Archive of Our Own

It is much too easy to hunt him down.

His booming voice, deep for his age, snakes through the alleyways Lebanne stalk. A belt is cinched almost too tight around her hips, two Pokeballs dangling innocently from it. She gives them each a pat and a promise of fun as she stops at an intersection, before going down the cramped passage that carries her target’s voice the loudest.

The boy was admittedly good at battling, as well as his sister, though she was not the one Lebanne wanted today. It was the drastic himbo that had captured her attention under the streetlights a couple days prior during the evening of Lumiose, a time when children sought out something a bit different than the playmates they told their parents they were visiting.

Kids would whisper as they slipped past certain students at school on the glorious Fridays, not failing to catch the vicious glares they’d cast each other. Bets of candy and Tamagotchi sitting were made to each other as the river of students peeled off, inevitably to go watch the battles between classmates later in the evening.

If you were a kid with any brains, then you would bet on Lebanne. There were few who dared challenge her, much to her growing anger. Why was everyone such a coward? It wasn’t like losing was a big deal.

Not for them.

Lebanne would clear match after match, her Skrelp and Noibat combating any obstacle in the way. Most children only had one companion at their age, making it a pain for her to find anyone who could even slightly match up to her.

Until him.

It had been long after most of the children slunk home when she first saw him. It was only he and his sister in the court, an unsure Litwick in her corner and determinedly marching Falinks in his. Something at the boy's hip caught her eye. Not one, not two, but three Pokeballs hung from it. And ever since, even after the siblings had run off and Lebanne had retired home, and the Friday battling was all said and done, the sight of those three Pokeballs burned bright in her mind.

She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus. His Pokeballs were the only thing on her mind.

One held a Falinks. She had to know the other two.

And so, here she was, two days later and sweetly clasping her hands together as she watches who she learned from other students was Ivor and Gwynn battling it out. His sister is the first to notice her, immediately becoming more mellow when they lock eyes. She says nothing, recalling her fainting Litwick and twirling her hair shyly as Ivor asks what’s wrong. At the pointed finger of his sister, he turns and jumps when he sees Lebanne, now only a few paces away.

“Hi,” she says, smiling and rocking on her feet. She flutters her fingers in a wave.

“Gah! You scared— uh, I mean, hello!” Ivor says quickly, scratching his head. “I, er, didn’t realize we, uh. . . had an audience.” He goes silent, looking at the ground unsurely. His Falinks march merrily up to him.

“So you do,” Lebanne giggles. She circles him, enjoying the way she makes him visibly uncomfortable. “I like you Falinks.”

“T—thanks!” he stammers in surprise, before harshly whispering “You set this up, sis?” over his shoulder. He’s met with a shrug and the shake of her head.

“Who are they?” Lebanne asks, and it takes Ivor a moment to realize she’s referring to the other two Pokemon at his side.

“Oh, these are Heracross and Machop!” he beams, eyeing her own. “What about yours?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” she promises. “So, you like fighting-type?”

“The only type I’d ever train,” he confirms with a toothy grin. One is missing. “I’m Ivor, by the way. And this—”

“I know,” Lebanne says curtly, smile dropping and patience running thin. The kid would not catch a hint. “Fight me.”

Ivor blinks, taken aback. “Really?” he squeaks, looking to his sister excitedly. She stares back in disbelief. “Looks like I’ve been chosen already, sis!” He flexes his arms and scoops up his Falinks, spinning them around. “Show her only your best, Falinks!”

“Chosen?” Lebanne scoffs. “You mean you’ve waited around for me to personally come hunt you down? I’d say I’m flattered, if it wasn’t for the fact you have zero self- preservation.”

“I’ve always wanted to match up against you,” Ivor blurts out, embarrassment coloring his face. “My sis was the first to watch the evening fights, then managed to wrangle me in too.” Red eyes shine at her, making her fingers lace together in uncertainty. Had he watched her before? She definitely did not recognize him from any point prior to when she had first laid eyes on him, and she was not one to easily forget those in her rather large circle. She tries to recall his odd cut of hair anywhere within the sea of others, but nothing comes to mind. Only small Gwynn, shy and always in the far back, never daring to even come in close orbit with her.

“Well, I’m not surprised,” Lebanne says at last. “Every kid knows everyone comes to the fights to watch me.”

“And everyone always hopes to be the one against you in the court!” Ivor says, causing Lebanne to give a harsh laugh.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” she cooes, smothering her delighted grin at Ivor’s confused face. It wasn’t everyday someone who was both fresh meat and seemingly strong was willing to fight her.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“No one wants to match up with me, moron. Not after they’ve all learned their lesson. Why do you think I’m almost always on the sidelines, forced to watch weaklings instead?”

“That can’t be true!” Ivor says, wide eyed. “It’s always you the other kids talk about! And it can’t be true, because. . .”

“He’s wanted to pit up against you since the first day he stepped into the court,” Gwynn supplies. “I told him it was a bad idea. Like usual, he did not listen. So, he’s been practicing against me.”

“And winning, based on what I’ve observed.” Lebanne gives a full-teeth smile to Ivor. “I saw you last Friday, you know.

“You did?” Ivor says, looking starstruck. Gwynn rolls her eyes.

Lebanne nods. “I did.” She takes a step closer to the smaller kid, who starts to look nervous. “I like winners.”

“Really?” Ivor looks in awe.

“I like beating them more though.” A Great Ball is thrust into his face. “Fight me.”

He ducks his head, eyes bursting with excitement locking with her own. “Okay!”

“Good,” Lebanne grins. “Noibat, you know what to do.”

Gwynn retreats farther back as the battle commences. Falinks waddles up to meet her Noibat, who hisses viciously at her opponent.

“I can’t believe I finally get to square up with you,” Ivor says gleefully as he commands his Falinks to attack.

“I can’t believe you’re stupid enough to want to,” Lebanne mutters with rolled eyes.

His Falinks are down in an instant. Ivor gapes. “You really are as strong as shown!”

“You’re already disappointing me,” Lebanne hisses back as he tosses out Machop. “I said to fight me!”

Ivor grows more quiet after that, and even more so after she stomps her foot down the second his Machop drops. “You said you’ve been training! “

“Practicing!” Ivor corrects. “And, um. . . I can see now there’s a fine difference between the two.”

“He couldn’t even land a punch on my Litwick when we first started,” Gwynn says from the sideline. “And don’t even get me started when his Pokemon tried.”

“Sis!” Ivor gasps, looking betrayed. Gwynn turns away, hair twirling resuming.

“He’s only been victorious as of late.”

Lebanne groans. “I should have known better than to get my hopes up.” She cracks her knuckles, retiring Noibat for her Skrelp. “Well, let’s see that Heracross. Come now, don’t waste more of my time.”

Sullen, he half-heartedly summons his Heracross, who blinks at her Skrelp. It gives a happy whir of its wings at her stony friend, who does not return a similar gesture. Instead, it promptly poisons it, and soon enough, it doubles over and faints anticlimactically.

Ivor stares down at his fallen friend with an expression that fights between disappointment and disbelief. “After all that practice. . .” He recalls his Pokemon, looking anywhere but at Lebanne and her clenched fists.

“Are you kidding?” she demands. “What the hell was that? The only kid within the mile to have three Pokemon, and you can’t even properly use them?”

“Sorry,” Ivor says quietly, suddenly acting much like his sister. “I should have practiced more. I was just so excited to fight you, you see.” He offers a failed smile to her. “Maybe we can battle again sometime?" His eyes brighten suddenly. “What if we practice together?”

Lebanne laughs. “It’s train. And no.”

She turns away, Skrelp at her heels. It glares at Ivor, feeling her trainer’s disappointment. “You may fight me again once you prove you can actually handle yourself.”

And with that, she stalks back through the alleyways with the ease of someone who has all her life.

“It’s okay,” she hears Gwynn comfort her brother, who, by the sound of a thud, had fallen to his knees.

“It’s not!” he wails. “I waited so long to see her! To fight her!”

“You waited two weeks,” Gwynn sighs. “And you did fight her, in the end. Maybe now you can see what I meant by not picking a fight. I told you she’d crush you in an instant.”

“We’ll meet again,” Ivor insists, fist to his heart. “And I will prove to her I’m not just another opponent to cast aside.”

“I look forward to the day,” Lebanne comments to her Skrelp, who bobs in agreement. “Not that it will come.”

It was no secret that Lebanne's family was all a touch crazy; it was no surprise their daughter was the same.

Her mother hadn’t dared to even so much as hint towards the match her daughter had no doubt won yesterday. The furious look on her face had been enough warning to keep silent. It was only until she had cooled off the next day that she confided in her mother.

“Ma, it's boring out there. All the kids scram the second I go poking around for someone to play with.”

“Times will change,” her mother had promised. And changed they had.

Lebanne now found competition much easier. Gone were the days of Friday fights and children going behind their parent’s backs. Now you could walk right up to someone in the dead of night, tap their shoulder, and throw yourself into battle. Or you could simply Sludge Wave your targets without their prior knowledge if you were cruel, such as her.

It was wonderful, the Z-A Royale set up by Quasartico. She could kiss them in thanks for finally giving her the outlet needed to get any battle out of her system. Which was impossible to do, of course.

Lebanne had grown over the passage of time, as well as her team. She had been delighted to be gifted with a Jaw Fossil back when she had turned sixteen, and proud when she had finally managed to catch the evasive Gibble that hid within the ground. Her companion had evolved into a Dragalge when she had been merely fourteen, her new classmates eyeing it with envy and awe when she had showed it off to them. And her beloved Noibat, small but fierce, had evolved when she was only twelve.

With her Garchomp being the last to evolve, she felt a pang at the aspect of not having another friend to watch evolve again one day. And so, here she was, two days prior to Garchomp's magnificent evolution to find another companion to grow and train alongside her.

She’s busy with the task of finding a certain cloud-soft Pokemon atop the roofs of Lumiose when a familiar voice snaps her back in time for a moment. Her Dragalge shares a look with her, recognizing it as well as they both lean cautiously over the building’s edge, Lebanne’s long hair spilling over.

“Well I’ll be,” she mutters when the same blond cut of hair from all those years ago shouts commands from a training ground below.

“Medicham, Rock Smash!”

They both cover their ears as a large boulder gets struck into two before crumbling defeatedly. “Loud as ever,” she muses, Dragalge snickering. Gwynn observes him as well, dusting rock dust off of her shoulder in an unpleasant manner as she strides up to him.

“Ivor,” she barks, waving his Medichamp off when it hugs her arm, making garbled noises that could only translate to something along the lines of please make all this rock smashing stop. “Enough. It is nearly midnight. The girls are complaining about the noise.”

“But sis—”

“You are to clean this mess up in the morning,” Gwynn demands. “I’ve had to clean up after you enough times already.”

Ivor hangs his head. “Yes, of course. But you know how it is—”

“I don’t care how it is,” Gwynn snaps before regaining control of herself. “Do you realize how much more work you make for others when you get in these moods?”

“I’m sorry, sis,” Ivor sighs, recalling his Medicham. “I’ve just been wanting to get better. I guess I’ve achieved the opposite effect instead.”

Gwynn softens. “I know.” She pats Ivor on the arm before turning, making her way back to what Lebanne now realizes must be their home.

The very thing she’s atop.

“Come on, there’s still enough leftovers to satisfy you,” Gwynn calls over her shoulder, disappearing within the building's doorframe. Ivor perks up considerably at that, woes of getting better forgotten as he hurries after her, punching a half-rock on the way.

It crumbles. Lebanne rolls her eyes. “It seems he’s trained himself more than his Pokemon.”

She gets back to her feet, planning to Swablu hunt elsewhere when an ear-splitting cry, almost as loud as Ivor himself, rakes out across the night air. Lebanne and Ivor both freeze, turning to see what awfulness created such a sound. Behind Lebanne is none other than an alpha Altaria, red eyes pinned on her. Behind it are three Swablus, hunched together and meeping.

“Well, shit,” Lebanne grunts as she commands her Dragalge to take down the fluffy beast. She doesn’t know whether to be horrified or delighted at its prowess, knowing one day she will have such a thing on her team, even if it wasn’t an alpha. It roars at her Dragalge, and for the time being it’s dragon against dragon, each protecting something they deemed precious.

The sound of footsteps echo from down below, the summon of a Pokemon in its wake. Up comes an all too familiar Heracross, flying a circle around her before joining her Dragalge. It gives the Heracross a glare, but lets him fight alongside her, dodging a Twister the Alteria deals.

“Are you okay, lady?” Ivor’s voice bellows.

“Fine,” Lebanne pants, having dodged any of the move spillage that came her way. She shivers when she notices she’s one step away from falling off the ledge. “Can’t say the same for your Heracross, though.”

The poor thing had flinched, not evading the attack soon enough. The Altaria, seeing its chance, shrieks and dives for the final blow, ending one half of the fight with a swift Brave Bird.

“Sludge Wave!” Lebanne commands Dragalge. The Altaria wails as it is hit, the Swablus squawking nervously and flapping farther back when their mother is flung. “End it!” Lebanne snarls, Dragalge upon the Altaria in seconds. A Dragon Pulse engulfs it, and it gives a frustrated shriek. Lebanne waits with bated breath as the move dies down, the silence as loud as the battle had been.

The Altaria does not move.

She gives a cheer, throwing an arm around her Dragalge as it happily nuzzles her hair. “Good work, girl.”

“It’s not everyday an alpha stumbles across you,” Ivor calls up. “You sure you’re alright, miss?”

“I said I’m fine,” Lebanne insisted, despite being a bit wobbly in the knees. Usually alphas were no scare to her, although none had ever tried attacking her first. She wonders if this was how her opponents felt in the Z-A Royale when she commanded Dragalge or Garchomp or whoever else was thirsty for battle on the given night to attack from their blind spots.

She hopes so.

Dragalge gives a sudden noise of alarm, rushing forward so fast Lebanne is nearly knocked off the building. “Hey!” she hisses as it frantically waves its frond-like arms at her, then up. Lebanne frowns, following the direction she was gesturing at to behold—

Bam!

Lebanne shouts in shock as one of the Swablu Brave Birds straight into her stomach, all air immediately rushing from her lungs. Her nerves turn to ice as her back meets nothingness, watching the world tilt and the roof ledge shrink at a rapid rate. Dragalge hisses, watching her fall with wide eyes that quickly turn to the Swablu, who she swore was laughing.

Hoping that her death would be swift upon the pavement and hard training ground, she shuts her eyes, terrified, only to gasp when any air that had found her lungs flees yet again. Hands slowly lifting to her face, she feels for a smashed head, only to find windblown hair and a barrette hanging on for dear life. Warm hands hold her as her eyes finally find Ivor.

“Lady!” he shouts, causing Lebanne’s hands to drop to her ears.

“I’m right here!” she snaps. “You don’t have to yell!”

Dragalge is by her side in an instant, doing the same check on her that she did to herself. “No smashed head,” she promises before turning to Ivor. “And thank you.”

His eyes go wide, and she yelps when she’s dropped suddenly. She glares up at him from the dusty ground as he stares down in disbelief at her. “Lebanne?!”

“Been awhile,” she grunts, wiping dirt and Swablu feathers off her jacket. She takes his offered hand, which is much larger than she remembers it being. In fact, he himself was much larger than when they last saw each other as kids, which would be a given. What was hard to tell from up high now presents itself before her; a large frame, the same awkward haircut, and a familiar grin on a much more angular face than before, which drops after a moment.

“It has.”

“Dragalge, be a dear and go fetch this man’s Heracross,” Lebanne says to her friend, who is off in an instant. “It kind of got obliterated up there.”

“Probably not the best idea to have sent him up,” Ivor admits, his old habit of scratching his head proving to have stayed after all the years. “But to be fair, I had no clue what type of alpha you were dealing with.”

“It’s alright,” Lebanne says, taking a small step back from his worried hovering. “You were just trying to help, I guess.”

He beams at her, the look still boyish despite the boy being gone. “Of course.”

His Heracross is soon placed in his arms, and he whispers a thanks to his fainted friend before recalling it. He clips the Pokeball onto his belt, which holds one more than before.

“A Medicham, huh?” Lebanne starts at the same time Ivor says “Your Skrelp looks a little different.”

“How’d you know I have a Medicham?” he asks in surprise.

“Hard not to when you’re shouting its name and a command as loud as you do,” she grumbles, recalling her own Pokemon as well.

“Oh,” Ivor laughs, patting a Pokeball at his side. “Sorry about that. We were just doing some nightly training.”

“Midnightly training, more like it. At least you’re actually training this time around.”

Ivor’s eyes go downcast. “I, er, have been since— ah, never mind.” He mumbles the last part, making Lebanne frustrated. Of course he was nearly silent when she actually needed to hear him.

“Well, I’m off then,” Lebanne says. “And. . . thank you. Again. I’d probably be bloody bits in front of you if you hadn't caught me.”

His face pales at that. She gives a waggle of her fingers in farewell, turning away and mentally mapping the fastest route back home, intent on not letting another alpha decide she was a threat, even if she was one.

“It was nice seeing you again,” Ivor says surprisingly softly from behind. “I think.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Lebanne says back, surprised to find her words a little true. Ivor was, after all, some unfortunate man that she had taken her pent-up battle hunger out on years ago, even if he was annoying. She supposes it is a bit childish to still treat him as such.

But it proves hard not to, especially as he shouts “Perhaps one day we will cross each other again!” at her back when she is already far off, voice ringing into the night.

Lebanne loves the thrill of battle, the desperation of almost losing.

Although she mainly sticks to her lonesome, she managed to gain a small circle of both friends and admirers from fellow trainers of her caliber. It was nice to finally have people who shared her fierce passion for the fight, with many nights spent less on random Royale goers and more on the very court she had used to rule in her childhood evenings. It had never felt better to be back, considering her past frustration with everyone being pitifully weak.

A new wave of spectators had made themselves known one night, after a particularly well-matched battle between her and a youth. “Very good,” she had said to the girl, who nodded back. “You’ve gotten much better. And nicely done on evolving your Fletchinder.”

She now observes the small group, friends and regulars leaving for the night. They were dressed posh and prim, with finely polished shoes and heels that reflected the flickering postlights.

“A well fought battle!” one exclaims, coming forward to greet her. “I told you guys she was just as skilled as I said!”

“Oh yeah?” Lebanne says, hand on hip. “You know you can just ask to battle me, right? Don’t beat around the bush. I hate having my time wasted.”

The man grins at the others of his ilk before returning his attention back to her. “Of course. I would never dream of it. Now witness what our society can do.”

He has a nearly-full team of dragon-type, much to her approval. “Many of us at the SBC do,” the man, who introduced himself as Levi, says after she voices it. “You’ll find we are better trained with them as well.”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell,” she grunts out, finishing his Dragonair off with her Dragalge. The battle had been surprisingly tight.

“You haven’t heard of the Society of Battle Connoisseurs?” he says, looking appalled at both what she said and the battle he lost. “Why, we are a society of only the finest of trainers! How have you not caught wind of us at the very least?”

“Maybe I had at some point. I just don’t pay attention to the doings of the upper crust,” Lebanne admits. “It’s not like I’m a part of them.”

“You could,” Levi jumps in a bit desperately, like a houndoom to a bone. “It’s been a while since the SBC has gotten any fresh meat, especially as. . . skilled as yourself.” The look in his eyes tells her he’s already making plans, eyeing her attire and Dragalge. “We could easily find a place for you, make you blend in with us seamlessly. It would be like you belonged there your whole life! Not to mention our lady would be very pleased with me if—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “It matters not if you weren’t born in the upperclass, no no, especially not with your prowess. Plus, don’t you want a battlefield your beautiful friend here deserves?” He wrinkles his nose at their surroundings. “Nome some washed-out court. Anyways, as I was saying, you’d do nicely with the other dragon-type enthusiasts, who, might I add, wear quite the stunning sui—”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” she snaps. “This court is all I need in life to wipe some idiot off the field.” She grabs her Dragalge by her willowy hand, marching away from the people who dared hope she would ever take such an offer. “If you wish to even step near my court again, then talk less and battle more.”

The man is shut up instantly, glaring at her. He nods to the others, who one by one begin to slink off into the night, towards the distant red that marked the Battle Zone. The man casts one more sharp look at Lebanne before joining them, leaving her to fume over his words.

“You don’t belong on some fancy ballroom battlefield,” she cooes to her friends, who nods in agreement. “You were born to kill on the pavement.” Her feet begin to guide her to her mother’s old house, a habit that made itself known whenever she was in the area. “Although I will say, crushing someone on the dancefloor sounds quite fun.”

“Coming, coming, Arceus damn it, I’m coming!” Lebanne hisses as she scrambles to make herself look at least a little presentable before deciding she doesn’t give a shit what whoever was ringing her doorbell this early in the morning thought of her. She swings open the door with enough force to throw it off its hinges, staring down the lady who greets her with a calm, polite smile. “The hell do you want?”

“Ah, you must be Lebanne!” she says sweetly, clasping her hands and resting them on her cheek. “You certainly fit the description.”

“Alright, who the hell snitched where I live?” Lebanne snarls, already making her way to the phonebook. “Whoever they are better—”

“That would be Levi,” the woman says, placing a graceful hand on her shoulder. She whips around, taken aback by the audacity the woman has to not only grab her, but walk into her house uninvited. “My right-hand man!”

“You’re what?” Lebanne says, shooing the woman back to the door. She thankfully complies. “Also, are you telling me that guy followed me after yesterday night? To where I live?”

“Yes!” the woman says cheerfully, oblivious to the lawsuit already forming in Lebanne’s head. “After he reported—or more like grumbled, quite frankly—back to me that you won against him after all his big talk about how he would be the one to, I just knew I had to come here first thing in the morning to see you for myself!”

She tosses her voluminous lilac hair back, which was coiled and coiffed to perfection. Lebanne combs her own snarled hair back in disbelief, fingers on her temples. “You’re telling me that you sent some random man after me? So he could report how his encounter went? And stalk me home?”

“Not some random man,” the woman gently corrects. “My right-hand one, whom I trust in very much, especially his judgement. And his judgement is what summons me here today.” The woman flourishes a small curtsy, gloved hands placed on the pink silk of her dress politely. “I am Jacinthe, leader of the Society of Battle Connoisseurs, and I am personally here to invite you to join our wonderful organization.”

“Hell no,” Lebanne says blankly. “Goodbye.”

The door is shut in Jacinthe’s face, the lock quickly put back on duty. Her Noivern nervously peers down the staircase, startled by the noise as Lebanne starts the task of making an early breakfast and researching doorbell cameras. It was 5:30, a time when she was most definitely not usually up, not when she was active the most at night. She stifles a yawn as Noivern creeps down the stairs, nuzzling her bedraggled hair as she slips him a Pecha berry. “Sorry for the ruckus, baby,” she says, scratching under its chin. Despite it being one of her oldest team members, she still saw it as the tiny Noibat she had captured at around the same time she first did Dragalge.

“My my, what a lovely companion!” an airy voice floats from behind. Noivern shrieks, wings slapping the counter and fridge as Lebanne swings her small frying pan around in panic. A freshly cracked egg slips from it and lands inches from shining pumps that shuffle away. The gloved hand of Jacinthe stops the pan from finishing the job of caving in her skull. “What wonderful friends you two make! Although I will admit, I was most hoping to see your Dragalge.”

“How the fuck did you get in here?” Lebanne demands, ripping her weapon free and waving it menacingly at the well-dressed trespasser. The latter merely blinks at her with a placid smile.

“Through the door, silly. How else would I have?”

Lebanne’s eyes fly to her back door, now wide open and thumping against the wall from the breeze that blows in. Jacinthe merrily takes her hand and plops a housekey into it. “It’s not my fault everyone puts it under the mat. Which is very lovely, by the way. The floral patterns are quite exquisite.”

“You realize what you are doing is very illegal, right?” Lebanne points out, more annoyed by the woman’s carelessness for personal property than she was in fear.

“Oh, don’t be a drag!” Jacinthe chides in a light manner, chittering a soft laugh. “I’m merely here again to see if you reconsidered yet.”

“It's been three minutes!” Lebanne growls. “In other words, no. Now get out and stay out, before I call the police.”

“Goodness, you are stressing your poor Noivern,” she says with the tiniest of frowns, petting the Pokemon’s wing. It pulls back with a hiss before fleeing back up the stairs. “Not to mention me! Please, it’s in your best interest if you remain civil. I promise I mean no harm.”

“You sent a man after my address. That doesn’t exactly scream harmless.”

The slightest of a twitch flickers across Jacinthe’s eye. “I sent my right-hand man to simply fetch your address so I could invite you to my society, as I have already stated.” She tosses her hair yet again, deciding she’d rather continue the one-sided conversation on Lebanne’s sofa. “What a lovely tea set,” she chirps, observing a plain white pot and cups upon a splintery wooden board.

“Firstly, that’s a coffee set,” Lebanne says, hand pinching between eyes that are shut tight, wrinkles of anger forming across her forehead. “Secondly, can you get the fuck off my sofa? And lastly, I am one phone call away from the police at the moment unless you redeem yourself with the actual reason you’re here.”

Jacinthe gives a sigh, hands placed neatly on her lap. “Oh dear, I should have expected this to not be so simple. Not after hearing what you are like.” She fluffs a throw pillow, placing it promptly behind her, although her posture remains rigid. “You see, we aren’t called the Society of Battle Connoisseurs for nothing. We are severe in our training and battling, much like yourself. Which is why I have grown quite disappointed in dear Levi as of late. He has been falling down the ranks of the SBC rather quickly, despite him being not too far below me in terms of skill. It’s no doubt because of the influx of powerful trainers that have joined us, thanks to Quasartico and their Z-A Royal. But. . .”

She pauses, articulating her next words as she quickly checks her appearance in a pocket mirror that seems to come from thin air. Lebanne fights the urge to roll her eyes as she snaps it shut and continues. “Let’s just say that I value a strong, reliable right-hand man.” She gives a pearly white. “Or woman. My, it’s been much too long since I’ve had the pleasure of working closely with one.”

Lebanne raises a brow and shakes the phone in her hand, 911 plastered on the screen. Jacinthe clears her throat and hurries on, polite tone waning. “I see that you are a woman of little patience, so let me spare you the unnecessary. Dear Levi is to lose his job if he continues to fail as spectacularly as he has been. Why, he even lost to you just the other night, which I suppose isn’t too shocking, hearing of you and your skill back from when he had first watched you fight from afar. So, I give to you a proposition: beat him once more as well as me, and we’ll be out of your hair the instant you win.”

“What is it with you upperclass and your beating around the bush?” Lebanne says, slamming down her phone. She pats it in apology when the Rotom gives a buzz of alarm. “You want to fight me? Then fight me! Hell, fight me right here if it gets you out of my house faster.” She turns to the staircase, calling up it. “Noivern, dear, grab the others and get down here as soon as possible, please. This woman is to be the death of me.”

Jacinthe giggles. “Not here! No no, that would be most inappropriate!”

“And yet you being here isn’t?” Lebanne shoots back, snatching the Pokeballs her Noivern had carried down at her request. “Come on, square up. Let’s get this over with.”

Jacinthe shakes her head, heavy locks swaying with the movement. “I’m afraid not, dear Lebanne. After all, I am not finished with what I was saying.” Making sure she has the other woman’s attention, she smooths out her dress. “If you lose, then you must promise to replace poor Levi.”

Lebanne’s mouth hangs open. “Are you insane? What makes you think I’ll ever take your offer?”

Jacinthe’s eyes widen in shock, a hand raising to rest daintily upon her own open mouth. “Why, because it is simply unheard of! You, Lebanne, vicious fighter of the night, queen of the courts, master of dragons, turning down the offer of a challenge from someone of your prowess, if not better?”

Lebanne’s eyes lock with Jacinthe’s soft ones. “Are you claiming your dumb right-whatever is better than me? Because if so, may I remind you I wiped the floor with him yesterday?”

Jacinthe’s perfect smile tightens. “I am not saying my dear Levi is better than you.” She absently picks fuzz off of her tights. “I’m saying that I am.”

The phone and any thoughts of the police are out of Lebanne’s mind the moment Jacinthe’s words leave her mouth. She immediately stalks up to the woman, who gracefully rises to meet her. “You’re dead sure you're better than me?” she asks, wanting to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating the whole situation. Where had this woman been in her childhood, when she needed such brashness from others who wouldn’t dare be to her?

“Muchly, yes,” Jacinthe says, bobbing her head.

Lebanne laughs, the tension fading to a familiar buzz in her veins. “Well, I’ll be. You’re on, miss lady.”

She sticks out her hand, waiting to seal the promise with a shake. Who does this woman think she is? To stroll into my house and waste my time with what she thinks is clever?

“Good,” Jacinthe beams, taking Lebanne’s hand and patting it instead. “I look forward to working with you. After all, I only accept the strongest of the strong to be in the position you will be finding yourself in. My, I simply cannot wait to show you the outfits I’ve been dreaming up for you! Oh, and the Friday tea parties, and the drawingroom talks of movesets, and the—”

“Hold your Mudsdales,” Lebanne says, snatching her hand out from Jacinthe’s. “It’s not like I’m losing, so go dream up all those things for somebody else. Why not give Levi another chance? He was steadfast in battle, and handled himself very well. Do you really want to lose someone like him?”

“My my, sounds like someone’s worried of losing,” Jacinthe giggles. “When he inevitably loses to you, he’ll be disqualified from his position, leaving it wide open for you.”

“Leaving it wide open for someone else,” Lebanne corrects. “You think I’m going to lose to you and your, what, little team of fae?”

The moment she says it, she sees the problem. But that fact wouldn't save Lebanne from the jaws of a challenge.

“How astute!” Jacinthe says, delighted. “Yes, my lovely little team of fae! How’d you know?”

“Lady, you are decked in pink. You’re practically drowning in it.”

“And purple,” Jacinthe says, tossing her hair back once more. “I just got it redone at the salon. Isn’t it just stunning?”

“Now is not the time,” Lebanne snaps.

“And now is not the time to be wearing pajamas, yet here you are.”

Lebanne looks down at her woobat print clothing, sighing. “Fair. Give me five and I’ll be back down. Then you can drag me wherever the hell you want.”

Jacinthe happily claps her hands, going as far as doing a twirl. “Splendid! Simply splendid! I just knew you’d agree sooner or later!” With that, she makes her way over to stare at the trinkets and photos that litter her mantle. She rushes up the stairs, Noivern at her heels. She stops it, taking the Pokeballs still clutched in its grasp.

“Stay downstairs and make sure she doesn’t touch anything, ‘k?” she tells her Noivern, who looks less than pleased at the task. After trading her pajamas for her usual citywear and her Bunnelby slippers for sneakers, she attempts to tame her fluffy hair that billows almost to the floor. Deciding to just use hairspray and deal with it later, she hurries back down the stairs, meeting with Jacinthe once more.

The woman is peering at her childhood pictures, an unexpected frown on her face. She quickly replaces it with a smile when she notices Lebanne before her. “You really always were the queen of the courts, weren’t you?” she says cryptically, leading her out her own front door. She barely has time to lock it and the other before she’s pulled into a waiting car, with none other than Levi as the driver, who glares daggers.

“This is beginning to feel like a kidnapping,” Lebanne admits as she sinks into the plush leather seat. She wasn’t too concerned, not with her Pokemon by her side, but the situation was still beginning to knot her stomach. She told herself it was nothing, and to simply hurry up and win before she had to get a legal team involved.

Levie ignores her, hissing “I won’t let you get away with this!” instead before turning his attention back to the road.

“I sure hope you try your hardest, given how last night went,” Lebanne muses, and Jacinthe gives a small laugh at the degradation of her soon-to-be former right-hand man.

Lebanne knows it would have been wise to worry just a little. After all, worry breeds planning, and she’d need to if she were to defeat Jacinthe.

A full fae team against a full dragon one would usually have one scrambling to switch up their Pokemon, but Lebanne was a stubborn trainer when it came to types. The only Pokemon she ever needed was the ones that made up her only team.

“Besides, I have you, miss also-poison,” she says to her Dragalge, who is uncharacteristically hesitant. “You’ll slam all her Pokemon down, I’m sure of it. Plus, if it starts to look bleak. . .” She dangles her bracelet in front of Dragalge’s face, its corresponding key stone glinting off the chandeliers’ light. She huffs when it doesn’t even look at her, instead focusing on the well-mannered lady who makes her way to the center of the room.

What Lebanne had thought to be a private battle of just her, Jacinthe and Levi had turned into a whole event, which delighted her greatly. As much as she enjoys more solo battles, it was nice to feed off the energy of others, especially those who were as battle-hungry as her.

The crowd cheers as Lady Jacinthe greets them all, drawling on about how perfect of a day it was. Levi, having been humiliated on the battlefield just minutes prior, slinks past her and to Lebanne, much to her surprise.

“Good luck,” he whispers in such a way that can only mean he wishes the opposite. “You’ll need it. You’re in over your head to try and beat the B rank herself.”

Lebanne’s blood freezes. “What?” she whispers back.

“What, she never mentioned it?” Levi says. “Well, shit. Then you’re definitely screwed.” He slips away before she can question him any further, her fists clenching in both anger and foreign terror.

“That pink snake!” she hisses to Dragalge, who shares her expression of both disbelief and fury. “She never told me she was rank fucking B!”

“Rank B indeed!” Jacinthe exclaims, jumping both Dragalge and Lebanne. “My my, you did not know? Why, it must have slipped my mind to mention it.”

“Slipped your mind my ass,” Lebanne snarls. “You never even told me you were in the Z-A Royale!”

“Was it not obvious enough?” Jacinthe flips her hair extravagantly. “After all, I made sure to drive the point across that I am far above you in prowess.”

“In terms of normalcy, not the Z-A!”

“Is there really a difference?” Jacinthe clicks her tongue. “I have to say, I am quite disappointed in you at the moment. I thought you were astute.” She guides a fuming Lebanne to one side of the ballroom, positioning her like a doll. She ignores her glare as she tilts her head up high. “There! All set. Now now, don’t give me that horrid look. It is to wither my perfect coils if it continues. Plus, I don’t deserve it at all. Would you like my mirror to ready yourself and glare at that who does?”

Her small mirror is wiggled into her clenched hand before she can protest, Jacinthe giving her jacket a dust-off before making her way to her side of the battlefield. The crowd cheers for their lady as she goes around in a small circle, stiffly waving to each of her society's members. She raises a Pokeball to the air, silencing the crowd in one movement.

“Dearest people of the SBC, it is now time for I and Miss Lebanne, dragon wielder and popular opponent of the city nights, to settle a battle promised between the two of us!”

They approach each other, meeting inches apart at the center of the finely polished battlefield floor. “I have been aching with excitement to be at this very moment ever since Levi told me of you,” Jacinthe says quietly. “His mistake, of course, or else he’d still be by my side. But my, have I never been more glad for another’s stupidity.”

She eyes Lebanne’s key stone. “It’s not everyday I get to fight a mega user. You’d be surprised with how boring the competition can get around here, despite Battle Connoisseurs being in our name.” She smiles in a slightly threatening manner. “I guess that comes with being the best, hm?”

Lebanne feels a chill go down through her. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

“Good luck,” is the last thing Jacinthe breathes before backing away, Lebanne thankful for the space. She didn't like the fact that some lady, whom she had only just met, made her feel so uncomfortable yet excited to face her off. She was like a beautiful snake, tantalizing and cunning, even her pose to strike graceful enough to deceive you.

Which was why she never expected the bite to come.

She tells herself that it was all part of an evil little plan Levi had hatched in that ginger head of his one day. That the past month was all part of a scheme.

That he, after dealing with enough stiff suits and oolong tea and Jacinthe’s sweet perfume, had to simply escape it all. That Lebanne had just been the most unfortunate of a fortunate target for someone else. That it was all happenstance, that if a friend of a friend of an acquaintance hadn’t said something or done something one distant day in the past, then the man would have never heard of her.

It was the only thing she could do to keep herself sane. To not dwell on her own incompetence.

It was amazing in the worst way possible, how Jacinthe had snuck into her life and stayed. Sure, she never had to worry about money ever again, and she could have the cooks whip up her favorite meals with the snap of a finger, but it all still felt like being a prisoner behind too pink bars.

Everything had to change about Lebanne the moment she lost to Jacinthe, from her looks to her ‘most pottiest of mouths.’ Long, sea-green hair had been tamed to a coiffed ponytail, a bow snuggly placed at the base. Jacinthe had hummed along to her favorite swing album, pulling the hair back from Lebanne’s burning face as she said how pretty and soon-to-be perfect she would look when she was finished.

The moment Lebanne had seen her hair she had snarled, demanding it to be put back down immediately. “Why, that won’t do!” Jacinthe had said, ignoring her and fetching what she first thought to be a black-and-white uniform. She hadn’t been wrong, but she definitely hadn't been right either.

She now glares down at the maid attire, missing her jacket and falling apart sneakers more by the minute. Her frilly headpiece slips down for the umpteenth time, causing her to grab it and throw it at the wall. It slides defeatedly down, crumpling as it meets the shining wood floor.

“I’ll get you better fitted for a new one,” a sing-song voice says from behind.

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting your proclaimed beauty sleep?” Lebanne grumbles, still staring at the stranger in the vanity. It surely couldn’t be her.

She can barely hold eye contact with Jacinthe anymore, not after her humiliating defeat. She remembers the cold, delighted look in her sparkling eyes when Lebanne had only managed to get two of her Pokemon down. As for her own, they were swept shortly after.

Jacinthe sometimes visits on her off days, which are unfortunately very limited. They were sporadic and never announced, mainly to tell Lebanne of upcoming plans she’d need her for or to squeal about some new dress made just for her.

This time, however, was different.

“There’s a gift for you, back at Hotel Richissime. In the yard. And. . .” Something wrapped in soft, plain cloth is set on the vanity. “I thought you should have this. You’re the only person who would put it to the best use, after all. It’s sat in my TM collection for far too long now, just collecting dust.”

Lebanne says nothing as she picks apart the cloth to reveal the gift. “Drgaon Pulse,” she muses before pushing it back. “Already know it.”

“I know your Dragalge does, but your Noivern has been wanting a little extra love lately.”

“Oh? And how would you know?” she scoffs. “Last I checked they weren’t your Pokemon.”

“I know, I know,” Jacinthe says quickly. “But. . . well, this may sound silly to you, but I’ve always been extra sensitive to dragon types.”

“Not silly at all. You’re a walking fairy. Of course you’d be.

Jacinthe beams at that. “You think me to be a fairy?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

She huffs, flipping her hair. “Whatever. Anyways, you’re actually right. Because I spend the most time around fae types, I can easily spot the similarity of dragon types by how different they act in behaviour in different accounts. For example. . .” She idly strokes her hair with Lebanne’s brush, making her wrinkle her nose. “My Carbink is an attention freak. When I so much as step away from it for a second, it starts to sulk about, flattening itself down to look nothing more than its rock counterpart. The others do similar things.”

She hands the brush back to Lebanne, who shoves it back into the drawer. “Feel-bad tactics are what they use. Silly little things. Anyways, you’ll find dragon types to be the opposite. Loud and demanding about what they want.” A slight smile graces her lips. “Reminds me of someone.”

Lebanne plays with her ponytail, trying her best to mock Jacinthe’s hair touching habits. “That’s funny. A certain someone came to mind when you talked about your own team.”

If Jacinthe took offence, she did not show it, continuing on instead. “Your Noivern loves to play with my Aurorus, did you know?”

“I actually didn’t,” Lebanne says in surprise. Since when had her sneaky Noivern gone off to frolic with Aurorus?

“Well, I believe it to be because you haven’t been spending as much time with her.”

Lebanne stands up suddenly, whipping around to face the other woman. “And I wonder who’s fault it is?”

“Yours,” Jacinthe says plainly. “You should have known better than to make a promise to me. But once again I find I am glad of another’s stupidity.” She takes in Lebanne’s reddening face. “Goodness me, rage is not a good look on you. I think I see a vein about to pop. How nasty. Anyways, I hope you will put that TM to use once you realize what awaits you at Hotel Richissime.”

She walks out of Lebanne’s room, stopping to study a small hanging picture of her in her youth. “I think you’ll find it will help both you and your Pokemon take out their. . . violent urges. And spend more time together, of course!”

And with that, lilac hair swishes past the doorframe, heels clicking down the stairs just outside. “It was a mistake to make her feel even remotely welcomed here,” Lebanne sighs to her Pokeballs.

The next day she’s whisked into the foyer by an excited Jacithe, who has nearly spoiled the surprise six times and counting. “You’ll love it!” she promises, Lebanne holding her to her word. Members of the SBC jump out of their way as she’s tugged to the back entrance. The world goes dark as silk gloves are pressed to her eyes.

“This is a bit much,” Lebanne grumbles as she stumbles forward, her only guide the swish of pink dress and the sweet smell of rose. She lets out an oof when she hits something that rattles in return, reaching out to feel the obstacle. It’s holed in a purposeful way, twisted metal meeting her fingers. She doesn’t need to be told what it is, for she’s felt the exact thing thousands of times before.

“Voila!” Jacinthe exclaims proudly, hands uncovering Lebanne. “Your very own private court!”

Labanne stares at the fresh new pavement before her, a large Pokeball painted expertly at the center. Shining wire fence surrounds the biggest territory for a court she’s ever seen, complete with downcast lights that could easily turn night into day. Within the fence is her Noivern, who is taking refuge in the shade of Aurorus.

“So? Is it to your taste?” Jacinthe asks as Lebanne just stares.

“It’s. . .” It was one of the few times she didn’t have words. Her own court?

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jacinthe says, twirling around and making her way back to the hotel. “Use it all you like in your free time. As for me, I’ve—”

A hand clutches the puffy shoulder of her dress. “Why?” Lebanne asks, every moment of confusion and anger and annoyance at everything that had happened ever since she lost spilling out of her. “Why this? Why now? One moment I’m nothing more than your dumb pet who’s used as an errand girl, then the next I’m being gifted a whole fucking court and an overly priced TM from someone who acts as though she’s known me her entire life.” Hazel eyes pierce jewel ones. “Which one have I become? Because you’re really, really fucking confusing me. You know that?”

The morning air goes silent. Jacinthe looks down at the well-trimmed grass, a rare frown on full display as she studies it. “I. . . I did not know you felt this way about your situation.” She twiddles her thumbs. “A right-hand woman is what you are. Not some errand girl. Although I suppose that’s just a glorified way of saying it, huh?”

“No kidding,” Lebanne mutters.

“Well, if it puts your mind at ease, you’re as much your own person to me as you are my assistant. Even if it ruffles me a bit.”

“Thanks,” Lebanne says “I think you just made whatever’s going on up there worse.”

Jacinthe sighs. “Okay, fine. You’re. . . very interesting. No, really!” she quickly adds when Lebanne glares at her. “Like, in a good way I suppose. People like you aren’t my usual cup of tea, minus your love of battling, of course. But there’s something different about you.” She scuffs the ground. “There always has been.”

Before Lebanne can ask what the hell she meant by that, she continues. “Running the SBC is hard as much as rewarding. It’s difficult to keep a family like them afloat. The Z-A Royale has only been cranking up the pressure, with many talented trainers coming out of the woodwork all of a sudden. Many are giving our members a run for their money.

“But as much as the Z-A is a pain, it is an opportunity to show what the SBC can do. We’ve gone more public recently, and thus more popular. People are beginning to approach us on their own to inquire what we are about. And nothing makes me more happy than to see our society grow.” She shamelessly hides a smile. “If they can afford it.”

“Well, I got lucky there I guess,” Lebanne snarks, Jacinthe nodding in agreement. “Oh yes, indeed. You may have raked up bank from the nights, but even then there would be no hope of becoming more in line with our society.”

“Thank you. I genuinely mean that.”

Jacinthe huffs. “Oh, come now. There’s nothing wrong with our lovely society. Now, as I was saying—or perhaps we are already on topic?---we don’t usually accept those who are not in any large circles of trainers. We only want the best of the best. Which is why you, dear, were such a surprise. Imagine my curiosity when Levi spoke about some fierce trainer who supposedly no one could beat that he wanted to try to. He was determined to show what the SBC had for skill, which would have been admirable, if it wasn’t for him losing his touch in battle. I advised against it, lest he get more humiliated. But, well, he didn't listen. And now here we are, me with a much better right-hand person and you in the hands of the best battle society this side of the world.”

Lebanne is silent, processing her words. “Would you have asked to battle with me if I had been someone else that day?”

Her words surprise her. She didn’t know why she suddenly cared, much less about what Jacinthe thought. But the question had itched its way out of her brain and out her mouth before she could stop.

Jacinthe considers what she’s said, closing her eyes. “Yes, I would have. But I would not have wanted anyone else to be my right-hand woman.”

Flustered by her unexpected words, Lebanne can only spit out “So I could have never gotten away losing scot-free no matter what?”

“What, is working with me that much of a punishment?” Jacinthe laughs. “Would you have really wanted to pick fights under moonlight till your hairs grow gray? As romantic as it sounds, you know that lifestyle wouldn’t have always suited you. This is the next best thing.”

“That’s to be proven yet.” Lebanne steps into the court for the first time, taking a seat on one of the sleek, bare-backed benches, Jacinthe slowly trailing her on the other side. “Although this is a start.”

“I knew you’d like it,” Jacinthe grins. “Noivern does, too.”

The large creature waddles over, lovingly nibbling her hands, Aurorus not far behind. It rumbles an odd purr, trying to stick its nose through the small gaps in the fence to do the same to Jacinthe.

“Your Pokemon adore you,” Lebanne says with a smile as both their companions rush off to play, a sudden renewal in their energy.

“Oh, Aurorus is just a big sweetheart. The rest have a bit more attitude towards me.”

“Probably because you spoil them.”

“Spoil them? Why, I don’t spoil them enough!”

They both fall silent, content with watching their rather opposites of Pokemon hiss and squeal at each other. It’s the first silence that feels comfortable to be shared with Jacinthe, not filled with a tightness like before. Not with an air of victor and loser, leader and servant, but of two people from different sides of life finding a common ground.

“You should invite your friends here sometime,” Jacinthe comments. “I’m sure they miss their star fighter.”

“No,” Lebanne says instantly, heart lurching.

Jacinthe studies her. “Why ever not?”

“Not. . . not like this,” is all Lebanne says.

There’s a change in the air. “Do they even know of your current occupation?” Jacinthe asks, sweet voice masking something.

“No,” Lebanne admits. “And I want it to stay that way.”

“You want to lie to your friends? Why?”

“Drop it,” Lebanne warns. “I simply don’t want them to. . .”

“To know? Are you embarrassed?”

“Of course I am!” Lebanne snaps, the confession both horrifying her and making her feel much freer inside. “I lost to some pixie pastel! When have I ever lost? Never! You think that the people who look up to me, who admire and see me as their equal, would take that well? That the ‘queen of courts’ fell to some posh missy and her uppity society? That she now is said missy’s little maid girl, made to go fetch this and that and sip tea with her pinky up and remember which is the fucking salad fork?”

Noivern and Aurorus stop their playfight, looking at each other as their trainers do the same. Lebanne instantly regrets her words as Jacinthe’s always-there smile drops faster than her hands from the fence.

“My society is nothing to be ashamed of being apart,” she says, voice ice. “People would kill to be in it. To be in your position. Do you know what it even means? I thought I made it clear.” She leans in, rose perfume now more choking than sweet. “It means that you are seen as just below me in the society. That if I were not here, or to suddenly perish one fine afternoon, then you would be in my place. You would be queen of the battlefield. You’d be seen as a beacon, a reason to train harder, grow smarter in your tactics. You would be as good as a B ranker., even if you are not officially part of the Z-A Royal.” Her last words are accompanied by a sharp jab to Lebanne’s chest through the wire. “I think you’re scared, Lebanne. Scared that you’re more than just a bloodthirsty trainer. I think you’re scared because it’s the only thing you’ve ever known and lacked in for the first time.”

She takes a step back, allowing Lebanne to finally breathe. “I suggest broadening your horizons, love. The life of someone who can only afford to win is not a life at all. I would know. We learn the most by losing, after all.”

Lebanne stares after her as she makes her way back to the hotel, waving off a gentleman who asks what is wrong.

“I can’t help it,” she says weakly, standing. It comes out barely audible, but Jacinthe stops. “Having passion for what you do and being on top of it is a dangerous combination. You can’t afford to be any less than what you set out to be. You can’t afford having people you finally feel you belong with look at you any differently than from what they love you for.”

Noivern cooes at her, head against her shoulder as Jacinthe casts an unreadable look over her shoulder before slipping through gilded doors. Lebanne collapses back down onto the bench, hands slightly trembling as Aurorus pokes her face with its nose. She pets the massive beast gently, a light drizzle settling in overhead.

After a few minutes Noivern ushers her back to the hotel, squawking at the rain. She sighs, recalling it back to its Pokeball and preparing to deal with what was to be a very awkward session of work.

Several weeks pass in a blur. When she finds she is not swamped with requests and tasks from Jacinthe, she’s out in the court, both fighting and helping other members of the SBC.

It turns into a surprisingly calming routine, something her old life never had. There’s a new peace to be found in teaching the younger members new tactics, and watching them flourish in battle afterwards. For some odd reason her mind wanders to Ivor, wondering if she had long missed the opportunity to have done the same for him in their childhood instead of deeming him unworthy.

She allows all to use the court despite it being hers, never one to hoard something that others who shared her interests could use. It’s become a popular spot within the society, big enough to host two battles at once. Even Jacinthe herself has made appearances on it, although they are far and few.

One evening, when the sky is streaked with red and the first glow of the battle zone hums to life, Lebanne spots Jacinthe observing her from a high window while she is out on the grass with her team. She was no fan of tea parties, but picnics were just simple enough to keep her attention, along with her Pokemons’. When all the macrons and other treats have been devoured, a miss approaches. “Miss Lebanne? Lady Jacinthe requests your presence.”

“Fun’s over,” she groans to her Tyrantrum, who licks macaron crumbs off her with its massive tongue. Recalling her Pokemon back to their balls, she trails after the woman until she stands before Jacinthe. She’s dressed down, something Lebanne isn’t used to seeing, with only a pink blouse and dark skirt, pearls resting on her neck. She waves the woman off, leaving them alone in what Lebanne realises is Jacinthe’s own hotel chamber.

“What do you want?” Lebanne asks levelly.

“To stop whatever terrible thickness has found its way between us every moment we are together,” Jacinthe states with hands on hips. “I don’t like working when crowded, even if it is metaphorically. And especially not when it’s with someone who is important to me.”

Lebanne dearly wishes she never had said anything those weeks ago. Always faster to the talk than the thoughts that stopped, as her mother used to say. “Listen, just forget I said anything. There. Air cleared.”

“You can’t just talk things into existence, you know,” Jacinthe scoffs.

“You can, though.” “That’s because I have people at my every command. Now listen here: after some pondering, it seems I have blown over any and all attempts to understand you better. I’d blame it on our very different persons if it wasn’t for the fact there are obvious commons found between us.” She sits on the plush seat of what Lebanne can’t tell is her vanity or work desk, both paper and vials strewn across it, the mirror effect doubling the clutter. “I guess what I’m saying is that I’m sorry. I take my position and the SBC very seriously. Anything that so much sounds like a stab at it makes my heart pound angrily.”

She lightly powders her face, snapping her fingers and waving vaguely to the other side of the room. Her brush sits on her nightstand, shortly fetched by Lebanne and given to Jacinthe’s waiting hand. To her surprise, her glove pats the seat as she stands. Lebanne, knowing better than to refuse, sits stiffly in her place. Gentle fingers pry her hair tie out, bow unraveling until it’s nothing more than a ribbon again. Lebanne doesn’t know whether to gag at having someone else’s brush used through her hair or to let it slide, choosing the latter as Jacinthe picks back up from where she left off. “I’m glad you said what you said. It made me see how alike we are, in both our passions and problems.”

Frizzy long hair is sectioned into three. “It’s strange, how loving something so much can turn it into something that pains you. When love tilts to obsession.” She begins to lace the thick strands together. “I had a similar experience when I first became the head lady of the SBC, and when I first took on my mantle of rank B. I found I suddenly had more power and influence than ever, people more than willing to know and be acquainted with me. What was once the less popular Society of Battle Connoisseurs all of a sudden became the talk of high-end trainers. I came to know important and. . . unique figures of Lumiose even more so than before, such as Corbeau of the Rust Syndicate, or the leader of the Fist of Justice. I believe his name is Ivor? Is that correct?”

Her voice is a prompt, making Lebanne glance at her through the mirror. “How would I know?”

How does she know I know who Ivor is? And since when was he the leader of the Fist of Justice?

Jacinthe shrugs, shaking a hairspray bottle and going to town on the quarter-braided hair, repeating after more weaves. “I’m acquainted with him, as I said, which naturally led to some sort of conversation between the two of us. He’s very strict in his training, you know.” She eyes her. “Like you.”

“I’m not strict. I just do whatever happens to work, then tinker with it.”

“He said the reason for it is because once, long ago, a brute of a trainer he admired crushed him in battle. In more ways than one, it sounded like. Ever since he’s been awaiting the day to prove himself again.” The discarded ribbon is tied back into her hair at the very end this time. “There. A plait is much more fitting for you.” She takes out her hand mirror, turning Lebanne around and performing a mirror-ception trick that captures the back of her head. “Coiled and snaking, like a dragon’s tail.”

“It’s. . . nice,” Lebanne says, studying what was no less than artwork. “But now I reek of hairspray.”

She’s met with a squirt of something cool on her chest and clothing. “There,” Jacinthe says, pleased with her handiwork. “That’s my favorite; vanilla and midnight breeze.”

“How’d they milk the scent of a midnight breeze?”

Jacinthe laughs at that, the sing-song tone drawing a smile to Lebanne’s lips. “I haven’t a clue!”

She falls quiet, the two finding a comfortable silence once more. Jacinthe puts a finger to her bottom lip. “Do my words clear this awful awkwardness between us?”

“Let me see.” Lebanne swipes a hand through the air, Jacinthe jumping out of its way. “Oh yeah, definitely lighter.”

Jacinthe giggles again. Lebanne finds the sounds less annoying than before. “Comedy is not your forte.”

“Let’s both be thankful that it’s battling instead. And. . . thanks, I suppose. For what you said. I hadn’t meant any type of jab at the SBC, even if it's something that isn’t to my personal style. It’s respectable in a way, what you do here, as well as the society.” She scowls down at her outfit. “Just not what you make your right-hand woman wear. Or do. I guess it’s just sometimes hard for me, to know when you’d be understanding and when you wouldn’t. I. . . don’t know you all too well, after all.”

“Yes, that is a problem. Perhaps when I am not as busy, and subsequently you, we can find time for both us and our Pokemon. My Aurorus loves your Noivern dearly, you know. Who would have thought, with their typings?”

“Who would have thought, indeed.”

Friend was both the term she would use and not use for Jacinthe.

It matters on the day, really, as well as who she is speaking to. If it is a business inquiry directed at her, Jacinthe is known as the boss. If it is a member of the SBC talking, Jacinthe becomes “my lady.” If it is her friends asking, who she has not seen in a month and a half, it would be “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” one says now, leaning back on the court fence. “It better be, with how vague you’ve been. And also, what the hell are you wearing?”

“Yoowhoo!” a voice sings out, the owner gliding up to the entourage. “How glad I am that dear Lebanne doesn’t have to pester me with being the one to hang out with her all the time now.”

Lebanne rolls her eyes at that.

Jacinthe has traded her dress for more casual but still as frilly attire, perfect for an evening of battle. A new addition is clipped to her Pokeball belt, to which Lebanne does not comment on, despite her finding it odd for the woman to use a Great Ball instead of her expensive Luxury ones.

Lebanne nods to her. “This is—”

“Jacinthe? Leader of the Society of Battle Connoisseurs? The B rank herself?” one of her friends gasps in surprise.

“The Queen B herself,” Lebanne confirms. Jacinthe beams at the title.

“Damn,” another comments. “How did you land such a high-end job?”

Jacinthe swoops in before Labenne can stutter out a response. “I took great interest in her skill after hearing about her. We made a deal that we’d battle, and if she lost she’d work for me. Although her status now makes clear who the victor was, I enjoyed our fight immensely, and am lucky to have such fierce competition as my right-hand woman.”

Lebanne, taken aback, shoots her a grateful look as her friends gape. “No way, you lost?” one says. “Man, why could it have not been to me?”

A laugh echoes throughout the friend group. “Lebanne, this is incredible!” Larna, the same young teen she had befriended all those nights ago, says. “You get the best of both the battle and the rich worlds!”

“How much did this cost?” another friend asks, looking at the pavement beneath his feet.

“Don’t know,” Jacinthe says. “It came out of Lebanne’s paycheck.”

“Ha ha,” Lebanne says. “Can we just hurry up and fight now?”

“Yeah,” Larna says, brightening, already summoning her Talonflame. “You’ve been making us wait for over a month.”

It was no surprise when all lost to Jacinthe. Many of her friends were dragon-type users, minus a handful. Larna proved to be a bit of a challenge, being someone who preferred fire and some poison-type, but was still defeated fairly swiftly in the end. “I didn’t even have the time to mega evolve,” she complains, tired from shouting commands to attack or dodge.

When they all bid each other farewell and the promise of a rematch, Lebanne finds herself pulled aside by Jacinthe. “I have another gift for you,” she says, bouncing on her feet. “You know the drill.”

“Aren’t you spoiling me a bit much as of late?” Lebanne grumbles, closing her eyes.

“Put out your hands.”

“Jacinthe, I swear if you slap down a big, nasty Spinarak into my arms—oh!”

The item she hands her is soft and large. Her hands immediately start to fluff it, slowly traveling up the object. It’s warm, and breathing, and pecking out a bloody murder of her fingers. Lebanne peels open her eyes to meet that of none other than the murderous Swablu that had almost claimed her life all those months back.

“Unbelievable,” is all she can say while it and Jacinthe chirp in agreement. She isn’t sure how she knows it’s the same Swablu as before, but her heart demands it is so. She trusts it in that moment more than her brain, for the heart forgets much less easily, especially when the perpetrator that had almost made it stop was sitting in her arms.

“Jacinthe, I have terrible news for you,” Lebanne says solemnly, knowing that no matter what she did this creature would always wriggle its way back into her life somehow. It was better to wave the white flag now than take another tumble off a roof later. “You have captured a murder. Although now that I say it aloud, it seems you’ve done this city a favor.”

“Oh?” Jacinthe says, tilting her head. “And what makes this adorable baby a murderer?”

“It Brave Birded me off a building.”

“But you lived. So it’s not a murderer.”

“I hate it when you’re right.” Lebanne takes the offered Pokeball from Jacinthe. “I was wondering why you’d stoop so low as to have a cheap ball at your side.”

“Oh please, Great Balls can get surprisingly pricey.”

The Swablu lets out an unholy shriek that sounds all too much like its alpha mother, jumping both her and Jacinthe. It gives one flap of its cotton wings, finding purchase on Lebanne’s green head. It nests down, beginning to weave loose strands of hair around itself. Jacinthe is more than delighted.

“Looks like you won’t have to be the one to braid your hair anymore!”

“How’d you even know I wanted an Alteria?” Lebanne asks, wincing as the Swablu sings a screechy soprano.

Jacinthe shrugs. “I honestly didn’t. I just noticed it flinging itself against your window yesterday, demanding to be let in. I knew it would evolve to be a dragon-type, so I thought I might as well capture the silly thing, especially with how determined it was to see you. I mean, it must have stalked around all of Hotel Richissime’s windows just to find what one you occupied the mo—”

Jacinthe stops abruptly. “What?” Lebanne says with a frown. A finger is pointed at her head in reply.

Light blares down suddenly, making them shield their gaze. The soprano somehow becomes worse pitched, ending with what the Swablu probably thought was an expert flourish. The light dies down, both women cautiously lowering their hands as the now Altaria peers down at Lebanne’s face.

“Well,” Jacinthe says as it pecks Lebanne’s nose lightly. “It seems it felt fated for you to be its trainer.”

“You sneak,” Lebanne growls, plucking the Alteria off her head. It snaps its beak at her. “I was wondering why the hell you knew Brave Bird when you were just a mere Swablu. Waited all this time to finally give me what I had set out for, huh?”

The Altaria only ruffles its feathers in return.

“Quick! Retrieve the finest cutlery we have! The first entrees are being passed out!”

Lebanne nearly trips when Jacinthe rushes by, ending up doing the task herself. “And what is this stupid tournament all about again?”

“Not stupid. Watch your tongue. The finest trainers in Lumiose are attending and having a bit of friendly sport.. Did you beat this carpet as I asked?”

“Yes, yes.” Lebanne stands off to the side as Jacinthe scrutinizes the hotel’s lobby, seeing if it matched her expectations. She sharply turns to her suddenly. “Where are all the hotel staff?”

“They fled your party planning. I don’t blame them.”

“Well, I do. I give them half their pay after all! And where in the world is the manager? I need to speak with him about our guest’s room arrangement.”

“Floor 3. I believe he’s helping the staff clean up after Altaria, who got into the macarons yet again.” Lebanne frowns “Speaking of that devil, have you seen her?”

“Your giant bird better not ruin all my careful planning,” Jacinthe warns. “And no, I haven’t, and hope I do not see that feathered fiend anywhere near our attendants. Now, I have a task for you. You know that promising young trainer who has already reached rank C in the Royale? The one who so rudely went off on the whim of a phone call? Well, she is taking their grand old time at that hotel of hers. So, I would appreciate it if you would send her and that Urbain fellow an in-person message.”

She rattles her Pokeballs in an insinuation, and Lebanne nods in reply. “Yes, my lady.”

“Good. Take two members with you. I will be there in holo form for a short appearance to save some of the explanation to them. Tootles!”

Dismissed, Lebanne scurries off, leaving Jacinthe to pout over a misplaced vase. I can’t wait till this is the hell over with.

She was not stupid enough to travel in heels, also sparing her companions the blisters. A taxi is summoned the moment she steps onto the sidewalk, tasked with traveling to Hotel Z. She marvels at how different it is from Richissime when the driver pulls up to the curb just outside, accepting her handsome tip with a smile that almost drops his smoke.

The next moments are filled with holo Jacinthe and the absolute thrashing of her fellow members, herself including. It was nice to be able to finally stop being prim and proper in the ever watchful eye of Jacinthe, even if she slips up often.

“Damn, kid,” Lebanne says after her Mega Dragalge goes down. “You’ve got some serious skill to have beaten me. You might even stand a chance against Jacinthe.”

Seeing as your team isn’t a horde of dragons like mine.

“You know we were literally heading to Hotel Richissime before all this, right?” a young man to the right of the winner—Urbain, she recalls Jacinthe name dropping—says with raised eyebrows.

“No, I did not. How was I to? It’s Jacinthe that’s in the know about everything around here.” Lebanne shivers. “It’s honestly a little creepy.”

“I agree,” Urbain groans. “Anyways, we’ll be at the hotel shortly.”

“Very good. Jacinthe awaits you eagerly, as well as the rest of our guests I am sure.” With a polite nod, she begins making her way back to the taxi before stopping. “Ah, what the hell. Why don’t you kids come with me? We’re both heading to the same location, and despite you both not being in heels I’m sure you’d appreciate the saving from lunch rush on the main streets.”

“Hey, there isn’t enough room for all of us!” One of her colleagues complain.

“Precisely. You are to call another, dear gentleman. You three,” she commands to the remaining group. “The cab awaits.”

The man scowls but summons his phone as the four stack into the taxi. “Tight squeeze,” Urbain says with a wince as he’s suffocated between his friend and the SBC member, who tries to stuff herself as far in the corner as possible.

As much as she tries not to, Lebanne keeps catching Ivor’s eye from across the room.

She is observing the match between Corbeau and Harmony—who both look a little too pleased to be fighting each other—when she decides she's done tip-toeing around the man’s gaze. Quietly backing away as to not alert Jacinthe, who is just as enraptured watching the fight as most of the others, she sticks to the wall and creeps over to where a servant and a tray of champagne stand.

“I’ll take over duty from here,” Lebanne says, the servant casting her a surprised glance. “Suit yourself.”

The tray is passed to her, glasses teetering dangerously from the exchange. She regains their balance and offers them passively around, leaving Ivor for last. The man jumps when she appears by his side, hands wringing nervously. “Ah, Lebanne! I, uh, I—”

“Lower your voice!” she hisses under her breath, guiding him to the far left of the room. “Do you want Jacinthe to duct tape me to place next to her?”

“Ah, sorry,” Ivor apologizes, hand running through his hair and voice considerably quieter. “I just didn't expect you to come over.”

“Neither did I,” Lebanne sighs. “How have your Pokemon been? As well as you, of course.”

“Oh, they’re doing great! Every day they’re getting stronger,” he says proudly. “Get this, Machamp can crush not one, but two boulders at a time!”

“Very impressive,” Lebanne says. Ivor blinks several times at her.

“R—Really?”

“Really,” Lebanne promises. “Although my lovely Altaria can crush one with just her beak. In Mega Forme, of course. I won't make her go into that mode anymore though, not after the ordeal and hissy fit thrown last time.”

Ivor’s eyes grow wide. “They can do that? And when did you get an Alteria? I thought you’d be forever traumatized from a certain instant to ever want one.”

Lebanne scoffs. “Oh please, do you think I get traumatized that easily?”

Ivor shrugs his massive shoulders. “I do.”

Guilt surprisingly sharp lances through her, eyes meeting his. “Ivor. . .”

“What a spectacular showdown!” Jacinthe’s voice cadences out. “And now, the moment all here has been waiting for, the moment that Lady Jacinthe steps up to duel the promising Harmony! As promised, she will earn herself the next rank up if she manages to defeat me.”

Jacinthe strides elegantly to meet Harmony, who wears a determined look on her face. She glances behind her in search of Lebanne, slightly frowning when she’s not to be seen. Crocus eyes scour the onlookers, locking lastly with Lebanne’s. They narrow before focusing on the opponent in front of her, who nods her confirmation of being ready.

Lebanne shivers, knowing full well she is to be reprimanded for leaving Jacinthe’s side without her blessing after the spectacle was over. Ivor places a reassuring hand on her arm, seeming to have gotten the memo as well. “Worry not! If Jacinthe inquires, I will just say I was craving a glass of champagne. Even if I, uh, don’t drink.”

“Thank you.”

They watch the battle unfold, Jacinthe sweeping in strong. “I’m sorry.”

Ivor is silent for a moment, unsure if she was talking to herself or him. “For what?”

“Jacinthe told me about your whole. . . deal. About why you’re always trying to get better. Stronger.”

Ivor’s mouth hangs open. “That was confidential infor—”

“I’m glad she told me, or else I may have never gotten the truth. Which would have probably been my own fault, huh?” She shakes her head. “I hadn’t meant to be so cruel as a kid towards you, Ivor. Okay, maybe I had been, but it was foolish of me to disregard you based on one point in time.”

Harmony is in the lead, Jacinthe Mega Evolving her Pokemon as she does the same. “I should have admired you and your willingness to want to challenge me, despite there being a. . .” She tries to search for a nice word. “. . . Difference in skill and strengths between us. And the fact you took something bad that happened and turned it into something that bettered yourself and your Pokemon, even if it probably wasn’t very healthy at some moments.”

She doesn’t need to look at Ivor to know the disbelief that’s plastered on his face. Gwynn is peering at them from Canari’s side curiously, trying to hide her attempt at eavesdropping. Lebanne scowls at her, and the girl quickly turns back to the battle that has just finished.

“I. . . I am glad for your words, Lebanne,” Ivor says quietly. “Thank you.”

“Thank me with a battle later,” she grins. “It doesn’t matter who the victor is.”

Alteria is found asleep in the court, high lampposts spotlighting her. Even her snoring was somehow screechy.

“That damn cloud,” Lebanne says, trying not to rattle the court’s fence as she enters. She scoops up the rotund blob, crumbs of every sort of sweet falling off of it. “Set her beneath the fairy tree, will you?”

Ivor flinches as its set into his arms. “What if I hurt the thing?”

“She isn’t fragile. She can pluck your eyes clean out if she sets her mind to it, or thinks macarons hide behind them.”

“But it can be dangerous when I set things down,” Ivor protests, leveling his voice so as to not wake the innocently slumbering beast. “I sometimes accidentally slam things down super fast. It’s a habit, mostly thanks to my insanely strong arms.”

“Well, tell your insanely strong muscles to slow the fuck down, then,” Lebanne says with the quirk of a brow, sending Ivor on his way. She watches as he lowers Alteria down at a Slowpoke’s pace, nestling her within the hawthorn. He creeps back, taking large, exaggeratedly soft steps that make Lebanne hide an amused smile.

“Won’t it be prickly for her?” he asks.

“No. Her feathers will do their job.”

She stretches her neck, stepping into the center of the court. “Come on, jumbo. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Ivor takes his place several paces from her, Pokeball at the ready. “It’s odd. All the times I imagined a rematch with you, it was never like this.”

“Blame it on your lack of imagination.” Lebanne throws out Noivern, who’s countered with Medicham. “I look forward to seeing how much you’ve grown. And don’t think I didn’t spot that key stone on your glove, mister. Who’s it for?”

Ivor grins happily. “You’ll see soon enough.”

                                                                                               ✦︎            ✦︎            ✦︎

Jacinthe blows on her drying nails as two twin lights burst out from down below in the court. Carefully capping the polishes, she leans out her open window, letting the night wind finish the job. Ivor and Lebanne are more evenly matched than she expects, but then again, Ivor had been training for who knows how many years for this very moment.

Her Carbink hovers over her shoulder, attempting to paint their nonexistent nails as well. She tucks them under her arm lovingly, watching Lebanne go for the finishing move. Mega Falinks goes down, but its trainer does not look sad at the fight lost. He instead clasps the winner’s hand, exchanging words that cannot be heard. Lebanne pats his in turn, battle mode slowly leaving her features. Mega Dragalge floats around them, either parading her victory or fleeing the bitey Alteria that gives chase, cranky from being awoken. It shortly breaks off in favor of flying up to Ivor and nestling into his arms, the man looking panicked as it yawns. He points nervously to his eyes, to which Lebanne shakes her head, pulling him by the arm to back inside the hotel.

Jacinthe pulls away from the window, an odd feeling taking wing as she tucks Carbink into the soft satin pillows of her bed. How strange it was, that years later they all found each other again. That one did not leave Lumiose, or end up some place far on the other end of the city. That they had all ended up exactly where they needed to be to become entwined within each other's lives once more, if not at least for the moment.

Removing her loud heels, she steps into her slippers, reaching for her sleeping mask. She thinks back to when she was a child as she stares at the roof of her canopy, watching Lebanne battle for the first time. Gosh, how old had she been? 4? 5?

There was no way Lebanne had remembered her. That much was clear by their first interaction. She doubted Lebanne bothered to remember anyone she thrashed, including Jacinthe’s young self. It was when she only had her Cleffa, and Lebanne her Skrelp. Although Jacinthe never had mingled much with kids who were not of upperclass, she and the tiny dragon herself had chanced a meeting in both their favorite park, which quickly ensued a friendly battle. Well, on her end anyway.

Lebanne had won. And while she had forgotten Jacinthe, Jacinthe never forgot her. She couldn’t, not when she had seen the unapologetic way she fought, her fierce spirit, her court fights with the schoolchildren. . .

Jacinthe closes her eyes, still in her dress but too tired to care. How funny, to have found her again. To have her as a personal servant, no less. That the dragon of Lumiose, who could never turn down a fight, who fell straight into her trap, was now tamed, at least when she was within Jacinthe’s range.

She was no fool. Lebanne had fire for a heart, fancy words and polite bows doing little to hide it. When she was not with Jacinthe or on an errand for her, she was vying for control once more over her dealings. The dragon had lost, but she would always look for a way back to the top.

No, Lebanne’s spirit can not fully be tamed. And the thought equally thrills Jacinthe as it does vex her.