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- Feb 15, 2021
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- Staff
- #2
Mentions of purging and transphobia, anxiety
Wallace stared at his reflection in the mirror. He used to be just a little short for his age. His Hinodego name, Mikouri, meant "little child" in Sootopolitan Chrysosian; he had been a small baby, a small toddler, a small child. It was just one of the many things people would tease him for.
But then, at the age of fifteen and a half, he had a sudden growth spurt. Now he was just shy of sixteen, with a lanky frame and a height of just under six feet. He felt awkward. He felt weird. He felt confused.
In ten minutes, he and Victoria would be performing in their first Contest.
Wallace picked up his beret and put it on. After staring at his reflection some more, he became dissatisfied with his appearance and took it off. He wore a purple shirt, white jacket, turquoise dress pants, and white boots. At least he had settled on that much—his outfit. If he was going to be defying Megalos and taking part in Contests, Wallace had to look professional in a way that would please him.
The green room of the Lilycove Contest Hall was sort of green, but it was more blue in Wallace's opinion. It was aqua: aqua tiles, dark aqua walls, light aqua chairs and tables. All four of Hoenn's Contest Halls had a different color palette: mauve for Slateport, scarlet for Fallarbor, emerald for Verdanturf, aqua for Lilycove.
They also all looked perfect. Everything was polished and lit to perfection. Everything smelled of clean linoleum and expensive, floral cleaning products. It was sometimes overwhelming, especially the lights, especially right now.
Victoria watched as he took out his makeup case and put on foundation and turquoise eyeshadow. Wallace had spent a whole hour making sure his Milotic looked her best—her scales shimmered like a lake, and her Blue Scarf was tied into a perfect bow—and now he was nearing an hour and a half spent on his own appearance.
If only there was a dimmer on the mirror lights. It would make doing his makeup easier.
(“Wallace, you look fine,”) Victoria pleaded. (“Come on, I want to talk to Lovelynn.”)
“I look like a slut.”
Victoria cocked her head. (“What does that word mean?”)
It meant… well, on a dictionary level, it meant “derogatory term for a person, usually a woman, with many casual sexual partners”. But Megalos used it for all sorts of people: feminine men, masculine women, Wallace… wherever Wallace fell on the spectrum. It wasn’t a very nice word, but Wallace couldn’t help but use it on himself.
“Human stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”
Wallace returned to his makeup. He put on lipstick of a subtle shade of pink, but after five seconds, he wiped it off. Everything felt off, down to the finest details of his face.
He looked up to established and well known Coordinators—especially his teacher Juan—and saw that the main difference between him and them was that he wasn’t perfect. Especially Juan. Juan was so intelligent, so elegant, so perfect. If Wallace couldn’t be perfect like that, how would he succeed?
The stress made him feel sick.
Victoria rested her head on Wallace's. He gently petted her head, hoping some of her calmness would rub onto him. She was long for a Milotic, though her head fins were ever so slightly shorter than one of a Milotic born female. She was born male, but deep down, she knew she was female. Such was acceptable among most Water types. They were fluid in their appearances and sex, ever changing and beautiful in expression. The same couldn’t be said for humans.
Wallace could find some solidarity with her; he was born male, but deep down, he knew he was... female? Male? Neither? Deep down, his true self was still foggy and blurry. Either way, he feared what people would say if they knew he so much as questioned his identity.
But Pokémon kept secrets, as the Hinodego saying went. Wallace’s confusion was safe with Victoria.
There was a knock at the door, and Victoria slithered over to open it. Meanwhile, Wallace prayed that it wasn't Megalos coming to scold him for taking part in such a "feminine" sport.
It wasn't, thank the heavens. It was his sister.
“You excited?” Nicole asked as she walked into the green room. She wasn't taking part in the Contest, but that didn't mean she wouldn't come and support her younger brother. As a former Coordinator, she knew the ins and outs of performing well.
She had the same hair and eye color as Wallace, but unlike Wallace, she was perfect. Her white shirt and skirt were perfect. Her simple makeup was perfect. Her posture was perfect. If they were siblings, then why couldn't he be perfect?
“Wallace.”
Wallace forced a small smile and forced down his anger. He couldn’t feel anger towards his sister; that was immoral.
“Sure,” he said. In this context, “sure” meant something more akin to “I might puke.” Nicole seemed to pick up on this, because she walked over to him and looked at his reflection with a sympathetic look.
“I was nervous before my first Contest,” Nicole said, placing her hands on his shoulders as she looked at their reflection in the mirror, “but as soon as I stepped onto the stage, all worries fell to the wayside, and Goldie and I both took home gold.”
Except she had been perfect. Nicole and her Goldeen had been perfect, with not a single hair or scale out of place. They weren't nervous. Wallace couldn't imagine Nicole ever being nervous, because she never was.
Surely she knew that he was inferior to her. Surely she knew how pathetic he was. Surely she was only pitying him. That's how everyone in his family viewed him. Wallace had been hand picked by Mayor Megalos to serve Sootopolis City, but his family was more worthy of such a privilege, and they made sure to remind him of that:
"Sick again? Weren't you just sick with a cough a few days ago, Mikró Mikouri?"
"You're so slow, Mikró Mikouri! You can't even keep up with us!"
"Why did the mayor choose you? You're nothing special, Mikró Mikouri."
"Wallace?" Nicole asked. "Is everything okay?"
He wasn’t okay; he was feeling a lot of emotions, none of them good emotions.
“What if I step onto the stage and spill my guts out on it?” he mumbled.
Nicole gently turned Wallace around so he faced her—the real her, not her reflection.
"Wallace, look up at me." She smiled when Wallace did. "Kamari mou, you’re going to be just fine.”
He didn’t feel like he was going to be fine. Maybe Megalos was right. Maybe Contests were a bad idea. Better to not try than be imperfect trying. Or maybe he could be perfect trying if he could get rid of his anxiety.
“I don't want to risk it. Maybe I should make myself throw up so I don’t feel so nauseous—”
Nicole's smile fell.
“Don’t say things like that.” Her face was stern but concerned. “Making yourself sick won’t make you feel better.”
Getting sick wasn’t fun; frequent influenza and other illnesses as a child taught Wallace that well. Part of it was from how yucky it was, but part of it was also the lack of control. Maybe it wasn’t so bad when you were the one controlling it.
“Are you sure?” Wallace asked.
“Wallace, would I lie to you?”
Nicole had lied before. When she was planning surprises for Wallace, for example. And when father wasn’t okay, back when he and mother were still alive… Maybe she was lying out of ignorance rather than malice. After all, she had never gotten nervous. She had never needed to make herself sick.
“Perhaps.”
Nicole crossed her arms. “Wallace.”
Wallace rolled his eyes. “Fine. No, you wouldn’t.”
Nicole smiled. “There’s my Mikouri. Now listen: I’ll be out there in the audience with Raphael and Lisia. We’ll all be cheering for you. You’ll do great.”
Wallace trusted the first two statements, maybe not the third.
He gestured his hand towards Victoria, who straightened up with poised pride. “How does Victoria look?” he asked.
“Beautiful.”
Wallace motioned his hand back towards himself. “How do I look?”
Nicole’s eyes darted towards the counter. She picked up the beret and put it on Wallace.
“Beautiful.”
Kamari mou - Greek, "my pride"
Mikró - Greek, small
Mikró - Greek, small
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