Story Notes:
Yeah yeah, story sounds cliche I know. Deal with it. So I've had this idea in my head for a few months now, and actually wrote out pretty much all of chapter 1 way back in July. I didn't post anything then since I wanted to have some sort of clue where I was going with the story before posting anything. Finally, 4 months later, I've begun working on it again and I feel that it's ready for some constructive criticism.
Chapter 1 - Identifying the Problem
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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Other standard stuff applies as well. You don't like Pokemon smut or are under 18, leave now. Otherwise, enjoy.
---------------------------------
"And if you order now in the next ten minutes, we'll include our famous stainless steel--" PSHH
"But John, how can you leave me like this? I thought what we had was speci--" PSHH
"Keep working those abs! Alright and one, and two, and one, and two, and--" PSHH
"I'd like to buy a vowel, Pat. Could I get a Q?" PSHH
"BILLY MAYS HERE WITH--" PSHH
A sigh escaped from the mouth of the purple and red creature reclining lazily on the couch, barely revealing two rows of menacingly sharp fangs as it muttered to itself, "Isn't there anything good on?" Not expecting an answer, it leaned its head back against the couch and closed its eyes, extending a claw from one of its white paws to lightly tap a button at the top of the remote control. The television screen blanked out with a soft click and the creature's arm moved back to its resting position on its lap. Nothing but the soft ticking of a wall clock disturbed the otherwise absolute stillness of the room, the pale light from the waning sun peeking in through curtained windows to dimly illuminate the opposing wall. The creature cracked an eyelid open to glance up at the clock before letting it fall shut once again.
'Nearly six. He's later than usual.'
Almost as if on cue, a door slammed outside, the creature's left ear perking up and swiveling towards the direction of the invading sound. Footsteps made themselves heard right outside the front door, causing the creature to finally stir. It stretched its arms high above its head and yawned widely before reaching over to the end-table to grab a headset lying there. Fitting the electronic mechanism around its head and lying back down on the couch, the creature turned its head to face the front door as locks methodically clicked one after another in sequence. Finally the door scraped along the floor as it swung open and a young man entered the threshold of the house.
This man's name was Milo Serret. He was a tall, brown-haired man in his mid to late 20s, though he appeared to be young for his age mostly due to his thin body shape and the short goatee he sported on his face. His hair was cleanly groomed and fell straight down, stopping just shy of his ears, showing off what appeared to be some sort of cell phone Bluetooth earpiece that he wore. Upon entering the room, he reached for his tie to loosen the constraining knot at the top before glancing around and noticing the presence of the creature in the room.
"Oh hey Glade, didn't see you there at first. You have a good day?"
"It was nothing special," it responded, still reclined on the couch in a pose that suggested boredom more than anything. "Mostly just watched TV, same as always. You?"
Milo walked into the room as he began to reply. "It was a pretty busy day at the office, I gotta say. Had to stay late and finish up this one bit of the Geppetto Project while I still had a good train of thought going. Scott and I got it done, but man am I bushed," he concluded, sinking into the welcoming cushions of an easy chair as if to emphasize his point.
To an outsider looking in, this conversation between the two would have seemed entirely nonsensical, or at the very least one-sided, and the reason is simple. The creature on the couch was none other than a Weavile, a female one at that, a dark ice-type Pokemon with a purple body, white paws, and what seemed like a red crown of sorts sitting atop her head, matching the color of the wide, fan-shaped collar wrapped around her neck. While the Weavile's existence alone was by no means uncommon, her ability to communicate directly with a human was far out of the ordinary. Due to reasons that had remained unexplained for hundreds of years, nearly all Pokemon were normally unable to speak anything outside of their own names. While this made the naming of Pokemon ridiculously simple, the communication barrier it created wasn't exactly quite as convenient. However, due to the headsets worn by both Milo and Glade, they could communicate almost as well as two humans would be able to. The microphone in the headset Glade wore acted as a translator, sending the human-audible version wirelessly to the earpiece Milo wore. Now granted, there were some disadvantages to this system. For one, Milo still heard the stream of "Weav weavile vile weav!" (and its variants) out loud in addition to the translated version in his ear, and only he (or anyone else wearing the earpiece) could understand what was being said. Nevertheless, it was certainly a step in the right direction.
After a brief pause, Glade sat upright and looked at Milo. "You do look exhausted. Want me to take care of dinner tonight?"
"I'd really appreciate that, thanks Glade," came the response. "But no sabotage this time, alright?"
Glade grinned widely as she hopped onto the floor and headed towards the kitchen. "Oh, I promise, don't worry," she replied, her tone overly teasing and completely unconvincing. Milo shook his head at her antics before closing his eyes in relaxation. He could hear Glade shuffling about in the kitchen, opening the freezer drawer and moving items about. After a minute she called out to him.
"You want the chicken or pork chops?"
"Doesn't matter," he responded. "They all taste the same to me."
"You're getting the pork chops then, 'cause I can't stand the taste." She unwrapped the two shrink-wrapped meals she had pulled out and popped one in the microwave. "You'd better go get changed, these will be done in a few minutes."
"Uuuugh, fine," he groaned at the effort of getting up from his comfy chair. He half-walked half-staggered to his room before closing the door to get changed. First the tie, then the overcoat, then the dress shirt, shoes, socks, and black pants were all flung to the side of the room, replaced by more comfortable jeans and a t-shirt. Milo happened to glance at his reflection in the mirror on top of his dresser as he finished with the task. Noticing the bags forming under his eyes, he gave a quiet sigh.
"You're working yourself to death Milo, and you know it," he muttered to himself, eyeing himself closer in the mirror and inspecting each side of his face. "You'll be getting gray hairs at this rate, and at what, 27? Geez." A flash of light in the corner of his eye caught his attention, revealing itself to be a small metal insignia, a Star Trek badge lookalike, glimmering dully in the dim light. Milo chuckled slightly at the sight, turning to glance at the rest of the memorabilia in his room for the popular sci-fi series, all collected over the years at various sales and conventions. With each look, his smile faded just a tiny bit more until it faded altogether from his expression. These trinkets that used to fill him with such joy no longer held his interest. Sure they were fun relics, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they exemplified his less-than-perfect social life, that they symbolized his downward spiral of a life.
Milo hadn't always been so pessimistic. In his youth, he was a vivacious child, aggressive both at play and in the classroom, always returning home with straight "A"s despite the occasional procrastination on an overdue project. His interests soon focused around two major subjects: Pokemon and technology. He was fascinated with the gadgets and gizmos of the trade, took apart Pokeballs to see how they worked, and programmed his own updated version of the classic Dexter Pokedex by the age of 13. Two years later, upon reaching the minimum required age for doing so, he obtained a provisional trainer's license and set off on a journey for... well, whatever trainers trained for. Most had their own personal agenda really, and very few were on a quest to become the absolute "best" out there. But back to the point of it all. Milo here still had his liveliness, and within short order he had amassed quite the team of Pokemon, a different setup for any possible battle he might find himself up against. Satisfied with his efforts, at the age of 17 he had accomplished as much as he felt was necessary, and decided to pursue his other chief interest of technology in greater depth.
While traveling through one of the many forests on his way back to his hometown however, he came across a small clearing, and in the middle he spotted something moving--no, twitching--on the ground. Undoubtedly a Pokemon, and undoubtedly in great pain. Milo used up what little healing medicine he had on him, to little effect. Having traveled through the area before and knowing just how far it was to any semblance of civilization, he did the only thing he could think to do to save its life: he captured it. It felt wrong to seize a Pokemon he hadn't even battled and claim it as his own, but he had no other choice. Of course the Pokecenter he eventually reached was able to heal it up with little effort, and before he knew it, Milo was the owner of his own Weavile, one of the few Pokemon he actually hadn't managed to obtain in his brief adventure. While leaving the Pokecenter, new teammate in tow, he came up with a name that he felt was fitting considering the place in which he first found the creature. "Glade."
--
Glade had started out actually somewhat bitter at her captor, unwilling to answer to Milo's commands or even simple requests, perhaps simply out of spite at being captured in the first place. Yet at the same time, she refused to stay inside her Pokeball for any extended period of time, and so by default the two ended up spending quite a bit of time together. Before long, the two had become close companions, despite the fact that Milo's days as a trainer were over. Or perhaps it was because of that very fact that they were able to bond. Nevertheless, soon after catching Glade, Milo obtained a job working as an engineer at Poketech, a company that developed new and improved Pokemon gadgets. As a result, he ended up setting the majority of his Pokemon free, believing that they would have better lives either back in the wild or with some other trainer who was still active. Most went willingly, if a bit sorrowfully, but Glade refused to leave, and Milo declined to press the issue. There was just something different about her, and honestly he would have been deeply saddened if she had left. He couldn't explain this feeling, since they had only been together a few months, but somehow he knew she would eventually have a large impact on his life.
At his new job, Milo fit in easily, his enthusiasm and level-headedness earning him respect from his coworkers, and he quickly joined some ongoing projects while privately beginning some of his own once he had the tools to do so. For instance, he helped develop the Poketch, a user-upgradeable watch with applications that Pokemon trainers might find useful. While his coworkers were busy making simple math-based applications like the pedometer or calculator, Milo focused on applications that would help a trainer better understand his Pokemon, such as the happiness meter app and type advantage tester app. At night, he came home to watch some TV (usually Star Trek, though any science fiction show was also welcome) and tinker on his own until the early hours of morning. From watching his shows, he came up with many ideas for devices to build, some successful, some not so much.
But the one thing that interested him the most was the idea of a universal translator. What better way to get Pokemon and humans to interact more naturally than to remove the communication barrier between them? He spent weeks, months, attempting to make this idea a reality, Glade helping when she could for testing purposes. The first prototype wasn't pretty - a microphone connected to a bulky, gutted computer, internals and bare PCB boards exposed everywhere, a system that took several moments to process each bit of speech before outputting a crude translation in text form on the screen. Not to mention that it required calibration for each different type of Pokemon, and even had trouble with slight differences between individual Pokemon of the same species. But it worked, and that was more than enough of a cause for celebration.
Milo burst into work the next day, proclaiming his success to all who would listen, and within the hour he was approached by first his boss, then his boss's boss, and all the way up to the CEO, everyone asking the same two questions: "How does it work?" and "Can you make more?" Obviously Milo wasn't the only one to see the advantage of such a translation device, and the leaders of Poketech seemed eager to support what could very easily turn the company into a household name. With corporate funding and a team of helpers at his disposal, Milo refined the system, turning it into a portable battery-powered headset and microphone combination, optimizing the algorithms for speed, and adding text-to-speech functionality, as well as interconnecting it with his custom improved Pokedex to allow for translation from any Pokemon in its database. By the end of his fourth year with the company, Milo had finished development on the new product, appropriately named Babel. Just as predicted, it became a commercial hit, and with Christmas just around the corner to help spur sales along, Poketech found itself pulling in more money than it knew what to do with. No trainer left home without this new addition to his or her arsenal. And it filled Milo with an amazing sense of self-achievement, knowing that he brought about such a change for the better, that he was able to help both trainers and Pokemon alike all over the world.
Ultimately however, the Babel turned out to be Milo's crowning achievement with the company. His dream finally realized, Milo became struck with the inventor's equivalent to writer's block. After such a great success, how could he top that? What could he make that could possibly be as useful or as versatile? He lost much of his enthusiasm, and during the day at work he no longer proposed new, creative ideas to the rest of the group, preferring instead to merely work on whatever task he was assigned. It's not like they could fire him after the revolution he brought about for the company, and his efficiency remained top-notch at whatever he worked on, but he was no longer the creative leader of the group. He was burnt out, plain and simple. His nights focused more on the mindless monotony of the TV and less on the tinkering, mostly because he ran out of ideas for things to tinker with and had no motivation to think up new ideas. Glade kept him company on such nights, curling up next to him on the sofa as the colorful pictures danced across the screen, flickering like wild flames in front of his glazed eyes. "Tomorrow will be better," he would tell himself in a failed effort to convince his newly pessimistic mind. "Tomorrow I'll be back to normal." But several years passed, and that "tomorrow" never came. Each day passed in a sort of blur, a routine that became so practiced and monotonous that his very sense of time started becoming distorted, warped beyond reality.
Well okay, perhaps it wasn't quite that bad. But Milo was tired of his life, that much is certain. Poketech provided him with a secure job and stable future, but it somewhat lacked the flair he had grown to enjoy during his days as a trainer. Just something to take in stride, he believed, something that must be endured. Or to put it in Glade's (hopefully joking) words, "Just suck it up, you wuss!" Which he did. But he was tired, both physically and emotionally. And dinner was ready. Wait, what?
--
Milo blinked. He found himself back in his room, staring at the mirror, as he had been doing for the past few minutes as he reminisced about his past. Shaking his head, he heard Glade's call from the other room and the translation squeaking out from the earpiece on his desk.
"Did you hear me?"
He coughed to clear his throat as he worked the earpiece back onto the side of his head. "Yeah yeah, I'm coming, hold your horses."
"Well your 'horses' are going to get cold if you don't hurry up!" she retorted, a hint of true annoyance nearly buried within the jestful tone. Rolling his eyes, Milo headed toward the kitchen and sat down at the table in the middle, where Glade had already set out the ready-to-eat meals and appropriate silverware. But interestingly, something was different. With the blinds closed and the sky already nearly dark outside, the only light in the room came not from the chandelier above that was usually on for meals but from lit candles on the table, glimmering softly in the near-darkness. Glade was already seated, waiting for him, arms folded in her lap as she turned to look at Milo as he entered. His surprise was evident on his face, and he asked a simple question.
"What's with the candles?"
"Oh nothing, I just thought we needed a change of pace, that's all. It gives the meal a bit of atmosphere, don't you think?"
"Yeah, but... for microwave dinners?"
"Oh hush you," she responded, "I just felt like it, alright? Now go ahead and start eating, I'm digging in."
And she began to do just that, carefully and delicately handling the silverware in her clawed paws as Milo shrugged and sat down in his chair. Yet despite how interested in her food she appeared, Milo noticed that she was still glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, almost as if she was expecting something to happen. Checking the food itself visually, he saw no evidence of tampering, and after taking a bite he found no strange flavors, and so it wasn't until he reached for a drink of water that he realized just what she had been waiting for.
"Aha, the glass this time, hm?"
"Only took you 40 seconds," she replied sarcastically as a smirk broke out on her face. Making a soft "tsk" sound, she continued, "And that was with something REALLY obvious. You haven't figured it out for a whole week now, and I was getting desperate." Another "tsk" sound. "You're really losing it, man."
"Eh, give me a break, it's been a hard week at work. You know I've had to stay late every night for something or another. So where'd you put it anyway?"
Glade giggled and pointed to a wicker basket on the far end of the table. "In the bread basket."
Milo grumbled and stood up to reach over and open the basket, retrieving an ornate glass and setting it back down above his plate. "You and your traditions," he mumbled as he filled the glass with drinking water, appearing annoyed though the faint smile he wore said otherwise.
This was not at all a new behavior for the two of them. For who knows what reason, about five years ago Glade began a daily tradition. Every weekday, while Milo was out at work, she chose one object in the house to hide away from him, and at night it was his job to figure out just what she had taken. It was nothing but a silly little game between the two of them, just some harmless fun, something for Glade to do during the day. There were no rewards for guessing right, nor were there any penalties for failing to notice any difference at all. But the past week had been fairly difficult for Milo, and he had indeed failed the test for seven days straight, the missing object becoming more and more obvious as the days went on. Finally she hid his favorite glass, the one he preferred using at all meals, simply because she thought he couldn't possibly ignore its absence. She must have been a bit disappointed actually, since the whole "being mischievous" thing was pointless if nobody noticed anything she did.
The rest of the meal continued in relative silence, until Milo swallowed the last bit of pork on his plate and sighed.
"Maybe you're right," he mused. "Maybe I am getting out of touch with everything. The Geppetto Project is going nowhere, and it just seems like all this work I'm putting into it is going to be useless once the project gets scrapped. The company's having a reorganization next month, you know. I'll be lucky if the project lasts a week after that."
Glade finished her own portion as well and looked up at him. "You know what YOU need?" She pointed a claw at Milo as he cocked an eyebrow. "You need to unwind. Unplug. Let loose." She chuckled and added, "Come to think of it, I do too. We've just gotta get out of the house and actually DO something for a change."
"And what did you have in mind?"
"Oh, I've got a few ideas," she replied in the same sing-song voice she had used earlier. And she was smirking. 'Oh dear lord, this cannot end well,' Milo thought.
"So shall we go?"
"Do I really have a choice?" he sighed.
"Of course not. We leave in three minutes. Oh, and Milo?"
"Yes?"
"Help me with these dishes, will you?"Chapter End Notes:Thanks for reading, and as always, constructive criticism is appreciated
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Other standard stuff applies as well. You don't like Pokemon smut or are under 18, leave now. Otherwise, enjoy.
---------------------------------
"And if you order now in the next ten minutes, we'll include our famous stainless steel--" PSHH
"But John, how can you leave me like this? I thought what we had was speci--" PSHH
"Keep working those abs! Alright and one, and two, and one, and two, and--" PSHH
"I'd like to buy a vowel, Pat. Could I get a Q?" PSHH
"BILLY MAYS HERE WITH--" PSHH
A sigh escaped from the mouth of the purple and red creature reclining lazily on the couch, barely revealing two rows of menacingly sharp fangs as it muttered to itself, "Isn't there anything good on?" Not expecting an answer, it leaned its head back against the couch and closed its eyes, extending a claw from one of its white paws to lightly tap a button at the top of the remote control. The television screen blanked out with a soft click and the creature's arm moved back to its resting position on its lap. Nothing but the soft ticking of a wall clock disturbed the otherwise absolute stillness of the room, the pale light from the waning sun peeking in through curtained windows to dimly illuminate the opposing wall. The creature cracked an eyelid open to glance up at the clock before letting it fall shut once again.
'Nearly six. He's later than usual.'
Almost as if on cue, a door slammed outside, the creature's left ear perking up and swiveling towards the direction of the invading sound. Footsteps made themselves heard right outside the front door, causing the creature to finally stir. It stretched its arms high above its head and yawned widely before reaching over to the end-table to grab a headset lying there. Fitting the electronic mechanism around its head and lying back down on the couch, the creature turned its head to face the front door as locks methodically clicked one after another in sequence. Finally the door scraped along the floor as it swung open and a young man entered the threshold of the house.
This man's name was Milo Serret. He was a tall, brown-haired man in his mid to late 20s, though he appeared to be young for his age mostly due to his thin body shape and the short goatee he sported on his face. His hair was cleanly groomed and fell straight down, stopping just shy of his ears, showing off what appeared to be some sort of cell phone Bluetooth earpiece that he wore. Upon entering the room, he reached for his tie to loosen the constraining knot at the top before glancing around and noticing the presence of the creature in the room.
"Oh hey Glade, didn't see you there at first. You have a good day?"
"It was nothing special," it responded, still reclined on the couch in a pose that suggested boredom more than anything. "Mostly just watched TV, same as always. You?"
Milo walked into the room as he began to reply. "It was a pretty busy day at the office, I gotta say. Had to stay late and finish up this one bit of the Geppetto Project while I still had a good train of thought going. Scott and I got it done, but man am I bushed," he concluded, sinking into the welcoming cushions of an easy chair as if to emphasize his point.
To an outsider looking in, this conversation between the two would have seemed entirely nonsensical, or at the very least one-sided, and the reason is simple. The creature on the couch was none other than a Weavile, a female one at that, a dark ice-type Pokemon with a purple body, white paws, and what seemed like a red crown of sorts sitting atop her head, matching the color of the wide, fan-shaped collar wrapped around her neck. While the Weavile's existence alone was by no means uncommon, her ability to communicate directly with a human was far out of the ordinary. Due to reasons that had remained unexplained for hundreds of years, nearly all Pokemon were normally unable to speak anything outside of their own names. While this made the naming of Pokemon ridiculously simple, the communication barrier it created wasn't exactly quite as convenient. However, due to the headsets worn by both Milo and Glade, they could communicate almost as well as two humans would be able to. The microphone in the headset Glade wore acted as a translator, sending the human-audible version wirelessly to the earpiece Milo wore. Now granted, there were some disadvantages to this system. For one, Milo still heard the stream of "Weav weavile vile weav!" (and its variants) out loud in addition to the translated version in his ear, and only he (or anyone else wearing the earpiece) could understand what was being said. Nevertheless, it was certainly a step in the right direction.
After a brief pause, Glade sat upright and looked at Milo. "You do look exhausted. Want me to take care of dinner tonight?"
"I'd really appreciate that, thanks Glade," came the response. "But no sabotage this time, alright?"
Glade grinned widely as she hopped onto the floor and headed towards the kitchen. "Oh, I promise, don't worry," she replied, her tone overly teasing and completely unconvincing. Milo shook his head at her antics before closing his eyes in relaxation. He could hear Glade shuffling about in the kitchen, opening the freezer drawer and moving items about. After a minute she called out to him.
"You want the chicken or pork chops?"
"Doesn't matter," he responded. "They all taste the same to me."
"You're getting the pork chops then, 'cause I can't stand the taste." She unwrapped the two shrink-wrapped meals she had pulled out and popped one in the microwave. "You'd better go get changed, these will be done in a few minutes."
"Uuuugh, fine," he groaned at the effort of getting up from his comfy chair. He half-walked half-staggered to his room before closing the door to get changed. First the tie, then the overcoat, then the dress shirt, shoes, socks, and black pants were all flung to the side of the room, replaced by more comfortable jeans and a t-shirt. Milo happened to glance at his reflection in the mirror on top of his dresser as he finished with the task. Noticing the bags forming under his eyes, he gave a quiet sigh.
"You're working yourself to death Milo, and you know it," he muttered to himself, eyeing himself closer in the mirror and inspecting each side of his face. "You'll be getting gray hairs at this rate, and at what, 27? Geez." A flash of light in the corner of his eye caught his attention, revealing itself to be a small metal insignia, a Star Trek badge lookalike, glimmering dully in the dim light. Milo chuckled slightly at the sight, turning to glance at the rest of the memorabilia in his room for the popular sci-fi series, all collected over the years at various sales and conventions. With each look, his smile faded just a tiny bit more until it faded altogether from his expression. These trinkets that used to fill him with such joy no longer held his interest. Sure they were fun relics, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they exemplified his less-than-perfect social life, that they symbolized his downward spiral of a life.
Milo hadn't always been so pessimistic. In his youth, he was a vivacious child, aggressive both at play and in the classroom, always returning home with straight "A"s despite the occasional procrastination on an overdue project. His interests soon focused around two major subjects: Pokemon and technology. He was fascinated with the gadgets and gizmos of the trade, took apart Pokeballs to see how they worked, and programmed his own updated version of the classic Dexter Pokedex by the age of 13. Two years later, upon reaching the minimum required age for doing so, he obtained a provisional trainer's license and set off on a journey for... well, whatever trainers trained for. Most had their own personal agenda really, and very few were on a quest to become the absolute "best" out there. But back to the point of it all. Milo here still had his liveliness, and within short order he had amassed quite the team of Pokemon, a different setup for any possible battle he might find himself up against. Satisfied with his efforts, at the age of 17 he had accomplished as much as he felt was necessary, and decided to pursue his other chief interest of technology in greater depth.
While traveling through one of the many forests on his way back to his hometown however, he came across a small clearing, and in the middle he spotted something moving--no, twitching--on the ground. Undoubtedly a Pokemon, and undoubtedly in great pain. Milo used up what little healing medicine he had on him, to little effect. Having traveled through the area before and knowing just how far it was to any semblance of civilization, he did the only thing he could think to do to save its life: he captured it. It felt wrong to seize a Pokemon he hadn't even battled and claim it as his own, but he had no other choice. Of course the Pokecenter he eventually reached was able to heal it up with little effort, and before he knew it, Milo was the owner of his own Weavile, one of the few Pokemon he actually hadn't managed to obtain in his brief adventure. While leaving the Pokecenter, new teammate in tow, he came up with a name that he felt was fitting considering the place in which he first found the creature. "Glade."
--
Glade had started out actually somewhat bitter at her captor, unwilling to answer to Milo's commands or even simple requests, perhaps simply out of spite at being captured in the first place. Yet at the same time, she refused to stay inside her Pokeball for any extended period of time, and so by default the two ended up spending quite a bit of time together. Before long, the two had become close companions, despite the fact that Milo's days as a trainer were over. Or perhaps it was because of that very fact that they were able to bond. Nevertheless, soon after catching Glade, Milo obtained a job working as an engineer at Poketech, a company that developed new and improved Pokemon gadgets. As a result, he ended up setting the majority of his Pokemon free, believing that they would have better lives either back in the wild or with some other trainer who was still active. Most went willingly, if a bit sorrowfully, but Glade refused to leave, and Milo declined to press the issue. There was just something different about her, and honestly he would have been deeply saddened if she had left. He couldn't explain this feeling, since they had only been together a few months, but somehow he knew she would eventually have a large impact on his life.
At his new job, Milo fit in easily, his enthusiasm and level-headedness earning him respect from his coworkers, and he quickly joined some ongoing projects while privately beginning some of his own once he had the tools to do so. For instance, he helped develop the Poketch, a user-upgradeable watch with applications that Pokemon trainers might find useful. While his coworkers were busy making simple math-based applications like the pedometer or calculator, Milo focused on applications that would help a trainer better understand his Pokemon, such as the happiness meter app and type advantage tester app. At night, he came home to watch some TV (usually Star Trek, though any science fiction show was also welcome) and tinker on his own until the early hours of morning. From watching his shows, he came up with many ideas for devices to build, some successful, some not so much.
But the one thing that interested him the most was the idea of a universal translator. What better way to get Pokemon and humans to interact more naturally than to remove the communication barrier between them? He spent weeks, months, attempting to make this idea a reality, Glade helping when she could for testing purposes. The first prototype wasn't pretty - a microphone connected to a bulky, gutted computer, internals and bare PCB boards exposed everywhere, a system that took several moments to process each bit of speech before outputting a crude translation in text form on the screen. Not to mention that it required calibration for each different type of Pokemon, and even had trouble with slight differences between individual Pokemon of the same species. But it worked, and that was more than enough of a cause for celebration.
Milo burst into work the next day, proclaiming his success to all who would listen, and within the hour he was approached by first his boss, then his boss's boss, and all the way up to the CEO, everyone asking the same two questions: "How does it work?" and "Can you make more?" Obviously Milo wasn't the only one to see the advantage of such a translation device, and the leaders of Poketech seemed eager to support what could very easily turn the company into a household name. With corporate funding and a team of helpers at his disposal, Milo refined the system, turning it into a portable battery-powered headset and microphone combination, optimizing the algorithms for speed, and adding text-to-speech functionality, as well as interconnecting it with his custom improved Pokedex to allow for translation from any Pokemon in its database. By the end of his fourth year with the company, Milo had finished development on the new product, appropriately named Babel. Just as predicted, it became a commercial hit, and with Christmas just around the corner to help spur sales along, Poketech found itself pulling in more money than it knew what to do with. No trainer left home without this new addition to his or her arsenal. And it filled Milo with an amazing sense of self-achievement, knowing that he brought about such a change for the better, that he was able to help both trainers and Pokemon alike all over the world.
Ultimately however, the Babel turned out to be Milo's crowning achievement with the company. His dream finally realized, Milo became struck with the inventor's equivalent to writer's block. After such a great success, how could he top that? What could he make that could possibly be as useful or as versatile? He lost much of his enthusiasm, and during the day at work he no longer proposed new, creative ideas to the rest of the group, preferring instead to merely work on whatever task he was assigned. It's not like they could fire him after the revolution he brought about for the company, and his efficiency remained top-notch at whatever he worked on, but he was no longer the creative leader of the group. He was burnt out, plain and simple. His nights focused more on the mindless monotony of the TV and less on the tinkering, mostly because he ran out of ideas for things to tinker with and had no motivation to think up new ideas. Glade kept him company on such nights, curling up next to him on the sofa as the colorful pictures danced across the screen, flickering like wild flames in front of his glazed eyes. "Tomorrow will be better," he would tell himself in a failed effort to convince his newly pessimistic mind. "Tomorrow I'll be back to normal." But several years passed, and that "tomorrow" never came. Each day passed in a sort of blur, a routine that became so practiced and monotonous that his very sense of time started becoming distorted, warped beyond reality.
Well okay, perhaps it wasn't quite that bad. But Milo was tired of his life, that much is certain. Poketech provided him with a secure job and stable future, but it somewhat lacked the flair he had grown to enjoy during his days as a trainer. Just something to take in stride, he believed, something that must be endured. Or to put it in Glade's (hopefully joking) words, "Just suck it up, you wuss!" Which he did. But he was tired, both physically and emotionally. And dinner was ready. Wait, what?
--
Milo blinked. He found himself back in his room, staring at the mirror, as he had been doing for the past few minutes as he reminisced about his past. Shaking his head, he heard Glade's call from the other room and the translation squeaking out from the earpiece on his desk.
"Did you hear me?"
He coughed to clear his throat as he worked the earpiece back onto the side of his head. "Yeah yeah, I'm coming, hold your horses."
"Well your 'horses' are going to get cold if you don't hurry up!" she retorted, a hint of true annoyance nearly buried within the jestful tone. Rolling his eyes, Milo headed toward the kitchen and sat down at the table in the middle, where Glade had already set out the ready-to-eat meals and appropriate silverware. But interestingly, something was different. With the blinds closed and the sky already nearly dark outside, the only light in the room came not from the chandelier above that was usually on for meals but from lit candles on the table, glimmering softly in the near-darkness. Glade was already seated, waiting for him, arms folded in her lap as she turned to look at Milo as he entered. His surprise was evident on his face, and he asked a simple question.
"What's with the candles?"
"Oh nothing, I just thought we needed a change of pace, that's all. It gives the meal a bit of atmosphere, don't you think?"
"Yeah, but... for microwave dinners?"
"Oh hush you," she responded, "I just felt like it, alright? Now go ahead and start eating, I'm digging in."
And she began to do just that, carefully and delicately handling the silverware in her clawed paws as Milo shrugged and sat down in his chair. Yet despite how interested in her food she appeared, Milo noticed that she was still glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, almost as if she was expecting something to happen. Checking the food itself visually, he saw no evidence of tampering, and after taking a bite he found no strange flavors, and so it wasn't until he reached for a drink of water that he realized just what she had been waiting for.
"Aha, the glass this time, hm?"
"Only took you 40 seconds," she replied sarcastically as a smirk broke out on her face. Making a soft "tsk" sound, she continued, "And that was with something REALLY obvious. You haven't figured it out for a whole week now, and I was getting desperate." Another "tsk" sound. "You're really losing it, man."
"Eh, give me a break, it's been a hard week at work. You know I've had to stay late every night for something or another. So where'd you put it anyway?"
Glade giggled and pointed to a wicker basket on the far end of the table. "In the bread basket."
Milo grumbled and stood up to reach over and open the basket, retrieving an ornate glass and setting it back down above his plate. "You and your traditions," he mumbled as he filled the glass with drinking water, appearing annoyed though the faint smile he wore said otherwise.
This was not at all a new behavior for the two of them. For who knows what reason, about five years ago Glade began a daily tradition. Every weekday, while Milo was out at work, she chose one object in the house to hide away from him, and at night it was his job to figure out just what she had taken. It was nothing but a silly little game between the two of them, just some harmless fun, something for Glade to do during the day. There were no rewards for guessing right, nor were there any penalties for failing to notice any difference at all. But the past week had been fairly difficult for Milo, and he had indeed failed the test for seven days straight, the missing object becoming more and more obvious as the days went on. Finally she hid his favorite glass, the one he preferred using at all meals, simply because she thought he couldn't possibly ignore its absence. She must have been a bit disappointed actually, since the whole "being mischievous" thing was pointless if nobody noticed anything she did.
The rest of the meal continued in relative silence, until Milo swallowed the last bit of pork on his plate and sighed.
"Maybe you're right," he mused. "Maybe I am getting out of touch with everything. The Geppetto Project is going nowhere, and it just seems like all this work I'm putting into it is going to be useless once the project gets scrapped. The company's having a reorganization next month, you know. I'll be lucky if the project lasts a week after that."
Glade finished her own portion as well and looked up at him. "You know what YOU need?" She pointed a claw at Milo as he cocked an eyebrow. "You need to unwind. Unplug. Let loose." She chuckled and added, "Come to think of it, I do too. We've just gotta get out of the house and actually DO something for a change."
"And what did you have in mind?"
"Oh, I've got a few ideas," she replied in the same sing-song voice she had used earlier. And she was smirking. 'Oh dear lord, this cannot end well,' Milo thought.
"So shall we go?"
"Do I really have a choice?" he sighed.
"Of course not. We leave in three minutes. Oh, and Milo?"
"Yes?"
"Help me with these dishes, will you?"Chapter End Notes:Thanks for reading, and as always, constructive criticism is appreciated