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The Trainer-Only Nightclub: No Pokémon Allowed!

Doll Demon
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As Gavin emerges from the Nightclub, he says what Kijo already knows: the crowd outside the Nightclub was probably not going to be of any help. Quite the opposite, in fact; at the sight of Gavin, the patrons cry out in unison, charging in his direction. Though he had assumed the fighting stance, and seemed ready to go down punching, Kijo's gut reaction was to sharply yank the bouncer by the scruff of his collar, with a slight bit of unbalance so that she can then shift her grip to his arm with some momentum and without his two feet on the ground to resist her, and pull him away from the crowd in the direction of the street. There is no restraint or gentleness in the motions. Gavin may as well have been a ragdoll - or even an enemy - the way she pulled, but hey, her best pal for 17 years was an Ursaring with no concept of his own strength and a track record of accidentally sending her to the hospital once every odd month or so. There was no such thing as gentleness among friends in Kijo's mind, and yet it didn't stop her from sparring with the ol' bear, now, did it?

"Choose your battles," she growls in Gavin's direction, presumably by way of explanation for her rough actions. Her body shifts to sprint, eyes focused on a bend in the road, as if she has some kind of impromptu plan on where to run. Of course, this plan would largely rely on how willing Gavin would be to get dragged by her away from the mob...
 
Poison-type Trainer
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Gavin looked ready to fight, but as he very quickly saw that, like the previous patrons they pummeled, these... were all gonna go right at Gavin as well.

Oh, fuck me, Gavin thought to himself.

And then, Gavin felt a sudden yank. Kijo had grabbed him by the collar, and now had him by the arm, and pulled him in the direction of the street. Gavin's first instinct would have been to swear loudly and fight off whoever was trying to drag him, but considering Kijo was dragging him away from the eerily entranced folks who seemed intent on harming him... somehow he felt he could make an exception.

Gavin gave a nod as Kijo told him to choose his battles. "Fair enough," he replied. "Sure as shit ain't choosing this one, then. Let's get the fuck outta here." He was feeling quite a bit more ready to accompany Kijo, for it seemed as though she at least had a plan for getting them the Distortion World outta here and away from the attacking horde. Whether this meant running alongside Kijo or getting dragged along for the ride... given the choice, Gavin would take the former, but at this point in time, no sense in being too picky in that regard.
 
Deadly
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It had been little more than a month since her last meeting with the detective, and as much since Bel had heard a single word from him, until yesterday, that is, where she finally got a message, short and blunt as usual, from a random phone number. 'NIGHTCLUB NEAR THE GROVE. YOU KNOW THE TERMS. DON'T BE LATE AGAIN." She thought it somewhat ironic given how long it took him to even make contact, but who was she to judge? So far, the intel had been on point, and more than certainly worth the wait. She would've preferred an even more discrete gathering point than a Nightclub, or at least a place where she would be allowed to carry her recently acquired pokemon partner for backup and safety, but this wasn't so bad, all things considered. At least it wasn't a maid cafe like last time.

Her thoughts are cut short however as she notices a pair of individuals making a run for it in her general direction, followed by what seemed like an angry mob, and under normal circumstances such a strange event would cause her to simply move well out of the way before scratching her head in confusion, but she recognized the face of the cloaked brunette leading the escape, and Bel's jaw dropped instantly.

"Shite," was all she managed to utter. So much for being early.
 
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*Nntss, ntss, ntss*


As the techno beats from inside the Trainer-Only Club blared over the speakers, Hugo Harrison took his seat at the front of the establishment for his first day as the new bouncer. This wasn’t something he was too unfamiliar with, having worked a similar job in college for a few semesters, but he was older now. Less inclined to immediately throw a rowdy patron into a headlock and “escort” them outside, but still confident that he could and would if needed to.


He was wearing one of his old black t-shirts from the college job to really fill the bouncer aesthetic. But it didn’t quite fit like he remembered. Instead of being tight in the arms and looser around the waist, it seemed to have reversed. Hugo shrugged. He wasn’t in quite the same shape that he was 6 years ago in school, but then again, who was? “Still strong enough for this job,” he thought with confidence.


From the seat near the door, he had a pretty good view of the club. Trainers mingling and watching a televised battle on one of the screens over the bar, others enjoying some tasty looking dishes at the Wallflower café, and still others bumping and grinding on the dancefloor.


“Excuse me! Excuse me!”


Hugo turned and saw a young woman rushing towards him from the opposite end of the dancefloor. “We need help!” she said, clearly in distress.


“What’s the problem?” asked Hugo.


“My friends and I are being harassed on the dancefloor. We’re just here to have fun and he won’t take the hint. He’s starting to get aggressive,” she replied.


Hugo surveyed the dancefloor and saw the problem. A group of four ladies danced nervously together, being circled by a man who certainly didn’t look to be a part of their group. The man would spoke to one woman who smiled at him out of politeness but clearly not interested in the conversation, but turned away back to her friends. Frustrated, the man approached another of the women, saying something to her. She politely shook her head no and tried to turn away, but the man grabbed one of her hands and tried to dance with her. She pulled away, but he wouldn’t let go.


Without thinking twice, Hugo jumped from his chair and beelined to the dancefloor, pushing through the crowd.


He approached the man from behind and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around.


“There a problem here?” Hugo asked.


The man looked Hugo in the eye and Hugo could sense his annoyance.


“No. Everything’s fine. Back off,” the man responded angrily. He turned back and grabbed the girl by the hand again and she tried to push him away. Hugo didn’t smell alchohol. The man wasn’t drunk. Just a creep.


“I said no thank you! Please leave us alone!” she shouted.


“Come on. Just one dance!” the man replied menacingly.


That was enough for Hugo. He grabbed the man in a chokehold from behind. The women scurried away and a crowd formed around Hugo and the assailant. The man kicked and tried to pull away, elbowing Hugo in the stomach. Hugo winced, but didn’t let go of his hold on the man.


“YOU’RE OUT OF HERE, PAL! KEEP IT UP AND I’M CALLING THE COPS!” Hugo shouted, dragging the man off the dancefloor.


They reached the door, and Hugo kicked it open and tossed the man outside a la Jazz on the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.


“AND STAY OUT!”


With the threat eliminated, Hugo dusted himself off and took his seat back by the door. A line of trainers waited to get in.


“ID, please,” said Hugo.
 
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Another day at work for Hugo. Things hadn’t been quite as intense since the day he had to toss the guy from the dancefloor. In fact, one might even say they could be somewhat boring. Weekends provided a little more activity, but during the work week, the club was often dead at times. And even when it wasn’t, there was rarely anything to get excited about short of denying entry a few underagers using fake IDs.

During downtime, he would often chat with members of the Wallflower Pub cook staff about various dishes on the menu.

“So what exactly is on the the Nidoking Nachos?” Hugo asked the cook.

“Fresh baked corn tortilla chips, with chipotle roasted beef, garlic, avocado, tomato, scallions, sour cream, hot sauce, cheddar and Monterey jack with jalapenos,” the waiter listed, showing off his expertise on the menu.

Hugo’s mouth watered. He still had a few hours before his food break, but he didn’t know if he would make it that long.

“…and what about the Buffalo Blaziken Pizza?” he asked.

“That’s my favorite. Classic pie topped with hot sauce, mozzarella and provolone, grilled chicken, mushrooms, green peppers, onions, garlic and romano cheese,” the cook replied.

“And what about this Grilled Cheese?” Hugo asked, stomach loudly roaring with hunger.

“…it’s a Grilled Cheese,” responded the cook.

“Oh.”

“…Yeah. I better get back to the kitchen.” The cook walked off.

Hugo sat alone near the door. No one was coming in. He checked his watch and slowly pulled a granola bar out of his pocket, keeping a wary eye out for his manager.

He slowly peeled back and the foil and heard a shout from across the room.

“HARRISON! HOW MANY DAMN TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU? NO. OUTSIDE. FOOD!” shouted the manager.

Hugo sighed with frustration and tossed the granola bar into the trash can near his feet. He stared at the door waiting for something to happen. Anything.
 
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It was finally Hugo’s last day of work and he wasn’t mad about it. He took the job for a few extra bucks, but he forgot how much he really hated dealing with obnoxious – especially obnoxiously drunk – people. But hey, money was money. He was looking forward to when he could enjoy the club as a guest again.

It was a bumping night with lots of people filtering in to the club. Hugo often had to shout over the sound of the music blaring from the dance floor just to be heard, but even then the patrons could barely hear him, and he could barely hear their responses, so it was basically just a lot of shouting “WHAT” back and forth at each other.

Hugo tried to be vigilant when it came to underagers trying to sneak in without getting the appropriate wrist band. He didn’t want to be the jerk – hell, he had even done it himself back in the day – but they were paying him for a reason and the last thing he needed was to get fired because some punkass kid tried to pull a fast one on him. As such, he was pretty good at spotting fake IDs. Usually he wouldn’t throw the kids out or keep their fakes, but he would just make them wear the bright blue wristbands to show they were underage so they couldn’t get served at the bar by mistake. He was pretty lenient in that regard, and yet people still liked to try their luck.

Towards the end of his shift, a group came in, all looking just barely at that age where they might be able to drink. Naturally, Hugo needed to see their IDs.

“ID PLEASE!” shouted Hugo.

“WHAT?!” responded the first young man in the group, straining over the music.

“WHAT?!” Hugo shouted back.

After 30 seconds or so more of this terrible vaudeville bit, Hugo pointed to a sign reading “ALL IDs MUST BE SHOWN AT THE DOOR. NO EXCEPTIONS.”

“OH OKAY!” the man responded, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and handing Hugo his ID card. Hugo examined the card carefully, turning it in several directions to assure there was a watermark and that there weren’t any signs of it being counterfeit. It wasn’t. Hugo handed it back to the young man and did the same for the first three of his friends that followed, all of whom passed the test. Until the last one in the group came to the front of the line, approaching Hugo nervously. He looked clearly underage. Probably the younger brother of one of the others. Not a minor, but not of legal drinking age either. Hugo could sense over his shoulder that the kid’s friends were watching anxiously, waiting to see if their plan would work.

Hugo looked at the kid, then back at the ID, then back at the kid, then back at the ID.

“What’s your name?” Hugo asked.

“Porter Potter,” answered the kid.

“And your address?”

“616 Rapidash Road, Vermillion City, Ka—“

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Hugo answered. It was clear the kid had rehearsed the information on the card in anticipation that this would happen. “How old are you? And when is your birthday?”

“24. June 13, 1995.”

Busted. If he was 24, his birthday would have been in 1994.

“What year did you say?” Hugo asked. The kid’s eyes flashed panic as he looked to his friends.

“WHAT?!” the kid responded. “I’M SORRY! I CAN’T HEAR YOU! I HAVE TO GO!” He quickly snatched the card from Hugo’s hands and tried to rush past Hugo to his friends, but Hugo grabbed him by the back of the shirt collar just as he was about to get away.

“Look, I was going to go easy on you,” Hugo hissed, “because I know what it’s like. You could’ve still gone in and had a good time. Just no drinking. But now you’ve poked the bear.”

“GET OFF ME, MAN!” the kid shouted, squirming for his life. Hugo looked back and the kid’s buddies suddenly scurrying away. Some friends. Guess it was every man for himself.

The kid struggled and tried to take a swing at Hugo, but missed and Hugo pulled the kid’s shirt up over his head to obscure his vision. With the kid unable to see, Hugo kicked the door open and lightly shoved the kid out onto the sidewalk.

“WHODOYOUTHINKYOUAREMYFATHERISALAWYERANDWEAREGOINGTOSUEYOUFO—“ the kid ranted and raved from outside. Hugo rolled his eyes and checked his watch. The shift was over.
 
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As the cold wind dug into him, Xander was glad he decided to wear his leather jacket tonight. He hadn't put it on to keep him warm, rather to make him look a little more intimidating. Sure, he stood at about 6ft, more than tall enough to stand over most, but he was still 16 with a face comparable to that of a baby. A few whiskers of hair were starting to sprout across his face, but they were blonde like his hair and almost unnoticeable. He puffed his chest out as far as he could, with his arms crossed he was certain he'd be able to at least make any troublemakers think twice before trying to enter the establishment. He'd taken the job as a bouncer at the local Trainer-Only Nightclub because quite frankly, he needed the money. He hadn't taken into account how expensive it would be as a starting trainer. Sure you got the odd bit of money from trainers you beat, a little thank you money after helping something out, but there were so many expenses! Pokeballs, healing items, Technical Machines, training services. If he was going to become a Pokemon Master, he'd need more money and if that meant working nights, so be it. His Pokemon didn't really understand that they couldn't help him with the work, they'd have to stay in their balls until he knocked off for the night. Chesnaught had fashioned him a small club, just in case things got physical, which Xander appreciated, but he hoped he had no need for it.

The club had just opened for the night, he stood at the door as patron's approached. He worked quickly, he didn't want to hold people up and create a line. A quick bag and coat check, to make sure people weren't trying to smuggle their Pokemon inside. For minors, he was required to present them with a wristband, so the bartenders would know not to serve them. It would be rude to leave people out due to age, this was a place for all kinds of people to mingle. Thankfully his first night on the job passed by without any hassles, however he had a feeling that not every night would be this uneventful.
 
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Second night on the job and things were already looking a lot more interesting than the night before. The club was banging tonight, people had been streaming in since sundown and the crowd showed no signs of slowing down. The club had a rather popular band playing tonight, which was likely the cause of the sudden influx in club-goers. He did his best to keep the line moving swiftly, without slipping up and letting someone sneak Pokemon inside. The last thing they needed was someone bringing a Pokemon into an overcrowded nightclub, that certainly wouldn't end well. A quartet of young women, likely a couple of years his elder, began to approach. They were giggling to themselves, they already seemed a little tipsy. He'd have to turn them away, he had strict instructions not to allow anyone inside if they had already been drinking.

"Sorry to ruin your night ladies, but I'm afraid I can't let you in if you've been drinking already." Xander spoke calmly, keeping his arms crossed and speaking as deeply as he could.

The girls didn't look angry, instead they began to lay on the charm. "Aww come on cutie, can't you let us in, why don't you come have a drink with us once you finish?" One of them tries to convince him to step aside, twisting a lock of strawberry blonde hair around her finger. His heart was racing at this point, girls didn't often speak to him like this, especially girls like this!

"Look, I'm really not meant to do this, but it doesn't look like you've had much to drink so I'll let it slide, just this once." Xander checked their bags and let them pass, the redheaded girl gave him a peck on the cheek as she passed. "Just wait a bit before going to the bar, I'll come find you after my shift!"

The rest of his shift went by slowly, but eventually it was time to clock out and go catch up with the girls. He entered the club, but in the sea of people he found himself searching for almost an hour before eventually giving up. "Oh well", Xander sighed, "maybe they'll be back tomorrow night."
 
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"Last night on the job", Xander mumbled to himself. After the disappointing end to last night, he hoped tonight would prove more fruitful. So far though, the night was dead. Maybe everyone was exhausted after last night's events, but it certainly made the night drag on. A couple of random travellers made their way inside, but other than that, it was his quietest night yet. That was until a group of young hoodlums approached the venue, their baggy jeans and torn jackets marked them as troublemakers. Xander loomed over them as they approached, the eldest of them was probably about his age, but a fair bit shorter. "Open your jackets, I can't let you enter if you have Pokemon on you. Three of the thugs opened their jackets, revealing that they didn't carry any Pokemon. However the leader seemed reluctant to follow suit, Xander sensed he was hiding something. "Look mate, if you don't show me what you're hiding, then you're not getting inside, simple as that." Xander's hand dropped to the wooden club that his Chesnaught had given him, he could tell the young gangster was about to get physical.

Sure enough, the young hoodlum began to act out, throwing his arms around and spouting profanities. He then spat at Xander, thankfully a quick arm movement caught the glob of saliva on his sleeve, rather than his face. Xander had had enough. "That's enough, get out of here before I force you to leave." Xander ducked as a fist came flying towards his face. In the same movement he pulled the club out and swung it into the teen's left knee, causing him to cry out in pain. The thug clutches his knee as his friends swarm to his side. Xander grips the club in his right hand and beckons the boys forwards if they wish to avenge their friend. They make the wiser decision however and pull their wounded friend back. "You'll regret this", he shouts as they pull him away, "let's go find somewhere else to have a bit of fun boys."

Xander tucked the club back into his belt and wiped the sweat from his brow. He'd been wanting something a bit more exciting to happen, but that was a bit much. He hoped the boys wouldn't cause any more issues, they seemed to be looking for trouble. Xander settled in for the rest of his shift, hoping the time would pass by without another issue like that.
 
Poison-type Trainer
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The Trainer-Only Nightclub. Not the most popular of destinations in the Fizzytopia region, considering it expressly forbade people from bringing in their Pokémon, and Fizzytopia was a region chock-full of Trainers who loved spending time with said Pokémon. That being said, it did fairly steady business, as many times Trainers were glad for a break from the responsibilities of Pokémon training, whether they wanted a night of fun partying, or just a nice night out with one's significant other. Case in point, a pair of Trainers walked on in, hand in hand.

"...think our Pokémon will be alright by themselves?" asked the green-haired woman. This was Willa Carnet, aspiring Ace Trainer from Kiloude City.

The man nodded, the Key Stone set into his cowboy hat twinkling in the light as he did so. "Definitely," replied Keith Masters. "Nagini, Peeves, Kyle, they can keep things in order. And Meowth knows better than to throw some wild and crazy party. Without inviting me, anyway," he added with a grin.

Willa chuckled at this, then looked around at the Nightclub. "I've actually been here once or twice before," she admitted. "Before Team Turnback recruited me. I didn't do any dancing, though," she added. "That's... never been my strong point. I always went right to the Wallflower Pub for something to eat."

"More or less the same for me," Keith nodded. "One time, back when... when Coselle was around, I danced with her here, but by and large, I generally just went here to get a bite to eat, socialize with other Trainers. Good food, though," he added fairly. "They make a good-"

"-bacon cheeseburger," Keith and Willa said simultaneously. This got a surprised reaction out of them both.

"Heh. You have good taste," Keith smiled. "Making me a little hungry for one of those burgers. But not right now, I think," he added, his gaze turning to the currently empty dance floor. "What do you say?"

"I..." Willa began. "You're certain? I did tell you, I'm not the best dancer...."

"You could be the worst dancer in the world and I'd still want to dance with you over anybody else," Keith replied firmly. "Please?"

A few seconds later, a small smile on her face told Keith that Willa relented. "...very well," she conceded. "But I assume no responsibility for any crushed toes."

Keith grinned. "Deal," he said, leading the way out onto the dance floor.
 
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And so they danced. True to her word, Willa was somewhat stiff and uncomfortable at first, moving as though she was severely overthinking every step and every movement, and she did indeed step on Keith's toes at least three times. wincing each time, but Keith was fine with it all, returning each sheepish, apologetic glance with a sincere, reassuring smile. Gradually, this got Willa to relax somewhat, and soon the couple were just holding each other as they moved to the music, looking into each other's eyes and just smiling.

"...How am I doing?" Willa asked after a while.

Keith continued to smile. "You're doing wonderfully," he replied.

Willa gave a small, nervous chuckle. "Come on, now," she murmured. "I... I've been dancing so stiffly, and I've stepped on your toes at least three times now."

"Oh, please- I've been on the business end of way worse than that," Keith grinned. "Besides, even if you haven't been steadily improving- and I assure you that you have been- I stand by what I said just before we came out here."

Willa gave a small smile. "So you don't mind being out here with the worst dancer in the world?"

"Ah, but I'm not," Keith replied, returning the smile. And once more the couple fell silent, smiling and gazing into each other's eyes as they continued to dance.
 
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They did not want the song to end, but alas, it did have to at some point, and so, when that time came, Keith and Willa walked over to the Wallflower Pub, sat beside one another. Keith looked at his girlfriend- she looked torn between uncertainty and happiness somehow, an unsure look in her eyes while a small yet genuine smile sat below them. "Everything OK?" he asked her.

"...You keep saying I was doing fine out there," Willa said. "And it's not that I don't believe you... it just... part of me refuses to allow me to take it for granted, that you really did enjoy dancing with me, that everything is going perfectly tonight..."

At this, Keith put an arm around Willa, a reassuring smile on his face as she looked over to him in response to this action. "If I was out there with some other girl, some dancing prodigy with flawless technique, but with no feelings between her and I, I wouldn't consider that a good time," he said. "It was just you and me out there, in each other's arms, moving to the music, enjoying each other's company... it'd take a hell of a lot more than a few accidental foot stompings to sour that mood," he chuckled.

Willa couldn't help but chuckle as well. "Sorry again about that," she murmured. "So... you're really having a good time?"

"The best," Keith smiled. "And you?"

Willa looked Keith in the eyes, smiling back. "My one and only complaint was that nagging feeling that this was all too good to be true," she responded.

"Well, perhaps I can help with that," grinned Keith. "Now... I can talk all I want, say all the nice things in the world, come up with countless ways to get to the same point with words alone, but I know that won't do it. I know words alone are meaningless to you. And I'm inclined to agree- actions speak louder than words." As though to drive home this point, he said nothing more. Instead, he stood up, gently pulled Willa in for a kiss, and after that, took her hand and wordlessly led her right back out to the dance floor just as another slow, romantic song was starting up. Willa likewise said nothing to this, but the look she gave Keith was noticeably devoid of uncertainty at this point. Her boyfriend was voluntarily subjecting himself to her dancing even after experiencing it minutes ago, and thus now knowing what he was getting himself into. That certainly said a mouthful, and it was with a great deal more ease and comfort that Willa resumed dancing with Keith, which in turn led to noticeable improvement in her technique, now that she wasn't overthinking her every move anymore.
 
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