Obvious exits:
Southwest <SW> leads to Pewter City: Abandoned Warehouse.
West <W> leads to Pewter City: Rolling Stone Burger Club.
East <E> leads to Pewter City: Pokemon Center.
North <N> leads to Pewter City: Onix Square.
South <S> leads to Pewter City: Outskirt Fields.

Wesley arrives from Pewter City: Onix Square.
Wesley has arrived.

Heavy snow falls, making it hard to walk through the accumulating drifts, and occasionally even hard to see. All the world seems grey and white. The wind blows the snow about from the east, and it swirls around objects and never falls straight down. In the forest, the whirling curtain of snow accumulates in the forks of the trees and piles up in drifts against their trunks. While at the coast, the cold snow pelts the ocean, whipping it into a black frenzy with foam-white accents.

Somewhere, a blue haired boy selects the right shade of lipstick. (Eee! Saving!)

Christmas has come and gone, but the spirit remains suspended in the crisp, refreshing air - provided you can breathe it through the heavy snow falling from the sky. Indeed, the snow falls heavily, but that doesn't trap kids inside. Little boys play about in the snow near the houses of western Pewter, grinning and hurling snowballs at each other and playing with their almost brand new winter toys. Two children in particular act out their own little pokemon battle with a Hitmonlee and a Charizard (though the Hitmonlee toy looks larger than his opponent), and they cry out their attacks loudly, totally into the game. A few adults watch on, some alone and some with their spouses, sipping coffee or tea or hot chocolate, enjoying the scene.

Wesley is walking in a winter wonderland...rather, the part of the winter wonderland that is situated in residential Pewter. He's walking very slowly, conscious of the not-so-wonderful ice beneath his winter boots and the addresses of houses that he gleans from his passing. The fabric of his snowpants swish together, as does the fabric of his jacket sleeves when he shakes his hands to get warm. In front of him prances a young Pikachu, her older but no less joyous father always a few steps behind. A snowball almost impacts the baby electric mouse, causing her father's cheeks to snap and his satin ears to slick back. The thrower shouts a quick "Sorry!" in a young voice. Wesley bobs his head in acceptance and keeps on walking, motioning Sparkheart along. The father nods, cheerful once more, and the walk continues. Soon, Wesley looks up, and sees the correct address - he was afraid he'd miss the house with all the snow! The note on the mailbox doesn't catch his attention as he walks up the driveway; his eyes are fixed on the door. It takes the kid a few seconds to muster his courage, but he knocks on it. Sparkheart smooths down his daughter's fur and stares up, ready to greet the human who invites them in.

Wesley may not be able to hear it, but inside the house, a lighthearted voice echos into the dining room as Mrs. Barlette chimes out, "I'll get it!" A moment or two later, the door is swung open, and in the doorway stands a tall woman with braided brown hair falling down below her shoulder, bright blue eyes shining behind her spectacles, a warm look on her face. She is dressed casually in sweatpants and a faded grey T-shirt, though it is speckled with bits of red and yellow sauce, not to mention plenty of powders. "We've been expecting you. Melissa! It-" Though Mrs. Barlette turned to call her daughter into the room, Melissa is already standing there, a step behind and to the right of her mother, the bright smile on her face outclassing her parents. Melissa's hair is a little less straight than usual and she wears no shoes, only socks, but she doesn't appear far less normal than usual. "H... Hi, Wesley," the teenager greets, showing a few of her teeth, hesitating for a moment before her eyes flicker over to the coatrack. "Oh, um, um, come in, it's a lot warmer in here! Take off your, uh, your coat and your, uh, your shoes, they can go right there..." Should Wesley allow her, Melissa will help the boy take off everything covered in snow. Mrs. Barlette has retreated without a word into the kitchen to finish up cooking for dinner.

"Piii!" squeals Sparkheart in an affectionate tone, his brown eyes shining in the light, Buttercup mirroring his expression and posture exactly. Wesley's greeting is a near-silent "Hi.." that turns into a happier "Hello!" when Melissa is seen. "I..I was out training earlier, so I don't have all the pokemon that wanted to be here with me," he immediately confesses, his eyes on his friend, though they flick to her mother as if wondering if he should speak to her as well. No matter - Melissa ushers him in soon enough, and Wesley and his two pokemon quickly accept. He doesn't stop Melissa from assisting, and the kid is soon out of his winter clothes, his backpack dumped near the coatrack. He wears a white turtleneck and brown corduroys, but his sweater is a bright red, striped horizontally with green. Surprisingly Christmasy. Wesley breathes on his cold right hand before opening up another pokeball; out flies Fistfight from the blast of red light, sans her usual winter blanket. <Merry Christmas!> she "Ma machawwwp!"s to Melissa, giving the older trainer a wave and a grin so hearty it looks like she's trying to outshine St. Nick.

By the time Wesley's winter clothes are off, Melissa's mom has already taken her seat at the table. The conversation has died without the younger sister present, so it's not long before Adrienne cries, "Come on, Melissa! We're waitin' on ya!" Her voice is not particularly rude or impatient, but it's easy to tell that she's pretty hungry. Melissa purposely ignores her sister, grinning and mumbling under her breath as she straightens out the now-dripping coat on the rack. She doesn't say anything audible until until Fistfight is called out, and though the girl can't understand the fighting type, she still bites her lip and squeezes in her cheeks as she does when she sees anything cute. "Hi... Fistfight!" the girl chimes to the pokemon, bending her knees a little and giving a baby wave to the elderly creature. She straightens herself, runs her hand through her hair, and continues smiling. "Hope you, uh, hope you're hungry, because mom cooked a -lot- of food." A pause. "Even more than, uh, than usual."

Wesley gives a barely noticeable flinch when Adrienne calls. He's making Melissa late and ruining Christmas dinner for everyone! It's all his fault! But he can redeem himself. "I'm quite hungry!" Wesley says with a head-bob and a grin sailing across his features. Fistfight returns Melissa's wave with a happy chuckle. The old gal then turns to her trainer and looks him up and down. <Your hair's sticking up...> she murmurs, an artist noting a flaw in her masterpiece. Wesley clears his throat and rubs his hand through his hair in a way that would be subtle if he did something other than stand near the coatrack. And if it didn't make his hair, static's cruel plaything, stand up even more. <C'mon, Buttercup, take a sniff! It really smells delish!> Sparkheart urges. Buttercup only understands her name, but fortunately for her proud pappa, sniffing is an instinctual thing. She "Chuu.."s uncertainly at the odd food-smells coming from the kitchen. "So...do..well, do we just go in now and sit down?" Wesley asks, taking the smallest of steps towards the kitchen. Who knows what strange Christmas-related hoops he'll have to jump through?

The whiteness of the whirling snow fades to blanched grey.

It's only just now that Melissa notices the two Pikachus, and the aww-too-cute look on her face widens even further. "Ooh! I... I'll bet Adrienne... will love them! She, um, she has a Pikachu, and... and..." She pauses for a second, takes a step back, and nods to the boy. "Just, um, just come right through here, it's... right here." As though Wesley can't follow her, it's only a step or two back and under an arch. Compared to the grey, dimly lit hallway, the dining room is absolutely bursting with light and color. The glass chandelier reflects the light well, light traces of a rainbow forming in each of the segments. The room is well furnished, with brown cabinets in two of the corners and a little shelf with ornaments, photos, dolls, and other such mementos in another. Pictures line the wall, and Wesley will be able to get his first glimpse of Melissa at ages one and up if he dares to look around. Mr. Barlette, dressed in a light sweater, turns his head as his daughter enters, and looks past her to take his first look at Wesley. Once the boy appears, he'll greet him with a hearty, "Heeey, Wesley! How are ya doin'?" His voice is friendly and kind. Adrienne, with her hair far less neat than any of the other family members, just grins a bit and waves.

Wesley tries to remember what else to do to make an impression on Melissa's family. His hair is (so he thinks) fine, his back straight as usual, and was there something else..? He shoots Fistfight a look, but all too soon they're in the dining room and quite distracted. Wesley and his entourage look around, heads turning this way and that, though much faster in the case of the Pikachus, both too dazed to do anything other than silently gaze at their first human den outside a Pokemon or Breeding Center. Fistfight is particularly giddy as she strides further into the room, pointing at ornaments and pictures with an <Oooo!> or a <Hey, this is just the neatest!> Her voice almost squeaks like a teenager's as she gushes. Wesley's eyes are wide and his eyebrows half raised; when Mr. Barlette speaks, the look the kid gives him is rather dazed. It takes Wesley two seconds of blank staring to respond. "I'm, ah, really, pretty much, fine, sir," he says, the volume rising so that his 'fine, sir' is clear and audible. Adrienne gets a look from Wesley and a shy smile and awkward head-bob in her direction. It's like he's forgotten how to wave, the silly kid.

Somewhere, a blue haired boy selects the right shade of lipstick. (Eee! Saving!)

Mrs. Barlette is the first of the three sitting down to notice the Pikachus, but instead of smiling, her face morphs into something a little more worried, and she glances over at her husband uncertainly. Mr. Barlette notices the little electric types soon after greeting Melissa's friend, but after only a second of staring, he turns to his wife and gives her a little nod. She looks relieved. Adrienne is the first to speak. "Wow, hey! You got a Pikachu!" Her hand reaches down to one of the pokeballs on her belt, and she nods certainly. Sensing her friend's uncertainty and shyness (perhaps Melissa realizes that she would in this instance also be overwhelemed in a similar manner?), she pats Wesley gently on the back, and tries to lead him over to his chair, sitting down in her own once she arrives. Mr. Barlette sits at the head of the table; next to him sit Mrs. Barlette and Melissa, each across from the other. Thusly, Wesley sits across from Adrienne, though her eyes appear locked on the Pikachus whenever either one is visible over the table. "Is that his baby?" she asks Wesley without looking at him, her outgoing personality causing Melissa to blush slightly. "Do you have the mom?"

Snow falls heavily in the deepening twilight, making it hard to walk through the accumulating drifts, and hard to see. The wind blows the snow about from the east, and it swirls around objects and never falls straight down.

Blinding snow spills from the sky as the twilight deepens.

The elder Barlettes should be lucky that Wesley didn't bring his two Ekanses - they at least can spend a long time in their pokeballs. As it is, Wesley's attention has drifted off Melissa's parents; his eyes are focused on the pictures on the shelf. As Melissa pats him on the back he looks to her, then back to a picture of her at two. So different, yet so the same. Wesley is easily led to his seat, obedient and brainless as an ox. Fistfight stays away from the table, still looking around and ooohing over the precious Christmas things (they must be able to hear her in Vermilion!), while Sparkheart moves closer to Fistfight, his daughter stuck to him like white on rice. "Huh?" is the response Adrienne immediately gets from Wesley. "Oh, oh, yes, she is. That's Sparkheart," he gives a little motion with his hand to the appropriate pokemon, no matter whether Adrienne is looking at him or not, "and his daughter Buttercup." <Buddercap!> squeaks the mouse, recognizing her name. Wesley manages a quick smile, adding "I don't have the mom. Oh, and my Machop is Fistfight." Looking over at the table, the boy's shoulder twitches and he quickly slips into his seat. Stupid, standing up like that.

Adrienne seems ready to ask another question, but Mrs. Barlette quickly butts in. "Very nice, Wesley! They seem very well trained and... why, that little one seems so curious. Isn't she adorable, dear?" The man seems a little annoyed at the noises Buttercup makes, though he hides it rather well. "Yes, quite cute, quite cute. Healthy, I'd think." A second or so of silence (from the humans, at least) follows. Adrienne opens her mouth to ask another question, but Mrs. Barlette bursts into action, scooping up some green beans onto her plate. "Let's not just sit here looking at the food, people! Dig in! Do you need a little plate for your pokemon, Wesley?" Melissa, in the meanwhile, is trying to look at as much of Buttercup as possible, the little Pikachu's squeals capturing her heart. The turkey is right there in front of her, but she's too busy to even consider eating yet. Wesley's right in front of the ham, though Adrienne, frowning a little from not being able to talk about the Pikachu, has stolen the fork, so unless poor Wesley wants some cranberry sauce or biscuits, he's going to have to wait a bit.

Wesley looks shyly at Mrs. Barlette, his face turning a light pink as she compliments him. His brain almost shuts down (a Mom! said something nice about his pokemon and by extension himself!), though he manages to turn his eyes to Mr. Barlette as he proclaims how healthy his Pikachu are. The kid's head raises in unaccustomed pride...though he sinks into himself at the call to eat. "No thank you, ma'am, I fed them earlier," Wesley says softly. He looks over at Adrienne and the ham, but as he can easily wait a few seconds before serving himself, he eyes his plate. All right; he can do this. He can use cutlery, though he hasn't had to practice lately, and it's pretty obvious what you do with the napkin. He looks over at his pokemon, wondering if he should beckon them closer or ask them to stay where they are. <I wanna live here..!> giggles Fistfight, stepping closer to the shelf with the pictures, though she's in no danger of touching anything. <Here, heeeereee..!> squeals Buttercup. <Darling, please don't sing,> Sparkheart shushes, but he's too proud to really scold his daughter, who warbles a chirpy "Pika!" to her pop. From the embarrassed way he avoids everyone's eyes, Wesley chooses door number two.

Mr. Barlette smirks a little, though it's hard to tell whether he's amused, annoyed, aggravated, or what. Melissa, on the other hand, is absolutely charmed. "They're... so cute," she mutters under her breath, though she doesn't bother looking at Wesley. She's told him that his Pikachus are cute so many times that he undoubtedly knows it. Turning to the table, Melissa serves herself a generous helping of turkey, more than her mother's meager portion. "I used a special recipe for this food, guys, one my mother used whenever relatives or family members would visit." She gives Wesley a sweet smile. "Judging by what Melissa's told me of you, why, I thought you were important enough to make this for you." The girl immediately sinks into her chair, blushing fiercely and glancing up at her mom through her glasses. "Mom..." she mumbles quietly, eyes locking to her food. Adrienne giggles softly and starts to eat, still looking at the Pikachu as much as possible.

Snow swirls about you in gusts as night falls.

Wesley turns his grey gaze to the food. He shifts from side to side in his seat to better look at the spread, and briefly resembles a mortal visitor to Mount Olympus. Anoher <Ooo!> and "Chuu!" makes Wesley clear his throat loudly and turns to look at his Machop. The meaning behind the pointed stare is easily caught by the old girl, who grins apologetically and nods. <Guys, let's all let the humans enjoy their dinner by playing the quiet game, 'kay? See who can shush up the longest!> This is said in a baby voice for Buttercup's benefit - Sparkheart is old enough and wise enough to play along, and he does. Silence from the pokemon. Wesley sighs and listens to Mrs. Barlette as he stabs a ham slice with the fork left to him by Adrienne. He doesn't withdraw his hand. He stares at Mrs. Barlette, his expression a type of wide-eyed, fearful awe. "Oh..." Wesley breathes softly. Words come slowly and quietly. "You..you didn't h-have to..to do that. I'm not...'mportant," his voice lowers to a murmur, his last word slurred. He apparently thinks himself important enough to hog the ham fork, but the boy quickly realizes that and brings his piece to his plate, before his hand slinks over to nab a biscuit, his eyes on the food.

Mrs. Barlette doesn't seem particularly shocked when she replies to Wesley, perhaps having been filled in on his habits from Melissa already. "Of course you are, dear. She says you're going to be-" "Mo-om!" Melissa whines, scrunching her chin into her chest, red as a cherry. "Stop..." Mrs. Barlette only smiles knowingly, before sprinkling some salt onto her mashed potatoes and getting to work on them. Sensing her chance, Adrienne immediately speaks, her mouth filled with green beans and ham. "So izduh..." She swallows her food before her parents get a chance to scold her, and continues. "Is the baby the first baby you've ever raised?" Wesley shouldn't get a chance to reply, as Adrienne will continue speaking immediately. "I have a baby Bulbasaur. Bred her parents, and raised the baby myself!" She seems very proud of this accomplishment, and her boasting only gets a wide smile from dad and a gentle glance from mom. Melissa's blush is decreasing fast, but she's somewhat quiet, especially compared to her other family members.

Somewhere, a blue haired boy selects the right shade of lipstick. (Eee! Saving!)

Wesley's eyes move to Melissa when Mrs. Barlette mentions her daughter. He looks over at his friend as if he has no idea what her mom is on about. He busies himself with collecting more foods, his portions rather small for a growing boy. The answer comes to him with a little jolt, (Pokemon Master! Wow, she really does believe in him if she tells that to her parents!) and when he looks again at Melissa again he gives her a small grin. He looks especially childish there, an image that doesn't diminish when he clumsily handles his fork and knife, cuts himself a big slab of turkey and shovels it into his mouth. Wesley turns to Adrienne as she speaks, his eyebrows rising in a look of awe. "Oog," comes from his mouth; he shuffles the food around, managing to find enough space for his tongue for him to say "Cool!" He swallows part of what he's eating, the rest still in his cheek. "Bulbasaur are my favourite pokemon and I...I have one, actually." His quietly excited voice becomes even more quiet and excited.

Adrienne's own excitement now comes from genuine interest, not the mere desire to boast. "Really?" she asks, setting her knife and fork (which has a piece of ham on it) down to get deeper into the conversation. "What's it like? What gender? How old? Have you ever bred before? Is it strong? What's its name?" With a small smile, Melissa leans over to whisper to Wesley, should he be able to hear him over the flurry of questions launched from Adrienne's side of the table. "Bulbasaur is her... um, her favorite pokemon, too. She was jealous when she heard... of my Ivysaur." Adrienne stops in mid-sentence, glares at her sister, furrows her eyebrows, and turns to Wesley. "Is she talking about her Ivysaur or something? I'm not jea-" "Adrienne," Mrs. Barlette says softly, patting the air, gesturing for the girl to go back to eating. Mr. Barlette comments between mouthfuls, "Nice to see we've found a topic you guys like to talk about." He goes back to eating, along with his wife and younger child. Adrienne keeps her hands on her laps, waiting for Wesley's reply.

Wesley tilts his head a bit at Adrienne's questions, looking a fair bit flummoxed. He does hear Melissa, as his ear is quite attuned to her voice, and nods, smiling good-naturedly. A whole family that loves Bulbasaurs. Wesley begins to understand what a Christmas miracle is. His smile grows extra-large at the name Lamia. <Oooh, the Ivysaur--ooops!> Fistfight says after Adrienne mentions Lamia, but catches herself. <Ooops boops!> giggles Buttercup. <No, no, we're playing the game again,> Fistfight insists, before clutching her mouth closed. Buttercup giggles and mimicks the fighting type. That little interruption over with, Wesley begins. "He's very small and young...don't know how young. And, no, he hasn't been bred. I actually haven't kept him out much. From what my pokemon tell me, he believes he has to live with other Bulbasaur, so I'm going to trade for another Bulbasaur so I can bring him out more often. His name.." now Wesley smiles with a quiet pride, "/I/ came up with. It's Greenform. Because I read that sometimes young and inexperienced people are called 'greenhorns', and I thought it fit because...Bulbasaur are green." Wesley pauses, then realizes that his last point was rather obvious. He quickly stuffs his mouth full of peas.

Adrienne has a half-grin on her face by the time Wesley's finished speaking, and she seems absolutely fascinated in everything Wesley has to say. When he's done explaining his Bulbasaur's name, the girl seems almost surprised that it's her turn to speak. "Yeah?" she asks, only now resuming her eating. "I think you know what you're doin'. My Bulbasaur's a female and young, too, so I wonder..." Adrienne trails off, giving Wesley the chance to suggest the idea himself, but Mr. Barlette is the first one to speak, much to the older girl's annoyance. "Mmm," he emits, swallows the half-chewed food in his mouth. "But Melissa, you've got an Ivysaur, don't you? Don't they evolve from Bulbasaurs?" Melissa, just like her father, makes a "Mm!" noise, but she can't speak for a couple moments. When she finally does, she lifts her head high, her glasses bobbling on her nose, and speaks. "Um... yeah, Wesley's seen Lamia... a few times, I think. She and, uh, and Fistfight get along pretty well. Right, Wesley?" She turns to her friend, perhaps only to avoid the look of her parents. Mrs. Barlette nods and resumes eating, but Mr. Barlette furrows his eyebrows. "Who?"

Night has come, and heavy snow falls. It's difficult to walk through the accumulating drifts, and difficult to see. It's hard to keep a sense of direction in the darkness and the blinding, swirling snow.

Wesley eats very much like a child does; first he finishes off turkey, then he goes in for the mashed potatoes, and once he's polished off those he goes in for his green beans. His ham remains intact and getting cold - it's being saved for last in whatever eating schedule Wesley has devised. "Oh? Really?" the boy asks once Adrienne is finished talking. He, too, seems interested in what she's saying; it's nice to have a receptive audience. He doesn't suggest anything, though - maybe he doesn't think of it, or maybe the allure of food is too strong, for he goes back to eating. At Mr. Barlette's query about Bulbasaur, Wesley nods once before stopping himself, figuring Mr. Barlette wants to hear his daughter speak and not him. "Mmm hmm," Wesley responds to Melissa through a mouthful of green beans, this time giving a vigorous nod, a grin quirking up one corner of his mouth. Mr. Barlette's query causes Wesley to turn from his friend and to her father. Once again hesitant to suggest anything, he shyly indicates Fistfight with his head, murmuring a "Fidfiyyd," through his closed and full mouth. The Machop waves, having been watching both the dinner and admiring the room.

"Fistfight," Melissa says after Wesley mumbles something that kind of sort of sounds a bit like the fighting type pokemon's name. Mr. Barlette lifts his head and eyebrows up in understanding, lets out a soft "Ohhh", nods, and continues eating. Though Adrienne didn't serve herself very much, she's nowhere near finished, having spent more of the dinner listening to Wesley than actually eating. Mrs. Barlette eats delicately, but surpasses her daughter in food consumed when she goes for second helpings of turkey; Melissa is fine with what she has. Mr. Barlette, though not a particularly fat man, is halfway through his third helping of ham and turkey, and has already gobbled down about three biscuits. "The turkey was... it was really nice, mom," Melissa comments, getting a follow up of a "Yeah" from Adrienne. Though Mrs. Barlette doesn't seem much like either daughter, the blush on her cheeks and the glance up at the ceiling looks exactly like Melissa would, only with a different haircut. "Thank you, thank you..." she mumbles, smiling sweetly. She gives Wesley a chance to give his own compliment, if he has one. Should he give one, she'll give him a polite smile and a thank you. Compliment or not, the woman will say, "We'll have plenty of food left over, Wesley, too much even for this man to eat!" She pats her husband on the back, and he gives a little chuckle of delight before starting on his third helping of green beans. "You're welcome to all the leftovers you can carry."

Wesley really tries to keep his attention to his plate, but this is such a new experience for him that as he eats he can't help but glance around. Pictures on the walls. Eating father. The dishes the plates are served in. That cute Santa ornament. All these impact his little brain. This is the home Melissa lived in, this is the life she leads. It leads Wesley to feel as unimportant as he ever does...but it also makes him feel so grateful. Wesley hasn't eaten overmuch, and slips seconds of the meat and the mashed potatoes onto his plate before munching them down. He's almost finished the mashed potatoes (his last portion) before the praises roll in. He notes the distinctly Barlette blush with a little thrill of recognition - at that, his eyes fairly drip with awe. "...Everything here was so wonderful," are the words that tumble out of his mouth. "I..I..." he trails off into a nod, unable to find any other words. The husband and wife bonding moment, fast as it is, causes the expression to tumble, a hint of confusion and discomfort found on his round face. "No thank you, ma'am," is his quick answer, but he manages to salvage it with a polite "I wouldn't want to impose." That's Wesley, all right.

Somewhere, a blue haired boy selects the right shade of lipstick. (Eee! Saving!)

Though Mrs. Barlette's reply was impersonal (if not kind and considerate), Melissa turns to her friend, giving him the faintest of smiles. Her eyes twinkle behind her glasses, and she speaks now truthfully. "... We were... I was just... really glad to have you, Wesley." She will now lift up her arm and, should Wesley not flinch away or move, place her hand upon his shoulder, her eyes still trying to lock into his own. Mr. Barlette stops eating for a moment to smile, and he glances over at his wife, who smiles back just as broadly. The married couple outstretch their arms and touch hand to hand. Adrienne will occupy herself with dinner. The eyes of the parents (and possibly the pokemon) are on Wesley and Melissa, of course, but the girl seems to not care, as her bright smile sticks to her face.

Wesley twists his neck over to look at his friend as she attracts his attention by turning to him. He doesn't smile; on his face is a vague, mostly neutral look. The expression doesn't disappear at Melissa's words, though confusion creeps in his light grey eyes - Melissa would easily see that, as those eyes don't move from hers. He needs a moment to think, to figure out why he never had a Christmas before, to reason out why his mother never joked in front of them about his father being fat. ..He doesn't get that moment, because Melissa puts her hand on his shoulder. Gratitude sparks in his heart, the thankfulness only the truly worthless can give. A smile begins to thaw his face...before it too, is gone, as something else stirs in the boy. His stomach clenches for reasons completely unrelated to digestion. This something else wants him to keep looking at Melissa, wants him to put his hand on her own. So he does; he's too confused to do otherwise. His fingers lightly touch the back of Melissa's hand, touching her briefly in a little pat. That something else tells him to /hold/ Melissa's hand but, no, he doesn't do that. He's gained control. And now he grins at her. "Thanks." ...Hey, I said he gained control, not that he suddenly became eloquent.

Melissa is caught off guard, and Wesley's sudden hand movements cause her to blink, glance down at her hand, and look back up at Wesley, as though not sure of what he's doing. A moment later, it becomes clear as his soft fingers pet the back of her hand. The girl blushes, though not fiercely. She's evidently surprised, not uncomfortable. After Wesley thanks her (not her mom for dinner, not her dad for being calm around squealing Pikachus, not her sister for talking to him, Melissa!), she looks into his grey eyes for a moment, the look of surprise fading into a far more certain look, and she accepts his word into herself. "Um... Do you..." Slight grin. "It's not late. ... Can I, um, can I walk you to the Pokemon Center?" Adrienne immediately calls "Oo, can I-" but her mom quickly hushes her, before resuming watching Melissa.

Wesley's face is pinker than average as he responds. "The..the Pokemon Center?" Yep, not eloquent. A glance is shot to Adrienne as she speaks, but he's soon looking back at Melissa. "Uh, sure..I suppose." Hopefully unnoticed, the hand that just touched Melissa slips under the table and meets up with Wesley's other hand. The two touch fingertips, the second one rubbing softly over the first's. Essence of Melissa. "But...but I have something for you, too." Now Wesley looks just a bit excited, too, but for the most part he's worried about the logistics of the gift giving. "It's in my backpack but if..if you want to open it at the Center, that's fine." <Sure, let's go!> Fistfight calls excitedly. But, she broke her own game! ..Which means absolutely nothing, as Buttercup is yawning tiredly, ears and eyes drooping. Wesley notices this and stands up. His hand goes to his pokeball belt, unsure whether he should recall the Pikachu duo or not. He soon decides that he will, and two flashes of light bring them back into their pokeballs. He doesn't think he could stand dealing with Buttercup if she woke up and began wailing. Or sparking.

"What?" is Melissa's ever majestic and intelligent reply, complete with a blink and dumbfounded stare. Adrienne mutters a "Wow" in the background, and Mr. and Mrs. Barlette squeeze their hands together even tighter, giving each other a glance and a smile. Melissa eventually recovers, blinks a couple more times, and widens her eyes. "Um... um, yeah... Yeah, um, hold on, I'll go up and get my winter clothes." She hops out of her chair, and rushes up the stairs to her room.

It's hard to tell facial expressions now, with Wesley all bundled up in scarf and hat. Fistfight is back in her pokeball after saying good-bye to the family and trying to tell Mrs. Barlette that her house is just the most darling thing she's ever seen. Wesley didn't say much to Mr. and Mrs. Barlette; he gave them plenty of worshipful glances and slightly stuttered farewell, complete with yet another 'thanks'. The boy walks without pokemon, but with someone that easily makes up for their loss. "Yes, she did," is his embarrassed reply. The food is in his backpack, of course. Everything except the kitchen sink is. "I hope you guys still have some of that fantastic dinner to eat tomorrow. Because I..I don't want to have taken all of it." The Pokemon Center is looming, and Wesley increases his pace slightly. He wants to get out of the wind...and the sneaky little thought of presents has something to do with it, too.

Melissa doesn't realize her pace is increasing along with Wesley's, but she keeps up with him just fine. She chuckles softly, her exhales leaving whispy puffs in the cool air as the snowflakes fall. "Don't worry about it," she says, giving Wesley a reassuring glance with a half grin. "Mom... she really always makes too much. Trust me... all the neighbors will get a little... and we'll still have leftovers tomorrow!" The thought seems to give her some amusement, and her chuckles become a little more intense, forming light laughter. She seems to be thinking about something else as she laughs, though. Shaking her head, Melissa keeps up her pace, trotting up the steps to the Pokemon Center and careful of the slippy ice forming. "Careful," she murmurs, marching towards the door. She holds it open for Wesley, and will keep it open in case he walks inside - though should he happen to hold the door, she'll easily let him. She doesn't expect that.

Somewhere, a blue haired boy selects the right shade of lipstick. (Eee! Saving!)

Night has come, and heavy snow falls. It's difficult to walk through the accumulating drifts, and difficult to see. It's hard to keep a sense of direction in the darkness and the blinding, swirling snow.

Though he may not look it, Wesley is paying close attention to Melissa's description of her mother. He just doesn't know what to make of what he hears, or even why he's paying so much attention to it in the first place, hence his little "mmm hmmm," in response. Wesley enters the Center, nodding to Melissa as she holds the door open for him. Walking her back he can do, but holding doors open for ladies is something the boy hasn't come across yet. Wesley scuttles into the bright room, taking off his snow-covered toque and gloves and stuffing them into his open jacket pocket. He begins to wipe his fingers on his only slightly damp snowpants, before he stops abruptly, remembering that he touched Melissa with that hand! Wesley pauses, and stares at the hand with an intense gaze. ... Then he shrugs and wipes it off anyway, idly hoping that annoying little thoughts like that won't pop up anymore. He then turns to look at Melissa, all his fly-away hair making him look like he was electrified. "Er.." he starts out. "So..what do we do now?"

Melissa walks in after Wesley, her head declined slightly to the ground. She turns to Wesley for a moment, before shooting her eyes past him, scanning the Pokemon Center. There are a few trainers in the center, but surprisingly few for the weather; perhaps people are home for the holidays, or migrating to warmer cities to wait out the colder months. It's nice and warm, and the snow falling outside, visible through the glass windows, is more like a moving picture than an actual link to the outside. Melissa unbuttons the top two buttons of her coat and takes off her gloves, but other than that, most of her wintry gear stays on. "Get warm... I suppose." She smiles softly at Wesley, gesturing to the chairs but not taking a seat herself.

Wesley smiles softly. "Well, we could get warm with presents," he suggests, with a little "Heh"ing chuckle. That witty comment leads to him slipping off of his backpack and catching it by the staps with both hands. He bends over a bit under its weight as he shuffles over to the chair, plopping himself down and then sitting his backpack down with the sigh of relief. It's amazing that it doesn't bother him when it's on his back. He begins to unzip it before looking worriedly up at Melissa. "Do...do you want yours?" he asks, suddenly unsure. What if she doesn't want it at all? What if that's what Adrienne meant by that "Wow" - that the family had decided that they didn't want anymore presents and they were wondering how to turn him down? Wesley takes a sharp breath before shaking these musty cowardly thoughts out of his head. Or trying to; they're quite stubborn in clinging on.

Melissa follows Wesley to the chair, though her pace is somewhat slower, almost apprehensive. Indeed, even when the boy sits down, his friend chooses to stand next to him instead, shifting uncomfortably from leg to leg, lower lip bitten, mouth twisted into a bit of a frown. "I... um..." She crosses her arms uncomfortably, and her fingers drum against the side of her waist nervously. "... I didn't get you any gifts, Wesley," she admits softly, frowning a little deeper. "I mean... I mean I should have... I really should have, I could have thought of anything, but I didn't... and you always bring me something, for Christmas or my birthday or whenever..." Her voice is fading into nothingness, until it's barely above a squeak, but she does not look like she's going to cry. She merely looks guilty, uncaring, apathetic.

Christmas time is a special time. A time for family, for forgiveness, for friendships old and new. But it's also a time to get presents. Wesley's face falls. This isn't a look one would get at the end of the world, nor does he become teary-eyed and fight back a sniffle. But disappointment there. His first real Christmas, and his friend doesn't get him a gift. What brings him out of it? What inner wellspring of love, what thoughts of the meaning of Christmas does he find to force his hand to full unzip his backpack and pull out Melissa's present?

The disappointment is enough to set Melissa into an even more uncomfortable stance. She opens her mouth. What does she want to do? Tell him to not be depressed? Ask him to keep the gift for her greediness? Make an excuse that she's not used to giving gifts because she's never had friends? It doesn't matter; the words don't come out, as Wesley hands her not one, not two, but three gifts. The girl's eyes widen, her mouth drops a little further, and her arms outstretch automatically to accept her gifts. She currently doesn't feel she deserves any of these, but she's not about to let her best friend down even further. "Wesley..." she mumbles, her shoulders sagging. It's amazing she can still keep a grip on the presents. "... You... I... ... I'm going to make this, this, uh, up to you. ... Somehow." It doesn't matter what face Wesley puts on, however, she's still going to see that disappointed look in those grey eyes. Why oh why didn't they ever teach being a decent friend in school?

Somewhere, a blue haired boy selects the right shade of lipstick. (Eee! Saving!)

The night is raw. Snow flurries drift down from the overcast sky.

Wesley's head raises only slightly to deposit the gifts in his friend's arms, his head still bowed. Her words, making this up to him!, cause him to look up at her, his head jerking abruptly. "You don't have to make anything up to me, Melissa," he announces; there's a thin current of energy in his voice, but it's so soft that it's likely forced. Now the young boy tries to convince himself. "I wasn't expecting much." A little nervous shifting of his legs. "Of...of anything, really," Wesley adds suddenly, noting that his previous comment implied that he had been expecting 'something', a something that wasn't given. "This whole night has..has..." Wesley's eyes roll upwards in frustration that he can't find the words he wants to; the kid pauses to consider his options, as cautious as ever. Their friendship is once again a minefield for the boy, and not over as nice an experience as a hug. (And it's all his fault!) "It probably was a lot of..of work," he manages, hit by inspiration. "For everyone. To make..everything so nice. And, yes, your mother even said that..that she made a special dinner." Wesley's squirms at the thought, and though his eyes are on Melissa, his gaze is turned inwards. - the memory of Ms. Barlette's sweet comment unnerves him so much that he can't continue whatever he meant to say.

Somewhere, a blue haired boy selects the right shade of lipstick. (Eee! Saving!)

Though the pokemon center is warm, a chill runs down Melissa's spine. Her lips are setting more and more into a frown as the silence following Wesley's speaking drags on, and more and more the hole in her stomach sucks on her chest. The teenager presses the three gifts to it, as though they will somehow absorb that clenching pain, but it only makes it worse. It's not just her chest that feeled pressed, but her stomach, her neck, her head, her eyes, arms, fingers, legs... Indeed, the only thing that's keeping her from whirling around and throwing up is that Wesley's sad eyes stay right there in her head. Even if his comments are comforting, and his voice so innocent, and his position so... adorable, Melissa doesn't seem relieved. If anything, she looks even more worried than before. She remains quiet for a few moments longer, before her lips finally part. She inhales slightly, exhales, and turns her head to the ground, shaking it softly. "I'm... sorry, Wesley. I made a mistake." She proceeds to stumble her way to the next unoccupied chair closest to Wesley, still avoiding his eyes. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," she whispers under her breath. Likely not loud enough for the poor boy to hear without actively listening, but that depends on him.

Wesley feels pressed in too, but for entirely different reasons. Something in him is clenched - the pain isn't so specific that he can pinpoint the organ that causes this disturbance, but it's something that shouldn't feel as tight as it does. It sends shivers through his guts, under his skin, through his intestines, even through the roots of his teeth. His face is suddenly more lost than before as longing worms its way through him, spinning around with his current feelings of unimportance. The longing is for the mother who left him, for the father whom he respects...or respected once. He's thought so little about the man that was his only reason for becoming a Pokemon Master... With a shake of his head, Wesley shoves this feelings aside as he always does. Time to deal with the now. He didn't hear Melissa's words, and it takes him a few seconds to locate his friend. Oh boy. "It's all right, Melissa," he says, his voice a touch too raw from the force of locking up the monsters in his mind. A second passes as Wesley berates himself for letting the situation get like this. "I..." he takes a deep breath, calming himself "..I really, I just, I don't mind things. The way they are. I don't..don't feel bad, Melissa. This is such a happy time, so don't feel bad." He attempts the smallest of smiles, but it passes from his face as if it had never been.

Melissa lets the objects fall onto her lap as she brings her hands up to her temples, rubbing them, her cheeks flush and red. "I just... didn't expect..." Her hand goes from her forehead to her chin, and she leans upon it, staring blankly ahead for a moment or two longer before directing her attention over to Wesley. And even though she's dissed him royally and thought she could get away with it, he's still there, comforting *her*! "... Gosh, Wesley..." she mutters softly, rotating her head to take a look at him. She still sees sad gray eyes, let down due to her negligence. "... Nothing... ever gets to you, does it?" She glances down at the presents. Over at Wesley. Down at the presents again. "... ... I understand if you want these back, though. I mean, um, they must have cost you a lot..." Gently, Melissa strokes the green-papered gift with her non-propping hand, running her fingers down its side. "... You..." She exhales, but it almost sounds amused, like a light snort of humor. "... You did a good job wrapping it."

Wesley doesn't see Melissa's comment coming through the blinding glare of his panic. It feels like a physical force slamming into him; the boy reacts with a stare and a blink, his eyebrows hovering nearer his bangs than before. Nothing ever gets to him? He's suddenly grateful she wasn't a party to his inner monologue, though of course he feels bad that once again, one of the Barlette women has complimented him tonight. Wesley straightens up slightly, giving his friend a more attentive look as she continues talking. And another compliment. "Uh..thanks," Wesley mutters, floundering. Now he feels the need to say something nice to her. He grabs at the first thing that comes to mind. "You're very kind. And don't worry, the pokemon didn't cost me anything. I'd understand if you wanted me to have him back, though. I haven't battled him, so he's not very strong, but you said you needed a water pokemon, and I remembered. So you'll need to train him." Wesley finishes with a vague nod of his head.

The sky is grey-black, without moon or stars. The air is cold and wet, and there is little wind. Snow flurries fall. It is easier to feel the flakes landing than it is to see them, in the darkness.

Melissa sighs softly, leaning further down to the presents as Wesley speaks. Yet again, interpretting what she has to say with such a naive tint. Poor little guy. "Wesley..." she half-mumbles, still peering intensely at the presents, bringing her hand up to adjust her glasses before they fall off. Her hand falls to the side of the pokeball, and she touches it with her wrist, rolling it slightly on her lap. "I'll..." She swallows. "I'll open the pokeball and the small box now... but I'm... going to keep this large one wrapped. ... For later. Okay?" She doesn't expect Wesley to understand. She doesn't expect anyone would understand. Save it for later? Who would want to do that? Still, she looks up at Wesley, requesting her permission. Her eyes fall on his neck for a second, before coming back up to her eyes. She doesn't look quite so humiliated anymore... almost not like herself. Her face says "Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

Wesley, surprisingly, does understand. But perhaps (likely) not for the reason Melissa is trying to convey by her sweet, reassuring face. "That's good," he says, nodding his head, a brief but happy smile lighting up his chubby features. "Because the bigger one is kind of a family gift. It's..." now Wesley frowns, "it's why I probably should've asked you to open it at your home, so everyone could see it, and you could see if there was a good place for it." See, someone normal might do this to build suspense and intrigue. Wesley just says this like this is another problem to solve. "But I have the receipt, though, so you can take it back if you don't have room for it." It's not that big a box, Wesley. "I have receipts for the perfume, too, so you can take that back if you don't like it," he continues, a slightly proud look working its way into his posture. Only Wesley could be so utterly unsure of himself as to brag about packing receipts in with his friend's Christmas presents. And only Wesley would not notice that Melissa hasn't /opened/ the box with the perfume in it. This night of new situations and strong feelings has really done a number on that little, tiny brain of his.

Somewhere, a blue haired boy selects the right shade of lipstick. (Eee! Saving!)

Melissa seems genuinely interested in Wesley's interpretation, and when he gives his reasons as to why she's holding off, the teenager can't help but give off a soft chuckle as she turns back to the presents. "... Perfume... eh?" Melissa blinks down at the small box, and her eyes widen a bit. Any trace of a smile is immediately wiped off. "P... perfume?" Another look at Wesley. She now looks like she's entirely in disbelief. "How..?" And then Melissa gets to work, tearing into the present almost ravenously, her face half confused as she rips the paper off. There's no way he did, is there? It's not long before all the green paper is a mess on the floor (hope Wesley didn't want to save it!). If there's a box, Melissa will look inside; if the package the present in is a box itself, she'll look all about it, no matter what it may be, whether perfume or anything else.

The perfume is indeed in a small, mint-green box. On the side are the words "Epoch Scents" written in elegant, light blue script. In smaller script are the words "Tropic Shower" - how exotic! Inside that small box is a small and simple perfume bottle with a shiny silver top. The liquid inside is a lush, soft amber. Wesley looks with slight worry at Melissa. There's no reason she wouldn't like the gift, as far as he can see, but her reaction wasn't exactly encouraging. His grey eyes go unwillingly to the box. "I bought it in Cerulean, at the end of the Winter Fest. There was a shopping mall." He spins his soft story like a veteran soldier recalling war time. "I thought it would be nice to get you perfume since you..you seemed to like it when we met." He almost loses the thread of his tale by smiling at the memory, but his face soon falls into its shadowed look. "I went in the shop and there were bottles and scents /everywhere/. So many sizes and colours and shelves and I think there was even some nail-polish and..." Wesley twitches, "stuff. A woman..she kept telling me to smell some of their samples. She...she sprayed me with some of it." Wesley shudders heavily. "I got out quickly after that. I had to." His eyes are wide as he finishes, his face solemn. "I smelled like flowers," the boy adds quietly.

Melissa's eyes remain wide and surprised all the while as Wesley speaks, her eyes remaining locked to the gifts as though she doesn't quite believe they're there in front of her. "... How much... did..." She whips her head up to Wesley, her bright eyes going all over his face as though she can hardly believe it. "... Wow. Wow, Wesley..." A soft chuckle. "I'm... surprised." Impressed is the most accurate word, but the teenager is quick enough to realize that it's not exactly the most appropriate for the situation. Gently, her fingers pry open the box, and her soft hands settle upon the bottle's top. She removes the container from the box, running her hand down its back, feeling how smooth and delicate it is. "... Wow," she mumbles again, twisting off the cap and taking a small sniff. "Oooh... Oh, it's a beautiful scent!" She looks back at Wesley. Later is the time for guilt; for now, she's just appreciating her present. "... Just perfect for me. ... ... Is... that why you chose it?" A slight pause. "... Did it remind you of me?" Definitely dramatic, but Melissa's living in a romance novel right now. She can't help but ask.

The face Melissa will see is haunted, until she says that she's surprised. Wesley sighs in relief that his tale is told and gives his friend a look that lets her know he agrees with her. He was surprised too at his own bravery. Now it's the boy who looks surprised once Melissa remarks on the perfume's scent. "Good," Wesley mumbles; he doesn't feel up to using his normal speaking voice (which is little better than a loud mumble anyway) after reliving such a traumatic incident. Melissa gets a dazed little smile, more a lifting of his mouth than anything. He probably had to rush to the nearest shower after his visit to the perfume shop - and then rush to the nearest sports store or Radio Shack. Melissa's two questions wipe any trace of the smile off of his face; Wesley and smiles don't get along even at the best of times. Confusion and Wesley get along much better, and that's what he shows now. "Uh..." he says in a small voice, looking like he's on the witness stand. "Uhm, no. I..didn't actually smell it. It was near the counter, and there were a lot of..smells already in the--I smelled like flowers." Wesley repeats this last phrase with the same quiet horror with which he first told his adventure.

"Oh, Wesley..." Melissa giggles softly, glancing back at the perfume bottle, a sly, coy smile on her face. She expected an answer just like that. Wesley's either getting predictable, or Melissa's getting too good at knowing him. "It's perfect. T... thanks." And with that, she'll lean over in her chair, stretching her free arm out and wrap it around the area right below his chest. Her intention won't be to choke or make the boy uncomfortable, but to give him a friendly hug. Not as passionate or shocking (or traumatizing?) as she's given him before, but probably one to make him feel special, supposing he doesn't move away or push her hands back. Should he let her, Melissa will keep her light hug going until he says something or gestures to the other presents. Maybe she's trying to soften the blow of not giving Wesley a gift? Or maybe she is genuinely happy with the present? Poor Wesley will have a tough time interpretting it.

Wesley has been traumatized enough for one night. At Melissa's giggle, the boy lightens up considerably, even going so far as to let his spine soften and his body slump just a bit. "I'm..glad," Wesley murmurs to his friend, a smile crawling its way onto a face that usually resists it. But then Melissa hugs him. More contact with Melissa. How does Wesley deal? He's too shocked to deal. ..What was that about predictable? The boy lets Melissa hug him for at least nine seconds without doing anything other than looking at her, making sure this is really her hugging him. He then slowly moves his arm around her back, keeping it as light as her hug is. His face is still blank...until a little voice awakens from its slumber and whispers 'Girl..' in a sly tone that ThoughtThief would use. Wesley's physical response is to blush; his mental one to grumble 'So?' The suave voice repeats its message and Wesley's embarrassment forces him to pull away from the hug. He looks at Melissa, face slightly pink and and a nervous grin on his face. "Uh..you wanna open another present?" is the first thing that leaps into his mind. Heck, Melissa might believe that's why he's kinda nervous - maybe he's only now realizing how extravagent he's being with the gift-giving.

Somewhere, a blue haired boy selects the right shade of lipstick. (Eee! Saving!)

Well, she got a good fourth of a minute... actually more than she suspected. Melissa only smiles as Wesley when he pulls back, not seeming to take he withdrawal seriously. Perhaps the fact that he held out for as long as he did surprises her; after all, she thinks she's a bug in his eyes, and having her antennae crawl up the boy's back was probably too much for him. "Right. The... um... the pokeball, okay?" And unless Wesley makes his protest very clearly and very loudly, Melissa will snap the pokeball off of her lap, and drop it to the floor. Though Wesley mentioned it's a water type, the girl has absolutely no idea what she should be getting out of this. All she knows is, if Wesley's involved... it's going to be something good.

The sky is grey-black, without moon or stars. The air is cold and wet, and there is little wind. Snow flurries fall. It is easier to feel the flakes landing than it is to see them, in the darkness.

Good is a very relative term. The pokemon that emerges is no rare Retwa or beautiful Vaporeon. It's not an evolved pokemon like a Golduck, or even a cute Poliwag. It doesn't even have a face. It just has five light brown points, and gold set around a red jewel. "Hya!" And it doesn't even say its own name. <Hello! You're Melissa!> notes the Staryu, spinning on one point in his own way of greeting his trainer. Wesley clears his throat. "His name is Cartwheel. Mostly I just let him out to play with Spike. He--" Cartwheel interrupts with a loud and happy "Hyyaaa!" that makes his trainer flinch, before the pokemon begins to cartwheel around Melissa and Wesley's chairs. "Like I said, Cartwheel. I don't know how much you know about Staryu," he explains respectfully, "but when they evolve with a Water Stone they become part psychic. As it is, they can use lots of defensive psychic attacks. They may not be as tough as regular pokemon..'specially not Cartwheel, but Staryu have a good set of moves." Wesley looks and sounds very confident as he talks about pokemon, with his back straight and his voice so dry. If Cartwheel is at all concerned about Wesley's words, he doesn't show it. He just continues whirling around, quite quickly.

Another "Wow" escapes Melissa's lips as the Staryu manifests around of the flash of light, and she braces herself into the chair anxiously as the water type begins to dart around her and her friend at surprisingly fast speeds. "T... I've seen one before... A trainer... had one, I think, sort of... um... yeah, but it was..." It's obvious that she's not really concentrating on what she's saying very much; her eyes are locked on the water type, making his way around her with so much energy. "... How... ... wow." She lifts up her hand to adjust her glasses at the Staryu, her eyebrows perking up as she does. "... How does it... move so fast?" She's bound to thank the poor kid for the gift eventually.

Wesley, in turn, watches Melissa, his look one of faint amusement at her awe with the little pokemon. Was there ever a time when he stood slack-jawed over a pokemon that was either smaller than he was, not-ghostly, or unevolved? "He..just does," Wesley says with a shrug of one shoulder. "He likes to play a lot. Usually I have him out with Spike, but I think Spike's getting a little old for baby games." That brings Cartwheel up short as he halts near his trainer. <But..we'll still play?> the Staryu asks - Wesley can hear the worry in his "Hyaa hyaa"ing, but Melissa may have a tougher time catching the emotion behind the quick vocalizations. "Of course you will," the boy says, a touch surprised. "Didn't I say you would when I said you'd be going with Melissa?" <Yay!> yips Cartwheel, twirling on one point, spinning faster and faster like a little top. Wesley doesn't give the pokemon a second glance - that's nothing he hasn't seen before - instead looking to his human friend. "So..will he be going with you?" he says, a frown of worry suddenly taking over his face.

Melissa seems absolutely fascinated by this creature. Where are its eyes? Where is its nose? Where is it talking from? How does it function? Where does its water come from? "Oh, Wesley," Melissa lets out, turning to him with a broad grin on her face. "He's... absolutely... wonderful. I'll take... really good care of him. You know..." She shifts a little on her chair, moving to the armrest away from Wesley. "... Especially since he came from you. I'll bet he.. he and CrystalFire would make the best of friends..." Ah... best of friends. Melissa shifts once again back into the chair, though the reasoning is pretty unclear. Is she humiliated? Guilty? Or just trying to get Wesley to pat her on the back or something? She peers down at the wrapped present on her lap, frowns a little more, and settles her hand upon it. "... For later. ... Soon. Okay?" Is she talking to Wesley? Because she's not loud, and she's not looking at him.

Wesley gives Melissa a smile that shines from his grey eyes, though Wesley is so poor with smiles that the one on his mouth doesn't accurately express the feelings of kinship he's feeling with her. "I'm glad you like the perfume, Melissa. And Cartwheel. I hope he fights well for you, and obeys you and...makes you happy." Cartwheel gives a cheerful <Happy is good!> - it's interesting how he can hear when he's twirling around like that. Wesley's next words come slowly, fluttering into the conversation like feathers. His little face almost glows. "And I really liked the dinner. It was really...really nice." Wesley's smile widens. "And be sure to open the last present when your mom's around." Eh? Wesley pauses, the logical little boy trying to root out where that sentence came from. Finding that the answer leads to the locked door of his mind with its growling monsters, he finds a simpler response. "Because then she could probably find a good place for it." The boy glances to the door, and then he glances to the clock. His eyes are wide when he looks back at Melissa. "..Oh, my. Uh, it looks like you better go back. I could walk you back, if you wanted." He'll brave perfume stores for her - he can certainly stomach another walk through winter weather.

Melissa opens her mouth to reply to Wesley, but she immediately snaps it shut after giving it a moment's thought. Eventually, she nods her head softly, smiles gently, and comes out with a lie. It's a well masked lie, and Wesley will probably not be able to pick up on it. "I'll be sure to ask her as... as soon as I get home." Melissa leans forward out of her chair, snatches the pokeball off of the ground, and calls back Cartwheel with a soft "Return", before she turns to the door. She throws on her winter clothing quickly, gives Wesley another small smile, and walks to the door. Her perfume is in one hand, her green-wrapped box draped in the other arm. Once her friend is ready, she will burst out the door. And she'll say her thanks, and add her farewells, and wish Wesley luck, but she won't quick be herself. Melissa is thinking about something else.