Sabrina
Saffron City. City of majesty. City of valor. City of innovation.
“City of assholes…” the young psychic muttered under her breath. She was atop the Silph Company building in Saffron, observing the city--her city—as twilight wrapped the buildings and streets in its delicate arms. As much as she adored the city and held it as her own, she couldn’t hide the truth from herself: the city was debased. Corrupted beyond recognition of the shining metropolis it once was. Every day, the newspaper headlines radiated with stories of murders, drug busts, kidnappings. Typical of any big city, but this was her city, her baby, her love. The city she loved, that once brought forth endless technology, culture, and art, was now a heaping mess of shady men, backstabbing women, and delinquent children.
She sighed. The city no longer held any love for her, either. The people that would once gaze upon her with awe, that would shower her with praise and adoration, now would not even grace her with a wayward glance. She was just a small quirk to the city now, something to brag about to one’s friends but not truly hold dear to one’s heart; she was a tourist attraction.
And oh how those tourists loved her, loved her as much as any spectacle they might chance upon in their travels. But soon, they would forget about little old Sabrina. She would lie dormant in their minds, not even as a seed to flourish and bring wonder back to family and friends. No, she would be the stuff of minute party conversations, something of an icebreaker so that they could eventually move on to matters no doubt far more important.
Not that she cared about the finite musings and doings of simple travelers, visitors to her city. No, it was not their crude thoughts and greedy desires that brought her down. It was the cold gazes from the eyes of her own brothers and sisters, friends and neighbors, that sliced into her soul and left her gasping for breath.
She knew, in her own mind, that that was selfish. In truth, she would settle for them to correct their paths and stop diluting the wonder of their home with their grimy dealings. She would gladly be forgotten, if only they would remember the city.
A shimmer in the fabric of the world brought her out of her thoughts and back to the present. She knew who it would be before the words had even left his lips.
“Ah, Sabrina, how wonderful to see you here!” The one who still loved her. The one who still wanted her. The one who she would not herself give a wayward glance.
“I believe you are trespassing, Butler.”
He moved up to the railing and leaned against it, mirroring her position. He was gaudy in his dress. Even just through her peripheral vision, the bright white fabric of his suit cut through her eyes in the near-night darkness. And that hair. Her lip curled in disgust; she had never understood, nor been one for, flashy hairstyles. The one she had now was the most radical she had ever had, and it wasn’t even very far-out at that. It flowed back behind her head and swooped up slightly. In contrast, his spiraled straight back from his head. Not to mention that it was purple, and artificially.
“Oh? Then aren’t you as well?”
“No,” she said, “Silph is one of the few remaining institutions that actually value my presence in the city.” In the silence between their words, she could hear the faint breathing of an Alakazam well behind her; Butler’s preferred mode of transportation, or teleportation, as it were.
Butler turned so that he was facing the opposite direction as Sabrina, his elbows resting on the railing. “And there you go with the “woe is me, give me back my city” business again. I don’t see why you insist on-“
“I refuse to degrade myself by joining your little circus, Butler, so you may as well leave now.”
“But why?” he asked. “Why do you continue to live in this rat-infested hellhole? Life with me and my companions might not be, ah, glamorous, but it is a far sight better than-this!” He gestured at the softly glowing buildings with a wide sweep of his arm. He was grinning, a grin that spoke of undeserved pride, confidence, and outright cockiness. He thought he was the world, and the world let him believe so.
Sabrina could attest to that. Whenever Butler was near, you were sure to hear of it. Gossip, news, whatever. It permeated the common conversations and dominated the newspapers. She wasn’t entirely sure why, though. She supposed that the simplest—and, quite frankly, most disheartening—explanation was that people were simply willing to pay to see a cheap bit of entertainment. Butler was a so-called “magician,” “wonder-man,” and “miracle-worker,” but like most skills of the day, it was all about deception and sleight-of-hand. No one cared to see true paranormal ability, because it couldn’t turn an elephant into a pocket watch.
“I’m not coming with you. I can’t leave my city. Not like this.”
“Well then, I suppose I’ll just have to persuade you otherwi—” She left the railing and headed for the elevator, flipping the magician over the railing with a mental push. His Alakazam leapt immediately after him, so he wasn’t in any real danger. She didn’t have the patience to deal with him anymore. There was no doubt in her mind that he would not cease in his efforts to recruit her into his posse of clowns, dancers, and fortunetellers.
He loved her. He wanted her. But for his own selfish purposes.
Perhaps the city wasn’t the problem after all. Maybe it was just her.
“City of assholes…” the young psychic muttered under her breath. She was atop the Silph Company building in Saffron, observing the city--her city—as twilight wrapped the buildings and streets in its delicate arms. As much as she adored the city and held it as her own, she couldn’t hide the truth from herself: the city was debased. Corrupted beyond recognition of the shining metropolis it once was. Every day, the newspaper headlines radiated with stories of murders, drug busts, kidnappings. Typical of any big city, but this was her city, her baby, her love. The city she loved, that once brought forth endless technology, culture, and art, was now a heaping mess of shady men, backstabbing women, and delinquent children.
She sighed. The city no longer held any love for her, either. The people that would once gaze upon her with awe, that would shower her with praise and adoration, now would not even grace her with a wayward glance. She was just a small quirk to the city now, something to brag about to one’s friends but not truly hold dear to one’s heart; she was a tourist attraction.
And oh how those tourists loved her, loved her as much as any spectacle they might chance upon in their travels. But soon, they would forget about little old Sabrina. She would lie dormant in their minds, not even as a seed to flourish and bring wonder back to family and friends. No, she would be the stuff of minute party conversations, something of an icebreaker so that they could eventually move on to matters no doubt far more important.
Not that she cared about the finite musings and doings of simple travelers, visitors to her city. No, it was not their crude thoughts and greedy desires that brought her down. It was the cold gazes from the eyes of her own brothers and sisters, friends and neighbors, that sliced into her soul and left her gasping for breath.
She knew, in her own mind, that that was selfish. In truth, she would settle for them to correct their paths and stop diluting the wonder of their home with their grimy dealings. She would gladly be forgotten, if only they would remember the city.
A shimmer in the fabric of the world brought her out of her thoughts and back to the present. She knew who it would be before the words had even left his lips.
“Ah, Sabrina, how wonderful to see you here!” The one who still loved her. The one who still wanted her. The one who she would not herself give a wayward glance.
“I believe you are trespassing, Butler.”
He moved up to the railing and leaned against it, mirroring her position. He was gaudy in his dress. Even just through her peripheral vision, the bright white fabric of his suit cut through her eyes in the near-night darkness. And that hair. Her lip curled in disgust; she had never understood, nor been one for, flashy hairstyles. The one she had now was the most radical she had ever had, and it wasn’t even very far-out at that. It flowed back behind her head and swooped up slightly. In contrast, his spiraled straight back from his head. Not to mention that it was purple, and artificially.
“Oh? Then aren’t you as well?”
“No,” she said, “Silph is one of the few remaining institutions that actually value my presence in the city.” In the silence between their words, she could hear the faint breathing of an Alakazam well behind her; Butler’s preferred mode of transportation, or teleportation, as it were.
Butler turned so that he was facing the opposite direction as Sabrina, his elbows resting on the railing. “And there you go with the “woe is me, give me back my city” business again. I don’t see why you insist on-“
“I refuse to degrade myself by joining your little circus, Butler, so you may as well leave now.”
“But why?” he asked. “Why do you continue to live in this rat-infested hellhole? Life with me and my companions might not be, ah, glamorous, but it is a far sight better than-this!” He gestured at the softly glowing buildings with a wide sweep of his arm. He was grinning, a grin that spoke of undeserved pride, confidence, and outright cockiness. He thought he was the world, and the world let him believe so.
Sabrina could attest to that. Whenever Butler was near, you were sure to hear of it. Gossip, news, whatever. It permeated the common conversations and dominated the newspapers. She wasn’t entirely sure why, though. She supposed that the simplest—and, quite frankly, most disheartening—explanation was that people were simply willing to pay to see a cheap bit of entertainment. Butler was a so-called “magician,” “wonder-man,” and “miracle-worker,” but like most skills of the day, it was all about deception and sleight-of-hand. No one cared to see true paranormal ability, because it couldn’t turn an elephant into a pocket watch.
“I’m not coming with you. I can’t leave my city. Not like this.”
“Well then, I suppose I’ll just have to persuade you otherwi—” She left the railing and headed for the elevator, flipping the magician over the railing with a mental push. His Alakazam leapt immediately after him, so he wasn’t in any real danger. She didn’t have the patience to deal with him anymore. There was no doubt in her mind that he would not cease in his efforts to recruit her into his posse of clowns, dancers, and fortunetellers.
He loved her. He wanted her. But for his own selfish purposes.
Perhaps the city wasn’t the problem after all. Maybe it was just her.