Jean Otus
Would-Be Prince
On a day like any other, in a suburban town like any other, in the kitchen of an unremarkable diner, a bedraggled waiter stood over a sink of hot water and dirty dishes. On the counter next to him sat his Poliwhirl, waiting with tired eyes for his partner to start washing again. It was late, and neither of them wanted to be there. The waiter took up the sponge again and scrubbed at the dish under the soapy water. When it reached a satisfactory state of cleanliness he held it up out of the sink, where then the Poliwhirl would blast the dish with a jet of water, rinsing it clean. The dish was then transferred to the drying rack and the next dirty plate was picked up. The silence hung like a shroud over the pair as they labored over the mind-numbing work. The waiter finally broke the tension, airing a grievance to his dear partner that he had long held on to.
"Have you ever noticed that the news is always full of these random incredible events that ultimately don't affect us? Time and again the papers rave about some prodigy trainer who defeated some criminal syndicate and earned a championship title within their first year of training. I'm gonna be honest with you buddy, I'm a bit sick of it." The Poliwhirl blinked, somewhat confused, but also reassuring to its partner, his distress apparent as he rambled on. "Most of us never have an adventure like that. We start training when we're kids, we hang around the towns where we live with the pokemon we've caught, maybe earn a few gym badges, then hit a roadblock. Since most of us are normal we don't have some great triumph where we gain the favor of some incredible pokemon or trainer that lets us overcome our trial, we have to turn back, come home, and find a real job. Not all of us are champions, not all of us are good enough for competitive battling." The waiter was getting more heated, scrubbing with more vigor at the plate under the water. "We have to think about our futures or our families, not all of us can be the town's pride and joy!" With that outburst, the waiter's hand slipped, and the edge of the plate struck the side of the metal sink, chipping off a substantial chunk. He roared in exasperation, leaning hard against the sink. He panted into the suds, trying to hold back sobs. Nothing had gone right today, or that week, or for a long time really, and life was really starting to wear on him.
After a minute that felt like an hour, the waiter felt the small, soft hand of his pokemon on his shoulder. It looked at him with its big, sympathetic eyes, a small source of caring in the hard times. With that reassurance from his partner, he was able to collect himself, mostly. Wiping his face on his apron he resumed his work in silence. Once the pair had finished the cleaning they locked the doors to the diner and walked home through the cool night. In a shabby apartment complex across town, they collected their mail from the front desk. It was mostly bills and junk, though there was a small piece of color tucked between the plain business envelopes. They then adjourned to their room, a small studio dominated by a bed, a desk, and a small couch. The mail was set down with the other bills on the desk, where the money would come from to pay them he had no idea. A customer had beat him in a pokemon battle today, and with that took all of his tips for the day. The two hastily got ready for bed, longing for a reprieve from their dissatisfying existence. The friendship they shared was the only comfort the pair had in the indifferent world. They both silently dreaded the morning to come, when work would start again.
"Have you ever noticed that the news is always full of these random incredible events that ultimately don't affect us? Time and again the papers rave about some prodigy trainer who defeated some criminal syndicate and earned a championship title within their first year of training. I'm gonna be honest with you buddy, I'm a bit sick of it." The Poliwhirl blinked, somewhat confused, but also reassuring to its partner, his distress apparent as he rambled on. "Most of us never have an adventure like that. We start training when we're kids, we hang around the towns where we live with the pokemon we've caught, maybe earn a few gym badges, then hit a roadblock. Since most of us are normal we don't have some great triumph where we gain the favor of some incredible pokemon or trainer that lets us overcome our trial, we have to turn back, come home, and find a real job. Not all of us are champions, not all of us are good enough for competitive battling." The waiter was getting more heated, scrubbing with more vigor at the plate under the water. "We have to think about our futures or our families, not all of us can be the town's pride and joy!" With that outburst, the waiter's hand slipped, and the edge of the plate struck the side of the metal sink, chipping off a substantial chunk. He roared in exasperation, leaning hard against the sink. He panted into the suds, trying to hold back sobs. Nothing had gone right today, or that week, or for a long time really, and life was really starting to wear on him.
After a minute that felt like an hour, the waiter felt the small, soft hand of his pokemon on his shoulder. It looked at him with its big, sympathetic eyes, a small source of caring in the hard times. With that reassurance from his partner, he was able to collect himself, mostly. Wiping his face on his apron he resumed his work in silence. Once the pair had finished the cleaning they locked the doors to the diner and walked home through the cool night. In a shabby apartment complex across town, they collected their mail from the front desk. It was mostly bills and junk, though there was a small piece of color tucked between the plain business envelopes. They then adjourned to their room, a small studio dominated by a bed, a desk, and a small couch. The mail was set down with the other bills on the desk, where the money would come from to pay them he had no idea. A customer had beat him in a pokemon battle today, and with that took all of his tips for the day. The two hastily got ready for bed, longing for a reprieve from their dissatisfying existence. The friendship they shared was the only comfort the pair had in the indifferent world. They both silently dreaded the morning to come, when work would start again.
