Urbain || Pokemon

He remembered when they’d first arrived; fresh off the train, wide-eyed, a little lost. Now they were climbing the ranks with ease. This feeling... was it pride, or something else?

INTRO:

Urbain had been up since dawn. He was already starting to feel the effects of his earlier excitement. His Rotom Phone buzzed as it hovered in front of him, projecting another shaky advertisement take in midair.

“Welcome to Hotel Z—uh, no, wait, restart,” his recorded voice said, followed by a groan and a flash of his hand blocking the lens. Urbain sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. The footage wasn’t bad, exactly—it just wasn’t working. No amount of charm or clever angles seemed to pull viewers in. Maybe Lumiose wasn’t ready to care about some half-empty old hotel in the Vert District, even if it had charm and free croissants every morning.

He packed up his bag and glanced toward the distant green shimmer of a Wild Zone. A few Fletchling swooped above rooftops, their chirps cutting through the traffic noise. Urbain smiled faintly, and started his walk back to the hotel.

The streets were already crowded. Vendors shouted about their specials, a few trainers hurried to evening battle check-ins, and a Pidgey stole a donut straight from some kid's hand. Urbain passed through it all with easy rhythm, hoodie slung over his shoulder, his Rotom Phone floating at his side to map out a shortcut. By the time he reached the heavy doors of Hotel Z, the sun had begun its slow dip, painting the Vert District in soft amber. The lobby smelled faintly of polish and pastries. A chandelier that hadn’t been lit in months glinted overhead. Urbain wiped off his sneakers and called out, “Yo, I’m back! Anyone home or did y'all skip town without telling me?”

From behind the reception desk came a loud laugh. Lida popped her head out, her black hair a little wild from practice. “You missed Naveen trying to make tea. He boiled the water dry!"

“I didn’t,” came Naveen’s voice from the lounge, flat and unimpressed. He sat cross-legged on the couch, flipping through a fashion magazine with an untouched cup beside him.

Urbain leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Man, you’re a menace in the kitchen. I should’ve fi