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[attr="class","bisc"]Not wanting to be late for his next bout, Scotti and his Incineroar pushed their way across the tournament space. “Sorry!” He shouted to a balloon vendor. “Excuse me, err, us!” This particular apology ended up directed at a statue—one he patted on the shoulder. Finally, he came to the next battle location. His chest huffed and puffed as his VR set highlighted his next opponent.

“Dude.” This guy seemed cool. Just the way he chilled there with that Pikachu. No nerves and a super-friendly look. Immediately, Biscotti’s face split into an awkward grin. My name! He asked for my name! He gestured to the cat behind him. “She’s Biscotti, and I’m Jangle.” Scotti blinked. His fingers made a backward motion. “Uh, reverse that.” Not that it sounded much better the other way around. He had a dog’s name. Or, in this case, a cat’s.

Biscotti grabbed the hand and shook it. “I’m jealous of your Pikachu, mean.” He sighed. “That looks like the life.” Not because he was in this dude’s lap, of course. Just because he was, uh, relaxing, or whatever. Jangle, not as prone to nerves, crossed her arm across her chest. She aimed to put her Intimidation to the best use.

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[attr="class","bisc"]The brunette flushed. “I’m glad someone thinks so!” The cat—judging by her face—disagreed. Nobody had ever said his name was cool before. They just called him Biscuit Head and Pastry Boy. Jangle’s name, meanwhile, was just a stupid joke. He’d been obsessed with comic books as a kid. And, that meant he enjoyed onomatopoeia. So, when he got a kitty with a bell with Christmas, Jingle-Jangle stuck.”Yours too.”

With a deep breath, Biscotti straightened up. The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass himself in front of the Head Ranger. So, all he had to do was not give stupid orders, stammer, or fall over. “We definitely can, uh, pal! Win or lose, you get a doughnut!” He chuckled awkwardly. l I’m doomed. The Incineroar, however, seemed more confident. She raced toward the charging Pikachu.

As she drew near—static lifted her fur into a mess. It rippled across her muscles. Fangs gritted as her nerves started to feel the burn. When she got as close as she could bear, Jangle unleashed a Cross Chop.

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ollie morales

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[attr="class","bisc"]The question draws an awkward grin. “You might as well ask me my favorite kid!” But he does know one thing: he hates jam and custard in his pastries. He wanted sweet not a surprise. Then, of course, there was the fact that Neopolitan convinced him strawberry jam was Pokemon offal. And, no matter how much time passed, that idea wouldn’t leave. Which meant he was kind of a basic bitch. “But I have to go with Tiger Tails!” It was one of the classics but way longer.

But, uh, now he wasn’t sure if glaze counted as a flavor. Too occupied by that, Biscotti didn't notice as Jangle's tail shrunk from him.

After getting trounced by a pint-sized Pokemon earlier, the Incineroar is glad to see the attack hit. Her whiskers raise in smug satisfaction as Tofu flips through the air. Jangle claps her paws to her ears as the high-pitched squeal intensifies. “Shake it off!” Biscotti is more confident than earlier. His shy cheerleading is now audible. “Get in range!”

No shit, Sherlock. The cat thinks as smoke pours from her nostrils. Her belt explodes with light as she rushes toward Tofu with a powerful Flare Blitz.

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ollie morales

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[attr="class","bisc"]Even in the alternate universe, this was one question he could answer pretty confidently. “No way It’s just a—uh—phrase.” Which the guy knew since he asked about it. “I’d be fired in a week.” And, even though he’d thought it’d be cool, he didn’t want to pass his crappy genes down. It’d been hard enough for him to survive it. He doubted he’d be able to watch someone else do the same.

The young man lifted scarred hands. First, he held his hands up about a hot dog’s length apart. “They’re like this ling.” Then, he twirled his hands in his best attempt at a braid. “And they’re swirled into like a DNA strand. Sometimes one’s cinnamon. Usually, they’re glazed.” It was like having three doughnuts in one. The different flavors made it way more fun. As to the other question?

“Kingsley's Confections is past the contestant’s tent!” He grinned. “Cannolli’s a whiz.” She was like magic with dough. It felt like she just stared at it and it did whatever she wanted. Kind of irritated by the shouting confectionary conversation, Jangle threw her trainer a glare. Biscotti stiffened like a scolded kid. He murmured something under his breath.

The fire flares high as the two crash into one another. Uh, isn’t that what I wanted? The Incineroar snarls as the Pikachu’s tail slams into her crossed arms. “Hsss!” But instead of breaking the attack, the cat just turns up the heat. As the heat eats at her fur, the recoil begins to spread. Metals melted, right?

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ollie morales

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[attr="class","bisc"]The brunette smiled in response. If he did have a kid, he probably wouldn't be here, huh? Probably working two jobs trying to feed a screaming, pooping potato. “Yeah. Super, mega awkward.” Pretty much every conversation with him ended up sandwiched between cringe and offputting. It was a talent, just not a useful one. “Heh.” And, unlike his lack of pain, he couldn’t blame it on CIP.

A grin spread across his face. Food was something he could talk about especially when he made so much of it. “Hopefully, you don’t change your mind!” With all the sweets on display—even at the tournament cart—it was hard to choose just one. His lower-than-average sense of smell was a real lifesaver. It kept him from being as round as a G-Max Pikachu. Though, even as he patted his belly, Scotti was pondering his next doughnut.

“!?” Though he’d noticed the band, Biscotti hadn’t paid it much thought. Which now, well, seemed like a really bad idea.”Whoooa! That’s cool!” Biscotti tried to whistle his admiration, the sound coming out more like a spittoon shot. “JJ! Let him go!” Stunned by the sudden role reversal, the cat hesitated a second. The tail burst free of her hands, only its tip now resting in her palm.

This was enough to send the Discharge rebounding through her body with the force of a lightning bolt. Even as her limbs stiffened, the very ground beneath her feet lit up with sparks. “Uh use—try a—” She fell to her knees. What could he do in a situation like this? “Blast Burn?” The student finished lamely.

Smoke poured from the cat’s nostrils as she tried to coax out her inner inferno.

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ollie morales

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[attr="class","bisc"]The brunette watches in shock as the kaiju-chu hits the ground. The smell of burnt air whiffs through the air around them. Biscotti doesn’t smell it, but the Incineroar does. This is one of the few times CPI proves useful. There’s a hint of confusion as his cat’s nose wrinkles. One of her paws batted idly at the air in an attempt to dissipate the smell.

Scotti, meanwhile, was too stunned to notice any of this. Had they just beat a ranger? By themselves? Big labrador eyes blinked a few times. For a moment, his mind was consumed by images of victory—laurels, medals, and applause. Then, the older guy was in his face with his fist frozen. It took the baker a second to realize time hadn’t stopped and Ollie wasn’t trying to punch him.

“Thanks!” He butted scarred knuckles against the man’s larger ones. “You too!” The teenager winced. “Except for the, you know, losing part.” These words spilled out in an avalanche. One that buried his cheeks in a sea of red. Now, it sounds like you’re rubbing his nose in it. Geeze. Luckily, the doughnut talk gave him a life raft.

Digging in his jacket pocket, he first pulls up a crumpled receipt. “Sure, man! Of course!” Just as he goes to pass it to Ollie, the brunette freezes. In a flurry of movements, he swaps that paper for a glossy little coupon. “This thing is good for one baked good.” And, even if his sister hadn’t given them to him, Biscotti didn’t think she’d mind a visit from the Head Ranger.

Besides, it made him feel way less guilty when he won.

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