CJ swallows the nerves threatening to bubble up through their throat like a bad case of acid reflux. Actually, this whole thing has given them heartburn.
Last words. It’s a painful reminder of everything they’ve sought to avoid thinking about since coming to Hoenn. The death of their best friend-- the death of their old life-- and all the dark roads they’d traveled to get where they were-- standing on that stage next to Fen. The crowd is huge and Temp seems a natural in their presence, a veritable charisma magnet.
Then there’s CJ.
Fen is excited to beat the band, her eyes all a-glimmer. Their Excadrill has a streak of passion in her that CJ can’t exactly put words to, which is why they’ve chosen her as their partner for this endeavor. That, and it seemed like the Ground-type crew was sorely under-represented amongst the cast of characters for this contest. But the earth was the home on which they walked and the land nourished them, gave them a home. There would be no sea or sky without earth.
That was the main theme of their performance-- a reminder that all who resided on this planet that they should be thankful, eternally.
CJ’s hair was washed and brushed to a golden shine, threaded through with green ribbon, stretched long down their back, and adorned with clasps of gems and polished rock. A flower crown of golden daffodils, purple violets, and a woven string of fairy lights sat atop their head, with sprigs of lavender unevenly framing their fine face. Their bare feet had been stained mossy green and brown, as though they’d just been running through the forest; they wore a simple, brown tunic, loose about their shoulders, with flowing bell sleeves, and a deeply laced v opening across the front of their chest; slashes of red-orange paint mimicked the pattern over Fen’s stomach and under her arms. Silver paint and glimmer covered their hands, an ode to their Excadrill’s blades.
They had fixed the
GEMSTONE BANGLE around Fen’s head blade, so that the light reflecting off the steel there caught the gems and sparkled. CJ’s ensemble was purposefully drab, so that the metallic parts of Fen could shimmer and attract the most attention.
Last words. The voice in CJ’s head sounded like a villain saying that phrase.
They refused to be made a victim of their own suffering. Not again.
The curtain spread, and CJ walked confidently onto the stage, Fen at their side. Together they took their position at the center of the stage. The spotlight dimmed onto the two of them, each with their eyes closed, shoulders back, arms by their sides, palms facing outwards, in a traditional tadasana, or mountain, pose.
CJ’s eyes peel open.
“People of Hoenn,” they begin, voice melodious, carrying around the stadium.
“My name is CJ, and this is my partner, Fen, and together, we have conspired to move heaven and earth.” CJ’s head fell back, their arms reached up, and Fen mirrored the motion, in synch.
“For what is heaven, without earth?” CJ’s voice was somber and deep.
“What are sea and sky, with nothing to transpose them? Eternal as the sand and stone, unyielding as the rock. Love as strong, not as the mountain, but as that which carries it. This is what it means to be a partner! To be the ground upon which the other walks!” Then, when CJ’s hands clasped together above their head and they pulled their palms down to heart center, Fen
honed her claws against each other, sending a cascade of sparks to the stage floor. As CJ lifted one foot and pressed it into their opposite thigh- vrikshaana, tree pose-- Fen jumped directly in front of them, the
GEMSTONE BANGLE glittering and clattering around her head blade.
Again, Pokemon and human moved in sync. CJ wavered one way, then the other, Fen shifting the opposite direction-- then, CJ struck foot and arm out to the left. Whirling like a machine, Fen pitched her body up and out, spinning into a
drill run; pirouetting faster than the eye could see, she spun a half moon around CJ, the light flashing against the steel points of her like a beacon; eventually, she spins to a stop exactly opposite her trainer, mirroring their form: legs in a triangle, left knee bent, arms in a straight line across their shoulders, coming together as both halves of a mountain peak.
Like figures in a music box, fixed to the earth by a single point, both CJ and Fen pulled back to their standing leg, and bowed to each other.
CJ peeks up at Fen and cracks a smile. Then, the two of them come together for a hug, and the crowd, drawn in by the somber and precise performance, erupts in a chorus of ‘awwwws’ as they skip off the stage.
CJ’s normal patrol shifts with the tides, depending on the mercurial nature of their higher-ups. At first, they’d been assigned the boring as bunk Littleroot-Oldale route, a sign of a lack of confidence. Then they’d been drafted to help at Mt. Pyre and for a moment they’d gotten the exciting jobs, before subsequently destroying half of Mt. Pyre (not singlehandedly, they’d like to point out) and getting themselves re-routed to proverbial Shit Duty. 
