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He spotted Ghost. [break][break]

His face split wide in a trademark Adebayo grin. Just like that, he forgot about his car. This guy seemed cool. And, the CEO never missed a chance to meet awesome people. Hobo? Vagrant? Ambassador? Sign him up! “Dude!” He jogged toward the ranger. One hand—smelling strongly of cherry blossom hand sanitizer—waved excitedly. “I love that hat.” For emphasis, he pointed at it. “Makes you look like a tequila farmer.”[break][break]

Ozni didn’t think he could pull off a hat like that. But this guy would make that straw mess look rugged. “You pick that up around here?” Not super huge on running, the CEO’s breath escaped in excited puffs. He’d jaywalked on his way over, leaving Chippendale bouncing impatiently from foot to foot at the corner. Only after the light turned did the ghost-type approach, each step sounding like the jangling of a coin purse.[break][break]

An elbow from his B.F.F. drew blue eyes toward a nearby gutter. “Huh.” He murmured to himself. A pianist’s finger unfurled to point at the green-eyed nearby Durant nearby. “I’ve never seen one that color.” It looked kind of rusty. Too long out in the rain or something? “It looks dope though.”[break][break]

Above them, seemingly debating dive-bombing the insect, a Rufflett circled. Its shadow occasionally drew lines up Chippendale’s steely frame.

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His grin froze for a moment, then, faltered. “Zoolander!?” His hands darted self-consciously to his too-clean neon vest. “No. I’m obviously a miner back from a long day of, uhhh…” What exactly did they do all day? Digging and stuff, right? “Mining.” The Pokemon behind him couldn’t stop itself from chuckling. “Can't you tell?” He’d put a lot of work into making himself feel more relatable—acknowledging Gramp’s blood, sweat, and steel-toed boots.[break][break]


Only when his Pokemon prodded him, did he notice the cane in Cygne’s hands. Big blues widen, that juvenile mirth replaced with concern. Normally above profanity, he couldn’t help shouting, “Shit!” The jesting tone evaporated, the pick axe dropping into the soil. “Are you all right?” He gestured to a nearby rock, tossing his vest over it. “Take a seat!” As he pulled back, his eyes caught on two sets of eyes. Or, well, eight pairs of eyes. “We can grab a taxi down.”[break][break]


The Slowpoke earned a grin. His homeland had its fair share of these guys. Cute as the dickens, their vacant expression earned a place in his heart. But it was the weird, owl thing behind him that caught his attention. “Whoa, this thing is—” That smile shriveled as the Claydol began to glow. Its mouth made a strange garbled chirp. Then, it began ticking. “Huh.”[break][break]


Chippendale’s golden eyes widened. He shook his head, the coin hair tinkling. As his trailer turned to face him, he made an expansive gesture and mouthed the word BOOM. “Seriously!?” With a noise of alarm, Oz fumbled at his belt. Catching the ball as he dropped it, he chucked it half-heartedly at the Claydol's head.

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It was time for the Adebayo family reunion. Not that there was much of a family left. Mom pretended dad didn’t exist. His sister sat in a corner shaking her leg until all the people left. Dad tried to pick up every hot teenager in sight. It’d be like watching trash TV if it wasn’t his family. Still, he needed to go, so he summoned his typical limo driver. [break][break]

Which, of course, he didn’’t do in a standard way. Today’s summons arrived in the form of a manila envelope and a cassette tape. On it, Oz did his best impression of an old spy master. “Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to get me to the airport by 4:57 PM.” You could hear the grin in his voice. “Can’t wait to squish your bulldog cheeks!!” With that, he signed off.[break][break]


As Oz stood waiting at the curb outside his home, his phone seemed to be glued to his hand. A Comfey lay dozing around his neck, tired from an all-night crappy movie marathon. An Eelektross hovered to his right, fighting back a yawn. To his right, Chip attempted to teach little ICEE a super-secret handshake. The Porygon, meanwhile, were just circling their trainer’s heads like cartoon birds.[break][break]


You wouldn’t be remiss to think he was doing important business stuff. The holly-jolly CEO tended to be a workaholic. But, today, he tried his best to actually be on vacation. “SWEET!” His phone shouted back at him as he hit a new streak. Watching the candy chaos that followed brought a smile to his face. As he moved to start the next round, Stasia nudged him with a flipper.[break][break]


“Yeah, yeah. I see him, and he's tardy to the party.” He didn’t even look up as he stepped onto the street, tossing his bag in the limo’s backseat. “Alola, Bern!” He called out with a distracted grin. “How’s the hubs?” Without waiting for an answer, he and the Pokemon piled in. “You like the tape? I thought you’d get a kick out of it.”[break][break]


Once the Gholdengo slid in, the door was shut. Another swipe and another SWEET.

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The whole mining experience thing had been cool. It’d been a great way to take him back to his grandpa’s roots. [break][break]The way the miner’s hands felt around his—calloused and packed with muscles—reminded him of the day his grandfather had tried to show him a proper handshake. He’d been eight at the time and pretty sure the geriatric wonder had broken his hand.[break][break]

Better yet, it made for some killer photoshoots. Even if the coal smudges were fake and the pickaxe he held brand-spanking new. After a few mock swings, he’d even broken through a few rocks. Those action shots were a perfect way to try and connect Adebayo Holdings to the common man it once represented. Before pops had gone and poisoned a bunch of people, anyway.[break][break]


He winked at the guide as he turned to leave. “Nah! I’ll get myself back boys. I’ve got some ‘treasure’ to hunt.” After that, the CEO and his Pokemon entourage departed the tunnels. The walk to his car wasn’t too far. Definitely not something a fit young buck like him couldn’t handle. The same thing went for the sunny-side-up Gholdengo walking at his side.[break][break]



With the vest and pickaxe still in place, Oz thought he pulled off the guise pretty well. He didn’t. His boots were brand new and his designer jeans were completely free of dust. His hands, meanwhile, looked like they’d been freshly loaded. The safety helmet was also cocked to one side, not exactly regulation. The fact that he somehow had found a matching outfit for his specter pal was probably even more out of place. Especially with how the highlighter yellow bounced off gold.[break][break]



As he rounded a corner, he came face to face with another trainer. “Well, well.” He winked at Chip. His tone, as usual, was playful. “Looks like we’ve hit the motherlode.”




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To keep his steps up, Oz sometimes skipped his private parking spot. Instead, he parked half a mile away in a more mundane lot. The fresh air did him good. It also helped him clear out the cobwebs from whatever last meeting he’d been involved with. Not that he ever really stopped working. Guy made business plans in his sleep.[break][break]





A pen was almost always tucked behind his ear—usually a stylus. A high-end stylus was his diversion during the excruciating walk from the high-rise to the designer strip mall he’d left his car in. Honestly, it seemed a miracle he made it that far. Baby blues rarely looked up from his tablet as he made the trek. Ozni’s focus was so intense, onlookers might think he was looking at launch codes. “Huh.” He turned briefly to the Gholdengo at his side. “You didn’t tell me it was Maxxie’s birthday.” He tapped his screen before swiping the email aside. “We need to get cupcakes.” A pause followed as he rolled through a list of allergens. “Vegan, gluten-free ones.” [break][break][break][break]




Chip’s metal face was flexible enough to show disgust. Something Oz sensed—even if he’d turned his attention back to his endless email parade. “They’re not that bad, Dale. Don’t be so melodramatic.” It wasn’t like he bought cheap stuff. Heck, he had a hard time shopping anywhere that couldn’t break a hundred. The ghost-type huffed, waving a sausage arm as if wasting away a gnarly scent.[break][break]





“Ugh. Another CFO meeting? Guy might as well move into my office.” As they neared a crosswalk, the ghost-type reached out to steady his elbow, stopping his trainer from walking in front of a delivery type. Only after the way cleared did Chippendale release the guy. Seemingly nonplussed by a brush with death, the technology junkie continued as the busy walkway gave way to a park.[break][break]





Again, the duo stopped. Chippendale's arm wrapped around Oz's elbow. “DENGO!” He called, moving to grab Oz’s head and turn it toward whatever caught his eye.

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Most of his Pokemon had come to him peaceably. That, or, in the case of Chip and ICEE, they’d been bought directly from the original owner—someone with plenty of documentation and ethical guidelines. But the Dodrio he now stared at had been different.[break][break]




It’d run beak first into him as it ran up an old stairwell. They went down in a tangle of head and limbs. It kicked the snot out of him—trying to rip out his eyes and manly bits. The Pokeball had been an act of desperation. And, he didn’t exactly feel safe immediately letting it loose. Only after getting his garden wall between them, did he release the murder bird. It really wasn’t happy about it. Its claws left gouges in his walls.


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But letting it go didn’t work either. The thing(s) just followed him, stalking him like some giant predator through the grass. It wouldn’t let him get back into the car until he’d returned it to a ball. So, at wit’s end, he’d called in a celebrity behaviorist. They had talking circles and did a bunch of bonding exercises. He gave it food. It ripped hair from his head. But he thought they ended on a good note.[break][break]





So, he bought the nicest saddle money could buy and took the old bird out for a run. He figured it could help him in his quest for the company mascot’s great, great, great grandson (or granddaughter). Its now three heads blinked at him, seemingly chill. “Ready, Freddy?” The outer heads nodded as the Dodrio bent its stick legs backward. Oz turned to grin at the Porygon-Z over his shoulders—the only thing that could keep up.


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“All right. Let’s—” A scream tore out of his throat as the Dodrio took off like a bullet from a gun. Its feet ate up the forest floor. Oz wrapped his arms around its neck as he bounced along Route 101. “Somebody get me off this thing!” The flying-type cackled, lowering its head as it sped by another trainer.[break][break]

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ICEE grinned toothily at Sylvia’s acknowledgment. The sound landed somewhere between a baby gator’s chirps and the clicks of a dolphin. As it leaped for that hairpin—claws threatening to get tangled in red locks—it did so clumsily. Each landing was punctuated by a thud as its icy body collided with the sidewalk. “ZOLT!” The Pokemon called out, its face falling as Sylvia hopped away.
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Tears threatened as the Arctozolt took two hesitant steps forward. “Arc?” Its head tilted, allowing a bit of pollen a hassle-free pass into its nose. As a mixture of ice and snot covered Sylvia, the ice type hopped back. Its head lowered guiltily, one claw moving to wipe the arctic snot off its snout. At that moment, the reason for its name became apparent. The stuff dripping out—tinted blue—really did look like a slushie.
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Ozni wanted to offer Sylvia a handkerchief, but he thought better of it. The monogramming was hella expensive, and it wouldn’t be enough to make a dent in the mess. For that, she’d need a towel or something. Maybe a shower. “She's fresh off the boat from Galar.” He gently stroked the dinosaur’s feathery head as she nuzzled under his arm. “Kind of a mess though. Those scientists really like their English scrambles.” Still, between the waddle and cheeks, it was hard to deny his gal was the cutest.
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When she shoved his wallet aside, Oz forced himself to smile—though the expression was obviously confused. What was with all these Hoennians refusing cash? It wasn’t like this place was some cash-free mecca. The request, however, made him grin. Look at that Adebayo charm. Talk about a babe! Maybe Chip’s day as wingman was over.
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“Sounds like a date.” He curtsied in jest. “Have somewhere special in mind?” He swung his arm in an arc above his head. It landed gently around Sylvia's shoulders. “Sky’s the limit.” As long as she didn’t pick somewhere bad Ugh. Peasant food.

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Oz had been attending shindigs like this his whole life. The maternal uniteven had pictures of him at a president’s house a week after he’d been pushed down the slip-and-slid of life. But he’d never been quite as good at it as his folks—the schmoozing and subtle venom. While he thought he was charming, his tendency to devolve into nerdville turned a lot of people off. Luckily, he had inherited one thing from Gramps: complete lack of care about what people thought of him.[break][break]

That was usually why he ended up playing with his Rubik’s cube in the corner at the end of the night. That or drawing things on annoying people’s faces in SnapChat.[break][break]

His suit was the latest in fashion. Perfectly cut and black with a crystal studied kerchief. The lapels, though, oozed Oz eccentricism. They were custom souled silk and stuffed with the different hats common to the terrastalization phenomenon. The Eelektross floating beside him, clad in a black vest, wore little cuffs with an identical pattern. Small ‘ear’rings ran the length of its head fin. As their young hostess took the stage, Oz turned away from the steel magnate he’d been stuck in a conversation with.[break][break]

When she finished her introduction, he lifted his glass of champagne high, offering a whistle for the trouble.

Sure, that little speech meant nothing, but managing to say so little in so many words was a true gift. He offered a blinding smile to the person he’d be conversing with. “It’s been fun, but our host calls. Keep up the girder work.”[break][break]

Turning away from his Eelektross—not wanting to interrupt her ‘conversation’ with a bejeweled Arcanne—Oz pushed his way into the crowd.[break][break]

A few finger guns were pointed at familiar faces as he made his way to Evette. On the way, he grabbed a few chocolate-covered strawberries from the hors-d’oeuvre platter. Even though they broke him out, he was a sucker for them. Finally, he reached his destination. [break][break]

“Yo, Cruella.” Somehow the way he said that word wasn’t off. He treated it like most kids used dude or bro. After swallowing, he stepped squarely into Evette’s path. “The fur’s an interesting touch.” He remembered loving his mom’s fur coat until he realized where they came from. [break][break]

His grin is friendly. Whether or not he’s being judgmental is hard to tell. “Just stopping by to compliment the chef, so to speak.” He gestured to the room. “You’ve definitely got this design thing down pat.” Usually, he just made the rich fucks go to Chuck'E Cheese's. It was hilarious.[break][break]

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