Tabitha had difficulty comprehending how easily money could slip through his fingers with the click of a mouse.
He watched the numbers on the screen shrink with a sigh, retrieving a notepad and pencil from the desk drawer to calculate a new budget off of the amount that remained.
"Mr. Stone had better be gracious and not find another reason to sue me."
Now, he didn’t even have enough savings to cover the month’s rent, and he wasn’t fully certain the landlady would permit him an extension, though he would ask.
He glanced at the clock nestled in the lower corner of the screen.
9:12 AM.
He had slept in today, a Wednesday. It felt amazing. No longer did he have to wake up before sunrise and wedge himself into the rush hour train. Had he still worked for Devon, he would be in the midst of the morning meeting right now, listening to Mr. Yamada drone on about the company’s fiscal situation or harping about research project deadlines. He’d have to listen to Shelly berate him again.
Good riddance. He’d be waiting for his PokéNav to buzz with a notification from Shelly apologizing for the night before, but Tabitha was not privy to a simple “sorry”; he’d make her beg for his forgiveness for staining his pride.
There were plenty of positives to come with being unemployed, but one single negative outweighed them all: he wasn’t earning any money.
That fact was what prompted him to close his laptop and get on with his usual morning routine, making himself look presentable enough in his suit for potential interviews.
Skitty bounded after him into the bathroom, nuzzling his ankles for attention until her master finally knelt down to scratch her behind the ears.
“Mother’s always said that it was a stroke of luck to find you, Skitty. Maybe you’ll share some of that good fortune with me?”
She mewed in response.
“That’s a good girl.” Tabitha retreated into his room to pick up his briefcase, stuffed to the brim with a stack of fresh resumes, and stepped outside into the light morning rain.
Skitty sat by the front door and waited for it to open again.
***
The first stop on his journey was the construction company owned by the man who called himself “Cutter”. He had been responsible for much of Rustboro’s expansion and Tabitha knew that his latest project involving Rusturf Tunnel was said to be his most ambitious yet. Maybe he could use the assistance of a mechanical engineer.
He approached the door to the Cutter’s home, giving it precisely three knocks. A short, balding man wearing a sweatband around his forehead opened it.
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