
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/805943.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Gen
  Fandom:
      Pocket_Monsters_|_Pokemon_(Main_Video_Game_Series)
  Character:
      Athena_|_Ariana
  Series:
      Part 3 of Executive
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-11-02 Words: 3468
****** Reputation ******
by dem_hips
Summary
     Part 3 of 3 in my musings of how future Executive Ariana found her
     way into Team Rocket.
Ariana did her best to move along from a place before she could gain a
reputation. Mass attention was not what she craved, and it was counter to her
continued freedom. She recognized that immediately and was sure to keep from
making scenes, causing trouble, and getting caught. She avoided Pokémon
Centers, opting to steal Potions and Revives instead and only having Odds
patched up when absolutely necessary. She slept in alleys, in woods under
trees, and snatched fresh clothing from clotheslines whenever she could. Her
meals were gathered in much the same way, or they were garnered through the
foolish kindness of strangers. But she walked on, moving as quickly as she
could from one town to the next, and steered clear of Pokémon Gyms at all
costs.

Probably for the best. If she hadmanaged to gain a reputation, it would have
been quite a hell of one.

She didn’t consider herself a trainer, but anyone found wandering around Johto
with a Pokéball on her belt was often mistaken for one, and she wouldn’t back
down from a challenge. Today was no different, but at least today her
challenger was easy on the eyes, a slim, tall young man with a sharp gaze and a
confident stance. His trainer card said his name was Aaron.

The Pokéball he released contained a Slugma, and he scoffed in disbelief when
she sent Odds out to face him.

“A Grass-type? Really?”

Ariana folded her arms under her by now ample bosom and watched him flatly,
betraying no fear. She knew she and her Oddish stood little chance, but she had
already agreed to the challenge, and she wasn’t about to surrender without a
proper fight. Besides, Odds was up for it, fully refreshed after a rare night
at the Pokémon Center back in Cianwood; she was bouncing from foot to foot in
what she probably thought was an intimidating fighter’s stance. Ariana had
never bothered to correct this.

“Let’s just get started,” she called back, keeping her own posture relaxed.
Sometimes unusual confidence on her part was enough to trip her opponent up.
“Odds! Sleep Powder!”

Ariana allowed a smile at the frustrated grimace her opponent made when his
Slugma became instantly unable to fight. “Sleeping during a battle? Really?” He
gritted his teeth; she just smirked.

“Acid, Odds!”

Both she and the trainer took a couple steps back from the acrid stench
produced when the poison came in contact with the sleeping Slugma’s flames.
“Wake up!” Aaron called, frustrated, from behind a protective hand.

“Funny, I don’t think I’ve heard of that attack before.” Ariana was enjoying
herself, in light of this guy’s difficulties. “Give it another Acid!”

He cursed and stepped back more, watching the poison slowly work its magic on
his Slugma’s sleeping body. “Come on,” he growled under his breath, hating that
all he could do was watch helplessly.

“Need a gas mask?” Ariana called, in a sweet voice itself tinged with poison.
“We could do this all day! Odds, another—”

Aaron straightened suddenly, eyes wide in response to his Slugma’s own eyes
being open at all. “Yes! Lava Plume, Slugma!”

Ariana only winced a little as her Oddish fainted dead away; the heat of the
single attack had been way too much for her. Well. That was the end of that.

“Well? Don’t keep me waiting, what else’ve you got?”

Ariana shrugged, drawing her Oddish back to her Pokéball. “That’s it.”

“You’re telling me all you have on you’s that weak little Oddish?” The
trainer’s face contorted into a mixture of disbelief and nasty amusement. “The
hell are you thinking?”

Ariana’s eyes narrowed. “You gonna keep rubbing it in, dickweed?” she snapped.
“You won, so just be happy and be on your damn way.”

“Love to.” He approached her, calling back his Slugma with one hand and holding
out the other. “Just as soon as we finish up.”

Here we go again.

She shrugged, holding up hands empty of money. “Broke.”

“No kidding!” The proffered hand clenched into a fist. “Bet you’ve never even
won a match! What a waste of time!

“You better have something on you worth a victory,” he added with a grimace.
“Why the hell would you accept a challenge if you can’t pay up?”

“Because challenges are always worth accepting. And sometimes you get lucky.”
Her gaze was intense on him, suddenly, eyes blinding and bright like too-close
suns. “Don’t worry. I think we can come to an agreement on what I owe you.”

She much preferred losing to the female trainers, but she couldn’t afford to be
picky.

At least Aaron had the decency to take her back to the city and find her a bed.
Her back still hurt from being slammed into roots last time.

He was a talker, she soon learned, running his mouth even as he collected what
she owed him. “Seriously…what’s up with the Oddish? …You do this for fun?”

Someone really needed to teach this guy what you did and did not say to a woman
while you were screwing her, Ariana thought with a mental shake of her head.
Not that that someone was going to be her.

“One Pokémon’s enough of a handful for me,” she answered, voice ragged with
heavy breaths. The truth was that despite her best efforts otherwise, she left
a trail of fainted Pokémon in her wake whenever she tried to catch another; she
just didn’t have the patience or the finesse for it.

For a couple minutes he was blessedly silent, mouth occupied with other things,
and Ariana closed her eyes and tilted her head back, releasing the occasional
moan for good measure. He was chatty, but he was decent, at least—could be
pretty amazing, too, if he used his mouth more for things like this and less
for talking.

After a while, he left off, finally loosening his belt and tugging his pants
down. “You do this often, then.” He didn’t sound accusatory, or even entirely
disgusted. It was, almost, a vague sort of interest.

She shrugged, watching him position himself above her. “It happens.”

“Girls, too?”

“Yup.”

“What if you lost to some old dude?”

“Done it. –Ahngh!” No matter how often she did this, the first insertion always
made her gasp, like a needle stick, every time.

Halfway in, he paused, eyebrow raised. “…Kids?”

“Usually they’ll take candy instead,” she smirked, and raised her hips to meet
him.

---

No matter how often she moved, no matter how careful she was and how talented
she got, a year was a long time, and Johto was only so large. Whispers began
following her, acting as her shadow as she broke into PokéMarts at night and
leaving fleeting impressions at the edges of her vision as she flirted meals
out of older men during the day.

Goldenrod City was the busiest, and the best place to hide, but that didn’t
mean she was the only one who used it for such purposes.

This battle started like any other, with a challenge from someone who seemed
set on assuming that she was a Pokémon trainer, with just that one ball at her
waist. Now a Gloom, Odds, to her credit, stood her ground against the Murkrow
her sharply-dressed opponent sent out, but it was way stronger, almost
laughably so. A single Wing Attack did her in, and Ariana, with a short sigh,
had to recall the Grass type before she’d even had a chance to fight back.
They’d actually been winning some matches, lately, when the type difference
worked out to their advantage, but it looked like their good luck streak was
ending.

“That’s it, right?” the trainer asked, rubbing his grinning chin. “Just that
one Gloom?”

Ariana frowned. Normally people were more surprised by that. “That’s it,” she
confirmed, a mite hesitantly, pulling out her wallet. With the recent wins, she
could afford to pay this man in cash and preferred to, already getting a bad
vibe from him. “Your win. Here,” she added, pulling out the going rate for a
single-Pokémon battle.

“I’m not interested in your money,” the man told her, his Murkrow chittering
and flapping around his head. “I’ve heard about you.”

Well shit.

“Hot little red-haired slut with a single Gloom, won’t turn down a challenge no
matter what.” His eyes were growing hungry as the distance between them
decreased with each of his carefully-placed steps. “Pays her losses with—”

“Look,” Ariana interrupted. Her expression had grown hard, but she stood firm.
“I got your money. You don’t get to decide how I pay you, this is how it’s
done.”

“Isn’t how youdo it.” He shook his head and kept advancing. “I think as the
victor it’s up to me to choose how I’m rewarded, don’t you?”

“Fuck you,” she hissed, drawing back.

“Oh, please do.” His grin was white and straight and mesmerizing, and while she
stared at him he had her wrist tight in his hand before she could bolt. “In
fact, it’s in your best interest to. I’d hate to see what would happen to you
if someone were to catch wind of your fake trainer card.”

She was caught, and her face was hot with it.

“It’s not a big deal, right? You’ve done it so many times before, after all.”
His grip tightened painfully.

“Let GO!” She swung at him, clumsily, with her left hand, which he dodged and
then caught, laughing.

“You’ll come quietly, won’t you? Or,” he added with an amused chuckle, “maybe
you’re a screamer? Don’t make me knock you out, I’d hate to hurt that pretty
head of yours.”

She glared up at him, her face burning nearly as red as her hair. “Not.
Interested. You fucking creep!” He was still laughing. “Let me GO!” Her knee
rose swiftly, making contact with his groin. He released her instantly, howling
in pain, and she took off.

She never made it out of the alley they had battled in, though. The man’s
Murkrow, still cackling, descended in front of her, and for a moment she
hesitated, unsure how to get rid of it. In that moment, its eyes flashed
meanly, and she felt an inexplicable wave of fear wash over her, keeping her
legs from listening even as she silently begged them to keep running.

When the trainer finally recovered from the attack on his manhood, his humor
was all but gone. It lingered in the hard, mirthless smirk with which he faced
Ariana, before he pulled a knife on her. “Now. You’ll do as you’re told, won’t
you, my little red-headed whore…?” She watched him, shaking with anger, but
said nothing, mindful of the blade. “You’ll stay quiet and you’ll be good.
Yes?”

She swallowed, and nodded, hoping that would buy her enough time to think of a
way out.

“Good. Come with me, then.”

She went. The Murkrow and the knife barely concealed in the pocket of the man’s
overcoat kept sharp watch on her as they headed down the street to a lavish
apartment building only a few blocks away and up many floors to his flat. As
they entered, his cell phone began to buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out but
led her through a door into the bedroom and shut the Murkrow inside to keep an
eye on her before he answered. Ariana sat on the bed, relinquishing her time to
look around for the moment to focus on hearing the muffled conversation.

“Yeah…? Yeah, I found her. Told you I would.” … “Just now.” … “Well, are you
busy? I’m in Goldenrod.” … “No I ain’t fucking waiting for you, jackass. It’s
your own damn fault you didn’t believe me.” … “You’re wasting my time.” He
laughed, loudly. “Better move it before I let her go.”

And then silence. Ariana’s eyes darted around the room more frantically, now,
looking for something she could use to get out of this situation. The room was
draped opulently, the bed decked out in rich, deep satins, the furniture all
heavy, dark woods and dull brass accents—armoire, desk, bedside table, chairs,
all. And the bed itself was positively plush, the most comfortable thing she
had ever sat on. No wonder he didn’t want her money. What a damn fucking creep.

She had come up with nothing by the time he entered, the hungry look back in
his eyes. But she barely noticed that; he had removed his coat, and underneath
there was a white suit, with a red “R” embroidered neatly on a breast pocket.

Momentarily, she forgot to breathe.

He chuckled, darkly, at the look on her face and moved to stand in front of
her. “Don’t look so shocked,” he murmured, reaching out with almost business-
like hands to untie her simple wrap dress. She was too paralyzed to stop him.
“All men have their needs.” Briefly, he took a step back to get a good look at
her breasts bulging out of her stolen, too-small bra. “Damn,” he breathed, with
a certain appreciation, a certain sense of power.

He busied himself with undoing his belt and the complicated clasps on his
pants, and Ariana sat still but her eyes moved even quicker and more frantic
than before. There had to be something, anythingshe could do, if only that
fucking Murkrow weren’t still in here watching like a freaky, voyeuristic—

She flinched back as he stepped forward, obscuring her vision from all but what
he wanted her to focus on. “That was a one-hit KO,” he reminded her, voice
dipping into bragging territory. “Pretty impressive, I think. Don’t you? I
think it deserves a little something extra.”

Her face burned with humiliation even before he began pressing at her mouth.
Oh, no.  No.  No fucking way.

“Open,” he ordered, in a voice that tasted of knife blades. She opened. And
almost instantly, she gagged; but he had a strong grip on her hair now, and she
couldn’t push away.

“This is new for you, isn’t it? I do love teaching new things.” She could
picture the shit-eating, patronizing grin he was making, above her. “Especially
things I enjoy so much. You’ll want to start by sucking on it. Maybe move your
tongue a bit.” She wantedto kick his teeth in.

But instead, his grip on her hair got tighter, and she did what he said. All
things told, he tasted rank; it strengthened her gag reflex significantly, but
he yanked her hair every time her throat spasmed, so she had to focus on
controlling it.

“…Mmm,” he began murmuring appreciatively after a while. “Good, good. Fast
learner, aren’t you?” Slowly, his free hand reached down and gave one of her
breasts a good squeeze. Normally she wouldn’t have given a shit about it.

But that was the last straw.

She bit down, hard, in a moment of sudden brilliance. He shoved her back on the
bed with a howl, the Murkrow flapped and screeched in a chaotic frenzy of
feathers, and there was blood everywhere, smeared across her mouth and dripping
down her chin and splattered everywhere between her spot on the bed and where
he was now screaming in an agonized little ball on his expensive rug halfway
across the room. At once, Ariana was on her feet, spitting blood and dodging
the frenzied Pokémon and tearing out the door to the main room of the flat, her
dress billowing behind her like a robe.

Her frantic looks around soon rewarded her with the vision of a fireplace
against the back wall. A fireplace would have a poker…yes! She ran for it; from
inside the bedroom, the man had gathered enough coherent thought to begin
threatening her between groans of pain: “Nasty little bitch! Get back in here,
I’m gonna carve you up like a fucking steak and feed you to my Zangoose! Dirty
fucking whore!” As he wished, she returned to the bedroom, poker in hand,
knowing he was in no position to make good on his claims. The Murkrow was a
lost cause for him; it looked like it was imploding into a crazed ball of
feathers and sounded much the same. Not too bright, she guessed, when it came
down to it.

Ariana squatted down in front of the injured man, inspecting him and lamenting
her inability to make it a clean cut. Maybe she should find his knife and
finish the job.

“I’ll skin you alive and make lampshades out of you!” he swore, his voice going
ragged with screaming and thick with blood loss. “I’ll tear off your tits and
mount them on my wall!”

Or, she could just kill him.

At least she got that on the first try. He instantly grew quieter and still in
rapid stages, until finally his body lay motionless and cooling at her feet,
bleeding out from the hole the poker made in his chest.

Suddenly, the entire flat grew dead silent. The Murkrow had fallen completely
still as if it itself had been murdered, and had its head tilted at a weird,
sharp angle, staring at her with unblinking eyes. Disturbed, she ignored it and
left to find the bathroom to wash off her face and rinse out her mouth.

Her reflection in the mirror was remarkably calm, for a young girl who had just
killed someone. Not just someone—a man who seemed to be an elite member of Team
Rocket.

Whatever that implied.

She blinked at the mirror once more before she dried her hands on a soft, white
towel and left the bathroom, retying her dress absently. There was an armchair
in the main room, and Ariana preferred to sink into it instead of returning to
the room where the Murkrow sat like a twisted, staring statue. She should
probably get out of here soon, Ariana reasoned. But she just felt so drained.
Sitting for a while couldn’t hurt…

She soon woke up to her shoulder being shaken, gently. Forcing her eyes open,
Ariana instantly panicked, vision clearing enough to make out a male, white-
clad figure in front of her. Oh fuck he was still alive. Oh fuck oh fuck!

“It is you,” the man stated, in a voice surprised but otherwise unremarkable.
He chuckled. “Imagine that. I thought we agreed never to meet again.”

…Wait. What?

Ariana blinked harder. The man in front of her was vaguely familiar, as if she
had noticed him once many years ago in a crowd. “…Who…”

“I gave you a taste for blood, looks like. Or maybe you already had it?” The
man cocked an eyebrow over at the bedroom.

“…Oh,” she said, rubbing at an eye with the back of her hand. “You’re that
guy.” Fake trainer card guy. Now she remembered.

“I get that a lot.” He grinned. She could see now he had on a long, white coat
with a subtle red R stitched near the top, where a breast pocket would be, and
a black, rimmed hat that nearly covered his eyes. “He was my superior, you
know.”

“You pissed?” she asked, trying to read him. He didn’t look it.

“Nah. Just leaves another opening. Another opening, all down the ranks.”

She missed his meaning, distracted by a movement out of the corner of her eye.
The Murkrow had abandoned its owner to come sit with her, it looked like. The
Pokémon was still watching her unsettlingly, with its head tilted just so.

The unremarkable man nodded at the bird. “You could take her, if you wanted.
You earned it. She seems to have taken a shining to you, anyway.”

While Ariana blinked in confusion, he let a Pokéball roll to a stop on the
table next to her armchair as he moved to take a seat in a similar chair across
the way. Slowly, she picked it up and returned the Murkrow to its depths,
mostly to rid herself of that glassy gaze. But it was like second nature to
afterwards attach the ball to her belt, right by the one holding her Gloom.

The man grinned his forgettable grin.

“How’d you like to join Team Rocket, Ariana?”

As if she’d acquired some of the bird’s habits, she watched the man quietly for
a while, with eyes narrowed in suspicion and appraisal and thoughtfulness. She
had cursed, and fought, and broken things, and hurt people, and gotten in where
she wasn’t meant to be, and stolen, and cheated, and lied. She had repaid debts
with sex. And she was a murderer, now; one Pokémon, one person. Somehow, she
doubted anything Team Rocket asked her to do could be much worse than what
she’d already done.

And it sounded like they needed someone who was willing to get her hands dirty.

“Why not,” she shrugged. “Where do I sign?”
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
