Looking at the human across from him, Taillow is –in a word– confused. “Ooh! What about this one?” His trainer asks, shoving two nearly identical… metal poles with wood on the end in his face. “This one uses the same kind of wood as you had outside mauville, but this wood is slightly softer and recommended for your line.” He blinks, eyes flicking between the two… –perches was it?–As he tries to figure out what’s going on here. Looking between the two, one of the bits of wood is lightly taped against his belly and Taillow is startled out of his thoughts as, instinctively, he steps up onto the higher piece. “How’s that?” Amelia asks. “It’s the softer one, can you tell the difference?” Irritation flaring, the bird starts to puff himself up, opening his beak to remind this pink haired antagonist the meaning of personal space! Then a monotone voice comes from the side. “I believe the harder wood will last longer and, from what I can tell, it seems to be easier to pack away.” Taillow’s beak clicks shut, glancing over at the… his teammate as she listens to their trainer’s response. He’s almost certainthat he was mistaken when they first met, the concerning questions leading him to terrifying conclusions. Because, as much as she constantly looks like she’s ripping him apart with her eyes, he’s seen that look in almost everyonesince he left the forest. Sure, his trainer’s intensity doesn't happen as often or feel as cold, but the other pink humans had the same look when they took him away for the ‘benchmark tests.’ Though from themthe lookswere even warmer, and resulted in a lot more food and scratches around the neck. So, with the benefit of new information, Taillow has come to conclude it’s a human thing Chansey picked up since she’s been with them longer. Thus, he can say with almost totalcertainty that his life is not in danger if he fails to meet some standard or goal. Chansey gives a sharp nod to whatever her partner said and looks to Taillow. “I don't want to seem as if I’m pressuring you toward a decision, but if we want to catch the next train headed directly toward the pokecenter we need to be out of here in the next ten minutes.” She says, pointing at some glowing green lines on a wall. Taillow glances at the thing in confusion, then sees the lines furthest to the right shift at regular intervals. ‘Before’ talks about time, so that probably means whatever minutes are take a certain amount of time, like going to sleep ‘in’ the night. The green lines on the far right change at a regular interval, none of the other lines do though. But it’s already done that seve– “This one!” He shouts, picking one at random and hopping onto it. “Let's go!” Almost total certainty. His trainer seems slightly confused at the sudden enthusiasm for one of the nearly identical pieces of wood but takes it and walks back the way they came regardless. From there she waves at an older human who’d been standing there since they walked in, then they do the same strange thing that the last people who came up here did. His trainer hands over the things, the human waves them in the air, makes a beeping sound, then hands it back. From there hishuman hands over some thin colored rectangles, the older human takes them, then hands back different rectangles and some bits of metal. Taillow squints at the items as they’re placed inside his trainer’s bag. He’s seen this ‘money’ almost constantly since he entered the mauville. It’s some kind of method of trade, that much is obvious. What he cannot figure out is why certain colors are treated different ways, or how everyone agreeswhat color can be used to get more stuff, or how his trainer seems to know how much money she needs to offer to get the things without arguing about how much –or what color– the other person wants. Taillow likes the green ones the most, and the shiny silver bits of metal. But from what he can tell no one elseagrees with him, as he’s not seen anyone who wants to trade ‘money’ for stuff try offering the green ones, and almost always the people trading the stuff take different colors and give back several green ones. It is odd that they trade money for money, but he has to assume it’s something like offering a particularly shiny stone or tasty morsel as a bonus for an otherwise unbalanced swap. Stepping outside, he looks back at a person behind them walking up to where they just were, already holding some blue money, a color all the people offering things seem to agree they want more. He ruffles his feathers, trying to solve the puzzle. …Maybe the ‘money’ are like unripe berries? No one wants the green ones as much because someone picked them before they could change colors? The bits of metal are worth even less, so those would be… seeds? He’s never seen a money plant, perhaps it’s some kind of root? But they don't look like roots, they look like weirdly square leaves. He’s also never seen anyone eating the money, but he’s never heard of humans eating leaves. But leaves rot slower than berries, and are easier to cary, so maybe… Taillow huffs, titling his head as he gets nowhere, shuffling his feet slightly to keep grip on his trainer’s shoulder as she stumbles with her weirdly elongated body. The reminder of who his perch is also stirs up a memory from this morning, of the human telling him to ask her if he’s confused about anything he sees. Unfortunately she can only understand about every third word, so he does the next best thing. He looks down at Chansey and opens his beak. Then closes his beak, before roughly shaking his head and opening it again. She’s not going to kill him! “Hey Chansey?” He starts before better sense can get a hold of him. The ‘mon looks back out the corner of her eye. “Yes?” Newest update provıded by novelFɪre.net “This… ‘money.’” He starts slowly. “Can you ask the human how they decide how much stuff each ‘money’ can get?” Chansey blinks, looking up at him fully with… It’s intense, but not as if she’s actively dissecting him, more like she’s seeing something new. “Ah.” She coughs. “I believe I can answer that. You’ve actually done well to identify the abstract nature of monetary value, so I’ll start with…” More words continue leaving her mouth, and as they do the most Taillow could say is that he heard them. By the time they make it to the pokecenter Chansey seems to only be getting started on her explanation on how the colored squares work. But she’s interrupted as, once the doors open and Aunt Vee’s eyes lock onto them. “Amelia Roice Joy!” She shouts across the empty room as she vaults over the long cube in front of her. “You looked wonderful out there!” The trainer opens her mouth to say something, but Taillow is distracted from hearing what when Chansey comes barrelling out of a side room and runs up to them. “You!” She shouts, pointing at Chansey. “...Yes?” The larger ‘mon asks, looking slightly off guard, eyes stuttering around the room as the nurse grabs her by the arm and starts fussing. “Yes you!” She grunts back. “I’m not sure what Wattson was thinking! Lean down.” She says as she grabs Chansey by the cheeks to pull her face to eye level and looks closely. “Ok, Chansey got to you after the pokecare, she knows how to fix a nervous system.” The larger ‘mon rises back up to her full height, tilting her head slightly. “Was there neurological damage? I was told the risk, but I wasn't aware of real damage.” Chansey shakes her head, but before Taillow can hear more he’s nearly thrown off his perch as Aunt Vee throws her arms around his trainer in a hug. “You’ve got to tell me everything!” She insists, releasing as she steps back. “And how’d you do on your tests? Did you do them? I’d be exhaus–” “Dont worry Aunt Vee.” Amelia grins awkwardly. “I did the tests, Aunty P practically forced me to take a nap, then didn't wake me up until a half hour after they got them ready. Sorry I’m la–” “Good idea with the nap.” Aunt Vee says definitively, glancing at Taillow as she does. “Did you get a benchmark assessment done?” The trainer nods, reaching into her bag and pulling out the brown thing Chansey was looking at. “Yep, and they already sent a copy to Aunt Taff, but I’ve already got some ideas of my own on what to start training.” She says, opening the brown outer later before pointing at a random black squiggle. “Look here, I was thinking I can…” Taillow loses the conversation as every other word begins to mean concepts so large and foreign he doesn't have even the slightest idea how to break them down. Looking back at the other duo, he watches Chansey –who he’d just seen charging, unphased, through endless attacks strong enough to knock him out in one hit– allow herself to be nudged and fussed at by a ‘mon three fourths her size. His mom told him stories about the kind of humans he should go to if he gets hurt bad, or he couldn't find food, or any other reason he’s stuck and really needs help. One, the weirdy sneaky humans in red, rangers. His mom talked about them with equal parts begrudging respect and irritation at their constant and nosiness. The other, the pink haired ones. She didn't talk about them often, so little that Tailow didn't recognize his trainer as one at first. But when she did, his mom spoke of them with a hushed respect, as if the concept was so big that saying their names too loudly might break something. Taillow looks back at the two pink haired humans as they flip across several white rectangles. With how she talked about ‘nurses’ he wasn't expecting… “–so I’m thinking we incentivise Chansey’s training and Taillow’s by training him to use double team to avoid egg bombs, then Chansey has to figure out multiple eggs to keep up…” Taillow ruffles his feathers, then sighs. They’re strange… but, as strange as they are, there’s no doubt that they want him to get stronger. Even in the short time he’s been around his trainer and the nurses they’ve been nothing but helpful. Even if it’s sometimes in a… worryingly intense way. In a flash, he’s hit with the memory of Chansey shrugging off bolt after bolt of lightning, charging across the crackling earth toward an increasingly panicked enemy, throwing around enough power he could feel it pressing in on him through the pokeball. He can't imagine being that strong. His trainer looks over to Chansey and waves her over, pointing at some more random black squiggles and saying something in the tone of a question. But Chansey said they would do it. The pink ‘mon says something back, nodding her head and pointing at the squiggles she made herself on a blank rectangle. Chansey did not say that they could do it. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. “I saw a move called ‘endure,’” Chansey says, tilting her head as Taillow tries to subtly hide himself from her eyeline behind his trainer’s head. “But the book I saw it in gave sparse details. Would that work?” Amelia squints at the examination room countertop, still slightly damp from the cleaning product she’d used under the careful watch of Aunt Vee’s partner, then glances up at the ‘mon for confirmation. The nurse adjusts her hat as she leans closer, taking a few long moments as she slowly moves her head back and forth so every part of the table is caught in the reflection of the fluorescent light. While the ‘mon inspects the work, Amelia catches sight of her partner as she finishes removing the tools from the ultrasonic cleaner, rinsing thoroughly in water with gloved flippers and psychic energy, then placing them in the adjacent UV bed. As she closes the lid to the UV bed and turns it on, Amelia’s attention is drawn to her own work as the nurse gives a consternated hum. “Ch chansey.” She sighs, pointing at a wet spot that didn't evaporate with everything else. “Chansey chan chan, ansey.” Squinting, Amelia doesn't need to know exactly what the ‘mon is saying to understand the meaning of the message. The first pass of silica disinfectant wasn't removed by the second pass of the carbon based one. The nurse in training nods and picks up her cleaning tools as she walks back to the start of the workstation. “Right. I’ll start again.” She states, keeping the burning embarrassment and self-recrimination out of her voice. “Anything else I should be aware of?” Chansey shakes her head, and as Amelia starts again, she tries to keep her irritation from swinging to the judge for her assessment, reminding herself of the necessity for such exacting specifications. Calcium hydroxide is toxic, but necessary to sanitize the silica and fluorine based chemistry of both a rock type’s biofluids and the diseases therein. As such, while she’s quickly learning how difficult it is to clean up the oil based suspension, it’s the only method to neutralize and clean a workstation with certainty. From behind, she can hear the nurse walking across the room and making a pleased noise. “An! Chan sey!” She cheers as she inspects the work. “Chansey, chan cha an ansey?” “Chan.” Her partner agrees, and a few seconds later Amelia sees her walk up beside her out the corner of her eye. “Chansey chan cha ansey an chan.” She says as she adjusts her safety goggles with a purple glow, inadvertently giving a precise translation of the nurse’s instruction to come help. Amelia tries to repress a small flare of jealousy as she nods. “Alright, you start at the other end, we meet in the middle, then we check over each other’s work on the second pass.” Chansey nods back, turning to walk to the other side of the table without another word. Amelia doesn't watch her go, instead focusing on carefully applying exactly as much disinfecting oil to the countertop as instructed. In all the books she’s read, interviews she’s watched, and interactions she’s seen with older trainers in years past as they stopped in her town on their own journeys, she knows that most ‘mon don't behave like Chansey. It’s clear that, for the large part, her partner doesn't need her. She’s mature enough to admit that to herself. Normally when a pokemon refuses to listen to their trainer it’s because they have a bad temper, or dislike the human, or simply don't respect them for one reason or another. But from what she can tell, Chansey does respect her, when talking about medicine they talk like equals, same with team compositions or theoretical talks on future move utility. Amelia squirts more oil on the metal countertop. As a trainer she has been useful, she’s sure of that, her callouts in the fight with Gym Leader Wattson are just the most recent and most visible. But Chansey only started listening to her aftershe’d been hit by confusion effects and still would only accept any guidance afterwards if it was given in the form of information for the ‘mon to decide and act on herself. She squints, leaning closer to the countertop to get a better look. That self-motivated initiative means a trainer barely needs to convince her to work. Amelia’s alright with that, it’s those traits that make her partner such a good battler. It was even what they’d discussed prior to the gym, she’d just forgotten it in the heat of the moment, giving orders that fell on deaf ears until she met her partner more than halfway. But every time they’ve battled together it feels like over half of Amelia’s mental energy is being spent trying to figure out what winning strategy her partnerfigured out in the first few seconds. She just didn't realize exactly how much she was doing that until the fight with Wattson. How, when he spoke he didn’t speak to her, he didn't even speak to them. He spoke to Chansey, and only in the back half of the fight, when Amelia actually figured out how to make even the smallest contribution to her partner’s skills, did he address them as a team. The same to a lesser extent with the congratulations as he led her to the exit, congratulating Chansey on her strength and skill, then talking about Amelia’s contributions as if he knew exactly how little she did for this win. The trainer blinks as the application squeegee squeaks as she presses down a touch too hard, creating an arc of minimal oil that’s hastily corrected. She twitches as the thought stirs up bad memories, then corrects herself. No, it’s not fine, but this isn't Wattson’s problem, or Chansey’s. It’s hers, and she already knows the solution. The trainer squirts more oil on the countertop. The reason Amelia is feeling how she does is simple, they’re supposed to be a team, and she’s not pulling her weight. She’s not working hard enough. The ‘mon started with a strong physical and skill advantage that’s only gotten stronger as she’s quickly developed an almost instinctive understanding of her opponents decision making, combined with a tolerance to pain almost unheardof in her line. Ameliadragged her partner into this, and while the ‘mon took the task with just as much vigor as in nursing, they’re here because of her. But Amelia Joy does not give up. The nurse in training looks at the oil she’d just applied, and sees tiny veins of distortion indicating an uneven coating, which is carefully corrected. All it means is she needs to prove that, however far she gets, it’s nota result of luck and circumstance by partnering with Chansey, It means she needs to work harder, study how her opponents think and what tells give that away. It means she’ll replay every fight, command, and decision over and over until she knows exactly why everyone chose to do what they did. Then she’ll do it again until she knows not just how shecould be better, but how to improve her teammates, and how to avoid the flaws she saw in her opponent. Until together they build a team so strong no one can ignore her. Amelia comes to the middle of the workstation a few seconds before her partner, behind her a thin film of oil that looks exactly like the example image she’d seen. And as Chasney catches up, the trainer looks down at her with a fiery smile. Tanya wipes her hands across her front for the fiftieth time this hour, trying to remove the memory of the feeling of nitrile gloves pressing and rubbing against the fuzz covering her arms. It was… unpleasant, but she assumes she’ll have to get used to it, considering the line of work she’s training for. Either that or try to avoid anything that needs to be handled with gloves, which is obviously untenable. Venessa lets out a triumphant couplet of hums as she finds her housekey, just before her success is undercut by the door opening to reveal an unimpressed looking Sylveon, who quickly looks from the key to the nurse’s face. “...I put the right key on the front of the ring, and wrapped it in pink tape.” He says with a meaningful stare. “Well I– I had it.” The nurse defends herself, trying to step around the ‘mon only to be blocked. “The only reason it took a second was because you moved my keys around!” Sylveon stares up for a second, then steps aside and waves them in with a ribbon. “Get in then, I taped your shows on channel two and dinner is in the oven.” He sighs, before muttering under his breath a second after, so softly that Tanya could only hear it because she was right next to him. “Billions of humans… and it just hadto be her didn't it?” Squeezing a little to get through the door, Tanya suppresses a huff of laughter at Sylveon's comment and the misfortune it suggests. Perhaps he’d appreciate her offering some help finding a different roommate, though her own research into the subject on the legal protection of this strange partnership did show that many of the initiatives tasked with helping ‘mon leave an unhappy partnership were closely linked to the Joy family. Tanya tilts her head at the budding realization of this new avenue of control the family she’s attached herself to has over the fabric of the society it rests in, linking with newly lived experiences of exactly how ubiquitous the family is to form the seed of a question of exactly how powerful the family is. But the thoughts are shelved for later as Amelia taps her on the side and gestures toward the low table where Chansey is already setting out bowls. “After dinner, we should do the written breakdown of the fight with Wattson.” Tanya nods as she lowers herself to the table, remembering Taillow after a moment and setting up the perch with squinted purple eyes. As she does, Chansey claps her hands together and giggles. “Oh I’m so jealous!” She grins, waving a stubby limb in a wide circle. “I can't tellyou how many times I wished my arms were longer.” Tilting her head, Tanya lifts her bowl in psychic energy to demonstrate the skill. “...Is there something stopping you?” She asks. “Myself and several of my sisters have learned the skill for that exact reason. I could explain the basics if you want.” Chansey’s smile turns softer as she shakes her head. “Aw… Thank you. But it’s alright, I get along just fine.” Tanya nods, dropping the topic as Venessa sets a large pot in the center of the table with oven mitted hands. “Alright! I hope you’re all ready for dinner!” She says removing one glove as the other removes the lid and using her bare hand to scratch behind Sylveon’s ears. “It looks delicious Sylveon.” The ‘mon seems to melt slightly at the touch, then quickly bats the hand away with a ribbon. “S– Stop that!” He stammers. “Less touchy, more serving!” The nurse laughs as she nods, and as she picks up a large serving ladle, Tanya reminds herself to not eat more than appropriate and supplement the bulk of her calories from the pokechow. Then the ladle deposits a thick, spicy smelling soup in her bowl, and her stomach rumbles even as the first spoonful is shoved into her mouth. No matter how delicious. With dinner is finished, the dishes are put away, and the offer from Venessa to watch their ‘shows’ together are gently refused, Tanya sits in the guest room and jots down her report of the fight into a notebook as objectively as she can while telekinetically manipulated pokechow floats into her mouth in a steady stream. Concluding the objective portion, she goes back to the top, annotating certain sections and making subjective assessments on the next page. Amelia will be doing the same in her notebook after she gets out of the shower, then they’ll cross-reference each other’s reports and conclusions. Taillow is excused from this portion as he cannot read or write, and Tanya taking dictation would bias her own recollection of the events, so he’s exempt. Across the room, the avian pauses in his preening, holds still for a long moment, then continues. Thankfully Tanya is very familiar with after action reports, so much so that she had to consciously stop herself from switching back to germanian grammar structure at several points. Finishing her report, and hearing no change in the steady noise of the shower from the other room, the ‘mon places her report next to Amelia’s notebook and hops over to the computer. Powering it on and opening the internet browser, she quickly navigates to the news and scans the headlines. To her surprise, the front page of the local news is reporting a ‘Historic crime wave!’ impacting the city. A headline that provokes a much more significant reaction than if it were said in almost any other publication. Another cultural difference here, she’s barely seen any alarmist or sensationalist headlines, so the use of such heavy language carries significantly more weight. Clicking on the article, she scans it over, then snorts as she processes exactly how ‘historic’ the crime is. Apparently there’s a first time for everything. According to the article, a ‘gang’ calling itself Team Magma –which the uniforms make look more like some kids pretending to be criminals than an actual enterprise– have been doing a wide variety of crimes over the past few months. If the paper is to be believed, they’ve singlehandedly pushed the crime rate from 0.01% to 0.05% in the city as a whole. Tanya huffs as she closes the article, moves on to the financial news and, finding it equally unimportant, moves on. Opening her email she finds, to her surprise, her inbox flooded with messages. Scanning down the list of addresses, the ‘mon notes the educational domain at the end of each, then that there are exactlytwenty sevenemails and the titles have… an excess of punctuation. Opening one and scanning over its contents removes all doubt, her sisters got their own email addresses, and each sent an email to her, followed by Caretaker a few hours after everyone else. She huffs in amusement as each message blends into the other, even when written in breathless tones they’re still completely distinct from the other, the author easily recognizable despite the uninformative email addresses and signoffs. But as she approaches the bottom of the list of emails, Tanya blinks as she’s hit by a wall of text. Scanning it over, she realizes appears to be talking about some kind of… financial plan? The ‘mon leans closer and her eyes flare purple as the paper copy of her portfolio flies across the room, landing next to her. It is some kind of scheme, playing dominoes with no less than eight separate economic levers to gain virtual leverage outsizing investiture. But it’s not assuming the risk? No… it’s offsetting the risk by… As the email turns into reverse engineered code for automated trading algorithms and statistical breakdowns of how each market responds to short term fluctuations in each other, Tanya’s eyes flare purple again as a pen and notebook flies over as well. She needs to work it out longhand. An unknown amount of time and several pages of math later, she’s startled out of her focus by Amelia’s voice. “What’s this?” She asks leaning over the back of the chair and scans the documents littering the desk, then up to the mess of tabs on the computer. “...Stock prices?” “That’s part of it.” Tanya nods as she looks back down at her equation ridden pages, flipping around to recapture the mental thread she’d dropped. “I got an email from Chansey. It turns out that she, Chansey, and Chansey think they’ve figured out an infinite money glitch. I’m trying to figure out where they messed up.” Or where the value is actually being taken from. Because she’s not seeing the flaw from the top down, aside from the fact that this delicate arrangement will disappear the instant after it’s exploited. They claimits skimming from the general noise of the market, the keystone of which being the acceptable loss margins of the automated trading algorithms used by large investment firms. There’s a long pause. “...What?” Amelia asks, reaching out and picking up a few documents, Tanya’s portfolio on top. “Wait, you have a stock portfolio?” Tanya clicks her pen and looks up to her partner with a sigh. “I did say I had illiquid assets gifted to me, same as my sisters. It’s not like I’m carrying bars of gold aroun–” She’s cut off as Amelia hurriedly picks up more documents, scans them over, then looks back to her partner with a dumbfounded expression. “No! Hold on! What!?”