Pokemon: Undertow (PG-13)

[Kentucky Fried Torchic]

Chapter Two

The boat laid anchor in the Scarlett City harbor not a minute too soon for Sisi. Unfortunately, she still had to wait with the rest of the passengers holed up in the ship’s depths until everyone who had paid more than the absolute minimum for a ticket had departed. It was not a short wait, nor a pleasant one, with everyone doing their best to keep a cautious distance from the seasick girl despite the cramped quarters. That was all forgotten, however, as soon as she stepped out of the hold into the sun and stepped onto sweet merciful terra firma. A brief twinge of annoyance clouded Sisi’s immense sense of relief when she saw the boy with the Quagsire that had bumped into her during the trip.

He was milling about on the dock, alternating between talking to the ship’s crew and attempting to engage in conversation with other passengers as they disembarked. Sisi made sure to keep a wide berth from him and his slimy companion. Soon, the duo was out of sight and out of mind, leaving Sisi to try and locate her hotel.

Many years of traveling to and competing in tournaments had left Sisi with a good sense of how to stretch her money as far as possible in pursuit of a trophy and a title. Accordingly, while many competitors from outside the area were flocking to any one of the numerous hotels and inns that were experiencing their boom season (and poorer trainers who qualified for Johto’s aid program were filling the city’s expansive Pokémon Center to its brim), Sisi had chosen a more frugal option. Trainers and spectators who had not properly planned their trip to the Whirl Islands were stuck with lodging at one of Scarlett City’s less impressive motels, such as the Mant Inn. That was where Sisi was staying as well, except she had actually called ahead and made a reservation at the much-maligned business.

Part of her had wondered if the bewildered staff would actually honor the booking that she had made six months in advance, but sure enough, when she had told the mousy-haired woman behind the desk that she had a reservation, Sisi did not even have to give her name before the receptionist’s dull eyes widened in surprise and she exclaimed, “So you’re the one!” The older woman handed Sisi a key and gestured vaguely with one hand tipped in pink, obscenely long fake nails. “You’re in room 108, just at the end of the hall down there.”

Sisi took the proffered key, grimacing only slightly at the green discoloration on its bow, and took it to her room. After only a cursory look at the haphazardly applied duct tape sealing the emergency exit next to her room shut, she stepped inside. Once inside, Sisi unslung her backpack and purse and laid them carefully on the mostly carpeted floor. She checked the time and saw that there were still hours before she needed to be anywhere. Her stomach was in no condition to hold anything down, but a nap would be nice, especially considering what she had planned for the night.

Glancing at the analog display of the clock on the bedside table assured Sisi that she had slept for just a little under two hours, and she rose from the lumpy mattress to plot her next move. As much as she wanted to hole up in this sorry excuse for a room and think strategy until the battling began tomorrow, she was undeniably hungry now that her stomach had settled. The opening ceremony for the tournament that was touted at the top of the week’s itinerary was supposed to have a few platters of food. Attendance was not mandatory, but the food was free, and it might be another chance to scope out her competition, laughable as it probably would be.

Her mind set, Sisi took a quick shower to remove the layer of sweat and grime that she had acquired during the boat ride and then dressed in the only semi-formal outfit she had packed: a pair of black slacks, matching sensible flats, and a plain white blouse. After trying to do something with her dark hair that wouldn’t result in her looking like a librarian or a little girl, Sisi had to be content to just let it lay heavy on her shoulders. This sort of primping and preening had never been her thing, and her body was growing more and more insistent in voicing its need for sustenance.

Sisi retrieved her purse, had an agonizing debate about what to do with her Pokémon before deciding to leave them in the room so she would not run the risk of tipping her hand to anyone at the event, and left the room, locking the door behind her. No sooner had the ancient bolt lock clunked into place that there was a sound of something very heavy and fragile being smashed. The receptionist at her desk seemed oblivious to the commotion, idly turning a page in her tabloid magazine without even batting an eye. Very quickly, Sisi stepped back into her quarters and moved a set of Poke Balls to her purse and did her best to shove her backpack as far underneath the hotel bed as it would go. Then she set out again, forcing herself not to imagine what might be causing all of the ruckus in the other rooms and whether or not she had made a grave mistake in not spending a little more money on a decent hotel.

The streets of Scarlett City were alive with activity and color. Bright banners hung from nearly every storefront and lamppost, many of them looking painfully homemade. Anyone who had been to the Whirl Islands at any other point during the past three years would have been shocked at the transformation that had seized the archipelago, turning sleepy communities into bustling hubs of activity. For Sisi, however, the egregious displays of color and sound were par for the course when it came to these kinds of local tournaments. As was the price gouging. One restaurant that she passed on the street had a barely illegible sign in their window offering a “special deal” on their local brand of vegetable soup for a price that would have made even some famous Kalosian chefs scoff at the arrogance. Some of the locals on the street were hardly any better. A nearly toothless man chattering quickly in the local dialect grabbed a trainer and started tying a piece of twine around his finger. When the foreigner attempted to say thank you and walk away, the beggar began accosting him for money, following his mark and shouting over and over again something that sounded like “Thief! Thief!”

Sisi sidestepped a number of potential episodes like this on her way to the hotel where the opening gala was being held. If she had to practically power walk through the city and look straight ahead lest she inadvertently catch some scheming native’s eye, that was a small price to pay to make it to her destination undisturbed. Besides, she was sure that there was nothing that this place could offer that she had not seen before.

That being said, she did have to admit that the site hosting the ceremonies was an ostentatious one, a bit of a step up from some of the small townhalls and community meeting places that had served similar purposes for other competitions. This hotel was bold and strikingly garish in the way that only the well-to-do in Johto managed to pull off. It was tacky and overdone in a way that screamed nouveau riche to her, but Sisi had long ago learned to overlook such obscenities as peeling wallpaper and unshaven bellhops and she stepped through the gold accented doors into the lobby of the monolithic structure.

There was no need to ask for directions; a small flock of twenty-something-year-old men in jeans and ill-fitting jackets of different material were making their way down the stairs and toward the hotel’s ballrooms. From the snippets of conversation that she caught, Sisi took it that this group had not traveled to the island together but rather had met in a bar mere hours ago and hit it off. She could not be sure because she was keeping a careful distance from the back of the men lest she get drawn into their orbit. It was a feat that Sisi was not sure if she would be able to pull off during the event itself, but she told herself that she could handle a few empty-headed conversations if it meant a free meal.

It became apparent when she slinked through the double doors after the group she was tailing that she did not have to be worried about keeping her distance from anyone this evening. Firstly, because the ballroom had been reserved solely for the Whirl Cup competitors, there was not likely to be a huge crowd. Secondly, because the sheer size of the ballroom meant that it was entirely possible for Sisi to keep a safe distance of a few yards lest she be drawn into any unwanted conversations. That being said, the teenage trainer noticed with a small amount of mingled curiosity and pity as she passed the haggard-looking police officers flanking the entrance, that not as many competitors showed up as the organizers of the event had apparently been expecting.

Oh, to be sure, there was a nearly steady dribble of people of all sorts who made their way into the cavernous ballroom before the scheduled speeches began, but it never rose to anything more than a few people at a time. In fact, Sisi thought that the group of boisterous young men that she had tailed from the hotel’s lobby was the largest single group that had shown up. She tried not to notice that said cluster was somehow not the worst dressed people in attendance, but that was unavoidable. With some of the motley collection of attendees dressed in t-shirts and jeans, the feeling of ramshackle disappointment was very nearly palpable, even before the venue’s waitstaff dressed in their immaculate formal outfits complete with bowties and began taking away some of the many patters of food back into the kitchen.

It was into this sad scene that the boy from the boat entered, sporting a second-hand jacket and a wide grin. Sisi was not pleased to see that his Quagsire was sauntering alongside him, wearing a comically small bowtie tied around his thick blue neck. The disparagement that she felt for the odious pair only seemed to intensify as the boy spotted her, raised a hand in greeting, and began making his way over to her. It was then, much to her mounting horror, that Sisi realized that the ballroom’s emptiness meant that there was no way for her to lose her unwanted company. Without a sea of people to blend into, she was a sitting Psyduck for whatever inane small talk this moron wanted to subject her to. Her only small blessing was that the Quagsire in the ridiculous get-up had decided that scavenging for hors d'oeuvres was more important than tormenting strangers.

“Hey there,” the boy said with grating cheerfulness as soon as he was in range of Sisi. “You were on the ferry today, right? The two o’clock from Olivine?”

With a face as impassionate as the side of a mountain and a tone of voice to match, Sisi answered, “Oui.”

If the boy was picking up on her annoyance, he was doing a marvelous job of feigning ignorance. While maintaining a respectful distance, he leaned on the section of wall that she had staked out as her spot. “Isn’t this incredible?” he wondered aloud. “The biggest tournament for water-type Pokémon trainers, and we get to compete in it!” When he glanced over at her with his big brown eyes, the boy’s enthusiasm waned, but only slightly. “Say, have you competed in the Cup before?”

“Non,” Sisi said, and she turned to face the stage which held a posh-looking glass podium and was festooned with banners bearing the tournament’s logo: a silver spiral on a blue background. A few men dressed in fine tailored suits were off to the side having an animated discussion that was punctuated by wary glances at the middling crowd before them and at their watches.

But the boy was not to be deterred, and he inserted himself back into Sisi’s periphery. “I’m Fritz!” he said, extending his hand.

Sisi did not respond in kind to his physical gesture but found it in her heart to at least throw the strange boy one small bone. “Sisi.”

He stood there with his hand out for a few seconds before awkwardly pulling it back and stuffing it into his pocket, and then pulling it back out again hang heavy by his side. Although her continued stony silence had further dented Fritz’s good mood, he was not completely discouraged, and, after a few seconds of blissful silence, he opened his mouth again to ask, “Are you here with anyone?”

“What?” replied Sisi, her voice caught somewhere between offense and bewilderment.

Fritz did not seem to pick up on his faux pas, but mercifully elaborated all the same, “I was supposed to meet my friend here, but he still hasn’t shown up.” The teenage trainer shrugged and added, “It can be lonely being in a strange place without knowing anyone. Not a lot of kids are participating this year.”

“Not a lot of people, you mean,” muttered Sisi behind her plastic cup of punch.

“What was that?” When there was no further elaboration, Fritz let the matter drop.

There was movement on the stage now as the stodgy men were joined by an attractive young woman with dark features that made her look exotic compared to the others. She was dressed in a long flowing white robe and a crown made out of Corsola horn polished so that it danced with light reflected from the ballroom’s chandelier. In nearly any other circumstance, the whole situation would be laughable; her outfit and the pomp and circumstance with which it was treated belonged in a different century altogether. Yet, Sisi did not laugh and had to begrudgingly admit, if only to herself, that the solemn demeanor of the woman underneath the weight of all of the assembled audience elevated the event from something camp to something nearly regal. Even the half-drunken young men stood up a little straighter and ceased their ribald jokes as the slight woman took to the podium and adjusted the microphone perched atop it.

“Greetings, trainers,” she said in a pleasant but authoritative voice. “I bid you all welcome to the Whirl Islands. My name is Adelaide, and I am the current Sea Priestess of these islands. My duties are twofold. First, to keep alive the sacred history and traditions of this competition dating back many generations. Second, to serve as an impartial master of ceremonies and authority. You are all talented users of water-type Pokémon, inheritors of the legacy of the ancient heroes of the sea, but only one of you will be able to claim the title of the ‘Alpha-Omega of Water Pokémon’!” Adelaide waited for the polite applause to come to an end before she spoke again. “And, as is tradition, the current holder of that title will speak a few words.”

With that, the young woman stepped away from the podium and gestured for a man in the audience to join her on the stage. A reverent hush fell over the crowd as they parted to make way for a dignified man with salt and pepper hair. It took him awhile to make it to the front of the room because he seemed to know half of the people in attendance and greeted them by name and stopped frequently to exchange a few words. The middle-aged man did the same with the people he apparently did not know. Sisi was far from the center of the room, but she could still feel the charisma emanating from him. Next to her, Fritz was, in a phrase, star struck, his mouth opening and closing ineffectually as he watched the man’s journey.

“Who’s he?” whispered Sisi.

Fritz was snapped, sputtering, out of his daze. “What do you mean?” he hissed through clenched teeth. After a quick check to make sure that no one was paying any attention to the two teenagers, he elaborated further, “That’s Stanislav Coburg! He’s been winning this tournament since before we were born! He’s a legend!”

As Fritz was speaking, the object of his admiration was mounting the stage, only to stumble. In a flash, the nearby people were there to catch Stanislav and help him finish his journey. There was a light current of murmuring in the gaudy ballroom. Fritz, away from anyone who understood the significance of this with whom he could murmur with, just gasped audibly.

The champion did not seem to mind the swirling innuendos; rather, he seemed to revel in the attention. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began in a firm, articulate voice, a showman’s voice. “Obviously, some of you may be wondering if my age is catching up with me. Rest assured, I have competed with you for as long as I can remember, and I will be doing so-“ He stopped to bring his fist to his mouth and cough into it. “Well,” Stanislav resumed his speech, “needless to say, my last Whirl Cup will be a very bittersweet one. I have watched many of you grow into the fine trainers that you are today, rising through the rankings every three years and bringing new strategies and Pokémon to bear in pursuit of the glory of this title. My title is one that anyone of you can claim for yourself! As soon as the matches officially begin, I will be just another trainer like all of you. All you have to do to win the prizes and the fame that come with the rank of Alpha-Omega is to be the best and prove it out there on the battlefield!”

The speech was met with applause more enthusiastic than that which had greeted the Sea Priestess, but for most attendees the words were an unnecessary interruption into their gossip. Gossip which had only grown more widespread and less discrete at the sight of the champion having to be helped down from the stage by two of the organizers. If the majority of the room, Sisi included, did not put much stock in Coburg’s address, their disinterest was balanced by the reverence with which Fritz had absorbed it. Even after the Sea Priestess had thanked the graying man and one of the grim-faced organizers had taken back the podium, he was still slack-jawed, his mind whirring almost audibly to register what had been said and to cement it in his mind forever.

“Ahem,” the man said, but it was only after several attempts that the volume of the ballroom settled down into a manageable din. “Thank you all for your participation in tonight’s reception and the events to come. It is an honor for our humble community to host such an impressive gathering of talent and spirit every three years.” The gaunt figure on the stage dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief procured from his jacket’s pocket before continuing, “Tomorrow will be the Whirl Cup’s preliminary. You will be required to win a single one-on-one Pokémon battle in order to compete in the tournament proper. Battles will be arranged on a first-come, first-served basis, so it is in your interest to make sure that you arrive at the city’s Pokémon Center to receive your match-up and location and see if you qualify as soon as possible.”

The man continued to drone on about minor bureaucratic matters, so Sisi leaned over to Fritz and asked, “You have done this before, right? The Whirl Cup?”

“Well, uh, actually no,” replied the boy.

“Oh.” Sisi shifted away back to her previous distance.

Fritz followed and whispered, “But I’ve been following them for as long as I can remember! Did you have a question about it? Ask away!”

Sisi gave him a quick once-over, skepticism evident in her blue eyes. But she relented and said, “He said that you only needed to win one match tomorrow in order to compete.”

A quick bob of Fritz’s blonde head confirmed the unasked question in that statement.

“Past tournaments have required more wins though. Two, three, or even four. Is that so?”

Fritz thought a moment and then said, “Mhm, I guess that just means we’re lucky! We have a better chance of getting in!”

His enthusiasm was met with a cold look, not of disappointment but that worn by one who has had their low expectations confirmed. By then the stage had been cleared and the crowd was dispersing despite entreaties by the tournament officials to stay a little longer. Sisi took that as her cue to do the same. A half-hearted wave was all the goodbye that Fritz received from her and then she was out the door and headed back to the dingy Mant Inn.

There were more people out on the street than there had been in the hotel she had just left and Sisi felt a renewed sense of ease at the comforting anonymity that the crowds of milling humans and Pokémon afforded her. She was still a little hungry, but there was a plethora of food trucks and carts serving the city’s burgeoned population. The lines weren’t short, but the mobile restaurant that Sisi decided to patronize was more concentrated on speed than quality and it was not long before Sisi had in her hands a warm wrap consisting of some indigenous combination of meat, produce, and condiments. It was filling, she could eat it while continuing her trek back to her lodging, and, as an added bonus, it actually tasted surprisingly good was a bonus.

As she walked, Sisi’s mind was ablaze, weighing the value of different answers to the question of when she should schedule her battle for the preliminaries. It was a question that most of her fellow competitors were either ignoring or trying to ignore in the city’s atmosphere of celebration and abandon, but Sisi was not here for fun, she was here to win. The idea of just competing when she felt like it was profoundly alien to her being. It was the attitude of an amateur.

Going first could have some benefits, mulled Sisi between bites of her dinner, it would afford more chances to observe others’ Pokémon and strategies and give her more time to refine her own. Plus, there was the chance that trainers who had forced themselves to get up early in order to battle would be sleep-deprived and prone to making stupid mistakes. On the other hand, the kind of people who would show up at the last minute would be the kind of low-quality trainers who put everything off until the last minute. That might be the easier route, but it also might deprive her Pokémon of a valuable chance to go up against a decent opponent before the tournament properly begun. Of course, less than satisfactory foes might end up being the rule rather than the exception.

Then there was the matter of deciding which Pokémon to use tomorrow. That was an entirely different web of factors to consider, and Sisi was still mentally running through the roster of Pokémon she had brought with her when she walked into the Mant Inn.

The lobby was almost completely deserted with all of the rambunctious activities that had seized the island and its visitors in a celebratory frenzy drawing away the clientele from even dumps like this one. But there was at least one other guest who was not out making poor decisions. Standing at the front desk, chatting merrily with the receptionist, was the annoying boy from the party, Fritz.

In an instant, Sisi upped her walking speed and passed behind him as inconspicuously as she could on her way to her room at the end of the hall. Then, she allowed herself to drop her composure and collapse on the lumpy mattress, her black hair splayed against the covers like a shotgun blast caught in a freezeframe. The idea of having to avoid that unbearable character was not a pleasant development, but at least Sisi could tell herself that there was a really good chance that he was not going to qualify for the Whirl Cup and then he would check out of his room with his tail between his legs.

That thought comforted Sisi enough that she could happily return to planning for tomorrow, and she fell asleep with visions of water-type Pokémon violently clashing in her mind’s eye.