Fashion [ORAS] [WWC]

Warning: 1 instance of swearing, and a couple unpleasant

Adalie Mainwaring looked at the clock on the dashboard, 8:30. She was early. Good. She stared at herself one last time in the rear view mirror of her cream leather palace masquerading as a car. Hair? Ponytail, practical without being ugly, recently dyed back to auburn to disguise the blonde roots. Makeup? Subtle, many men would struggle to realise she was wearing any. Glasses? Cleaned, the oval frames highlighting her emerald green eyes.

She glanced down at her clothing; Business suit, grey herringbone, formal & elegant. Powerful, not prudish. A slight hint of thigh at the bottom of the skirt, classy but accessible. Don’t want the junior office staff put off too much. Their insecurity was a weapon she could use against them.


She opened the door and stepped out of the midnight blue saloon, her navy blue handbag slung gracefully over her left shoulder. Her jet black heels clicked against the brick parquet of the parking bay. No tarmac was good enough for Mawile Kors, the leading fashion house of Kalos. The office building towered above her, a monument of steel & glass reaching for the heavens. The back of the offices sloped down into a plateau of brick, the old workshops which were still used by some areas of the company as laboratories doing research into genetic modifications on their cotton plants in order to ensure the finest quality product. It was said that there was no cotton as fine or pure as that used by Mawile Kors, and she was hoping to see the process first hand on her first day as an executive. She had been poached from her role as a purchasing manager at Louis Vivillon, where the higher ups were too timid to promote an ambitious young woman to the upper echelon. She had made it.


The automatic doors gracefully parted to permit her passage into the exquisite entrance of the building. Polished granite floors reflected the coils of light from the ceiling and a great curved reception desk grew from the wall like a plant reaching out of the ground yearning for sunlight. There was a girl behind the desk, maybe 20 years old, brunette. Adalie looked down at the receptionist, cleared her throat and spoke authoritatively.


“I believe you are expecting me.”
“Huh? Oh. OH! Mrs. ‘Mane-wearing’, it’s a delight to have you here at Mawile Kors!” the receptionist enthused, smiling at the suited woman, who was not impressed.
“Firstly, it’s Ms.
Secondly it’s ‘Mannering’.
Thirdly, I do not care for what you think. I’m here to do my job. Tell me, where are they expecting me?”

“I’m so sorry Ma’am, let me just double check for you,” the receptionist was flustered. Insulting the new executive was a bad way to progress up the career ladder. Her fingers swiftly clicked across her keyboard, bringing up the information she required on the screen in front of her,
“Mr. Stathakis is waiting for you in the Crimson suite. Elevator on the left, tenth floor, the door directly opposite you when you leave the elevator.”


Adalie emerged from the glass cocoon like a butterfly, causing a passing intern to walk into a wall as he was distracted by her radiating beauty. She smirked, this job was going to be fun. She took a deep breath and opened the heavy mahogany door in front of her into the Crimson suite. A quick glance around the room helped her understand the reason behind the name, the walls were as red as the fur on a Darmanitan’s back and even the lights had a pale red glow to them. At the far end of the room, sitting in an overwhelming leather chair, there was a stout gentleman with salt & pepper hair.

“Ah, Ms. Mainwaring, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he began, “My name is Giorgios Stathakis, I’m the CEO here at Mawile Kors, as I’m sure you well know. We’ve assigned you an office at the end of the corridor and one of the Junior Executives will be waiting for you there to give you a personal tour of the facilities here on site. Do you have any questions for me?” The gentleman sat back in his chair, hands clasped loosely, his eyes scanning Adalie for any hint as to her upcoming response.

She gave her best false smile to the lecherous has-been and sweetly replied “Thank you so much Mr. Stathakis, it is an absolute honour to begin working for you here at Mawile Kors. I have heard so much about the great work you do in the industry, and I’m really keen to learn more about the cotton process here, I’ve got some ideas I feel could help with your revolution.”

She did not notice the slight twinge in his face when she mentioned cotton, she was too busy sucking up to her new boss.
“All in due time, all in due time.” He quickly responded, trying to change the subject, “I would suggest that you head to your new office, I’m sure Fabrice will be waiting there for you.”


Adalie thanked Mr. Stathakis once again and elegantly strode out of his office, turned to her left and began to head down the corridor. She heard some kind of noise from the room she just left, but ignored it and carried on down the hallway searching for her office. Even just the internal monologue of being able to say *her* office felt incredible to her. There was a steel door ahead, unusual in an office environment, with a great bar across the midpoint. There was a small ball of white fluff on the floor, she picked it up. It was cotton, amazingly soft to the touch, but durable at the same time, as she tried to pull a piece off to inspect it further, it resisted her touch and remained whole. She was amazed, this must be the entrance to the labs where they were developing the new strain.

A noise behind Adalie startled her, and she quickly turned to investigate what it was, sliding the cotton into her bag. There was a young man hunched over in front of her, panting. He’d obviously been running for some reason.

“Madame, my name is Patrice. I came to find you as you had not come to your office yet, I’m glad I stopped you going in there. It is off limits to all but the highest clearance levels.” His voice was raspy, with a strong French accent. She feigned surprise at his remark before calmly replying to him.
“Ah yes, you must be the Junior Executive that Mr. Stathakis was referring to. I must have gotten lost looking for my office, I expect you’ll be giving me a guided tour of the premises now?”
The young man was slightly taken aback by her brashness, but not wanting to offend his new superior, he gladly bent to her will and offered to take her around the offices, introducing her to the managers who would report to her. She noticed that he kept well away from any of the lab facilities on the lower floors, and kept steering her away from the steel doors at the end of the corridor on every level. Her curiosity was clawing at her mind, making her want to know why these doors existed, and more importantly, why she wasn’t given clearance despite being an Executive.


Adalie followed Patrice around like a bored puppy until he released her of the tour at her office, giving her some privacy. She glanced at the silver computer at her desk. Maybe the intranet would be of use? No, high chances of jumped up IT admins. Same with internet, too much supervision. Maybe…

She trawled through the files on her computer, left there by her predecessor, obviously data security was not a big deal here, or the lackey hired to clean the computer had done a poor job. She found a notepad file with a number “101001101”. A password perhaps? No, too insecure, no alphabetical characters. Not likely to be encryption. A door key maybe? She did recall seeing a small box by the side of the steel door. But she couldn’t try entering during the day on this level, too many people around. Maybe, one of the lower levels, quieter, more discreet. She quietly left her office and headed for the glass elevator, thinking of a plan. She recalled that the 4th floor was currently out of use for refurbishment, that’s why they hadn’t toured there, the elevator was not running there. To 5 and take the stairs? Yes, a good plan.


As she exited the elevator on the 5th floor, she took a quick glance either way to look for anyone watching her, she was alone, good. Her eyes roamed the hall looking for a door to some stairs, there. To the left, only about 15 feet away. She almost jogged to the door, hoping not to be seen, and slipped through as quietly as she could onto the staircase. Her heels echoed on the concrete stairs as she gracefully descended to the floor below, hoping that the door was unlocked.

It was.


She slowly inched the door open, checking that the 4th floor was deserted, before sliding through into the hallway. The stainless steel door at the end of the corridor almost glistened in her mind as she approached it, like a beacon calling for her to investigate it. She recalled the number she had read on the computer and keyed it into a pad by the door. She held her breath. If it wasn’t the right code, who knew what kind of alarms or defences could be deployed. There was a click and the door opened to invite her in, she was past the first wave.

Quickly closing the door behind her, it was only then that she realized she had no idea on how to escape. A faded blue scribble on the wall above her pointed down a dimly lit passage to ‘Block D’, whatever that was. One of the labs maybe? At least there were no security cameras above her to track her. She cautiously headed down the passage, looking for the solution to her curiosity.

After a few moments of wandering countless corridors, she came to a door that hummed. She paused. This really was the point of no return, but then again, it’s not like they could fire her on her first day for seeing how they produce their cotton right? She wondered what kind of machines could be behind the door, what kind of processes went into manipulating the genetics of the cotton to let it grow so soft and strong. She clasped the handle in her hand and opened the door.

Her heart sank. She was going to be sick.


This wasn’t a lab. It was a prison. The ‘humming’ noise was the cries of hundreds of caged Swablu, their cotton wings plucked to the bloody flesh beneath. Their wings looked like wet crimson tree roots, not beautiful fluffy clouds. The entirety of Mawile Kors was a lie.

Her job was a lie. Her dream was a lie. Her life was a lie.


She collapsed onto the steel floor and promptly vomited. She looked around at the metal bars trapping the innocent Pokemon inside them. Something had to be done. But what? It wasn’t like there was a big red release button like in the movies, each cage was electronically locked, and probably monitored remotely. She needed help, from the outside. She cast her memory back to a run-in with protestors a few years ago, they were part of some group that campaigned against the fashion industry. They’d love a scoop like this. S.E.P.T. That was it, the Society for Ethical Pokemon Treatment. She couldn’t contact them in here though, this room was probably protected against phone signals. She couldn’t get out the way she came in, not without the right exit protocol.

There were no windows in here, those would be too obvious to the outside world. There was a window back where she first came into the block though. That would have to do. Using a cage for support, she slowly brought herself back up to her feet. Just as she was about to turn, she felt something soft brush against her fingers. She looked at the Swablu, it still had its wings, save for a small patch by the neck, about the same size as the one she found earlier…

“Hey little guy, is this yours?” she asked, pulling the piece of fluff from her bag and offering it to the Swablu, as though that was some recompense for what it had been through. The small bird chirped at her, acknowledging its loss. She could probably fit the bird in her bag, it was barely a foot long and weighed only a couple of pounds. She had to get it out of the cage first though, she could probably pick the lock with a card…
Adalie rummaged around in her purse for a credit card to use, before stumbling upon the employee discount card they had sent her in the post the previous week. A perfect way to stick it up them. Sliding it into the door of the cage she twisted it firmly until the lock clicked open. She opened her bag and indicated to the Swablu that it was a safe refuge. The blue bird looked up at her quizzically, she was not like any other human it had encountered. Their eyes met, she smiled at Swablu, encouraging it to get in the bag. It relented and crawled into her handbag, she shut the cage door behind it and ran out of the room.


The next morning, Adalie woke with a start. Her phone was ringing. She wearily reached over and picked up it up.

“Hello?” she sleepily answered.
“It was you wasn’t it, you little shit.” Fumed the voice of Mr. Stathakis on the other end, “It was you. You ratted us out to S.E.P.T. didn’t you. You’ve ruined us.”
Adalie smirked, after escaping the building last night, she got in contact with S.E.P.T. who were very interested to learn what was going on at Mawile Kors.
“Why Mr. Stathakis,” she purred, “I have no idea what you’re on...”
“Bull.” He interrupted. “You think your little disappearing act yesterday wasn’t noticed? You think we haven’t got the camera footage of you in the 4th floor stairwell? I am going to sue you for every cent you have you little”
“Now, now. Language Giorgios. You think you’re going to be able to sue me from behind bars? Caged like those innocent Swablu.” She turned over in her bed to face the sleeping Swablu on the pillow beside her.
“I’ll be fine. I have connections.” he retorted. “Since when did you give a damn about anyone but yourself? The whole reason I hired you was to secure the Ice Queen of Kalos.”
“I may be a bitch, but I don’t appreciate being lied to. I saw the horrific things you were doing to those Pokemon. Now if you don’t mind, some of us have things to do today, other than get arrested.” She moved the receiver away from her ear, unable to hear the foul mouthed tirade on the other end, and hung up. Snuggling back up under the covers, she cuddled up to her new friend.

That was a weird feeling, she had a friend. Someone who relied on her. Someone who needed to protect her. Maybe she could get a job with S.E.P.T. Who better than someone who knows the fashion industry inside out?

Who better than someone who’s seen the real victims of fashion.

Spoiler

Target Mon: Swablu
Rank: Medium - 10k (Because ORAS Event thing woooo)
Char Count: 14,291
Notes: Based on a combination of the Angora stuff from last year and that episode of Futurama with the pooping Nibblers

 

I reserve this story because no one else wants to

(Also, you're thinking of Bender's Game, and it was a Futurama movie.)

 

I graded this and then I deleted it because WWC.