zenith [1/1]
the sad truth is that the truth is sad. [dawn/paul, dawn/ash]
pokemon; drama/romance; pg; 1200 words
a/n: this was a written on a dare, i swear to god
It’s sundown and she’s sitting at the end of the pier, swinging her legs and skipping stones across the shimmering sea. Piplup swims by, carving figure eights into the calm water, trying to catch the schools of Remoraid that ripple, quicksilver, beneath the surface.
She wonders: Is this all a dream?
Because she keeps expecting to see a dark speck on the horizon - a ship returning to harbor. She keeps expecting it to pull up to the dock and for them to step off, saying, “Sorry to make you worry. We decided to stay after all.”
But the expanse of ocean before her remains empty. To her it seems almost apologetic. Slowly, regretfully, the sun sinks below the edge of the sea until darkness tinges the sky above her and stars like pinpricks begin to gleam with cold light.
No, she supposes. This has to be real.
(She never remembers her dreams.)
--
In the end, being Top Coordinator is not all it’s cracked up to be.
Smile, twirl, look beautiful for the camera, win every ribbon and display it with humility (pride is unbecoming). She finds that people look at her and see only what they want to see. They see her achievements and think her amazing, incredible, a girl to watch out for. They see her performances and think her poised and elegant. They look into her eyes, through the veil of the TV screen, and see… what? Perfection?
Girls want to be her. Boys want to meet her. Parents see a role model. Reporters see an opportunity.
And Dawn? Some days she looks in the mirror and the girl she sees is a stranger.
“Oh honey,” her mother says; wraps an arm around her shoulder. “I know it’s hard. I’ve been there. Being in the spotlight makes you feel like you need to live up to others’ expectations. But just remember to live for yourself, alright? Be the person you want to be.”
And who is that, exactly? asks a voice inside her head.
Some days the pressure becomes too great, and she gets on her Togekiss’ back and tells it to fly somewhere, anywhere, away from the publicity and fame and the eyes that are always watching. She goes to the shore of Lake Valor, where she sleeps with sand in her hair; the mine on Iron Island, where she travels the tunnels in blessed silence; the Old Chateau, where she befriends the ghosts.
And amidst it all, Ash still calls her twice a week.
It’s a ritual she’s come to need, to keep her grounded. To anchor her to reality. Ash’s smiles are as optimistic as ever on the tiny PokeNav screen, but she thinks she sees something missing in his eyes. A buried wish, perhaps, or an unrealized desire. He talks animatedly of Isshu - skyscrapers as tall as Mt. Coronet, he says, and forests older than the Spear Pillar. Sometimes he tells her anecdotes about his travels. Iris is very knowledgeable about Pokemon, he says, though a little on the eccentric side.
She tells herself the twinges of jealousy she feels are about the journey. Who wouldn’t want to travel to Isshu, after all?
Who wouldn’t want to travel those ancient forests with friends by their side?
--
In the end, Paul never beats his old man.
Dawn doesn’t hear this from him, of course. She hears it from Reggie, who had to pry the information out of Paul with his brotherly wiles. She feels strangely ill when Reggie tells her - it’s too personal, she thinks, too intimate. Paul’s never said anything about himself, and suddenly she knows more than she should, an intruder upon something clandestine and mysterious.
And so when she sees him in the crowd, starkly unsmiling amid a sea of unfamiliar faces, she loses her concentration and, in turn, the contest.
“That was pathetic,” he tells her afterwards. They’re sitting in the backlot of the contest arena, backs pressed against the sun-warmed bricks.
Two years ago, she would have scowled at him for such a comment, stormed off shouting some empty insult. Now, she laughs.
“I know, right? And I’m supposed to be the best. The reporters are going to have a field day with this.”
He’s quiet for a moment, but she’s grown used to his silences. She takes the time to note how close they are, outstretched legs running parallel, shoulders almost touching. (And yet, she thinks, they’ve never been farther apart.)
“There’s always someone who’s better,” Paul says finally. His hair is hanging like a curtain across his eyes. “Always. No matter how good you get, no matter how high you rise, someone will always be there to push you back down again.”
She wants to touch him. Wants to hold his hand and brush his hair from his face and see the vulnerability that must be written there. (Yeah right. Whoever said only children can play pretend?)
Instead, she says: “It’s sad, how we reach the top only to fall.”
His gaze slides toward her and she can feel him assessing, measuring up the flaws, the cracks in the façade.
“That’s not sad, Dawn. That’s life.”
--
In the end, Ash never becomes a Pokemon Master.
He returns home from Isshu with eight badges and no title and a stupid grin on his face, just like every other time before. Because what does it mean, really, to be a Pokemon Master? To win every battle, and train your Pokemon to incredible strength? To be renowned across continents as one of the elite, a name whispered by children as they dream their dreams of glory?
Either which way, Ash was never meant to be the greatest. His voice is steady as he tells her this, but his face on the PokeNav screen is wavering with uncertainty. (How does one give up a dream? Is it instantaneous, a flash of realization accompanied by a moment of mourning? Or is it a slow process, like accepting the death of a best friend?)
When she finally, finally sees him again, he is taller than her. His smiles are still too wide and his eyes are still too expressive - she can read him like a book. But as they walk together she thinks there is something different about him too. He’s no wiser than when he left her, and no less impetuous. But there is a quiet desperation about him, present in every brash word on his lips and every foolhardy decision he makes. He’s looking for a purpose, now that his purpose is gone.
And there is nothing to be found.
One evening they sit together at the end of the pier, swinging their legs and skipping stones across the shimmering sea.
“I was so depressed when you left for Isshu,” she says truthfully. His arm is curled around her waist, and she finds herself wishing subconsciously for separation. “I kept hoping that the ship would turn around and carry you right back to me.”
He laughs, and she thinks he is beautiful in his simplicity. The angles of his face seem blunt, smoothed away by the sun’s dying light.
(For a moment she thinks of harsh stares and a furrowed brow, of emotions long buried beneath careful apathy. But just for a moment, and then the thought is gone, carried away by the tide.)
She presses a kiss to the edge of his lips; smiles to match his own.
--
In the end, they’ll be alright.
pokemon; drama/romance; pg; 1200 words
a/n: this was a written on a dare, i swear to god
It’s sundown and she’s sitting at the end of the pier, swinging her legs and skipping stones across the shimmering sea. Piplup swims by, carving figure eights into the calm water, trying to catch the schools of Remoraid that ripple, quicksilver, beneath the surface.
She wonders: Is this all a dream?
Because she keeps expecting to see a dark speck on the horizon - a ship returning to harbor. She keeps expecting it to pull up to the dock and for them to step off, saying, “Sorry to make you worry. We decided to stay after all.”
But the expanse of ocean before her remains empty. To her it seems almost apologetic. Slowly, regretfully, the sun sinks below the edge of the sea until darkness tinges the sky above her and stars like pinpricks begin to gleam with cold light.
No, she supposes. This has to be real.
(She never remembers her dreams.)
--
In the end, being Top Coordinator is not all it’s cracked up to be.
Smile, twirl, look beautiful for the camera, win every ribbon and display it with humility (pride is unbecoming). She finds that people look at her and see only what they want to see. They see her achievements and think her amazing, incredible, a girl to watch out for. They see her performances and think her poised and elegant. They look into her eyes, through the veil of the TV screen, and see… what? Perfection?
Girls want to be her. Boys want to meet her. Parents see a role model. Reporters see an opportunity.
And Dawn? Some days she looks in the mirror and the girl she sees is a stranger.
“Oh honey,” her mother says; wraps an arm around her shoulder. “I know it’s hard. I’ve been there. Being in the spotlight makes you feel like you need to live up to others’ expectations. But just remember to live for yourself, alright? Be the person you want to be.”
And who is that, exactly? asks a voice inside her head.
Some days the pressure becomes too great, and she gets on her Togekiss’ back and tells it to fly somewhere, anywhere, away from the publicity and fame and the eyes that are always watching. She goes to the shore of Lake Valor, where she sleeps with sand in her hair; the mine on Iron Island, where she travels the tunnels in blessed silence; the Old Chateau, where she befriends the ghosts.
And amidst it all, Ash still calls her twice a week.
It’s a ritual she’s come to need, to keep her grounded. To anchor her to reality. Ash’s smiles are as optimistic as ever on the tiny PokeNav screen, but she thinks she sees something missing in his eyes. A buried wish, perhaps, or an unrealized desire. He talks animatedly of Isshu - skyscrapers as tall as Mt. Coronet, he says, and forests older than the Spear Pillar. Sometimes he tells her anecdotes about his travels. Iris is very knowledgeable about Pokemon, he says, though a little on the eccentric side.
She tells herself the twinges of jealousy she feels are about the journey. Who wouldn’t want to travel to Isshu, after all?
Who wouldn’t want to travel those ancient forests with friends by their side?
--
In the end, Paul never beats his old man.
Dawn doesn’t hear this from him, of course. She hears it from Reggie, who had to pry the information out of Paul with his brotherly wiles. She feels strangely ill when Reggie tells her - it’s too personal, she thinks, too intimate. Paul’s never said anything about himself, and suddenly she knows more than she should, an intruder upon something clandestine and mysterious.
And so when she sees him in the crowd, starkly unsmiling amid a sea of unfamiliar faces, she loses her concentration and, in turn, the contest.
“That was pathetic,” he tells her afterwards. They’re sitting in the backlot of the contest arena, backs pressed against the sun-warmed bricks.
Two years ago, she would have scowled at him for such a comment, stormed off shouting some empty insult. Now, she laughs.
“I know, right? And I’m supposed to be the best. The reporters are going to have a field day with this.”
He’s quiet for a moment, but she’s grown used to his silences. She takes the time to note how close they are, outstretched legs running parallel, shoulders almost touching. (And yet, she thinks, they’ve never been farther apart.)
“There’s always someone who’s better,” Paul says finally. His hair is hanging like a curtain across his eyes. “Always. No matter how good you get, no matter how high you rise, someone will always be there to push you back down again.”
She wants to touch him. Wants to hold his hand and brush his hair from his face and see the vulnerability that must be written there. (Yeah right. Whoever said only children can play pretend?)
Instead, she says: “It’s sad, how we reach the top only to fall.”
His gaze slides toward her and she can feel him assessing, measuring up the flaws, the cracks in the façade.
“That’s not sad, Dawn. That’s life.”
--
In the end, Ash never becomes a Pokemon Master.
He returns home from Isshu with eight badges and no title and a stupid grin on his face, just like every other time before. Because what does it mean, really, to be a Pokemon Master? To win every battle, and train your Pokemon to incredible strength? To be renowned across continents as one of the elite, a name whispered by children as they dream their dreams of glory?
Either which way, Ash was never meant to be the greatest. His voice is steady as he tells her this, but his face on the PokeNav screen is wavering with uncertainty. (How does one give up a dream? Is it instantaneous, a flash of realization accompanied by a moment of mourning? Or is it a slow process, like accepting the death of a best friend?)
When she finally, finally sees him again, he is taller than her. His smiles are still too wide and his eyes are still too expressive - she can read him like a book. But as they walk together she thinks there is something different about him too. He’s no wiser than when he left her, and no less impetuous. But there is a quiet desperation about him, present in every brash word on his lips and every foolhardy decision he makes. He’s looking for a purpose, now that his purpose is gone.
And there is nothing to be found.
One evening they sit together at the end of the pier, swinging their legs and skipping stones across the shimmering sea.
“I was so depressed when you left for Isshu,” she says truthfully. His arm is curled around her waist, and she finds herself wishing subconsciously for separation. “I kept hoping that the ship would turn around and carry you right back to me.”
He laughs, and she thinks he is beautiful in his simplicity. The angles of his face seem blunt, smoothed away by the sun’s dying light.
(For a moment she thinks of harsh stares and a furrowed brow, of emotions long buried beneath careful apathy. But just for a moment, and then the thought is gone, carried away by the tide.)
She presses a kiss to the edge of his lips; smiles to match his own.
--
In the end, they’ll be alright.