#i said i would write brasslenore fic when i finished the game.... i've finished... one route of the game

[merryfortune]

Getting Seasons Signed

Fandom: Pokemon Scarlet & Violet

Ship: Oilseedshipping | Brassius/Lenore

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,609

Tags: Meet Cute, Reunions, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Mutual Attraction

   There was something almost nostalgic about the poetry that Brassius had been reading as of late. 

   It was of course, more tragic than nostalgic but something about these scenes that he was reading into, they reminded him of personal memories not unsurfaced for years from his boyhood. Themes and motifs that even he used as they were so close to the home in his heart. It was peculiar, it was almost as if- no, that would be preposterous. The writer was simply good at their craft, evoking such deep and irritation things in him. That had to be it.

   Anyways, good old Hass had recommended Brassius something to read recently and now Brassius could not get enough of it.

   Hassel had wanted to share one of the latest arrivals at Uva Academy as this one had particularly captured him and thought it would be appreciated by Brassius as well. So he sent a copy to Brassius through the mail. He looked forward to receiving it and when it arrived at Brassius’ gym, he took a small delight in unwrapping the parcel from its brown paper. There was a card from Hassel as well, asking him to ring when Brassius finished reading it so they could discuss its themes, motifs, and eligibility for.

   When the Seasons Change by E. Littlefoot. Brassius wondered if the titular ‘E’ was male or female, he couldn’t tell by its title nor its the cover as it was an excellent case study in why covers should not be the metric by which books were judged as this one was an unassuming green with gold additions in the titling and lining but goodness, the inside, the inside was anything but unassuming.

   Brassius’ very soul was stirred by the poetry inked onto the pages. The fresh smell of paper enticed him as he devoured poem after poem. Rereading certain passages over and over again, just revelling in the lexical choices which enriched the meaning of the selected words inside their calculated metre.

   Each section of the book took him through a different season: all their trials and tribulations, grief and joy included. Spring, summer, autumn, winter. All their melancholy be it in heat or in cold. None of the seasons evaded the poet’s musings on each bane of them to go with each boon but that final poem, to represent winter and the author’s grandmother’s passing. It was real, it was raw, it overwhelmed Brassius’ linguistic aesthetics and he did something he never did.

   He cried.

   If just one tear could be considered crying, at least. Yes, the stalwart and stony Brassius shed a tear and unlike his best friend, his eyes were typically very dry. It was just one, single tear but a tear nonetheless. Hassel was overjoyed when he learned that Brassius had been so overcome by the prose that even his eyes had watered in their little capacity over the phone.

   “Oh, I simply cannot believe you, Brassie, but I’m glad you found this book enjoyable, that is fantastic to hear.” Hassel very loudly stated over the phone.

   “I appreciate the recommendation. I imagine it will become very well worn in time.” Brassius replied, recoiling after having his ear shouted in. Seriously, neither he nor Hassel were that old and yet here was Hassel, acting like an old, technologically inept man nonetheless.

   “Well, if you intend to cherish it so much, why not get it signed?” Hassel asked.

   “I don't even know the first name of this author,” Brassius tiredly replied, “so however would I manage that?”

   “Well, very simply of course. Come down to the Zara Bookshop in Mesagoza, I only learned this recently through Mr. Salvatore but it seems that Miss Littlefoot is here in Paldea as part of a work vacation, on tour doing book signings and author talks. Apparently she’s quite the rising star in her native Unova, endorsed by famed author Shauntel, nonetheless.” Hassel yammered.

   Brassius paused. So E. Littlefoot was a ‘miss’, apparently. He didn’t know why but his heart skipped a beat. He attempted to repress it lest it be some odd and budding infatuation, even if it was purely artistic but just in case it was other… Still, his lips gave a quirk. That little factoid was somehow the most important thing he had gleaned from how Hassel talked and talked and talked.

   “At what time?” Brassius asked after a heavy sigh.

   “Ten-ish on Saturday morning, this coming Saturday, I believe, Mr. Salvatore said these book signings were happening.” Hassel said.

   “I see. Thank you.” Brassius said and he hung up promptly afterwards. “Catch up again later, Hass.”

   As he cut the connection, he could hear Hassel protest right up to that final static noise to signal that it had ended. He clearly had more to talk about but goodness knows what that would be about, anything under the sun was possible and with the sun setting, Brassius was ready for dinner. 

   And no doubt his Pokemon would be as well. He was sure they would all be very hungry. They had had a very energetic challenger not too long ago, one of Hassel’s students, even, and deserved a big dinner after such a resounding, powerful loss.

   Still, as Brassius fried up some brussel sprouts and the like for himself and his team, he mused on the “ten-ish on Saturday morning” offer that Hassel had given him. “Ish” was a bit unreliable sounding and Brassius was sure there was more important things he could be doing on a Saturday morning than going to a book signing in Mesagoza. Not that the idea didn’t appeal to him but he so rarely took time off. Being a Gym Leader was demanding and like most artists, his schedule to create was haphazard at best, despite better efforts.

   Yet in that haphazard schedule, Brassius put down something very sharp: nine-thirty, he would catch a flying taxi to Mesagoza and navigate the city himself so he could be the Zara Bookshop well before “ish” would likely come into play. 

   That sounded all well and good but as it would happen, his artistic haphazard schedule vied very hard to create disruption after disruption for Brassius. Inspiration kept him to his materials for far longer than his body would have liked and as would his insomnia and naturally the Squawkabilly who were picking up with the cabby shat on his head as they approached to pick him up. Flying Types truly did spell trouble for him, even beyond his Grass Type specialisation. 

   But somehow, getting cleaned up and carried off in the flying taxi, despite everything which would scathe his goal of getting to the Zara Bookshop on time, it was a lovely, brick and mortar building that charmed Brassius immediately. He could not believe that he had not visited this hidden gem before. As soon as he opened the doors to it, the bell rang above him with an endearing ring-a-ling-a-ring and the smell of paper, both new and old, was intoxicating.

   Brassius trawled a shelf or two by the door before a helpful shop-person dropped by with a smile, “Are you here for the author signing?” they asked.

   “I am.” Brassius nodded.

   “Excellent, just to the back of the store, we have a table set up, and help yourself to light refreshments. We have tea, coffee, biscuits. And if you need a hand, just yell out.” the shop-person said.

   “I appreciate it.” Brassius replied.

   He and the shop-person continued on in separate ways. The author - Miss E. Littlefoot - must have a handle on things in the back, he assumed, so the shop-person could do their job in the front. In the meantime, Brassius did take some sweet time to enjoy the various titles along the book spines on display, sitting neatly, if crammed, on the dark, wooden bookshelves.

   Plenty of popular titles but far more niche ones which piqued Brassius’ interest. Most of which was a book on the connection between mythology and sculpture, it sounded interesting, so he decided to take it with him as he continued further and further into the bookshop. Though it was narrow, it was filled to the brim and longer than expected in depth.

   It would have been easy to get figuratively lost amongst all the books but Brassius managed. He made it to a reading den where two tables were set up: one for refreshments, and one for the author who sat primly behind her own table and she took Brassius’ breath away.

   How could he have forgotten her name like that? He could never have forgotten her face. 

   She, the author, was about having the same reaction to Brassius as he looked up from her last signing, sending away some student of the Academy, and then freezing at Brassius’ visage. She remembered him as well. That almost brought a tear to Brassius’ eye as he all but forgot why he was here. Despite holding two books firmly in his hand.

   “Brassie.” she said, smiling cheerfully with her eyes crinkling in the corner. “It's been so long.”

   “Norie, I mean, Lenore.. I mean…” Brassius stammered.

   He considered himself a man of few words. He could give speeches and lectures in the forms of stone and marble but actual words themselves, excessive verbiage was not his mode of conversation but never did he make a fool of himself like this.

   “It's good to see you again.” Brassius recovered.

   “Have you come to get my book signed?” Lenore demurely asked. “I-I don’t want to be so vain to assume that everyone here is… for me…”

   “I assure you, I am here for you, Lenore.” Brassius said.

   He, more awkwardly than he would have liked, walked over to Lenore’s table and he put down both books. He pushed When the Seasons Change closer to Lenore but her eyes lit up as she saw the other book.

   “Oh,” she said, pointing at it, “I read that last year and loved it. I used it as part of my bibliography for an essay I was putting together.”

   “Glad to hear it has your seal of approval.” Brassius said. “And congratulations on being published, that is quite the accomplishment.”

   “Thank you Brassie - or would you prefer Brassius?” Lenore asked.

   “Either is fine. Would you prefer if I used Lenore or,” Brassius hesitated, “Norie.”

   “Whatever works for you.” Lenore said as she opened Brassius’ copy of her book.

   She gently patted down the dedications page, to her friends and family, Brassius now included, he realised, or maybe hoped, and then wrote as finely as she could. “To my dearest Brassie” and Brassius realised that, perhaps, he should have specified Brassius would have been preferred as a signing but given that Lenore was a childhood friend of his… It could be forgiven if it was not so discreet.

   She was a precious childhood friend. He, Hassel, and Lenore had been akin to the three musketeers during their time together at Uva Academy. Inseparable, taking every class together, enjoying each other’s passions be it in Pokemon or in artistic pursuits. Art for Brassius, music for Hassel, and writing for Lenore.

   That would have been over twenty years ago now and it was a shame that some of their plans had never come to fruition. Not in the way they had talked about at the Academy, anyway, because Hassel’s parents had other plans for him and Lenore had to move back to her family’s native Unova when her grandmother’s health had turned for the worst.

   (Brassius now realising exactly what the life experience E. Littlefoot had been writing in her poem Paper-thin Frost, the finale of both the Winter section and the book in its entirety. His heart twinged.)

   Even now, so many years later though, Lenore remained a precious childhood friend - and one that he had a crush on. He had written so many schoolboy letters to her, most of which never made it to the post, losing contact as adventuring children do. He still had many of them, especially the more painstaking ones expressing attraction in nothing less than prose but those feelings, looking at her face, half-feeling like those twenty years, or little more, they were still very much alive in him.

   Brassius licked his lips, “So… Lenore… Is E. Littlefoot a pseudonym?” he asked, uncertain. He wondered if Hassel knew, thereby knowingly setting him up for a reunion meet-cute with his former childhood crush or was all the same as him, simply forgetting that their beloved friend Norie had a full, given name. He hoped for the latter as the idea of the former was mortifying.

   “In a sense that everyone calls me Lenore over Eleanore despite it being my given name.” Lenore replied and then giggled, “And then of course there is you, and Hass, who call me Norie exclusively. No one but you two call me that but that’s what makes it special.”

   “Yes, I see, that is true.” Brassius murmured.

   “It's really good to see you again, Brassie, I’ve missed you.” Lenore bade him, her head tilting to the side slightly.

   “You’ve said that already.” Brassius pointed out.

   “Not the part about me missing you, though.” Lenore said. “Have you missed me?”

   More than you can imagine, almost passed Brassius’ stony lips as a reply but he tempered himself. He cleared his throat.

   “Yes, I have missed you.” 

   “You know, I still have some of the letters you sent. I-I’m really sorry we lost touch, I didn’t mean for that.” Lenore apologised.

   “It was mutually disjointed, I’m sure. The Treasure Hunt made things difficult and with the passage of time, it's rough for anyone to keep in touch as time marches on.” Brassius replied.

   “Ah, yes, the Treasure Hunt, did you find your treasure?” Lenore asked.

   “In due time, I did.” Brassius replied.

   “That’s good.” Lenore replied. “Hopefully, whilst I’m here in Paldea for the year, I can find my treasure. You're never too old for the Treasure Hunt, right? Though, I had my journey in Unova, eventually but I dunno if I can say I found my treasure there…”

   “You're here for a year?” Brassius piped up once Lenore’s musings had trailed off.

   “I am.” she chirped. “So I hope to see you around. Perhaps you can give me a tour through Artazon, especially its outdoor gallery scene. I hear there’s a very famous sculptor there named Brassius.”

   Lenore laughed at her little joke and Brassius cracked a rare, if small, smile.

   “I would like that.” Brassius replied. “Would ten-ish tomorrow work for you?” He felt his heart pound in his chest. 

   “It would.” Lenore replied. “I’ll catch a flying taxi as soon as I can tomorrow.”

   “I shall look forward to it.” Brassius replied. “Until then, I have some books to read in my own time.”

   He gathered up both his copy of Lenore’s When the Seasons Change and his soon-to-be-his copy of Marvels, Mythology, and Marble. His hand brushed over Lenore’s as she clumsily tried to assist. They looked up, briefly, and Lenore blushed, and she recanted her hand lest she get in the way further as Brassius picked up his books.

   “I will see you tomorrow.” he said stiffly.

   “Looking forward to it.” Lenore replied.

   Brassius nodded, trying to excuse himself but he glanced over his shoulder and was embarrassed to realise that he was holding up a line by chatting so much with Lenore. But at the same time. It made him all the more eager to, perhaps, get deep and meaningful with her, one on one tomorrow at their… date. If he could be so bold as to call it that.