Oscar the Trubbish and Phones the Phione walked and bounced through the small city of Pokemon. Oscar looked at Phones. He couldn’t quite figure her out, but he didn’t need to. She was just on her own wavelength, which was fine with him because it meant she didn’t care about his smell. She was a rebel. Maybe she liked putrid smells? She seemed to look for excitement, anyway. She didn’t take anything from anyone, either.
Oscar on the other hand took abuse from everyone. No one had ever liked him due to his horrid smell. So he wouldn’t question Phones. She hung out with him; that was good enough for him.
“Yo, O-dawg,” Phones said. “Don’t look now, but looks like some fool’s following us.”
Oscar turned around. “There is?” A mess of pinkish feathers walked behind them: an Aromatisse.
“I said don’t look,” Phones said.
The Aromatisse stopped. They then walked closer. “Ah. Yes. Apologies, but I seek advice from you, Herr Unratütox.”
“Uh?” Oscar said.
“Sorry, what is the name? Trubbish, yes?”
“My name’s Oscar.”
“Ah. Oscar. I am a purveyor of odors of all kinds: sweet, foul, fragrant, putrid… but your scent is stronger than anything I’ve ever smelled. I wish to know how you make it.”
“I wish I could know, too,” Oscar said. “Then I could stop.”
“Perhaps I could conduct some experiments,” Aromatisse said. “Find out what makes you smell.”
“I dunno ’bout this,” Phones said.
“No worries,” said the Aromatisse. They removed a bonesaw from their feathers, and Oscar and Phones stepped back. “I promise it will only hurt a little bit.”
-Odemon #683 Aromatisse
Duth Olec's Cuckoo Cosmos 