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[break]

Another day.[break][break]

Bailey Cooper wondered what forced her to follow these motions. She still burned—vestiges of Mossdeep that she continued to chase, wanting to feel the fire of the victory star that she had become. It had been a heat so hot, so all-consuming, that it had felt like the only path for the wayward Sergeant to follow.[break][break]

It had felt good. It had felt right.[break][break]

The cast from her broken arm was gone—heal pulse had made short work of that traumatic injury, even if it still flared. Her travel to this gym had been done to scratch at her itch, an itch that continued to push her to seek challenges. It had existed before Mossdeep... and now, she felt it start to take shape in her mind, redefining an urge that she could never explain.[break][break]

Battling could be an outlet—good or bad. What had once been an outlet for mourning had shifted, turning from smoldering ash into something that rumbled beneath her skin. Get stronger, she thought, so that you could never experience these pains ever again.[break][break]

She had been told that this gym was different, and that made itself abundantly clear after taking a moment to read the rules... and a moment of wonder, where Bailey Cooper pondered the dissonance of this gym from the outside world.[break][break]

The woman would enter, one pokeball on her waist, as she awaited the appearance of the gym leader... and when the girl's presence filled the room, the Sergeant would issue her challenge. “One on one. We can play by your rules,” as strange as they were.

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For three days after Mossdeep, she had fazed in and out of consciousness.[break][break]

Bailey Cooper struggled to fit her cast through her bomber jacket, trying to shake off the post-surgery fatigue that continued to weigh her down. Three consecutive surgeries had been performed to help reassemble her broken elbow—screws, plates, and other hardware had been fused to her arm to reconstruct what had been, in the words of her surgeon, “a complete and utter disaster.”[break][break]

The cast had already been scribbled on—crude shapes and phrases that she had no shame in displaying.[break][break]

The cast would remain for the next few weeks, just to hold the bones in place. The use of heal pulse would expedite the healing process, sparing her from a longer recovery period; but, she can still feel her mood sour, tempted to claw the plaster from her arm as it restricted her movement and made everything feel cumbersome.[break][break]

“Thanks for getting me out for the day. I was starting to claw at the walls,” and after a moment of struggle, she would finally force her curved cast through the arm slot to her jacket... and managed to not make a complete fool of herself while doing so.[break][break]

Her eyes would turn to focus on the Commissioner.[break][break]

“We'll save the talkin' for when we're outside. This place makes it hard to focus....and, uh, I can call you just Dahlia, right?” There was a loud zip as she closed off her jacket, hiding the worn and stretched-out t-shirt she had been wearing for her own comfort.

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[break]

The punch was quickly detracted—the nature of a jab was never to optimize damage; it was a technique used to feel an opponent's defenses. Would a pokemon tank through it? Would a pokemon avoid it? Depending on the response, Bumbo could decide how to retaliate.[break][break]

These are the nuances that Bailey Cooper tried to impart upon her pokemon through their training. It was the subtleties that defined a pokemon battle. Moves were important, but it was also important how they were used.[break][break]

An amateur trainer would always shout for their pokemon to use tackle, never pondering the other possibilities that move could posses.[break][break]

When the Granbull went straight for the Crunch, Bumbo had already altered his stance as the fairy-type made its lunge. While he was not a fighting-type, there was an influence of pugilism that was almost undeniable. He was a big pokemon. He had to learn how to utilize his size in a manner that best benefited him—a boxer's stance would do just that, even if his feet lacked the proper reach. He had to jump to engage or jump to stay back—the shuffle that was classic to this style of fighting was not viable with his proportions.[break][break]

But, his arms would offer him the reach he needed—the bait that he could utilize.[break][break]

The long limb retracted from the punch, forcing the Granbull to move to try and be within biting distance—that was when Bumbo's true intentions became clear as his other fist, still aflame, would curve into a hook and aim to strike into the side of the fairy's head—an attack intended to knock the pokemon off course, saving him from dodging.[break][break]

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[break]

A baptism by blood. A baptism by flame. In this fury, in this pain, the blood-soaked Sergeant can only hear a question as a blinding light engulfed her.[break][break]

What do you want, Bailey Cooper?[break][break]

---

[break]

A girl was seated in a small, low-lit room. Her feet knock together, unable to reach the ground from the chair that she was seated; knuckles white as if she were ready to burst.[break][break]

“You graduated by the skin of your teeth.”[break][break]

The brown of her hair is shortly cropped, buzzed at its sides, and intended to intimidate. A high-school uniform was crinkled on her frame, begging to be ironed, with a leather jacket thrown over—her statement. Its yellow fuzz contrasted the dark smudges of make-up that had been so lazily traced beneath her purple gaze.[break][break]

A pamphlet. A man seated at the desk across from her, with the words “guidance councilor” labeled to the glass door. He was leaned back in his chair, as far as it could go, as if the sight of the disgruntled teenager frightened him.[break][break]

He chewed on the eraser to his pencil. He had a pocket protector. She could still smell the fresh ink from the printer.[break][break]

“Community college will be your best bet, if you can apply yourself. It'll give you the time to think about what you'll want to be.”[break][break]

“Fuck off with that,” and she threw it in the trash.[break][break]

---

[break]

What do you want, Bailey Cooper?[break][break]

---

[break]

“Shit, I really managed to do it,” and a young woman rubbed the dirt from her face as she grinned at a distant foe—her pokemon standing victorious. Kapow and his brass scales were held to the sky, letting out a roar that rumbled down to her very core. Blues contrasting the disaster of the battlegrounds that they had left scorched.[break][break]

Triumph. The malpais of Lavaridge, from beyond its borders, kissed her face with the chalky, reds of the Earth. It even smudged the ridge of her shoulders, where leather toasted beneath a warm sun.[break][break]

A distant trainer groaned, fishing for his wallet as stacks of bills were fitted snugly into the palm of her hand. She liked the slap, liked the pleasure of looking at money that had been rightfully earned. “You won by the skin of your teeth.”[break][break]

A victory filled the hole in her chest.[break][break]

Despite its presence, her face would become crestfallen, a frustration lingering in her eyes as she walked back to her motorcycle—alone, aimless, even if all of Hoenn stretched out before her. A gap year that had stretched into three—the life of a wandering trainer had started to lose its appeal.[break][break]

---

[break]

What do you want, Bailey Cooper?[break][break]

---

[break]

“You passed—your battle assessment was outstanding, but we're still concerned with your other scores,” and Bailey Cooper was still at the edge of her seat, dressed in the fatigues that the League had provided her. Now, her hair was longer. Now, it lightly brushed against her shoulders, where the yellow fuzz of her jacket existed to coddle it.[break][break]

Her gaze was focused. “But... I passed?”[break][break]

“By the skin of your teeth,” and she wondered if this would be what she needed—a purpose.[break][break]

---

[break]

What do you want, Bailey Cooper?[break][break]

---

[break]

She held his hand, feeling the contrast of metal to skin. Warm and then cold.[break][break]

It felt secure. It felt like structure—like what had driven her to the League.[break][break]

Her toes sink into the sand, staring out at an endless blue ocean with a police badge resting beneath her jacket—now, the day has expired, and she stared at a Hoenn with new eyes that had been blessed by the sight of a Legendary's fury—a hyper beam that had never touched her, despite the confines of the tomb where they had battled.[break][break]

Regirock had perspired, but she continued to exist—by the skin of her teeth, she thought, as she bit into a warm cheeseburger.[break][break]

---

[break]

What do you want, Bailey Cooper?[break][break]

---

[break]

A funeral. A door was closed, leaving her to wonder where it could have lead.[break][break]

She survived, but only by the skin of her teeth, as Hoenn felt ready to crumble—as she felt ready to crumble, wondering how long she would be the one to survive while others fall. By the skin of her teeth, she thought, as she sat in a bar next to FERNANDO SILPH and downed another drink.[break][break]

Her new medals felt heavy. Her new title felt worthless.[break][break]

Why did others die while she continued to survive? Why was she the one to always scrape by?[break][break]

---

[break]

What do you want, Bailey Cooper?[break][break]

---

[break]

“What do I want?” And the fire that surrounded her did not burn, because it could not come close to the fire that burned inside, where it stripped her raw and let her emotions overflow like churning magma. “I'll tell you what I fucking want.”[break][break]

Burn. Burn. Burn—Burning anew as Bailey Cooper was made into a Victory Star.[break][break]

“I'm done living by the skin of my teeth, I'm done living because I'm too fucking lucky to die,” and the Spitefire spat her words as the memory of those she lost filtered into her mind; today, two had fallen and taken her place. “I'm not gonna lose. Not anymore.”[break][break]

Rumble's capsule was raised—she can feel something inside her chest that sang to the pokemon she carried. “Today, I'm gonna live. Today, I'm gonna win.”[break][break]

"Give me fire." She would take this strength. She would let it overflow; her own eruption as years of seismic activity reached its boiling point.

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[break]

Bailey knew how to keep her weekends interesting.[break][break]

The Sergeant rubbed at her sore elbow, trying to ignore the throb that came from the late night chill. On nights like this, she was reminded of the injury she suffered in Mossdeep, and how it continued to linger. The sea-breeze only enhanced the pain, even if she enjoyed the bite of salt in the air.[break][break]

Sootopolis had been going through some really stupid shit, but the Sergeant admired its late-night glow as she waited for this event to begin. From down at the shoreline, she could look up at the slope of white buildings that followed the inclines of this oceanic perch—it had always been too ritzy for her, like the feeling she felt when walking through the upper-distract of Slateport or the Mauville Hills.[break][break]

Nice from a distance, but nauseating up close. An unfortunate byproduct of the people that usually occupied these places. persephone amavi existed in her mind as an exception.[break][break]

“A'ight, this is probably gonna break every sound ordinance that this fucking place has, so we're gonna have to scram in an hour. I got my radio on me, so if I get a call in, I can give everyone the notice to scram!” She would shout to the crowd, who would cheer and raise their glasses. Sometimes, it could be cool to be a cop. Sometimes, it was cool to let people break the rules... just a little bit.[break][break]

Bailey would smile as she stared at the hastily assembled arena, where the only lights existed from the ring of hastily gathered floodlights. Music was blaring. Trouble loomed on the horizon. Coolers were split open, and pokemon were dressed in skin-tight attire that would accentuate their features.[break][break]

She wasn't going to pass up on an amateur pokemon wrestling competition—not when one of her pokemon was an active enthusiast. It was the latest trend that swept in from Alola, and it had immediately captured the hearts of every battle enthusiast.[break][break]

Tooty the Tsreena donned her black eye mask, evolving from her prissy, reserved self into her beloved alias: Clobberella, the menace of the ring, that would mercilessly beat her opponents into submission with her kicking furry.[break][break]

It was going to be a two-v-two matchup, and Bailey Cooper looked over to the ally that they had been assigned for this “short” Tournament—a Tournament that would most likely be interrupted, if people started to file noise complaints. “Guess we'll be getting to know one another,” and she cracked her beer as her Grass Pokemon stretched for the upcoming fight.[break][break]

Adam Shepard seemed alright, though she barely knew him. He had to be cool if he was wrapped up in something like this, right?

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[break]

She stared at the disaster she had made.[break][break]

“Uh. Fuck,” and Bailey Cooper had been soaked to the bone after the erupting burst of water—thankfully, it had lost its electric charge, or else she would have been toasted just like the Empoleon. “My bad?”[break][break]

Why did she inevitably destroy every gym she walked into?[break][break]

Vicky buzzed her wings, chirping down to her trainer with satisfaction after realizing her attack had demolished her foe. In that moment of celebration, she had failed to notice the swap. It was only when the sound of hydro pump registered that the Vikavolt dropped from her perch atop the ceiling.[break][break]

But not fast enough.[break][break]

The attack clipped the Vikavolt's hard, chitin covered body. It made her spiral off her intended flight path, sending her to the ground where she would catch herself by her tiny, spindled legs. “Shake it off, Vicky,” and the bug would obey her trainer's command, fraying out her wings.[break][break]

[break]

And the fast bug would tear off from the ground, circling her foe with her fast, erratic wing beat.

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[break]

Intimidate was not a surprise. Bailey Cooper had almost been a trainer for twenty years. It would take more than that to make her sweat.[break][break]

Bailey let her hands fish their way into her pockets, looking bored as her fire-pokemon debated his options—she liked to strike a balance with her pokemon. They were encouraged to act on their own whims, as long as they were able to adapt any commands that she had to issue. They were trained to be flexible. They were trained to let the battle flow without clunky, unnecessary transitions.[break][break]

A pokemon that could not adapt was a pokemon that weakened its own defenses. Bumbo was still struggling to learn this art, and the Sergeant was patient with his training. It was why he hesitated, waiting on his opponent to strike first.[break][break]



“Don't let it get under your skin,” was what she'd state when her pokemon seemed to flinch from the intense aura the Granbull emitted—they had a plan. Bumbo acknowledged that when he glanced over his shoulder to her steady gaze. This wasn't the time to play defensively.[break][break]

Sometimes, it was like the Darmanitan did not know his own strength.[break][break]

He would let his stance do the talking—a fleet-footed hop as the Darmanitan would close the distance between himself and his opponent, followed by a fast, right jab aimed for the dog's upper chest. His fists were still engulfed in the flames, and there was a smoke trail that seemed to follow this quick strike. Not once did this boxer's stance break, and Bailey would watch it approvingly without issuing another command.[break][break]



She would let him handle this for as long as he could.

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She does not buy it.[break][break]

“Pfft—sure,” and Bailey Cooper could see the way his eyes focused on his drink, as if his thoughts were a spout that was dripping into his glass; it was a look he had worn when they first met, in a bar that had been left to waste. “If you think that'll keep you satisfied.”[break][break]

Whiskey and Coke sweetened her palate. It cut the heat on her tongue, but not what churned in her gut.[break][break]

Berry gardens? “Oh yeah, I heard about that... I was, uh... lookin' at property the other day.” Her parents had left her their estate after they retired to Sinnoh. As much as Bailey would have liked to stay in her childhood home, there was something about the lack of family that made her itch to sell it.[break][break]

Shame the housing market was shit—another problem caused by Rocket.[break][break]

She fetched her phone, swiping to the image of the beachfront property. “Been lookin' into this one. It's cheap.”

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