the hardest part [1/1]
sometimes a wake-up call is all we need. [ursula, paul]
pokemon; gen; g; 1100 words
This coverage of the annual Grand Festival is brought to you by our sponsor, EternaLife Incorporated. Nothing in life is guaranteed, but through it all, EternaLife is there for you. We now return to center stage, where the current reigning champion, Dawn, will face off against the challenger, an up-and-coming Coordinator from Canalave…
A muscle beneath Ursula’s eye twitches (nearly imperceptible, but there all the same). She walks over to the counter and leans across it, until she and Nurse Joy are nearly face to face.
“I’d appreciate it very much,” she says quietly, dangerously, “if you would turn off the television.”
The pink-haired woman clears her throat nervously, leaning back in her chair as if seeking an escape from Ursula’s persuasive gaze. “I… I’m sorry, but I b-believe some of the other patrons are watching the program. I can’t just - ”
“Cut the sweet act and turn it off,” the girl growls.
“Ah, umm, yes! O-of course!” A harried Nurse Joy fumbles with the remote and turns the TV off with a click of finality.
Ursula smiles, saccharine sweet. “Oh, thank you so very, very much,” she says, clasping Nurse Joy’s hand, and then returns to her seat by the window. She resumes her perusing of the latest edition of Contest News Monthly, but finds her anger quickly reaching the boiling point once more.
That name. It’s everywhere. She starts counting the number of times that girl’s name appears throughout the articles; reaches twenty before sliding the magazine across the table, utterly revolted.
Dawn. What an insipid name. Perfect for a foolish, trite little girl with too much luck and not enough skill.
Suddenly, Ursula feels a presence and glances up from her sulking. An attractive, sullen boy with dark eyes is standing next to her, looking over her shoulder at the glossy pages of the magazine. It’s open to a two-page spread of Dawn in all her undeserved glory, capturing the so-called “best moments” of her Contest performances to date.
“You know her?” the boy asks, gaze shifting toward Ursula.
She lifts her chin haughtily. “Unfortunately, yes. What’s it to you?”
“Nothing, really. I know her too, is all.”
“Oh really?” Ursula raises an eyebrow, trying to decipher his flat, uninterested tone of voice. “Where do you know her from?”
He shrugs noncommittally; pushes a few strands of purple hair from his eyes. “Friend of a rival, you could say.”
“You don’t say?” Ursula is intrigued now - she gestures at the seat across from her and smiles genially. “Please, take a seat. Let’s chat, shall we?”
After a moment’s hesitation, as if weighing the possible outcomes of the situation, he does so, sinking into the chair tiredly.
“So.” The girl steeples her fingers. “What was your impression of her? Of Dawn?”
Again, he shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, and thumbs through the magazine. “Never really talked to her. I remember her being vaguely annoying, but she was good at what she did. Still is, it seems. Do you have some sort of preoccupation with her?”
Ursula slams her fist on the table, causing a napping man nearby to jolt from his sleep. “I can’t stand her!” she hisses through gritted teeth. “She’s little Miss Perfect, always happy-go-lucky with her head in the clouds! That title was rightfully mine, alright? I worked my way up from the bottom, and I deserved it more! I, I - ”
Here, she pauses, and realizes that the entire Pokemon Center is staring at her. Flushing red, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and adjusts her skirt, attempting to play it cool. The boy across the table is still expressionless, but she swears she sees a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
“A little bitter, are we?” he murmurs.
“I’m not bitter!” she insists (quieter this time). “I just… I just don’t like her, okay? She stole what was rightfully mine!”
“And why do you say that?”
“Because, I…” At this, Ursula’s mood sobers, and she lowers her eyes, twisting the hem of her shirt between her fingers. “Because I can tell just by looking at her that she doesn’t know what it’s like, to give up everything for your dream. Not like me. I… I threw it all away.”
It’s quiet in the Pokemon Center - the ticking of the clock is all that can be heard. Outside, the sky is a dull grey, and the rain-washed windows blur the city like a watercolor.
Finally, she asks: “Do you know what it’s like, to never have anything of your own? To always be trapped in someone else’s shadow, and feel helpless to control the direction of your own life?”
She peers up at the boy across the table and finds him staring at her with troubled, distant eyes.
“…Yeah,” he says. “I know exactly what it’s like.”
They sit in silence for a few moments, and then the boy pushes back his chair and gets to his feet.
“That girl,” he says. “Dawn. She’s trying her best too. Just like you. You can’t say what a person’s been through by just looking at them. Maybe her past wasn’t the best either. Maybe she had a shadow to step out from under as well. But maybe… Maybe she’s just strong enough to look past it, and to focus on the future. You should try to do the same.”
“…What are you, her appointed guardian?” Ursula mutters, folding her arms across her chest.
But he’s already walking away, raising a hand in a parting gesture.
“W-wait!” she calls, stumbling after him. “What’s your name?”
He stops; glances over his shoulder. “It’s Paul. And you?”
“Um, uh… Ursula.”
“Hn. Weird name. I’ll probably forget it.”
On that note, he leaves, and Ursula is left staring at the place where he just was, wondering whether she should be astonished or offended.
(In the end, she settles for a combination of both.)
--
She goes to the bookstore on a whim, having nothing better to do in the three hours before the contest. It’s a musty little place, dust coating every surface and stacks of books lying haphazard on the floor, but it has a quaint sort of charm. The kind of place her parents would disapprove of.
In the science fiction section she finds him, nose buried in a paperback with yellowed pages. She stands there for a moment, letting this strange twist of fate register, before reaching over and plucking the book from his hands.
“Hey there, Paul,” she says; winks at him. “What a coincidence, meeting you here of all places!”
He blinks at her for a moment before recognition dawns on his face. “Ah, Ursula,” he says. “Hello.”
Slowly, a genuine smile tugs at Ursula’s lips.
“You remembered my name.”
pokemon; gen; g; 1100 words
This coverage of the annual Grand Festival is brought to you by our sponsor, EternaLife Incorporated. Nothing in life is guaranteed, but through it all, EternaLife is there for you. We now return to center stage, where the current reigning champion, Dawn, will face off against the challenger, an up-and-coming Coordinator from Canalave…
A muscle beneath Ursula’s eye twitches (nearly imperceptible, but there all the same). She walks over to the counter and leans across it, until she and Nurse Joy are nearly face to face.
“I’d appreciate it very much,” she says quietly, dangerously, “if you would turn off the television.”
The pink-haired woman clears her throat nervously, leaning back in her chair as if seeking an escape from Ursula’s persuasive gaze. “I… I’m sorry, but I b-believe some of the other patrons are watching the program. I can’t just - ”
“Cut the sweet act and turn it off,” the girl growls.
“Ah, umm, yes! O-of course!” A harried Nurse Joy fumbles with the remote and turns the TV off with a click of finality.
Ursula smiles, saccharine sweet. “Oh, thank you so very, very much,” she says, clasping Nurse Joy’s hand, and then returns to her seat by the window. She resumes her perusing of the latest edition of Contest News Monthly, but finds her anger quickly reaching the boiling point once more.
That name. It’s everywhere. She starts counting the number of times that girl’s name appears throughout the articles; reaches twenty before sliding the magazine across the table, utterly revolted.
Dawn. What an insipid name. Perfect for a foolish, trite little girl with too much luck and not enough skill.
Suddenly, Ursula feels a presence and glances up from her sulking. An attractive, sullen boy with dark eyes is standing next to her, looking over her shoulder at the glossy pages of the magazine. It’s open to a two-page spread of Dawn in all her undeserved glory, capturing the so-called “best moments” of her Contest performances to date.
“You know her?” the boy asks, gaze shifting toward Ursula.
She lifts her chin haughtily. “Unfortunately, yes. What’s it to you?”
“Nothing, really. I know her too, is all.”
“Oh really?” Ursula raises an eyebrow, trying to decipher his flat, uninterested tone of voice. “Where do you know her from?”
He shrugs noncommittally; pushes a few strands of purple hair from his eyes. “Friend of a rival, you could say.”
“You don’t say?” Ursula is intrigued now - she gestures at the seat across from her and smiles genially. “Please, take a seat. Let’s chat, shall we?”
After a moment’s hesitation, as if weighing the possible outcomes of the situation, he does so, sinking into the chair tiredly.
“So.” The girl steeples her fingers. “What was your impression of her? Of Dawn?”
Again, he shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, and thumbs through the magazine. “Never really talked to her. I remember her being vaguely annoying, but she was good at what she did. Still is, it seems. Do you have some sort of preoccupation with her?”
Ursula slams her fist on the table, causing a napping man nearby to jolt from his sleep. “I can’t stand her!” she hisses through gritted teeth. “She’s little Miss Perfect, always happy-go-lucky with her head in the clouds! That title was rightfully mine, alright? I worked my way up from the bottom, and I deserved it more! I, I - ”
Here, she pauses, and realizes that the entire Pokemon Center is staring at her. Flushing red, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and adjusts her skirt, attempting to play it cool. The boy across the table is still expressionless, but she swears she sees a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
“A little bitter, are we?” he murmurs.
“I’m not bitter!” she insists (quieter this time). “I just… I just don’t like her, okay? She stole what was rightfully mine!”
“And why do you say that?”
“Because, I…” At this, Ursula’s mood sobers, and she lowers her eyes, twisting the hem of her shirt between her fingers. “Because I can tell just by looking at her that she doesn’t know what it’s like, to give up everything for your dream. Not like me. I… I threw it all away.”
It’s quiet in the Pokemon Center - the ticking of the clock is all that can be heard. Outside, the sky is a dull grey, and the rain-washed windows blur the city like a watercolor.
Finally, she asks: “Do you know what it’s like, to never have anything of your own? To always be trapped in someone else’s shadow, and feel helpless to control the direction of your own life?”
She peers up at the boy across the table and finds him staring at her with troubled, distant eyes.
“…Yeah,” he says. “I know exactly what it’s like.”
They sit in silence for a few moments, and then the boy pushes back his chair and gets to his feet.
“That girl,” he says. “Dawn. She’s trying her best too. Just like you. You can’t say what a person’s been through by just looking at them. Maybe her past wasn’t the best either. Maybe she had a shadow to step out from under as well. But maybe… Maybe she’s just strong enough to look past it, and to focus on the future. You should try to do the same.”
“…What are you, her appointed guardian?” Ursula mutters, folding her arms across her chest.
But he’s already walking away, raising a hand in a parting gesture.
“W-wait!” she calls, stumbling after him. “What’s your name?”
He stops; glances over his shoulder. “It’s Paul. And you?”
“Um, uh… Ursula.”
“Hn. Weird name. I’ll probably forget it.”
On that note, he leaves, and Ursula is left staring at the place where he just was, wondering whether she should be astonished or offended.
(In the end, she settles for a combination of both.)
--
She goes to the bookstore on a whim, having nothing better to do in the three hours before the contest. It’s a musty little place, dust coating every surface and stacks of books lying haphazard on the floor, but it has a quaint sort of charm. The kind of place her parents would disapprove of.
In the science fiction section she finds him, nose buried in a paperback with yellowed pages. She stands there for a moment, letting this strange twist of fate register, before reaching over and plucking the book from his hands.
“Hey there, Paul,” she says; winks at him. “What a coincidence, meeting you here of all places!”
He blinks at her for a moment before recognition dawns on his face. “Ah, Ursula,” he says. “Hello.”
Slowly, a genuine smile tugs at Ursula’s lips.
“You remembered my name.”