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"For the crimes of vagrancy and petty theft, this Pichu is sentenced to the stocks!" The Gallade's cry rang out across the market square, causing a few of the vendors and merchants to glance around as Mercy, the Pichu in question was marched to her punishment by a pair of town guards. A Kubfu in a polished, bronzed cuirass forced her down onto a wooden seat that was little more than a thick plank of wood, and watched her with a snarl for any sign she was going to resist. Mercy did not. The young girl trembled as her footpaws were gripped and pulled between the parted wooden beams of the stocks and rested into the holes. They looked quite wide from afar, but as the Kubfu pulled the bolts loose and the top beam thudded down, Mercy discovered first hand that her wooden restraints were more than capable of holding her in place. She had just enough room to wiggle, but couldn't possibly pull her paw out - not without causing some serious injury to herself.

The Gallade who had sentenced her looked down at the girl with contempt. "You might regret those bare feet, wretch," he said with a sneer before turning away and walking back through the market. The Kubfu left with him, but the second guard, a Raichu, remained.

"I didn't steal anything," Mercy pouted once the judge was safely out of earshot.

"All vagrants are thieves, everyone knows that," the Raichu said without looking at her. He spoke in a tone that suggested he'd heard such protests before, and had long since grown bored of the argument.

In Mercy's case, however, her protests were valid. She'd never stolen in her life, and while it was true she was homeless, that was only because she was so new to the city she'd not yet had time to find a home. The Pichu girl had tried her best to start a new life from the moment her bare feet touched the cobbles of the city streets. She'd hopped from the back of the merchant caravan with a cry of thanks to the driver and darted away in search of work, certain that someone would take her. True, she was only eleven, and being alone she had no-one to vouch for her, but she had been met with charity on the road and felt confident the city folk would be just as welcoming. It turned out few places were interested in taking in a random child. She offered to cook, clean or do any odd task they wanted, but most gave one glance to her threadbare dress and shoeless feet and dismissed her. The nicer ones made excuses, the rudest had her physically thrown out. Briefly, she'd considered trying her luck at the home of a noble or wealthy merchant, but one look at the 'mons guarding their homes had thoroughly quashed that notion.

Her mistake, it turned out, had been to ask a town guard for help. The sun had been low in the sky, and what little coin Mercy had was spent on filling her stomach. With no money for an inn, and every home's door slammed in her face, she'd returned to the city's main gates and found a Squirtle carrying a long spear, with the city crest displayed proudly on the tabard he wore over his shell. "Excuse me?" she called to him. "Can you direct me to a hospice?"

The guard had recoiled as if struck. "A hospice? Get away from me if you're sick, girl!"

"Oh no, I'm not sick! I just need a place to stay and, well, a hospice won't charge, right?" The Squirtle's temper had shifted instantly. Her careless questioning had found her a place to stay all right; a cage in the city barracks.

While Mercy sulked in her recent memories, the Gallade and Kubfu returned with another prisoner, a Fennekin girl close to Mercy's age. What caught the Pichu's eye instantly was her dress; though it had clearly seen better days, frayed and patched as it was, the dress was the bold red of wild poppies. Cheap red dye turned pink, orange or brown after just a few washes, so for such a well-used dress to retain its vigour tugged at Mercy's curiosity. As before, the judge read the charges loudly for all to hear, and the Kubfu locked the new girl in place before retreating with his master. The Fennekin then flashed a strangely warm smile to Mercy and offered a paw, "Hi! I'm Melisandre! Lovely to meet you!"

"Umm... Mercy," Mercy responded as she took the offered paw and shook. "Why are you so happy? We're stuck here to be tortured and humiliated!"

"Oh, not tortured!" Melisandre protested. She turned to the Raichu guard and called to him, "Hey! You won't let anyone torture us, right?"

The guard turned and shot her an angry scowl, "Oi! Zip it!" He cried and thudded the butt of his halberd on the cobbles for emphases.

Stifling a giggle, the Fennekin turned back to Mercy and continued in her cheery tone, "This must be your first time, right? Don't worry, it's never as bad as you think. I've lost count of how many times I've sat here!"

"That's nothing to be proud of," the Raichu muttered.

"Yeah, it can get dull when you're on your own, but we've got each other for company! Plus, the market will be open soon, so we can poke-watch!" it seemed there was no suppressing Melisandre's cheer. She leaned back and idly kicked her footpaws as much as the stocks would allow, grinning as though she were enjoying a picnic.

Despite her initial anxiety, Mercy found herself smiling at this unexpected companion. The Pichu cast a glance up toward the sky and said, "I guess it won't be so bad. It's a clear enough sky, for now at least."

"See? Sitting in the sun all day watching other people work! Who could ask for more?" the Fennekin giggled.

Before the two girls the city slowly came to life. The market was one of several in the city, and fortunately for the vagrants they were serving their time in the northernmost trade hub. Most of the Pokemon who lived and worked in the district were bankers, priests or craftsmen. The stalls reflected this, with stalls offering fine fabrics or luxury foods. Most had no actual wares at all as far as Mercy could tell, but instead filled the space with papers and notices. Mercy's basic, rural education had just about equipped her to navigate the most simple of signage, but the swirling squiggles in the stalls were gobbledygook to her eye. "I wonder how those people make money," she said aloud, mostly to herself.

Melisandre followed Mercy's gaze and confidently stated, "well, the blue stall is a market watcher. I think that sign at the back says 'timber speculation', which I'd guess means some local lord or another is planning a big construction project, and he's hoping the local lumber trade will pay him for more details. That's a journeyman stall, where guilds and craftsmen can hire an apprentice, and right at the back's a courier service. That's for when you have a really important message you need to send long distance."

"How do you know all that?" Mercy asked with a hint of wonder in her voice.

"I read the signs," the Fennekin replied. "My stepmother insisted I learned to read all sorts of languages. I think that was the only nice thing she ever did for me."

"I know that feeling. When my mother was imprisoned I was sent to live with her friends, but they treated me more like a slave than a daughter. That's how I wound up here."

Melisandre gave the Pichu a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "I know exactly how you feel. If I hadn't run away I'd have been an actual slave! I was going to be sold to the dread marauders of the southern sea!"

Mercy's jaw dropped at the claim. "How long ago was that?"

The Fennekin girl shrugged, "I lose track. I've been living here ever since, surviving on nothing but my wits!"

The Raichu gave Melisandre a prod in the stomach with the shaft of his halberd. "Hey, you need to stop cracking smiles! If you don't start looking sorry then someone's going to make you sorry, understand?"

Mercy's smile vanished instantly, but Melisandre's jaw crinkled with the effort of forcing back a giggle. This seemed only to infuriate the Raichu more, and she quickly threw up a paw and protested, "I'm so sorry! I get giggly when I'm nervous, I swear!"

For a while, the two girls sat quiet, only whispering a little between themselves while waiting for the Raichu to become bored and disinterested. As time went on the market filled with mons, and in particular a small group of youths became the focus of their attention. The leader of the well-dressed pack was a Charmander who took notice of the prisoners from across the market, and Mercy couldn't help notice how he turned to whisper to his smaller peers. Grinning ear to ear, the smartly dressed boy guided his three friends over to the girls, all the while making a show of examining the stalls and saying hello to the vendors. When the Raichu looked away to greet a fellow Guardsman the Charmander wandered over and, with a mad cackle, jabbed Mercy's right footpaw with a stick. The Pichu's sharp cry of pain snapped the guard back to attention and sent the four children bolting away, laughing loudly over the Raichu's angry shouts.

"Damn kids," he muttered, before noticing Mercy's distress. With a sigh he wandered round to the front of the stocks, "you're fine, girl! Barely even a mark!"

Melisandre took hold of Mercy's paw and squeezed it tight. Her seemingly irrepressible cheer was gone, replaced by genuine concern. "I know that Charmander. His name's Pierre, I think he's a banker's son. Jerks like him turn up sometimes to try and get a rise out of you when you're stuck in the stocks. Don't give them the satisfaction! He won't stick around if you ignore him."

"Hard to ignore being stabbed," Mercy whined, but in truth the pain was already gone. It was the feeling of being alone and vulnerable that truly dragged her down, but the pleasant warmth of another's paw in her own helped ease that distress.

Lunchtime arrived, and with it came fresh torments. Carts of freshly baked bread, pies and pastries were rushed out to meet the hungry people of the district, competing with meat carts so fresh their steaks and sausages still hissed and bubbled with residual heat. The girls' stomachs growled loudly in protest, as neither had been given a single bite to eat since before dawn. Even their guard was unable to resist temptation, and with a half-hearted, "stay here," he sauntered off to indulge in the culinary delights. "This is definitely the worst part about being stuck in the stocks," Mesliandre pined as the wind shifted, carrying a surge of scents that made her salivate uncontrollably.

While the pair longed for food, an unwelcome visitor returned. "Well now, seems your guardian has gone and left you!" Pierre cried gleefully as he sauntered over with a Piplup in tow.

Mercy deliberately turned away from the Charmander, a snub the boy couldn't help but notice. "Aww, still sulking about that little prank before? It was just a bit of fun! Your friend knows all about 'fun', am I right?"

"Oh don't you dare!" Melisandre protested, but the Piplup was already scurrying over. The girl had barely finished her protest before the soft down of the Water-type's fingertips fluttered over the soft, pink soles of her footpaws. "Hee-hee-hey! Knock it o-o-off!" the girl squealed, unable to contain her laughter.

"I think you get in trouble on purpose," Pierre taunted. The boy had a grin from ear to ear as he watched Melisandre's paws wriggle and kick in their restraints. "I bet you've been sat there all day, getting hot and needy, waiting for someone to come and tickle your feet."

"N-n-noo-ooh-hohoho!" the Fennekin wailed, struggling to speak through her frantic laughter. "Tha-ha-at's not-t tr-ahaahaa!" She gave up on trying to plead her innocence, in part because she was guilty as charged; the softness of the Piplup's touch was exquisite torture, something Melisandre desperately wanted to escape, yet was secretly thrilled that she could not. Locked in place, publicly humiliated and subjected to such soft, tickling teasing caused other parts of her to tingle in truly shameful ways. She hadn't gotten herself put in the stocks on purpose, nor did she much like Pierre, but a strange boy's fingers tormenting her soft, sensitive pads was a guilty pleasure she welcomed even if she'd never admit it.

For a time, Pierre seemed content to watch as Melisandre thrashed and laughed under the torment. The girl had both paws gripped tight to her simple wooden seat to steady herself as she rocked and howled with laughter. Her eyes were scrunched shut, her face reddened, but it was obvious to both boys she enjoyed the torture. "Well now, I wonder if you're just as fun!" the Charmander announced, turning his attention to Mercy's yellow-furred footpaws.

"No! Please don't do that! I hate being tickled!" Mercy pleaded in desperation, tugging hopelessly against the stock in the futile hope she might somehow get free.

The boy gave a sinful cackle at her cries, "that just makes it all the sweeter!" the declared. He raised a clawed digit to her exposed foot and drew it down ever so slowly, sucking his lip with dirty glee as Mercy gave a whine of distress and began to squirm her foot all the more desperately. He paused his claw after a particularly desperate jolt and declared, "Aha! I found the girl's weak spot!"

"I'm begging you, stop! Please!" the Pichu cried, but her words fell on deaf ears. Pierre's finger began to wiggle against her foot, drawing a small circle that sent an urgent, desperate itch through Mercy's body. Unlike Melisandre, who seemed to delight in the feeling, Mercy found it deeply unpleasant. She laughed reflexively, but it was a brief giggle that quickly gave way to a cry of alarm. Through grit teeth she whimpered and mewled as her efforts to escape the inescapable became ever more desperate. Yet every twitch and thrash served only to spur the Charmander on as he began to tickle both footpaws at once, laughing with joy as Mercy's cries became louder and more urgent.

"That's it! Go ahead and scream for mercy! Nobody's going to help you; this is exactly what criminals like you deserve!" Pierre mocked as his tickling became more aggressive and intense.

Mercy was at her limit, having never been subject to tickling this long before, and certainly not in such a public place. "Sto-o-o-op!" she wailed, abandoning all sense of modesty and beating the bench in helpless desperation. All her cries did was spur Pierre to tickle her more, and as the torment became more than she could stand, Mercy threw back her head and screamed. Tears of anguish rolled down her cheeks as she howled herself hoarse, her high-pitched wails drowning out Melisandre's involuntary laughter and Pierre's sadistic cackle. The helpless Pichu couldn't so much as beg anymore, reduced instead to bawling like an infant in the hope her cries would convince someone to rescue her.

Over the laughing, shrieking girls, a clock-tower began to chime. "Damn, out of time!" the Charmander protested as he stood up. The boy took a moment to look down at his victim, licking his lips with sadistic satisfaction. Mercy looked up at him through tearful eyes and saw the unmistakable bulge in the front of the boy's pants. Without looking away from Mercy, he clicked his fingers at his companion and added, "Hey, go get a treat for our new friends!"

The Piplup looked confused for a moment, but then a grin spread across his beak and he was away into the stalls. While he waited, Pierre slipped a shameless paw into his pants and purred, "you're my new favourite. I'll be keeping an eye on the guard notices from now on, and whenever your pretty yellow feet are on display, I'll be here to give them the tender attention you so desperately want." The boy's cruel taunts drew a fresh sob from Mercy, which seemed to delight the boy all the more.

It wasn't long before the Piplup returned, carrying with him a large, steaming pie. The enticing smell of sugar and fresh berries filled the air, helped by Pierre, who wafted the steam towards the helpless pair. "Here, a reward for being such a fun little plaything. Good girls deserve presents, right?" He offered the pie to Mercy, only to snatch it back just as she went to take it. "Ah-ah! What do we say?"

"T-thank you, sir," Mercy whimpered.

A cruel grin flashed over Pierre's face, and before Mercy could react he lunged forward, splattering the pie into her face. "You're welcome!" he barked, and was sprinting away a moment later, his laughter echoing through the streets in his wake.

The sudden act of cruelty left Mercy stunned. She wiped the hot pie filling from her eyes and blinked at the marketplace, seeing for the first time just how many 'mons had been watching her ordeal. As if waiting for her to recognise them, the crowd began to laugh at her pathetic appearance. Their mocking was another jolt to an already aching heart, and the Pichu slumped over as fresh sobs came forth. Even Melisandre gave a whimper, sympathetic tears trickling down her cheeks. She tried her best to tidy Mercy up, picking at the largest clumps of berries or pastry and scooping them away. "Mercy? Hey, look at me," she prompted.

"I w-w-want to g-go ho-ome!" Mercy wailed, exhausted and defeated. "I want my m-momma ba-a-ack!"

"Mercy! Look at me! It's going to be okay, I'm going to make this all better."

"How? How can you possibly do anything?"

Melisandre forced herself to smile. She took two handfuls of the pie's mess, clenched her eyes shut and splattered her own face. She then rubbed the result into her fur, making sure she was thoroughly stained before wiping her eyes and nose. As Mercy stared, confused and open-mouthed, the Fennekin proudly announced, "There! Now we're both a mess!" With that, she began to lick her paws clean. "Actually, this pie is really good!"

Somehow, that simple act made everything better. Mercy forgot the laughing crowd and began to laugh herself. Following her friend's example, she wiped up as much of the gooey, berry-filled mess she could and wolfed it down. There was no hope of getting clean, but at least they'd be messy together, and a little lining for their stomachs would make the day go that much faster.

"What did I miss?" the Raichu asked in an exasperated tone as he returned to his station."

Melisandre glanced up at the guard and chuckled, "You have something on your face!"

"You're one to talk!" he snapped back, dabbing at his chin until he found the offending slop of gravy. "How did this happen?"

"Pierre," Mercy snorted. The mere mention of his name was enough to threaten this newly found good mood.

"Oh, him. I should have guessed. Brats like him need bringing down a peg," the Guard snarled."

The crowd seemed to recognise the show was over, and while a few remained to jeer most decided to get on with their day. With the Raichu around, none of them seemed inclined to take a turn at making the girls shriek as Pierre had. Once the market had calmed, the guard briefly left his post once more, but returned with a bucket before anything occurred to the prisoners. He thudded the bucket down next to Mercy, causing stray flecks of water to splash onto her dress, and scooped up a ladle of water. "Figured you two would be thirsty," he said as he proffered the water, which Mercy drank greedily. It had the slightly sour edge of water that had sat in an old barrel too long, but the Pichu gulped it down gladly. Once Melisandre had been tended to, the guard heaved the bucket to one side and returned to his place, leaning on his halberd like a walking stick and watching as the people of the market got on with their lives.

As the hour stretched on, the sky began to darken. Mercy didn't notice at first, but seeing the merchants moving their wares under cover was an unmistakable warning of what was to come, and as she crane her head up to look at the gathering clouds a sudden light flickered over the city. "Oh no," she moaned, and a few seconds later the rolling boom of thunder reached her ears.

Melisandre joined her in the cloud-gazing and tempted fate, "maybe it'll just blow over?" As punishment, a heavy droplet smacked her in the nose.

The sky fell in. Mercy and Melisandre both let out a shriek of misery as the downpour hammered them, exposed and helpless in the street. The guard gave a swear worthy of a sailor and slunk against the nearby wall in the hope of finding a sliver of shelter. The rain hammering on his broad-rimmed helmet made it clang like a steel drum.

Mercy's teeth chattered. Her cheap dress was soaked through in moments, and the cold fabric clinging to her fur sucked the warmth from her body. Melisandre had her paws over her head, ears and tail hung flat, a whimper like a wounded animal leaking from her lips. The Pichu girl turned sharply toward their guard and let out a pitiful wail, "you can't leave us like this!"

The guard turned away, huffing and cursing under his breath. He looked to Mercy out of the corner of his eye and bared his teeth. "Hell with it!" he spat, and stomped back over to the girls. To their surprise, he pulled the bolts free and hauled their stocks open. "Go on! Piss off before you drown!"

Mercy jumped to her feet at once. Her legs were aching, but the punishing rain was an excellent motivator. Melisandre took her by the paw and led her towards the river. They darted between doorways until they came upon a small jetty overlooked by an abandoned mill. The Fennekin girl skidded across the wet cobbles and shuffled across the thin beams between the mill and the river. The water wheel had been removed, and where it should have linked to the inner workings were a trio of boards that Melisandre worked loose. At the girl's urging, Mercy followed, almost losing her footing and plunging into the river, though at that point she couldn't imagine it could have made her any more soaked.

Inside, the mill was draughty, but the roof was sound. The worst of the dust had been brushed out of one half, and there Melisandre stood in her underwear, her red dress slung over a taut length of old rope. Even the girl's undergarments were nicer than anything Mercy had ever owned. "You should take your dress off. It'll never dry otherwise," the girl said.

Shyly, Mercy obeyed, and once the two dresses were slowly dripping dry, Melisandre urged her new friend to join her under and old, thick blanket. It smelled like it had never been washed, but the warmth was more than welcome. The pair sat and listened to the rain for a while as their shivering eased away.

"Were you really going to be sold as a slave?" Mercy asked.

"Probably. Maybe... I don't know," Melisandre confessed. "I've told the story so often I don't know what's true about it anymore, except that I had to get away from my family."

Mercy studied Melisandre's tired features. Gone was the plucky, cocky girl from that morning, and in her place... was a lost child, much like herself. "Well, on the bright side, the rain washed all that pie away."

The firebrand returned with a giggle. "Ooh, I was saving the rest for supper! I'll just go steal one when the rain stops. Or ten. Or a hundred!"

"Can I stay here while you do that? And maybe a few days more?"

Melisandre wrapped an arm around Mercy's shoulders. "You can stay as long as you like, my little Pichu pal!"

Mercy grinned and rocked herself over into the straw, tugging the blanket close. Melisandre snuggled up beside her. "Maybe the city's not so bad after all," she sighed, and basked in the warmth of her new-found friend.