Pain - Fable Pt. 0
#5 of Plaisir
Every night she had the same dream. Or, at least the part she could remember. It always seemed to end with her laying down, facing the sky, soaked in the amber light of evening. She could her life force draining away, and the icy chill of death she knew so well claiming her, a massive pain in her abdomen, from where her life force bled free of her body. Streaked along her form, she could feel the little deltas of her essence soaking into the bloodied ground beneath her as she struggled for breath. The sky began to blacken from the edges, eventually eclipsing her entire view, until there was only darkness, and the cold claimed her.
Fable wished she didn't have this dream every night. She knew what it was, of course - the moments of her death. It had to be. What else could_it be? She took a deep breath and looked around, letting it hiss out of her as a sigh, taking some of the tension of her dream with it. The room was as she had left it when she'd gone to bed the previous night, lavish and extravagant as ever before, with every amenity one could want. Beds, art, window overlook, jacuzzi, even a balcony. Her penthouse suite at Cafe Plaisir was everything the guide had said it would be; yet, despite the immense comfort and hordes of escapes and pleasures surrounding her, she could not shake this nightmare of her memories. It always left her with an undirected sense of hate, pain and fury she'd inflict on someone during the day with her pranks and comments, but it never really seemed to be _enough. Like reapplying a bandage to a wound.
She didn't know who she used to be. She didn't particularly care, either. It wasn't who she was now, it wasn't even really part of her life. Well, maybe life isn't the right word, she'd muse whenever she thought about it, usually before sleep, or shortly after waking. Maybe resolving the business of her last life would make her disappear and she could rest. Maybe it would stop her dreams. Maybe all she had to do was just figure out how she died. Ghosts always seemed to have different motives, and she didn't know what hers was.
What she did_know is she'd seen every ghost movie, read every ghost book, followed threads on paranormal investigators, and other ghost hunters, and found out that humans and pokemon alike did not understand ghosts very well. Which made figuring out why one became a ghost a very problematic thing indeed. She _also knew that she was at a brothel, in one of the ritziest, swankiest rooms. She did not have to work while she was here, though she could if she wanted to - one of the perks of being a consultant instead of a regular employee. She'd sort of inherited her position from her old life, as the name and employee ID number imprinted in the book matched a letter she'd found in a package on her grave shortly after waking as a Sableye, a small dark/ghost pokemon with gems protruding from her body, and gems for eyes. The letter had read:
Dear sir or madam,
We regret to inform you of your death. Once, you went by Nyem, or Pro²Creation Employee No. 0005399225940. We hope that this package of your old pokeball, one (1) Quick Ball, and your old breeding manual, will serve you in death as it had in life. Also enclosed is a contract, should you be interested in offering your services to us once more as a consultant.
We recognize death is an inconvenient and troubling transition period. If you need some refreshing on who and what you were originally, please consult your OT (Original Trainer), whose name and contact information can be found on the attached document, assuming you have lost yours in your demise.
We do very much hope to hear from you, and you continue your employment with us in death as you had done in life.
Sincerely,
T. M. Karras Pro²Creation Director of Employee Retention
It hadn't been unreasonable. She skimmed the contract, and learned the joy of billable hours. The manual had everything she needed. Entitled Pro²Creation Official Pokemon Breeding and Conditioning Guide, 7th Revised Edition. It seemed very fancy, but had seen its share of use. Pages were torn, notes were in the margins, but the book seemed to be, all in all, together. She skimmed it. Anything she needed seemed to be in here on some page or another. On the inside cover was a matching employee ID number and name to the letter. She sighed, running a hand over the name. It was hers. Was.
She'd signed the contract, sent it along, and received her new employee ID a few days later, complete with a new name she'd come up with on the spot; Fable. The letters had sounded good together. Though, sometimes she wished she'd given it more thought. Nothing had been pressing her to decide. It just seemed like the thing to do. She hadn't known who she was. She still wasn't even sure now. Pro² had easy work for her - go to locations, offer advice, don't hurt anyone. She wasn't required to do any of the breeding herself - her "egg group" was too small, apparently. Very specific. Just, assist others in breeding.
After she'd read the contract and signed it, she reviewed the information for her Original Trainer. A young man in his early 30's. Worked part time for Pro² and was in the reserve forces for the military. She had a hunch that her military career had been untimely short, if he'd been in the military when she was his pokemon.
She looked over the contact number. It would be easy to call him. Maybe he'd love to hear from his beloved dead pokemon again. Then again, she wasn't that pokemon. She was a Sableye now. She gingerly folded the OT information and placed it inside her manual, next to the entry for Pokemon #302. Maybe one day, she would have the nerve to call him. Maybe.
The other item she'd received was a pokeball. Blue, with yellow strips along the top and bottom. Two on each, coming from a burst symbol on the front and back. The ball was heavily damaged, with some of the paint chipping, revealing the metal beneath. There were a number of dings and scratches over its surface. It looked like, at one point or another, someone had tried prying the ball open, judging by marks around the rim. She oftentimes stared at it, wondering what was in it. She'd never checked - she was afraid. She couldn't go into it, which meant that it was either broken or occupied.
She didn't know which was worse.