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Taste of Defeat

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The battle had gone by like a blur, ended almost as soon as it had started.  Who knew a kid would have the potential to beat Circhester's pride and joy?  Such a good kid, they gave a real firm handshake, doing a little giddy dance as they put their emblem piece together.  It was so adorable, and so.... patronizing.

Gordie slumped down on a locker room bench with his head in his hands.  He hated losing!  It wasn't his best trait, Gordie knew that much.  The best trainers were supposed to lose with dignity, with style, with grace!  All the things he had, according to his fans - well, perhaps not the dignity part.  Nonetheless, there were thousands of people out there who loved him and found his behavior endearing...

...But there was at least one person who didn't.  His mother would chew him out for being such a sore loser.  The only thing worse than a failure of a son was a failure that didn't know what to do with himself, at least, that's the message he came to understand from her words.  "You can't expect to win all the time", "It's unprofessional the way you're acting", "Do you expect to become a better trainer by wallowing in defeat?".   Maybe there was more going on in his head than he thought.

Still, he didn't care.  The muffled cheers of the crowd only made him more upset about his loss, the press pounding on the locked door wanting to get a word with the pathetic gym leader behind it.

.

.

.

At least, when the day was done, Gordie could go home and have time to himself, without the cheers and jeers of the crowd to hammer in just how pathetic it was to lose to a child. 

Unsure of what to do with himself, he wondered around the house.   Maybe he could distract himself with a movie? No, flipping through the channels would undoubtedly lead to a rehashing of his earlier battle.  He could just lay in bed?  No, being that alone with his thoughts was too disheartening... Maybe this, maybe that...?

He found himself in the kitchen, holding open the door to the refrigerator.  This tended to happen a lot, even if he weren't hungry, and especially if he were bored.  Looking through the fridge is something everybody does subconsciously, some more than others.  Gordie wasn't looking for anything in particular, really just something to take his mind off of losing- and he had found it.  A cake, sitting on the shelf at his eye level, with strawberries in an upright position on eight pre-cut slices with a wrapper around each of them.  Perhaps it was something his mother had made, for what he did not know, but he didn't give it any consideration.  She wouldn't preemptively bake a cake for any sort of celebration, and certainly not for him.  So he grabbed the box and shut the door.