Pokémon Obsidian | An Orre Fanfiction

Chapter 10: Chipped

Laila founded her own fashion brand, Underworld, five years ago with the help of her great-grandmother Raine. At first, they made everything themselves. The brand exploded last year when they were offered the opportunity to design the new Orre League uniforms. That meant they were responsible for replicas, too. Laila had to employ a whole factory of people to keep up with demand. The shop moved into The Under's main square.

As much as it was a privilege to design the uniforms, Laila admittedly didn't enjoy it. She preferred earning only enough to get by from her alternative fashion, but there was no turning back now. Though everything was still designed – by Laila, Raine or their apprentice Jaylah – in the damp back room, even their personal projects went to the factory to be replicated en masse. There were too many parcels for them to post. The Orrean Postal Service collected sacks from the factory every evening.

'I feel like a sellout,' Laila told 98 year-old Raine with a sigh, 'But even though Alfie and Camden and Chalcedony and whoever else warned me, I didn't see this coming...'

'How are you a sellout? People just love your clothes!'

'Whoever would've thought I wouldn't want so many people to love our clothes? Jeez... I haven't felt this unmotivated since I knocked my own teeth out at Citadark Isle.'

'Leon knocked his own teeth out on a glass door, you know.'

'I know. He's only told me 10 billion times.'

The shop's bell jingled. Laila stood. Charizard watched the cash register. Raine's Swampert and Inteleon lurked as security guards. Some people, usually claiming to be Cipher Peons, still tried to steal clothes or money when they saw no humans on the shop floor. Laila thought they were scaremongering by mentioning Cipher. Maybe they weren't.

She couldn't see the customer amongst black and pastels at first. As soon as she caught a glimpse of sunrise-red hair, she relaxed and tensed up at the same time. It was only Ilirian. She didn't mind suspecting him when his face faded to a blurry memory, but when he was there in front of her, she found herself enraged by how his green eyes and quiet strides derailed her thoughts.

'Oh, hey, Laila.'

Ilirian had a girlfriend. He also thought Laila hated him. He couldn't know she glared at him, like he was a Venonat in her fridge, because she wanted to slap him for making her feel the way she did.

'Anything I can help you find today...?'

'I stepped on a Vileplume dropping.'

He awkwardly showed her the thick sole of his right boot. The faded rubber was stained by poison. Back when he bought those, he was one of Laila's only customers. Everything he was wearing was still designed by her. The whole band loved her shop.

'Oh. You need new boots. OK. I mean... I could repair those...?'

'It's OK. I was thinking I'd like to try on one of your new designs, anyway.'

'What size are you, again?'

She knew he was a size 12.5, but he didn't need to know she remembered. He tried on a pair of gothic combat boots criss-crossed by chains and buckles. If it had been any other member of the band, she would have sold them for P2,500, but she told Ilirian the faded price tag said P20,000. He liked the boots enough not to care.

'Did Daisy like her... what was it you bought? A hat?'

Laila also hadn't forgotten it was a headband he bought for his girlfriend – or that her name was Maisie, not Daisy – but he didn't need to know that, either.