People only ever visit to Kanto for one reason, and it’s not a bad thing. It never is, so this won’t be too.

The region’s a land of comfort and reliability, the crown jewel capital that people keep falling back on time after time, region after region, day after day. (Bastardization after bastardization, regional form after regional form.)

It’s not the perfect region, none are, but she’d take all sun over all moon. It lets the vegetables grow just fine if you kept the mind to pull the tarps over when the clocks say so, and she’d never been all that fond of warmer fabrics. Visibility is nice, and she’s sure that there’s a study somewhere about crime rate reductions, like they almost matter during the season.

Pity the poor Umbreon who have to wait for the next resolution, they say. (Bless the Espeon, they wish to say. If only the Psychic-type was smart enough to show up during that first generation. They could use the variety.)

Pity the Sunny Day teams, they say, and complain that it isn’t actually bright enough to do much with all sunlight, but they all end up drifting to Unova soon enough anyway.

Still, constant sun is still more than enough to burn a problem, and the ecosystem needs a bit of rest, even if some suggest Kanto gets periods of constant sunlight for a reason. Like it isn’t a chicken and egg scenario until someone figures out who messed up where.

She just thinks that it makes sense that the oldest region needs the extra bit of elbowing to keep up. It comes with the territory.

Gloria laughs when she says that last bit.

This bookend meeting, too, is a part of the proceedings, but it’s hard to complain about Saffron shōchū on the League’s dollar. Likewise, in regards to the meeting arranged with Galar’s champion.

When she speaks with Gloria, morning glory, gentle things like petals and bourbon in the dim, she can’t help but be a little mean when the conversation drifts. “You’re not even given the courtesy of a proper conflict. Even Johto got to deal with more of Rocket than a five minute rogue cell and an elevator ride.”

“Aye,” the girl says, “but comparin’ ta you, at leas’ our giants shown up on th’ news longer and got me a fatter paycheck. My boy’s got more dev at tha end than yours, tae. Right proper future laid in the immediate, didn’ have to rely on Alola tropicana to boost his arc.”

She huffs out a laugh. “I’ll have you know,” she starts, “I’ll have you know, we got our follow up a bit earlier than Alola. And we did just fine without any sort of aftermath. Didn’t need any sort of assuring of the future that people didn’t want in the first place.

“And what of the girl, hm?” she continues. “Amazing fashion taste, but what’d she do she wasn’t already anticipating? She never had too much angst about kicking her brother out his literal alleyway of a city.”

“Catch yourself on, I won’ have you badmouth Marnie where y’can even [i]think[/i] it,” Gloria says.

“What, you gonna go full Trainspotting on me?” she leers, and Gloria squints a sec longer before she bursts into laughter.

“Wise up, Trainspotting is set in Scots. And I’d go e’en harder, skip Porno and go all tae way to Dead Men’s Trousers, wile dastardly.” The Galarian waves it off. “Annhow, ye dunnae once ‘fore, haven’t ye? They treat ya right last time?”

“Oh, no, I missed the first round. The last time, whatever.” She swirls her glass, thinks of one poem or another. Flower, sun, wind, reach for the moon (immortal smoke. (Fall off the boat. (Drown.)))

“It was a boy’s year, but there wasn’t anything bad to say from what the interviews say. Of course, who knows?” she says.

“Yae wannit to be quiet or yae want that whole fuss?”

“I mean…”

“Violet,” she says. Like the city in Johto, and then like the flower, and never like the color. “You’re just all craic aren’ yea?”

She bats her eyelashes, just in case Gloria has an eye for newbies. Has to have some respect for beginnings if she agreed to this, after all. “I just figure the point is to stop and smell the roses, spice it up a bit. Not like the League doesn’t hype it up.”

Gloria’s nose crinkles all cute. “Can onlae be broke to the bone about roses anymore. Tae cloy. But, yannae, I can get it. Just watch yourself, aye? Heard some things about Rocket. It’s all fun an’ games ‘til off the path means [i]off the path[/i]. Ya knae, like Kalos.”

“There’s some decent conspiracies about that, actually. Kalos,” she half-says, because Gloria looks a touch serious and very cute, but maybe she’s not cute enough to match and shouldn’t push her luck too much even if she can’t stop herself completely.

“Actually, aye?”

“Yeah, something like Lysandre takin’ one for the team and taking all the too-rich with him. And that he’s had this whole thing with the regional professor planned out. Hiding out somewhere once they dug him out.”

Gloria hums thoughtfully. She orders another round of something who’s name is lost in the tide of the crowd. “Aye, really?”

And then, “Aye, I can see it. Specially with Malva all tangled up. Could’ve smoothed Diantha all up innit so easy. Poor critters, the lot of them. Little wains especially.”

“With how their arcs were handled, lord, yeah.”

“Shut your bake!” Gloria cries, but she’s still smiling as she salts her hand, then tilts the container her way. “Serena’s dead-on.”

She accepts. “So long as you don’t view her as the rival.”

“Ah course.”

She raises her glass. Tequila isn’t all that fitting your stereotype, she wants to say.

“To all the character arcs,” is what she says.

“Tae all we may see,” the other girl says, and they click their glasses together before they lick their hands, down the shots.

Gloria sighs in wonder and warmth, looks around the bar, to the light peeking behind a curtain. “A land where thae sun don’t drop makes it a wee bit awkward to drink, yannae. It was a wee bit skewed durin’ mine, but not this strict.”

“We weren’t supposed to be here in the first place,” she says, just to be fair. “Although I think this is a bit more fun than the restaurant.”

Gloria tilts her head kindly. Maybe another adjective she can’t think of, too, because there’s something sharp through the buzz, and the feeling of fingers brushing against her thigh before it goes back up to tuck hair behind her ear. “Full craic, so it is. Once more with feelin’.”

“If Hoenn and Johto can do it, so can we,” she wants to say, but she’s already distracted because Gloria takes her wrist and gently kisses the inside, goes even further.

---

The Pidgey dies tragic, dies mundane because if it was anything else she’d be in such incredibly deep shit with the law, with the implications of no law. Sometimes it’s the Rattata, and sometimes it’s the Geodude, or the Voltorb, or fuck else all this region spreads out before the next grinding montage.

So, there.

“That’s some sociopathic shit, doll,” Green says, hands in his pockets like he isn’t a childhood friendship too late to still be cool to her. “One of the most consistent signs of serial killers is that they fuck up animals, you know. It’s an eventual escalation.”

“Yeah, but that’s what everyone is here for.” She blinks idly, cheek propped up on a fist. It won’t go back in the ball. She’ll have to dangle it by the feet or carry it like a rugby ball. “There’s other places if they don’t want that bit of tragedy. They get bored if it doesn’t happen.”

“They don’t get bored of well done convention. Not everything has to be subversion, y’know that?” He tilts his head. “Just means you can’t crutch on surprise. I know you have it in you.”

“Death’s still the mark for all of ‘em,” she says. “You can’t deny it. They just want the romanticism to go a little harder, wine and dine ‘em first.”

“There’s nothing wrong with caring if you’re spending time on it.”

“Only seven types of stories in the world,” she agrees, and sighs. “Just. I dunno. Feels dirty, cashing in more than we have to.”

“It’s why we’re here,” he says.

“Beyond that,” she begins, because she [i]knows[/i]. He inclines his head, expression idly smug. She’s fairly sure his face has just been stuck like that since the sun stopped dipping again.

“Or maybe because of it.” He’s so sure. “We just have to be careful, that’s all.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but he sighs and rubs his neck. She eyes the bite marks that come to her attention. How childish. (Who could’ve done it? What the, there’s only -)

He finally finds the words. “Pokemon get hurt all the time.”

“But there’s a big difference of risk between a Rapidash breaking its leg in a race and in a battle, objectively,” she says. “It’d be uncommon still, I know they’re tough, but it’s higher, eet is.”

“Seems you really did land a ride with Gloria.”

“Aye, I was lured.” She’s so deadpan he can’t help but snort. “But, really.”

“But, really,” he agrees. “It’s not like they didn’t agree to it once they stayed in that ball. Just be mindful of them. Respect them and don’t take the arc for granted.“

“I’d manage with or without,” she says, and plucks a pinion just because she can. She can do anything. She clicks her tongue. “I should’ve built up to it. This one won’t count.”

“Oh?”

“Doesn’t have a name. They don’t even know what to feel bad about,” she says. “My quota’s still at zero out of three. Not much of an arc if you miss the juicy bits.”

He barks out a laugh and he sounds almost mad, mostly stupefied. “Already racking up your bones, babydoll?”

“Studies suggest up to every badge or so, I’m thinking it could be managed with a rule of three.” She rubs the bridge of her nose. “Minimum three, maximum sixish. They can’t remember them all after enough are out of commission, and it’s an expectation in its own right by that point to cark em off easy.”

“They might still care,” he tries, and she cuts him off quicker because she can do anything, she can have anything. There’s a headache coming on. It might be her sinuses.

“I know, I know. I’m just saying that it’s easier to care once you know it exists,” she says. “That’s Marketing 101. Humans are just like that. We care once we know it exists at all. But they never saw it fly. They didn’t see the catch. They don’t know the name.”

“What is it, anyway?”

She sends him a [i]look[/i], thunderous, and he shrugs back.

She deflates.

Fuck.

“I’m still happier than I should be,” she says to the ground, then looks up to meet him again. “It might count, now that it’s here. They won’t be able to take it back, then.”

“Vio.” She can’t tell if it’s an admonishment.

“It’s not a bad thing,” she says, just to be clear, a touch chagrined. “All of this isn’t inherently a bad thing. And there’s nothing wrong with comfort food, or that they enjoy it. But living it is always a different story.”

“It is,” he sighs. “But reality won’t let us do this. A story makes things so much cleaner because it has to be. It’s easier in the long run to go through the motions if it leads to better things.

“You might not even make the quota either,” he offers, hope tinging words that she didn’t even expect. A hand wraps around her heart.

“Hopefully it’s enough, then.”

“It will. We’re already this far.”

Silence hums in the summer air. It’d buzz, if they had any Nincada. Might’ve been interesting this cycle, but.

Violet sighs. She can do anything. “So. Maybe, after.”

“After.”

“Yeah. We could ask Lance nicely to make some laws since we’re going to knock out Rocket again.” She’s unimpressed at his doubtful hum. “I mean, who else is it going to be, realistically? Hoenn and Johto didn’t drift [i]that[/i] much.

“But,” she begins, eager as a child, “you can’t have a story like this without any mons.”

And then she falters. “Or recruits, or something. Humans in a team, oh, god...”

“It won’t,” Green says with surety, eyes bright and burning as they caught the light. He’s not just humoring her. “But how’re you gonna accomplish that, doll? This comes with the territory.”

“Unova could manage if they just did it right.”

“You already know that Team Plasma bullshit ain’t gonna work,” he says. She can’t tell if he’s joking or if he’s sad over the spring hum. Maybe summer. They were always given a bit of a head start. (Bugs are most fun caught in the summer, though, considering the origin.)

“Are you saying I’m as bad as Ghetsis?” she jokes, and he rolls his eyes, and she blows a raspberry back.

She knows he’s right, so she moves on. The feathers ruffle on the corpse as she gets to her feet. There’s dirt loamy on her knees. At least Hoenn got berries.

She knows he’s right, so she waits, standing there with a dead and nameless bird in her arms. He sighs and gets an arm around her, pecks her temple. He smells like grass and cinnamon and Daisy’s sleeping tea.

-—

Violet can do anything.

There are five deaths.

The moon winks.