Castelia City - Tumblr Posts
Still working on Chapter Two. Not sure if a ton of people see this, but I might as well share again. My hope is to have the next chapter out next week. Thanks to those who’ve read so far!
Chapter 1: C is for Connaisseuse
The line at check-in isn’t as long as I expected, but I still keep my scarf high on my face while I wait on the street. People walk along the sidewalks, their Pokémon—Audino, Patrats, Pidoves, even the occasional Lilligant or Darumaka—following in the early spring chill. The many skyscrapers that make up Castelia City block the morning sun, making Mode Street even colder than it would be. While it keeps the cold at bay, the scarf is more to hide myself from my old coworkers than to stay warm.
--
There must be three hundred photos from the launch party. I sift through image after image of glowing, smiley models, influencers, and staff in front of a Gracidea-covered wall, with giant Shaymin statues flanking them. Of course, the people in the pictures are as much decorations as the flower wall and statues; Madame Freesia’s main concern is the oversized perfume bottle on the pedestal in the middle of each pic. I haven’t smelled Grace yet—my coworkers never bring me samples—but I know that the launch party turnout and the buzz on social media are good signs about the new fragrance.
Madame Freesia, dressed in a highlighter-green dress, sweeps her way into my office without knocking.
“Annette, how soon can you get those pictures online?” she asks sharply.
“Once I pull the best ones,” I’ll send them to you for review,” I reply, “just as you asked me to before. Once you approve everything, I should have them up by tomorrow.”
“And why can’t you put them out today?” I see her cross her arms as I look over my glasses.
I sigh. “Well, Madame Freesia, it’s two o’clock now, and I only received the images ten minutes ago. With our goals being ‘clean, pretty, joyful perfection’ for our social media, I need to analyze each image for symmetry, facial expressions, and other minor details that could make the guests look bad or that could mess up the view of Grace. I then have to narrow our images down and determine how many and which ones to put on each of our ten social media accounts, all of which I can’t schedule until you decide whether you like them and the caption, which I haven’t written yet.”
Madame Freesia snorts, but the sound of glass breaking on the floor keeps her from saying what she wants to say.
“Fine,” she huffs. “You have until tomorrow to get all of them up.”
The peach-colored wall of the store’s hallway disappears as she slams the door. I take my glasses off and press on my eyes until spots form.
“Just a little longer, Nettie,” I tell myself as I put my glasses on. “Just a few more days and everything changes.”
Back to the launch party.
--
“Hello, Miss,” the smiling woman at the check-in desk says. “Can I have your name please?”
“Annette Sweets,” I say, pulling my scarf away from my face.
She looks over a list of names, looking for mine. The Joltik on her shoulder waves a little leg at me, and for a moment, a faint pink glow outlines its fuzzy body. I wave back before a chilly breeze sends the Pokémon scuttling into the woman’s shirt collar.
“Ooh, it’s so cold today,” she says as she checks off my name. “I could’ve sworn today was supposed to be the first warm day.”
“I don’t think it’ll get much warmer until the sun is overhead,” I say. “I hope you don’t have to be out here for too long.”
“Thankfully, no.” The woman pats her dark hair back into place, then gets back to work. “Annette Sweets, here for the C-Class Pokémon Connoisseur Assessment, which will begin in half an hour. As I’m sure you know, there’ll be a written portion followed by an evaluation portion. The assessment will end at one o’clock at the latest. Your results will be listed an hour after the assessment is over, at which time, you may come collect your C-Class badge from this table if you passed. Hopefully it’ll be warmer by then.”
The woman winks at that last part, and the nerves slowly building up inside of me ease, but only a little bit. I smile as she hands me a folder full of information, most likely the dates for Connoisseur meet-ups and events in the area. Having already looked at the Castelia City branch’s website, I probably know all the dates anyway.
“Thank you,” I say, feeling myself shrinking into my dark coat. I stand up straighter.
“Good luck, Miss Sweets.” The woman nods at me as I walk around the table and into the Castelia City Connoisseur Association building.
--
“Are you still working?” Dye asks over the phone. It’s ten o’clock.
I stop typing on my work laptop, which I brought home. “No?”
I can feel the judgement through the phone, imagine her eyes narrowing and her lips pursing across from me. I can even picture her Whimsicott and Lilligant joining in behind her.
“Okay, fine, I’m working,” I say. “Madame Freesia sent me another hundred photos to go through, and the posts have to be ready by tomorrow.”
“Nettie, what are you doing? I thought you said you were gonna ease up on the work!”
“I know, I know. I just don’t want to leave anything incomplete, y’know? This is like the last bit of the Grace campaign, and then I can make changes to how I work without being right in the middle of a campaign.”
“Okay, but what good does that do? It’s not like you want to go into this kind of work again, and even if you do get back into social media management—like if you lose your memory and think you like this work—wouldn’t it be better to start putting boundaries in place?”
“I know what I need to do. If I can just make it to Saturday and pass the assessment, I can do all of that, with the knowledge that the next phase of my life is already in the works.” I finish up the captions for the posts. They’re all versions of the same thing: Thank you for joining us! Look out for Grace, exclusively at Madame Freesia’s! The details may vary based on the character count, but it’s the same sequence of information. There’s creativity in it—figuring out how to get all the information in, making use of varying formats—but it lacks anything remotely satisfying.
“Okay,” Dye says. “I guess that makes sense. How goes the assessment prep? I know nothing about Pokémon Connoisseurs.”
“I’ve watched videos, read the recommended books, taken the practice test—the only way I could be more prepared is if I had shadowed a Connoisseur beforehand.” I attach the captions to an email to Madame Freesia and turn back to the photo gallery and the new, sometimes blurry additions. “I think that the evaluation part of the test will be the hardest, just because it’s hard to practice that on your own.”
“What’ll that entail?” The sounds of a videogame go off in the background. Dye groans. “And don’t mind me. Mom just beat me in the new Battle Tournament.”
“Hi, Nettie,” Dye’s mom says. The clearness of her voice tells me that we’re on speaker now.
“Hi, Ms. Lynn,” I say. “Sounds like you’re getting better with the games.”
“I know! I’ve been on quite the winning streak! Now, what’s all this about your Connoisseur assessment?”
“I was going over the evaluation portion. From what I understand, we have to evaluate the relationship between a volunteer trainer and one of their Pokémon. Despite the fact that everyone’s a beginner, that part of the assessment is worth more than the written portion.” I attach the pictures I chose before to the email and send them to Madame Freesia before shutting my laptop. At this point, there’s no reason to keep plodding along; going through the others in the gallery would just mean staying up past midnight.
“That sounds like a difficult test, Nettie, but I’m sure your experience with your family’s Pokémon should help you get through it.”
“Yeah, maybe. All I know is that if I can get through this workweek, I’ll be good.”
“Well, take care of yourself at least,” Dye says. “You won’t make it very far if you don’t get some sleep and put those boundaries in place.”
“Yes, Mom.” I smile, practically hearing her roll her eyes. “I’ll let you two go then—you, too, Whimsicott and Lilligant. I’ll let you know how I do with the assessment.”
“Alrighty then,” Dye says. “We’ll talk to you later.”
“You’ve got this!” Ms. Lynn cheers. “We’ll be here rooting for you with the rest of your family.”
“Thanks. Bye.” I hang up and look at the clock. It’s almost eleven. I take my glasses off and pull the mattress out of the couch.
As I drift off to sleep, the gray walls of my little apartment fade into the darkness of night. A final thought crosses my mind: What happens if I fail? I’m too tired to think of an answer.
--
The written portion of the assessment is full of scenarios: a young trainer picking out a first Pokémon, a trainer and their partner working to get used to settling down after years of travel, a Pokémon getting used to a new trainer after the passing of their former. They’re situations I read about in books; they seem almost ubiquitous for Connoisseurs, although I doubt I’ll be handling them on my own anytime soon.
But what if I do have to handle them on my own? I find myself thinking as I write out my answers. What if the evaluation portion involves helping people in these situations? What if that’s why it’s worth more, because we have to put our written answers to the test?
The thought of trying to help someone so soon makes my heart race. As I train my eyes on my hands, hoping to keep myself from thinking too far forward and psyching myself out, a faint lilac light glows around them, ebbing and flowing like a tide. I squeeze my eyes shut, and it’s gone when I open them again. I sit up and look ahead. No one else has that light around them.
Why does that keep happening?
I shake it off and turn back to the assessment. I can’t afford to get distracted and fail.
--
Madame Freesia’s is as much a gossip mill as it is a perfume store. With my office being in the back, I rarely hear the rumors and news that get shared out on the floor, but I know my coworkers well enough to know that they share and speculate just as much as the customers. Too busy tying up loose ends—answering and getting rid of DMs and comments on our posts, checking the changes for our social media scheduler, ignoring the flurry of texts from my Castelia friends about not being invited to the launch party—it's only when the sound of voices and heels reach me that I realize that my door didn’t close fully after Madame Freesia came to approve the posts I made.
“When do you think Madame Freesia’s going to do it?”
“I heard that her niece is graduating in May. She should be here not long after that? Then again, there’s not even a guarantee she’ll want the job.”
“It’s so dirty of her to put all that pressure on Annette, just so she can fire her as soon as her niece is out of college. Besides, is she even any good with social media? Just because you have a personal account doesn’t mean you can handle a professional one and bring in new followers.”
“She’s her niece! I doubt she even cares if she knows how to manage a social media account. Madame Freesia would probably make up a new nonsense position for her if she asked.”
“I just don’t want to pick up the slack if she can’t do the work. Annette’s the only reason our online presence is what it is.”
“Look, at the end of the day, it’s not our problem. As long as I get paid at the end of the week and get free samples every month, Madame Freesia could hire a Trubbish for all I care. Annette seems like a smart girl. I’m sure she’ll find another job. We should get back out there. Why do you even make us gossip back here? Not like we’ll get in trouble for doing it on the floor.”
A pair of heels click down the hall towards the floor. The other pair stops at my door. Fey pops her head in, her shiny brown bangs slipping into her face. She winces at me.
“Just an FYI,” she says in a low voice. “I didn’t want Madame Freesia to know that you knew, in case it made her act sooner, but I also didn’t want you to think I wouldn’t say anything to you if I knew something.”
I nod at her, still not sure I heard her right in the hall. “She really wants to replace me?”
Fey readjusts her bangs under her headband and nods lightly. “She was out there talking to a regular about it, according to Miki. It’s almost April, so I thought you should know.”
I slouch back into my chair and press my hands into my eyes, not even bothering to take my glasses off. “Thanks, Fey.”
“I’m really sorry, Annette. Maybe you’ll be able to find a better job. Maybe your Aunt Lenora could give you a position at the museum, although I’m sure you’d confuse guests with how similar you look.” She lets out a nervous chuckle.
When I pull my hands away, my lenses are smudged enough that—it has to be—a peachy pink light outlines Fey’s upper body. I take my glasses off to clean them on my shirt and the light’s still clear, even as everything else becomes blurry. Maybe the lighting from the hall is stronger than I thought. The light’s gone when I put my glasses on again.
“I’ll figure it out somehow,” I say. “Thanks, Fey.”
Printouts from Madame Freesia cover my desk, alongside coffee stains, my endlessly buzzing phone, and my computers. When was the last time I cleaned any of this up? It feels as if all these things have been here this entire time. At the top of a short stack, my calendar sits on top, Saturday’s date circled. The assessment. I turn back to Fey.
“I…I think I know what I want to do next,” I say. “No, I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m just sorry you’ll all have to pick up the slack.”
Fey takes a big sigh, then nods. “I’ll understand if you do what I think you’re going to do. Just do me a favor.”
“What?”
“Make sure you don’t come back here.” She turns back into the hall, then back to me. “I have to go, but good luck with whatever your plan is.”
She disappears, and as her heels reverberate down the hall, I get to work.
--
It seems that a lot of people turn to Connoisseurship to restart their lives. Talking to the other assessment-takers during the break, so many are looking for new paths forward. One guy’s dream of beating the Champion of the Pokémon League fell apart after an accident. Someone else got laid off and wanted a job that wasn’t rooted to a desk in some poorly lit office (I can relate). An older woman in her sixties is looking for meaning in her life after her husband left her and the Scolipede they raised together for another woman. Another just wants to find a side hustle now that she’s an empty nester. It’s interesting how so many of us found our way here after big changes or realizations.
As I sip on some water and listen to their stories, I wonder how many of us will actually get to the next step. How many will take the assessment over and over again until they pass? How many will give up and go do something else? Do any of us really have it in us to do this, or is it just a fantasy that keeps us going, the hope that this will be more fulfilling and worthwhile than what we left behind?
--
I know that when Madame Freesia sees how spotless my office is, how the computers are reset and ready for new hands to use them, how the USB I left behind has everything organized for whoever takes my place—she’ll know that I really am gone. Perhaps it was too kind, clearing so much away and preparing everything for her niece, but it felt so good to write my resignation letter in a clean office, so good to be free of all the clutter. I feel light enough to skip through Central Plaza, especially since everything I had in that office fits in my purse. Funny that after three years there, I hardly had anything to make that box my own.
As I reach my apartment by Skyarrow Bridge, the sun taking the day’s warmth with it as it sets, I freeze. I don’t have a job anymore. I don’t have a plan beyond the assessment.
Oh no.
--
The evaluation portion begins. A sharp-looking Connaisseuse in a black, pinstripe skirt set walks up to me as I mill around the association’s gallery.
“Ms. Sweets?” she asks, looking over her clipboard. “You’re next. Please follow me, and we’ll get your evaluation started.”
We walk out of the gallery and into a white room off to the side. A fidgety guy about my age stands at the back of the room. I don’t see it until I’m farther in, but a Sandile is here, too, camouflaged on the light wood floors. The little Pokémon growls and huddles further into the corner, away from the guy.
“This is our volunteer Nathan, Ms. Sweets,” the Connaisseuse explains. “He and his new Sandile aren’t getting along well, and so he’s asked for an evaluation. You have an hour to provide some solutions to their situation. You may begin when you’re ready.”
I walk up to Nathan. He keeps his face straight, but his reddened ears tell me he’s nervous. My stomach shifts the closer I get to him. I blink and a red light envelops him, much like the lilac light I saw around my own hands. His feels harsh, though, like standing next to a heater on high, and yet the hairs on my arms stand up like the room is as cold as the outside. I force a small smile. No matter how uncomfortable I feel, I still have to pass this assessment.
“Hello,” I say, trying to keep the feeling I have out of my voice. “My name is Annette, and I’ll be taking a look at your Sandile.”
I put my hand out to shake, but his grip makes me wish I hadn’t. I don’t know who taught him how to do a handshake or what he wants to prove, squeezing so hard, but the full, constant eye contact that comes with the handshake makes me want to leave the room. I take my hand back and move over to his Sandile.
The Desert Croc doesn’t have the harsh redness of her trainer. Even as she sits defensively in the corner, a gentle silvery light radiates from her like moonlight. My sense of dread and fear fades in her presence. The feeling takes me back to playing with Aunt Lenora’s Pokémon at the Nacrene Museum when I was a kid.
“How long have you had this Sandile, Nathan?” I sit down on the floor next to her. How do I know she’s a her in the first place?
Nathan shrugs, his face unchanging. “A few days. A friend traded her to me.”
“It sounds like the two of you need more time, but let’s see if there’s something else going on.” I lay my hand on the floor in front of Sandile, making sure to give her room to come over if she wants. “Take your time, Sandile. I just want to know how you’re doing. There’s no pressure.”
Not entirely true—this is an assessment I’d like to pass right away—but with an hour to complete it, I know that I can be patient.
Sandile’s growling stops, and a little trill hums out of her. She creeps towards my hand, keeping her small black eyes on me. She puts a claw on my palm, and something shoots up my arm, although I do my best not to flinch away from her. Visions flash in my eyes: a small boy in the desert, a playground, Nathan, the boy fading away, tears on asphalt. I turn to the Connaisseuse, and the same red light around Nathan envelops her, although the edges are rigid and don’t come out in erratic waves, like her—her brother.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help them,” I say as Sandile crawls into my lap.
The Connaisseuse blinks at me. “You only just started. You’re doing so well, too. What makes you think you can’t do it?”
“Because this isn’t his partner. He took her from someone else, not as a trade, but like a kidnapper.”
Nathan’s face grows redder with every word, and so is his sister’s. Before either of us can stop him, he snatches Sandile and runs out of the room. The Connaisseuse runs after him.
“Hey!” she shouts. “Stop him!”
Security blocks off the main entrance, so Nathan turns, looking for another exit amongst the crowd. I move in front of his sister.
“Sandile, use Sand Tomb!” I command.
The Pokémon releases a flurry of sand that envelops her and Nathan and makes everyone else back up and shield their eyes. In little time at all, the gusts of sand die down, and a trill pulls my eyes from my sleeve. Sandile stands on top of the pile of sand, her front claws on Nathan’s mangled hair. I sigh in relief. His sister doesn’t.
“How could you do this to me?” she hisses at him when she walks up to him. “I thought I made it clear that you come here with a Pokémon you didn’t steal!”
“Do you know how hard it is to find a Pokémon with Intimidate?” he asks at a normal tone.
The Connaisseuse groans, then turns her eyes to me. She stalks towards me.
“How did you know he took the Sandile?” she asks, loud enough for everyone else to hear. “How would you know that? Do you know him?”
“I-I don’t know,” I say, feeling eyes turning on me. “I just felt it, and I saw it when Sandile touched me. I don’t know who he is otherwise.”
“I’m sure. We’ll see what you have to say when the police get here.” The Connaisseuse pulls out her phone, but a slender, wrinkled hand reaches out and stops her.
A tall older woman in a mint-green cardigan and floral dress stands next to us, her ornately carved cane sloped between us. Her quiet gray eyes search my face, then crinkle with her smile.
“Now, now, Louise,” she says, keeping her eyes on me. “There’s only one thief here, only one cheat, and he’s already caught. Although, as his sister and the one who brought him in, you should’ve checked and made sure that was actually his partner before the assessment even began.”
“But Ms. Cyra—” Louise starts, but the older woman puts her hand up.
“She doesn’t know him. She is just like me, is all, and I know every Connoisseur in this building knows what I mean.” She turns to a man holding a clipboard. “Thomas, look through the written portion’s scores and tell me if this young lady passed.”
Thomas fumbles with the papers for a moment, then looks back at Ms. Cyra. “The tests were scored immediately after being turned in, Ms. Cyra. Annette Sweets passed with full marks.”
I stand a bit straighter, more out of shock than pride. I passed.
“She’s passed the evaluation portion, too, as far as anyone’s concerned. How often do we have candidates catching Pokémon-nappers? In all my years of helping the association evaluate potential Pokémon Connoisseurs, I certainly haven’t seen it before. Give the woman her badge, have the police collect our thief, and help Sandile get home. That’s all that must be done.”
Louise huffs, but she doesn’t argue with Ms. Cyra. “Very well. Sorry, Nathan. I can’t get you out of this one.”
Nathan tries to pull himself from the mound of sand, but Sandile only adds more, until it’s high enough for him to rest his chin on it. The little Desert Croc Pokémon trills and wags her tail.
As Louise walks away, the lights fade from everyone. Ms. Cyra turns back to me.
“You did lovely work, Miss. Certainly not the way Connoisseurs would do it, but with a good mentor, I think you can blend those skills with your gift in time.”
“Um, thank you—wait, what gift?” I take her arm when she offers it to me and walk her to the front door, too confused to question much of anything.
“You’re only just beginning, Miss. You’ll understand soon enough, perhaps with the help of a Pokémon partner by your side.” She turns to look at me and smiles. “Do come and visit me someday. You have much to learn on your own first, but I’ll be waiting to give you help when you’re ready.”
She walks out the door, and before I can process anything else, Thomas presses a C-Class badge into my hand.
“Congrats, Annette,” he says. “You’re officially a Connaisseuse.”
—
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I've been stuck in writer's block for a long time, and I wanted to write something meaningful to me. I hope to write and share more of the story in the future. It's nice to have somewhere to share this work, even if it might not seem important or anything like that. Even if no one sees this, I've got the motivation in me right now to keep posting. I've got nine other chapters that I'd like to put out. I look forward to sharing with whoever reads this.
Out to Lunch
Heading to the Cull & Remoraid in Castelia City for lunch today, Ill let you guys know how it goes.