided to get a treat for back home. I was sure Mona would like them. She doesn't really care for the berries themselves, though.
250 PokeDollars later and I had a small bundle of light blue flowers with yellow stems. I think I thanked the lady at the counter? I hope I did. Time blurs together a lot, nowadays. I always made sure to take a quick stop at the Pokemon Center before I went back to my apartment, though. From there, I would report to the League, or to their representative at least, so that they knew I had done my job for the day.
The cold air conditioning and the faint smell of saline were the first things to greet me each time. I could hear some nameless tune playing over the speakers of the center, meant to give the usual welcoming tone as expected of the center, as well as the conversations of a few trainers and non-trainers as they waited for their Pokémon to be treated. Nurse Joy kept up her usual professional tone, just enough positivity soaked into her words to be someone that lived up to their namesake.
My eyes were on the phones hanging from the walls, just a bit away from the rest of the room, the small screens just the slightest bit dusty. I couldn't complain about it though, Joy and the Chanseys were always up to their eyeballs in work, especially in the middle of the new league season.
But, there was something just a tad different today. Someone else had just about finished with a phone call today.
I wouldn't say I knew a whole lot of people by name. I was never good with them, if we're being honest. But as I saw that familiar brunette with that tell-tale blue dress and large red bow, her name was easy enough to recall. It also helped that she was actually pretty nice to me, both as League representative and a friend.
"Oh, good afternoon Mr. Hyles!" Roxanne greeted, just a bit too stiffly. I felt my lips curl ever so slightly as I recognized her professional tone taking precedence over her casual one.
"And a good evening to you too, Ms. Roxanne." I said in as nice of a customer service voice as I could.
She blinked, staring at me for just a moment before realization crossed her eyes. Her shoulders visibly sagged as she gave out a sigh.
"... I was doing my teacher's voice again, wasn't I?" I just gave her a wry nod in response. She did her best to muffle a groan, but it wasn't very effective. "Ugh, sorry, sorry, it's been a whole day of dealing with-" She gestured vaguely to nothing in particular. The unfinished sentence spoke volumes.
"Don't worry about it, Roxie. It's mid-terms at the trainer school, isn't it?"
"Plus the height of the league season." Roxanne added, her voice clearly holding the slightest bit of tension to it. "I've got about twelve matches scheduled each day for the next month. It's a miracle I have any time to work on the curriculum whatsoever."
I gave a sympathetic nod. A part of me felt like maybe I should offer a consolatory pat on the shoulder, or something like that, but I figured that she just wanted to vent more than anything.
"Not to mention all the trainers from other regions we've been dealing with lately. That's a whole other bundle of paperwork. Did you know I battled against someone from Galar the other day?"
I hummed in recognition. At some point in the week, I had definitely gone up against a fourteen year old with a Wooloo. Despite the fact that it never learned Rollout, it sure seemed as though most of its strategies had defaulted to some variation of it nonetheless. Then again, maybe that was just how they got around.
"League's been pushing for more variation in teams lately. Probably why they assigned a Caterpie to me this time around instead of the standard Wurmple." Not that I was complaining. I had some inclination to the Kanto 'Mons just as much as I did Hoenn's and Sinnoh's.
"Oh yeah, you told me about that a few days ago! How was the little guy, anyhow?" Roxanne queried.
"All things considered, he did well. His silk's a little weak for his age, though. I really wish they'd give him more Vitamin C. Maybe some fiber supplements?" Roxanne nodded along. If she was feigning interest, she was very good at hiding it.
"I'll pass it along. Last thing I'd want is to ignore advice from the resident bug expert." She offered a hand out to me. "Want me to sign out the rental Pokémon for you?"
I took her up on her offer, providing her with the two shrunken pokeballs that held the team I was working with this week.
"Any good battles this time around?"
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" I returned. She shrugged.
"I have more than enough of my own battles for a lifetime. Plus a lot of them kinda just feel-" She spun her wrist as she searched for a good word to use. "Samey."
"That tends to happen when you use the same type each battle. I should know." She gave out a breath as she leaned forward ever so slightly, hands on hips.
"Yeah, but at least you're working with different teams every time. That's gotta be interesting, right?"
It was my turn to shrug.
"Same strategies, mostly. Living up to that Bug Trainer reputation, and all that." I was hoping that would have provided some humor. From the look on Roxanne's face, I hadn't succeeded.
"You're still taking it easy on the trainers, aren't you?" She accused.
"Nothing like that. I'm just following the PLINC standards, that's all." Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She held that posture for a moment or two, long enough for it to linger, before she just shook her head with a smile.
"If I didn't know you so well, I'd say you were being malicious with how closely you're following those standards."
"It's nothing like that either. Besides, you know there's a lot of trainers who have Flying and Fire types. Not that easy to eke out a win in bad matchups like those." I was met with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.
"That Stone Badge you got from me eight years ago says otherwise." I didn't have a response to that. Even if I did, I probably wouldn't have had the chance to use it as I watched Roxanne's face shift in horror. "Ughhhh, why'd I say that? I just remembered how old I am."'
"You're only thirty-" I was interrupted by a hand held before me. I barely withheld a flinch.
"Ah bup-bup! No, none of that. As far as my brain cares, I'm thirty, at most."
I held up my arms in surrender, a smile on my face as I elected not to participate in a battle I had no real stake in. As I did, the flowers in my grasp rustled ever so slightly, reminding me of what I needed to do.
"Oh, I should probably get going. The others are gonna get worried if I don't get home soon."
Roxanne responded with a smile and a nod. She gave a gesture similar to shooing me away, but I could tell it was in jest.
"Don't let me keep you. Tell the team I said 'Hi' for me." I nodded, making a mental note as I made my way back out the door I had come in from. "Oh, and try to use some of your vacation days already!" I heard her call out just as I left. I didn't bother to respond, far too focused on getting home for the time being.
The walk back was the same. The scant trees rustling was the same. The occasional bike rider passing by me was the same. The only thing that was different was a close call I had with an overly-excited pet Growlithe that tried to jump on me, only barely held back by their owner's leash.
They apologized profusely. I gave some throwaway reassurances that everything was fine while I kept myself from showing any signs of discomfort I might have held. Some Pokémon fur textures always bothered me. Growlithe, as I recalled from the short stint where a neighbor of mine growing up had one, was among that list.
My apartment building came into view soon enough. It was on the northern edge of town, right by where the forestry started once again, so it was hard to miss. Still, the part that clued me in to how close I was getting was the various small, flying masses that made their way back and forth near the building proper.
Illumise, Volbeat, as well as the odd Beautifly and Dustox, could be seen flying about from tree to garden to bush. A few of them weren't exactly native to this particular area, but they had elected to stick around during their migration. More than likely, they did so because of Mona.
Some of the neighbors were worried about it at first, but they were harmless. Plus, the vegetation in the area was actually starting to thrive in a lovely way from having so many non-destructive pollinators nearby. Any trouble-makers, though rare, were dealt with pretty quickly.
As I opened the door to my apartment, the first thing to greet me was the smell of something spicy. I recognized it as curry just about instantly. In front of me was the familiar sight I had grown accustomed to.
The TV was on, though it seemed to have been cycling through several channels for background noise more than anything else. On the couch opposite of it, one might be remiss to think that there was an eerie little statuette of sorts, posed so as to make it seem as though it was watching the screen, not a remote in sight as it flickered. The twitching of the halo-like object floating above it gave away its true nature however, as well as the vague shape of what at once point used to be a Nincada. The Shedinja, Charnel, was usually more involved with staying by the window, keeping an eye on the world outside. But with the change of seasons, they had become more inclined to just stay indoors.
By the small open-plan kitchen, right atop of the marble counter that separated it from the rest of the living room, four transparent chitinous wings buzzed somewhat as a rather impatient seeming Beedrill, named Sting, kept an eye on the uniform movements of the ladle stirring a mixture of meats, vegetables, and sauce. If I had to guess, he wasn't impatient because he was hungry, but rather because he never quite trusted the gas stovetop near Mona, despite her having used it far more than even I had. Were it not for that, he'd likely be the one making sure that any troublemaking insectoids in the area were promptly expunged.
As for Mona, well, the Vespiquen was diligently keeping to her self-imposed duties. She picked up cooking not long after her evolution, as well as tending to the home. Not really all that surprising, considering their typical roles in the natural world. It was a bit of trial and error to get her to have a decent sense of understanding for human foods and what all goes into the process of making it taste well, but she was insistent on doing things right. Speaking of...
"Afternoon, everyone." I greeted. I made sure to take my shoes off at the door before anything else. Mona hated when I tracked dirt inside. I didn't receive a response. At least, not an audible one. Instead, the air smelled just the slightest bit sweeter, courtesy of pheromones expelled by a certain Vespiquen.
"Got some Oran flowers for you, Mona."
The Vespiquen turned her head slightly. Her stiff, mostly expressionless face seemed to have a slight shine to it as she saw the small bouquet in my grasp. Though she didn't have to eat all that much, at least compared to people, she adored the nectar these flowers in particular had. The quiver of her wings as she stared down the blooms made that quite clear. Sting seemed the slightest bit agitated as I addressed Mona, but promptly calmed himself as he realized that I had brought an offering for her.
As I typically did, I put the flowers into the small berry planters I had atop the shelves next to the window. If things went well, some of those flowers would produce a few berries. Nothing that a Shedinja or a Vespiquen would be particularly interested in, but Beedrill had a lovely little weakness to sweet things, despite their temperaments.
I took a quick trip to my closet and changed into something more comfortable. Some sweatpants, a basic white t-shirt, a couple of slippers. I even took the opportunity to swap out my contacts for glasses. I silently thanked the fact that Hoenn was always relatively warm year-round. Even now, as it was getting to be a bit nippy, I didn't have to make any changes in my wardrobe. The less times I had to wear long-sleeve shirts, the better.
By the time I was done, Mona had already started serving dinner. Small, near imperceptible masses of movement placed a pair of bowls on the dining table, as well as cutlery and a glass of water. The same masses just as quickly searched the fridge for some pre-packaged containers of specially organized vegetables, plants, and supplemental powders mixed between them.
Sure, PokeChow was always available, but I never really thought that it effectively handled the things that Bug Pokémon needed specifically, so I always made my own mixes for Mona and Sting on weekends. Charnel didn't eat, but they liked to be part of the group when everyone else did, so Mona placed an empty container for him to ensure they wouldn't be left out.
The small masses, done with their jobs, returned from whence they came. Mona's wings buzzed as she hovered ever so slightly above the ground, giving space for the insectile extensions of herself to return to the combs that made up her lower body.
With her two claw-like fingers she made sure to turn off the stove, leaving the leftover curry to simmer. Chances are that I'd be subsisting off that for the next couple of days, though it's not like I minded.
With practiced elegance, she made her way to the dining table, holding out a chair for me as Sting and Charnel took their respective places at the table. I gave her a smile of appreciation as I took my place before her. For all of a moment, she allowed her arms to hang lazily over my shoulders. I felt the air sweeten just a little more as the cold of the gem-like protrusion on her forehead touched the back of my head.
Insect Pokémon generally don't show a lot of affection. Not in nature, or in captivity. Most of them don't even make many sounds, outside of battle. But, there are exceptions. Everyone knows about the lovey-dovey antics of Illumise and Volbeat, but not nearly enough people know about the inherently motherly nature of Vespiquen.
I let Mona nuzzle against me as she always did when I came home. It was never a lot at once, so I really didn't mind it. Besides, it was nice to be coddled every now and then.
After only a few more seconds, Mona seemed satisfied as she made her way opposite of me to her own seat. The comb of her lower body visibly softened, taking on a form similar to that of a dress as she forced her abdomen and spindle hairs to relax. From there, she began to eat her pre-prepared meal with refined movement. It was only after Sting watched her start to eat that he allowed himself to do the same, digging in with far less grace than his eternal counterpart.
As for Charnel, I never even saw them move from the couch. One second they were there, the next they were positioned carefully at the table, just in front of the empty container. That ghost-type aspect of theirs always had a way of displaying itself in those subtle ways.
The first spoonful of curry and rice hit my tongue with the same kick it always did. Mona had eased up on the coriander, as I had asked. I appreciated it.
My name is Jacob. Jacob Hyles. I'm a bug trainer.
"Oh, by the way, Roxanne says 'Hi'."
A loud crunch of lettuce in Sting's mandibles was my response.
I really like Bug-types. They're simple, yet complicated, much like my life. And honestly, I don't mind it one bit.
—
The bustling port city stretched along the shoreline. Towering skyscrapers rose above the harbor, their glass windows reflecting the night sky and small flecks of snow. The streets were alive with movement as crowds of people hurried along wide sidewalks, weaving between cafés, street vendors, and small market stalls. Despite it being the evening, there was the hum of activity as offices, banks, and tech companies occupy the high-rises, while restaurants and shops spill out at street level, catering to locals and tourists alike.
Large screens, splayed out along the sides of buildings, displayed all kinds of advertising. The air carried a mix of sea breeze, food aromas, and the steady sounds of footsteps and conversation, giving the city a vibrant, energetic pulse that never seems to slow down. Occasionally, a Pidove or two can be seen flying between the buildings, picking at dropped foodstuffs left behind by hastened workers or occasionally stolen from wide-eyed tourists that held their meals just a bit too high.
On this particular day, a fishing ship was docked alongside a pair of passenger ferries. Several gruff men and their working 'Mons, typically Timburr with the odd Conkledurr, moved forward and back along the dock like the breaths of a living being, ensuring its maintenance lest the lifeblood of the city be compromised.
A couple of these Timburr and their owners had been tasked with helping to unload the fishing boat.
One of these dock workers, a man named Allan with a particularly rough and unkempt beard, gave out a grunt as he brought out a crate.
"Damn Magikarp." He uttered between breaths. As he moved the container to a nearby dolly, he couldn't help but to watch with envy as his and his partner's Timburr moved three crates stacked atop one another each, all with relative ease. The smell of these shipments wasn't particularly helpful to his mood either.
Not far from him, he saw another man make his way onto the fishing vessel, kneeling down to grab the next shipment.
"Hey, Markus, ya wanna tell me how one city has all this Magikarp shipped to it, but not one god damn Krabby?!" The town had been having a shortage of shellfish, and he was certainly feeling it. Out of season or not, he would kill for a fried softshell Krabby.
In the meantime, the other man elected not to respond, instead lifting his respective cargo. This one was a smaller box, but no less valuable than all of the Magikarp from the prior. A container of several Alomomola, a particularly popular food during the winter months of Castelia.
As Markus brought it down, leaving it on the large dolly alongside the Magikarp, the first of the men took note of a clear problem.
"Woah, woah, hold yer Ponyta!" He yelled, arms waving so as to ensure Markus' attention were on him. The latter of the two didn't so much as flinch, watching as Allan made his way towards the water-proofed box to give it a swift once-over.
The container had clearly been opened, which was already a bad sign when it came to fish shipments. As if that wasn't bad enough, Alomomola were usually only packed in boxes of twelve. Something about too much weight ruining the meat, or something like that. Yet he could clearly see that two were missing.
"You pick this thing up like this?"
Allan merely shrugged in response. The kind of shrug that simply screamed 'it's not my job to deal with that'.
Unfortunately for Markus, it certainly was his job. He'd have to report the missing inventory, as well as fill out the relevant paperwork to track down what might have happened. Had there been an accident on the ship? Had the box been improperly closed? Had some Ducklett gotten too bold for their britches?
It was a massive headache and a half, and so close to clocking out as well.
"Arceus fucking damn it…" He muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Allan, do me the favor of getting one of the inventory reports from the Dock Lead. I gotta write this shit down 'fore it slips my mind."
Allan rolled his eyes, but nodded nonetheless. He left the box where it was as he made his way down the dock, leaving Markus to scratch his chin at the annoyance of it all.
Unbeknownst to him, a nearby outhouse had finally been opened. Up until now the door had been jammed, so its occupant was forced to all but break it down with a few well placed kicks.
The now-former occupant grumbled, fumbling with his belt as he adjusted his pants back into a more comfortable position. They were not aware that they were likely to get a verbal lashing of sorts. Why would they?
After all, Markus hadn't been the one who was told to get the inventory report.
Elsewhere in the city, not long after a dockworker likely got into an argument with his work partner, a woman clutched at her furred jacket as a particularly brisk wind blew over her. Her heels clicked against the concrete floor, barely discernable from the conversations of others around her.
It had been a long day, dealing with all of the incompetent coworkers and less than savory glances. As if that wasn't bad enough, a coworker had brought her Glameow to work with them today. 'Nobody had been available to watch them', they said. And now she was dealing with the consequences, her throat itchy and nose stuffy.
She chided herself for forgetting her allergy meds at home. All this time without a reaction, and of course the one day she needed them…
Coming upon a crosswalk, she noticed something on the other side of the road. There, just barely peeking out from the alley between the Slurpuff Patisserie bakery and Krookodile Spirits liquor store, was a vending machine. Normally, the woman wouldn't be particularly inclined to pay these contraptions any attention; cheap drinks with, oftentimes, even cheaper cooling systems. But right now the scratchiness of her throat was like an inferno, and she could use whatever small comforts she could gather.
Besides, it was winter by this point. Even if the machine's cooling system was down, chances are the drinks would still be refreshing enough.
The crosswalk turned green as, amongst the small mob of people who all awaited their turns, the woman practically danced through the crowd with practiced precision. One couldn't have a timely life in a place like Castelia without picking up at least a few tricks.
Before long she stood before the dimly lit machine, its long faded and graffitied mural of a Munchlax biting into an indeterminable PokePuff brand. Despite the machine's lack of regular maintenance, it still seemed to function just fine, the several options listed along the side flashing despite their host body's lack of care. The woman browsed for all of a few moments, deciding that a plain lemonade would be more than enough for what she needed.
350 PokeDollars. Highway robbery, by all means. She didn't care. She just needed something cold for her throat.
No sooner than she put in the bills did she quickly make her selection, watching and listening as the machine sprung to life. She rubbed at her arms, again trying to abate the cold to the best of her ability. Fire in her throat, ice on her skin. She hated it.
She sniffled as she felt a less than graceful amount of mucus start to make its way along the inside of her nostrils. She had tissues in her purse–her one saving grace.
She found herself rummaging through her belongings, furiously seeking the small pack of tissues she was sure she brought with her some time ago. She vaguely heard the sound of the machine dispense her drink, but she was far too distracted. She was too distracted to see the drink hit the bottom of the pick-up tray. She was too distracted to see a vague shadow reach in and just as quickly dash away with the drink. She was too distracted to smell the slight stench of fish left in the air.
By all means, these two incidents are unrelated. Things disappear all the time in a city of this size. Sometimes though, they are disappeared. Sometimes by poor luck. Sometimes by malice. In these cases, they were both done by one unifying cause.
As the long abandoned bodega withstands the wind blowing against its shattered windows, the remnants of a 'Condemned' notice fluttering along the ground, a figure all but glides through the tattered aisles of this once homely family store. Barely a speck of dust is moved from place as it makes its way to what was once a staff room, now long since converted to a functional, slightly above average quality hovel. By all means, today was a good day. Nobody had noticed them, for even a moment, and they had managed to scupper off with some good quality fish.
Comfortable that they had not been followed, an immense mane tied into an oversized ponytail brushed against the floor. Clawed digits reached into the mass of fur, navigating its many knits and knots with ease as they grabbed onto the two recently stolen Alomomola corpses. With the other hand it reached for its mouth, allowing for the can of lemonade to drop from its sharp teeth and onto its palm. With a sniff, a content purr escaped the maw of the Pokémon.
The vixen known only as Zoroark happily dug into her haul, teeth tearing through the flesh and entrails of the once vibrant fish Pokémon as she poked a hole into the aluminum can with a sharpened claw. Dribbles of lemonade flowed freely onto the already stained floor of her home, only to be interrupted as she held the can to her maw and redirected its flow into her throat.
The stained and torn mattress below her groaned with each movement she made. The single bulb that lit the room flickered every now and then, a telltale sign that it was living on borrowed time at best.
From a small vent, positioned just nearby the makeshift bed, small bits of movement came. A miniscule mass of yellow among a world of gray and rusty browns. A Joltik, barely cognizant of exactly where it was wandering in the first place, peered in from the long forgotten ventilation system.
The carcass of a pink fish, all but eviscerated to nothing but the bones, fell haphazardly across the floor as the Zoroark moved onto her second serving. By all means, she knew she should probably save it. It had been a while since she had a full meal though, so she was willing to ignore her longer-term plans for now.
The little yellow fuzzball took the opportunity to move forward, into the mostly empty room where a lovely little snack could be seen. Not in the form of the fish, nor of the spilled sugary drink. No, rather, it was far more focused on the nearby outlet. Parts of the drywall had splintered and broken off, leaving the inner workings of the electrical wiring exposed.
The Joltik was halfway to its prize when its presence was finally noticed. Two sharp, sturdy claws picked it up from the floor, just tight enough that it couldn't wriggle itself free. Four small blue eyes met two large ones as the vulpine form gave out a growl. Not seconds later, the Joltik suddenly found itself being thrown outside, skittering at full speed to any form of cover it could before it was lost to the snow.
Zoroark huffed as she sat herself back onto her bed. She hated insects.
So small and lanky. So irritatingly numerous. And their taste? Horrid creatures.
Still, outside of that minor inconvenience, all was well on her end.
True, her home certainly wasn't the lap of luxury, but she felt as though she was far better off than those who were out roughing it further north.
Humans were ridiculously easy to take advantage of. They were so prone to focusing on themselves that they don't even realize what's happening around them half the time. The other half of the time, they just didn't care.
Did that lady's food disappear? Well, that's a shame, she should have been paying more attention. Did that man's shipment fall over and lose some stuff? If only he wasn't so clumsy. That guy's Herdier suddenly ran off because their leash snapped out of nowhere, leaving his wallet unattended? How very unlucky.
That last one in particular had made for a good week. A Pokémon might be surprised to see how long it takes for a person to cancel their credit card when someone who looks exactly like them is using it. Though, she admits, she probably splurged just a tad too much when she bought that TV.
The same TV that, as it stood, was propped up just across from her.
With a smirk, Zoroark grabbed the remote and powered on the device. Small blessings for this place she had found, including the fact that power had apparently never been cut off, had always made her feel grateful.
A variety of local channels flickered on the screen, each one picked up by the TV's built-in antennae. Some of them were choppy, at best, but on occasion she would be able to tune into an entire movie's worth of content if she were lucky.
Tonight, it would seem, was one of those occasions. A film by the name of "To Lunatone and Back" was playing. Some cheesy romance film about a spaceman who falls in love with some unknowable creature they communicate with through radio waves.
These dumb little C-List movies were all she ever got on these channels, but she loved them. They were simple, yet complicated, much like her life. And honestly, she didn't mind it one bit.