A/N: Hey everyone, hope you're having a good day as you read this. Speaking of which, thank you for reading this. I've wanted to write an OC trainer story for a while and ORAS inspired me to set it in Hoenn.

The main character is NOT Brendan/May—in fact, they have pretty significant roles in this story. Aside from that, there's not much to say besides the fact that I really do appreciate you reading this, and if you left feedback it would make my day. Happy reading.

If you're looking for a story about courage and dashing heroics, you should probably go find something else to read. The press did a nice job prettying the story up, but I'm no legendary hero. I was just a kid who was in the right place at the right time, and stupid enough to think I could help. In any case, this story is much, much bigger than just me. And my part isn't even the cool part, because it definitely does not contain things like shining moments of valor or selfless sacrifice. This story does contain several acts of thievery, a few of my most embarrassing failures, and a hungry Meowth. But I wasn't the hero. I was just the sidekick at best. So there are no heroics.

Now you know that I can't tell you the story you want to hear. But I still want to tell you this story. It might not be as flashy, but it's mine.

Still here? Alright.

Before it all started, I wasn't asking for fame or fortune. In fact if you'd asked me what I wanted, I probably would have said "a sandwich".

Wow, that's really pathetic, you might say. But I was hungry. I usually didn't starve, but I was hungry nearly all the time, even when I was asleep. And I liked sandwiches. They contained lots of food groups, for one. And you could eat them with your hands. No utensils required. I would have killed for a good sandwich. That's a joke, before you get all offended. I wouldn't have killed. But stealing—stealing I was okay with.

I walked as nonchalantly as I could down the street, eyes scanning the crowd. Mauville was a nice enough city, I suppose, if you had the money to spare for the shops. I didn't. I managed to scrape enough money sometimes to buy a roof over my head for a night or two by doing odd jobs, and I bought food from convenience stores sometimes, but that was it. No fancy boutiques or gadgets for me. Out of the spotlights and dazzling streets, I lived in the back alleys, like quite a few other kids I knew. Surprised? You shouldn't be. Every city has kids like us.

But back to the important thing. The sandwich. It was in a nice plastic bag, sticking out of the opening of a satchel belonging to a harried-looking man. He was talking quietly but rapidly on his phone, frowning at everyone who bumped into him. I sized him up. His suit was expensive and tailored to fit him, the white collar of his shirt crisp and new. He could afford to have designer socks, he wouldn't miss a sandwich.

As I passed him, I nipped the bag out of his satchel. He didn't notice. No one did. That was one of the things I liked about Mauville—people were just self-absorbed enough to ignore the problems of other people. I sauntered casually away, his food in my hand and feeling absolutely no guilt about it. I didn't run. Running was suspicious and sauntering wasn't.

I took a right into a dim alleyway, away from the bright, glamorous, main streets of Mauville, whistling cheerfully. It'd been a good day so far. I'd scraped together enough money last night to rent a motel room, which beat sleeping in a shelter or a park bench, and now I was going to have a sandwich for breakfast. Things were looking up, I reflected as I sat on a rickety old bench, unwrapping the sandwich. I was so looking forward to this—

"Hey! Riley!"

"Crap," I muttered, setting the sandwich down and standing up. The boy who had called my name was leaning against the alleyway wall, scrutinizing me carefully. I knew him, of course—most of us wayward and alone kids knew him. He was short and skinny, like most of us were, but in a wiry sort of way, like a Linoone—sneaky and whiplash fast. He had ragged sandy hair that was even longer than mine and an thick brown jacket that he probably didn't need (seeing as Mauville was mostly an indoor city) but wore anyways. I knew him because he'd nicked my dinner once or twice, when I wasn't quick enough, and also because of the Beautifly perched on his shoulder—the dainty and delicate Beautifly that most of us made jokes about but were secretly scared shitless of. Beautifly only look cute and harmless until they're jamming a proboscis into your vein.

"Yo, Cam," I replied as normally as I could, keeping my eye on the Beautifly. It stared back with large, unblinking eyes.

It was hard for most of us alley kids to keep Pokémon. They were another mouth to feed, for one. And if you kept anything more dangerous than a Taillow you could get arrested or worse, fined for Owning A Potentially Aggressive Species Without a Permit. A lot of us didn't have the food or money, and therefore didn't bother. But for some reason Cam decided to. He'd found his Beautifly injured in the gardens and raised it back to health, feeding it crushed berries he nicked from the farmer's market and carrying it around in his jacket until it'd healed. And after the Beautifly's torn wing had healed, what do you know—it decided to stay with him. So maybe Cam did do something right after all, even if he was a screw-up most of the time.

"You gonna sic your Pokémon on me?" I asked. I had a pocketknife on me somewhere, but would it really be worth it to make a mortal enemy out of Cam by stabbing his Beautifly if it rushed me?

Cam shrugged, grinning lopsidedly. "Nah, Beautifly wouldn't attack a girl."

"That's a lie," I said, closing my fingers around the handle of the knife in my pocket. "Amelia told me how your Beautifly stabbed her in the shoulder."

"Did she tell you that she was nicking stuff out of my backpack?" Cam said evenly. "Anyhow—that's not really important. Are you gonna go to the League meeting?"

I paused. This was unusual. "What meeting?"

Cam shrugged, picking idly at the dusty alley wall. "Apparently the Pokémon League's holding some meet down in the gardens for us 'economically disadvantaged children'", he said, forming sarcastic quotation marks in the air with his fingers. "They're trying to get kids out of the alleys by registering them as rookie trainers. Free. No tests, no application, nothing."

I blinked. Definitely worthwhile news—the League was normally pretty darn selective about who it gave licenses to. A mass registration session was sudden. And it was something I definitely hadn't heard of before, although I did spend most of my time away from everybody else. But it sounded neat, if not slightly suspicious. A trainer's license meant a chance to get off the street, a chance at money and a job. "What's the catch?" I asked. There was no such thing as a free lunch, especially when you were a street kid in Mauville.

"None as far as I know," Cam said, shrugging and jostling the Beautifly on his shoulder. "I heard it's sponsored by some big-shot corporation that donated a boatload of money to register us." he must have caught the skeptical expression on my face because he added, "Okay, sure, that sounds sketchy, but hey—a free trainer license would be amazing. Pokémon battles are supposed to be pretty lucrative, ya know?" he patted his Beautifly fondly on its large head. Its wings fluttered, dropping small specks of dust on his clothes.

"So you're going," I stated.

"All you need is to pass a few background checks—I think they just want to make sure you haven't mugged or killed anyone or something, I'm sure you're fine," he said hastily as he caught my expression. I exhaled, feeling slightly thankful that a stolen pair of socks (or two) wasn't going to stop me from becoming a trainer. "And a Pokémon of your own," Cam continued, grinning. "I've got one of the two in the bag already!" he patted Beautifly, which was still staring at me with blank blue eyes. "I might have some sort of test, too, but it shouldn't be too hard. It's probably just to keep the freeloaders out."

That was the one nice thing about knowing Cam, even if he had weird mood swings and a bad habit of stealing other people's lunches. He knew everything about everybody, and shared his info freely enough. Feeling slightly more generous myself, I uncurled my fingers from around the knife.

"I haven't got a Pokémon," I said. While it wasn't exactly my dream to become a trainer, I wouldn't say no to anything that could earn money and let me travel.

"Steal one," replied Cam casually.

"Stealing Pokémon isn't like stealing food," I said. "You get jail time for stuff like that." The League would definitely not want to hand out a license to someone who'd nicked a starter an hour previous.

"I know. It was just a joke," he said. "Well, if you're gonna think of something, you better do it before this afternoon, 'cause that's when the meeting is."

I cursed inwardly. Of course I'd only heard about the very important meeting the morning before it was supposed to be held. But since I'd never been one for talking to the other kids around the alleys, I really had no one to blame for my lack of information other than myself. "I'm not going to be able to get a Pokémon before this afternoon."

Cam yawned and stretched. "Can't help you there."

I stared at the ground, thinking over my options. Remember when I said that I liked Mauville because I could steal food without getting caught? That was pretty much one of the only reasons I liked Mauville. I hated pretty much everything else—eating out of dumpsters, shelter-hopping, seeing rich businessmen and happy trainers pass me on the street every day. I hated the shops full of clothes I couldn't afford and ads for gadgets that I couldn't buy. I wanted out. I wanted to leave and never come back until I could sit at the Mauville food court instead of at the soup kitchen, and wander the shops instead of worrying about where I was going to sleep. I didn't like it here, and I certainly didn't want to be poor for the rest of my life. I wanted to see the world. I wanted to be something.

"Okay," I said out loud, looking up. But Cam was gone. He had already wandered off, although I hadn't expected him to stick around for long. His attention span was shorter than his Beautifly's.

I sighed and sat down on the bench again. Maybe if I looked pathetic enough, someone from the League would catch me a Pokémon or something. I picked up my sandwich and took a bite.

"Whmmpf?" I muttered through a mouthful of bread, cheese, and lettuce. Did you notice that 'meat' is absent from that list? That's because the meat in the sandwich was gone.

I swallowed. "The heck?" I demanded, standing up again. Where'd it go? There was a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye and I turned around quickly, clutching a sandwich in my hand and a pocketknife in the other. Something emerged from behind a beat-up garbage can.

It was a Meowth. Skinny, small, and keen-eyed. I'd seen quite a few Meowth around the alleyways before. They weren't native to Hoenn but it's surprising how many invasive species you get when you allow a nearly unlimited amount of international trainers in the region. But Meowth did pretty well in the cities. They were small and hard to catch, fierce and resourceful. This one obviously was resourceful enough, seeing as it had managed to get its paws on a slice of deli meat that was dangling from its mouth hey wait a minute—

I threw down my sandwich and lunged towards the Meowth. It hissed and ducked, paws skidding on the cement as it tried to dash off. "Oh no you don't!" I snapped, my hand shooting out to grab its tail. It screeched, dropping the meat as I picked it up by the scruff of its neck and turned it to face me, lifting it up so I could stare it in the face. "That was my breakfast, you little—"

I realized my mistake as soon its right paw lashed through the air like lightning, carving a path toward my face. I cringed and closed my eyes reflexively, waiting for the slash and sting of sharp claws.

But instead of the sharp, raking pain I'd expected, the Meowth's paws came into contact with my cheek with a soft smack. I felt the smooth pads and soft fur press into my skin, but that was it. No blood.

I opened my eyes. The Meowth stared at me. I wasn't good at reading feline expressions, but I had a nagging feeling that it looked a little embarrassed. With my free hand, I reached out grabbed one of its paws. It meowed in protest as I pressed at its toes, feeling around the tips.

No claws.

I looked back up at the Meowth. It was staring steadily at the ground, refusing to look at me. I recognized the look in its eye, though. A bit of desperation and a bit of loneliness, with a hint of resignation thrown in. I'd seen the same expression on Ameilia and Cam, and the rest of us who called the alleyways home. I'd seen the same expression on my face in the reflection of the shop windows, when I wandered past the brightly lit displays after I'd spent the last of my money on a roof over my head for the night.

I glanced down at the slice of deli meat, lying on the damp ground. It had several bites taken out of it. Oddly enough, it didn't stir my appetite as it had a few minutes ago.

I sighed and gently set the Meowth down. I didn't know how it had ended up here, in a region that wasn't its home, declawed and foraging in the streets for food. But nevertheless, I felt a tiny bit sorry for it. Not too much, but just enough that I picked up the meet and set it back in its paws. It stared at me.

"Sorry I pulled your tail. Here's your breakfast back," I said, then realized it probably couldn't understand me. "Uh. Okay."

I rose to my feet and walked back to the bench. Thankfully, the rest of my sandwich was still there. I took a bite. Too much mayonnaise.

When I looked back up again, the Meowth was still staring at me.

"Go away."

"Mworr."

"Go away!" I threw a tin can at the Meowth. It avoided it deftly, eyes fixed on me. "I don't have any more food. Really."

"Mworr," it insisted.

I groaned. It'd been two hours since I'd indulged in the last vestiges of pity left in me and given the Meowth part of my sandwich. And somehow it'd interpreted the gesture as a binding contract of companionship and was stubbornly tailing me wherever I went. It wouldn't let me touch it or get too close to it, and would dodge away every time I tried. But it followed me, staying just close enough to remind me that it was there.

"Seriously, stop it," I said, bending down and looking into the Meowth's large, slitted eyes. "I don't have any more food. I can't afford to feed you. You're gonna have to go."

The Meowth stared back at me just as intensely. "Mwoor-meow-mee-oowwth," it replied slowly and seriously. I had a vague feeling it was making fun of me.

"Look, I know I need a Pokémon," I said. "But I need something strong. Something that can fight. Not a Meowth without claws!" I threw another tin can at it. "Go!"

I finally managed to lose it after I walked into the main streets. The bustling, lighted avenues were the complete opposite of the quiet, dim alleyways it was used to. I watched it as it made to step out of the alley to follow me and paused. Its fur fluffed up slowly and it retreated back into the shadows.

"Good," I huffed, and turned to leave.

It was past noon, and I still couldn't think of a way to get a Pokémon.

"This is so stupid!" I ranted to Amelia as we sat on a park bench, staring at the steady stream of trainers strolling by. "You know what, I should have taken that Meowth. I could have ditched it right after I'd gotten my license and it's not like the League would check, right?"

Amelia snorted. "Sucks to be you," she said bluntly. Amelia was one of the few kids I knew and cared to interact with, if only because interesting things always seemed to happen around her. She was around my age, with pale skin and hair, and a wide, watchful gaze that reminded me of a Hoothoot. I guess she would have been considered pretty, if not for the slightly manic glint to her eyes. "I got my Pokémon."

"You're registering?" I asked, surprised. Amelia wasn't known for her great love of Pokémon, or Pokémon battles. I think Cam's Beautifly might have had something to do with it, and I said as much.

Amelia nodded, absently rubbing the spot on her shoulder where I knew lay a small scar in the shape of a perfect circle, the exact size of a Beautifly's sharp proboscis. "Anything to get out of this dump," she said. "I nicked a couple Pokéballs, went to Route 110, and threw 'em at wild Pokémon until one stuck."

"Can I see?" I asked.

She nodded, dug out a Pokéball from her pocket, and clicked the button in the center. The red-and-white sphere clicked open and with a burst of light, a small white-and-blue bird emerged. It chirped loudly, turning to Amelia and clacking its orange beak.

"A Wingull?" I said. I'd expected Amelia to go for something a bit…meaner. "Why?"

"Wingull's a bird," Amelia explained slowly, like I was being particularly stupid. "And birds eat bugs."

"So?"

"I caught this stupid bird so it could eat Cam's stupid bug."

"Oh, I see." It was fairly like Amelia, I reflected, to go out of her way for a bit of revenge. I liked that.

Wingull was pecking at the leg of my pants. I moved my leg away. "Did you name it?" I asked.

"…is that a thing you're supposed to do?" Amelia said slowly. With a flap of its wings, Wingull leapt up and landed on her head. "Hey, quit it." she said.

"Most trainers do," I said decisively, as if I was an expert on the topic.

Amelia paused, staring at the sky as she hummed in deep thought. "Wingy," she said eventually, a look of satisfaction in her eyes.

"…really?" I said.

"Wiingg!" Wingull squawked in protest, and whacked Amelia in the face with one white wing.

"Ow!" Amelia said, whacking at it halfheartedly. It flapped away and began to fly circles around her head, buffeting her with its wings.

"Stop it! Stoppit!" Amelia said loudly, flailing wildly at her Pokémon with one arm and covering her face with the other.

"Wingull wing wing!" Wingull insisted, grabbing a stand of her flyaway hair in its beak and tugging.

"Ow!"

"Hey," I said, "You wouldn't happen to have any leftover Pokéballs, would you?"

Cringing, Amelia shoved two red-and-white-spheres at me. "That's all I've got left! Ow! Quit it, you stupid bird!"

Maybe the Wingull was a better fit for Amelia than I thought. I left the two of them to squabble and made my way west, to Route 117.

The Linoone was scurrying through the tall grass, its blue eyes cool and confident, its striped pelt nearly shining with health. Its bushy tail streamed out behind it gracefully. It moved quickly and confidently, wiry strength rippling through its sleek body.

I wanted it.

"Come on, come on," I muttered. I was perched in a tree surveying the tall grass below, waiting for something to catch. After a good half an hour in which nothing more interesting than an Oddish or the occasional Marill ambled by, and I had almost considered giving up, the Linoone appeared. I considered it a sign from Arceus.

Just a little closer, I thought as the Linoone drew nearer and nearer to the base of the tree. A little more…just a little…my hand clutched the Pokéball in anxiety.

The Linoone reached the roots of the tree and paused for a split second. Its small ears twitched. Some primordial instinct in it was obviously screaming danger! and its muscles stiffened. It looked around, looked up, and saw me.

I threw the Pokéball down right into its face. The Linoone had just enough time to give a startled yelp before the ball opened and it was sucked into the red-and-white sphere in a whirl of red energy. The Pokéball fell to the ground. It rolled to a stop and furiously shaking in place.

"Yes!" I whooped, dropping down from the branch to the ground. "I caught a—"

The ball burst. With a crack it opened again and the Linoone reappeared in a flash of light. There was a snapping sound and the Pokéball split down the middle into two unusable pieces. I gaped. The Linoone yelped. It caught a glimpse of the other Pokéball clutched in my hand and exploded into movement, racing away through the tall grass like an arrow from a bow.

"Nonono!" Desperately, I hurled the Pokéball after it as it disappeared into the grass. Although I wasn't really expecting much, the Linoone was moving so fast that I probably missed by a mile—

There was a click as the unseen Pokéball closed on its target, a shwoop-ing sound as it opened and sucked something in, and another burst of red light from the cluster of tall grass. And then a cheerful ding! as the Pokéball registered a successful capture.

No. Fucking. Way. A Linoone.

"YES!" I screeched, dashing into the tall grass and rooting around for the Pokéball. "I did it! I finally, really did it! I can get out of this shithole and become a trainer and—" my scrabbling, shaking fingers caught the edge of the ball. "Yes! Yes! This is amazing!" I barely stopped myself from shaking with excitement as I pressed the small button at the center of the red-and-white sphere and it opened in a burst of light. Finally, my life could begin—

"Mworr."

The Pokéball fell from my suddenly nerveless fingers as I stared at the Pokémon in front of me.

No. Fucking. Way…

The clawless Meowth sat back on its haunches and gazed up at me with a severely annoyed, yet slightly resigned, look in its slitted eyes. Had it followed me all the way out of Mauville?

"I'm done for," I muttered, collapsing into the grass. My starter Pokémon, my partner and the core of my team, was a declawed Meowth. Forget Cam's Beautifly, I doubt it could even defeat Amelia's Wingull. "I'm so done for."

The Meowth hopped onto my chest and stared down at me. It patted me on the forehead experimentally.

Well, I thought. It could be worse.

And then: But it could also be a lot better.

I stared at the clouds passing by in the light blue sky and groaned loudly. The Meowth, startled, poked me in the eye.

"Ow! Damn it!"

Well. This is it.

I stood at the back of a line of kids, Pokéball in hand. I'd recalled the Meowth when we got to the square—I noticed that it had a habit of wandering off if I didn't keep my eye on it. I spotted Amelia in the small crowd of kids, her Wingull perched on top of her head, and I inched in the other direction. Wingull were kinda dumb-looking, but I would have traded my clawless Meowth for one in an instant.

How would battles even work, anyways, when this Meowth's most basic weapon had been taken away from it? Staring at my shoes, I ran through all the moves that Meowth and Persian were supposed to know. Scratch, Fury Swipes, Slash…almost all of them involved claws in some shape or form. I wracked my brains, searching for more, but my knowledge stopped short there. When it came down to it, I didn't know a lot about Pokémon. Sure, I knew most of the basics and a bit of information about Gym battles and the League, but that was it. Most of my knowledge came out of random books I'd dug out of recycling bins. And most of those books had been in the recycling bin for a reason, if you get my drift.

"Excuse me."

I glanced up. Sometime when I'd been thinking, the line had moved up and now it was my turn. The League official at the registration table was waiting for me. He was young—maybe only a few years older than I was. And as I noticed that I was suddenly aware of the contrasts between us both—his crisp, clean uniform against my old, worn jacket, the calm, friendly look in his eyes against my guarded, shuttered expression.

"Sorry," I said, feeling very self-conscious. I shifted restlessly, wiping the dust off my beat-up pants. "Uh, my name's Riley."

"Last name?" he said, typing on his computer.

"Mauve."

"Age?"

"Nineteen." I'd expected surprise, maybe for him to blink or raise an eyebrow. I was a bit older than most novice trainers. But he didn't react. There were a lot of older kids here today, looking to make a late start.

"Gender?"

"Female."

"Hold on a minute." I waited as he typed away at his computer, occasionally pausing to read what was on the screen. I vaguely wondered what kind of dirt on me he had stored in the system. Whatever he saw, it must have been at least somewhat acceptable because eventually he looked back up at me. "Starter Pokémon?"

I bit my lip. "Uh, Meowth."

"A Meowth?" he looked interested. "That's unorthodox."

"Tell me about it," I said. Unorthodox. Fancy words.

"I'll have to see it," he said, holding out his hand. "Just a quick scan to make sure it's alright."

Somewhat reluctantly, I set the Pokéball in his hand. He stuck it into a device connected to his computer that vaguely reminded me of the healing beds I'd seen through the windows of the Pokémon Center. He glanced at his screen.

"This seems okay. Level 9. Moves are Growl, Fake Out, and Bite." He shook his head, a somewhat puzzled expression on his face. "Scratch should be in there, but it isn't. I don't know what's up with that."

"Yeah, that's so strange," I replied.

He removed Meowth's Pokéball and gave it back to me. "Seems like a solid starter. Nickname?"

"Uhhhhh, well, um," I said. Unfortunately, despite how I'd made fun of Amelia earlier, I was only marginally better at coming up with creative names. I cast about frantically for a name that wasn't too stupid and at least slightly cool-sounding, but I drew a blank. Gah, everything was going wrong today. Cam had said something like this to me before, after he'd lost the tent he used to camp in and was nearly arrested by two policemen: "Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong…"

"Murphy," I said.

He stared at me. "Your Meowth is female."

I felt a flush creeping up my face. "It's a gender-neutral name," I said defensively.

He shook his head. "Can't argue with that," he said, stamping my card. "There you go! All set."

And just like that, I was a trainer.