[M] Pokemon: Avarice Versus Justice! (Ashen and Headwrapper)

[Headwrapper]

There it was again. The distinct shift in Yulia's mannerisms. Her eyes. The way her lips curled into a certain sneer as she spoke. Clive frowned as he glanced down at his partner's pale wrists, which she offered him in sardonic defiance.

Was this "Freya" really the criminal mastermind they had been looking for? Was she actually what Yulia described? Clive had not known the legendary Ninetales' curse could be so powerful, but there have been crazier stories. Whether this crooked being was truly someone else's soul or a simpel delusion, she needed stopped somehow... and damn it all if Clive could not shake the feeling that he needed to find a way to protect Yulia in the process.

His heart softened when Yulia returned, marked by her shift in expression and the formation of tears in her eyes. Even so, it was not enough to rid of him of the anger he felt. How much he felt betrayed. Was he really so untrustworthy, after everything, that Yulia held this from him through all of it? The entire population of the region needed to suffer before she could finally trust him? Those who were injured or killed during the Storm, the rescue Pokemon that risked their lives during it all, even Umbreon? That's what it took? No, he was allowed to be angry and to make it known.

Clive steeled himself, maintaining his intense gaze when Freya retook her position as the pilot. That was when she surprised him, comparing him to his late father and his infamous partner. Clive did not know what to make of her comments, and despite himself, he chuckled. What was it to him that he was nothing like his late father? Was he supposed to aspire to earning an early grave for himself? Maybe hand over Umbreon and the rest of his Pokemon to the next criminal organization himself before croaking, just to save time. Just the very idea repulsed him.

"It's so nice to hear those lips utter something I can fully believe is the truth," Clive said. Coolly, almost casually, he readied a pair of handcuffs. The chain links that joined the restraints glinted in the light, metallic and cold. They jingled lightly as he continued on. "I wonder, Freya, if you would have been more honest with me than she was, had we been on the same side." That was when Clive took one of Yulia's wrists and locked one of the cuffs around it. He did so forcefully, the frigid steel biting into her skin. For the moment, he hardly cared if it was Freya or if it was Yulia he was aggressing. Part of him hoped it was a little of both. He realized quickly that it probably was, as Yulia's tears dripped down her cheeks, passed Freya's smug grin.

Clive paused, awkwardly. He did not proceed to recite the suspect's rights, nor did he instruct her to place her arms behind her back. The usual motions simply did not come. As time pased, the lines on his forehead grew deeper and his jaw began to ache as he ground his teeth. Finally, something flipped over, a quick twitch flickering across his face. With a firm grasp on the free cuff on the other end of the chain, he pulled Yulia, or possibly Freya, towards him forcefully. His larger stature made it easy, and he took advantage of his physically commanding position. His grip tightened on the cuffed arm, pulling his partner and her secret harbinger so close that they could feel his breath on their shared face.

"I want you to explain what happens if we battle," he said. "Where do you go if I win? And what of the rest of Avarice?" He hated himself for backpedaling now, but there was no escaping his desire for justice. He saw it in Yulia's tears, that she was a victim in all of this too. Maybe she did deserve his anger, which was tenfold what he allowed himself to show, but the matter should be between just the two of them. Setting aside the invitation to the current meeting, Freya an invader who had long overstayed her welcome.

[Ashen]

Freya’s insult did not have the effect she wanted, and though she scowled at Clive’s stubbornness, she did not relent. He was unreadable as always, but when he produced a set of handcuffs, bright satisfaction washed over Freya’s face. His words were a sweet scythe through Yulia’s chest, and while Freya relished them, overjoyed at this bitter turn of events, she could feel the deep twist in her shared stomach. Clive had hurt Yulia worse than anything Freya had ever said to her. It was delicious, this pain Freya got to witness, this victory over the true host of her body. When Clive finally clamped the cuffs around one wrist, she looked down at them, another hint of joyous surprise lifting her eyebrows.

He was actually doing it. Based on Yulia’s feelings for him and the time they had shared together, Freya had pegged him differently, but Clive was proving to be one man not to cross. Freya couldn’t help the wide grin now, even as pain rippled across her chest and knocked the breath out of her. It was Yulia’s reaction, her pathetic feelings, that were hurting Freya too. So overwhelming was her grief and sense of defeat that their shared body trembled. Freya rolled her eyes and clenched her hands, jerking the uncuffed wrist in Clive’s direction to remind him to finish the job.

But he didn’t. He wasn’t. He was watching her now, concentrating thoughts that he never showed in his expression. Freya prepared to tease him, or to insult him, to spur the moment along, but before she knew it, she was being yanked towards him with a force she had never seen him use with Yulia.

In any other situation, this would look a hundred shades different. Freya laughed out loud at the hilarity of that. Yulia was finally in the arms of a man, just like her parents had always wanted. From this angle, Clive’s face was stone cold, furious, and Freya wondered just how much prodding he would take before he cracked. Would he hurt her? Hurt the partner who betrayed him? They were close enough now that Freya could easily reach out and kiss him. Would that do it? No one would even know. Locked in Yulia’s apartment, the curtains drawn, her neighbors far too busy with their own lives to second-guess the hitched breaths heard through thin walls, Clive could get away with just about anything. Was he capable of violence like that? Just like his beloved uncle?

A hiss drifted in from the next room. Yulia’s Glameow was watching the scene with narrow eyes. He had never been much of a battler, or even a good guard cat, but as much as he had seemed like he disliked Yulia, she had always taken care of him. Fritz’s claws were out, ears pulled back, and he watched as a former friend threatened his master.

It was Yulia who choked on a sob. She deserved this after what she’d done, she knew, and she had expected this situation would never end well, but in the dozens of times different scenarios had played out in her mind since meeting Clive, she had never anticipated this. It really was over. She would waste away in a cell, or worse, and Clive would never look at her the same way again. Memories of their time together filled her mind: her first day on the job, fresh out of the Academy, when Clive had worn his irritation like armor against her preppy demeanor; the late nights they’d spent working on the case, both at their desks and out in the field, sharing cups of coffee and theories and inside jokes; the times away from work, the restaurants and the takeout, the sweet vulnerability where they could be something other than partners diligently working on the same case. Yulia had hoped, stupidly, that those moments would trump her betrayal, that they could return to that someday. Now, though, looking at his face, the expression she thought she had learned to read, she realized that was all gone.

Freya sighed in irritation. This was a good thing: If Clive was asking about her proposal, it meant he wasn’t as steadfast as she’d thought, or that he was clutching onto some hope of saving his partner. Maybe he did like her, even after all this. But Freya had her victory over Yulia dangling from her wrist, and she just wanted Clive to finish this.

“If we battle,” she started, her voice lacking any of the seriousness the conversation deserved, “and if I win, I want you to resign from this case. Burn everything you’ve learned about it. I want the slate completely cleared.” She wasn’t foolish enough to believe Clive would take her up on that, or that he would hold up his end of the deal, but those were her conditions. “And I will win, Clive,” she added, her grin returning to her lips. “Because you never did like battling, did you? Always left that to your unshakable partner. I wonder, in all that time, how much stronger her Pokemon got than yours. I wonder how easy it would be to send your precious friends back to the hospital.”

Another hiss from Fritz pulled her gaze. The Glameow was ready to pounce, though this time, he was looking at Freya. Pokemon were more perceptive than humans, and Fritz knew an enemy when he saw one.

Freya turned back to Clive. “But if, somehow, you pull off a miracle and defeat me,” she continued, “then I’ll disband Avarice. I’ll call off the whole operation and send everybody home. Maybe my grunts will keep the Pokemon we’ve given them, or maybe they’ll be abandoned in their Poke Balls in the warehouses you have yet to find, I don’t care. But we will stop what we’re doing. Fair is fair.

“As for me,” she added. “I’m sure I’ll find some other way to enjoy Yulia’s company. Maybe we’ll even see you again. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Freya took a step away from him and flexed her uncuffed arm, as if to remind Clive that he could still take this easier route. “Those are my conditions,” she finished. She let Clive consider them for only a moment before speaking again. “As a private investigator, I’m certain you’ve heard of blood pacts.” A deeply taboo and illegal practice, it was possible, with a Psychic Pokemon’s help, to sign deals in blood. They were often officiated by psychics who would somehow know when the deal was broken. Punishment ranged from torture to sure death at the hands of a Pokemon’s mind-bending attacks. “I’m confident in myself,” Freya said, “but I’m not stupid. I don’t trust you. So I want insurance.” She motioned her free wrist towards him. “Or if you’re afraid of losing, you can just finish up here. It’s getting late, isn’t it?”

[Headwrapper]

Clive's expression remained still and stoic, like a statue's, while he awaited responses to his questions. His knuckles grew as white as marble as he squeezed the metal cuff, which dug into his palm like a knife. His eyes only moved to the sound of Freya's voice, glancing down to her lips briefly. He could not help but feel a sort of fascination in her tone, how it seemed so familiar and foreign at the same time. Could this intruding spirit really be the work of a Pokemon such as Ninetales? It was a captivating mystery of its own.

A hiss echoed from the other room: Fritz. Clive flared his nostrils before suddenly releasing Yulia's arm. A sharp line of pain remained across his palm where he had been squeezing the metal band, though he paid it no mind. He was not particularly thrilled with the answers as he they rolled off of Freya's tongue. Having to destroy the evidence over losing a battle was hardly an option he could fathom. It would be incriminating beyond belief. Even if he could hide his tracks, somehow frame the breach as a cyber attack or a raid from Avarice, there would be no way he could not incriminate himself. Leaving the case would be too obvious, but even if he did not, it would only be a matter of time before the story presents itself to his peers. Nat and Jean had the skills to figure it out, and they would not be particularly kind about it. Clive would forever be on the run, or behind bars for a long time. Too long of a time for him to be off the streets, unable to go after the real criminals. Unable to cling to his hope for revenge. The risk was not only too high, it was tragically, ludicrously, impalpable.

But. Clive could not help but reel his head at Freya's taunt, which alluded to the dangers such a battle would pose for his Pokemon. It served as an agonizing reminder that his ace Pokemon was unable to battle. Inwardly, he kicked himself, knowing that he let his anger flare through the stoic expression he had managed so far. Fritz hissed from the other room again, causing both Clive and Freya to pause. Did the Pokemon really know waht was happening? Could it really sense that the blue-haired woman standing in front of Clive was not truly its master? That there was an enemy there that only he and Clive could see? A satisfying feeling washed over Clive as the feline Pokemon seemed to take his side, easing some of the tension in his chest.

Freya proceeded with offering the reward that was on the table for defeating her in battle. Clive was not entirely satisfied with it, either. Avarice's defeat was inevitable. Clive had to believe that. Defeating them and unwinding Yulia's destiny from Freya's was something only he could do. The deal, as Freya presented that, did not seem to give him a path to doing so. Not without a certain kind of help, which Freya had begun to detail.

"A blood pact?" he asked rhetorically. He turned away for a moment, contemplating the idea. Seriously contemplating. When he spoke again, his tone lofty and distracted, he did not turn back to Freya. It was as if he was speaking to the room around them instead. "It's a shame that your trust is so fickle. I was the one who asked to speak to you, thinking you'd be trustworthy, remember?" Ignoring Freya's surrendered wrist, he paced towards the far wall and slowly came to a halt. There, he could conceal his contemplative expression. Defeating Avarice was not enough anymore. Winning, on its own, seldom was for a man like Clive. He had to have it all, even if he bent the rules a little to get it.

Don't be stupid. The thought rattled in his mind. It was a stern, womanly voice, that belonged to one of the strongest detectives he knew: Nat. You need to value yourself and the work you do. How many more people will Avarice hurt if you lose? How many Pokemon? And who will there be to take on the next case, and the one after that? You need to take calculated risks and make incremental steps forwards, without losing ground.

Another voice chimed in, offering its own opinion. It was low-pitched and proud, though Jean spoke with a polite tone when he addressed his partner. But would any of this be worth it if even one victim is left behind? Maybe in a few years we can take down Avarice, but then Yulia will be...

Freya has already destroyed countless lives. Yulia's was the first, and there's no going back. We need to stop the bleeding.

The bleeding never stops, Clive thought, now with his own voice, his own presence of mind. For every victim, there is a lifetime of torment. Of anger, solitude, poor judgement. It will define them. When the detectives relieved themselves of the unsolvable murder case, turned their backs, they placed the burden on me. I can't do that, even after...

Clive inhaled, probably for the first time in over a minute. There was a certain aloofness in his expression as he gave her a once over. His choice became so painfully clear now, but he had terms. "A blood pact it is," he said lightly. "But while we're using such powerful magic, I'd like to amend our terms. If I win, I don't want to see you again, Freya. You'll pay for your crimes alone. Yulia will remain free."