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At which point, Elizabeth burst out laughing. The familiarity of the situation caught her off guard. In spite of Ratio, in spite of her father's death and her frustration with her own house, in spite of the numbness and rage that accompanied it, she couldn't help herself. She had to laugh.

'No, sorry, sorry,' she said, waving her hand to dismiss Juliet's offer. 'It's just my father used to send me to deliver messages all the time. I know exactly how you feel, but I don't think it ever quite drove me to drink.'

The ball passed them, bodies drifting like a river around rocks. Strange, surrounded as they were, Elizabeth felt it was safe enough to speak openly.

'I somehow doubt that's all you have bothering you,' Elizabeth said, smile lingering on her face. A reassuring smile, hopefully. 'Anything you want to get off your chest?'

Skin prickled across Elizabeth's back. What Juliet said, the sudden shift in tone, had deal with the devil written all over it. But why not? She had never trusted Lord Nostrad, and it was clear Elliot didn't trust her. Why fumble in the dark, denied any assistance, then refuse that which came openly? Still, she couldn't deny that chill. Juliet was a Nostrad after all. Her smile faded entirely.

'Revenge then,' Elizabeth said, holding out her hand.

Pokémon League Castle - Elsewhere

This was likely how convicts felt on the way to the guillotine, Severin reflected as Beauthane marched him between clusters of nobility. He dared to hope there was no black-hooded Kingler awaiting him at the end of this walk, but with Beauthane you could never be too sure. The head waiter's knuckle pressed on the small of Severin's back like a knife, directing him down the stairs, around the edges of the main hall, and towards the kitchens. Severin's mind was awhirl, replaying his moment of insubordination on loop. A spot on a relatively clean sheet. Of course Beauthane had been witness to it, how could he not?

Whenever was the world fair?

'Don't speak, don't look at anyone. Keep moving.' Beauthane hissed. Severin could picture him, his hooked nose and flashing spectacles, with his combover plastered across his scalp like squashed grass. The nobility's own protector. The living, breathing shield who would maintain a fierce charade of their untouchability. In short, he was a highly useful tool, and Severin would soon need more like him.

They were just outside the kitchen doors when the calm, commanding voice stopped them in their tracks. 'Ah, Monsieur Beauthane, a pleasure to see you.'

Severin felt the knuckle leave his back, replaced instantly by a painful hand on his shoulder. He was bolted to the spot, not allowed to turn around. He could feel the tension, irritation mainly, coming through Beauthane's grip, soon replaced by another kind of tension.

'Who is- Lord Siebold! My lord, whatever are you doing so close to the kitchens?'
'Why, Monsieur Beauthane, I hope you aren't questioning the decisions of a Court noble?'
'Of course not, my lord. No, never.'
'Very good. I would hate for someone of your reputation to ever fall into a state of decline. Relax, my friend. I am merely here to speak with your head chef. I consider myself a culinarian, but I fear I am a mere novice in comparison to his mastery.'

Footsteps echoed, cutting through the background buzz of the ball. Siebold was right next to them. 'Ah, but who is this? Monsieur Lorel, is it?'

Beauthane snatched at Severin's other shoulder and turned him around. He felt a sharp pressure on his back as Beauthane hissed, 'Stand up straighter, boy' in his ear.

'Finding ourselves in some trouble, are we, Lorel?' Lord Siebold asked, smiling. Severin didn't answer, not with Beauthane breathing down his neck.
'The boy committed an act of the utmost disrespect toward Baron Robillard, my lord. I am taking him to be punished fittingly.'
'Did he now?' Lord Siebold sounded amused. 'Well, I don't think that will be necessary. I'll take the boy off your hands, Beauthane. He can be my personal servant for the evening, I think that ought to be punishment enough, eh?'
'But my lord, he-' Beauthane wilted under the sudden shift in Lord Siebold's expression. The slightest of frowns. 'I mean, of course, an excellent idea, my lord.'

So it was that Lord Siebold took over Severin, much to Beauthane's silent, fuming dismay. The head waiter would not let this set back stop him; no doubt Severin would have a personal torture waiting for him when the night was through. Lord Siebold walked him along a quiet passage that ran parallel to the main hall, albeit a floor below. Along the wall were several double doors that led into private chambers, usually reserved for meetings for whatever event the league castle was used for that day.

'Did you really have to play with the poor man?' asked Severin once he was sure Beauthane was out of earshot.
Siebold smiled and said, 'He was asking for it.'
'I do hate to see a grown man snivel, even if it is Beauthane.'
'Very admirable of you to say. I'm afraid snivelling is the primarily language of most people I encounter. Sadly, you get used to it.'

Siebold stopped as they reached a particular set of doors. Severin could just about hear voices inside. Muffled, indistinct. A man and a woman.

'From the frying pan into the fire, Severin,' said Siebold, offering a weak smile. 'I am sorry, but after tonight's little gaffe, we'll be forced to talk strategy.'

Lumiose Press HQ

Lumiose City’s most well known media outlet had been prepared to run fluffy filler pieces that night until the snafu at Hotel Richissime occurred. Now the office brimmed with activity as everyone scrambled to gather their sources and report the story better than the rivaling companies did.

Alexa had long ago graduated to her own private office. Her most prized stories were often met with controversy but no one could deny that they sold papers. So giving her an office was a way of rewarding that effort while also shoving her aside where her conspiracy theories wouldn’t take up all the air in the pigpen. This was fine with her. She preferred to write alone. It was faster that way. Besides, with the door closed and the window open she was able to smoke as long as no one decided to tattle on her.

“You and I both know it was no accident, Chief,” she said in the phone cradled at her ear while she typed up an editorial, multi tasking like the professional she was. “This reeks of coverup-because Horton Balibar checked into that hotel this afternoon! We reported on that, and now he’s gone…no, never showed up at the ball.”

Alexa scrolled through the video clips her press team sent her, looking for any clue to a bigger story that someone may have missed. The hotel’s security team ran amok in the background but without any purpose that she could discern. Uncovering the real story would take actual leg work. “Chief, please, let me…fine…No, I understand, I’ll run the backup….okay.”

Growling alone, she hung up the phone and deleted the article she had been typing up about the signs of foul play at Hotel Richissime. Alexa had always prided herself in not playing into the deep pockets of the nobility and writing about actual news. But she couldn’t keep a job that way, not when her boss wanted stories that fit the Kalosian paradigm.

Seconds later she received Benedict’s text. Intriguing, sure, but without more details it was just buzzwords. And she had no idea who this informant was. Alexa was a very busy woman who couldn’t be bothered chasing dragons. So as she searched up the name displayed on her Holocaster, Benedict Maximillian Montgomery, she texted him back:





((And now I believe we are ready for Day 6!!))

((Hello to Oberon! mrgreen ninja ))

Cyllage City - Hospital

'Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour! Wake up you sleepy head! You are listening to Pokémon March right here on Kalos Sound~'

Upbeat music kicked Zack awake, dragging him from a blissfully dreamless sleep. He turned over, tried blocking the sound by wrapping his pillow around his head and ducking under the thin, hospital covers. Luckily, he hadn't been too hopeful that he'd get back to sleep; the door soon opened and pumps click-clacked across the floor.

'Good morning. And how are you feeling today?' Nurse Berthe said, making Zack scrunch into a ball.
'Awake,' growled Zack. In truth, the aches and pains he'd battled through yesterday were back in full force. His stomach prickled with intermittant stabbing pains while his arm felt like someone had replaced the bones with barbed wire.
'In a lovely mood too, from the sound of things,' Berthe continued in her hefty Kalosian accent. 'Nurse Blissngale has worked through the night, and you will be pleased to know that, in her professional opinion, you are ready to be discharged. I am sure we will all be glad to see you on your merry way.'

---

Zack stepped from the shower into a steam-filled bathroom, dripping wet with his hair plastered to his skull. He towelled dry, and dressed in the complementary clothes the hospital had provided to replace the tattered rags he'd been dragged in wearing. The pair of medium-grey cargo pants were passable, but the happy shade of blue on the shirt was too much for his liking. Still, he slipped them on, and went to check his hair.

No doubt wind and dirt from the day's activities would destroy any attempts at styling it, but Zack liked to get his hair right before he left. He wiped a little window of clarity in the mirror and towelled his head into a hedgehog, then sculpted with his hands. By the time he was done, the wall fan had worked its magic. The steamy mirror had cleared, and Zack stood looking at himself. Still in one piece. Still alive.

He had avoided looking at it in the shower, but he couldn't hide forever. Better to get it over and done with, accept that the mistake was real and learn from it. He lifted his shirt and looked at the scar. The first thought that sprang to mind was that the Arcanine had a deceptively large mouth. Blissngale had done a good job of smoothing and adding flexibility to the scar tissue, so that the only real deviation from Zack's healthy flesh was the colour. From his waist to his chest, Zack's right side was a deep, blood red curve. He turned, seeing that the colour went around his side and mirrored on his back, ending just before his spine.

If it had been much worse, he probably wouldn't be standing here. Zack swallowed and lowered his shirt.

He looked himself in the eye, shook off the weakness, got into character and smiled. 'Getting sloppy in your old age, Zack.'

---

Nurse Berthe was waiting in the hallway that lead to the patient service rooms when Zack returned from the shower. Beside her was a jovial middle-aged doctor in a pair of bottle cap glasses, and Blissngale, the Blissey who had treated Zack's injuries. Zack noticed a black patch of cloth held across Berthe's arms and frowned.

'Ah, Monsieur Redgrave,' the doctor opened his arms.
'Don't call me that.'
'Zack, Zack, how very good it is to see you mobile. Who would recognise the trainer so unceremoniously dumped on our doorstep?' The man, Doctor Boissieu if Zack recalled correctly, clapped his hands together and held them there. 'You are a very lucky young man, and it is thanks to the tireless efforts of Nurse Blissngale here that you are up and on your feet so quickly.'

He paused, and Zack recognised it as one of those times he was supposed to say something. Nurse Berthe cleared her throat, then tipped her head toward the wobbling pink mass at their feet.

'Oh,' Zack said, looking past the pokémon. 'Thanks.'
'Splendid,' grinned Doctor Boissieu. 'Now Zack, are you feeling any pain in your right arm?'
Tons. 'A little.'
'I thought you might be. Nurse Blissngale has successfully repaired the splintering in your arm, but you still suffered numerous fractures. The bones, they are brittle and liable to break again if exposed to too much trauma. Fixing them again would be, ah, complicated.'

'Well, I'll be careful,' Zack said, starting off walking, overtaken with a sinking feeling at what the black cloth might be.
'Of course, of course. And to help you be careful, I am going to insist that you wear this sling.'

Zack stopped cold. Doctor Boissieu lifted the cloth from Berthe's arms and stretched it end to end, almost matching his grin.

'I'm not wearing that.'
'Ah?' Doctor Boissieu's smile faded. 'Then I am afraid we are going to have a problem. I have a duty of care towards you, my patient, and I am afraid I cannot discharge you unless I am happy with your health, or certain of your continued recovery. Of course, I would very much like to see you fit and on your way, but if you insist you will not wear the sling...'

Zack closed his eyes and sighed. Outside of Esme and her Aunts, Kalosians could go ******** themselves. He'd just take the sling off once he got outside. He could put up with some pain, it was hardly new to him.

'Fine, I'll wear the damn sling,' Zack said, but no sooner had the words left his mouth than Doctor Boissieu nodded to Blissngale, who hopped up to Zack and tapped him on the shoulder. He felt a sensation similar to Heal Pulse, and his arm went dead from the shoulder down. It waggled at his side like jelly, and proved too heavy to lift even a little. Zack worked his mouth in silent outrage, not sure who to swear at first.

'Through years of study, Nurse Blissngale has attained a mastery over human anatomy,' boasted the doctor. 'Her Heal Pulse will continue to work the affected area for a period of 48 hours, and serve to strengthen your bones to full health. You may, ah, feel some numbness. But on the bright side, at least you are no longer in any pain.'

---

So this was Cyllage City. Zack hadn't had time to acquaint himself with the place before rushing into combat. He noticed several cyclists like the ones he'd seen from his hospital window racing along the roads. There were very few cars to worry about; most people were either walking, cycling or skating. It was nice. The sea air drifted from the west, salty but refreshing, much unlike the thick, city air of Lumiose.

His reflection looked back at him from the window of a sportswear shop. The black sling bound his arm tight against his torso, with his right hand tucked near his left elbow. There were a few glances in his direction, but mostly from out-of-town trainers. He guessed broken bones weren't too uncommon a sight in Cyllage, and could see how Blissngale honed her craft.

The gym was around here somewhere, but Zack wasn't too interested right now. He supposed he ought to catch a few of the gym leader's battles so he could coach Helena properly, but remembered with dread how their last conversation had ended. He had put too much pressure on her, and she wasn't coping well with her run-in with Ratio. That was the thing with his little sister; for as long as he could remember, anything he could do, she could do better, given time. That was why he had such faith in her ability to win the league. If Zack could do it, which he almost certainly could if he wanted, then Helena should walk it. But at the end of the day, she was still just a kid on her first pokémon journey.

When daredevilling around the regions with your pokémon was your favourite hobby, you could forget how easily people freak out.

Zack checked into the pokémon center after a short walk around Cyllage. His team had been brought in, mostly in bad shape, and he was here to collect. The receptionist called up his details and asked him to wait. Zack pretended he hadn't caught the cautious glint in her eye. Uh oh, serial pokémon abuser is in the building. It wasn't his first time getting that look.

He kicked back on the surprisingly comfortable lobby seats and watched the people pass. Each time the doors swished open, he glanced over with reserved interest. Robin could walk through any moment, if she deigned a supply run to the Center was necessary anyway. No way they would have a joyous reunion, and the sling would either serve in his defence or prevent him from mounting one entirely.

With some guilt, he realised he had hardly thought of her in this past year. Everything had changed at home, he told himself, perfectly reasonable explanation. But the other pricked at his mind, and far more tantalising; the suggestion that he may just be a dickwad.

'Zack Redgrave?' the receptionist called, looking up from her desk. Zack climbed to his feet, a little awkwardly since he was now missing an arm, and walked over. His return tray had only five of his six pokéballs. In response to his 'what gives?' expression, the nurse said, 'Your Aerodactyl was severely injured by the gas explosion, we're still treating it for numerous burn wounds. As I am sure you are about to ask, it is stable, but very weak.'

As he was not, in fact, about to ask, Zack treated the extra information as a blow to his conscience. Poor little guy, still fighting the good fight, like a low-rent Jiminy Cricket. Zack took his remaining pokéballs back to the lobby, tried to fasten them along his belt, and found it difficult. His belt was designed under the assumption that the wearer had both hands, which meant three holster spots around the back of each hip.

He could fit three on his left side, where they were easily accessible, and two on the right, where he struggled to reach with his arm in the way. The left three would have to be the ones he would use the most often, and perhaps due to a shadow of blame aimed at Lethal, the Clawitzer didn't make the cut. He relegated the arm-shattering crustacean to the right hip with Fatass, and put Hazard, Malis and Serene on the left. There, not so bad. He'd never had to think so much about arranging his pokéballs. He felt like some nervous rookie.

'Time to move,' Zack said to himself as he neared the Center doors and the mega stone he'd picked up from Route 10 rocked around the bottom of his backpack. Salieri had guessed that Ratio was on Route 10 for the stones, and Zack very much disliked the idea of Ratio amassing more power. Their encounter had left the trainer half dead and he wouldn't fare any better in a rematch if he didn't shape up quick. The fastest way to close the gap between them, Zack thought, was with the mega stones.

And so the Center doors closed behind him and he took in that salty Cyllage air. Onward to Shalour City.

[After The Celebrations - The Night Before]

[Ahahahahahaha, as if you pathetic losers could face me and survive!] The tiny Meltic shouted, its voice a squeak from its fully minimized form. The blasts of flame it shot kept the opponent Pokemon on edge, while the Darmanitan and Galvantula capitalized on the openings.

The three on three battle had been going on for what felt like an eternity. Helena felt the fast paced feel of it, but was pulled from her focus by Henrietta who had her back to it all. She wasn't a calm and collected person. Timid in a lot of ways, introverted, with a soft voice that wasn't used to shouting.

Azucena was around, but busy. Helena could tell that Henrietta was thankful for the company. As the stage equipment that K-Rok had used for his set was put away, and the festival was being cleared out with only workers left to dismantle and move on, trucks packing the streets and alleyways, Henrietta had been left mostly alone and mostly bored.

"Apparently I have a 'great figure' for underwear modeling," Henrietta explained, her face bright red at the memory. Something that, Helena had been told, would have never been brought up if she hadn't had her clothes burned off by another weird incident. Something Helena would never have known if Azucena hadn't brought it up in one of her rare moments around the two girls during the last hour.

For someone so prone to being hit by Pokemon attacks, you'd think she'd pay more attention to her battles. Helena was impatient, wanting to coordinate her efforts. Écarlate, Feather, and Loki fought hard against the other three Pokemon, and it was hard to see who exactly had the upper hand.

"Can you pay attention, please," Helena said and Henrietta looked back at the battle with an "oh, yeah."

It was just in time for both of them to catch the Darmantian and Galvantula falling. It only took a moment more for Helena's three Pokemon to jump toward Melty. Helena was almost too caught up in the moment to notice that Henrietta didn't seem surprised, or worried.

[Fools!] Melty's squeaky voice sounded, [Welcome to the Inferno!]

Just as the trio got close, a pillar of fire erupted, Melty as its center point. Henrietta stared into it, impassive to the show, and Helena shielded her eyes, barely catching the sillhouettes of her Pokemon, caught in the flames.

When it died, all that remained were the fallen forms of her Pokemon. That and Melty, no longer a tiny Litwick. Its new form, Lampent, floated at the center of what had been the pillar, its own gaze as impassive as Henrietta's. It was silent.

"Holy s**t," spoke Grant, his voice catching both girls off-guard before either one of them could comment. "That is some firepower." He stood nearby, behind Helena, his arms crossed and his face painted impressed. Both girls looked at him.

"W-what are you doing here?" Henrietta asked before Helena could, thought she was sure that she'd have stammered twice as much as the future underwear model.

"I called him," Azucena said, emerging from behind the stage, nodding her thanks to a few Machokes as they carried the last of her equipment toward a nearby truck.

"Why?" Helena asked.

"Because you seemed angry, and I thought you two were probably going to hit it off."

"You should have asked me," Helena said, recalling her Pokemon as she refused to make eye contact with the sponsored trainer.

Azucena pressed her lips together, and Grant scratched his head.

"You know," Grant said, stepping around into Helena's view, "we do need to talk." As their eyes met, both teens blushed.

"You slammed a door in my face," Helena said.

"Would you believe you made me really nervous?"

"I would not believe that."

"Why not?"

"Um," Helena's blush flared across her cheeks, and her gaze shot down to the ground.

"Um what?"

"Nevermind," she shook her head.

"Nevermind? Is this going to be one of those self esteem things? Like you can't believe a guy like me would be nervous over a girl like you?"

"I said drop it," Helena said, her eyes raising to look at him, though not in the eyes. She only felt more flustered as he spoke.

"I think we should talk about it. I want to talk about it."

"No," Helena said, her voice stern. She glared at Grant, looking him in the eyes this time. She could have swore he flinched.

"Why not?"

"Because I have too much going on for this."

"Like what? Are you not doing well in the league?"

"What? No, forget the league. It's personal family stuff."

"Oh, that sounds made up," Grant said.

Helena sighed. "Look, I'm leaving, thanks for the match Henrietta," the teen said as she turned, only to see that the two girls were gone. "Oh, nevermind then."

"You could at least tell me upfront if you're not interested. I'm sorry about the door thing," Grant said, not missing a beat.

"It's not you," Helena said.

"Then what is it?"

The girl sighed again. "Okay, fine. This crazy guy wants to kidnap me and he put my brother in the hospital," Helena said.

"Ohhh, the patriarchy," Grant said. "Like, sex trafficking or something, right?"

"What? No, it's a whole government conspiracy thing."

"I said stop making stuff up."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not!" Helena shouted, and Grant went quiet. The girl looked at him as he stared at her, taken aback. "I'm not lying. A lot of people are putting themselves in danger over this, my brother is one of them. I don't know what to do about it either, because they're so dead set on this idea that I'm wrong, and I'm not. We should just go home, or into hiding, or something." Helena didn't notice that she'd started crying, not until she felt Grant cup her cheek. She looked up at him, vision distorted by tears.

"Hey," he said softly. She wiped her eyes and looked at him, suddenly feeling out of breath.

"Start from the beginning."

Lumiose Press

If Benedict found himself in the main lobby of the multi floor building, he'd find a peppy secretary who definitely embraced his morning coffee behind a desk, answering many phone calls and jotting down memos. The secretary waved Ben over. "Hi, are you Alexa's ten o'clock? She's on floor thirty, office to the left at the end of the hall."

Hotel Richissime

"Don't touch that with your hands."

The hotel was experiencing marginally less activity than usual, due to numerous checkouts after yesterday's antics and the police sectioning off the penthouse at the top floor as a crime scene. Yellow tape blocked one end of the hallway where CSI's snapped pictures, checked for fingerprints and upturned every nook and cranny for a hint to Horton's disappearance.

Juliet was the only person behind the yellow tape who wasn't on the police force, yet she had the power to command them all. Purple slime was still splattered about the kitchen and walls. Juliet used a pencil to poke off a chunk of the goo, then pinched it between her fingers. A squeamish cop behind her shuddered. "Ewww, you touched it with your hands."

"It was a Goodra, no doubt about it." Juliet ran the goo off her fingers in the kitchen sink. "You're sure there were no witnesses on the top floor?"
The cop recomposed himself. "No, we canvassed twice for witnesses. Everyone in the lobby was asleep but no one on the top floor came out of their rooms. They heard the struggle and stayed inside."

Kallikrates sniffed along the ground, hoping to pick up something unique with her heightened sense of smell. It wasn't as good as some Pokémon but it was better than a human's. She noticed a jar of coins on the coffee table, half of them poured out onto the floor.

"What about the girl?" Juliet asked as she joined Kallikrates, squatting down to the floor and checking the shag carpet.
"Miriam Aviad? She didn't show up for work today. She's a temp but we got her contact information. Someone's paying her a visit later."
"You can call that officer off, I'll check on Ms. Aviad myself." She looked at the TV, checking if there was a camera for videochats. No such luck. The promised privacy of the penthouse was working against her.

Next to the TV was a ball of cotton. Juliet pinched it between her fingers, studying it closely. "Has Elizabeth Leroux come yet?"
"No ma'am. When she does you'll be the first to know."
Irritation stung her briefly, only because she detested being called ma'am. "Good. And if you're team is done with them, I'd like to see the physical copies of the security tapes."
The cop scratched his head. "Sure thing ma'am, but like I said before, it's all corrupted. There was a magnetic wipe. You think you'll get something off of them?"

Juliet shrugged. Kallikrates giggled like she was privy to a secret. "I have my ways."