eden [1/1]
nothing but a slight tremor of the hand. she's gotten good at pretending. [courtney/ruby, ruby/sapphire]
pokespe; drama; pg13; 1800 words
Every year, on the anniversary of the day she almost helped him save the world, Ruby drops by for a visit.
The first year, she emerges from the tool shed to find him leaning against the fence, looking as suave and nonchalant as an awkward twelve year old can look.
“Your garden is all kinds of tacky,” he tells her, peering down at the cucumbers, turnips, and string beans growing haphazardly between berry trees and flower patches, a kind of natural chaos. “If you’re going for an effortless, ‘hardly-trying’ kind of look, it’s not working. It just looks a mess.”
“Hey there, brat,” she says with a forcedly casual grin. Inside, though, she’s beaming, overjoyed to see that smug, snobbish little face once more. “Haven’t talked to you in ages, and you’re already critiquing my style?”
“Well somebody has to!” Ruby throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. “You’d think a former Coordinator would know how to grow a visually-pleasing garden! What you need is some color to balance it all out - tomatoes, perhaps? Carrots?”
“Carrots don’t grow during this season, smart one.”
“Whatever.” A casual wave of the hand, as if dismissing the very idea of such limitations. “Oh, and by the way… What is with that outfit?”
He eyes her clunky boots, faded overalls, and dirt-stained bandana with critical distaste, and she puts a self-righteous hand on her hip.
“I’m gardening, Mr. Fashion Police. Sorry to burst your bubble, but not everyone can look fabulous all the time.”
But Ruby presses a hand to his heart, a pained expression on his face. “Hopeless!” he exclaims. “Simply hopeless! I never took you to be so boorish and unrefined…”
Courtney shakes her head, bemused, and invites him in for a cup of tea.
The second year, he swoops down suddenly on his father’s Flygon, sending baskets of freshly picked vegetables tumbling across the lawn and nearly uprooting several bushes she just planted.
“Ah, err… Sorry about that,” Ruby says as he surveys the damage. “My flying skills are a bit rusty…” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, and for once he actually looks his age - thirteen and a bit on the scrawny side, uncertain about the world.
“What is this?” she exclaims, her tone mocking. “Lord Ruby has graced me with an apology? Please, allow me a moment to savor this victory.”
“Oh, shut up,” he grumbles, but she can see the smile tugging at his lips. In the end, he helps her pick up most of the scattered vegetables, only stopping to sanitize his hands after the job is done.
“Take a tomato for your troubles,” she says, and tosses one his way. “I planted them at your suggestion, after all.”
With a sneer he tosses it back. “No thanks; I’m not partial to them myself. My suggestion was based purely on aesthetics.”
She exchanges a weary glance with Ninetales, who seems to understand her frustration. This kid can be such a prissy pain in the ass.
(Later, though, upon re-counting her produce haul, she notices that one tomato out of the bunch seems to be missing. It might just have rolled away into the undergrowth, of course… But she likes to think otherwise.)
The third year, he arrives in a much less flashy manner, strolling up to the fence with his Mightyena and Delcatty by his side. He doesn’t bother saying hello - simply rests his back against the fencepost and sighs dramatically.
“Hey kid,” she says, as if it’s only been a day instead of a year since she last saw him. She adjusts her broad-rimmed hat to block the sun’s rays and shoves her trowel into her apron pocket. “What’s on your mind?”
Ruby turns towards her, and she almost laughs at the expression of exaggerated anguish on his face. He adjusts his glasses solemnly. “Courtney,” he murmurs. “Do you know anything about girls?”
“… I beg your pardon?”
“Girls,” he reiterates, more urgently. “What can you tell me about them? Do you have any advice on the subject?
She stares at him blankly for a few moments, utterly bewildered.
“Ruby… Just in case you haven’t noticed, I am a girl.”
“No, no, no!” he exclaims. “You, my dear, are a woman! Women are understandable - elegant, self-assured, strong-willed, independent… Women know what they want. Girls are another matter entirely.” He taps his chin, brow furrowed. “Girls can be so… incomprehensible at times, so capricious with their emotions, sending mixed messages left and right... It's enough to drive a man crazy.”
That’s right, she thinks. I’m twenty-two years old. I’m a woman now, not some silly little girl. I am self-assured. I am independent. I know exactly what I want.
And for some reason, something about this revelation makes her sad, sadder than she’s been in many years (sadder, even, than the day she almost helped him save the world).
Later, she does not remember the advice she undoubtedly gave him, and the small part of herself that is still wicked and impetuous hopes that it was poor advice. She hopes that his youthful infatuation (for infatuation is all it is, of course) will wither and die like flowers in winter.
“I’m a bad person, aren’t I?” she whispers, but there’s no one there to answer.
The fourth year is when she starts watching the skies, seeking out that familiar speck on the blue horizon. It’s not terribly exciting, you see, the life of a gardener. The anniversary of that day is always circled in red on her calendar - something to look forward to amidst the monotony, a break from the almost humdrum tranquility of daily life. When she spots him she smiles and goes back to pulling up weeds, cautious not to seem too eager, and when she hears his footsteps she waits for him to speak first.
“Still toiling away in this godforsaken backwater, I see,” a voice says, and Courtney blinks in confusion - the voice sounds like Ruby and yet not. She turns towards the visitor.
Yes, it’s Ruby - same vaguely arrogant smile, same intelligent eyes, same immaculate style. But something has changed. He’s not a scrawny little kid anymore. He’s taller, for one thing, taller than Courtney by at least a few inches, and he no longer looks ridiculous leaning against the fence, all charming and debonair.
“Well damn,” she says, and almost falters before returning his cheeky grin. “Looks like someone had a growth spurt or two in the past year.”
“Mhmm. Unfortunately, my dear father now considers me to be ‘a man’, and has begun treating me as such. I swear, if he tries to shake my hand as we pass each other in the hallway one more time, I might be forced to run away from home again…”
Courtney hears herself laugh, hears herself invite him in for a cup of tea like she always does. But in truth she’s watching him. He seems just like his Pokemon all of a sudden, all lithe steps and graceful movements with power hidden underneath, and she can’t seem to tear her eyes away.
And then all of a sudden the sun is setting, and he’s flying away on the Tropius he borrowed from Sapphire, calling “Au revoir, mon cherie,” and she can hardly recall any of the topics they spoke about. She’s vaguely sure he told her about the tournament he just won, and the latest challenger working his way up through the Hyper Rank Contests, and the conversation he had with a girl named Platina the other day, and… and…
She puts her head in her hands. Damn it.
The fifth year, she finally asks him:
“How come you still wear that dumbass hat, Ruby?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Why haven’t I seen you in the Contest Arena, Courtney?”
She grimaces and nearly takes out a whole section of the shrubbery with her gardening shears. “Touché, my friend. Touché.”
But during his visit on the sixth year, he’s not wearing the hat anymore. He looks just like his father, she thinks, sans the frightening intensity of the eyes and the harsh jawline. The scar is nothing more than a faded, jagged line, a vague reminder of something that happened long ago.
The seventh year, he gives her a gaudy pink sundress that was once his mother’s, claiming that “retro is chic right now, Courtney, you’re so behind on the times”. She tells him, poisonous sarcasm dripping from her voice, that she will treasure it always, and Ruby mutters something that sounds like “ungrateful hag” under his breath.
It’s ugly as all hell, really it is, but on the eighth year she makes sure to wear it, if only for a day.
The ninth year -
“I asked Sapphire to marry me,” he announces, out of the blue, as they sit at the kitchen table, sipping their tea like always. “And she said yes.”
Nothing but a slight tremor of the hand - she’s gotten good at this over the years.
When she doesn’t respond, he continues. “My mother thinks it’s too early; she says we’re too young to be making lifelong commitments. But my father and Professor Birch are all for it. I guess they’re eager for me to commiserate with them about how complicated women are or join them for ‘guys only poker night’ or something equally ridiculous.” Ruby rolls his eyes. “I wonder what dad’ll think when he finds out I’ll be the one doing most of the housework…”
“… Congrats, kiddo,” Courtney says, and tries to smile. “It’s about time you popped the question. You two’ve been madly in love for what, ten years?” (Because of course it was love all along, not some passing fancy. Serves you right, her conscience whispers. Heartless bitch. Serves you right.)
He’s staring at her with those goddamn beautiful red eyes, and oh god he can see right through her. Has she always been this transparent to him? How long has he known? Two years? Five? The whole fucking time?
“Thanks, Courtney,” he says quietly, still assessing her, unsmiling. “I’ll put you down on the guest list.”
And when he leaves (not a moment too soon), she finally breaks down and cries.
--
--
The tenth year, a month before the wedding she never RSVP’d to, Ruby arrives at Courtney’s house to find the shutters closed and the garden parched and dying, overrun by weeds and ivy. A note, slightly crumpled and curled around the edges, is tacked to the door.
To anyone I may have inconvenienced -
I’m sorry. But this garden no longer holds any appeal to me. I look at it, this creation which was my pride and joy for so many years, and see nothing but meaningless chaos.
I’ve grown tired of things that grow, tired of things that change and spiral out of my control if I leave them alone too long. I’ve grown tired of this quaint, quiet place.
I don’t know if I’ll ever find the place I’m meant to be, but until that time…
I’m off to look for more beautiful things.
pokespe; drama; pg13; 1800 words
Every year, on the anniversary of the day she almost helped him save the world, Ruby drops by for a visit.
The first year, she emerges from the tool shed to find him leaning against the fence, looking as suave and nonchalant as an awkward twelve year old can look.
“Your garden is all kinds of tacky,” he tells her, peering down at the cucumbers, turnips, and string beans growing haphazardly between berry trees and flower patches, a kind of natural chaos. “If you’re going for an effortless, ‘hardly-trying’ kind of look, it’s not working. It just looks a mess.”
“Hey there, brat,” she says with a forcedly casual grin. Inside, though, she’s beaming, overjoyed to see that smug, snobbish little face once more. “Haven’t talked to you in ages, and you’re already critiquing my style?”
“Well somebody has to!” Ruby throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. “You’d think a former Coordinator would know how to grow a visually-pleasing garden! What you need is some color to balance it all out - tomatoes, perhaps? Carrots?”
“Carrots don’t grow during this season, smart one.”
“Whatever.” A casual wave of the hand, as if dismissing the very idea of such limitations. “Oh, and by the way… What is with that outfit?”
He eyes her clunky boots, faded overalls, and dirt-stained bandana with critical distaste, and she puts a self-righteous hand on her hip.
“I’m gardening, Mr. Fashion Police. Sorry to burst your bubble, but not everyone can look fabulous all the time.”
But Ruby presses a hand to his heart, a pained expression on his face. “Hopeless!” he exclaims. “Simply hopeless! I never took you to be so boorish and unrefined…”
Courtney shakes her head, bemused, and invites him in for a cup of tea.
The second year, he swoops down suddenly on his father’s Flygon, sending baskets of freshly picked vegetables tumbling across the lawn and nearly uprooting several bushes she just planted.
“Ah, err… Sorry about that,” Ruby says as he surveys the damage. “My flying skills are a bit rusty…” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, and for once he actually looks his age - thirteen and a bit on the scrawny side, uncertain about the world.
“What is this?” she exclaims, her tone mocking. “Lord Ruby has graced me with an apology? Please, allow me a moment to savor this victory.”
“Oh, shut up,” he grumbles, but she can see the smile tugging at his lips. In the end, he helps her pick up most of the scattered vegetables, only stopping to sanitize his hands after the job is done.
“Take a tomato for your troubles,” she says, and tosses one his way. “I planted them at your suggestion, after all.”
With a sneer he tosses it back. “No thanks; I’m not partial to them myself. My suggestion was based purely on aesthetics.”
She exchanges a weary glance with Ninetales, who seems to understand her frustration. This kid can be such a prissy pain in the ass.
(Later, though, upon re-counting her produce haul, she notices that one tomato out of the bunch seems to be missing. It might just have rolled away into the undergrowth, of course… But she likes to think otherwise.)
The third year, he arrives in a much less flashy manner, strolling up to the fence with his Mightyena and Delcatty by his side. He doesn’t bother saying hello - simply rests his back against the fencepost and sighs dramatically.
“Hey kid,” she says, as if it’s only been a day instead of a year since she last saw him. She adjusts her broad-rimmed hat to block the sun’s rays and shoves her trowel into her apron pocket. “What’s on your mind?”
Ruby turns towards her, and she almost laughs at the expression of exaggerated anguish on his face. He adjusts his glasses solemnly. “Courtney,” he murmurs. “Do you know anything about girls?”
“… I beg your pardon?”
“Girls,” he reiterates, more urgently. “What can you tell me about them? Do you have any advice on the subject?
She stares at him blankly for a few moments, utterly bewildered.
“Ruby… Just in case you haven’t noticed, I am a girl.”
“No, no, no!” he exclaims. “You, my dear, are a woman! Women are understandable - elegant, self-assured, strong-willed, independent… Women know what they want. Girls are another matter entirely.” He taps his chin, brow furrowed. “Girls can be so… incomprehensible at times, so capricious with their emotions, sending mixed messages left and right... It's enough to drive a man crazy.”
That’s right, she thinks. I’m twenty-two years old. I’m a woman now, not some silly little girl. I am self-assured. I am independent. I know exactly what I want.
And for some reason, something about this revelation makes her sad, sadder than she’s been in many years (sadder, even, than the day she almost helped him save the world).
Later, she does not remember the advice she undoubtedly gave him, and the small part of herself that is still wicked and impetuous hopes that it was poor advice. She hopes that his youthful infatuation (for infatuation is all it is, of course) will wither and die like flowers in winter.
“I’m a bad person, aren’t I?” she whispers, but there’s no one there to answer.
The fourth year is when she starts watching the skies, seeking out that familiar speck on the blue horizon. It’s not terribly exciting, you see, the life of a gardener. The anniversary of that day is always circled in red on her calendar - something to look forward to amidst the monotony, a break from the almost humdrum tranquility of daily life. When she spots him she smiles and goes back to pulling up weeds, cautious not to seem too eager, and when she hears his footsteps she waits for him to speak first.
“Still toiling away in this godforsaken backwater, I see,” a voice says, and Courtney blinks in confusion - the voice sounds like Ruby and yet not. She turns towards the visitor.
Yes, it’s Ruby - same vaguely arrogant smile, same intelligent eyes, same immaculate style. But something has changed. He’s not a scrawny little kid anymore. He’s taller, for one thing, taller than Courtney by at least a few inches, and he no longer looks ridiculous leaning against the fence, all charming and debonair.
“Well damn,” she says, and almost falters before returning his cheeky grin. “Looks like someone had a growth spurt or two in the past year.”
“Mhmm. Unfortunately, my dear father now considers me to be ‘a man’, and has begun treating me as such. I swear, if he tries to shake my hand as we pass each other in the hallway one more time, I might be forced to run away from home again…”
Courtney hears herself laugh, hears herself invite him in for a cup of tea like she always does. But in truth she’s watching him. He seems just like his Pokemon all of a sudden, all lithe steps and graceful movements with power hidden underneath, and she can’t seem to tear her eyes away.
And then all of a sudden the sun is setting, and he’s flying away on the Tropius he borrowed from Sapphire, calling “Au revoir, mon cherie,” and she can hardly recall any of the topics they spoke about. She’s vaguely sure he told her about the tournament he just won, and the latest challenger working his way up through the Hyper Rank Contests, and the conversation he had with a girl named Platina the other day, and… and…
She puts her head in her hands. Damn it.
The fifth year, she finally asks him:
“How come you still wear that dumbass hat, Ruby?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Why haven’t I seen you in the Contest Arena, Courtney?”
She grimaces and nearly takes out a whole section of the shrubbery with her gardening shears. “Touché, my friend. Touché.”
But during his visit on the sixth year, he’s not wearing the hat anymore. He looks just like his father, she thinks, sans the frightening intensity of the eyes and the harsh jawline. The scar is nothing more than a faded, jagged line, a vague reminder of something that happened long ago.
The seventh year, he gives her a gaudy pink sundress that was once his mother’s, claiming that “retro is chic right now, Courtney, you’re so behind on the times”. She tells him, poisonous sarcasm dripping from her voice, that she will treasure it always, and Ruby mutters something that sounds like “ungrateful hag” under his breath.
It’s ugly as all hell, really it is, but on the eighth year she makes sure to wear it, if only for a day.
The ninth year -
“I asked Sapphire to marry me,” he announces, out of the blue, as they sit at the kitchen table, sipping their tea like always. “And she said yes.”
Nothing but a slight tremor of the hand - she’s gotten good at this over the years.
When she doesn’t respond, he continues. “My mother thinks it’s too early; she says we’re too young to be making lifelong commitments. But my father and Professor Birch are all for it. I guess they’re eager for me to commiserate with them about how complicated women are or join them for ‘guys only poker night’ or something equally ridiculous.” Ruby rolls his eyes. “I wonder what dad’ll think when he finds out I’ll be the one doing most of the housework…”
“… Congrats, kiddo,” Courtney says, and tries to smile. “It’s about time you popped the question. You two’ve been madly in love for what, ten years?” (Because of course it was love all along, not some passing fancy. Serves you right, her conscience whispers. Heartless bitch. Serves you right.)
He’s staring at her with those goddamn beautiful red eyes, and oh god he can see right through her. Has she always been this transparent to him? How long has he known? Two years? Five? The whole fucking time?
“Thanks, Courtney,” he says quietly, still assessing her, unsmiling. “I’ll put you down on the guest list.”
And when he leaves (not a moment too soon), she finally breaks down and cries.
--
--
The tenth year, a month before the wedding she never RSVP’d to, Ruby arrives at Courtney’s house to find the shutters closed and the garden parched and dying, overrun by weeds and ivy. A note, slightly crumpled and curled around the edges, is tacked to the door.
To anyone I may have inconvenienced -
I’m sorry. But this garden no longer holds any appeal to me. I look at it, this creation which was my pride and joy for so many years, and see nothing but meaningless chaos.
I’ve grown tired of things that grow, tired of things that change and spiral out of my control if I leave them alone too long. I’ve grown tired of this quaint, quiet place.
I don’t know if I’ll ever find the place I’m meant to be, but until that time…
I’m off to look for more beautiful things.