Fifteen Minutes of Fame

The room was darker than before – I could perceive it through my closed lids. The day had probably begun to descend into dusk outside, and not a faint light stole through the kitchen windows and reflected on the living room where I was, like it did before I fell asleep. The candles must have also died... The increase in darkness intensified my slumber, and I unconsciously rejoiced in the comfort of those cushions and the familiar perfume on those covers.

A series of faraway, gentle knocks began to move me in the couch. The sound grew closer and louder as I was pulled back from sleep. I opened my numb lids: Twilight had fully set in by then, making it harder to recognize the room I was in. It was a dull twilight – not bright with the sun fading, but rather a sickly, lazy hue of dark blue taking over the walls and mocking my confusion. The knock repeated itself, now fully distinguishable as reality – I traced its direction, it pointed to a glass slide door that now sealed me inside the room. The frames moved lightly as someone grabbed the knob... The texturized frozen glass left little visible... apart from a great blurred shadow whose silhouette my terror quickly made out as...

"Lysandre!!" I gasped, jumping back on the sofa and embracing the covers as a form of defense.

Luckily, the man behind the door was too busy trying to get it open to hear me, and I soon realized that, however hard he tried, the door wouldn't budge – it was locked.

Before the panic induced by the abrupt awakening could fully subside and I could recover from unconscious fear into logically wondering what the hell he was doing there, a more slender, more swiftly-moving shadow interposed between the door and the other one, visibly taking hold of the knob as to remove it from his hand.

"Why can't I come in?" I heard Lysandre's coarse voice confirming himself, if ever there was a doubt.

"Why, dear friend..." Sycamore's voice, on the other hand, was edgier, choking an apprehension away. "It's quite rude to peep into one's house without prior notice, wouldn't you say so? It's presently a mess..."

"You know damn well I don't have time to care, Augustine!!" – was the abrupt answer that gave me another small fright. "Now let me through!"

"Well, okay!" Sycamore sighed "Suppose I have company..."

Silence followed. The excuse at last seemed convincing enough to earn Lysandre's acceptance, for the menacing shadow moved away, and I sighed relieved.

"Would you like some tea?!" Sycamore followed him.

"Whatever the hell is going on here..." I angrily mumbled to myself, getting up and pushing the covers away. "I'm out of this place!!"

I looked around myself – there must be a way out through the back. If there wasn't one, I would gladly escape through a window, just to avoid meeting the duo on my way out and having to give explanation to one or both.

I went for my shoes, which were left on the other side of the room, before the rug; and as I crouched to put them on, I accidentally happened to overhear them in the kitchen:

"It is that girl's, isn't it?!"

The question sounded strange coming out of nowhere, even though it was Lysandre uttering it... I lingered a little longer.

Sycamore sighed heavily "Give me that, will you?!"

I immediately sought my pocket with my hand – it was empty!

"So your lady friend in the other room..." Lysandre started, reasoning. I heard the hiss of rage silence him as he got to the obvious conclusion, and foresaw what was coming.

I ran from the door just as I heard Lysandre stomp through the kitchen. I stumbled and fell behind the couch, and the lock exploded under his pressure, the glass-door sliding open.

Meanwhile, Sycamore panicked trying to stop him – his cries being poorly heard behind the raging bull.

Silence took over. I closed my eyes shut and dared move no muscle.

"There, there... you broke my lock! And all for what? For..." Sycamore probably looked around then, for the direction of his voice shifted, and so did the tone: it sounded quite disappointed "...nothing!"

"What are you doing with her Pokédex?!" I heard it as it beeped, probably being opened by Lysandre. No way of denying to whom it belonged now: all my information was there.

"Updates."

"Updates!" Lysandre groaned. "Updating how to track her every move?" I could feel the sarcasm in his voice.

"Nonsense..." Sycamore sighed impatiently.

"The girl is nowhere near that mess in the badlands where her friends got involved. You mean to tell me you had nothing to do with this?!"

"Good grief, man! What if I did?!" Sycamore grumbled walking back to the kitchen. Lysandre stayed behind for a few seconds, probably still examining his surroundings, then he followed.

With the door wide open, I didn't have to make an effort to overhear them:

"You are compromising everything with this absurd fancy of yours!" Lysandre accused. "Everything I am working for, all subject to waste under your..."

"And yet – the girl has a mega ring!" Sycamore cynically interrupted.

"She has a – ..." I heard Lysandre gasp. Professor laughed teasingly.

"Just what you heard, my friend! The key to unlocking mega evolutions is what you call your wasted project's!"

"Then... Then..." Lysandre soliloquized with a sensible degree of enthusiasm. "How far is she from achieving it?!" He promptly asked.

"I haven't the faintest idea. Should you like me to investigate into it?" I heard the smile in his voice.

"NO!" was Lysandre's rude answer that surprised both listeners. "No, it is all the more reason for you to stay away from the girl... Before you blow everything up!"

Sycamore laughed.

"I was right to recommend her to you" Lysandre followed enthusiastically "Considering who her mother was, and how close she herself got... Yes! This could only be right!"

"The poor thing hates being compared to her mother..." Sycamore sighed.

"Continue to keep an eye on her" Lysandre ordered "...from afar!!" he furiously added, probably teased by one of Sycamore's smirks "We have never been so close to finishing the project!"

The conversation both wrapped itself up and disappeared as, apparently, they followed to the entrance hall and said their farewells. I was left on my dark spot behind the sofa processing what I had heard with some shock. I wasn't his top researcher... I wasn't his favorite student... I was the test subject itself! Nothing was a product of coincidence or favoritism...

I got up immediately, too angry to stay a second longer in that place!

Neither Sycamore nor Lysandre were still inside – The lights were back in Lumiose... And apparently the president of an important corporation and as large and peculiar a man as Lysandre walking around was easily spotted by the media, drawing a lot of attention: I carefully crossed the kitchen, preferring not to be seen, and peeked through the hall door: a mass of reporters, cameras, people and their Pokémon formed a noisy crowd around the bearded beast-man, from where flashes spurted furiously at every second and after every word pronounced by him. Next to him, about 10 feet away from the entrance door, stood Sycamore with his arms crossed and a camera-nice smile, fully aware of how little the media cared about him, but probably too polite to leave his friend and lock himself inside. I picked his scarf from the hanger and, putting it around my neck, hiding my face as subtly and as much as I could, walked to the direction opposite the mess in a quick pace.

"Now, there you are, you little deserter!" Sycamore's voice sounded right behind me, as entertained as a child torturing a squirming bug would sound, sending shivers up my spine and igniting my running mechanism.

His hand held tightly my left shoulder though, stopping my race, and upon turning around to push him away and rid myself, he grabbed one end of the scarf and pulled it, instantly choking me and forcing me to retreat back in accordance to his grip.

"And bringing a souvenir with you, are we?! What do you plan to give me in exchange for this trinket?"

I fell back on his torso and he wrapped his arms across me, rendering me quite immobilized. One of his hands reached out and grabbed my face, pushing it up as he bent forward to look down on me. His eyes were mocking and excited, cynically surveying my face in search of the desired answer as his strands of hair fell lose before my eyes.

A flash scared us both away from the strange formation just as his thumb against my face had begun to trace its way across and press against my lips.

"Here we have Professor Sycamore, Kalos' Pokémon researcher!" A reporter told a lonely camera-man that had strayed from the crowd and now focused on us.

"Professor Sycamore, can you tell us your thoughts on the recent black out?"

"A calamity, most certainly!" He smiled. A second of silence gave away how heavily he breathed though, clearly nervous by the fright.

I took the opportunity to walk away, but his hand, that hadn't really left my shoulder yet, pressed on more firmly, pulling me to his side.

"And who is this brave young trainer?"

"A brave one indeed!" he looked down at me and pressed me against him, rubbing my arm. I frowned angrily. "This is my pupil, Miss Anne!"

"And was Anne with you during these last few hours of the blackout?!" she asked without the malice the situation deserved. I blushed.

Sycamore opened his mouth to speak, and then laughed, caught out of a quick excuse. One soon followed though:

"Ah, yes! I happened to meet her nearby, scared and lost. She came to me crying, didn't you dear?" He lifted my chin to him, treating me as childishly as he could manage "And I took her in to calm her down!" He charmingly smiled.

Wasn't he a sweetheart? I rolled my eyes with despise.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have to escort her to the Center!"

"Thank you for your attention, Professor!"

And, having won the leave to show off a fatherly intimacy towards me now that he had faked one before the cameras, with his arm across my shoulders he swung me around and we walked away from the mess of noisy flashes. Not a word was said until we were both far enough to avoid drawing the eager reporter's attentions. Having stopped in the first alleyway, I turned around ready to face his excuses, ignore them one by one and proclaim my hatred with all the blood boiling inside me!

"Well, where were you?!" He comically asked before I could.

I only then realized, in the lack of shades inside his cold blue eyes and his untroubled voice, that he didn't suspect I was inside his house all along!

"And what's with that idea of just leaving?!"

"I..." I started but stopped, caught off guard by the conversation not happening as it did in my mind.

"I was hoping you'd stay longer... Until dinner, even!" He detailed with a serene smile on his face, like one who describes a dream "I have some classic movies I could screen to keep you entertained until your friends came our way, when I'd safely deliver you..."

My eyes moved from one side to the other, examining every corner of his face looking for those signs of malice I used to see everywhere. The lack of them made me confused.

"Professor, I... I..."

"Speak up, do! You have precious little time to give me a good enough excuse and convince me I can let you go just like that... a poor sore dove flying alone in the windy night sky!"

Measuring his eyes, so maddeningly, so smothering, so tauntingly close to mine; his hands enclosing me, keeping me from any abrupt escape; his voice and his softness and his scent hypnotizing me into staying – into believing whatever he hadn't even told me, just so I could keep thinking... keep trusting that...

It would not do! I looked away and turned my back on him, deciding that, if I really wanted to go, I shouldn't say a word. Speaking would only make him more willing to keep me and convince me and waste my time... And I was currently desperate to leave...

"Calem needs me!" I uttered a little above my breath.

"You call that an excuse?" he mocked "I call it begging for an abduction!"

"I have to go!" I sighed, and started walking.

"If you say so, then!" He walked quickly after me, pulled me and turned me to himself. Casually, he began to undo the scarf around my neck, as if he was just taking back what was his. The coldness of this action hurt... but then he stretched the scarf, folded it, and put it back around my neck, twisting it, arranging it into almost a tie.

He adjusted the fabric, pulling it up and down until I was well covered. My eyes started getting wet... He smiled softly, unaware: "It is quite cold now... so go at once before it gets darker!"

I nodded faintly, feeling sadder still.

"Ah – you also happened to drop this while you were sleeping!" he offered me my Pokédex. "I retrieved it... from the sofa."

I seized it, examined it – he had retrieved it from the sofa alright... after taking it from my pocket!

"Have a safe trip!" He raised his hand with a goodbye, and I followed, hearing my own footsteps echo through the alley.

He stayed there watching me for a while... That simple noise went on for a while... as did the night calmly descending. I walked on as firmly as I could.

Then my view got blurred. My cheeks and ears got hot, and my chest, for some reason, pounded once. It pounded twice then... and I got scared trying to refrain it. Suddenly it all went out of hand! I began to shiver, and I began to sob, and the panting on my breath got heavier and heavier the more I tried to keep it! Was that just there Sycamore afraid of me catching a cold and dying, and burying Lysandre's research? Was everything else nothing but that?! I was only then beginning to understand why people use words such as "shattered" and "broken" as adjectives for the heart: It felt like my chest was opening in two, and it hurt bad! I clumsily ran through the empty streets.