Richard Foile
Chapter 1: Trials
Richard's day had taken a distinctly bad turn.
He didn't often get to ride in a helicopter, but he always found it immensely enjoyable. Being shot down over an unfamiliar city, however, tended to make the situation ever so slightly horrific. To make matters worse ,his left arm had a delightful shocking pain running through it every couple of seconds. Having surveyed the situation, and deciding that being captured and tortured by Team Amethyst wasn't his idea of a fun post-helicopter ride activity, he abandoned his supplies beyond his Pokemon and, keeping low and out of sight, began to head in the general direction of Olivine.
The first sight he was met with was a bar, "The Rusty Steelix". Slightly perturbed by the name and somewhat rundown nature of the establishment, he briefly considered searching the city for a better place to make his plan of attack, but he recognised that time was of the essence. He didn't know if he had been detected by Team Amethyst during his escape from the crash, and a slightly seedy place was probably the best way for a refugee to lie low. He quickly elected to muddy his face with some dirt from the ground, and to mess up his hair slightly - he was going to stick out no matter what he did right now; he might as well try to hide in plain sight by acting like a beggar.
Deliberately putting on a drunken, rolling gait as he stumbled into the bar, Richard was met with stares from a few vaguely bemused patrons. It wasn't actually as rundown as he thought it would be, although it certainly wasn't a place anyone with a sense of smell would enjoy eating. Fortunately, that meant he almost - almost - fit in. He walked over to the bar, maintaining his homeless persona, and sat down heavily on a stool. Before the barman served him, he decided on his main priorities. He didn't know whether or not the resistance was aware of his predicament, so he couldn't count on assistance from the A.A.V. - at least, not until he could let them know he was alive. He had to find a way to communicate with them. In order to do that, he'd have to find a way too get out of his military gear and into something that let him blend in to vaguely respectable society. The bartender was walking over, and looked at his new patron with a mixture of suspicion and distaste. He was a stout man, with balding brown hair, drooping jowls, and pig-like eyes. 'You want to tell me why you're wearing that rebel trash?' He spat.
'Needed new clothes,' Richard shrugged nonchalantly. 'Found these on some poor sod in the forest who ain't gonna need 'em anymore, looked like he'd been got by som'un fierce.' If the crash was common knowledge, he'd need a plausible reason to be wearing the tattered resistance gear. The bartender seemed to buy his story, his expression relaxing slightly. 'Dangerous idea, letting yourself getting mixed up with that lot. Not well-liked around here, you see. What on earth made you want to scavenge that?'
'E'r since that thing that happened to Lumiose, the freighting business I worked for went bust and I been out of a job. Managed to scrounge enough money to stick around in . Need a job, need money.'
The bartender looked genuinely sympathetic, but not surprised. Richard clearly wasn't the first person to come down on hard times since Team Amethyst took over, which would easily work in his favour. 'Yeah, not the only one suffering from that, er, accident.' The bartender looked around furtively. 'Tell you what, I've got some jobs that need doing, and you look like the type who could do them. Nothing pleasant, I'll tell you now, but if you do them you can spend the night in the cellar and I'll get you some of my old clothes. You'll just get in trouble wearing that, whatever your reasons, especially with the border controls around the town.'
Richard knew an opportunity when he saw one. A degrading and probably hideously exploitative opportunity, but one nonetheless. 'Oh aye? What you need doing?'
'One of the regulars in my bar hasn't paid his tab in a while, and I think he needs, ah, reminding that I'm not a patient man,' The bartender sniffed. 'He's not the friendliest of people, though, and I'm not much of a roug . You look like you might be able to handle yourself, though. Up for it?'
It wasn't ideal, but Richard didn't have much of a choice - and it'd be out of character for him to refuse an offer of any work. He nodded gruffly, and the bartender pointed out the financially reticent patron. He definitely didn't look friendly, just under Richard's height, but a lot bulkier. Wearing a leather jacket and hunched over a drink, Richard sized him up and thought he had a reasonable chance in a fight, if it came to that, and as a last resort he could always get his Pokemon out - there would be a possibility of that raising more questions than strictly necessary, but he needed a place to stay and a change of clothes. He rose from his seat, straightened, and strode over to the individual in question. He sat down opposite him and fixd him with a steely glare. The stranger glared right back at him. 'You looking for something?' He growled.
Richard continued to glare at him. 'You owe the bar some money, friend. Time to pay up.'
The stranger laughed a grating, unpleasant laugh. 'I'll pay when I'm good and ready, "friend"! Get out of my face before you get yourself hurt.' Richard lunged over the table and grabbed the man by the collar of his jacket, causing him to yelp in surprise as their faces were suddenly centimetres apart. Richard's arm was suddenly shot with pain again, causing him to snarl unintentionally. 'I won't be asking you nicely again. I need a place to stay. I need some money. You have no idea how far I'll go if you mess me about. You understand?' Richard could see the man's eyes flickering with thought. He almost considered starting a fight, but at the last moment realised that this intense, strange young man would probably be dangerous. He was right. Wordlessly, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet, emptying out several hundred Pokedollars. 'That's more than you need, okay? Just, just let me go. Don't need to start nothing.' Richard took the money without another word and nodded at the stranger. He didn't look back as he walked over to the bar, with his new employer greedily eyeing the money Richard had extorted out of the patron - or at least, the money he hadn't pocketed for himself. 'You, my friend, are a good guy to have around. Get yourself washed up in the toilet, then I'll show you to where you can stay.' Richard took his time washing the dirt and dust off his face in a dingy sink, before realising that his arm hurt worse than ever. When he emerged, the bartender unlocked a trapdoor to the cellar and showed him to a rough camp-bed and an old, but well-looked after sleeping bag. The grey cellar itself was Spartan, with a few bottles of wine taking up residence in largely sparse wineracks. 'Look, I know it's not much, but this'll be enough for now, I hope.'
Richard nodded. It was better than he could ever have expected for his first night, in a new town, with no money or contacts. 'You know, I might need a bouncer over the next couple of nights, and you look like you can handle yourself. I can put you up down here with some food, if you're willing to work?'
'Will I get paid? Need some money if I'm going to start getting things back together.' He wasn't really lying.
'Fair. I'll give you a decent pay for every night you stop people making a mess in my bar. Oh, are those... You have Pokemon?' The bartender eyed Richard's Pokeballs with interest.
'Oh, yeah, they can look after themselves though. They won't cause any trouble, I assure you.'
'Sure, sure, I mean, they could be useful. Just didn't think you'd be the sort to have Pokemon.'
'What, don't I look like a Pokemon type?' Richard grinned. The bartender roared with laughter at Richard's admittedly terrible pun, laughing probably slightly longer than he should have done. 'You're alright, my friend. Pull your weight, keep your Pokemon in line, and you can stay here long as you need to. Now, I'll go grab you some clothes. They're a bit small for me, given this lump,' he said, patting his impressive paunch for emphasis, 'but they should fit you just fine.' After the bartender dropped off a selection of clothes, he left Richard to his own devices.
Richard guessed the time was just before midnight, so he stripped down to his underwear, hiding his resistance clothes under the campbed and choosing some plain jeans and a t-shirt to wear tomorrow, and settled onto the campbed, letting his Pokemon out of their balls for the night. Wellington and Nocturnal surveyed their temporary residence with interest. Wellington then began sharpening his blades against each other before practicing battle maneuvers in a corner, whilst Nocturnal began singing a cheerful, relaxed song. Sentinel, as ever, seemed utterly disinterested in the cellar. Richard smiled, glad that despite all he had been through, he had his eclectic party of Pokemon to keep him company. Sentinel scuttled over the bed and settled down next to his trainer, promptly falling asleep with a contented hiss. Richard began thinking ahead. This cellar would make an excellent base of operations for him to plan his next move; secure, well-hidden, and in an emergency, easily defensible. But he couldn't stay there forever, even though he was reasonably sure no-one knew who he was or why he was there. He would need to find a way to communicate with the A.A.V. to get new orders, and then probably come up with a strategy for getting out of Olivine. Nonetheless, he'd salvaged what he could from a very dangerous situation, and he was optimistic that he'd find a way to survive in Olivine, for a while at least. He had no idea what the next few days would bring, but he was too exhausted to be worried for long.
