James x Reader | Pokemon | - | REWRITE |

Magic Eight Ball

When you finally woke up, you could tell it had been your first time doing so in a while.

Your body was coated with a thick layer of sweat. You could feel it in the crevices of your face, you could feel it on your hands and down your legs.

Your stomach was a churning hot soup of uncomfortableness. It surfaced at the end of your throat, always with a lingering feeling of being about to vomit or spilling if you turned at the wrong angle.

You could already tell from the feel of the blankets that this was not your assigned room upstairs. The blanket on you was extremely soft, and when you looked down and in front of you, you couldn't help but admire its pleasant purple color.

The bed was much bigger than the one in your assigned room upstairs, probably the biggest they made normal beds. The sheet covering its mattress was cool and jet black---much better than the yellowed rag that covered the bed upstairs.

And just when you thought this place's bragging couldn't be more in-your-face, across from the bed was a table holding at least ten small pots of red roses. Bent over them were multiple sets of artificial lights, which gave their delicate petals an enticing white shine.

You looked around. The rest of the room seemed normal enough. A small closet and a nightstand next to you.

But the nightstand caught your attention before you could examine the room deeper. On top of the small nightstand was your bag, and peeking out from the top was the shiny bright red of a pokeball.

You thought about how stupid this was. Why didn't they just take your things once you were unconscious like they did the last time? Why did they deliberately put your bag, complete with your items and fully intact, right on the nightstand that went with the bed they placed you in?

Then you remembered that you shouldn't be generalizing the three. This was most definitely a product of James' pure inadequacy at being a criminal---and you knew the moment you questioned him about it he would be making up some bizarre explanation to go along with it. That or he would just complain about Jessie. Perhaps both.

And speak of the confused saint with devil horns, here was James. Entering what you assumed to be his room, looking at you with a conflicted expression as you lied on his bed.

Was he disgusted? Did he not think you were worthy, on the same status? Surely the victim shouldn't be the one recieving such nice treatment, you could think of a thousand ways he could be better at this little "job" of his.

But maybe it was all a trick for you to lower your guard, maybe they were trying to gain your trust by using James as some sick bait to get you to join. You knew such thoughts were a bit far, but so was your escape. There would be no harm in suspecting more about these already-criminals.

James finally spoke. "Well. You look terrible."

"Thanks."

"I don't mean that in a particularly insulting way," he said. "I mean that your oncoming sickness is rather obvious."

"Tell me about it, James. Flaunt your pity at me."

James raised a brow. "As you lie in my bed? I think I've shown you enough pity."

"Mr. Evil is finally realizing?"

"You're being dramatic."

"At least we know who I picked it up from."

James exhaled deeply. "Your sickness is making you delirious."

"And you're already delirious." You were too tired to continue this banter for much longer. Before James could respond, you started again. "Anyway. What's the plan from the man, huh? Just gonna let me rot and die in here, or is there some other magical quest I have to go on before I'm dead?"

"Don't be so negative about it. I've already decided to help you. Well, as much as I'm able to."

"You're able to do a lot more than you let on. Help me, don't help me, help me, don't help me. Do you let a magic eight ball decide everything for you? The only thing continuous about you is your pride."

"Not true. I am also continuously good-looking."

"You're missing the point."

"You're not denying it."

You smiled smugly. "Why would I deny something that is so obviously wrong?"

"You're very good at being sarcastic."

"Whatever. You're still missing the point. I don't get what you want out of me. If this is some tactic to manipulate me into being obediant...it's being executed very poorly. All I am is confused, and I have reasons to believe you are too. Maybe even more than I am."

James sighed. "I don't---" He cut himself off. "I'll get you water. You're most likely very dehydrated, and that will only make the sickness much worse."

"Avoiding it again, I see."

"I don't need to tell you anything."

"You're right, James. You're absolutely right. You don't need to tell me anything at all. But you've already told me some unnecessary things and it's almost as if you just want me to keep asking."

"Do you want me to get you water or not?"

"Yessir."

"You're almost as bad at being a victim as I am being a criminal."

"That's a bit far, James. Not even I am that bad."