Love Lost, Chapter 15b: Alignments, concluded.
#30 of Love Lost
Love Lost, Chapter 15b: Alignments, concluded.
Burner had not said much of anything since he and Joe were delivered to Manse DeWell and escorted to their suite. After a while, Joe beat on the bathroom door with his fist. "The situation's reversed, and I can't hold it any longer. I'm coming in." Burner grunted neutrally; he had no concern for privacy or modesty as he tried to relax in the tub's pulsating jets, so if anything, he wondered why Joe seemed to feel like his loyal pokemon would judge and condemn him for exercising his privy.
Joe rested an elbow on a knee and his chin on that elbow's arm's palm. "It's weird. Without the flashing lights and fanfare and cheering audience, the great League arena seems so much like..." As Joe trailed off, Burner found a way to finish his sentence.
"...being in a ball, but with another pokemon."
Joe began to tidy up. "Really?"
"It's dark and still, you're surrounded by a faint presence of confining emptiness, and yet, just where you are, it's bright." A moment later, over sounds of swirling waters, Burner called his master's name and beckoned him near. Bringing his feet into the tub and pressing against its far wall, the rest of the blaziken's body was quickly forced out of its waters into an upright pose. "Did they tell you anything? About her wing?"
"No. Why?"
Burner looked into the water and let his knees bend, sinking downward by a couple of decimeters. "Sam. He warned me back when we played together that if I wasn't careful I'd hurt someone I cared about. It's starting to happen. Remember the night we lost to Percival? I went to Alice's like I said but she had to go to work; on the way home I ran into Sam. Sam ran into me. I didn't know it was him and I hurt him."
"That explains some of the funny questions Percival was asking the next time I saw him."
Burner nodded with a faint grumble. "I got him to the center and on the way back, we talked about being on Percival's journey and the pokemon we met. Today I hurt Ivana, just like one of those pokemon would." With a flash of determination in his averted eyes, Burner straightened his legs again and gripped Joe's shirt not unlike how he once gripped Joe's jacket--"I don't want to be like them, Joe! I know I'm supposed to be because I was bred to be a champion's champion, but I don't want to be like that. I don't ever want to hurt someone I care about again!"--with similar consequences as Joe's sense of balance recoiled against the downward force of two pulling claws, and his shirt felt somewhat torn about the whole situation. Burner trilled with disgust as he noticed this, releasing his grip in favor of hiding his face with those talons and sinking as low into the tub as he could manage. At least his shoulders were only a little over the rim at that point.
Joe knelt beside the tub and placed a palm on each of those shoulders. "I think I know what you mean. Burner, if you don't want to fight anymore, that's fine. I won't ask you to; I promise."
"No." Joe braced himself against the tub as Burner reached across with his right arm and pulled him into a partial hug. "I do enjoy fighting, and I don't want you to make a promise like that, as though I can't trust you to make that sort of decision when it comes. Promise me something else instead, Master. Promise you won't let me become one of those pokemon. Promise me you'll stop me if I need you to. Even if it means we'll lose."
Joe whispered into the feathers that cloaked Burner's left ear. "You got it."
They shared a moment in a near-silence that lasted until Joe caught himself at the door. "Burner? You said, 'someone you cared about,' when you asked about Ivana's wing. Is there something you haven't told me?"
Burner shifted uncomfortably. "I don't have any, uh, feelings for her. But, I do feel bad for her. She wants family--something I am blessed to have, something we gave to Alice; and we know how much joy it brought her. I can't forgive Ivana for what she did to all of us, but I also can't blame her for wanting a family of her own so badly. And then, us using what happened as an excuse to use her to prove ourselves worthy to ourselves, I don't think that was right. It certainly wasn't worth breaking her wing for."
"It was too! She had it coming. After what she did to you and Alice, she should have a few more broken bones. If it weren't for the rejuvenation machines--" Joe recalled his search for his torchic. "The old man with the star-something bird. That's why it's getting to you; you're feeling guilty about that broken wing, too, aren't you?"
Burner looked away for a moment, then directly at Joe. "Whenever I truly fight to win, someone gets hurt. Sam got hurt, twice. That bird got hurt. Ivana got hurt. I've given Alice more bloody noses than I can count."
Joe giggled once with a smirk. "Don't blame yourself for that. She doesn't seem to count a fight as a fight unless that happens."
Burner ignored his factual statement and continued. "Even that badge you won. Yes, it was his own fault because he used a reckless attack in a careless way, but still, that pokemon got really hurt. Percival told you he thought it broke something. His leg was twisted backwards at the knee, Joe, and he cried out for help because it couldn't move. I'll never forget his voice. I could have taken that hit. I should have taken that hit."
"Burner, why didn't you say anything before?"
"I know these things happen. The people at the breeding facility gave us little classes to explain what it means to be a professional trainer's pokemon and to battle at that level. We don't bother our masters with our feelings about injuries our opponents suffer."
"Burner, I want you to bother me with your feelings. Master's orders."
Burner was a little surprised to hear such an assertive tone, and responded to it appropriately. "Yes, sir!" he replied with a forceful nod.
Joe exited, leaving Burner to wonder why he thought that spending so much time in a basin of water was a good idea.
Mrs. Towers sat inside a little private booth atop a somewhat tacky but poetically amusing tower that overlooked her arena, presiding as would a regent, and called out the match-ups that she wanted to see after examining each trainer's registration. Many trainers accused her of bias for her method, selecting match-ups that would favor one trainer over another. Percival certainly felt that way even before she made an announcement regarding his round. The look in her eyes when she saw him approach her circle told him that she remembered the zebstrika incident. "First things first, starters to start; let us see a sceptile and a typhlosion!" she demanded, using a royal third-person for a sardonic affect.
Theodore was caught off-guard after his opponent dodged two flaming attacks, and suffered a third only to perform a strange aerial maneuver and to drive him into the mat. This guy was experienced in fighting Fires. Tio changed his strategy and played evasively, staying near the rim and circling toward his trainer. "What do you think, Boss?"
Vincent approached the ring to answer and ducked a burst of leaves, as Tio only incinerated the ones that came directly at him. "I think you have an effective alternative."
Theodore nodded and flared up, charging beneath another shower of leaves--turning them to ashes that scattered and vanished behind him--until he threatened to barrel directly into Sam. The sceptile dodged and tried acrobatics again. His opponent threw his weight back onto his rear legs and twisted at a crooked angle. Sam realized as he came down that Tio was not going to be directly struck while recovering his stance, but rather that he had predicted Sam's attack and intended to grapple him upon collision.
Using Sam's momentum, they flipped and rolled across the arena floor together. He did not even feel Theodore's fangs penetrating his scaled flesh. Theodore quickly released and feigned casting toxic to cover his maneuver's effect, and returned to an evasive pattern. Vincent started counting to twenty, but stopped around fifteen when Sam collapsed and weakly slapped at the ground, as though actually tapping out would be required at that point.
Mrs. Towers awarded Vincent three points for a somewhat suspicious knock-out, and called for a new pairing. "Let us see your elegant serpents. Milotic, dragonair, I choose you!"
A few chuckles came from the crowd, as Percival released a milotic that seemed somewhat awkwardly young and small, while Vincent released a dragonair that seemed quite chunky. Even Mrs. Towers muttered something about her use of the term 'elegant' before seeing what her trainers provided.
While the pokemon sized each other up, Percival glanced at his opponent. Vincent huffed and let his stance become slack, as though he knew this face-off was already over. Percival realized then that it was. "Fiona, ice-beam!"
Fiona twisted to look back at her trainer after performing as instructed. Truly it was more an expression of smug arrogance, but he did seem happy at what she did; a first.
Defeated with one hit, Vincent recalled his frozen dragonair and eagerly awaited his opportunity to recover the match with his third pokemon. He hoped it would be Phil's turn, since that would be a chance to see his hidden-power in action, but as Mrs. Towers seemed to be picking thematically-matched pairs, and he knew that Percival had a Psychic-type pokemon with him at the library, it would not be a surprise at all if--
Vera nipped Vincent's ear and paced into the circle, her feathers seeming to sparkle a little beneath the overhead lighting.
A forced cough came through the P.A. system. "As We were going to say before Our thunder was so rudely stolen, let us conclude with a battle of wits. Let a gardevoir challenge this fellow Psychic to duel."
Shimmering in her own way, Grace too supplied a flashy entrance and took her position in the ring. With the light signal, Grace levitated herself and tried to synchronize with Vera.
"Be careful, young lady: if you synchronize with someone whose willpower is greater than yours, they control you," Grace heard within her mind as her body spun about and was suddenly pulled backwards toward Vera who cast a heat-wave with a flourish of one wing and cast Grace away with a flourish of her other.
Grace stabilized her levitation and attempted to attack with her new psychic technique. Vera squinted and cast a light-screen.
"Shadow-sneak is your only effective option now. Will you use it against me?"
Grace used shadow-sneak. Vera accepted the blow, stumbled a bit, and cast reflect as she turned about.
"You have no effective options, now. Which path will you choose?"
Percival shouted from the side-lines, "Paralyze her feathery ass, Grace!"
Sparks crawled along Grace's right forearm. Vera closed her eyes and shook her head.
Upon answering the door, Maximilian barged into Suite 904 with a wheeled rack of clothing behind him. "You've been invited by Mr. Well to dine with him tonight. Dress appropriately. That includes a tie," he noticed Joe's tattered shirt, "and garments that are not so well ventilated."
Joe was taken aback by the invitation. He also realized that he would not have all afternoon and evening free to finish his homework.
Grace's hair frizzed out and refused to lie normally. Vera's feathers were fluffed as well, but more from disappointment than any residual effects of thunder-wave. Grace looked to Poke-master P, who seemed confused by Grace's thunder-wave having affected her till he was struck by his blatant oversight. A darkness swept over Grace and she fell to her knees as a telepathic channel re-opened in her mind. "You misplaced your trust." Vera's night-shade drained Grace of all but a shred of her stamina. That shred wanted to fight back, struggling against the bird with brute force, but a glance at Percival and a taste of his mindset as her antennae aligned with him changed her mind for her.
Grace tapped out.
Vincent moved on to the next round.
Percival became angry.
Vera cast a wish for Grace's benefit. "You were right to come along after all," she spoke aloud, touching Grace's chin with the tip of her extended wing's most pronounced feather after helping her up, "because you learned about coming to a point when you have no effective options. The next time that happens, be ready."
Grace's vision turned red as Percival recalled her.
Vera yawned honestly as she exited the circle, but Percival took it as an insult. "Yeah, I'm sure it was boring. You probably foresaw the whole thing."
"No," Vera walked behind Vincent as he got out of the way of the next round's combatants with her wings over his shoulders, eyes half-closed as though she was fading asleep, "I did not expect that you would ultimately make such an ignorant decision and that she would agree to go along with it. I thank you both for the surprise."
"What decision was that? The paralyze thing?"
"Your choice to enter tonight's competition."
With what was now expected precision, Joe was extracted within sixty seconds of the top of the hour, leaving Burner to his own devices. He wandered around, struck a few notes on the piano, flipped through the channels, and found nothing of interest. Finally he resorted to the telescope. Taking a moment to figure out how it worked, he glanced around the city-scape for a moment, but suddenly the city vanished. He twisted the focus knob in vain and recoiled when the black image turned bright amber. He was startled again seconds later as he saw what was obstructing his view.
"Idis?"
The umbreon leapt from the balcony railing and invited herself inside. "Nice digs! But I have to admit, for someone who was tapped out during a mall-wide sale-o-thon, you certainly aren't afraid to drop dough on accommodations." Idis took a running start, flew onto the bed, and rolled around playfully.
"Our stay is courtesy of Mr. Well."
Idis's rings glowed through the bed spread that she had wormed beneath, and she struggled to resurface immediately. "You know Mr. Well? Like, personally?"
Burner was somewhat irritated and straightened out the covers after shooing Idis away. "Strictly business," he asserted boldly, "I hope," he added without any boldness at all.
"I see." Idis took comfort on the couch and turned on the television. "Come on, friend, have a seat. If it's paid for, we should enjoy it all, right?"
Burner consented to sit beside her. "How did you get up here?"
"I have friends in high places who are willing to help me reach high places. Now, why can't I find it?" Idis tried directly inputting a channel number but it was rejected. "Oh, I know what it is. Here, take the remote, your claws can use this easier than my paws can." Following her instructions, Burner was able to circumvent the content restrictions on the entertainment center.
Joe thought that ordering poultry would be a safe bet. What he was served seemed to be some form of alien gastrointestinal discharge; squishy lumps coated in a gelatinous film of a color normally seen only of candy gone bad and certain brands of soap. He picked at the vegetables that filled space on his plate, nursed his drink, and assumed a traditional child's role to be seen and not heard. Mister Well and Justice Barlow conversed at length about numerous topics, half of which seemed trivial and half of which seemed scheming. The common theme was, whether or not the matter was a change of sand trap layouts at Hexyloxy Country Club's twelfth hole or a debate over a proposed region-wide law that would eliminate some of the variation in how particular pokemon-trainer interactions were prosecuted in certain districts, Mr. Well had an opinion, and Justice Barlow listened intently.
"Mister Rainier; you've kept a solid silence. What is your opinion on the matter?" asked the judge of him.
Joe wished he had listened intently, too. "Ah, uh, pardon?"
"Do you believe that there should be a regional law guaranteeing that any pokemon who is eligible and qualified to serve as its trainer's attorney has a right to do so without said trainer's explicit authorization insofar as entering into romantic entanglements with other pokemon, and perhaps even an amicable human?"
"I guess I don't see why not."
Mister Well chimed in immediately. "Because it would be like bricking up windows to deal with a poor seal that admits a draft during winter. I'm sure for obvious reasons you and your wild shiny have grown rather close. But, imagine if she fell in love with one of the neighborhood boys. Such a law would give legal grounds for disobedience in the name of 'love' when the simple solution to the problem that started this motion is to simply legislate that a journeying trainer's and his or her pokemon's personal affairs are regulated by the laws of their hometown district if there is a conflict between the rules of where they are and where they're from."
Barlow almost choked on his wine. "Simon, you're fixing that draft by knocking a whole wall down. There's no way to get a two-thirds vote from the districts for a measure that lets any out-of-towner kid flaunt his home address as a license to break local laws. I don't just mean public displays of affection in Carthamus leading to raucous town hall meetings; 'simple solution' my eye, this would make law enforcement practically impossible for officers who would have to learn the particular laws of every district and somehow know where every trainer is from before being able to do their job. Do you want to issue a Psychic-type to every officer that isn't a Psychic-type pokemon itself and authorize probing without a warrant to check hometowns on probable cause?"
Simon smugly admitted, "I think I could arrange that," and took a bite of steak.
Joe returned to their discussion. "I don't think either of those ideas would work, but what if a pokemon in love with somebody had a right to trade itself to that person or that pokemon's trainer? Then you know the pokemon wanted to be with the other one."
Barlow adjusted Joe's statement. "Right to propose such a trade; no trainer may be forced to accept stewardship of a pokemon, in particular at a pokemon's demand."
"Yeah. But, that way it would at least be possible for the pokemon to be happy."
Simon spoke against the rim of his glass. "At the displeasure of its master?"
"I don't care about the displeasure of a trainer who doesn't care about the happiness of his pokemon."
Barlow dabbed some sauce from his lips. "That's fine for you, maybe, but many trainers don't care that you don't care about them. Don't expect to win a super-majority on a premise that people should let their pokemon trade themselves away because they saw a warm form that makes them feel a lust that overwhelms whatever good sense--not to mention loyalty, faithfulness, fidelity--they might have. And, what trainer wants to accept a pokemon that might try to trade itself away to the next guy a week later? I'm talking only about a pokemon wanting another pokemon, of course, which has been handled free of legal intervention for over a century. Honestly, in the case of humans pairing with pokemon, which is what this whole argument is ultimately about, it's because the human spends so much of his or her time with the pokemon in question that their relationship becomes all-consuming and intimate physical contact is the only thing left between them." Barlow turned to Simon. "Besides, this extended argument is a red herring, because pokemon almost never become attracted to trainers other than their own, and when they do, again, the problem works itself out privately without government meddling. This is about innocent--to use that term very liberally--trainers being harassed in places like Carthamus because an officer witnessed a human-shape pokemon kissing its master on the lips after winning a route battle so the teen gets hauled in and slapped with a deferred adjudication on a Class 1 that requires they leave town and not come back for a year or have their pokemon taken away, just because Carthamus wants to be the squeaky-clean district and doesn't care who pays for their image."
Joe ran out of natural greens and ventured the alien meat. He immediately regretted it, but it did strike him with a simple compromise. "What if the law only went a little way, so that a pokemon that can, uh, attorney itself can be with its trainer like it were a person in any town, but none of that trading away stuff?"
"Slippery slope," Barlow chided, "which is a problem with the whole premise and why it keeps crossing our benches: guaranteeing a particular right to a pokemon through law rather than through its rightful owner necessarily takes that right away from its trainer. As you word it, Mister Rainier, it is an affirmative right, but once established, what else can pass? One wave of sympathetic public sentiment and any pokemon that's S.T.M. positive and of moderate intelligence could be endowed with rights parallel to those of humans. And you might think that's a good thing, but trust me, it's not. Humans train pokemon to protect themselves against pokemon. That practice may have mutated into athletic competition and domestic companionship, but Mother Nature hasn't changed. We have to control them so they can control themselves."
Simon recognized his opportunity. "Speaking of control, your blaziken really did a number on Ivana. It will be a while before she flies again."
Joe started on some bread. "He's sorry about that, getting carried away. He asked if she was going to be okay. You have access to all the League records, right?"
Mister Well glanced at a knowing Barlow, both shared a smirk. "Not all of them. Just the material that's public, or in an appropriately gray area."
"Burner said there was a pokemon who hurt itself in one of his matches. It was against a wandering gym leader last summer, and he won a badge for me. He'd like to know if that pokemon recovered, if you could find out for us."
Simon's eyebrow twitched as he drew out his trainer's device. A waiter exchanged empty plates for dessert selections.
When he reached for Joe's plate, the boy interjected. "Wait, is this place too fancy for a take-away bag? My pokemon might like this, since he wasn't invited."
Not taking his eyes off of the screen, Mr. Well advised against that. "Although akin to cannibalism, I'm sure he would enjoy that meat. However, that green stuff you found objectionable contains a significant amount of imported avocado. While it's true that canid pokemon like lucario can eat chocolate in obscene quantities that would fatally poison a normal dog, avocados and birds don't mix and I wouldn't gamble his well-being for the sake of secondhand feed."
The waiter completed exchanging barely touched gourmet for soon-to-vanish ice cream.
Mister Well identified the pokemon in question. "Inactive, retired. I see that Bartholomew Gage has acquired a replacement and has discontinued leader service while he trains it."
Joe's disappointment at hearing that was almost enough to put him off of his dessert, but venturing a taste, it became something to take his mind off of the matter.
"Are you going to tell him the truth, Mr. Rainier?"
So much for that plan. "Yes, Sir," Joe admitted. Joe became uncomfortable with the silence that followed, and with how Simon matched Joe's rate of dessert consumption, speeding up and slowing down as necessary to ensure that they finished at the same time.
"Why?" Mister Well asked as he deposited his napkin and exited his seat. "He wouldn't ask if it didn't weigh upon his conscience. Neither of you have anything to gain by answering his question, and certainly telling the truth would not make him feel better. Even if he discovered the truth later, you could say I misled you."
Joe considered Simon's point until they exited the restaurant. "Because... because I have to. He trusts me."
Mister Well bid adieu to Justice Barlow and then ignored Joe throughout their limousine ride back to his hotel, spending most of his time talking to important people on his telephone. It wasn't until Simon got off of the elevator behind Joe when it stopped at the latter's suite's floor that anything seemed amiss. Joe continued toward his suite. When he reached for his door's handle, Simon forced a cough.
"I wanted a measure of privacy for this, since very few people know, and I expect you to help me keep it that way. You defeated my pokemon team in a League gym facility, and after your interview I have no reason to deny you this." Mister Well reached into his pocket and withdrew a badge, gold with five jewels set within in the shape of a pentagon: opaque turquoise, shimmering cats-eye, deep lapis, clear ruby, and a burning orange topaz. "The serial number on that says '188,' but back then, the League cooked the numbers to lessen after-market trade. I've only given away six of these before, so don't expect anyone to recognize it."
Simon extended his hand to offer a shake to the victor once the stunned expression cleared from his face.
"Mister Well, can I ask you a question?"
"Quickly; I have business to attend to."
"If you're a gym leader, were, why did you quit?"
"I was young and thought being rebellious would be fun. I grew my hair out, threw my allowance around, and called myself 'D. W.' to distance myself from myself. And, it was fun until things changed and I grew up. I cut my hair, went home, and took my place in the family business where I belonged." Simon turned to leave.
Joe was unsatisfied. "But, why did you quit? What changed?"
Simon exhaled sharply. "I had to give a badge to a trainer after he caused me to lose one. I didn't feel like battling with my pokemon anymore."
"But, you said you gave away six badges, so you must have lost a few times, unless they were all for merit."
Mister Well raised his voice. "I said: I lost one. Goodnight."
Joe opened his door when he heard the elevator chime and shut. Inside his suite he heard faint noises. One sounded like a typical narrator voice on television. He went toward the bedroom, ready to lie down and convince himself he could finish his homework on the ride back, or once he got home. "Burner, are you o--"
Thankfully, Grace was at home taking her morning shower when the selenium's effect kicked in. She was not expecting so much blood, though, and it brought back some terrible memories. Although it hurt like a bandage, she instinctively knew that the whole thing needed to come off once it began to slough this way and she kept tugging at the sticky bits until it was fully detached. She looked at herself; the bleeding seemed to be diminishing already, and there was a couple centimeters of a fleshy flap around her waist, surely a replacement growing in at its own pace. She looked down at what was her skirt, a crumpled heap in the bottom of the tub, awash in diluted blood. "What do I do with this?" she asked herself as she picked it up.
A stabbing chill rushed through her body, causing every part of her to stiffen. "You have two options: you can arrange a funeral service, or make it stir-fry. I haven't eaten food in a while, so pick the latter for me," said a ghost that settled on Grace's head, snatched up a little shampoo through its bottle, and began working it into Grace's scalp as she recovered from the chills.
"You... you c-came back."
Marianne stretched a long tendril downward and turned up the water's temperature. "I needed a little time to myself, a vacation away from all you annoying always-solids. I think I earned at least that much."
Grace leaned into the warmer water. "Actually--we all do owe you our gratitude for helping to stop Ivana."
Marianne quit massaging and yanked upward instead. "Helping? She was mopping the floor with you! Un-mopping it, actually, considering how much blood spilled onto it." Marianne let go of Grace's hair and drifted through the shower curtain. "You're lucky I have no blood to lose and no life to risk."
"And nothing to gain. Okay, you like eating our dreams. There are other people in town, and we know you hit the guy next door sometimes. Why are you haunting us?"
Marianne's face penetrated the curtain. "Do you really want to know?"
"Yes."
Marianne drifted up against Grace's gills. "It's the only form of friendship a ghost truly understands." She circled around and passed through the curtain again.
A few seconds passed before Grace yelped and reflexively teleported into Joe's bedroom after Marianne slapped the toilet's lever upon her exit, turning up the water's temperature once more.
James investigated a cry that sounded from two rooms at one time and found Grace, much of her skin flushed red from a moment of scalding exposure, dripping and presenting an expanded sense of her typical nudity.
"Grace? Why are you, what happened to your--"
She turned to face him. He blushed instantly and turned away, leaning his back against the door frame between them.
"Oh! I guess for a human this is..."
James went to the bathroom, turned off the shower water, glanced sideways at a pale mass in the tub, and returned to the hallway with a towel, tossing it into his son's room blindly. "That thing falls off?"
Grace improvised a loose towel skirt, preferring to support it more with her telekinesis than its own tension. "It's supposed to shed, but I think it's supposed to re-grow a new layer first. The doctor at the pokecenter said it wasn't working right and made me take some nasty medicine."
"Wait there." James left down the hallway again.
Grace sat on Joe's bed and reflected on what she felt when he looked at her. It was an old memory, good at its core but corrupted with negativity. It was almost as if, in a very indirect way, she reminded him of--
"My ex left some of her shit behind when she ran out on us." He brought in a box that looked not only neglected but almost targeted for beatings. A few scuff marks on its side suggested strikes from polished shoes. "I know you've technically been naked since day one, but I'll appreciate it if you keep your... dignity, covered." He attempted to escape.
"James?"
"What?" He was instantly very impatient.
"I'm sorry, but I felt something, when you looked at me. You remembered something, someone. Was it--"
"Yes. A long time ago, I loved a beautiful young woman, and the moment I first met her, she was, like you were... finish drying yourself and get presentable. Your trainer will be home soon." James left.
Grace shut the door and toweled herself off while pulling apart the box's flaps. Psychic traces, almost too faint to detect, identified the objects within as the erstwhile Mrs. Rainier's. Grace hesitated for a moment at that thought, that she expected to become the next Mrs. Rainier, to some extent, circumstances permitting. She found a skirt that seemed suitable, and experimented with one of the tops. It was cut somewhat generously in the upper body, but its extra fabric helped to accommodate her dorsal node without alteration. Cinching the skirt with a pinned accessory, the fit about her hips was loose and comfortable. Settled near the bottom of the box was a small silver pendant. Grace reached to touch it, and felt assaulted when she made contact. No mere traces, the artifact was strongly charged with strong emotions. Although she thought about trying to sort them out, a distant sensation seemed far more attractive. She tossed the other garments back into the box, folded its flaps over, and left it in a corner of Joe's closet.
She teleported behind her front door, rather than inside and through it, and opened it wide.
A young man on the other side, to the instant exclusion of everything else on his mind, was happy to see her.
To Grace, that was all that mattered.