The Striaton City Gym and Restaurant both open at around ten a.m. for both brunch and battles. That means I only had to wait half an hour to go inside the building in order to wait another eight hours before the bar opens.

Believe me, it's not as bad as it sounds.

"Tristan...umm..." Cilan starts. He eyes my empty glass in my hands. My fingertips spin the glass in place on my right side. In front of me is an empty bowl of a relatively inexpensive fourteen pokédollar lemon-chicken-rice meal. Lucky for me, seconds are on the house.

"Yes, Cilan?" I respond. His emerald eyes look up at me as he polishes a glass.

"A third bowl will cost you, er, seven pokédollars," he states simply. He snaps his fingers suddenly with his free hand. A Pansage jumps up from behind the counter and picks up my bowl. The slicked back green tuft on its head vaguely resembles a green tuft on a certain barkeeper's head. Now that I think about it, is that Pansage male or female?

"This isn't violating health codes, is it?" I ask Cilan, pointing to the Pansage. Cilan chuckles softly as he places a glass down. He grabs the bowl the Pansage hands him with his left hand. He adjusts his bow tie with his right.

"Cress, Chili, and I go through very extensive measures to provide a healthy, clean environment. My Pansage, she washes her whole body every time before work. We, um, have the permits...if you're seriously interested," he answers. I look past Cilan to the numerous bottles of various alcohol behind him. He notices me as he leans on the counter to block my view.

"If you're, er, thinking of getting something, I'm going to have to decline it if it's, yknow, alcoholic. You are only eighteen after all," Cilan says nervously. For a man of Grass-type Pokémon to steal my thunder, it pains me to know how far I've fallen in my short eighteen years of life.

"...so I can't order a cocktail?" I ask him. Cilan stands up straight as his confidence grows along with it. He looks over in the distance where the bar is. I figure guests as well as his brothers are out in the lobby.

"You can order a non-alcoholic cocktail," he muses, turning his back to me. I stare at him for a moment. Is that a challenge?

"I'll do that then," I say simply. Cilan's head turns to me. His trademark smile beams brightly. His happiness almost blinds me.

"Cinderella it is," he replies. When Cilan turns around, he has a cocktail shaker in his right hand and a glass in his left. He places both down and grabs a towel from behind the counter, wiping his hands. He then looks over to his Pansage.

"A Cinderella," he says softly to it. The Pansage salutes as she jumps down from the bar's wooden counter. After a bit of muffled noise, a metal fruit squeezer appears on the counter along with a small pair of metal tongs.

Cilan crouches down slightly under the counter. He pulls out nine berries: three small ocean blue ones, three bright yellow ones each with a point on one end, and three brownish-yellow striped ones each with a green tuft at the top. The last one resembles his Pansage.

He then squeezes each and every berry carefully. He has a balance between force and grace. It's both precise and spontaneous. He adds all three to his metal cocktail shaker. His deftness with his hands show his adeptness at mixing. He's almost a different person when he's got a shaker or Poké Ball in hand.

He finally grabs the metal tongs and reaches under the counter. With the tongs appears a piece of ice as he adds it to the shaker.

"This ice...is fresh everyday from one of Cress's Pokémon," Cilan tells me. He then picks up the shaker with both hands and begins to churn the drink within. After a minute or so, he pours the cocktail from the shaker into the glass he places in front of me earlier.

"A Cinderella. A non-alcoholic cocktail for the patron. That will, yknow, increase your current tab even more," Cilan smiles, turning back around. I stare at it for a moment as I hold the glass in my hand.

"What is in this, exactly?" I ask him. Cilan turns to me as he dips back down under the counter. He then grabs one of each of the same berries he had earlier.

"One thirds Oran Berry juice. One thirds Nomel Berry juice. One thirds Pinap Berry juice. And ice. Served on the rocks fresh," he explains. He then pulls the berries back and puts them down out of sight. He wipes the counter down with a towel as he moves over to a bar sink and rinses the shaker he used previously.

I look back to the drink. The ice floats ominously in the glass. I look up and see Cress has mysteriously taken the place of Cilan. The blue haired brother smiles coolly as he wipes the counter.

"Tristan, a word of advice...bartenders generally feel uneasy when you don't drink right away. Especially with a short cocktail like a Cinderella, which should be finished within three sips," Cress explains, pointing to my glass, "The ice starts to melt and changes the flavor dramatically."

I look back to the glass called the Cinderella. Somehow, even with the blue berry mixed in, the color remains tropically yellow-orange. I gulp down whatever fear I have left. My first cocktail would happen now.

I take a sip. The sweetness and sourness blend together smoothly with utter perfection. The ice seems to cool the drink down to a feasible temperature, despite all the heat created through shaking. There is no pulp to speak of.

"Phenomenal. Thank you, Cilan," I say simply. I look over to where he was earlier. He seems to be gone. Cress then clears his throat, gaining my attention. He wipes his hands on his white apron as he grasps a towel in his hand.

"We rotate shifts of bartender, lobby, and second floor. He's currently second floor," Cress says, motioning towards the balcony of the bar. I look back and see him in the upstairs venue, wiping tables and checking incenses with a swift sniff. He notices my stare and waves to me. I quickly turn back around to Cress.

"So...now your tab is at four hundred twenty pokédollars. Give or take a pokédollar or two," Cress says, pulling out a notepad from under the counter. Though I'm no expert at reading upsidedown, I recognize Tristan and the numbers in a glance. He scribbles the new number and hides it away under the counter.

"I'm glad you three are taking such studious records of my transactions. And holding me accountable," I comment, sipping the cocktail. Despite it being nonalcoholic, having a go-to drink to order at a bar raises my self-esteem and my inner adult sophistication from the bottom pits of the last circle in hell up towards the penultimate circle of hell.

I still have a long way to go.

"There's actually a reason we are reminding you everyday. And I bet you can guess what that reason is," Cress says as he wipes down the counter to my far right. I cough as the cocktail goes down my throat the wrong way.

"You seriously want me to pay that enormous thing?" I ask him, astonished at the request. Cress nods confidently as he walks back towards me. He crosses his arms as he speaks.

"Well we certainly aren't going to let you run scot free. And seeing as you've hit four-twenty, it's now a good time as ever," he explains. In my mind, all the meals and drinks come flowing back to me. From the neapolitan to the soups to the salad greens...I wish I could just give it all back to them at that very moment.

Unfortunately, vomiting up four hundred twenty dollars worth of restaurant food is something I can't feasibly imagine my body accomplishing.

"Your tab is rather outstanding..." Cress adds in, fueling the fire of the situation I'm in. Taking into account how far behind I'm already in with my rent, a four hundred dollar tab isn't going to help my situation any.

"Maybe it's a sign you need to make your food less expensive," I retort to him. Cress chuckles softly at my logic.

"Perhaps we should've made your tab three hundred dollars instead of four hundred. Either way, we'd remind you every single day," Cress says to me. He picks up the wiping rag and begin to clean glasses. He then snaps his fingers. A Panpour jumps up from behind the counter, giving him a salute.

"Some water, Panpour?" he asks, motioning behind the counter on the far wall. I spy a stack of dirty plates from the restaurant and glasses from the bar. The Panpour happily guns a stream of water, where I assume it collects in some sort of sink that I can barely make out.

"So you want the money," I conclude. Cress chuckles as steam starts to rise from the sink.

"You catch on quick." Cress answers, turning towards the sink. He notices the heat of the water. "Ahh a Scald. Thank you Panpour."

The Panpour salutes happily. I can't help but have a sour taste in my mouth. I know it can't be from the Cinderella, and it perturbs me that I have to scrape together funds for the only restaurant in the city.

I gulp down the last bit of the cocktail. The leftover ice clinks inside the glass. I place the glass down on the counter.

"All right. There's gotta be some quicker way to pay this back," I say aloud. In response, I get yet another chuckle from Cress. The Striaton Brothers sure do enjoy chuckling at my discomfort.

"Us brothers have a proposition for you...if you're willing to hear it," Cress says slyly. I raise an eyebrow in both caution and curiosity.

This scenario is too transparent. This is obviously some way to take advantage of my situation to achieve some ulterior motive of the triplets. It has glaring red flashing lights shouting at me this is a trap! that would make Chili jealous.

This is one of those traps you know you don't want to fall for (yet take the bait anyway).

"I'm listening," I say vaguely. I know hastily agreeing would only bring hardship. It'd be like accepting a premature marriage proposal. It'd only end in a divorce and hardship for one or both parties. The best thing at this point I can do is leave my few options open.

The leverage these three brothers have over me is concerning. Instead of the Three Brothers of Striaton, I think they are more appropriately the Three Bothers of Striaton.

"I'm glad you're listening. I'll show you what we precisely want," Cress says. As he says it, he turns his focus towards the entranceway. A tall, lanky man walks in. His dark tattered clothes make him look like he just went through a storm. He meanders towards the bar counter and sits down on a stool at the far end to my right. His elbows rest on the table as he puts his hand on the table.

"Barkeep, a drink," he says simply. Cress looks to me with a smile.

"Of course," he says, winking at me. He then leans in towards me, his blue hair falling over one of his eyes, holding his hand near his mouth as he speaks softly.

"I'll show you right now," he whispers, winking, "what exactly we want done. You're lucky you're getting a front row seat of the action."