Contents:
Wesley
Obvious exits:
Way around City <WAC> leads to Pokemon Route 3: Pewter City.
North <N> leads to Pewter City: Southern Pewter.
South <S> leads to Viridian Forest - Route 2: Almost Out.

Fair weather clouds sail across the blue sky, propelled by light breezes from the west. It's warm in the sun, cool in the shade, and the air is clear and dry. In the forest, the wind rustles the bright green leaves of trees and bushes and carries Oddish pollen, downy seeds, and the fragrance of wildflowers along with it. While at the coast, the ocean is a deep cool blue today, the waves lapping at the coast gently under the pleasant spring sky.

Though the weather's constant instability makes life miserable for the humans and pokemon of the island, it's an absolute Shangri-La for the plants. A plentitude of sunlight shows rains on the island whenever the light Spring showers are put on hold. One can almost hear the flowers singing in joy, the trees sighing in relief, and the grass rocking back and forth, proud to prepare for another beautiful summer until Winter returns. Some people are out taking leisurely walks in no hurry whatsoever; others are engaging in summer sports; still others are even swimming in their personal or local pools. Some, however, decide to engage in somewhat more productive acts. Busily working away in the front yard of the Barlette household are Clarissa and Melissa. Their clothes are old and ripped, and their hair is tied back with rubber bands. Tools lay discarded across the whole lawn - a shovel, shears, fertilizer bags, wood chips, watering cans, seed packets, scoops, pre-grown plants, the work. Currently the mother-daughter team is working on scooping holes in the patch on the perimeter of the house, but it's not easy work - Clarissa is a perfectionist, and half of all the holes poor Melissa digs are are quickly covered when Mrs. Barlette determines it a poor spot.

Fair weather clouds sail across the blue sky, propelled by light breezes from the west. It's warm in the sun, cool in the shade, and the air is clear and dry.

It's a wonderful day for gardening, and Wesley has dressed with this in mind. He wears a nondescript baseball cap to shade his eyes, jeans that look a bit frayed and a white t-shirt that looks somewhat short on the boy, and barely covers the top of his jeans. He smells of sunscreen, though the only one close enough to him to detect the smell is one Fistfight the Machop, and her olfactory abilities aren't at their peak anymore. The duo walk down the sidewalk, looking for a certain house in particular. <So why aren't we letting Greenform out?> Fistfight asks, squinting in the sun's extremely generous light. "Because he's getting a bit suspicious that we don't have another Bulba--oh." Wesley interrupts himself as he spots Melissa's house - and Melissa and her mother. The boy swallows nervously, taking a deep breath through his nose. "Uh, I look..erm, proper, right?" <You're the most beautiful boy ever,> Fistfight reassures with a loving chuckle. "Mmmph," Wesley grunts unenthusiastically in response. He then walks up the driveway, his eyes switching from Melissa to Clarissa. "H-Hello..." the boy loudly murmurs once he's in hearing range. "I'm..I'm here," He smiles nervously, especially when Fistfight calls a cheerful "Chop! Maaa!" to the duo and waves excitedly.

"Melissa," Clarissa says to her daughter. "Pass me the packets for the tulips, will you?" Mumbling an affirmative under her breath, the younger girl crawls over to the packets, searching through them. "... Um, purple or yellow, mom?" "Purple, hon." She places her hand on the package, and lifts it up to her face, squinting to read the front without her glasses. She's figured out half of the word 'violet' before Wesley approaches, announcing his presence. The girl blinks, glances up at Wesley, and smiles warmly. The sun reflects off her deep blue eyes well; it's easy to see now that her glasses are off. "Wesley, y-you made it..." she says, standing up with the seeds in hand. "I, uh, I'm... sorry I look such a fright," she comments softly, brushing her shirt and sweatpants off with overexaggerant vigor. "It's... um, you know, don't want to... ruin..." Clarissa's voice carries over Melissa's. "Melissa, is that Wesley? Tell 'im to come over here, I can't get this root out!" Melissa blushes faintly, peers up at Wesley, and slowly turns to face her mother.

Wesley favours Melissa with a slight grin, his eyes flicking quickly to her mother before going back to her. This second time around, Melissa garners a look of faint interest and a bit of confusion - Melissa just looks odd without her glasses. "I did make it," he repeats simply. At the idea that she must look a fright is thrown out into the conversation, Wesley's confusion becomes a bit more pronounced as he lowers of his brows and slightly tilts his head. "You don't look any--" he protests, sounding surprised, before Clarissa speaks. Wesley quickly shuts his mouth to hear her order. "S-sure," he says automatically, though he looks a bit unsure of himself. Nevertheless, he approaches Mrs. Barlette, standing a few feet from her side. "W-what do you want me to do, ma'am?" he asks dutifully. <And can I help?> Fistfight, who has followed Wesley, asks. "And...ah, Fistfight wants to know if she can help," he adds, his grey eyes not leaving Clarissa. Fistfight's do, and they go to Melissa, whom she gives a delighted smile and wave to. The old girl seems to be enjoying the day greatly, though she still squints due to the bright sunlight.

A port in a storm, a home away from home. We're (saved)!

"Sure, sure, sure, go right ahead. He can help me by bringing me those two plants... the tall ones. Can Machops see color? Can you point it out for him, Melissa?" Without even waiting for a reply, Clarissa, sitting on her knees and lower leg, turns to Wesley, gives him a small smile, and beckons him closer. "Take this." She outstretches her hand and will offer it to him if he gets closer. "Now. I've cleared away most the soil..." Clarissa uses elaborate hand gestures, pointing at parts of this and that. She explains that there's a root or stick or something in the soil and she can't get around it, and needs a macho man to help her clear it. Can he? Melissa, in the meantime, is busy instricting Fistfight on which pots she needs to take to Clarissa - though, in truth, Melissa herself isn't totally sure. Melissa eventually ends up pointing at two smaller pots of unhealthy white flowers, drooping and withered and still hidden inside the bud. "Just... take them to mom, I guess."

Fistfight's face wrinkles even more as she smirks when her gender is mistaken. The ability to tell pokemon genders must be genetic. "Chawwp," she says easily, and walks over to Melissa, peering all the way up at the girl with bright brown eyes. Wesley takes a few steps closer to Clarissa, but still keeps a good deal of space between them - it's probably Wesley's idea of showing respect. He accepts the spade, but has to crouch down and lean over to see just what she's pointing to. Throughout Clarissa's explanation, he'll nod and look more and more dubious about his assignment. "I'll try, ma'am," he states once she's done. And now for the Herculean task; Wesley grips the woody protrusion in the soil and tugs, first to the left, then to the right and then up. After a few seconds, he gets on his knees to better brace himself, and his formerly limp pulls become a bit stronger. Once Melissa actually comes up with an order, Fistfight grins at her and bows theatrically, before scooping the pot into her two old hands and walking it over to Mrs. Barlette.

Clarissa comments when Wesley starts his fiercer tugging, "You've got a nice grip. You must play sports and throw a lot." Before Wesley would even have the chance to reply, she's already calling to her daughter, "Melissa, where are those seeds? Are you really so blind without your glasses?" "Coming, mom!" is Melissa's reply. She hurries over to her mother, seed packets in hand, and offers them to her. Clarissa takes a look, squints, and mutters, "Not the right kind, but I guess they're do. Maybe they'll look even better. Is that Machop doing anything? He-" It's about then that the older woman actually considers looking around, and by that time, Fistfight has already approached her. With a smile, a thanks, and a soft "Nice Machop, ya trained him well, Wesley," she turns back to Wesley, wondering if he's removed the fragment - which is simply a stick, nothing more - yet.

Wesley is busy getting dark soil on fingers and under fingernails. His head tilts a bit from side to side as he fiddles with the stick in the dirt. Clarissa's words almost pass him by, though he does manage an eyebrow raise and an abashed "erm..." before the mother calls to her daughter. Wesley cringes a bit - to think, he almost interrupted a Mother! - and quickly goes back to work. Wesley nudges some dirt away from the ends and manages to pull the stick out. He holds it in one hand and opens his mouth to speak, only to shut it as Clarissa muses over flowers. The boy looks up at Melissa, sending her a quick smile laced with sympathy at her plight, though he quickly looks at Fistfight once Clarissa notices the pokemon. <Thanks!> Fistfight says with a warm smile as she sets the pot down, while Wesley responds to the mother's praise with a faint, pleased "mmrrrthanksma'am..." sorta sound. He then holds his stick out to her like a proud puppy with a frisbee, a nervous, tooth-bearing smile plastered on his face. It's like he expects Clarissa to pat him on the head or give him a biscuit for his good work...or maybe he just doesn't know what to do with the stick.

Clarissa accepts the stick, and nods. If he expects her to gush and rave, he'll probably be gravely disappointed. "Right, thanks. I-" A voice echoes from the skies above, a deep, masculine voice coming from the top floor of the house. "Honey, can you come help me with this?" "... Yeah, gimme a sec." Mumbling under her breath at her husband's "incompetence" and why he "can't figure things out for himself", Clarissa proceeds to remove her gloves, ascend to both legs, and shake her head. "You guys, just... continue digging holes, I'll change them when I get back out. I'll make us lemonade while I'm inside, kay?" And with that, Mrs. Barlette travels to the front door, swings it open, and slips inside. Melissa raises her hand to her hair to stroke it. She ends up hitting the back of her neck, having forgetten that she tied it back. "Um... heh, um... You, uh... you know what to do? ... Maybe?" Melissa drops down onto the ground, assuming the same position as her mother, and shakes her head.

Wesley looks relieved as Clarissa takes the stick, and glances up above when Mr. Barlette calls out. He nods his head, perhaps just in a twitchy gesture, perhaps to acknowledge Melissa's father's presence even though Mr. Barlette didn't even see him, perhaps just because it gives him something to do. He adjusts his hat with a grubby hand as he listens to Clarissa, nodding faintly. <Bye!> Fistfight says, waving quickly - she then turns to Wesley once Mrs. Barlette has gone. <Yay!> she cheers. <Lemonade! ..Now what is it?> she questions cheerfully. "It's either very sweet or very sour," Wesley explains to her, getting to his feet and rolling his shoulder a few times. "I'm not sure if pokemon can drink it or not." All this is said as he walks a few paces closer to Melissa, spade in hand. <Maybe I could be a test subject,> Fistfight muses with a chuckle. Getting human food would be nice! Wesley looks over at the garden, noting what holes are already made. "Hmm," he mutters in response to Melissa, crouching down a bit closer to her than he did with her mother. "Does she...want all the holes this size? Or, are there, urm, different types of flowers that need different holes? ... I don't know much about gardening," he admits in a half-whisper; he's positive that Mrs. Barlette can hear him no matter where she is. It's part of those Mom super powers.

A port in a storm, a home away from home. We're (saved)!

When Fistfight speaks, Melissa giggles softly, raising her hand to her mouth to stifle the noises. "She just asked what lemonade is, didn't she?" No doubt Melissa doesn't know the Machop word for lemonade, but did she understand Fistfight's question? Apparently so. If Wesley comments on the fact that she understood Fistfight, Melissa will likely do little more than blush faintly, grin, and switch topics. "Some flowers need... slightly bigger holes, the, um, the ones that are already grown, they need big ones... but the seeds, they, um, just small ones. This is a big hole... I think she wants to put, um, the, um, the pot one things in there." Pot one things. Great. "Fistfight, could you, um, could you help me... take this plant out of the pot? You, uh, you hold the pot, I'll take the plant out?" She follows it up with a half mumble about Wesley starting to dig another hole, but the boy might not hear.

Fair weather clouds sail across the blue sky, propelled by light breezes from the west. It's warm in the sun, cool in the shade, and the air is clear and dry.

Wesley glances at Melissa, the slightest bit startled. "Well, she did ask that, actually," he comments. At Melissa's words, the boy "hmmm"s and nods curtly, brow furrowing as he finds an untouched patch of earth nearby. Hesitantly, he sticks the spade into the earth. No alarms blare and the earth doesn't open up to swallow him hole, so Wesley lifts up the bit of dirt on his spade and shifts it to the side. That done, he begins to expand the hole, though only a bit - in the end, it's not quite as deep as the other holes that have been made. The youngster takes a deep breath, inhaling the soil smells and feeling the heat of the sun pound onto his slim back. "Don't think I've seen you much without your glasses," he says conversationally as he starts on another hole a few centimeters from the one he just made. Fistfight does as ordered, giving an upbeat, <Sure thing!> before bending down and clamping onto the pot. She turns to face Melissa, who is for once quite near her own height. Fistfight's face is quite wrinkled, with a slight wattle around her throat and prominent crow's feet around the eyes, should Melissa care to look up close. <Pull away, girl - I'm ready!> "She says she's ready," Wesley translates, looking to Melissa to make sure she won't have any trouble lifting up the plant.

"Hm?" Melissa rumbles, glancing over at Wesley with a question in her eyes. She regards him for a moment, before smiling slightly. "Yeah... even now, I can... um, hardly, you know, see without them. You just... hee, um, you look like a big blur to me." She looks ready to continue speaking, but Fistfight's cheerful comment attracts the girl's attention. She turns back to the Machop, watching the elderly pokemon grip the pot. The Machop has perhaps never been so close to Melissa in the girl's memory, and it's only now that the human can see just how old poor Fistfight is. Lamia is perhaps her equal in age species-wise, but Fistfight has a special sort of youthful vigor about herself that... Fistfight's bark snaps Melissa out of her brief interlude, and immediately responds with a tug that is perhaps too tough; the stem emerges from the soil slightly. Melissa mumbles a gentle, "Rats." The girl scapes her nails across the inner lining of the pot as she tries to tug the block of dirt out of the pot with as much care as possible. It's a slow, tedious process, but hopefully poor Fistfight won't get tired too soon.

The sun shines overhead, bracketed by puffy fair weather clouds.

"Oh, I do? Well.." Wesley says, rather surprised. Should Melissa be gardening if she can't see very well? ..Though, if her mother feels it's safe enough, who is he to argue? The boy falls silent. Even a weak Machop is stronger than a weak, say, Caterpie or Rattata. While Fistfight does shift her weight a bit and swallow audibly as her body loses precious moisture that she tries vainly to replenish, she does keep her hands on the pot, looking at Melissa's delicate operation with faint interest. Wesley regards Melissa also with faint interest, though it grows as his eyes trail up her bare arms land on her shoulders, neck and hair. Suddenly Wesley finds himself swallowing, realizing how hot it is and that he's beginning to sweat, wondering when the lemonade is going to get here, realizing he should dig some more holes, and whatever he was thinking about Melissa is quite quickly shoved from his mind. He stabs his spade into the earth and begins shoveling away, his next hole rather deep, before he looks over at the rest of the holes and begins making his in a size more consistent to the ones Melissa and Clarissa made.

"Come on..." she mumbles under her breath, gritting her teeth and grunting as she tries to pull out the block of soil. It's creeping up bit by bit. "Come on, come on, come on, come on, got it!" The chunk pops out of the pot, and Melissa leans back slightly, partially in surprise. "Phew," she mumbles, trying to rub her brow with the back of her wrist with the soil still in hand. Her breathing has become a little more audible. Who would have guessed such a simple planting job would take so much effort? "Thanks, Fistfight," Melissa comments, smiling at the fighting type before turning to the soft, loamy ground in front of her. She delicately places the little plant into the hole Clarissa (and Wesley, with his superb stick-removing skills) and begins to pat down at the sides, anchoring the chunk to the ground. She pushes the soil tightly, especially around the base of the stem. "Mom told me... if you don't, um, pack the soil around the plant, then it... it doesn't do so well when it's, uh, windy or rainy or something," she notes, mostly building idle conversation.

A port in a storm, a home away from home. We're (saved)!

Fistfight smiles back at Melissa, lets go off the pot and gives a good long stretch, wincing as her neck cricks. She takes a few steps towards Melissa, her slim shoulders rolling as she works the kinks out of her back muscles. It takes Wesley a good few seconds to call up some courage - only when he does that does he look Melissa's way. His eyes don't linger on Melissa long, and they soon go to the plant and her way of handling it. "Ahhh," he murmurs as he mulls over his friend's idea. "Yes, that makes sense. You've probably been doing this a lot, huh?" Wesley doesn't give her much time to reply, for he says suddenly, "You know, maybe you could get Lamia to evolve again and...and she could help you out. Trial always liked being outside. ..That's my dad's Venusaur, Trial. I'm sure she knows a lot about plants. Lamia, I mean. Even if she's not a Venusaur, she could help garden. ..Sometime." He coughs lightly, and begins to go back to digging holes. He shifts away from Melissa a bit, to get to an untouched piece of ground. He's glad Clarissa isn't here to hear him prattle on like such a little kid. "Although," he's fading into a murmur, "I don't know how well she'd do with making holes." <She does have vines - those can make holes, right?> Fistfight suggests, and Wesley gives her idea little more than a grunt of acknowledgment.

"Actually, no," Melissa replies as she smooths out one of the leaves of the young plant. "I... um, usually just stay inside... or watch. This is my first... time. Dad hates gardening, and Adrienne... well, she's never home for Spring." She's down to patting around the back of the stem's base, thumping it hard enough to leave the ground surprisingly smooth and flat. She does seem like she's done this before... or perhaps she's a natural. "Oh, but Lamia does help... Lamia, she's, um, she's my mom's favorite pokemon. She's always... asking me to call Lamia out to help out or to talk. She... heh, um, she understands Lamia as well as I do. Maybe I will grab her... she could help." She pauses for a second, moves around the terminal bud slightly, and nods. "I could... try to evolve her, but she... heh, um, she can hardly fit through my bedroom door now... Aren't Venusaurs much bigger?" Finally, her patting is done. Melissa leans back onto her leg, stretching her neck and shoulders much in the same manner as Fistfight. Though it's just one little plant with no flowers and few leaves, it still looks somehow cute, as if that type of flower looks perfect against the background of the house and will only look better as it blooms. "... I think it looks nice. Don't you?>

Slight surprise. "Oh, you haven't?" Wesley repeats, taking a second's rest from his hole-making to look at his best friend. "Oh..well," he mutters as Melissa proves his assumptions wrong not once, but twice. Gee, now he feels a bit stupid, though he's soon distracted from his feelings by the amusing thought of Clarissa and Lamia holding wise, motherly conversations. <Oh, that's so nice!> Fistfight comments, with a little giggle. <Human woman, pokemon woman, gettin' together for a chat...> she giggles again, very tickled by the thought. "I'm glad everyone likes Lamia," Wesley says inanely as he goes back to hole-making, looking rather pleased. "Oh, oh yes, Venusaurs are quite big. Boy..." Wesley scratches an itch on his cheek and leaves a brown smudge. "Not tall, just wide. Trial was..what, four feet tall or something? And they're /heavy/." <You usedta be kinda scared of him, remember?> Fistfight notes excitedly, as if she just remembered. That's not something Wesley particularly wants to comment on, so he just grunts vaguely. Fistfight then reaches over and pats Wesley on the shoulder. <You've grown up lots, kiddo,> she remarks kindly. The boy blinks at her, coughs, looks to Melissa, and quickly turns back to the absorbing task of hole creation. Fistfight shrugs slightly and steps away from her young charge - if Wesley doesn't want to have a bonding moment, she's not going to push it.

Fair weather clouds sail across the blue sky, propelled by light breezes from the west. It's warm in the sun, cool in the shade, and the air is clear and dry.

"It's not hard to like her," Melissa replies with a smile. "She's... really... you know, she just really... know a lot for a pokemon. Lik... ... um. Sorry, Fightfight," she mumbles, just in case the Machop takes offense to her implication. "Are they... really... I mean, do they eat a lot? Lamia... she doesn't really... eat too much for her size. I read a book... they, um, they... what's the word, photo... photosymphasize, I think. Like plants. But she eats a little, too." While she speaks, Melissa occupies herself by opening up a package of seeds and taking out a few. She crawls over onto all fours, leaning over far enough to suspend herself over one of the holes. She deposits the little seeds inside, placing them at different layers (she isn't quite sure how deep the little things should go), before piling more soil on top of them. "Could you... er, get me the watering can, Fistfight?"

A port in a storm, a home away from home. We're (saved)!

<Oh, no problem,> Fistfight says, a bit surprised. Why would Melissa say sorry just because she's saying Lamia is smart? Having been nicely weirded out by Fistfight's little nostalgia trip, Wesley's mind takes a few seconds to process Melissa's words. "Humm?" he mutters, before he focuses his attention fully on his friend, and, after smiling at her description of Lamia, responds to her question. "Hmm. Well, father never bought much Pokechow, and...erm." Wesley takes a few seconds to activate his memory. He turns from his thoughts in order to watch Melissa work with the plants - he opens his mouth to offer his assistance, but eventually decides that she's doing well. <Er, watering can, right!> Fistfight says, shading her eyes with her hand and looking around. Eventually she spots the watering can and lifts it up, giving a slight <ooof!> as she does so. It's a lot heavier than a pot with a plant, but after the initial adjustment to its weight, it doesn't bother her too much as she walks back with it, careful not to spill much (though some does slosh out). "Dad kept his larger pokemon in pokeballs, usually, so he wouldn't spend so much money feeding them. He mostly just kept Fistfight out to keep me company - sometimes Trial in the spring. Arcana and Mindreader he...only let out when he was around. ..U..Usually." He coughs nervously.

Melissa is silent for a few moments after Wesley speaks. The only noise coming from her is the soft sound of scraping soil as she settles the seeds. Is she ignoring Wesley? Disturbed by his statement? Or preparing her reply? "Oh," she says softly, not ceasing her work. "... Funny. Sometimes I don't feed mine after a while, but I try to give... as much food as mom and dad will, you know, l-let me feed 'em. Leftovers, none of us eat very much... except dad." She chuckles slightly at this, shaking her head as she leans back onto her legs, regarding her new little burial. Fistfight comes up behind her with watering can in hand(s), which Melissa accepts with a warm "Thank you, Fistfight" and a smile. "She's... so helpful, Wesley," the girl comments with a gesture to the Machop. She sprinkles her spot with a light shower of rain, pats down the soil a little further, and waters it some more.

Wesley looks out on all the holes he's done as he tries to shake off the old tendrils of fear that always pop up at the thought of Thomas's two meaner evolved pokemon. He seems to have done a good enough job hole-making, for someone who stops every ten or so seconds to look at his friend and talk to her, like he does now as he listens to Melissa talk about food. When Fistfight hands off the watering can down, she swallows, her breathing a bit more heavy than it was before. "Oh, she is?" Wesley asks, glancing at Fistfight. "I mean, 'course she is," he adds quickly. <I think it's about this time that ThoughtThief would say somethin' nasty about you not caring for your pokemon,> Fistfight remarks. That kind of passive-aggressiveness seems to take, for Wesley gives her a nervous grin. "S-Sorry, Fistfight, but I..I mean, you're always..helpful. I'm just not used to thinking about...say, I just re..remembered a question I wanted to ask you, Melissa!" Not so subtle with the topic-changing, are we Wesley? Fistfight turns away from Wesley and Melissa in order to roll her eyes. "What does your dad do? I know your mom works on children's books, but your dad...? ..Oh. And your sister, Adrienne," he says this a bit uncertainly, as if he's not sure if that's her name, "what does she do?"

Melissa has already begun watering the pre-grown plant by the time Wesley asks her question. She gently pats the soft wet soil, inhaling through her nose deeply as if experiencing the natural smell of wet dirt for the first time. "Mm," she emits, though whether it's from the new aroma or leading her into a reply to Wesley is uncertain. "Dad... he, uh, well, he writes for the local newspaper. Mostly... reviews of books, sometimes writing articles... oh, it sounds boring, but he can be pretty funny sometimes." She smiles knowingly here, placing some seeds obtained from the little packet into the palm of her hand and gently setting these in another hole. She doesn't seem worried that Mrs. Barlette has been gone for some time now. It almost seems as though she knows what's going on. "Adrienne... well, she travels... kind of like you, except she's home a lot. She wants to be Pokemon Master, but... well, she... hee, she's, um, not very good." She giggles softly as she plops some soil on top of the newly planted seeds.

Wesley gives Fistfight one last glance before shifting even further away from Melissa to find a new fresh spot. "Oh," comes Wesley's pleased and somewhat surprised response. "Your dad works in a newspaper too? Wow. Neat." As usual, Wesley sounds honest in his evaluation, if not terribly verbose or opinionated. "I don't think it sounds boring. My dad doesn't write, he just tells people where articles and stuff are supposed to go." Wesley frowns. "..I think. He didn't really talk much about work with me, but I assume that's what an editor does." Fistfight wipes some sweat from her brow, grinning at Wesley. <Maybe you can read one of Melissa's dad's things to us?> she suggests. Wesley considers that with a pleased "Hmm!" and then asks, "Does he have a regular column, or only on certain days? And..why is Adrienne not good? Has..has she just not gotten very far in getting badges or..." here he shifts and looks at the earth, "or something else?" he finishes in a mutter. Brave little Wesley Brier has no badges to boast of, after all.

Melissa giggles softly in reply, bringing a hand up to her mouth to stifle the noise. It leaves a small smudge of dirt right below her lips, which the girl ignores. "My dad... talks about how much he, he, um, hates his editor. She always picks out his best lines, he says." She shakes her head as she works on the soil more, leaving her fingerprints in the loam. "Mm, oh, he has a weekly column, though once or twice a week, he, um, writes another article or two about... this or that, his opinions or something." Melissa's cheeks turn a little faint at Wesley's question, and she stops playing around with the soil for a second. "... N-No, she... she'd... well, she just likes... humans more than pokemon, I guess." She continues with her work, though she now seems more distracted. "She doesn't... she'd rather talk than battle. She loves her Pikachu, though..." Melissa shakes her head, as if regretting having said a thing.

A port in a storm, a home away from home. We're (saved)!

Wesley's response to Melissa's father's situation is a quick "Ah," of interest as he finds out yet another thing editors do. They edit articles. Well, who'da thunk it? Learning Mr. Barlette's opinions - that could be interesting. And next Christmas he could impress Mr. Barlette with his knowledge of the man's articles! He'd sound so grown up then! Wesley smiles slightly as he goes back to the digging of another hole, though he finds he's rapidly running out of space to make them; Melissa and her mother did a good job before he got here, and he's simply finished it off. "Oh," the boy replies to the Adrienne subject. He can't think of a way to respond to Melissa. "You know," announces, raising his voice, "I'm...still going to challenge Brock for a badge. ..Some..time." What little confidence he had when he first started speaking falls rapidly. Wesley is quite comfortable in the stasis of his life, and getting a badge certainly breaks things up. "I..I just need a good plant pokemon, first. I don't like letting Greenform, my Bulbasaur out, anymore, because he keeps asking why I don't have another Bulbasaur, and Willow's too weak - and part flying type - and..well, I'll need to train Seafarer more, and...I need--" He jabs at the earth sharply with his spade as frustration flares, his eyes flashing as he glares at the ground.

Fair weather clouds sail across the blue sky, propelled by light breezes from the west. It's warm in the sun, cool in the shade, and the air is clear and dry.

"Brock, you say?" Melissa responds, glancing up at him for the few time. She squints from the influx of light, and raises a hand above her head to shield herself from the light. She smiles slightly now, though lets the boy speak. When he thrusts the tool into the ground, Melissa glances down at it casually, as though Wesley's slight outburst is nothing out of the ordinary. "... Well... I, um, I know you..." She pauses for a second. Twiddles at some dirt. Frowns. "I... uh... if you want to... you know, borrow... Lamia, I mean, I know that you might not let yourself, because it's mine, but, I mean, um, if you want..." Melissa has become entirely submissive now. She stutters and stumbles, and for good reason - what is she doing, suggesting to Wesley he's not good enough to win with his pokemon alone? "... Or we can... you know, um, train. I have a ground type... um... I could get a rock type." Her thoughts are scattered, apparently, but hopefully Wesley will get some sense out of them.

Fistfight has been busy looking at the door, wondering when Mrs. Barlette will be coming out with the lemonade, and happens to miss this little display of temper. When Lamia's name is mentioned, however, she tunes back into the conversation, looking between the two humans. "Er..." is Wesley's first response to Melissa's suggestion. The youngster looks surprised and - it quickly overrides his surprise - wistful, before the actual implication sinks in. Then his large eyebrows hang heavily over his eyes and he looks...quite broody. The shadow of his cap makes the look particularly effective. Wesley's expression clears when Melissa suggests training with her. "Training with you would be nice," he says, his voice mild, rising to somewhat upbeat on his last two words. "I think I'd..I'd like that very much." And now he's docile and sweet again as he smiles softly at her. His expression shifts a second after - he's remembered something! "Oh. Did I tell you I have a Geodude now? My partner for the HRTC tournament, she was really, really nice and let me have the prize. It was a Geodude. ..Um, obviously." <He's very nice!> Fistfight comments. "Mmmhmm. Named him Stoneskin. /I/ thought of the name." He has a proud little grin on his face at that.

Melissa turns her head to regard Wesley for a moment, just kind of looking at him with this half smile on her face. "... Yeah," she says at last, nodding softly. "Training with a master like you would be the best experience my pokemon could ever get." She opens her mouth to reply to the Geodude part, but her lips don't move an inch. The front door swings open, and Clarissa Barlette swings her head out. Her voice is icy - a touch of dry humor, good-natured coldness. "Your father has had this computer for how long, Melissa? How many years? I have no idea how one man can have so many easy questions!" She rubs her head, before using the same hand to point inside. "Lemonade's ready, so take a break and come in." And with that, her head disappears into the house, leaving Melissa to only shrug her shoulders and glance at Wesley, entirely helpless. It's his decision, apparently.

The slackness of Wesley's face and the slight lift to his eyebrows clearly conveys his shock. His first thought after her comment is...well, Melissa is his best friend. Is she allowed to make fun of him like that? "Uh--" he bleats out, before Mrs. Barlette interrupts the two of them. He blinks at her owlishly, with little visible response as she chides Mr. Barlette - his only action is to nod automatically at her order. The boy sends Melissa a glance, to find that she's looking at him. "...If, if you could call me a master when I am one, with..badges, and a win at Indigo, then..then that'd be wonderful," he explains warily; he's constructed the belief that she's going to burst out laughing at him and tell him she was kidding any second now. Wary as he is, he's deadly serious. "Un..til then, Melissa, I'm just me. Please, don't think I'm anything more." The boy braces himself for laughter, his expression a mix of confusion and suspicion. <..I'll just be going in now,> Fistfight murmurs to herself, and begins to move /very/ /slooooowly/ towards the door. If Melissa responds, she'll stop to listen, of course.

As it turns out, Melissa does laugh slightly, but there's no evil tinge to the laugh, no pointing, no gasping 'What a dork!' out between laughs. It's apparent that she means no malice. She opens her mouth to speak, but she realizes that Wesley doesn't exactly find this to be a funny situation. He looks perplexed, suspicious, and above all, serious. And she looks at him for a moment now, not gawking at him or peering at him or holding in a laugh, just merely regarding him with... interest. "... Oh, Wes..." she says, using the nickname she usually avoids. "You always... underestimate yourself. In some people's eyes..." Slowly, her gaze brings her over to Fistfight, who is part of the way to the door by now. "You are a master... or close enough, at least. And when you become one... you know, I mean, for real... officially... we can just say we told you so." She shrugs nonchalantly here, and gestures to the door with her head. "... C'mon, let's get some lemonade. All right?"

A port in a storm, a home away from home. We're (saved)!

Wesley's eyebrows lower as Melissa laughs, beginning to look stung, until she stops and his expression turns suspicious again. When Melissa turns to look at Fistfight, she'll see the old girl leaning over to hear the conversation, and not being a mite subtle about it. "I..erm," Wesley murmurs as Melissa speaks, though his voice isn't enough to speak over her words. He can't find any mocking edge to them; nevertheless, his look does not depart. He doesn't want her to think this. Wesley opens his mouth, and it hangs there, unused. But he doesn't want to debate it - not now. He's tired, he was having such a good time that he doesn't want to spoil with a deep conversation, and...deep down, it is nice to be praised, even if you know the words can't be true. He closes his mouth silently. "All..all right," he murmurs after she makes her suggestion. "Lemonade sounds good." With that, he'll get up, setting down the spade and quickly entering the house - Fistfight will hold it open for Melissa before slipping in an exclaiming happily at the coolness of the house's interior. She'll get some lemonade as well as Melissa and Wesley relax after a good day's work.