Rolling writer
I liked that scene as well.Thanks for stopping by, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story! PM list updated.
Chapter 24 will be here soon, just so everyone knows. I decided to make some changes to it before posting, but they shouldn't take too long to finish.
The story of Professor Rowan - Chapter 34 is up!
Other Works:Cave Guardian ♦ Cheater ♦ Contests ♦ Maids
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Rolling writer
After a good few weeks in the making... and editing... here's Chapter 24!
2.4
By the time Michael and Henry left the Gym, the sun had emerged from the clouds and was making its way to the center point in the sky. The town was bathed in light, and the streets that had been nearly empty before were now abuzz with morning activity. Michael was startled by the change; it seemed that he had been so caught up in the battle that he hadn’t even noticed the time go by.
Neither of them had forgotten about their arrangement with Leroy. Immediately upon leaving the building, Michael turned onto the path they had followed the previous day, rounding the corner of the Gym to find the tree they had agreed to meet by. But no one was there. Turning back towards the sidewalk, Michael saw lots of trainers passing by the building, but none of them had curly red hair, or wore the staff uniform.
Refusing to believe Leroy hadn’t showed, Michael continued down the side of the building, till he reached the back corner, well out of view from the front. It was a dead end, however, a shady thicket of trees and tall bushes. Henry ran to catch up with him, scanning the area.
“Do you see anyone?” the boy asked.
Michael shook his head. He was about to turn back, when a faint plip sound issued from somewhere nearby. Michael stopped for a moment, thinking he had imagined it. The sound came again, this time louder. He looked up at Henry.
“Did you hear that?”
Henry nodded slowly. They turned back towards the bushes, and Michael stepped closer to them, cupping a hand around his ear. Henry did he same. Plip-plip. Then came a sharp metallic clang of someone dropping a metal bucket, followed by a low, angered murmur. Michael pulled apart the wall of bushes like a curtain and peered inside. What he saw surprised him—there was a sunny, untouched clearing hidden away behind the Gym, almost like a remnant of small forest that might have stood there before the structure was built. The grass was thin and soft, and there was a small pond located in the middle, its banks receding from years of erosion.
Leroy sat with his sneakers in the dirt, his back turned, a fishing pole dipped into the water. A metal bucket stood beside him, empty save for a few Magikarp. The boy had not noticed their arrival. He continued to sit still as Michael and Henry approached, his gaze fixed on the water’s surface. Then, at the sound of their advancing footsteps, Leroy’s head twitched to the side in alarm. When his eyes alighted upon the boys, Leroy smacked his forehead and let out a laugh.
“Oh, hey!” he said. “Sorry, you guys scared me for a minute there. I didn’t know exactly when you’d be out, so I was going to come by the tree after I made one more catch.” Just then, Leroy felt a tug on the edge of his line, and turned back to the water. He twisted the crank, and a wriggling Magikarp was yanked out of the water, its red scales glistening as it flopped about like a yo-yo. Leroy pulled it over into the grass and removed the hook from its mouth. Then, with a sigh, he tossed it back into the pond.
“There’s nothing good in the water here,” he said. “I’ve gotten five of these already.” Leroy gathered up the rest of the line and placed the fishing pole into the grass. Then, leaning back on his hands, he looked at Michael and Henry. “So how did the battles go?”
“I won mine,” said Henry brightly. “It was close, though. My partner almost got my Starly, but we pulled through.”
Michael gave a half-hearted nod. “I lost. But with freaking Lona as your referee, it’s hard not to.”
Leroy’s eyebrows climbed. “Whoa, you had Lona? Then it’s no wonder. She doesn’t take it easy on anyone, especially if you’re a newcomer.” He rose to his feet, brushing dirt and grass from his pants. “Well, I suppose we should get started. Just send out your pokémon so I can take a look at them, okay? No one ever comes around here, so we won’t get caught.”
Nodding, Michael dropped his backpack onto the ground, and one by one, released the members of his team. Henry did the same, and a sequence of heavy, exhausted pokémon plopped into a disorganized mess on the grass. All of Michael’s pokémon were fainted, and barely moved. Most of Henry’s were as well, save for Starly, who managed to shift around every so often, chirping weakly.
Leroy carefully stepped around the group and took a look at each of their teams in turn. “Yeah… hmm… okay.” He rubbed his chin. “Both of you are on even ground when it comes to counters. Michael, your Turtwig is obviously weak to Poison, because he’s grass, and your Caterpie is resistant to Fighting. Henry, your Burmy is good against Fighting. I’m not sure about Clefable, though… since when did you have one?”
“Clefairy evolved,” said Henry, smiling. “And she’s gotten a lot tougher since then.”
Leroy nodded. “That’s pretty cool. I never knew Clefairies evolved. Do you know what type she is now?”
Henry shrugged. “Well, Clefairies are Normal type, so… would that mean that Clefables are too?” He looked at Leroy first, then at Michael.
“Well, I guess so,” Michael replied. “How did she do in battle? Did your opponent use any Fighting moves?”
“A little bit… She didn’t take them that well, though. She sort of stumbled a bit after a few Focus Punches.” Henry fell silent.
“Then she must have some sort of weakness to Fighting,” Michael said.
“But how? She did really well when we battled Jerry’s Gallade.”
“But that was only one pokémon,” said Leroy. “And Gallade isn’t even pure Fighting. If Clefable’s going to be bombarded with physical hits over and over again, she might faint faster. I don’t know much about your pokémon, Henry, but when you’re dealing with Lona’s Gym, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Both of you need to catch at least two good counters. That, or catch one counter and teach the rest of your pokémon Psychic or Flying moves.”
“Okay, but how would you actually do that?” Michael said. “We were talking about that yesterday. How do you get a pokémon to learn a move it wouldn’t normally learn by growing?”
Leroy’s face froze for a moment, and he laughed nervously. “Uh… it’s pretty hard, actually. I don’t know how to do it, but I’ve heard about it from people, and they say it’s pretty complicated. It’s sort of like physical therapy. You guide the pokémon’s motions, and somehow or other you get it to realize in its brain what that particular move is supposed to be. None of the trainers I’ve talked with can do it, because… well, you know. What ten- or eleven-year-old would want to study that instead of battling?”
Michael was about to let out a sigh, but then Leroy held up his finger. “But! I’ll tell you what you can do. If you want to teach one of your pokémon a move, you should go see the Move Tutor. He lives right here in town, and I’m telling you, that guy is amazing. I met him by accident when I was taking a walk one day. He teaches moves to trainers’ pokémon for a really low price. You guys should pay him a visit.”
“Where does he live?” Michael asked.
“Not too far from here, actually. Go past the marketplace and take a left turn on Lester Road, and you’ll reach a small section of houses. He doesn’t have a sign or anything, but his mailbox number is 4112. Easy to remember.”
Michael nodded. “All right. It’s worth a shot. You dig, Henry?”
Henry smiled. “Sure.”
Leroy clapped his hands together. “Great. So, that’s all you need to do, I guess. Just be sure to catch a Flying or Psychic pokémon. There are a few that live around Route 209, so you should take a look there.”
“Could you show us, though?” Henry said. “Around the route and stuff. We’re not that familiar with the town yet, so we could use some help.”
“Sure thing,” said Leroy. “Just let me get all this put away. I have a room at the Trainer Hotel, so if you’ll give me a minute, I’ll drop it off there.” Leroy lifted the bucket and swung the fishing pole over his shoulder.
The three of them left the thicket and went back to the hotel, where Leroy ran over to the elevators to reach his room. In the meantime, Michael and Henry visited the hotel’s convenience store to replenish their supply of pokéballs. After experiencing a brief mental debate while looking at the racks, Michael decided not to squander this time, and bought four new capsules. The money pocket in his backpack thinned significantly, but he knew he would have to spend it all sooner or later.
Henry bought four new pokéballs as well, plus a spare, for which he bought a purple sticker and stuck it right above the red knob on the center. “We’ll use this for Stunky,” he said, looking at Michael. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Michael shrugged. “I guess not. It beats carrying that cage around everywhere.”
Henry nodded. “Right.”
They packed away their purchases and left for the lobby, where they found Leroy in the sitting area. He was dressed for a full day outdoors; he wore a visor and shorts, and carried a messenger bag over his shoulder. When they walked in, he stood up. “Ready, guys?” he said. “I brought sunblock in case either of you need it. It’s a big route, and we’ll be out there for a while.”
“We’re set,” Michael said.
Leroy smiled. “All right, let’s go!”
He led them out the door, turning onto the footpath that ran alongside the street. The boys followed a network of small roads until they reached the central avenue, which was six lanes wide, and bisected the town in a perfectly straight path, north to south. Traffic flowed into it from smaller roads on either side, which branched into the main road like veins, and coalesced into a plethora of shops, signs, and people that moved like one big river in both directions.
Looking over the dusty cars and wooden wagons that trailed along his side, Michael could see all the way to Route 209, a miniscule spot of dark green trees and hills to the south. The boys made their way down the main road, crossing block after block, until the traffic suddenly branched off into a separate direction, and the town gradually yielded to the dominance of nature. The paved roadway faded, the buildings disappeared, and the crowds trickled away, leaving only a dirt path, which continued to wind its way through a landscape of hills and ankle-length grass. The route was thicker with plant life than the rest of the neighboring countryside had been. It consisted of mostly underbrush and small trees, though occasionally a tall one would crop up to cast a generous amount of shade over the boys’ heads.
It was nature on a level second only to Eterna. The only sign of human presence was the path that was smoothed out from the soil, and the occasional directional sign propped up by a wooden pole. Looking out from his position, Michael saw the path continue on for some time, then vanish completely in the throes of the underbrush.
“Wow…” came a sigh from Henry. “This place is beautiful!”
“Yeah, it’s not bad,” said Leroy, placing his hands on his hips and looking up. “I’ve been here a couple times, and it’s got a lot of pokémon. Trainers love it. But wait till you see Route 210. That is twice the fun.” He smiled. “It’s got grass that’s almost up to your knees, and lots of hills and mud and stuff. I’ll have to show you sometime.”
“Definitely,” Henry said.
The boys went farther in, taking a moment to look around. Michael quickly saw that they weren’t alone—presently, a group of thirty or so trainers was gathered a little bit ahead of them, following a tour guide with a sunhat and glasses. He beckoned to the trainers as he led them around, pointing out various things in the landscape and spending a good minute talking about each of them. His voice, and the chatter of the trainers, were a steady hum in the background.
“So what kinds of Bird pokémon are supposed to live here?” asked Michael.
Leroy pursed his lips. “Well… of course there are Starlies here. There are always Starlies… I saw some Staravias at one point too. I heard that there were Zubats, but I never got a chance to check. You have to get here at night to see them.”
“What about Psychics?”
“Mime Jr. and Ralts,” said Leroy, and winced slightly. “I tried catching a Ralts for my Dex, but they keep on teleporting. And it sucks, because I really want one. So, unless you want to spend the next two hours chasing a tiny pokémon around the whole countryside, I’d stick to whatever comes first.”
Having never seen a Ralts in the wild before, Michael decided to take Leroy’s word for it. “What about the Mime Jr.s?” he said. “I could raise it and have a badass Mr. Mime like Jerry.”
Leroy chuckled. “They’re not as bad as the Ralts are, but they’re good at hiding. We’ll have to keep an eye out.”
As the three boys continued through the route, the tour group progressed alongside them. The guide was leading his trainers without any regards to the main path, breaking off at various points to point out an intriguing plant or pokémon that had come into view. Presently, the tour guide came to a stop beside a clump of odd-looking trees. Their leaves were pale green, but their crowns blossomed with such a multitude of yellow flowers that the color overwhelmed everything else. The trainers oooohed with wonder.
The tour guide looked up at the trees, gesturing at the flowers. “And now, if you look right up ‘ere, you’ll see perhaps the most notorious little tree in all of Solaceon. They’re called Honey Trees, so named because of the famil’ar coloring of the blooms, and from the fact that they’re visited daily by Combees who pollinate them to make their honey. But what’s int’rsting about them the scent they give off makes pokémon come runnin’. Especially rare ones, pokémon that you might only find ‘round here.”
“Excuse me?” A young trainer raised his hand. “What kinds of pokémon do you mean?”
The tour guide smiled. “Good question. We’ve seen Munchlaxes here, Bonslies, oh, even a few Cherrim at one point, and Starlies…”
Michael was only half paying attention to the tour guide’s distant words. He was more preoccupied with the route, scanning his vicinity for any sign of bird pokémon. He occasionally saw a Starly, but the birds were too high up for an accurate throw to be possible. In contrast, there seemed to be an endless abundance of pokémon down below: Caterpies crawling up trees, Bidoofs peeking out from holes in the ground, and Aipoms scampering across branches. But for now, they served only as distractions.
Leroy seemed to know where he was going for the most part, but as he too became caught up in the search, Michael noticed that they began to get sidetracked, straying from the path whenever they caught a glimpse of a promising pokémon, following a scent that often led them in circles.
They managed to stay out of the tour group’s way for a good while, but when it became clear that neither Michael nor his friends were making any sort of progress, and were instead leading themselves further and further into unknown territory, they had no choice but to tag along behind the trainers.
Michael kept his gaze fixed overhead, relentlessly scanning the treetops, only looking down periodically to make sure he hadn’t lagged too far behind. Henry and Leroy were silent beside him, being occupied with their own searching. Though neither boy seemed to notice, Michael was beginning to grow aware of a faint, musical chirping rising out from the silence, growing progressively louder as they walked.
The tour group came to a stop again, this time for a break. The trainers gathered around a row of tall trees, while the tour guide began a lecture on burrowing pokémon. Michael, Henry, and Leroy stopped just a few yards away, squatting down by a clump of bushes. Michael took the time to sweep the treetops again, and nudged Henry on the shoulder.
“Do you see anything up there?” he asked, for the umpteenth time that day, squinting against the sunlight.
Seconds later came the reply: “Shut up!”
Michael turned around, his eyes finding Henry in a flash. “What?”
But the boy looked back at him quizzically. “Huh? I didn’t say anything.”
Michael paused. After a brief silence, he continued with the only logical reply. “Yes you did.”
“No I didn’t,” Henry insisted, confusion plain on his face. “Honest. What did you hear?”
“‘Shut up’.”
Henry frowned. “Well, it wasn’t me. Maybe it was the trainers?”
Michael shook his head. “No. The voice was close. It was—” But before he could finish, he was cut off by a loud snapping sound.
“I stole George’s wallet!” someone sang.
Michael and Henry whirled around to face Leroy, the only other body in the vicinity. At the same time, Leroy turned to face them, wearing a mild expression of annoyance.
“Okay, who keeps saying that?” he asked. “Seriously, stop.”
“It’s not me!” Michael said.
“Or me,” Henry cut in.
“Shut up, shut up!” said the voice, this time more forcefully than before. All three boys jumped. Henry stood up and began to spin around in circles, eyes searching for the source of the sound. “It sounds like it’s coming from somewhere up there.” He pointed to a thin tree that stood nearby, at a middle point between them and the tour group. It had huge, fan-like leaves that blocked most of its inner structure from view.
“I stole George’s wallet, now he has to wear a bonnet!”
Michael looked over to the tree. Slowly, he stepped away from Henry and Leroy and advanced towards it. To his right, the tour group had also stilled, and appeared to be listening in. As he stepped into the tree’s shadow, Michael ducked his head in an attempt to see behind the branches.
Suddenly, something small and brown flew out from behind the leaves and hit Michael on the head. He stumbled back, slamming his hand onto the spot and caught the object by reflex. It was a large nut.
“A penny for your troubles, sir, now go on and kick some dirt!”
Clenching his fist around the projectile, Michael chucked it back at the tree, watching it part the leaves as it whooshed by. Immediately, a chorus of loud, angry voices erupted from behind the branches, along with the rush of flapping wings that sounded like a waterfall.
“Ow!” one of the voices exclaimed.
“Owwwwww!” the others echoed.
“Help!” began another. “Help us, help!”
The resulting cries sounded similarly panicked. “Help! Help!”
Michael stared dumbly up at the talking tree, frozen in place. Henry and Leroy came to his side moments later, mouths agape. One by one, the voices lost their harmony, and broke off into several different tempos, like blinking Christmas lights. The first voice, the one Michael already recognized, kept repeating the same two lines about George. The others responded with their unfinished cries of ‘Help!’, or began to chirp other lines of their own invention. After a few seconds, almost like an automated recording, the squawking faded, leaving behind a peaceful, humming silence.
Suddenly, Michael heard a hark-hark behind him. He turned, and saw that the tour guide was laughing. “Ah, ‘ere we are!” the man said, and with a snap of his fingers, hurried over to the tree. Like a crowd at a zoo, the trainers shuffled after him, and grouped around the three boys. The tour guide stepped in front of them all and spread his arms out wide. “What you have just heard is a flock of Chatots, trainers. They’re sneaky little birds, and they have a very good ear for human speech. They dwell most’ly in the tropics, especially further down by Pastoria, but occasionally can be found making their homes here. The females have slightly duller coloring, and larger beaks. You’ll definitely be able to tell them apart.”
“Chatot Chatot! Chatalot!”
In response to his words, a tiny body emerged from somewhere in the crown of the tree, and hopped down onto a branch in full view. It was a large bird. Its round belly was colored a bright yellow, its wings a deep blue. A ring of white feathers formed a funny-looking ruff around its neck, contrasting sharply with its black head. The bird peered down at the crowd of people, cocking its head to the side.
“Trainers! Trainers no-brainers!” it croaked.
The statement did not seem at all flattering, but the kids around Michael gasped in awe, clapping their hands over their mouths. “They’re so cute! Can I catch one, sir?” asked a young girl.
“I want one too!” said another trainer.
The tour guide chuckled. “If the Chatots don’t get the upper hand first, that is! They’re clever creatures. Mighty clever.” Nonetheless, he beckoned, and stepped aside to invite the trainers to move forward. A few of them separated themselves from the group, pulling out pokéballs from various pockets.
At the sounds of stirring commotion from down below, several more birds hopped into view beside the first. Their plumage displayed various patterns of pink, blue, black, and yellow. Some even had wings of opposite colors, and others had a mix of many on each. Michael made his decision in a heartbeat. Dropping his backpack into the grass, he pulled out a spare pokéball and approached the tree with the other trainers. The birds did not stir at the humans’ proximity; rather, for the time being, it seemed to entertain them. They looked down at the trainers, craning their necks and chirping, while Michael looked up, unsure how to best proceed.
The kids around him tried various methods, none of them successful. One girl took out a pouch of treats and proffered them from her palm. “Here, birdy-birds. Come and get a snack!” The Chatots blinked at the sight of food, but none of them were dimwitted enough to fly down.
Another boy began to throw pebbles up at the tree, following Michael’s example in an attempt to startle them. The Chatots responded by beating their wings and squawking angrily, but none of them stirred from their spots. Evidently, they had been bothered this way many times before, and had mastered the art of negotiation. The boy tried throwing other, larger objects, but by the time he realized that his efforts were futile, he had gotten one of his pokéballs caught in a tangle of branches, along with a clear plastic case. Michael had a strong suspicion that this was how George had lost his wallet.
The teasing game continued for another whole minute. During that time, Michael stood with his arms crossed, the pokéball clutched loosely in his right hand, maintaining eye contact with the birds for as long as he could manage before they turned away from him. (He had never seen anyone stare a pokémon down before, but you never knew.)
Then, without warning, one of the trainers finally lost his patience. Slapping his knees in frustration, a short boy whipped out a pokéball from his backpack. “That’s it, I’m sick of this! Go, Marill!” A jet of white rushed out of the capsule, fading to expose a round, blue pokémon. The Marill landed in the grass, its tail bouncing, and the boy pointed up to the branches. “Use Water Gun!”
“No, you idiot!” a girl cried out. Several others echoed her, but they were too late.
The Marill pressed both arms to its fat belly and blasted a jet of water from its mouth, engulfing a whole section of the tree behind a rushing blur. One of the Chatots was knocked off its feet from the force of the impact, and was left gripping the branch with its feet for dear life. Its companions, likewise, were sent into a panic, and began to gab and screech incoherently. The tree began to shake as if from a chain reaction, and the flapping of wings rose to a roar.
The tour guide’s face blanched into a mask of horror. He stumbled back, eyes bulging. “Run!” he called to the trainers. “Get away from the tree, now!”
Before Michael could react, a swarm of Chatots flew out from the tree, like so many leaves stirred up by a storm. They tore into the crowd with vicious speed, their screeches blended in with screams as they pecked and whacked at the children’s heads. Michael found himself caught in a stampede of fleeing trainers, who bumped and pushed, tripping over themselves and each other. Michael held his ground as best as he could, elbowing away trainers who pushed past him, and at the same time trying to locate a bird he could catch. But from the start, it was clear that it would be a vain effort: the Chatots formed a raging cloud that nearly blotted out the rest of the route; flying with such speed that it was impossible to distinguish one bird’s feathers from another’s. Ignoring the tour guide’s warning, a few of the trainers held their own against the attacks, throwing pokéballs at the air in defense. The capsules activated with the sound of a hundred explosions, sucking out one airborne body after another in bursts of brilliant light. Michael narrowed his eyes into slits against the glare, gripping his pokéball tighter and tighter until it seemed like the casing would crack. He couldn’t discern anything in the mess of voices around him, nor in the blizzard of color that flashed with dizzying frequency in his eyes.
In the midst of his attempted concentration, two sharp talons landed in his hair, tangling and pulling it. “George is wallet! George is wallet!”
Without thinking, Michael grabbed the bird by its legs. Ignoring the angered beat of wings against his face, he twisted the pokéball open with his other hand and threw it upward. Hot, white light exploded around him, and for a brilliant, painful moment, Michael could hear the faint whirr of the capsule as it sucked in the tiny mass above him. His arms fell by reflex, hands slamming themselves over his eyes. He stumbled around, dazed by the darkness of his own eyelids and the noises that pelted him from all aides. Without knowing quite how it happened, Michael felt himself collapse into the grass.
The chaos continued around him for a few moments. Then, the noise seemed to die down in waves. The beat of footsteps faded, and the thrum of flapping wings overhead dissipated. Michael slowly opened his eyes. The Chatots were flying back to safety, scattering themselves around the neighboring trees and retreating into the shade. What was left of the tour group had fled the scene as well; many of them were running back in the direction of the town, some with pokéballs and others empty-handed.
Just then, a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him to his feet. “Michael! Are you okay?” came Henry’s voice. The boy had appeared beside him, his hat askew, shirt matted with dirt and blades of grass.
Michael nodded, brushing the debris from his clothes and arms. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. He was still slightly dizzy, however, and after the boy let go, he had a hard time standing straight. A moment later, Leroy approached from the side, looking similarly disheveled, but otherwise unharmed.
“That was insane,” Leroy breathed, his hand pressed to his stomach. “The kid who sent out his Marill was an idiot. I seriously hope that one of those birds got his hat or something.” He swallowed, shaking his head.
Michael scanned the grass around them. “Did either of you see what happened to my pokéball?” he said. “Did I catch anything?”
“I think you did,” Henry replied. “But it was really hard to tell. People were throwing them around like crazy, and in the end they started grabbing capsules that didn’t belong to them. At any rate, this was yours.” He handed Michael a silver ball. It was still warm, and throbbed slightly, as if the pokémon inside was still trying to peck its way out.
Biting his lip, Michael knelt into the grass. “Okay, get ready. It might try to fly away.” Henry and Leroy gathered around him, giving just enough room for the pokémon to emerge. Michael twisted open the capsule, and with a rush of light, a Chatot was thrown out. Its body was positioned as if it was still flying, and its eyes were partly closed as if to protect themselves from the wind. As the white light faded, the pokémon hung over the ground for a few seconds, then plopped face-first into the grass with a human-like oomph! The bird let out a squeal, its feathers ruffling, its wings beating in an attempt to regain awareness of its location. Slowly, it lifted itself to an upright position, its eyes blinking separately at first, then adjusting to their proper rhythm. Up close, the Chatot's colors were even more striking, sharp and even like those of a hand-painted toy. Henry and Leroy immediately knelt into the grass, linking their arms with Michael’s to form a triangular cage around the pokémon. The Chatot looked around at the them, its large eyes blinking.
“Trainers no-brainers?” it said, clicking its pink beak. “Fly?”
“No, stay!” Michael growled.
“Fly!”
“No, we’re your friends!” said Henry. “You don’t have to fly away from us!”
“Fly!” the Chatot retorted. “Fly! Friends! Fly!” It began to flap its wings, lifting a foot in preparation to take off. In response, the boys leaned in further, till their heads were almost touching. The bird continued to fidget, poking its head at them, trying to find a big enough opening in their stances to wedge itself through. When it finally realized that there were none, the bird settled down, and almost sulkily began to pace around in circles, making hm-hm noises to itself, as if sorely disappointed by its situation.
“Fly! Ends!” it began again. “Ly! Elp! My… elp!”
“Yeah, that’s right. Stay,” Michael said. “You’ve just been made an honorary member of Team Michael Rowan. And I’m Michael Rowan.” He gave the bird a glare, trying to telepathically tell it to behave. But it continued to jabber, repeating the same string of fragmented words.
“Fly! Ends! Elp my!”
“Hang on, I think it’s trying to talk,” said Leroy. Carefully, he lowered his arms and placed them on his knees. “Can you talk?”
The bird turned to Leroy, its tail flicking. “Know!” it repeated. “No-no!”
“Aww, will you try?” Henry said. “Please? Say ‘Hello. My name is Chatot!’”
“Please!” chirped the bird. “Ello aym atot!”
“No no no, you gotta give him a little help,” Michael said. He cleared his throat and pointed his finger at the bird, saying his words slowly and precisely. “We — are — your — friends... You — will— not—fly —away…”
“Help! Help!” the Chatot interrupted. “Little help! Friends!”
Michael stopped. “Huh?”
Right then, the scatterbrained bird seemed to finally find its groove. It began to sway, tapping its feet in an attempted dance. “Get by with a little elp from my frends! Elp from my frends!”
Suddenly, Michael’s face broke out into a smile. “Ha! Someone’s been teaching this thing Beatles lyrics. That’s boss.” He leaned closer to the bird, his grin spreading. “Hey, what else do you know?”
“Know it’s mine! When it turn out the light!”
“This bird is far-out,” Michael laughed. He held out his finger, and the Chatot nibbled it. “I bet he can sing the whole Sgt. Pepper’s album. Hey, do you know ‘Getting Better’?”
The Chatot shook its head, continuing its crackly melody. “Elp from my friends! Turn out the light! Know it’s mine!”
Leroy joined in. “How about ‘Fixing a Hole’?”
“No-no-no!”
“Lucy in the sky?” Henry tried.
But the Chatot continued to sing its only melody, replacing the song’s lyrics with the words the boys kept feeding it, till its composition made no sense whatsoever. Sitting back on his legs, Michael sighed. “I guess that’s the only song this guy knows. Hey bird, why do you like that song so much? Are you Ringo Starr or something?”
The Chatot cocked its head at Michael. “Ring-go! Elp from my friends!” It ruffled its wings and tucked them neatly against its sides. It seemed to have lost all interest in flying away, being more entertained with giving its mini-production. Or maybe it had grown to like them already. Whatever the reason, Michael had the feeling that he had made a very good catch.
Still laughing a bit to himself, Michael shook his head in response to the Chatot’s curious silence. “Well, then I guess you are,” he said.
“How’s it hanging, Ringo?” Leroy proffered his forefinger, and the bird allowed him to stroke its head.
“Try to make him sit on your arm!” Henry suggested to Michael.
Michael shrugged. “Sure.” He held out his arm, lowering it into the grass in front of the bird. Slowly, the Chatot lifted a foot and placed it on his hand. Then the other. The skin on the bird’s feet was rough and bumpy, and its claws prickled his arm, though not altogether in a painful way. As the three boys stood up, the Chatot shuffled around to find its balance, settling midway to Michael's elbow. Its weight felt foreign at first to him, but gradually, he became used to its presence.
Michael walked around for a bit, keeping his arm extended in front of him, while the bird shuffled around, peering first at the trees, then back at the two boys who followed behind.
“Well, that was a good day,” Henry said, he and Leroy falling into step beside Michael. “Now you finally have a Flying type for the Gym.”
Michael nodded. “Yup. Now all I’ve gotta do is see what moves he knows, train him up a bit, and then I’ll be set.” He looked over to Ringo, giving his arm a light shake. “Ready to show Lona Walker who’s boss?”
“Ringo! Alker! Boss!”
Michael grinned. Though the bird could speak only a few words at a time, he had no doubt that they saw eye-to-eye on the matter.
“Hooo-boy...” Leroy exhaled, a gesture mixed with humor and disbelief as he watched the bird. “Wait till everyone sees you have a Chatot. He’ll be a hit at the Gym. I’ve heard that they can be really… rambunctious.” He smiled. “Mind if I add him to my Dex?”
“Sure,” Michael said, holding out his arm. Ringo shifted around, his eyes finding Leroy as the boy brought out the metallic device.
"Oh, and by the way," said Leroy, as he switched on the screen, "it's official. The lab is drawing up plans for a new model of the Data Exploiter, and they decided to shorten its name. I mentioned 'PokéDex' to them and they liked it. They had a vote, and they decided it was better than the other names that were in the running."
Michael laughed. "Like what?"
"Most of them were similar to yours. I guess there's really not much you can do with the name 'Pokémon Data Exploiter'. There was 'Data-X', 'PDE', 'XPloiter'... I can't remember them all. But 'PokéDex' seemed like the best. Not too short, not too long." When the interface finally finished loading, Leroy snapped his fingers, and opened up a new entry for Chatot. He began to work, fingers strumming on the keypad, and a minute later, held up the finished entry. “Done! Tell me what you think.” He passed the PokéDex to Michael.
No. 130 CHATOT [Flying]
------------------------------
These pokémon are distinguished by their voices, which can imitate a person’s speech almost perfectly. Apart from that, they’re really cunning, and if you’re not careful then they can pull tricks on you like stealing your wallet. They dwell mostly in the tropics, living in large trees with their families. Their feathers are really bright and colorful, but they’re also good at hiding themselves, so you’ll have to look hard in order to find one. They may have a preference for Beatles lyrics, but more study is needed to confirm.
Michael lowered the PokéDex and chuckled. “Nice.”
“Thanks,” said Leroy. “The last line was genius, I think.”
Michael passed the Dex to Henry, who laughed as well when he reached the end. “This is great!” he said. “Yours must be the best entries, Leroy.”
“Nah, they’re not that good. If you could read some of the other kids’ Dexes, you’d be laughing your pants off. The professor’s staff are holding little contests at the end of the session to see who had the funniest entries, the most detailed ones, and all that. But… yeah.” Leroy waved his hand dismissively. “I’m just worried about finishing the whole thing.” Nevertheless, a smile was tugging at the corners of his lips.
After gathering their stuff from the now-empty field, the three boys set out towards Solaceon. With the addition of a Flying type to his team, Michael felt that his odds had significantly improved, though he would need to see what Ringo could do in order to assess his strength. He and Henry agreed to see the Move Tutor before doing any more catching, to see what they could do with the teams they had.
Apart from being Michael’s main hope for the Gym, Ringo turned out to provide lively company along the way. Besides the fact that he could imitate most of what the boys said to him, he had a knack of making up phrases of his own in return, some of which Michael vowed to remember. (Trainers no-brainers and Lona groan-a were among his favorites.) The boys played a sort of game with the bird, having Ringo hop from one arm to the next, occasionally piping his made-up phrases. But the bird seemed to prefer Michael’s shoulder, from where he could turn around freely to glare at anything he liked. The boys laughed and talked to their new companion as they left the route, content to take whatever path they happened upon.
It was past noon when they reached the Trainer’s Hotel. Leroy stopped Michael and Henry by the front doors, saying that his shift would be starting soon. The boys agreed to meet again later that day, if not to catch pokémon then to simply wander about the town. It was something that, for once, Michael could look forward to.
Before the trio parted ways, Leroy showed them the Dex entries for Lona’s entire team, as a token of good luck for the battles to come.
No. 125 HITMONCHAN [Fighting]
------------------------------
A pokémon that likes to punch things. Its two hands grow in the shape of boxer’s gloves, and many trainers like to cover them with rough fabric to make them extra hard and powerful. Hitmonchans can punch at a rate of three times per second, with a force that can knock even Gravelers off their feet. On top of that, they’re nimble, and can dance circles around an enemy to confuse them before clobbering them over the head. However, Hitmonchans tire easily, which makes them unfit for long-term battle.
No. 126 CROAGUNK [Fighting/Poison]
------------------------------
Croagunk’s cheeks are filled with poison, as are its claws. You’ll commonly see them trying to jab at their opponents. The venom quickly makes the victim confused and uncoordinated, a state that can last for many hours afterward. Village lore says that it can also be used as a remedy for back pain, but I would advise against it. Getting your hands on a Croagunk is pretty hard, and you might find your pokémon (or yourself!) twisted in circles by its speed and trickery. This is definitely the last pokémon you should expect to play it nice.
No. 127 HITMONLEE [Fighting]
------------------------------
The cousin of Hitmonchan, though this guy’s specialty is kicking. It has pretty good balance, which enables it to kick a foe from pretty much any position, whether it be on its feet, or standing on its hands. On the upside, if its feet are bound or immobilized, it can’t do much about it. Hitmonlees are native to the mountains of Kanto, where they live in large tribes in which rank is determined by strength. So you should expect any Hitmonlee you meet in battle to be a tough one.
No. 128 MACHOKE [Fighting]
------------------------------
This guy is an all-out powerhouse. He’s fast, he’s strong, and he makes his little brother Machop seem like a chew toy. They are often used by move crews to lift heavy furniture, and also by Gym leaders to lift enemy pokémon before splatting them against the ground. It used to be legal to fight against them in wrestling tournaments, but after many complaints and injuries, the practice was outlawed. Machokes are allowed in battle only if they wear a belt to suppress their power. In summary, if you walk into a bar one day looking for a fight, and see that a Machoke is in the room, cut it as fast as you can. They don’t play around.
Last edited by Mrs. Lovett; 2nd May 2012 at 6:33 PM.
The story of Professor Rowan - Chapter 34 is up!
Other Works:Cave Guardian ♦ Cheater ♦ Contests ♦ Maids
Author's Profile
KIRABOSHI
Very pretty description to open with.Originally Posted by Mrs. Lovett
I don't have a good feeling about this... usually mentioning that people don't go somewhere will mean that they inevitably are going to, and at the worst time.Leroy’s eyebrows climbed. “Whoa, you had Lona? Then it’s no wonder. She doesn’t take it easy on anyone, especially if you’re a newcomer.” He rose to his feet, brushing dirt and grass from his pants. “Well, I suppose we should get started. Just send out your pokémon so I can take a look at them, okay? No one ever comes around here, so we won’t get caught.”
Hmm... the Move Tutor, huh? This could be interesting...“But how? She did really well when we battled Jerry’s Gallade.”
“But that was only one pokémon,” said Leroy. “And Gallade isn’t even pure Fighting. If Clefable’s going to be bombarded with physical hits over and over again, she might faint faster. I don’t know much about your pokémon, Henry, but when you’re dealing with Lona’s Gym, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Both of you need to catch at least two good counters. That, or catch one counter and teach the rest of your pokémon Psychic or Flying moves.”
“Okay, but how would you actually do that?” Michael said. “We were talking about that yesterday. How do you get a pokémon to learn a move it wouldn’t normally learn by growing?”
Leroy’s face froze for a moment, and he laughed nervously. “Uh… it’s pretty hard, actually. I don’t know how to do it, but I’ve heard about it from people, and they say it’s pretty complicated. It’s sort of like physical therapy. You guide the pokémon’s motions, and somehow or other you get it to realize in its brain what that particular move is supposed to be. None of the trainers I’ve talked with can do it, because… well, you know. What ten- or eleven-year-old would want to study that instead of battling?”
Michael was about to let out a sigh, but then Leroy held up his finger. “But! I’ll tell you what you can do. If you want to teach one of your pokémon a move, you should go see the Move Tutor. He lives right here in town, and I’m telling you, that guy is amazing. I met him by accident when I was taking a walk one day. He teaches moves to trainers’ pokémon for a really low price. You guys should pay him a visit.”
Maybe I'm missing something, but how are they going to do this with the strict schedule they're on at the Gym?“Where does he live?” Michael asked.
“Not too far from here, actually. Go past the marketplace and take a left turn on Lester Road, and you’ll reach a small section of houses. He doesn’t have a sign or anything, but his mailbox number is 4112. Easy to remember.”
Michael nodded. “All right. It’s worth a shot. You dig, Henry?”
Henry smiled. “Sure.”
Leroy clapped his hands together. “Great. So, that’s all you need to do, I guess. Just be sure to catch a Flying or Psychic pokémon. There are a few that live around Route 209, so you should take a look there.”
“Could you show us, though?” Henry said. “Around the route and stuff. We’re not that familiar with the town yet, so we could use some help.”
One, referring to the balls as capsules twice in such rapid succession doesn't quite work.The three of them left the thicket and went back to the hotel, where Leroy ran over to the elevators to reach his room. In the meantime, Michael and Henry visited the hotel’s convenience store to replenish their supply of pokéballs. After experiencing a brief mental debate while looking at the racks, Michael decided not to squander this time, and bought four new capsules. The money pocket in his backpack thinned significantly, but he knew he would have to spend it all sooner or later.
Henry bought four new capsules as well, plus a spare, for which he bought a purple sticker and stuck it right above the red knob on the center. “We’ll use this for Stunky,” he said, looking at Michael. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Two, Stunky finally gets a ball! It had to come sooner or later!
More beautiful description. You did a very good job.He led them out the door, turning onto the footpath that ran alongside the street. The boys followed a network of small roads until they reached the central avenue, which was six lanes wide, and bisected the town in a perfectly straight path, north to south. Traffic flowed into it from smaller roads on either side, which branched into the main road like veins, and coalesced into a plethora of shops, signs, and people that moved like one big river in both directions.
Looking over the dusty cars and wooden wagons that trailed along his side, Michael could see all the way to Route 209, a miniscule spot of dark green trees and hills to the south. The boys made their way down the main road, crossing block after block, until the traffic suddenly branched off into a separate direction, and the town gradually yielded to the dominance of nature. The paved roadway faded, the buildings disappeared, and the crowds trickled away, leaving only a dirt path, which continued to wind its way through a landscape of hills and ankle-length grass. The route was thicker with plant life than the rest of the neighboring countryside had been. It consisted of mostly underbrush and small trees, though occasionally a tall one would crop up to cast a generous amount of shade over the boys’ heads.
It was nature on a level second only to Eterna. The only sign of human presence was the path that was smoothed out from the soil, and the occasional directional sign propped up by a wooden pole. Looking out from his position, Michael saw the path continue on for some time, then vanish completely in the throes of the underbrush.
You can't even guess how good it feels to see the words "badass Mr. Mime" used in a fic. Seriously.“Mime Jr. and Ralts,” said Leroy, and winced slightly. “I tried catching a Ralts for my Dex, but they keep on teleporting. And it sucks, because I really want one. So, unless you want to spend the next two hours chasing a tiny pokémon around the whole countryside, I’d stick to whatever comes first.”
Having never seen a Ralts in the wild before, Michael decided to take Leroy’s word for it. “What about the Mime Jr.s?” he said. “I could raise it and have a badass Mr. Mime like Jerry.”
Oh boy, if this is what I think it is coming...They managed to stay out of the tour group’s way for a good while, but when it became clear that neither Michael nor his friends were making any sort of progress, and were instead leading themselves further and further into unknown territory, they had no choice but to tag along behind the trainers.
Michael kept his gaze fixed overhead, relentlessly scanning the treetops, only looking down periodically to make sure he hadn’t lagged too far behind. Henry and Leroy were silent beside him, being occupied with their own searching. Though neither boy seemed to notice, Michael was beginning to grow aware of a faint, musical chirping rising out from the silence, growing progressively louder as they walked.
Oh, so it's Chatot, not Kricketune. I stand corrected, but if they're going to decide to capture one of the Chatot, major props to you. There's a Pokemon you don't see every day.Michael shook his head. “No. The voice was close. It was—” But before he could finish, he was cut off by a loud snapping sound.
“I stole George’s wallet!” someone sang.
Michael and Henry whirled around to face Leroy, the only other body in the vicinity. At the same time, Leroy turned to face them, wearing a mild expression of annoyance.
“Okay, who keeps saying that?” he asked. “Seriously, stop.”
“It’s not me!” Michael said.
“Or me,” Henry cut in.
“Shut up, shut up!” said the voice, this time more forcefully than before. All three boys jumped. Henry stood up and began to spin around in circles, eyes searching for the source of the sound. “It sounds like it’s coming from somewhere up there.” He pointed to a thin tree that stood nearby, at a middle point between them and the tour group. It had huge, fan-like leaves that blocked most of its inner structure from view.
“I stole George’s wallet, now he has to wear a bonnet!”
Michael looked over to the tree. Slowly, he stepped away from Henry and Leroy and advanced towards it. To his right, the tour group had also stilled, and appeared to be listening in. As he stepped into the tree’s shadow, Michael ducked his head in an attempt to see behind the branches.
I already love this thing.Suddenly, Michael heard a hark-hark behind him. He turned, and saw that the tour guide was laughing. “Ah, ‘ere we are!” the man said, and with a snap of his fingers, hurried over to the tree. Like a crowd at a zoo, the trainers shuffled after him, and grouped around the three boys. The tour guide stepped in front of them all and spread his arms out wide. “What you have just heard is a flock of Chatots, trainers. They’re sneaky little birds, and they have a very good ear for human speech. They dwell most’ly in the tropics, especially further down by Pastoria, but occasionally can be found making their homes here. The females have slightly duller coloring, and larger beaks. You’ll definitely be able to tell them apart.”
“Chatot Chatot! Chatalot!”
In response to his words, a tiny body emerged from somewhere in the crown of the tree, and hopped down onto a branch in full view. It was a large bird. Its round belly was colored a bright yellow, its wings a deep blue. A ring of white feathers formed a funny-looking ruff around its neck, contrasting sharply with its black head. The bird peered down at the crowd of people, cocking its head to the side.
“Trainers! Trainers no-brainers!” it croaked.
Michael with a Chatot. I approve of this.At the sounds of stirring commotion from down below, several more birds hopped into view beside the first. Their plumage displayed various patterns of pink, blue, black, and yellow. Some even had wings of opposite colors, and others had a mix of many on each. Michael made his decision in a heartbeat. Dropping his backpack into the grass, he pulled out a spare pokéball and approached the tree with the other trainers. The birds did not stir at the humans’ proximity; rather, for the time being, it seemed to entertain them. They looked down at the trainers, craning their necks and chirping, while Michael looked up, unsure how to best proceed.
No offense, but I feel that you're overusing "capsule" far too much.The teasing game continued for another whole minute. During that time, Michael stood with his arms crossed, the capsule clutched loosely in his right hand, maintaining eye contact with the birds for as long as he could manage before they turned away from him. (He had never seen anyone stare a pokémon down before, but you never knew.)
YES HE CAUGHT THIS ONE. YES.“I think you did,” Henry replied. “But it was really hard to tell. People were throwing them around like crazy, and in the end they started grabbing capsules that didn’t belong to them. At any rate, this was yours.” He handed Michael a silver ball. It was still warm, and throbbed slightly, as if the pokémon inside was still trying to peck its way out.
Biting his lip, Michael knelt into the grass. “Okay, get ready. It might try to fly away.” Henry and Leroy gathered around him, giving just enough room for the pokémon to emerge. Michael twisted open the capsule, and with a rush of light, a Chatot was thrown out. Its body was positioned as if it was still flying, and its eyes were partly closed as if to protect themselves from the wind. As the white light faded, the pokémon hung over the ground for a few seconds, then plopped face-first into the grass with a human-like oomph! The bird let out a squeal, its feathers ruffling, its wings beating in an attempt to regain awareness of its location. Slowly, it lifted itself to an upright position, its eyes blinking separately at first, then adjusting to their proper rhythm. Up close, the Chatot's colors were even more striking, sharp and even like those of a hand-painted toy. Henry and Leroy immediately knelt into the grass, linking their arms with Michael’s to form a triangular cage around the pokémon. The Chatot looked around at the them, its large eyes blinking.
“Trainers no-brainers?” it said, clicking its pink beak. “Fly?”
OH MY GOD. I LOVE THIS FREAKING CHATOT. Paul McChatot is maybe the greatest character in the entire story, seriously. I love this thing.“Help! Help!” the Chatot interrupted. “Little help! Friends!”
Michael stopped. “Huh?”
Right then, the scatterbrained bird seemed to finally find its groove. It began to sway, tapping its feet in an attempted dance. “Get by with a little elp from my frends! Elp from my frends!”
Suddenly, Michael’s face broke out into a smile. “Ha! Someone’s been teaching this thing Beatles lyrics. That’s boss.” He leaned closer to the bird, his grin spreading. “Hey, what else do you know?”
“Know it’s mine! When it turn out the light!”
“This bird is far-out,” Michael laughed. He held out his finger, and the Chatot nibbled it. “I bet he can sing the whole Sgt. Pepper’s album. Hey, do you know ‘Getting Better’?”
Yes you did, Michael, yes you did. Let Paul McChatot stay forever.The Chatot shook its head, continuing its crackly melody. “Elp from my friends! Turn out the light! Know it’s mine!”
Leroy joined in. “How about ‘Fixing a Hole’?”
“No-no-no!”
“Lucy in the sky?” Henry tried.
But the Chatot continued to sing its only melody, replacing the song’s lyrics with the words the boys kept feeding it, till its composition made no sense whatsoever. Sitting back on his legs, Michael sighed. “I guess that’s the only song this guy knows. Hey bird, why do you like that song so much? Are you Ringo Starr or something?”
The Chatot cocked its head at Michael. “Ring-go! Elp from my friends!” It ruffled its wings and tucked them neatly against its sides. It seemed to have lost all interest in flying away, being more entertained with giving its mini-production. Or maybe it had grown to like them already. Whatever the reason, Michael had the feeling that he had made a very good catch.
"Midway to Michael's elbow."Michael shrugged. “Sure.” He held out his arm, lowering it into the grass in front of the bird. Slowly, the Chatot lifted a foot and placed it on his hand. Then the other. The skin on the bird’s feet was rough and bumpy, and its claws prickled his arm, though not altogether in a painful way. As the three boys stood up, the Chatot shuffled around to find its balance, settling midway to Michael elbow. Its weight felt foreign at first to him, but gradually, he became used to its presence.
I wonder if it's coincidence that "PDE" is similar to "P*DA," the Pokedex/app equivalent from Colosseum and XD, which had a Pokedex-like function known as Strategy Memo."Oh, and by the way," said Leroy, as he switched on the screen, "it's official. The lab is drawing up plans for a new model of the Data Exploiter, and they decided to shorten its name. I mentioned 'PokéDex' to them and they liked it. They had a vote, and they decided it was better than the other names that were in the running."
Michael laughed. "Like what?"
"Most of them were similar to yours. I guess there's really not much you can do with the name 'Pokémon Data Exploiter'. There was 'Data-X', 'PDE', 'XPloiter'... I can't remember them all. But 'PokéDex' seemed like the best. Not too short, not too long." When the interface finally finished loading, Leroy snapped his fingers, and opened up a new entry for Chatot. He began to work, fingers strumming on the keypad, and a minute later, held up the finished entry. “Done! Tell me what you think.” He passed the PokéDex to Michael.
I had to laugh. Well done with the humor.No. 130 CHATOT [Flying]
------------------------------
These pokémon are distinguished by their voices, which can imitate a person’s speech almost perfectly. Apart from that, they’re really cunning, and if you’re not careful then they can pull tricks on you like stealing your wallet. They dwell mostly in the tropics, living in large trees with their families. Their feathers are really bright and colorful, but they’re also good at hiding themselves, so you’ll have to look hard in order to find one. They may have a preference for Beatles lyrics, but more study is needed to confirm.
Michael lowered the PokéDex and chuckled. “Nice.”
“Thanks,” said Leroy. “The last line was genius, I think.”
And now Lona is a lot more interesting to me, because she has an inventive and interesting team. Good move putting this information in now.Before the trio parted ways, Leroy showed them the Dex entries for Lona’s entire team, as a token of good luck for the battles to come.
No. 125 HITMONCHAN [Fighting]
------------------------------
A pokémon that likes to punch things. Its two hands grow in the shape of boxer’s gloves, and many trainers like to cover them with rough fabric to make them extra hard and powerful. Hitmonchans can punch at a rate of three times per second, with a force that can knock even Gravelers off their feet. On top of that, they’re nimble, and can dance circles around an enemy to confuse them before clobbering them over the head. However, Hitmonchans tire easily, which makes them unfit for long-term battle.
No. 126 CROAGUNK [Fighting/Poison]
------------------------------
Croagunk’s cheeks are filled with poison, as are its claws. You’ll commonly see them trying to jab at their opponents. The venom quickly makes the victim confused and uncoordinated, a state that can last for many hours afterward. Village lore says that it can also be used as a remedy for back pain, but I would advise against it. Getting your hands on a Croagunk is pretty hard, and you might find your pokémon (or yourself!) twisted in circles by its speed and trickery. This is definitely the last pokémon you should expect to play it nice.
No. 127 HITMONLEE [Fighting]
------------------------------
The cousin of Hitmonchan, though this guy’s specialty is kicking. It has pretty good balance, which enables it to kick a foe from pretty much any position, whether it be on its feet, or standing on its hands. On the upside, if its feet are bound or immobilized, it can’t do much about it. Hitmonlees are native to the mountains of Kanto, where they live in large tribes in which rank is determined by strength. So you should expect any Hitmonlee you meet in battle to be a tough one.
No. 128 MACHOKE [Fighting]
------------------------------
This guy is an all-out powerhouse. He’s fast, he’s strong, and he makes his little brother Machop seem like a chew toy. They are often used by move crews to lift heavy furniture, and also by Gym leaders to lift enemy pokémon before splatting them against the ground. It used to be legal to fight against them in wrestling tournaments, but after many complaints and injuries, the practice was outlawed. Machokes are allowed in battle only if they wear a belt to suppress their power. In summary, if you walk into a bar one day looking for a fight, and see that a Machoke is in the room, cut it as fast as you can. They don’t play around.
Great chapter overall. Not a terribly huge amount happened, but what did happen was substantial and entertaining, and it was framed by very solid writing. You can guess what I'll say stole the show though - Paul McChatot (or Ringo, as his nickname seems to be), who shows an utterly incredible level of characterization already, especially for a Pokemon.
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Lona's schedule only governs at what time they have to arrive at the Gym and the minimum that they are allowed to leave. They only have one daily shift at the Gym, so after they leave, Michael and Henry will have a the rest of the day to themselves. (The hope behind this is that they will spend that time training and exploring Solaceon for educational purposes, but of course, this isn't always the case!)
As for the word 'capsule', I figured a while back that I was using 'pokeball' way too much, and should use a substitute every now and then. But, I guess I wasn't keeping tabs on how frequently I used it. I'll take a closer look at the spots you pointed out and see what I can do. (I'll also fix the typo you pointed out.)
Probably just a coincidence. I played Colosseum a long time ago, but I barely remember it, save for some storyline bits in the beginning.I wonder if it's coincidence that "PDE" is similar to "P*DA," the Pokedex/app equivalent from Colosseum and XD, which had a Pokedex-like function known as Strategy Memo.
I'm glad you liked Ringo, as well as his little catchphrase. :p I had a Chatot planned for Michael's team for a while now, and I'm glad to hear I delivered it successfully. You'll see more of Ringo next chapter, as well as the Move Tutor development. And (finally!) you'll get to see what became of Michael's article in the Hearthome newspaper.
Thanks for the review, Great Butler!
Last edited by Mrs. Lovett; 2nd May 2012 at 6:34 PM.
The story of Professor Rowan - Chapter 34 is up!
Other Works:Cave Guardian ♦ Cheater ♦ Contests ♦ Maids
Author's Profile
Rolling writer
2.5
That afternoon, Michael and Henry were in their hotel room. Henry was kneeling beside the window, holding the Stunkys cage aloft with one hand while he peered through the bars. The other hand held a silver pokéball, which the Stunkys eyes found at the last minute, after it had turned around to face its visitor. Eyes drifting towards the reflective orb, the Stunky purred in confusion.
Thats right, said Henry, smiling. Youre going to live in one of these now. He proffered the capsule to the cages bars. The Stunky continued to stare at him, periodically glancing over to Michael, who stood with his hands in his pockets a few feet away.
Well? Are you gonna do it or not? Michael asked. Come on, so we can go get lunch. Im starving.
Henry tapped his chin, keeping silent for a few seconds. He placed the cage down, then carefully unscrewed the knob of the pokéball, pointing it at the Stunky and closing his eyes. All right, here it goes
Michael watched as a beam of light pierced through the bars and engulfed the Stunkys body in white. The pokémons silhouette remained for a split second, then slowly dissolved out of thin air, rushing back into the capsule. Henry clicked the pokéball closed and dropped it into his tote bag. And that was that.
Strangely, Michael did not mind giving the Stunky away. (Technically, it was still his, but at this point, it didnt matter to him which one of them took the responsibility of carrying it around.) And Henry seemed happy, so everyone was a winner. Michael grabbed the cage on his way to the door, and once they got out to the hallway, he sought out a huge trash bin and dropped it inside. He looked down at the cage for a moment, thinking back to all he had been through with it, as well as the pokémon who had been its occupant. It was almost like throwing away a part of his life, locking it in distant memory. But Michael had no doubt that this was for the best, and with all the traveling he had ahead of him, he would have to lighten his load.
For lunch, he and Henry went to a café down the street. It was teeming with families and groups, people who had arrived in the nick of time for lunch. Like most buildings in Solaceon, the café was bright and tidyand pokémon friendly. The critters scurried beneath tables and around peoples feet, often stopping to nibble from bowls of food set aside by the walls. They even approached tables, where eager hands reached down to pet them, as if they were just as much guests here as the people were.
Michael and Henry got a small table to themselves, where they ate in silence for a while, watching the proceedings. Rather than talking, Henry seemed more interested in the pokémon that wandered by, and after a moment, turned around to face Michael. We should let out Stunky, he said.
Michael stopped chewing. Uh what?
You know, so he can roam around town. Were not gonna be around that often to keep him company, so now that he has a pokéball instead of a cage, he can walk around and explore on his own, like the other pokémon. Then at the end of the day hell come back.
Without warning, Michael began to laugh, hiccupping as he struggled to swallow. And if he doesnt?
I dont think hell run away, Henry said.
Michael leaned back, lifting both hands in surrender. Your ball, your call, man. Do what you want. But Im telling you nowif he runs away, its your problem.
Henry made a hmph sound, crossing his arms. Youll see! Just wait, Michael. He took out the Stunkys pokéball bag and turned it over so that the purple sticker was visible. Then he pointed it towards the open aisle. All right, come on out little buddy! He twisted the knob, and the Stunky emerged in a halo of white light, landing squarely on all fours. It pawed around beneath the table for a bit, then backed away so that it could look up at the boys.
Go on, said Henry. See those plates of food over there? Theyre all yours. Go get em, and dont let any of those other guys shove you away! Go! He pointed to the food bowls standing in the corner, where a small crowd of pokémon was gathered. The Stunky hesitated for a moment, then seemed to make up its mind. With its tail upheld, it crossed the aisle, skipping around the feet of passerby on its way to the bowls. Watching all this, Michael shook his head slowly, and went back to eating.
They left the café a few minutes later, leaving Stunky behind. Still sitting by the food bowls, the pokémon looked up at the boys as they lingered by the exit. His eyes held the same steady, wary look that appeared whenever there was a situation involving him, as if he was trying to figure out what his captors were planning. Or maybe Michael was imagining things again.
The next morning, he arrived at the Gym in a slightly better-kempt state. His clothes were neat, his hair was (somewhat) brushed, and his wristband was on this time. When his name was called on the roll, Michael approached the front desk and held up the band to the clerk, who marked down his name.
All right, MrRowan, welcome. Your room today is 35, in the left hall. She pointed to the door. But before Michael could leave, the lady tapped his shoulder and held him back. Wait. Hold yr horses a minute.
Michael turned back to her. What? Immediately, his mind began to race. Oh God. I did something wrong. Its only my second day and Ive already screwed something up. He fixed his gaze on the counter and braced himself.
The lady bent down beneath the desk and came up with a small envelope. This came to the Gyms P.O. box last evening. Its addressed to you.
As he took the envelope, Michael was washed with relief. He turned to Henry, who was in line behind him.
Wait for me! the boy mouthed. Michael sat down by the benches, and once Henry had presented his wristband, he came over to join him.
What is it? Henry asked, taking a seat. Michael broke the envelopes seal with his finger and pulled out a typed letter. It was a telegram from Nancy Bryan.
Michael
Congrats on your first publication! Your article made it to page 28, in the Arts and Recreation section of The Hearthome Times. I would have mailed you a copy of the paper, but I was afraid that the package wouldnt get to you in time. So the next time you happen to be somewhere that sells newspapers, be sure to check it out! They must have liked your story a lot to accept it. I think you have talent as a writer.
As for us, unfortunately, the story didnt get accepted by SNN. They didnt think it was interesting, so that means we have to keep searching. Im sorry. Its not your faulttheyre just really picky. So well be on the move a lot for the next few months, looking out for the next big thing. (Whatever that is!) Just keep checking the TV, and maybe one day youll see us on there. And well keep checking the newspaper racks for the next time your name appears in the by-line. I do hope youll keep writing, and I wish you luck in whatever you may want to try in the future!
So, with all that said, I hope everythings going great for you. Bobby says hey.
Best wishes,
Nancy
His heart racing, Michael scanned over the lines a second time, unable to believe what had happened. Henry, who was reading over his shoulder, widened his eyes. Wow! Michael, youre in a newspaper! Thats practically like being famous!
Michael shook his head dismissively, though his smile grew ever wider. Nah, this is page twenty-eight. Thats not famous. Wait till I make the front cover. Then well start talking.
Then youll have to find a new friend, said Henry with feigned gloom. Ill be swept away by tides of fans!
Michael laughed. Well, you never know. If Im up to it, I might let you stay as my manager. Youll get to plan my tour of the world one day. Thats after we win the Championship, of course. Well be the youngest prodigies the world has ever known. He folded up the letter and slipped it into the envelope, giving it an extra pat of good luck. In scarcely two minutes, he had been elevated from glum exhaustion to the happiest he had felt in days. Nothing could ruin his day now. Not even if Lona herself walked into his battle room, tapping the floor with a pitchfork.
With that, the boys set off towards their battle rooms. Michaels referee was a guy, his partner a young girl. Both of them were practical and laid-back, and for the next two hours, he enjoyed a conventional, tension-free battle session.
Michaels pokémon-of-choice that day was Ringo. As expected, the bird proved to be just as loud and nimble in battle as he had been in his tree. He tore into his opponent with his claws as well as his beak, plucking and pecking from high above. His first opponent was a Meditite, which he had no problem taking care of, staging an intense rally of Pecks and Scratches and Head-Clobberings.
When the pokémon fainted, Ringo flapped over to Michael and began to circle around his head, his beak clicking. Me-di-tite we showed im right!
Michael lasted through the entire first round with Ringo alone, though when the bird began to tire, he sent him back at once. He rotated the remaining members of his team, and pulled through with a double victory, earning two points for the day. He considered it to be the perfect comeback from last timeand there wasnt a single pink jacket in sight.
After finishing his battle, Michael met Henry in the lobby. The boys shared their results as they left the Gym, and when they were well out of earshot, began to discuss Lonas team. They had met with Leroy briefly the previous afternoon, and had come to an agreement that it was better to wait for the Move Tutors feedback before catching any new pokémon. So after leaving the Gym, Michael and Henry immediately set off to find him.
Their search led them to a more developed part of Solaceon, where the pastures were cut off in part to make room for a modern-looking neighborhood. Lester Road was a straight, paved path that ran through a community of houses, whose cozy, compact design contrasted sharply with the lavish barn-mansions on the other side of town. The layout of the street slightly reminded Michael of homethe curbs were marked by ledges, the houses had porches and garages, and the mailboxes stood right beside the driveways.
The mailbox numbered 4112 appeared at the edge of a quiet intersection, surrounded by decorative stones. The home itself bore no indicator that a distinguished individual dwelled inside it. The porch was completely clear, with no decorations or furnishings besides a worn-out welcome mat. A tangled broom leaned against the wall.
Michael stepped up to the front door and rang the doorbell. A faint ding ding resonated from within, but no one answered. He tried again, and this time, heard a scuffle.
Coming! came a voice.
The doorknob wrenched as it was turned, and a second later, the door flew open, nearly smacking Michael in the face. He stumbled back in surprise, catching Henry by the shoulder, making them both trip down the steps. Michael regained his balance just in time to see a man poke his head through the doorway. Upon seeing the two boys that had nearly been thrown into the street, the fellow winced.
Ack. Sorry. Mines the only door on the block that does this Ive been trying to get it fixed, but the repair guys cant come to take a look at it until next week Sorry, again. The man scratched his head, stepping out in full to meet them. His hair was a dark, frizzy brown, the curls springing out here and there at the ends. The cuffs of his shirt were rolled up, and a pair of glasses hung askew from the collar.
Michael stepped back to the porch, clearing his throat. Uh hey. Were trainers, and we heard that a guy called the Move Tutor lives here. Do you know him?
The man smiled. Ah, right. That would be me, actually. He proffered his hand. My names Ted. May I have the honor of knowing yours?
Michael took the mans hand and shook. Michael.
The boy came up from behind. And Im Henry!
Great, said Ted. Its nice to meet you both. Now, you might as well come in. Ive been doing some belated spring cleaning, but it shouldnt be too bad. He stepped back, opening the door wider to allow them in.
Inside, the house had a cluttered, albeit cozy feel. Upon entering, Michael felt like he had been immersed in the world of a scholar. Bookshelves almost as high as the ceiling lined the walls of the room, some of them full to bursting, others like mouths with missing teeth, their contents piled in boxes on the floor. The presence of books was overwhelming; Michael noticed them in other places too, like on the windowsill, or beneath a potted plant on the table. Little room was made for the other necessities of life, and it seemed that some furniture had been almost grudgingly accommodated. A TV set was sandwiched in between two shelves, awkwardly blocking the bottom half of a window, and a lone armchair stood in the corner, accompanied by a small table that also bore its share of the burden. It was a subtle, yet striking imageclearly the house had only one occupant.
Michael and Henry stood at the center of the main room, observing the mess around them with wonder. It was an artistic sort of mess, the kind that betrayed inspiration rather than carelessness. At the presence of his new guests, however, Ted seemed in even more of a rush to clean things up. He scampered around the room, pushing aside boxes and moving stacks of books from one surface to another. It didnt help in the slightest, but from the simple show of effort, Ted seemed satisfied. He wiped his brow and sighed. Sorry about this, again, he said. Ive been reorganizing my library. I have a lot of old books I dont need anymore, and they were taking up the shelf space I need for my new ones. Normally, I hate throwing out books, but theres only so much a house can hold He began to laugh, shifting his gaze from Michael to Henry. But when he saw that neither of them reciprocated, he grew serious once more and cleared his throat. Anyways. Youre here because you want me to teach your pokémon a move, right?
Michael nodded. Yeah. And we also want to know how the whole move thing works. Like, can we learn to teach our pokémon moves by ourselves?
And is it allowed? Henry piped up. Because, you know. If its not He fell silent before he could finish. Ted, however, seemed to catch on to his train of thought.
Oh, dont worry, he said. I know what youre thinking about, but trust me, this is perfectly legal. The League cant prohibit pokémon moves. It would be a self-contradiction, really, since the whole point of training pokémon is to help them get more powerful. If the League really wanted to, I guess it could enact a rule saying that you cant teach any outrageous, one-hit-knockout attacks to substitute for the effort of training a weak pokémon, but it would be completely pointless. Few pokémon can learn those types of moves, and to do that, theyd already have to be powerful far beyond an average kids training capabilities. Ted crossed his arms, eyeing the boys matter-of-factly. So if you were looking for me to teach Horn Drill to your Goldeen, then Im afraid Ill have to disappoint you.
Its all right, Michael said. We just want to know if any of our pokémon can learn Psychic or Flying moves.
Ted nodded, rubbing his chin. Thats fair enough. Psychic and Flying are pretty versatile move types, since you dont always have to be a Psychic or Flying pokémon to use them. So we shouldnt have a problem. He pulled a stool over to one of the full bookshelves, and stepped up to the topmost row of volumes. He ran his finger down the spines, murmuring. Give me a second to find the manual I need, he said back to the boys. For now, can you release the pokémon you want to teach? Id like to take a look at them too.
While Ted searched through the shelves, Michael and Henry took out their pokéballs and released their teams. The pokémon popped into the room one after another, slowly filling it with noise and chatter. They climbed over books, greeting each other with grunts and squeals. Ringo emerged from his pokéball with a screech, perching himself atop the TV set and beating his wings. In response, Starly fluttered over to the table and began to hop around, as if trying to find a higher surface to perch upon.
By chance, Michaels eyes landed on Burmy, who was lying still on the floor. The cloak of leaves that covered his tiny body began to shrivel, each one melting away its shape and pooling into a smooth outer coating. The green color faded away, bringing forth a startling huea bright pink.
Ted, who had turned away from the shelf at that moment with two books in his hands, saw the pokémon and smiled. Ah. You have a Burmy. Wonderful little creatures. I happen to have one too, though shes already grown into a Wormadam. Their cloaks change in response to their environment. We dont see much of the pink ones here, as much as we see the leaves and soil. Pink is what they put on when adapting to urban locations.
But why pink? Michael asked, at the same time looking at Henry. The boy was smiling, clearly having seen this transformation before.
There have been a few guesses, said Ted. For one, pinks not a common color in nature, so I suppose to adapt to non-nature hed have to select a non-natural color. Theres a lot more I can get into, but I dont think youd want to hear it all. You came here to learn moves, not listen to pokémon lectures. Smiling, Ted sat down on the floor and placed his books beside him. All righty, lets take a look at what we have. He pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and held out his hands to Turtwig, who happened to be nearby. Turtwig willingly approached, and Ted gently cupped his hands around the pokémons head. Hmm. There isnt much I can do for this one. I can place my bet on defensive Psychic moves like Light Screen, but I assume you want actual attack moves, correct?
Michael nodded.
Ted gave a one-shoulder shrug. Well, like I said, this guys options are limited. Psychic attacks require a bit more mental power than defenses, and Turtwig evolutions dont have the kind thats needed. Same for Flying, but its pretty obvious why. Sorry, little fella. Ted stroked Turtwigs cheek, and gently turned him away. Michael called Turtwig back into his pokéball.
What about Machop, then? Michael said. The pokémon was currently standing on his toes by the window, bouncing on the balls of his feet at the sight of sunlight. Michael took him by the arm and led him over to Ted.
Ted looked at Machop for a moment, then slowly shook his head. I think its going to be the same story for this one. I can give him Meditate, which is what a lot of Fighting Types have the capacity to learn, but all it will do is improve his coordination. You can have him meditate right before a battle, to make sure he keeps his focus.
Michael snickered at the thought of his Machop meditating. Nevertheless, the idea sounded good to him. He let go of Machops wrist and nudged him forward. Done deal, he said.
All right. Just have him stand over there. Ted pointed to the armchair. Next?
As Machop ambled over to the other side of the room, Michael picked up Goldeen and placed her before Ted. Instantly, the Move Tutors face lit up. Ah, thats much better. I can teach Goldeen Psybeam, which is an excellent offensive move, and Peck as well, since the species has hardened skin around the lips.
Michael smiled in relief. Great.
Ted brought Goldeen over to where Machop was and lowered her into the armchair. Then his gaze swept across the room, and landed on Starly and Ringo, who were squabbling noisily atop the TV set, rattling the antennae with their wings. Ted ran over to break them apart. Settle down, you two, settle down. He slid both hands under the birds feet and caught them from beneath, transferring their weight to his arms. Now these two can obviously learn more Flying moves, said Ted, But youll have to tell me which ones they already know so Ill have something to work off of.
Thats easy, said Henry. Starly knows Peck, Wing Attack, and Brave Bird.
Michael thought for a moment. Ringo knows Peck and Scratch and he can chatter. He looked at the bird, who clucked his beak in reply. Ringo chatter! Bingo platter!
Ted chuckled. He sat down again, keeping both arms upheld to support their passengers. I think I know just the move for these two: Aerial Ace. Its a simple technique, but its highly useful. Using his feet, Ted slid himself over to the books he had set aside. Looking closer, Michael saw that they were manuals of some sort, one titled for Psychic moves and the other for Flying.
Could you give me a hand with these? said Ted. Open up the Flying book to the section for Aerial Ace. It should be somewhere in the beginning.
Michael lifted the Flying book and skimmed through the pages. Each move was discussed in its own chapter, which contained a section of tedious theoretical explanations, and a section with pictures. The diagrams were something that Michael would expect to see in a martial arts bookthey depicted bird pokémon performing several stages of the maneuver, a fully broken-down version of the technique that often stretched for more than a page. When he reached the chapter titled Aerial Ace, he lowered the book in front of Ted.
Thanks. Ted lowered his left arm to turn the pages, and in response, Starly retreated higher up his shoulder. All right. Aerial Ace. Ive taught this move hundreds of times before, so it wont take me long to do it for your pokémon. But Ill need one valuable thing from you firstcooperation. Im going to give you a system of exercises for your pokémon to practice, and Ill need you to stick to it for as long as I say, okay?
Wait a minute, Michael said. So were going to do the tutoring?
No, no, not at all, Ted replied. Im going to show you and your pokémon the technique right here, well practice it a couple times, but for the next day or so youll have to keep practicing with them on your own. Then, once your pokémon can perform the move sequence described by the diagrams on their own, come back and Ill give them the final boost they need to start using the move. The whole concept behind move tutoring is that every pokémon has a set of physical capabilities, paired with a set of mental scenarios that tell it how to use them. And to teach a new attack, all we have to do is show the pokémon a different scenario, meaning a different way to use their powers.
It took a moment for Teds explanation to sink in, but Michael nevertheless understood. He gave Ted an affirmative nod, and Henry mimicked the motion. Ted smiled. Great. Then were all set to go. As for you two Looking up at the bird pokemon on his shoulders, Ted stood up and brushed them away, letting them off into the air. Henry lifted his Burmy and brought him over to Ted.
What about him? Henry held out the pink cotton ball, and the pokémon inside wiggled its feet, trying to find the ground. Ted pursed his lips in an expression of pity.
Sorry, but youre a bit too early for this guy he wont start learning Psychic moves until he evolves. For now, hes limited to Bug moves, and some Normal ones. Ted lifted his finger to touch the Burmys pink cloak, pressing softly to test its firmness. The Burmy continued to fidget, trying to pull itself back into its shell. Has he learned Protect yet?
Henry lowered the pokémon to look at Ted. Huh?
Has your Burmy ever tried to pull itself into its shell when in a battle?
Henry thought for a bit, then nodded. I think so I mean, he likes to stay inside of his cloak a lot, and when hes in battle he sometimes tries to hide again. But when he gets knocked around by his opponent a lot, he ends up coming out.
Hmm. That could mean that your Burmy is trying to learn the move, but hasnt developed its focus enough yet. Ill tell you whatIll teach it to him. Protects a really useful move. Youll thank me later.
Henry nodded, and went to put Burmy back into the pokéball. Ted examined the rest of the boys pokémon, and told them what moves each of them could know. To no ones surprise, Pachirisu and Caterpie werent good for much, but Clefable (which surprised Michael even less) had a wide range of opportunities. Henry finally settled on the combination of Psychic and Calm Mind, which Ted promised would maximize the power of all non-contact moves, including Gravity. Michael decided on Aerial Ace for Ringo, and Psybeam and Peck for Goldeen.
Ted wrote down their requests on a loose sheet of paper and retreated further into the house, where Michael could hear him rummaging, opening and closing doors. He came back about a minute later, clapping his hands together. All right. Follow me, and Ill show you to the workroom. He beckoned, and the boys followed, pulling their remaining pokémon after them. Michael grabbed Goldeen with one arm and extended the other to make a perch for Ringo. Henry was similarly accessorized, with Starly on his shoulder and Burmy wrapped in his arms. Only Clefable was able to walk soberly between the boys, while Starly and Ringo kept shooting threatening glares at each other.
Teds workroom was an almost identical backdrop of pale walls, bookshelves, and a wooden floor. The clutter lessened here, however, and more space was made for two long tables at the very center of the room.
Ted came around to the tables and set down his books. If I may ask why do you want such a narrow move pool? Most trainers who come in here just want whatever powerful moves their pokémon can grasp.
We Henry began, but in the middle, he trailed off. He looked to Michael for help.
We just wanted to improve our versatility, Michael said. For future Gyms, you know.
Ted lifted his chin in acknowledgment. Ah. Are you still in this towns Gym, or did you finish it already?
No, were still doing it.
And how is it?
Michael spent a few seconds searching for the right words. The Gym leader is difficult.
Oh. Im sorry to hear that, Ted replied. A lot of the trainers I see have said the same thing, actually. But Im sure whatever theyre doing is for your own good. A little challenge now and then is a natural part of life. It makes you a better person, in the end... Still holding Starlys tiny feet with his fingers, Ted placed his other hand on the birds neck and squeezed gently, rubbing the feathers. The bird quit its fidgeting, and relaxed against his grip. There. Now, well guide this fellow through the move sequence to familiarize him with it. You pay attention too, because youll have to memorize it.
Henry nodded.
Looking away from the book, Ted grasped the birds limbs and began to move them, as if he were fixing a toy. He held the Starlys wings over its head, then bent them down, and simultaneously pushed its neck forward, so the bird looked like it was about to dive beak-first from the sky. Ted kept a slow, methodic pace in his work, but even so, Michael could barely follow the motions of his hands and fingers. It was as if Starly was moving by himself.
When Ted finished the sequence, he brought Starly back to the starting position and did it again. Be sure you do this three times a day, morning, afternoon, and evening, he said. You really have to make sure your pokémon remembers everything properly. If you ever need help, just drop by. Im free for most of the day.
Henry nodded. Okay.
When he finished with Starly, Ted let the bird go, and stroked its neck. He handed him over to Henry, then extended his arm out towards Ringo. All righty. Time for Chatot.
Ringo ruffled his feathers and backed away, shaking his head. But Michael brought him forward, sliding him off his shoulder and onto the table. Stay, Ringo, he ordered.
Ted placed both hands over Ringos wings to steady him. The bird began to shake itself, trying to wrench free of his grip. Stop it dont kill me! Ringo doesnt want to learn! No-no!
Keeping his grip steady, Ted performed the first round slowly, just as he had done for Starly. But while the small bird had been like a limp puppet in Teds hands, Ringo was more like a frightened child being forced to swim. He gave high-pitched screams in response to the most basic actions, such as lifting a wing, and often verbalized his suffering as he tried to evade Teds fingers.
Instead of becoming annoyed, Ted began to improvise, often giving the bird a light shake to calm him down. By the time he began the second round, a smile was growing on Teds face, and on Ringos a grudging submission. When Ted finished with him, he let Ringo stumble from the table on his own and flap back to Michaels shoulder, angrily clicking his beak. If there was anything that bird wanted right then, Michael guessed, it would have been a large pebble.
Now finished with Flying, Ted closed the book and opened the Psychic one. Interestingly, the exercises for Psybeam and Psychic had a physical basis just like Aerial Ace, and for each of their pokémon, Ted knew exactly what to do. By the end of their session, move tutoring seemed like a craft to Michael, just as much as painting or writing. Ted seemed so absorbed and attentive in his task that he stopped talking to the boys altogether, instead murmuring a bit to the pokémon and himself. Thats it right there. Michael became convinced that nothing he or Henry could do on their own would ever match this mans skill. But he memorized each sequence as best as he could, knowing that trying was better than doing nothing.
By the time Ted was done, almost two hours had gone by. After finishing with Clefable, he breathed a sigh and stacked up the books, placing them back on the shelf. He did not immediately kick them out after finishing, however. In a surprising gesture of hospitality, Ted made tea for the boys, and after they had sent back all their pokémon, the three of them sat together at the kitchen table, plucking crackers from a center bowl.
So how are you liking the town so far? said Ted, taking a sip of his tea. Trainers seem to either love it or hate it, from what Ive seen.
We like it, Henry said. Its just that the Gym sometimes distracts us and gets us overworked.
Ted chuckled. Youre too young to be overworked. I know the Leagues tough, but that doesnt mean you cant take it easy every so often.
Thats not what the Gym leader thinks Henry mused, glumly looking down at his plate. She has this strict schedule that everyone has to follow.
Well, then follow her schedule. But dont think too hard on it. This Gym is just one of many, and you can certainly expect to meet far bigger challenges down the road. Think of it as a test. In fact, thats all it is.
Michael sat silent for most of the time, teetering from half-relaxed to alert. He wanted to leave before Ted asked them too much, or before Henry accidentally let something slip, but at the same time he did not want to appear rude. But time eventually proved him wrongTed seemed only interested in basic questions pertaining to their League journey, and their opinions on previous battles.
After a while, Michael grew comfortable enough to ask a question that had been tugging at the back of his mind. So, what do you do besides move tutoring? he said, looking over to Ted. Do you run a business or something?
No, this is all I do, Ted replied. Its all I want to do, really. Why bother with big money and corporations when you can get by on your own? He chuckled. I guess if youre the ambitious type youll want to always go the extra mile, climb the highest mountain. Thats good too. But as I got older I realized that I didnt fit that sort of lifestyle. Its something that would have shocked the younger me.
Michael frowned. Ted, on the whole, didnt look a day over twenty-five. What made you want to do move tutoring, then? he asked.
Ted smiled. I guess my interest just took hold of me. And when I began to follow it, I saw that it was leading me in the right direction. Youll understand. Especially when you move on in your education. At this, Ted looked them both in the eye. Always keep your education in mind. Thats the most important thing. No matter what path you choose, never stop learning.
Michael had heard this phrase countless times before, though now, it seemed to take on a higher meaning. More so, it seemed like an invitation to continue talking. He thought for a moment, and the question seemed to spring forth of its own accord.
have you ever seen a pokémon differently-colored than normal? he said.
Teds expression clouded. I might have. What of it? A second later, he seemed to understand. Ah. Your Turtwig.
Michael nodded. He came like that. When I first got him, I mean. No one could tell me anything about it, but from what Ive heard, I assume its rare or something.
It is, Ted said. Pokémon are usually very uniform in their coloring, unless the species type varies naturally, like Chatots. I havent seen every pokémon in the worldand Im certain its impossible to do in one lifetimebut I have seen ones that defied their species natural coloring. I saw a light brown Starly when I lived in Floaroma, and by luck, when I moved here I saw a paler-colored Cherrim. The Starly flew away before I could observe its behavior, but I did get a good look at the Cherrim. On the whole it seemed like a normal Cherrim. It didnt have any special powers that its normally-colored kin didnt. I think that the coloring is just a recessive trait, something that might have been present at an earlier time but eventually evolved out of the species.
At this, a tick went off in Michaels mind. So... they could be different?
Ted shrugged. Maybe. I guess its up to science to find out. Pokémon are very interesting creatures, perhaps even more interesting than us humans. What makes them have such unique, powerful abilities that we dont? How did they develop? Why is it that by simply repeating a sequence of moves we can get them to command the elements with techniques like Blizzard and Solarbeam? We dont know and thats the beauty of it all. Ted leaned back in his chair with a smile. All in all, its a field thats full of surprises. Thats the best way I can put it. Why, just recently, they found that space pokémon Deoxys, was it?
Yep, Michael said.
Now that simply astounds me. A pokémon completely alien from Earth, with a body structure completely different from that of any pokémon here. Or maybe its similar whatever it is, I hope that those scientists dont stop what theyre doing. They could have the answer to everything right there... Ted looked up, and his gaze trailed over to the wall behind the boys, lingering somewhere in the empty space. Weak afternoon light filled the kitchen around them, casting a glow on the cupboards and counter, and on the tiny framed pictures that hung on the walls. Seashells. Meadows.
Sitting there in the space that enclosed him, his fingers idly looped through the handle of his teacup, Ted seemed suddenly harmless, almost lonely. He hung in silence for a while, then, as if by accident, he looked down at his watch and gave a jolt. Whoa. Five oclock already? He looked over to the boys. I guess you two should get going. I cant keep you here forever.
Leaving the table as it was, Ted led the boys to the front door, holding it open for them while they gathered their things. As Michael and Henry stepped outside, Ted closed the door a little, poking his head out again. Rememberpractice, and when your pokémon can do the sequence on their own, come back.
All right, Michael replied. He gave Ted a sort of wave, to which he responded with a sheepish thumbs-up, and closed the door.
When the boys got back to the hotel, the sun was beginning to set over the horizon, scattering bands of red and orange light across the sky. Upon nearing the elevators, Michael saw Bertha emerge from a door somewhere in the lobby and enter the hallway. She did not appear to notice either of them. She breezed by at an agitated pace, heels clacking on the carpet. Ill Miss Herrida you, you little
Before Michael could get her attention, Bertha rounded the corner and disappeared. At the same time, the elevator doors slid open, and he decided that whatever had happened, she would get around to telling them when she was ready. Or perhaps it was better not knowing at all.
When he stepped into their room, Michael was stricken by a sudden lethargy. Their beds were freshly made, and a new sack of pokémon food awaited their attention in the corner. He thought of pouring some out to feed his team now instead of later, but he decided that there were other matters to attend to first. After dropping his backpack by his bed, Michael trudged over to the TV set and flipped it on. The screen came to life in a burst of color and sound.
and now coming live from the scene we give you Carlo Tassen, the coach of the winning team
Michael turned the dial to change the channel. A football stadium that had just come into view immediately vanished, replaced by a TV show host.
next on Prime Time we have an all new episode of The Cool Kids, the last episode till the season finale next week
He changed the channel again. A swirl of faces appeared on the screen, a sea of dazzling smiles.
wonderful, just wonderful! I never imagined that we would win, but now the Beauty Ribbon seems closer to us than ever!
Click. Another frame appeared over the preceding one. He had reached Channel 5.
and after all the aid and kindness that has been shown to them, I am certain that the people of Eterna will see many brighter days in the future. This has been Mackie Rudolph, live with the evening news.
The newscasters image faded. Michael held his breath. Now, surely, would come the program he had waited weeks to see.
and now we bring you the show youve all been waiting for Folks, you can only get it from one place, and that is right here, on Jubilife News 5 get ready
JUKEBOX!
Michaels head snapped back, and he gawked at screen in surprise. What the hell?
Henry came over to his side. What?
They skipped it! The Space Race is supposed to follow the evening news, and Jukebox always comes after! Michael slapped his hands against his knees. They completely cut it from the lineup.
So, what does that mean? the boy asked.
Michael turned to him with a scowl. It means that the Space Race is gone. Theyll probably never update again. Not bothering to leave the TV on for one more second, Michael pressed the power button and let the screen go blank. Dammit, Im such a ditz Michael went over to his backpack and began to take out his stuff, plopping it down onto the bed. Come on, he said to Henry. We might as well go over what were going to practice after the battles tomorrow.
Still seated by the TV, Henry nodded. Yeah. Right. His eyes lingered on the blank screen for a moment, then slowly, he got up to join Michael.
//////
The streets were wet in Hearthome City. For that entire day, its inhabitants had been visited by chilly winds and spells of misty rain that showered periodically from the skies above. The streets were jammed as always, but what would normally have been a river of striking, moving color was reduced to a dreary mass of tires and horns, the frames of all the cars dulled to the same depressing hue by the weather. Likewise, the pedestrians were bundled up in coats and rain boots, some carrying umbrellas in anticipation.
In a far-flung part of the downtown area, Nancy Bryan sat in a cramped hotel room, her elbows pressed against the surface of a wooden table. She was holding her latest rejection letter from SNN in both hands, and was entirely immersed in reading it. It had arrived by telegram the previous day, but she hadnt looked at it in detail since she had sent word to Michael.
The curtains were pulled away from the window, letting in what little light the sky had to offer, illuminating the neat, typed lines. Nancy sat with a slight slouch in her shoulders as she read, mouthing the words as she often did when nothing in her mind was making sense.
News offices formal declarations same goddamn thing every time After getting through it, she crumpled up the paper and tossed it into a waste bin in the corner. Nancy had so much experience doing this that she no longer missed; the paper ball bounced off the edge and landed inside. She leaned back in her chair, letting out a sigh that she had been holding in for the entire day. What the hell do these people want, then?
Her question had been addressed to the ceiling, but nevertheless, Ned took the liberty of answering for her. Just keep trying, he said. The kid wrote a good article, yeah, but I honestly wasnt surprised that SNN didnt take it. Theyre not the type of people who do academic stories, even if they connect to something else in the world. He and Bobby were sitting on the couch, watching her read, and going about their own tasks. Bobby was leafing through the TV guide, and Ned was doing a crossword puzzle. Tom, who was reading a book in the separate armchair, also glanced up at his companions.
In response to Neds statement, Nancy smiled. Theyre not the type of people who do crime stories, theyre not the type of people who do stories about films, theyre not the people who do stories about pokémon then what are they?
Not people, Bobby replied curtly.
Nancy began to laugh. But at the same time, her mood remained bleak and overcast, much like the rainy city outside. Taking a breath, Nancy stood up, smoothening her blouse. Well, we might as well think about what well be having for dinner, she said. Im sick of going out to those streetside cafés and eating God-knows-what every evening. Im going to buy us some real food.
Works for me, Tom said.
Go for it, said Ned. But hurry back. It looks like itll start pouring soon.
Nodding, Nancy went to grab her purse, pulling her jacket from the coat hanger on her way to the door. She took the elevator downstairs, and upon stepping out of the building, Nancy felt a brief shudder escape her. Tiny, sparse drops were falling on the sidewalk, the promising beginnings of a downpour. The cars were moving slowly, clogging the streets.
Nancy hurried over to the bus stop, shielding her eyes with her hand as she ran. A low, resonating rumble issued from the clouds. Faint, summery music could be heard over the swoosh of shop doors, as people hurried to get home before the rain came.
The benches at the bus stop all had roofs, so naturally, each one was occupied by at least one person. Being in no mood to stand, Nancy took a seat in the first open spot she saw, beside a pair of legs and a head hidden behind a newspaper. She placed her purse in her lap and waited.
Again, thunder rolled across the sky.
The man beside herso it was a man, after allturned a page in acknowledgment. Using her peripherals, Nancy did a quick once-over of her temporary companion. He was a fellow like any other, it seemed. Well-dressed, though still somewhat relaxed. Probably a businessman. Satisfied, she went back to looking at the road.
The man cleared his throat, and a gust of wind rattled the pages of the newspaper, making him lower it a little. Nancy looked again. Glasses. Crew-cut. (Why were crew cuts so popular? she wondered. They were so unflattering.) The man began to tap his foot, and Nancy scooted to the side a little, guessing that maybe he wanted more room. For a brief moment, their eyes locked, then he quickly, almost pointedly, looked away. Nancy drew back internally in affront. At least people smiled back in Jubilife. What happened to that friendliness when it crossed the Coronet border?
Nancy put her arm on the cold bar of the bench and fixed her gaze on the buildings across the street. Several nondescript moments later, she heard another crinkle of paper beside her, and this time the man acknowledged her presence with a nod.
Terrible weather, he remarked.
Nancy twirled a string on her purse. Yep.
The rain intensified for a moment, then quieted down again. Up above, the sky was thick with storm clouds. Suddenly, it struck Nancy that the man was very oddly dressed for such a day. Nearly all the passerby she saw were bundled up for the rainshe herself had worn rubber boots for all the walking she had to doand yet this guy was sitting there, no umbrella or raincoat, in a suit for crying out loud, like it was nobodys problem.
The man looked at her again, probably noticing her stare. He folded a corner and closed the newspaper. Its a shame what they print these days, he said.
Nancy bristled. Oh.
Just a bunch of hullabaloo. Or rather, what they dont print, I should say.
What do you mean? she ventured.
The man was silent for a moment, his eyes absently scanning the headlines. I rarely see a paper that prints something worthwhile nowadays, and on the rare chance that I do, its ignored in the editorials and is never built upon by anyone else. For example, did you know that moonstones were first discovered on Earth in 1756? Thats ages before Hoenns lunar probe was even built.
And? Nancy said, still not following.
There is an article here that introduces the topic of moonstones rather nicely, but Im ashamed that its the only one of its kind. In the first place, Im astounded that pokémon evolution would even interest the contemporary news press, since all I see from day to day is the same prattle on politics and conspiracies. But instead of taking a step in the right direction by publishing it in a respectable manner, the newspaper blatantly plays it down as an unimportant issue, both in placing and in format. The man paused, and flipped through the pages some more. Of course, I should not be the one to complain. Pokémon evolution is a field that few people care for. The author does a fair job of summarizing the issue, but even so, the introduction is far too late in the coming. The public today shows an ignorance on the matter, and even worse, a matter that concerns them. Its a sure sign that the media isnt doing its proper job. Would you agree? At this point, the man glanced over to Nancy, and his gaze fell on the pocket of her coat. With a tiny jolt, she realized that the press badge was still clipped there, from when she had visited the Hearthome newspaper office earlier that day. She had completely forgotten about it, but now its glaring presence made her feel strangely exposed. Nancy started to reach for it to pull it off, but it was too late. The man already recognized her.
Slouching her shoulders, Nancy leaned back against the bench, folding her arms over her purse. Theres not much else to print, now, is there? she said. The press prints what the people want to read about. And basically, everythings covered already. Weve got the Contest season, the Pokémon League, the Space Race
At this, the man smiled. Yes, those are the three biggest things... Its a shame.
Why?
People dont know the truth about them either. And not just about the Space Raceabout the League too. Im not saying that any one person is at fault, but there is no denying that these days, theres more speculation than certainty.
Nancy nodded. Yeah. I can understand. But what was there to do about it?
At any rate, the man continued, I dont think theres any point for the media to be searching for the truth. The truth loves to hide from us, and oftentimes the theories that show up in the news make things seem worse, or better, than they actually are. Take the League for example. It isnt all fun and games, contrary to what most people believe. No ones reformed it in ages, and its rules often cause more problems than they solve. In the eyes of the media, however, it can do no wrong. And Team Galactic
Nancys heart skipped a beat. She was about to turn around and ask the man what he was about to say, but at that moment, he seemed to realize that the conversation had taken a wrong turn. He settled back into silence, letting the former heat of his argument wash away, like the rain.
Finally, Nancy found her voice. If you dont think that the media should be searching for the truth then what should we be doing?
It was a long time before the man replied. He rolled up the newspaper into a tube and rose from his seat, straightening the edges of his jacket. Know it when you see it, he said. Sometimes its right there, out in the open, where youre least likely to look. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked out at the street. For a moment, his silhouette stood sharply against the bleak backdrop of the city. Then, he stepped away from her and set off down the sidewalk. Nancy watched him go, picking up his pace as he vanished into the flock of moving people, as if he had never been there at all.
The story of Professor Rowan - Chapter 34 is up!
Other Works:Cave Guardian ♦ Cheater ♦ Contests ♦ Maids
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KIRABOSHI
I apologize for the brief review this time, but rest assured I did attentively read it all.
The bulk of the chapter was dedicated to Ted, the Move Tutor. Dedicating much of a chapter to a concept from the games that usually gets little attention can be a great way to stand out, but it can also be challenging to do successfully. You pulled it off very effectively, in fact. The way you depicted Ted teaching the Pokémon new moves, while not the method I'd probably use, was quite creative. It was also very entertaining to see the personalities of the different Pokémon react to this method; obviously, Ringo stole the show again there, but they all got good time. I do kind of wish that the Psychic moves had gotten more time, though.
The later parts of the chapter really took a whiplash in terms of mood. Obviously something happened to upset Bertha, and I get the feeling that the disappearance of the Space Race news and the apparent Galactic whistleblower are connected.
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Rolling writer
It's perfectly fine. Brief reviews mean quick replies. :P
I'm glad you liked Ted's part. I was worried for a bit that it took up too much of the chapter, but it was already pushing the character limit, and I didn't want to elaborate on much else in the beginning. I'll go into more detail later on the individual moves that the pokemon have learned.
It shouldn't be hard to guess what's upsetting Bertha right now, and unfortunately, there will be more of it in the coming chapters...The later parts of the chapter really took a whiplash in terms of mood. Obviously something happened to upset Bertha, and I get the feeling that the disappearance of the Space Race news and the apparent Galactic whistleblower are connected.
And yes. They are. In a subtle, yet big way.
It will all be made clear soon enough... but for now, thanks for reading!
The story of Professor Rowan - Chapter 34 is up!
Other Works:Cave Guardian ♦ Cheater ♦ Contests ♦ Maids
Author's Profile
Rolling writer
Hey everyone. With the posting of this chapter, I have an announcement to make: I will be gone from June 22nd to around the 17th of July. That means Roots will have to be put on a brief hiatus (though this chapter took longer than that to get here :x) and likewise, my internet activity will be zero. I figured it would be a bit of a low blow if I didn't post till I came back, because you waited long enough for this one. I'll be here to respond to any reviews up to the 22nd, but after that, I can't guarantee I'll be able to make it online too often, if at all. So if I don't respond to you around then, don't think I'm ignoring you. xP
Goodbye for now, and I'll bring back lots of new chapters and plot developments!
2.6
“Chimchar, use Flamethrower!”
A small, monkey-like pokémon let out a screech as it hopped from one foot to another. Clutching its belly with its hands, it shot a jet of flames from its mouth into the air, where Ringo was flapping madly, trying to evade the attacks.
"Fire! Help! Fire!" the bird was screeching. With every inferno blast he dodged, Ringo grew more and more agitated, till he forgot his plan of attack completely and started flying aimlessly in circles.
Michael stood at the far edge of the battlefield, clenching his fist while he watched the relay. His opponent that day was putting up a good fight—he had lost his Caterpie to the boy’s Staravia, and then had his Goldeen faint right after bringing it down. The boy had sent out his Chimchar to open the second round, and Michael had retaliated with Ringo, but even so he was beginning to feel the strain.
“Ringo, use Peck! Dodge the fire and go!” he shouted.
Ringo continued to circle over the Chimchar’s head, eyes closed reflexively against the blinding fire-flashes. Hearing him, the bird risked a low plunge, baring his claws, and grabbed hold of the tuft of hair on the monkey’s head.
"Ember this!" Ringo began to peck at the Chimchar, making it squeal like a baby. Its reedy arms reached up in an attempt to block the attacks, but Ringo was relentless. Finally, the Chimchar collapsed, letting out a sigh of exhaustion.
“Ver’y good!” came a female voice. Betty, their referee, stepped out of the sidelines, dimples creasing her face as she smiled. “Dan still has one point, and if Michael can catch up th’s last time, then it’ll be a tie! Go!” The lady snapped her fingers, and Michael’s opponent sent back the fainted Chimchar, swapping its pokéball for another.
“I choose you—ENIGMA!”
The pokéball opened to release a flood of white light, and a tiny body took form in the air. At first, Michael thought it would be a Bronzor, but when the light faded, he saw that it was something else entirely— a tiny black thing with a huge white eye, staring ahead with blank passivity like a cartoon drawing. The rest of the creature’s body seemed to be made of wire, and twisted into a circular letter ‘O’ around it.
The pokémon made no sound as it hovered in the air, blinking periodically. Their referee began to giggle.
“Aww, how cute! You ‘ave an Unown!”
Dan smiled. “I went to the Solaceon Ruins in my spare time,” he said, glancing over to Michael. “They’re all over the place there. And they’ve got a cool power too. Watch!” He pointed up at Ringo. “Enigma, use Hidden Power!”
A blue flare lit up the Unown’s eye from within, and a glowing aura spread around its entire body. There was a brief flash—Michael caught a split second’s glimpse of a band of light whipping out from around the pokémon—and then Ringo was tumbling back through the air like a windblown leaf. Ringo flapped his wings for balance, and settled onto Michael’s head for support, his sharp claws entangling themselves in his hair.
"Yowp! Yow! Ow!"
Michael narrowed his eyes, groaning as Ringo’s wings thumped against the sides of his face. He swatted the bird aside, and Ringo rose back into the air, though it was clear that his ego had taken a blow. As Ringo circled his end of the battlefield, he began to mutter something under his breath which Michael couldn’t fully hear, and was glad that no one else could either. As he looked up at the Unown, a sense of firm conviction arose inside of him. That thing had to fall.
“Ringo, use Peck!” Michael said to the bird. “And claw its eye!”
Ringo flew forward, relishing the prospect of revenge, but just as he was about to grip the Unown with his claws, another light-whip smacked him back, making him fall. Michael gritted his teeth as he watched the bird flutter weakly, slumping into a heap on the ground.
“Get up, Ringo!” he called.
The bird croaked weakly in response. “Ringo in the sky with diamonds…” With that, his head lolled over to the side, tongue drooping. Betty looked at the bird with an expression of pity. “Michael, I think he’s—”
“Yeah, I know,” Michael said. He didn’t want to hear her say ‘fainted’. He returned Ringo to his capsule and went over to his backpack by the side wall. He sat there for a moment, pondering.
The only way I can get that thing is through special attacks. I have to find a way to knock it out of the air so I can stomp it. Seeing no other way to go about it, he placed Ringo’s pokéball back and quickly swept his gaze over the ones that remained. He had marked each capsule with the letter of its pokémon’s name in permanent marker, not wanting to spend $2.95 on a pack of stickers. Now, at least he didn’t have to worry about which pokémon he had placed where. After thinking for a brief period, Michael made his choice — Turtwig.
He came back to the battlefield and released the pokémon without preamble. Once Turtwig had emerged, Michael gave his command — “Turtwig, use Razor Leaf!”
Turtwig, who had long grown accustomed to being sent out into the nick of battle, raised his head to look at the Unown. He spent some time gauging distance and angle, then began to flick his head from side to side, dislodging tiny leaves that whipped like razors through the air. But it was as if an invisible shield blocked the Unown from contact — just before they reached their target, the leaves hit a block in midair and fell against it, like rain against a windshield. They drifted towards the floor, harmless. Michael ordered Turtwig to attack again, but to no avail. The Unown was untouchable.
A state of deep thought overcame him, mixed with a twinge of irritation. Michael stared up at the floating pokemon, rocking on the balls of his feet. Dan, who must have taken it as a gesture of futility, crossed his arms and smiled. “Well? Want to try again?”
Michael pursed his lips. “Why don’t you go? I’m open.” He spread out his arms, indicating the defenseless Turtwig. He knew he wasn’t in the best position to push his luck, but he would rather risk Turtwig taking a couple hits if only to catch a glimpse of what attacks the Unown knew.
Betty looked over to Dan in agreement, tapping her manicured fingernails against the clipboard. “Yeah, why don’t you go ‘head an’ give it a try? Your Un’own hasn’t atack’d yet.”
Dan’s expression clouded. “Fine, but you’re gonna regret it! Enigma, use Hidden Power!”
The black pupil vanished in a neon-blue glow, and Michael heard the clap of expanding air as the band of light lashed out at the Unown’s surroundings. Turtwig was pushed back, though the force that hit him was noticeably weaker, no more than a gust of strong wind at a park. Turtwig righted himself and shook his head, making the leaves on his head wobble.
Michael blinked. That must be all it can do! he realized. It must be good at non-contact moves, and be really bad at physical ones.
As he thought this, a smile crept over his face. The beginnings of a battle plan sketched themselves in his mind. Opening the Turtwig’s pokéball, he called the pokémon back and went to swap him for another.
“Go!” Michael unlocked the new capsule, which released his Machop. After several days of practicing Ted’s meditating exercises, the pokémon had grown calmer and more energetic. He no longer stalled as much in battle, and had a more even temper throughout the day, which Michael considered an improvement in and of itself. As he was released from the capsule, the pokémon landed on all fours on the tumble mats, then straightened to look up at the Unown, whose glittering silhouette hung right about the windows.
“Hey, over here.” Michael snapped his fingers, and Machop turned. “Come here. I need a big favor from you.”
The wide eyes blinked, and Machop put on a childlike expression of interest. He approached Michael, who knelt down so that his face and the pokémon’s were level.
“I need you to be brave for me,” he said. “Can you do that?”
Machop gave an affirmative nod, and Michael smiled. “Good.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper so that no one else could hear him. “Now. You see the Unown up there? That’s your opponent. It’s really tough when it’s up there in the air, so we have to pull it down. All you need to do is jump really high to reach it. It’ll be tough, but you’re the only one who’s got the speed and power to make it work. Just keep going at it and don’t stop no matter how many of those shockwaves it shoots at you. Once you bring it down, it’s yours for playing. Sound like a deal?”
Machop nodded again, putting on a can-do frown of determination. Michael got to his feet and spun the pokémon around to face his opponent. “Go!”
Machop stood still for a couple of seconds, shifting his weight from one leg to another as he pondered over his approach. Then, he broke into a sprint, dashing across the mats and taking a leap into the air. The tip of his outstretched hand came a foot away from reaching the Unown, then Machop fell back down, tumbling towards the wall.
Michael sighed. “Try again!”
Dan grinned. “Enigma, use Hidden Power!”
Machop prepared to make a second jump. This time he ran to the farthest corner of the room and settled into a runner’s lunge. He rocketed forward, becoming a blue-green blur of motion, and sprang upwards when he reached the middle of the battlefield. The Unown’s shockwave caught him while he was still in the air, and smacked him back as if he had hit a wall. Machop let out a yelp, and crashed down onto the mats. Meanwhile, the Unown retreated higher into the air, till it was almost grazing the ceiling. With a jolt, Michael realized it was afraid.
It has no physical capabilities! That’s why it stays on the defensive. No doubt, the pokémon's body would shatter the minute Machop set his foot down on it. The prospect renewed Michael’s hope. He looked down at the Machop, who was still sitting on the floor, his expression torn somewhere between an angry snarl and a whimper. Exaggerating another sigh, Michael snapped his fingers like a football coach. “Come on, get up. You’re not gonna get anywhere if you sit around. That thing has the strength of a floating cracker. It’s trying to scare you away, but you gotta be tougher than that. I want you to get up, pull it down, and stomp on it like there’s no tomorrow! Hear me?”
Spurred by goading of his trainer, Machop got to his feet, brushing off his knees. Feeling unusually energetic, Michael clapped his hands. “Now get him!”
From across the room, Dan’s frown lines deepened. “Enigma, use Hidden Power!”
Letting out a strange screeching sound, the Unown reluctantly lowered itself, till it was back to its former height. Machop lunged forward without a moment’s hesitation, but this time he did not stop midway for a jump—he kept going until he reached the wall, then he made a jump, pushing off the vertical surface to propel himself into the air. Machop’s outstretched hands grabbed the Unown’s outer ring like a steering wheel, carrying it down to the floor.
“Now stomp!” Michael said.
Teeth bared in an angry snarl, Machop raised his foot and smashed it against the Unown’s frame. The pokémon let out a metallic screech as its wiring snapped like a twig, its single black pupil spinning frantically in its socket. The eye immediately drifted closed.
Dan’s mouth dropped open. “What?! That’s impossible!” He looked over to Michael with utter disbelief, who responded with a wink.
“Never begin a battle with a special attack.” A sneer spread over Michael’s face, but it froze when he realized whose words he was echoing. A chill crept down his spine.
Machop gathered the fragmented remains of the Unown and handed them over to Dan with a smug smile. The trainer looked crestfallen.
“Wow, that was quite a finish!” said their referee. “Michael and Dan are now tied with one point each. Great work, fellas!”
“But what about my Unown? What am I supposed to do with it?” said Dan, looking down at the splintered mess in his arms.
Betty tilted her head to the side. “Oh, don’t wor’y. It doesn’t hurt them when their bodies break like that. As a matter of fact, they can be pieced back togeth’r. Just visit the Pokémon Center and they’ll show you what to do.” She marked down the battle’s results, then looked up at Dan again. “Though I would advise against using them in battle. They’r mighty cute, but they don’t fare well in physical combat, as you’ve seen.”
Dan grumbled. He and Michael packed their things and left the battle room. Even as he reached the lobby, Michael was unable to shake away his stupor at what had happened. Unconsciously, he had used Lona’s advice. And it had worked.
He exchanged a parting nod with Dan, then watched the boy scurry out of the building in the direction of the Pokémon Center. Looking around, Michael didn’t see Henry anywhere among the crowd, so he found a place to stand over to the side and dropped his backpack.
A minute later, he felt a tap on his shoulder, and a voice rose out from behind him. “Hey.”
Michael turned. Rick had approached from the hallway door, the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Michael smiled. “Hey. How goes it?”
“Pretty good.” Rick shrugged. “I saw you walk out and I decided to catch up with you. You didn’t have Lona again, did you?”
Michael snorted. “Thankfully not.”
“Oh. ‘Cause I saw her go into one of the rooms in our hallway earlier th’s morning. She must be refereeing for the left wing of the Gym this week.”
“But there must be only a one-in-fifty chance of getting her,” Michael said. “With all those rooms to choose from.”
Rick shook his head. “Nuh-uh. I’ve had her five times, once on two consecut’ve days. I’m pretty sure she gets to pick who she wants. And we both know that I’m the one she likes to yell at.”
Michael chuckled. “Can’t argue with that. So how did your battle go?”
“Pretty good,” Rick replied. “My partner used all dual-types, so we actually had a normal battle, for once. You know, with special moves.”
Michael nodded.
“And yours?”
“It was all right,” Michael said. “I won.”
“Cool.”
With nothing else to say between them, the boys sank into silence, tuning back into the noise of the lobby. Rick lowered his duffel bag beside Michael’s and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. At that moment, the door to the left hallway swung open, and Lona Walker emerged, her feet gliding gracefully over the wooden floor. Michael followed her with his gaze as she approached the front desk and leaned over to exchange a word with one of her attendants. While her back was turned, he took a moment to study her—annoyingly perfect posture, skirt below the knees, prim shoes… and jacket. It was the color of wilting roses, of Contest ribbons, of faded pastel sketches. Michael hated the hue from the bottom of his heart, but he couldn’t stop looking at it, and stood helpless as it burned into his skull. Only when Lona turned around did he finally snap out of his trance, dropping his gaze to the floor to pretend that he had not noticed her.
The Gym leader stalked back over to the door, and cast a brief, sharp glance in their direction before she disappeared. Michael heard a grumble beside him.
“She thinks she’s so cool…” said Rick. He had also lowered his head when Lona had passed, and now looked up with a shadow cast over his face. “Walks around like she’s queen of the world. I wish someone would put her in her place, for once.”
Michael made a hmh of agreement, but did not respond.
“…and if that someone’s gotta be me, then I’ll do it.” Rick straightened, smoothing the edges of his shirt. “I’ll talk to you later, Michael. I gotta make a run to the PokéMart ‘cause I ordered some pokéball seals.”
“All right,” Michael said, and lifted his hand. “Easy, man.”
“Yeah. You too.” Rick waved his hand in return, and went off.
Before Michael could drift back into his thoughts, he heard the door slam again and turned to see Henry approach him, looking tired, but upbeat. Henry stepped over to him, smiling. “Hey Michael.” His gaze trailed over to the double doors, where Rick had left moments ago. “Who was that?”
“Just a kid I met,” Michael said.
Henry tapped his chin. “I think I’ve seen him before… he was one of the kids who went into my hallway the other day.”
“Yeah, he’s been here for a while,” Michael said. “Lona’s been holding him back. He’s been here for four whole weeks and he still hasn’t been moved up to the staff rank.”
Henry’s face fell. “Oh. That’s too bad… but I guess Lona has a reason for it. She has to, doesn’t she?”
Michael let out a laugh. “Yeah, you’re saying that now. But what if the same thing happens to us?”
“I don’t think it will,” Henry said, with an odd, quiet certainty in his voice. “I mean, I’ve never had Lona as my referee before, but she doesn’t sound like she wants to keep us down. She probably wants us to learn something. And I have. You know, my referees have shown me a lot of cool stuff that I never knew about battling before. So…” He finished with a shrug.
Michael rolled his eyes jokingly, but let the subject drop. They left the Gym together, and as they stepped outside, Michael instinctively turned left away from the direction of the hotel. Henry stopped him midway. “Wait, where are you going?”
“We have to see Ted, don’t we? It’s been three days. We’ve been practicing just like he said, and I don’t know about you, but my pokémon have learned the move sequences front and back.”
Henry giggled. “Yeah. Mine too.”
“So let’s go then.”
With that, they set off for the town’s suburban area.
After their first meeting with the Move Tutor, both of them had diligently gone about learning the prescribed techniques with their pokémon. Their stay in Solaceon soon grew to resemble a session of boot camp, as each morning, they went to the Gym for their battles, then returned immediately to the hotel’s patio area to practice the move sequences. Michael and Henry isolated a shady patch of grass as their favorite spot, where Golden, Machop, Ringo, Starly, Burmy, and Clefable would follow along with their trainers’ instructions like a yoga group.
Michael had jotted down the steps on a piece of paper, and whenever one of his pokémon forgot something, he would step in to remind them, often resorting to doing a bad imitation of the move himself. (Thankfully for him, few were around to see.) In the span of those days, Michael spent more time with his pokémon than in all the years of his life put together. And, unsuspectingly, he was enjoying it.
The only member of their collective party that did not accompany them in their day-to-day excursions was the Stunky. After Henry had released it, Michael had seen it only a spare few times around town. He always recognized it, for it was one of the few Stunkies in their part of Solaceon, and always lurked around the same areas—the Gym, the streets around the hotel, and the diner that had likely become its favorite source of food. On occasion, Michael would look up from whatever he was doing and see a pair of yellow eyes blink out at him from behind a fence, or a purple tail frisk back and forth beside a bush. A part of him didn’t understand why the Stunky didn’t just cut and run for the hills; clearly, captivity had never been to its liking, and here it had all the freedom its little Stunky heart could ever want. But for whatever reason, it chose to stay. He didn’t concern himself overmuch with it, and let the Stunky-sightings become a simply part of a routine day.
They arrived at the Move Tutor’s house in a matter of minutes. Ted opened the door for them at the right moment this time, pushing it out slowly before peeking out from behind it. “Ah, welcome,” he said, smiling when he saw the boys. “Come on in. You’ll be happy to see that I’ve done a lot of cleaning since you two were here.”
Michael stepped inside the house, and saw that it was indeed in a better state than before. A large portion of the mess in Ted’s library had been cleared. Many of the boxes that had littered the floor were gone, and the books they contained had now found a home on the shelves. The curtains were pulled open behind the TV, letting dusty sunlight sift into the room.
Ted had cleaned himself up as well, and looked more vibrant than usual. His hair was combed, and he had substituted his jeans for nicer-looking pants. His glasses were perched squarely on his nose, the frames twinkling in the light. He closed the door behind the boys and led them towards the workroom. “Come on back and send out your pokémon. I want to see how you’ve been practicing.”
Michael and Henry sent out their pokémon and made their way to the back room, where they all gathered around the table. Ted brought out the same move manuals as before to look off of for reference. The first pokémon to go was Clefable. Henry lifted her onto the table and rubbed the tuft of fur at the top of her head. “Let’s show them what you learned,” he said. “Use Psychic!”
Clefable closed her eyes, as she had a habit of doing to focus her thoughts. Her move sequence was more of a strength exercise, in which she would be given a pebble or small object, and would have to lift it using only her mental energy. Ted had given her a series of stretches to help relax her body, similar to Machop’s meditation. Over the days the boys had been practicing, she had graduated from pebbles to pencils, and other medium-size objects. But for a rather challenging touch, Ted placed the Psychic manual in front of her and smiled. “Let’s see how she does with this one.”
Clefable closed her eyes, wrinkling her tiny nose, creases forming along her brow line. The book wobbled from its place, and rose a few inches into the air.
“Wonderful,” said Ted. “I’d say a few more days of practice, and she’ll be able to penetrate another pokémon’s mind.”
“How will I know for sure?” asked Henry.
“You’ll have to test her out in battle. But I think when she’s able to hold a book in the air for at least thirty seconds, she’ll be ready.”
Ted looked back at Clefable, who was struggling to keep the manual aloft. The book began to spin as her concentration wavered, and plopped down onto the table. Clefable let out a breath of exhaustion, and shook her head to clear it. Henry lifted her from the table and brought up Burmy, who quickly fled into his pink-coated shell. Ted tapped the shell with a pencil, and to Michael’s surprise, it produced a light metallic sound.
“Hear that? That means he’s hardening it. And by a fair amount, actually, considering the short time span you had. Good work.” He handed the pokémon back to Henry.
Next came Starly and Ringo. Both birds had made advancements, thanks to an insatiable urge to test out their new skills on each other. Whenever they were sent out, Michael and Henry’s practice sessions in the courtyard would be filled with bickering and squabbling, as each bird would try to one-up the other by displaying a fragmented series of air-slices or wing maneuvers. This time, the boys sent them out separately, so each bird could demonstrate its skill without the temptation of its nemesis. (Though Ringo still turned around in place, scanning the room with a suspicious gaze.)
Last to go was Machop. His technique was by far the simplest. When Michael set him down on the table, the pokémon settled into the same meditative pose he had assumed on the battlefield. He closed his eyes and placed his hands on his knees, becoming as still as a statue. Ted nodded, visibly impressed.
“This fella’s really making progress.”
Michael gave a half-smile. “You should’ve seen him when we battled the Gym in Oreburgh. He was insane.”
“How is he in battle now?” asked Ted. “Is he more focused?”
Michael nodded. “Yeah.”
Henry, who stood beside Michael with his arms crossed, cracked a smile. “Heh. I guess that’s why they call it pokémon training. It’s like we help them do things they can’t do on their own.”
Ted’s eyes lit up. “Exactly. That’s exactly what pokémon training is. We help our pokémon achieve a higher state of being by getting them to realize the full potential of their powers. And they help us too, in a different way.”
Michael turned up the corners of his mouth in amusement. He reached out towards Machop and snapped his fingers. The pokémon turned out of reflex, his large eyes blinking. This elicited a smile from Michael. Right then, he had remembered the words of his mother: “Pokémon training teaches you responsibility!” But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like he had done more teaching to them.
I wonder where they’d all be without me, he thought. If he hadn’t left home, then he would have never gotten any of his current team members, save for Turtwig. Machop would likely still be frolicking in the meadow by Oreburgh City, Ringo would be dropping nuts on passerby trainers’ heads, and Goldeen and Caterpie would still be with their former owners. But by some stroke of fate, he had come along and assembled them into a single unit. And for better or worse, they were here to stay.
There was no tea this time, but after they finished, Ted led the boys back into the living room and let them hang around while he continued to sort through the books. As their conversation wore on, he eventually began to hand the boys books and they automatically phased into helping him. And thus, Michael spent his afternoon shelving books in a home library, of all places.
The box Ted gave him was full of encyclopedias—or rather, volumes of an encyclopedia that he was trying to sort into chronological order. As his hand traveled from the box to the shelf, Michael would frequently pause to look through the books. They were about pokémon anatomy, a subject that both grossed him out and fascinated him. Each volume was roughly two inches thick, and was filled with pictures of skeletal cross-sections and organ structures. The text was set in an old-style font that was smudged in some places, where Ted had scribbled notes in pen.
Michael looked aside from time to time to see what Henry was doing. The boy had emptied a small box of books, and had proceeded to a second one that lay beside him. He pulled it open, and from where he was standing, Michael saw that it was filled with thin folders. Each one was bound with brass rings, and had a lengthy title of dates and numbers.
“What are those?” he asked.
“Those would be my journals,” came Ted’s voice from across the room. “I collect articles on all sorts of topics. Most of them are pokémon-related, anyhow.”
As he said this, Henry’s reached into the box and pulled one out. He frowned as he read the title. “Storage System Two.”
Ted came over to where Henry was standing. “Ah. That’s one of my most prized journals. It’s about a new design for the pokéball, actually the latest one that you’re using right now. It was published in 1947.”
“Whoa. How’d you get it?” Henry said.
Ted chuckled. “I got lucky. I lived in Floaroma for a while, and a family in my neighborhood was getting ready to move out, so they had a yard sale. They brought down a bunch of stuff they had up in their attic, and I found this issue, along with a bunch of other ones, in a box they said they never opened. I guess whoever lived in that house before was an avid researcher, or collector. And it must have been a stroke of fate that those journals ended up in the hands of another avid researcher and collector.”
Michael went to stand by Henry’s side as he flipped through the journal, page after page displaying perfectly even columns of tiny, printed text. “Wow…"
“You can read it if you want,” Ted replied. “Just be careful with it."
Michael looked over at the paper’s heading.
Storage System 2 — A proposal for improved capsule design
Michael Borman, Alfonso Helfer, Stephen Adams, et al.
“Hey, that’s it!” said Henry suddenly, jabbing his finger at the list of names. “That’s the guy who invented the modern pokéball! Or, I guess, it was him and his team. Look, Michael. He has the same name as you.”
Michael’s mouth spread into a half-smile. “Yeah, maybe there’s a Henry in there too somewhere. Let’s keep reading.”
Henry turned the cover. The article was nearly ten pages long, and detailed what seemed to be an experiment, followed by a critical analysis and conclusion. As far as Michael could gather, the scientists were testing new capsule designs that were based upon advanced physical concepts, something that clearly had never been done before. A diagram took up nearly an entire page, comparing the designs of the new and old pokéball. The old one was larger and had a snap lock at the center in place of a knob, and on the inside, was an almost unrecognizable mess of tiny valves and widgets. In contrast, the new one had a sleek metal interior, with soldered wires stemming out from the center point like the sun’s rays. Michael tried to read through the article to find out how the two differed in terms of technology, but found so many unintelligible acronyms and jargon that his mind was twisted in circles. Henry seemed equally befuddled.
“Whoever these guys were, they were smart,” said the boy, letting out a breath.
“That’s right,” said Ted. “They use a lot of technical terminology that the layman wouldn’t understand, but this journal wasn’t written for the layman. In a nutshell, what they did was apply the properties of white dwarfs to improve the storing of pokémon.”
“White dwarfs?” Henry looked up at Ted in confusion, and Michael mimicked the motion.
Ted bowed his head. “I’m no astronomy whiz, but I do happen to know that a white dwarf is a type of star. They’re one of the most dense objects in the universe—they have all the mass of a regular star concentrated into a sphere that’s about the size of Earth. If you had one teaspoon of the stuff that a white dwarf is made of, it would weigh tons. Basically, through one method or another, those scientists managed to find a way to make living creatures condense into a small space just like the white dwarfs do, without harming themselves, and without adding unnecessary weight to the capsule.” He spread his arms out wide, chuckling. “I have no idea how they did it. But I’m glad they did. All of the old pokéball models were based on the properties of the ancient ones. They did their job well enough, but they got very heavy after you put the pokémon inside, and you couldn’t reuse them if, say the pokémon broke out.”
“Then how’d the trainers get by?” Michael asked, unable to suppress a laugh.
“Well, there were fewer trainers back then. And those who were trainers were very… ah, dedicated.” Ted smiled.
Henry flipped through the article some more, then slid it into its proper place on the shelf. He shelved the rest of the journals in a matter of minutes, then looked down at the empty box at his feet. “Ted, I’m all done,” he said, lifting it with one hand. “Where should I put this?”
Ted, who was dusting a bookshelf of his own, responded with a grunt. “Just put it up top. I want to clear as much floor space as possible because I have to clean that too… but make sure there’s room first.”
Henry nodded. “Okay.” He pulled over a tall stool and stepped up towards the bookcase with the box in hand. Even on his tiptoes, the boy’s head barely grazed the topmost shelf. He lifted the box with both hands and tried to find a place to put it, but the top of the shelf was so cluttered that every push elicited a chorus of clangs and rustles. After a minute of fruitless probing, Henry lowered the box with a sigh, shaking his head. “My arms hurt,” he said. “I can’t do it.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Here. Give it to me.” He took the box and stepped up onto the stool. Being the taller of the two, Michael could see exactly what was taking up so much space—even here, there was an endless supply of folders, papers, and miscellaneous knickknacks. His eyes swept over the mess in bewilderment. “Ted, you’ve got a lot of stuff up here. Mind if I move some of it?” He lifted a stack of paperclipped documents and started to hand them down to Henry.
“Wait, hold on,” came Ted’s voice from behind. “I’ve got a lot of papers up there, but the ones I don’t need are mixed in with important ones. Do you mind reading out what you get?”
“Sure.” Michael flipped through the stack, peering at the headings one by one. “One’s a subscription form for Science Editor’s Monthly. Then you have a letter from the Chairman of the Pokémon Fan Club…”
“Keep the letter, throw out the subscription form,” Ted said. “That magazine was no good anyway.”
Michael handed down the subscription form to Henry and kept reading. “Then you have a note… hang on.” He paused to look at a small slip of notebook paper that had appeared beneath the letter. The handwriting was tiny and straight, nothing like the slanted scribble that had been in the encyclopedia margins. The note was short and unsigned.
You left this in the Daycare Center the other day. I couldn’t catch up with you in time, but the clerk gave me your address so I could return it. I hope all your papers and bookmarks are still in there; I kept them from falling out as best as I could.
I must say, you have a good taste in books.
Michael looked up at Ted, frowning. “What’s this?”
Ted lowered the washcloth and looked over his shoulder. “What?”
Michael held the paper up, and Ted lifted his glasses to get a better look. When he saw the paper, his face turned the slightest shade of pink. “Oh. That… Yeah, keep it.” He pushed his glasses back on and turned back to the shelf.
“What is it? Who’s it from?” Michael asked.
Ted did not immediately respond, but began to dust at a slightly faster pace than before. “Well… uh, a few days ago, I went to a pokémon daycare center to drop off some books as a donation. Stuff like species diversity, basic training techniques, things I didn’t really need anymore. But I accidentally put an important book into the pile—one I really needed for my projects. I had notes and everything in there, but I had no idea that I put it in the wrong box. And, well, one of the people at the center must have noticed and was nice enough to return it.”
“So if you got the book back, then why are you keeping the note?” Michael said.
Ted shrugged, and the gesture was so sheepish and innocent that, for a moment, it made him seem childlike. He shifted his gaze from Michael to Henry, who were both staring at him in silence, their expressions betraying a growing interest. After a minute, something seemed to give inside of him, and Ted let out a sigh. “Okay, fine. I know who it’s from. But she’s not my—I mean, I don’t know her or anything. She’s just a lady I see around town sometimes.”
A smile tugged at Michael’s lips. “What’s her name?”
“I don’t know… We’ve never talked.”
“What does she look like?” Henry piped up.
Ted shrugged again. “She always has her hair up, so I can’t see much of it... last time I saw her she was wearing a hat, a skirt, a white cardigan, and red heels.” He paused, for a moment appearing shocked that he had remembered so much. Ted scratched his head. “They could have been red. I‘m not sure.” Flustered, he turned back to the bookshelf.
Michael looked down at the note and gave a businesslike nod. “Well, whoever she is, she definitely likes your subject preference. Maybe she’s a resident-move tutor too.” He locked eyes with Henry and perked his eyebrows. The boy suppressed a giggle.
Ted continued to clean as he did before, though he appeared lost in thoughts of his own, only partially aware of the boys’ presence. As he swept the cloth across the spines of his books, he gave a small smile. “Maybe… But no, I don’t think she’s from here. At least, not as far as I can tell. She doesn’t dress like most people in Solaceon. Not that it’s a bad thing…” He fell silent again, this time looking over to the boys almost reluctantly, as if to see whether they had anything else to ask him. When he saw that they were both standing quietly, he smiled. “Ah, don’t worry about me. You’re too young to have to worry about a fool’s life problems. Enjoy youth. Enjoy the chance to be free.”
With that, he stepped down from the stool and turned his attention to a photograph that was framed beside the window. Biting his lip, he began to clean it, wiping off a layer of dust from the glass.
Michael could feel him slipping away again, but felt compelled to speak. “Well, maybe you’ll see her again one day and find out,” he finally said.
But Ted didn’t say anything else. He kept right on polishing, smiling as he did it, that odd lover’s look cast over his face, making it appear vibrant and childlike. When he was done, he swiped his fingers across the surface of the photograph and leaned back to admire it. It was a vase of pink tulips, their petals glimmering with water droplets as if from a spell of summer rain. None of his pictures had people.
When he finished cleaning, Ted stepped down from the stool and tossed the washcloth around his shoulder, whistling in a familiar way. There was a confident flair to his manner, but at the same time a fragility, which hadn’t been so apparent before. To Michael, who had never pondered greatly on such things, the sudden clarity with which he saw this was startling. It was somehow centered around the note he held in his hands. There was something special in that note, something in the way Ted’s gaze trailed off at times, following the free reign of his thoughts.
He was a man at peace with himself, but at the same time he longed for something more, something that he might have been on the cusp of at one point, but never attained. Or perhaps he had lost it a long time ago, like a seashell buried in depths of sand, forever awaiting the return of something that in the end would never come.
Just like Andrew Rowan.
//////
It was only her first week in Solaceon, and already, Bertha Herrida had a schedule.
Morning: Breakfast. Take her pokémon out for a walk, possibly go downtown and visit the pastures. See the herds of grazing pokémon, possibly stop to watch young children scurry about with buckets or piles of hay.
Two o’clock. Check the hotel’s mail room, navigate through hundreds of tiny compartments in search of the one reserved in her name. Answer telegrams, collect support letters (there were few), and immerse herself in the goings-on of the outside world. Have lunch.
Eight o’clock, evening. Conference with Lona Walker.
As Bertha had learned over the days, time was one of the few things Lona hated to lose. She could lose a pen, or an important piece of paper, and quickly retrace her steps to find it. She could lose her temper, close her eyes for a moment, and regain her former calm. But there was no taking back time, and as much as she might have disliked it, she had to play by life’s rules too.
Each Monday and Wednesday evening was set aside especially for petition business, no earlier and no later than the designated time. Each woman knew her role, and by unspoken agreement, set out to follow it. Every meeting, Bertha would arrive right on time, her purse slung over her shoulder, the briefcase clutched in her other hand. She would proceed to Lona’s office in the right hallway, open the door, and find the Gym leader sitting behind her desk, the office glowing with orange light from a lamp that stood in the corner. Sometimes Lona would be drinking tea, and a cup would be set aside on Bertha’s end of the table—an empty formality. Other times, she would just be sitting there, arms resting on the table, eyes fixed squarely ahead as Bertha took her seat.
Their conversations would begin one of two ways. Either Bertha would open her briefcase and take out her files, embarking on a different avenue of argument, or Lona would begin with a question of her own. The latter was usually a prelude to a tedious, angered debate, something that Bertha could only describe as a bull-session.
Today was looking to be like one of those days.
Closing the door to the office, Bertha approached Lona’s desk and sat down. The stale, orange light that pervaded the room was something she could never get used to. One half of the room seemed to blaze, and the other was plunged in thin, slanted shadows. Lona was writing again, as she always seemed to be. Her chair was caught midway between light and darkness, and her arm was moving quickly and methodically over the memo pad that kept her constant companionship. She did not look up as Bertha entered, and allowed the woman to take her seat with silent acknowledgment. Only when Lona had finished her notes and stowed the memo pad away in the drawer did she lift her head and fold her hands in her lap. A smile lifted the corners of her face, and without preamble, she began.
“Tell me, Miss Herrida, how is it you are planning to restore the League?”
After many days of such back-and-forth banter, the questions no longer caught Bertha off-guard. She didn’t bat an eye. “I’m not planning on restoring it,” she said. “At least, not yet. My goal is to enable it to restore itself.”
For some reason, Lona seemed to find this funny. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger and tilted her head to the side. “And what makes you so sure that the other League officials will want to do the same? You have an entire different concept of ‘restoration’ than they do.”
“Oh? And in what way?”
“That is what I plan on examining today. Your petition is attempting to give the League more money. And yes, it’s true that the League wants more money. But it’s for an entirely different reason.”
Bertha lifted her eyebrows. “And that would be?”
“I think you’ve already seen it for yourself,” Lona said. “You’ve been to Hearthome. You’ve seen how everywhere you turn, there’s the pokéball logo, or some other League-sponsored item?”
“You mean the advertising? Sorry to say, but that’s to be expected. The League needs to make money. I won’t deny that some of its methods are questionable—those Game Corners are nothing but scams—but they are the direct result of the League’ s decline.”
Lona shook her head, still keeping a quiet, measured tone. “No. They are the direct cause of it.”
Bertha paused out of surprise, which mixed itself with puzzlement. This seemed to be what Lona was aiming for. The woman smiled, and continued. “The League has an enormous sphere of influence. The Space Program is like a flea in comparison. The League can get anything it wants, even right now, though it may seem like the tables are turned against us.”
“They are,” Bertha said. “You just haven’t realized it. The League is global, yes, but so is the Space Program. It’s growing at a rapid pace, faster than the League has ever grown in history. It might not be as prominent as the League is right now, but it soon will be. You think I don’t know where you’re coming from? I do. I had the exact same frame of mind as you do right now.”
The smile faded from Lona’s face, replaced by a twitch of frustration. “And then? You saw a factory get put up in your backyard and you decided that the whole world had turned upside-down?”
“If you don’t believe me, then why don’t you take a look at these?” Bertha pulled out a stack of papers from her briefcase and slapped them on the table. “I prepared these just for you, Miss Walker. They’re charts that detail the respective incomes of the Sinnoh and Hoenn space programs, compared to those of the League divisions in both countries. If you’ll notice, while one item increases, the other plummets. Granted, I don’t know how the Hoenn League is handling it, but they sure seem to be in a similar situation, don’t you think? The government and the public are paying more attention to the Space Program, and as a result, less money gets to us. You can twist that all you want, but the fact remains the same—less attention means less opportunity for change.”
“And? You want the government to pay one-hundred percent of its attention to us again? It’s impossible!”
“I’m not asking for a hundred,” Bertha said. “I’m asking for at least fifty, even forty for the time being. Like I said before—by all means, I think that the League and the Space Program should coexist. But someone has to put in the effort to make it happen. The government hasn’t. The Space Program hasn’t. So it’s up to us. And if we don’t do anything, then for the next few years, we’ll be sitting in our little Gym offices, counting pennies, watching the buildings crumble around us. For those who have offices, that is.”
“There’s still a flaw in your plan, Miss Herrida! You have the start planned, but you’ve completely ignored the finish!”
Feeling an exhilarated rush, Bertha rose from her seat. “Finish? I’ll tell you what the finish is!” She held out her palms in midair and mimicked an explosion. “Picture for a moment, Miss Walker, that you’re walking in the meadow. Solaceon has lots of pretty meadows. All those hills and trees and grazing pokémon… Now, imagine it cut off by a metal fence, the trees cut down, and a big tall factory be put in its place. That factory pollutes the air. It keeps the whole half of your neighborhood on edge with its constant noise, which lasts through day and night. It turns your town into a pit stop for hundreds of Galactic workers who swarm around their territory, driving their trucks through your streets, and what more—relying on a share of your town’s money to fund security and maintenance. And they call it a partnership. Meanwhile, less money gets to you, the Gym leader, and little by little, you see your funding from the town dwindle. You soon have to rely on the League’s federal funds or pay out of your own pocket. The League might not be a big help, though, because the same exact thing is happening to it, only on a larger scale. And it’s happening because the government allows it to. My goal is to make that stop.”
Lona was silent, and for the entire duration of Bertha’s tirade, sat with one elbow rested on the table’s surface, supporting her chin. Her face was clouded, and she seemed lost in thought.
“Galactic will never come to Solaceon…” she said, almost whispering.
Bertha tilted her head to the side, softening her face into an imitation of her interlocutor. “And if it does?”
“It won’t!” With a sudden burst of anger that seemed to come from nowhere, Lona rose from her seat to look Bertha in the eye. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Trying to convince me by drawing a parallel with Eterna? You are wrong! Galactic will never put up a factory here because I won’t allow it, because I know how to wield my power as a Gym leader to ensure the best for my facility and my trainers!”
Bertha’s eyes flashed. “You’re saying I don’t?”
“I’m saying that you have no idea what you’re doing!”
The shout seemed to drain some of Lona’s energy. She clenched her fists in visible frustration, and a second later opened her mouth to say more. But Bertha didn’t need to hear it.
Without a word, she snapped her briefcase shut and turned for the door, leaving Lona by the desk, leaning forward in anticipation of proving a point. But whatever she was about to say was drowned out by the pounding of Bertha’s heels, and her anger soon turned to desperation as she fumbled helplessly for words.
The door to the office swung open, and Lona beckoned for it to stop, flinging out a cry: “Money is dangerous in the League’s hands!”
But it was too late. Bertha had slammed the door.
Last edited by Mrs. Lovett; 25th November 2012 at 8:49 PM.
The story of Professor Rowan - Chapter 34 is up!
Other Works:Cave Guardian ♦ Cheater ♦ Contests ♦ Maids
Author's Profile
Dog days of summer
Hello, former closet reader here. I've been wanting to review this fic for a while now, so here I am!
I love this story. Clearly, you're a very talented writer, and you've come up with such a compelling and vivid re-imagining of the Sinnoh region. Since you're a ways into the fic already, I'll just give my general impressions of everything so far, with more specific reviews starting with the next chapter (hope you don't mind).
Your characterization so far is great. Everyone has their own unique personalities, and their actions and attitudes towards everything around them are quite realistic in my opinion. I never would have imagined Rowan to be such a brat in his early days, but his rebellious nature really works in this fic, and his interest in finding out more about the Pokemon world comes through very nicely. I'm also really liking Henry - he's a lot like myself with his more reserved nature and wanting to do things the "right" way. Good job on creating two main characters with such differing outlooks on life but who also have a lot in common and come together in unexpected ways (wow, that sounds awkward...).
I think it's interesting that you've chosen Bertha to be a main character as well. We don't have much information on her from the games, but I think you've developed her character into what seems to be a very realistic portrayal of a Gym Leader. Also interesting is the fact that she uses Grass-types in this fic, but eventually develops a preference for Ground-types later on - both types can be seen as a strong connection to the land, which seems to be something that's very important to her. I guess she goes back to her "roots" later on? /lame joke
Speaking of the Gym Leaders, I enjoyed seeing Byron during his days in Oreburgh, and Jerry was also as professional as I think a big-city Gym Leader would be. And Lona is a real b****, isn't she? You've conveyed her uptight nature very well - I get more tense myself during her scenes. I do like the concept of her Gym, though - it's a refreshing change from what we normally see of Gyms (even if it resembles a concentration camp). Also, her resistance towards Bertha's plan seems suspicious to me. I can't help but wonder if she's somehow working for Team Galactic in secret... (By the way, the Space Race is something I think you've pulled off well. Love the competition between Teams Rocket and Galactic.)
Lastly, I think you have great skill at writing Pokemon battles. Every one of them has been exciting and interesting in its own right, and you've described the scenes well enough to the point where I can see everything going on in my head. In addition, I've enjoyed the unique strategies the characters have used (such as Goldeen's water techniques).
Now, for the nitpicks. Generally, your grammar is excellent, but there are a few places that I wanted to point out. For example, in Chapter 22, I noticed this:
"Belie" actually means "to contradict," so I think you may have meant something else in place of it. "Imply," perhaps?"I want to hear you, Abigail. A soft voice belies soft will."
Also, I'm sorry to say that I found many more errors in this chapter than in previous (most of them are just tiny little typos, but I just thought I'd point them out).
Should be "spend."He had marked each capsule with the letter of its pokémons name in permanent marker, not wanting to spent $2.95 on a pack of stickers.
Accidental doubling of the passage right here.Michael turned up the corners of his mouth in amusement. He reached out towards Machop and snapped his fingers. The pokémon turned out of reflex, his large eyes blinking. This elicited a smile from Michael. Right then, he had remembered the words of his mother: Pokémon training teaches you responsibility! But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like he had done more teaching to them.
is fingers. The pokémon turned out of reflex, his large eyes blinking. This elicited a smile from Michael. Right then, he had remembered the words of his mother: Pokémon training teaches you responsibility! But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like he had done more teaching to them.
I think you meant "Floaroma."Ted chuckled. I got lucky. I lived in Floraoma for a while,
Forgot the second set of quotation marks on the end of both sentences.Michael went to stand by Henrys side as he flipped through the journal, page after page displaying perfectly even columns of tiny, printed text. Wow
You can read it if you want, Ted replied. Just be careful with it.
I'm sorry if I seemed harsh with those nitpicks (I'm a self-proclaimed grammar Nazi, I can't help it).
The last thing I wanted to bring up is related to Pokemon moves; I noticed certain inconsistencies between some of the moves used by Pokemon in this fic and their actual movesets in-game. For example, during the Oreburgh Gym battle, you had a Geodude using Mach Punch, and during the Eterna battle, Michael's Turtwig got Leech Seeded by a Budew (at least, I think it was a Budew. Sorry, I haven't read through the earlier chapters lately). In the games, Geodude can't learn Mach Punch legitimately, and Leech Seed doesn't work on Grass-types. (Also, I think you once had a Yanma using Fly, when it technically doesn't learn that move, but I don't believe you were referring to the actual move, just that it was flying up into the air; at least, that was my impression.) If these were intentional, then please disregard; however, I just wanted to bring them up for future reference.
Overall, though, this is a wonderful fic, and one of my favorites on this site. Have a great break, and I'll be looking forward to the next chapter!
~Crimson Penguin
Rolling writer
Hey there! I'm glad you're liking the story. And you've caught on to some important things, which also makes me glad. I like it when readers just write out in broad terms how they feel about the story, even if I'm twenty chapters ahead of them and they're talking about the very beginning. It helps me on a different level than a specific review. But I also appreciate the latter. Bottom line is, I appreciate everything. :)
Land is definitely important to Bertha, and it's (a big) part of the reason why she decided to get involved in this Team Galactic business.I think it's interesting that you've chosen Bertha to be a main character as well. We don't have much information on her from the games, but I think you've developed her character into what seems to be a very realistic portrayal of a Gym Leader. Also interesting is the fact that she uses Grass-types in this fic, but eventually develops a preference for Ground-types later on - both types can be seen as a strong connection to the land, which seems to be something that's very important to her. I guess she goes back to her "roots" later on? /lame joke
I've gotten that observation before. No, Lona isn't working for Team Galactic, but she does have a good reason for thinking the way she does. I haven't mentioned it outright, but in the coming chapters you'll get a definite idea of what it is. I did some foreshadowing at the end of 26, but apart from that, you're on your own in terms of interpretation. For now. Hehe.Also, her resistance towards Bertha's plan seems suspicious to me. I can't help but wonder if she's somehow working for Team Galactic in secret...
I was pretty sure that 'belie' could be used in the same way as 'betray' here... What I was saying is that a soft voice betrays soft will. But I guess I could switch words to eliminate confusion."Belie" actually means "to contradict," so I think you may have meant something else in place of it. "Imply," perhaps?"I want to hear you, Abigail. A soft voice belies soft will."
The sad part is I vividly remember writing 'spend'. xPShould be "spend."He had marked each capsule with the letter of its pokémons name in permanent marker, not wanting to spent $2.95 on a pack of stickers.
That's odd. I guess it must have happened when I was copy/pasting paragraphs into Notepad for formatting. (I have a habit of rewriting chunks at a time like that.)Accidental doubling of the passage right here.Michael turned up the corners of his mouth in amusement. He reached out towards Machop and snapped his fingers. The pokémon turned out of reflex, his large eyes blinking. This elicited a smile from Michael. Right then, he had remembered the words of his mother: Pokémon training teaches you responsibility! But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like he had done more teaching to them.
is fingers. The pokémon turned out of reflex, his large eyes blinking. This elicited a smile from Michael. Right then, he had remembered the words of his mother: Pokémon training teaches you responsibility! But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like he had done more teaching to them.
I'll fix the other typos right away. Thanks for pointing them out!
I decided not to limit myself to in-game move restrictions here, because some moves seem universal to me. Like Mach Punch. I imagine it as just a supercharged punch, and since Geodude has the fists and momentum to do it, I didn't see a reason for it not to be able to. Of course, I'll try to stay within the range of feasibility. (I wouldn't give Jerry's Mr. Mime the ability, for example.)The last thing I wanted to bring up is related to Pokemon moves; I noticed certain inconsistencies between some of the moves used by Pokemon in this fic and their actual movesets in-game. For example, during the Oreburgh Gym battle, you had a Geodude using Mach Punch, and during the Eterna battle, Michael's Turtwig got Leech Seeded by a Budew (at least, I think it was a Budew. Sorry, I haven't read through the earlier chapters lately). In the games, Geodude can't learn Mach Punch legitimately, and Leech Seed doesn't work on Grass-types. (Also, I think you once had a Yanma using Fly, when it technically doesn't learn that move, but I don't believe you were referring to the actual move, just that it was flying up into the air; at least, that was my impression.) If these were intentional, then please disregard; however, I just wanted to bring them up for future reference.
The Leech-Seeding pokemon was Bertha's Cherrim. That was also something I took a liberty with, as it seemed more plausible to me to just treat it as any other Grass type attack. Since Turtwig is a Grass type, Leech Seed wouldn't be too effective on him, but I saw no reason for it to have no effect whatsoever. (Its purpose is to drain energy, like the in-game HP, which all pokemon have regardless of type.) The reason it made Turtwig faint was because he was already worn out and Bertha wanted to make it a quick finish. If Turtwig had been at full energy, the move wouldn't have done much, since Turtwig's partial immunity to the seeds would be more pronounced.
As for Yanma, it didn't actually use the move Fly; it just flew really high into the air. In the same way, I wouldn't call every bite, kick, and scratch in a battle an actual Bite, Double Kick, or Scratch.
With that said, thanks a bunch for the review! I think I've addressed all your points to completion. Unfortunately, I'll have to make you (and everyone else) wait some time for the next chapter, during which I will admittedly and shamelessly be doing things other than writing. xP See you next time!
The story of Professor Rowan - Chapter 34 is up!
Other Works:Cave Guardian ♦ Cheater ♦ Contests ♦ Maids
Author's Profile
Dog days of summer
Hello again! Thought I'd make a quick reply before you go off on your wild adventures. ; )
Oh, good. I always feel like I don't analyze writing on a deep enough level, so I'm relieved to see that's not completely the case here.And you've caught on to some important things, which also makes me glad.
Hmm, I thought for sure she was involved with that whole space business. Her comments about the League were interesting, though. I guess I'll just have to wait and see.I've gotten that observation before. No, Lona isn't working for Team Galactic, but she does have a good reason for thinking the way she does. I haven't mentioned it outright, but in the coming chapters you'll get a definite idea of what it is.
I looked it up, and they're not quite the same thing, but I can definitely see where you're coming from. Ah, the joys of English...I was pretty sure that 'belie' could be used in the same way as 'betray' here... What I was saying is that a soft voice betrays soft will. But I guess I could switch words to eliminate confusion.
No problem, that's what I do best. ; )I'll fix the other typos right away. Thanks for pointing them out!
Regarding the moveset thing, I fully understand your decision. Some things in the games don't make a whole lot of sense, especially when trying to portray them in a fic (after all, in real life, weeds get their energy by choking and sapping other plants, so the reason why Leech Seed doesn't affect Grass-types is a bit of a mystery). As I explained to another person whose fic I reviewed, I tend to expect fics to follow game mechanics pretty strictly, which I should really learn to break. As long as there's a valid reason for going outside the in-game realm (which you have), and not being completely implausible with it (like giving a Charizard Ice Beam, for example), then it's fine with me.
I figured that's what it was, but I wanted to double-check.As for Yanma, it didn't actually use the move Fly; it just flew really high into the air. In the same way, I wouldn't call every bite, kick, and scratch in a battle an actual Bite, Double Kick, or Scratch.
You're very welcome! Have fun on your vacation/whatever else it is that you're doing. : )With that said, thanks a bunch for the review!
Oh, and if it's not too much trouble, would you mind adding me to the PM list?
I shall await the next chapter (don't worry, I'm patient)!
~Crimson Penguin
Marsh Trainer
Great chapter once again, Mrs. Lovett! Roots is my favorite fanfic on Serebii!
KIRABOSHI
I get the feeling that using "The" instead of "A" might have been a better way to start that first sentence, because as it is, it reads in a rather vague way.
Ah, good old Ringo. I missed him."Fire! Help! Fire!" the bird was screeching. With every inferno blast he dodged, Ringo grew more and more agitated, till he forgot his plan of attack completely and started flying aimlessly in circles.
Good bit of action here, boosted by Ringo's personality. It works very well.Michael stood at the far edge of the battlefield, clenching his fist while he watched the relay. His opponent that day was putting up a good fight—he had lost his Caterpie to the boy’s Staravia, and then had his Goldeen faint right after bringing it down. The boy had sent out his Chimchar to open the second round, and Michael had retaliated with Ringo, but even so he was beginning to feel the strain.
“Ringo, use Peck! Dodge the fire and go!” he shouted.
Ringo continued to circle over the Chimchar’s head, eyes closed reflexively against the blinding fire-flashes. Hearing him, the bird risked a low plunge, baring his claws, and grabbed hold of the tuft of hair on the monkey’s head.
"Ember this!" Ringo began to peck at the Chimchar, making it squeal like a baby. Its reedy arms reached up in an attempt to block the attacks, but Ringo was relentless. Finally, the Chimchar collapsed, letting out a sigh of exhaustion.
I don't think that they should be underestimating Unown here, just saying.“Ver’y good!” came a female voice. Betty, their referee, stepped out of the sidelines, dimples creasing her face as she smiled. “Dan still has one point, and if Michael can catch up th’s last time, then it’ll be a tie! Go!” The lady snapped her fingers, and Michael’s opponent sent back the fainted Chimchar, swapping its pokéball for another.
“I choose you—ENIGMA!”
The pokéball opened to release a flood of white light, and a tiny body took form in the air. At first, Michael thought it would be a Bronzor, but when the light faded, he saw that it was something else entirely— a tiny black thing with a huge white eye, staring ahead with blank passivity like a cartoon drawing. The rest of the creature’s body seemed to be made of wire, and twisted into a circular letter ‘O’ around it.
The pokémon made no sound as it hovered in the air, blinking periodically. Their referee began to giggle.
“Aww, how cute! You ‘ave an Unown!”
Question: is Hidden Power well known at this point in history? I could see its research becoming another important part of Michael's work if not.Dan smiled. “I went to the Solaceon Ruins in my spare time,” he said, glancing over to Michael. “They’re all over the place there. And they’ve got a cool power too. Watch!” He pointed up at Ringo. “Enigma, use Hidden Power!”
Michael showed some good tactical thinking here. Too bad it just wasn't enough, but at least yet another one-liner from Ringo made up for it.A blue flare lit up the Unown’s eye from within, and a glowing aura spread around its entire body. There was a brief flash—Michael caught a split second’s glimpse of a band of light whipping out from around the pokémon—and then Ringo was tumbling back through the air like a windblown leaf. Ringo flapped his wings for balance, and settled onto Michael’s head for support, his sharp claws entangling themselves in his hair.
"Yowp! Yow! Ow!"
Michael narrowed his eyes, groaning as Ringo’s wings thumped against the sides of his face. He swatted the bird aside, and Ringo rose back into the air, though it was clear that his ego had taken a blow. As Ringo circled his end of the battlefield, he began to mutter something under his breath which Michael couldn’t fully hear, and was glad that no one else could either. As he looked up at the Unown, a sense of firm conviction arose inside of him. That thing had to fall.
“Ringo, use Peck!” Michael said to the bird. “And claw its eye!”
Ringo flew forward, relishing the prospect of revenge, but just as he was about to grip the Unown with his claws, another light-whip smacked him back, making him fall. Michael gritted his teeth as he watched the bird flutter weakly, slumping into a heap on the ground.
“Get up, Ringo!” he called.
The bird croaked weakly in response. “Ringo in the sky with diamonds…” With that, his head lolled over to the side, tongue drooping. Betty looked at the bird with an expression of pity. “Michael, I think he’s—”
I'm not sure I get the expression "the nick of battle." I mean, I know what you mean by it, but I've never heard it put in those words.“Yeah, I know,” Michael said. He didn’t want to hear her say ‘fainted’. He returned Ringo to his capsule and went over to his backpack by the side wall. He sat there for a moment, pondering.
The only way I can get that thing is through special attacks. I have to find a way to knock it out of the air so I can stomp it. Seeing no other way to go about it, he placed Ringo’s pokéball back and quickly swept his gaze over the ones that remained. He had marked each capsule with the letter of its pokémon’s name in permanent marker, not wanting to spend $2.95 on a pack of stickers. Now, at least he didn’t have to worry about which pokémon he had placed where. After thinking for a brief period, Michael made his choice — Turtwig.
He came back to the battlefield and released the pokémon without preamble. Once Turtwig had emerged, Michael gave his command — “Turtwig, use Razor Leaf!”
Turtwig, who had long grown accustomed to being sent out into the nick of battle, raised his head to look at the Unown. He spent some time gauging distance and angle, then began to flick his head from side to side, dislodging tiny leaves that whipped like razors through the air. But it was as if an invisible shield blocked the Unown from contact — just before they reached their target, the leaves hit a block in midair and fell against it, like rain against a windshield. They drifted towards the floor, harmless. Michael ordered Turtwig to attack again, but to no avail. The Unown was untouchable.
I wonder why Unown is so tough for Michael to even touch. This is unusual, I think...
Definitely really liking how Michael thinks on his feet. I think I'm picking up on a growth in his character; early on, he didn't really understand much about battling and went mostly on rash instinct. Now, though, he's clearly thinking through what he's doing, even if he still has to learn by trial. It's very good for any writer to be able to show subtle but effective character growth like this.A state of deep thought overcame him, mixed with a twinge of irritation. Michael stared up at the floating pokemon, rocking on the balls of his feet. Dan, who must have taken it as a gesture of futility, crossed his arms and smiled. “Well? Want to try again?”
Michael pursed his lips. “Why don’t you go? I’m open.” He spread out his arms, indicating the defenseless Turtwig. He knew he wasn’t in the best position to push his luck, but he would rather risk Turtwig taking a couple hits if only to catch a glimpse of what attacks the Unown knew.
Betty looked over to Dan in agreement, tapping her manicured fingernails against the clipboard. “Yeah, why don’t you go ‘head an’ give it a try? Your Un’own hasn’t atack’d yet.”
Dan’s expression clouded. “Fine, but you’re gonna regret it! Enigma, use Hidden Power!”
The black pupil vanished in a neon-blue glow, and Michael heard the clap of expanding air as the band of light lashed out at the Unown’s surroundings. Turtwig was pushed back, though the force that hit him was noticeably weaker, no more than a gust of strong wind at a park. Turtwig righted himself and shook his head, making the leaves on his head wobble.
Michael blinked. That must be all it can do! he realized. It must be good at non-contact moves, and be really bad at physical ones.
As he thought this, a smile crept over his face. The beginnings of a battle plan sketched themselves in his mind. Opening the Turtwig’s pokéball, he called the pokémon back and went to swap him for another.
These two have cute interaction.“Go!” Michael unlocked the new capsule, which released his Machop. After several days of practicing Ted’s meditating exercises, the pokémon had grown calmer and more energetic. He no longer stalled as much in battle, and had a more even temper throughout the day, which Michael considered an improvement in and of itself. As he was released from the capsule, the pokémon landed on all fours on the tumble mats, then straightened to look up at the Unown, whose glittering silhouette hung right about the windows.
“Hey, over here.” Michael snapped his fingers, and Machop turned. “Come here. I need a big favor from you.”
The wide eyes blinked, and Machop put on a childlike expression of interest. He approached Michael, who knelt down so that his face and the pokémon’s were level.
“I need you to be brave for me,” he said. “Can you do that?”
Machop gave an affirmative nod, and Michael smiled. “Good.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper so that no one else could hear him. “Now. You see the Unown up there? That’s your opponent. It’s really tough when it’s up there in the air, so we have to pull it down. All you need to do is jump really high to reach it. It’ll be tough, but you’re the only one who’s got the speed and power to make it work. Just keep going at it and don’t stop no matter how many of those shockwaves it shoots at you. Once you bring it down, it’s yours for playing. Sound like a deal?”
Machop nodded again, putting on a can-do frown of determination. Michael got to his feet and spun the pokémon around to face his opponent. “Go!”
In fact, I think I like how all of Michael's Pokemon interact with him. Turtwig appears to be similar to his trainer, while Michael has a straightman-type role to Ringo and seems to be buddies with Machop. It's a nice variety of personalities.
I will say that Unown is putting up a good fight, but I wonder how much of that is Michael learning on the fly how to deal with it.Machop stood still for a couple of seconds, shifting his weight from one leg to another as he pondered over his approach. Then, he broke into a sprint, dashing across the mats and taking a leap into the air. The tip of his outstretched hand came a foot away from reaching the Unown, then Machop fell back down, tumbling towards the wall.
Michael sighed. “Try again!”
Dan grinned. “Enigma, use Hidden Power!”
Machop prepared to make a second jump. This time he ran to the farthest corner of the room and settled into a runner’s lunge. He rocketed forward, becoming a blue-green blur of motion, and sprang upwards when he reached the middle of the battlefield. The Unown’s shockwave caught him while he was still in the air, and smacked him back as if he had hit a wall. Machop let out a yelp, and crashed down onto the mats. Meanwhile, the Unown retreated higher into the air, till it was almost grazing the ceiling. With a jolt, Michael realized it was afraid.
It has no physical capabilities! That’s why it stays on the defensive. No doubt, the pokémon's body would shatter the minute Machop set his foot down on it. The prospect renewed Michael’s hope. He looked down at the Machop, who was still sitting on the floor, his expression torn somewhere between an angry snarl and a whimper. Exaggerating another sigh, Michael snapped his fingers like a football coach. “Come on, get up. You’re not gonna get anywhere if you sit around. That thing has the strength of a floating cracker. It’s trying to scare you away, but you gotta be tougher than that. I want you to get up, pull it down, and stomp on it like there’s no tomorrow! Hear me?”
Spurred by goading of his trainer, Machop got to his feet, brushing off his knees. Feeling unusually energetic, Michael clapped his hands. “Now get him!”
From across the room, Dan’s frown lines deepened. “Enigma, use Hidden Power!”
You're writing the action sequences exceptionally well. Like, maybe I'm just in the right mood today, but they seem better than usual overall in this chapter.
Did he faint that Unown or kill it?Letting out a strange screeching sound, the Unown reluctantly lowered itself, till it was back to its former height. Machop lunged forward without a moment’s hesitation, but this time he did not stop midway for a jump—he kept going until he reached the wall, then he made a jump, pushing off the vertical surface to propel himself into the air. Machop’s outstretched hands grabbed the Unown’s outer ring like a steering wheel, carrying it down to the floor.
“Now stomp!” Michael said.
Teeth bared in an angry snarl, Machop raised his foot and smashed it against the Unown’s frame. The pokémon let out a metallic screech as its wiring snapped like a twig, its single black pupil spinning frantically in its socket. The eye immediately drifted closed.
Dan’s mouth dropped open. “What?! That’s impossible!” He looked over to Michael with utter disbelief, who responded with a wink.
“Never begin a battle with a special attack.” A sneer spread over Michael’s face, but it froze when he realized whose words he was echoing. A chill crept down his spine.
Machop gathered the fragmented remains of the Unown and handed them over to Dan with a smug smile. The trainer looked crestfallen.
Feels like a little bit of overkill, doesn't it?
I still have a little trouble understanding the scoring system here. Could you please explain it again.“Wow, that was quite a finish!” said their referee. “Michael and Dan are now tied with one point each. Great work, fellas!”
That wasn't a Fighting-type move, though. Unless I'm missing another thing that they don't yet know about types? A Fighting-type move would be not very effective against the Psychic-type Unown.“But what about my Unown? What am I supposed to do with it?” said Dan, looking down at the splintered mess in his arms.
Betty tilted her head to the side. “Oh, don’t wor’y. It doesn’t hurt them when their bodies break like that. As a matter of fact, they can be pieced back togeth’r. Just visit the Pokémon Center and they’ll show you what to do.” She marked down the battle’s results, then looked up at Dan again. “Though I would advise against using them in battle. They’r mighty cute, but they don’t fare well against Fighting moves, as you’ve seen.”
I didn't realize how big this Gym must be.Dan grumbled. He and Michael packed their things and left the battle room. Even as he reached the lobby, Michael was unable to shake away his stupor at what had happened. Unconsciously, he had used Lona’s advice. And it had worked.
He exchanged a parting nod with Dan, then watched the boy scurry out of the building in the direction of the Pokémon Center. Looking around, Michael didn’t see Henry anywhere among the crowd, so he found a place to stand over to the side and dropped his backpack.
A minute later, he felt a tap on his shoulder, and a voice rose out from behind him. “Hey.”
Michael turned. Rick had approached from the hallway door, the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Michael smiled. “Hey. How goes it?”
“Pretty good.” Rick shrugged. “I saw you walk out and I decided to catch up with you. You didn’t have Lona again, did you?”
Michael snorted. “Thankfully not.”
“Oh. ‘Cause I saw her go into one of the rooms in our hallway earlier th’s morning. She must be refereeing for the left wing of the Gym this week.”
“But there must be only a one-in-fifty chance of getting her,” Michael said. “With all those rooms to choose from.”
I get the feeling that someone will indeed be putting her in her place soon.Rick shook his head. “Nuh-uh. I’ve had her five times, once on two consecut’ve days. I’m pretty sure she gets to pick who she wants. And we both know that I’m the one she likes to yell at.”
Michael chuckled. “Can’t argue with that. So how did your battle go?”
“Pretty good,” Rick replied. “My partner used all dual-types, so we actually had a normal battle, for once. You know, with special moves.”
Michael nodded.
“And yours?”
“It was all right,” Michael said. “I won.”
“Cool.”
With nothing else to say between them, the boys sank into silence, tuning back into the noise of the lobby. Rick lowered his duffel bag beside Michael’s and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. At that moment, the door to the left hallway swung open, and Lona Walker emerged, her feet gliding gracefully over the wooden floor. Michael followed her with his gaze as she approached the front desk and leaned over to exchange a word with one of her attendants. While her back was turned, he took a moment to study her—annoyingly perfect posture, skirt below the knees, prim shoes… and jacket. It was the color of wilting roses, of Contest ribbons, of faded pastel sketches. Michael hated the hue from the bottom of his heart, but he couldn’t stop looking at it, and stood helpless as it burned into his skull. Only when Lona turned around did he finally snap out of his trance, dropping his gaze to the floor to pretend that he had not noticed her.
The Gym leader stalked back over to the door, and cast a brief, sharp glance in their direction before she disappeared. Michael heard a grumble beside him.
“She thinks she’s so cool…” said Rick. He had also lowered his head when Lona had passed, and now looked up with a shadow cast over his face. “Walks around like she’s queen of the world. I wish someone would put her in her place, for once.”
Henry is so idealistic, isn't he? Of course, he's probably right, but still.Michael made a hmh of agreement, but did not respond.
“…and if that someone’s gotta be me, then I’ll do it.” Rick straightened, smoothing the edges of his shirt. “I’ll talk to you later, Michael. I gotta make a run to the PokéMart ‘cause I ordered some pokéball seals.”
“All right,” Michael said, and lifted his hand. “Easy, man.”
“Yeah. You too.” Rick waved his hand in return, and went off.
Before Michael could drift back into his thoughts, he heard the door slam again and turned to see Henry approach him, looking tired, but upbeat. Henry stepped over to him, smiling. “Hey Michael.” His gaze trailed over to the double doors, where Rick had left moments ago. “Who was that?”
“Just a kid I met,” Michael said.
Henry tapped his chin. “I think I’ve seen him before… he was one of the kids who went into my hallway the other day.”
“Yeah, he’s been here for a while,” Michael said. “Lona’s been holding him back. He’s been here for four whole weeks and he still hasn’t been moved up to the staff rank.”
Henry’s face fell. “Oh. That’s too bad… but I guess Lona has a reason for it. She has to, doesn’t she?”
Michael let out a laugh. “Yeah, you’re saying that now. But what if the same thing happens to us?”
“I don’t think it will,” Henry said, with an odd, quiet certainty in his voice. “I mean, I’ve never had Lona as my referee before, but she doesn’t sound like she wants to keep us down. She probably wants us to learn something. And I have. You know, my referees have shown me a lot of cool stuff that I never knew about battling before. So…” He finished with a shrug.
Good job fitting in a bit of exposition for what happened during the three days between this chapter and the last one. It can be hard to fit in explanations like this without having them come out as clunky and forced, but this one fits neatly right into the narrative.Michael rolled his eyes jokingly, but let the subject drop. They left the Gym together, and as they stepped outside, Michael instinctively turned left away from the direction of the hotel. Henry stopped him midway. “Wait, where are you going?”
“We have to see Ted, don’t we? It’s been three days. We’ve been practicing just like he said, and I don’t know about you, but my pokémon have learned the move sequences front and back.”
Henry giggled. “Yeah. Mine too.”
“So let’s go then.”
With that, they set off for the town’s suburban area.
After their first meeting with the Move Tutor, both of them had diligently gone about learning the prescribed techniques with their pokémon. Their stay in Solaceon soon grew to resemble a session of boot camp, as each morning, they went to the Gym for their battles, then returned immediately to the hotel’s patio area to practice the move sequences. Michael and Henry isolated a shady patch of grass as their favorite spot, where Golden, Machop, Ringo, Starly, Burmy, and Clefable would follow along with their trainers’ instructions like a yoga group.
Michael had jotted down the steps on a piece of paper, and whenever one of his pokémon forgot something, he would step in to remind them, often resorting to doing a bad imitation of the move himself. (Thankfully for him, few were around to see.) In the span of those days, Michael spent more time with his pokémon than in all the years of his life put together. And, unsuspectingly, he was enjoying it.
The only member of their collective party that did not accompany them in their day-to-day excursions was the Stunky. After Henry had released it, Michael had seen it only a spare few times around town. He always recognized it, for it was one of the few Stunkies in their part of Solaceon, and always lurked around the same areas—the Gym, the streets around the hotel, and the diner that had likely become its favorite source of food. On occasion, Michael would look up from whatever he was doing and see a pair of yellow eyes blink out at him from behind a fence, or a purple tail frisk back and forth beside a bush. A part of him didn’t understand why the Stunky didn’t just cut and run for the hills; clearly, captivity had never been to its liking, and here it had all the freedom its little Stunky heart could ever want. But for whatever reason, it chose to stay. He didn’t concern himself overmuch with it, and let the Stunky-sightings become a simply part of a routine day.
Ooh, clever setup. This one would have stumped me.They arrived at the Move Tutor’s house in a matter of minutes. Ted opened the door for them at the right moment this time, pushing it out slowly before peeking out from behind it. “Ah, welcome,” he said, smiling when he saw the boys. “Come on in. You’ll be happy to see that I’ve done a lot of cleaning since you two were here.”
Michael stepped inside the house, and saw that it was indeed in a better state than before. A large portion of the mess in Ted’s library had been cleared. Many of the boxes that had littered the floor were gone, and the books they contained had now found a home on the shelves. The curtains were pulled open behind the TV, letting dusty sunlight sift into the room.
Ted had cleaned himself up as well, and looked more vibrant than usual. His hair was combed, and he had substituted his jeans for nicer-looking pants. His glasses were perched squarely on his nose, the frames twinkling in the light. He closed the door behind the boys and led them towards the workroom. “Come on back and send out your pokémon. I want to see how you’ve been practicing.”
Michael and Henry sent out their pokémon and made their way to the back room, where they all gathered around the table. Ted brought out the same move manuals as before to look off of for reference. The first pokémon to go was Clefable. Henry lifted her onto the table and rubbed the tuft of fur at the top of her head. “Let’s show them what you learned,” he said. “Use Psychic!”
Clefable closed her eyes, as she had a habit of doing to focus her thoughts. Her move sequence was more of a strength exercise, in which she would be given a pebble or small object, and would have to lift it using only her mental energy. Ted had given her a series of stretches to help relax her body, similar to Machop’s meditation. Over the days the boys had been practicing, she had graduated from pebbles to pencils, and other medium-size objects. But for a rather challenging touch, Ted placed the Psychic manual in front of her and smiled. “Let’s see how she does with this one.”
I like this nice little moment of reflection.Michael turned up the corners of his mouth in amusement. He reached out towards Machop and snapped his fingers. The pokémon turned out of reflex, his large eyes blinking. This elicited a smile from Michael. Right then, he had remembered the words of his mother: “Pokémon training teaches you responsibility!” But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like he had done more teaching to them.
I wonder where they’d all be without me, he thought. If he hadn’t left home, then he would have never gotten any of his current team members, save for Turtwig. Machop would likely still be frolicking in the meadow by Oreburgh City, Ringo would be dropping nuts on passerby trainers’ heads, and Goldeen and Caterpie would still be with their former owners. But by some stroke of fate, he had come along and assembled them into a single unit. And for better or worse, they were here to stay.
I have to say, while this kind of information doesn't really have much bearing on the story itself, I like it because it establishes even more about the world in which these events are taking place. I love stuff like this.Michael looked over at the paper’s heading.
Storage System 2 — A proposal for improved capsule design
Michael Borman, Alfonso Helfer, Stephen Adams
“Hey, that’s it!” said Henry suddenly, jabbing his finger at the list of names. “That’s the guy who invented the modern pokéball! Or, I guess, it was him and his team. Look, Michael. He has the same name as you.”
Michael’s mouth spread into a half-smile. “Yeah, maybe there’s a Henry in there too somewhere. Let’s keep reading.”
Henry turned the cover. The article was nearly ten pages long, and detailed what seemed to be an experiment, followed by a critical analysis and conclusion. As far as Michael could gather, the scientists were testing new capsule designs that were based upon advanced physical concepts, something that clearly had never been done before. A diagram took up nearly an entire page, comparing the designs of the new and old pokéball. The old one was larger and had a snap lock at the center in place of a knob, and on the inside, was an almost unrecognizable mess of tiny valves and widgets. In contrast, the new one had a sleek metal interior, with soldered wires stemming out from the center point like the sun’s rays. Michael tried to read through the article to find out how the two differed in terms of technology, but found so many unintelligible acronyms and jargon that his mind was twisted in circles. Henry seemed equally befuddled.
Now this is something I would never have thought of. Major props for creativeness.“Whoever these guys were, they were smart,” said the boy, letting out a breath.
“That’s right,” said Ted. “They use a lot of technical terminology that the layman wouldn’t understand, but this journal wasn’t written for the layman. In a nutshell, what they did was apply the properties of white dwarfs to improve the storing of pokémon.”
“White dwarfs?” Henry looked up at Ted in confusion, and Michael mimicked the motion.
Ted bowed his head. “I’m no astronomy whiz, but I do happen to know that a white dwarf is a type of star. They’re one of the most dense objects in the universe—they have all the mass of a regular star concentrated into a sphere that’s about the size of Earth. If you had one teaspoon of the stuff that a white dwarf is made of, it would weigh tons. Basically, through one method or another, those scientists managed to find a way to make living creatures condense into a small space just like the white dwarfs do, without harming themselves, and without adding unnecessary weight to the capsule.” He spread his arms out wide, chuckling. “I have no idea how they did it. But I’m glad they did. All of the old pokéball models were based on the properties of the ancient ones. They did their job well enough, but they got very heavy after you put the pokémon inside, and you couldn’t reuse them if, say the pokémon broke out.”
Cute. I laughed.“What is it? Who’s it from?” Michael asked.
Ted did not immediately respond, but began to dust at a slightly faster pace than before. “Well… uh, a few days ago, I went to a pokémon daycare center to drop off some books as a donation. Stuff like species diversity, basic training techniques, things I didn’t really need anymore. But I accidentally put an important book into the pile—one I really needed for my projects. I had notes and everything in there, but I had no idea that I put it in the wrong box. And, well, one of the people at the center must have noticed and was nice enough to return it.”
“So if you got the book back, then why are you keeping the note?” Michael said.
Ted shrugged, and the gesture was so sheepish and innocent that, for a moment, it made him seem childlike. He shifted his gaze from Michael to Henry, who were both staring at him in silence, their expressions betraying a growing interest. After a minute, something seemed to give inside of him, and Ted let out a sigh. “Okay, fine. I know who it’s from. But she’s not my—I mean, I don’t know her or anything. She’s just a lady I see around town sometimes.”
A smile tugged at Michael’s lips. “What’s her name?”
“I don’t know… We’ve never talked.”
“What does she look like?” Henry piped up.
Ted shrugged again. “She always has her hair up, so I can’t see much of it... last time I saw her she was wearing a hat, a skirt, a white cardigan, and red heels.” He paused, for a moment appearing shocked that he had remembered so much. Ted scratched his head. “They could have been red. I‘m not sure.” Flustered, he turned back to the bookshelf.
Michael looked down at the note and gave a businesslike nod. “Well, whoever she is, she definitely likes your subject preference. Maybe she’s a resident-move tutor too.” He locked eyes with Henry and perked his eyebrows. The boy suppressed a giggle.
Beautiful wording here.When he finished cleaning, Ted stepped down from the stool and tossed the washcloth around his shoulder, whistling in a familiar way. There was a confident flair to his manner, but at the same time a fragility, which hadn’t been so apparent before. To Michael, who had never pondered greatly on such things, the sudden clarity with which he saw this was startling. It was somehow centered around the note he held in his hands. There was something special in that note, something in the way Ted’s gaze trailed off at times, following the free reign of his thoughts.
He was a man at peace with himself, but at the same time he longed for something more, something that he might have been on the cusp of at one point, but never attained. Or perhaps he had lost it a long time ago, like a seashell buried in depths of sand, forever awaiting the return of something that in the end would never come.
Just like Andrew Rowan.
Interesting little piece of philosophy, that "there's no taking back time" thing...//////
It was only her first week in Solaceon, and already, Bertha Herrida had a schedule.
Morning: Breakfast. Take her pokémon out for a walk, possibly go downtown and visit the pastures. See the herds of grazing pokémon, possibly stop to watch young children scurry about with buckets or piles of hay.
Two o’clock. Check the hotel’s mail room, navigate through hundreds of tiny compartments in search of the one reserved in her name. Answer telegrams, collect support letters (there were few), and immerse herself in the goings-on of the outside world. Have lunch.
Eight o’clock, evening. Conference with Lona Walker.
As Bertha had learned over the days, time was one of the few things Lona hated to lose. She could lose a pen, or an important piece of paper, and quickly retrace her steps to find it. She could lose her temper, close her eyes for a moment, and regain her former calm. But there was no taking back time, and as much as she might have disliked it, she had to play by life’s rules too.
I'll be honest. At this point, I don't know how long Lona and Bertha arguing is going to maintain my interest. I hope something develops from it soon.Each Monday and Wednesday evening was set aside especially for petition business, no earlier and no later than the designated time. Each woman knew her role, and by unspoken agreement, set out to follow it. Every meeting, Bertha would arrive right on time, her purse slung over her shoulder, the briefcase clutched in her other hand. She would proceed to Lona’s office in the right hallway, open the door, and find the Gym leader sitting behind her desk, the office glowing with orange light from a lamp that stood in the corner. Sometimes Lona would be drinking tea, and a cup would be set aside on Bertha’s end of the table—an empty formality. Other times, she would just be sitting there, arms resting on the table, eyes fixed squarely ahead as Bertha took her seat.
Their conversations would begin one of two ways. Either Bertha would open her briefcase and take out her files, embarking on a different avenue of argument, or Lona would begin with a question of her own. The latter was usually a prelude to a tedious, angered debate, something that Bertha could only describe as a bull-session.
Today was looking to be like one of those days.
Wait, who asked the question? Isn't Walker Lona's surname?Closing the door to the office, Bertha approached Lona’s desk and sat down. The stale, orange light that pervaded the room was something she could never get used to. One half of the room seemed to blaze, and the other was plunged in thin, slanted shadows. Lona was writing again, as she always seemed to be. Her chair was caught midway between light and darkness, and her arm was moving quickly and methodically over the memo pad that kept her constant companionship. She did not look up as Bertha entered, and allowed the woman to take her seat with silent acknowledgment. Only when Lona had finished her notes and stowed the memo pad away in the drawer did she lift her head and fold her hands in her lap. A smile lifted the corners of her face, and without preamble, she began.
“Tell me, Miss Walker, how is it you are planning to restore the League?”
After many days of such back-and-forth banter, the questions no longer caught Bertha off-guard. She didn’t bat an eye. “I’m not planning on restoring it,” she said. “At least, not yet. My goal is to enable it to restore itself.”
Is this some possible corruption on the part of the League I'm seeing? Now this is certainly intriguing...For some reason, Lona seemed to find this funny. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger and tilted her head to the side. “And what makes you so sure that the other League officials will want to do the same? You have an entire different concept of ‘restoration’ than they do.”
“Oh? And in what way?”
“That is what I plan on examining today. Your petition is attempting to give the League more money. And yes, it’s true that the League wants more money. But it’s for an entirely different reason.”
Bertha lifted her eyebrows. “And that would be?”
“I think you’ve already seen it for yourself,” Lona said. “You’ve been to Hearthome. You’ve seen how everywhere you turn, there’s the pokéball logo, or some other League-sponsored item?”
“You mean the advertising? Sorry to say, but that’s to be expected. The League needs to make money. I won’t deny that some of its methods are questionable—those Game Corners are nothing but scams—but they are the direct result of the League’ s decline.”
Lona shook her head, still keeping a quiet, measured tone. “No. They are the direct cause of it.”
Bertha paused out of surprise, which mixed itself with puzzlement. This seemed to be what Lona was aiming for. The woman smiled, and continued. “The League has an enormous sphere of influence. The Space Program is like a flea in comparison. The League can get anything it wants, even right now, though it may seem like the tables are turned against us.”
That's it, I just lost all sympathy for Lona. I kind of hope she gets put in exactly that position of Galactic coming in and taking over now, just to show her that Bertha was right.“I’m not asking for a hundred,” Bertha said. “I’m asking for at least fifty, even forty for the time being. Like I said before—by all means, I think that the League and the Space Program should coexist. But someone has to put in the effort to make it happen. The government hasn’t. The Space Program hasn’t. So it’s up to us. And if we don’t do anything, then for the next few years, we’ll be sitting in our little Gym offices, counting pennies, watching the buildings crumble around us. For those who have offices, that is.”
“There’s still a flaw in your plan, Miss Herrida! You have the start planned, but you’ve completely ignored the finish!”
Feeling an exhilarated rush, Bertha rose from her seat. “Finish? I’ll tell you what the finish is!” She held out her palms in midair and mimicked an explosion. “Picture for a moment, Miss Walker, that you’re walking in the meadow. Solaceon has lots of pretty meadows. All those hills and trees and grazing pokémon… Now, imagine it cut off by a metal fence, the trees cut down, and a big tall factory be put in its place. That factory pollutes the air. It keeps the whole half of your neighborhood on edge with its constant noise, which lasts through day and night. It turns your town into a pit stop for hundreds of Galactic workers who swarm around their territory, driving their trucks through your streets, and what more—relying on a share of your town’s money to fund security and maintenance. And they call it a partnership. Meanwhile, less money gets to you, the Gym leader, and little by little, you see your funding from the town dwindle. You soon have to rely on the League’s federal funds or pay out of your own pocket. The League might not be a big help, though, because the same exact thing is happening to it, only on a larger scale. And it’s happening because the government allows it to. My goal is to make that stop.”
Lona was silent, and for the entire duration of Bertha’s tirade, sat with one elbow rested on the table’s surface, supporting her chin. Her face was clouded, and she seemed lost in thought.
“Galactic will never come to Solaceon…” she said, almost whispering.
Bertha tilted her head to the side, softening her face into an imitation of her interlocutor. “And if it does?”
“It won’t!” With a sudden burst of anger that seemed to come from nowhere, Lona rose from her seat to look Bertha in the eye. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Trying to convince me by drawing a parallel with Eterna? You are wrong! Galactic will never put up a factory here because I won’t allow it, because I know how to wield my power as a Gym leader to ensure the best for my facility and my trainers!”
Bertha’s eyes flashed. “You’re saying I don’t?”
“I’m saying that you have no idea what you’re doing!”
I'm not sure I even care to know what she wants to say anymore.The shout seemed to drain some of Lona’s energy. She clenched her fists in visible frustration, and a second later opened her mouth to say more. But Bertha didn’t need to hear it.
Without a word, she snapped her briefcase shut and turned for the door, leaving Lona by the desk, leaning forward in anticipation of proving a point. But whatever she was about to say was drowned out by the pounding of Bertha’s heels, and her anger soon turned to desperation as she fumbled helplessly for words.
The door to the office swung open, and Lona beckoned for it to stop, flinging out a cry: “Money is dangerous in the League’s hands!”
But it was too late. Bertha had slammed the door.
Anyway, a pretty solid chapter all around. You had some very well-written action scenes in the beginning, which were coupled with small details about the progressing Gym challenge and Michael and Henry's training. That action faded into a sort of easygoing, mellow tone in the middle while they were with Ted, but then it picked up again and got intense in a different way at the end. I was interested the whole way through.
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I'm back, everyone! Unfortunately, I don't have a chapter for you today, but I want to make this post to let you know that I'm up and running again, and should be back to my old semi-productive self very soon. During the next few days I'll be digging through my computer files and story notes to get the next chapter going, as well as getting myself in order after these past few weeks. I will try to get Chapter 27 posted in early August, and if I can, post 28 that month too.
And now it's time to respond to some reviews...
Arbok4Ever: I never thought I'd be anyone's favorite fic... ever. :P Thanks for reading!
The Great Butler:
I didn't want to use 'the' at the very start of a chapter because I didn't introduce the pokemon by appearance yet. I figured using 'a' would make a better transition to the immediate action of the battle.
I didn't attach any special significance to Hidden Power when writing this. It's just a move that the Unown are known for in Solaceon, and due to the townspeople's close proximity with them, they've noticed that different Unown have different expressions of it. (What we would call HP types.) But the matter is a complicated one -- since different Unown have different HP types, the only way to determine which type an Unown has is to test it on a large number of opponents. Differences in HP types are something that Michael wouldn't be able to deduce at this point in time, since he knows nothing about the move and doesn't have the time or resources to investigate it. So here, Hidden Power is just the 'special' ability that makes the Unown popular amongst the townspeople.
But that doesn't rule out the chance that Hidden Power might crop up again somewhere... we'll have to see how the story goes. But it'll probably be a side quirk of sorts, not a crucial, plot-twisting issue. Because there are enough of those as is. :P
The Unown isn't dead... imagine it as having its entire psychic power/life force concentrated in the area where its eye is, and the rest of its body being just a brittle extension with sparse sensory nerves. (The Unown doesn't need sensitive skin because it can sense its bodily position using only Psychic powers.) The few peripheral nerves that the Unown does have are there so that the pokemon can sense the rest of its body as a living attachment, rather than dead weight. A break would cause the Unown to briefly faint from shock, but it poses no danger to its life. As I explained later on in that scene, if the Unown is taken to a Pokemon Center, then the nurses can reattach the broken pieces and, after an hour to so, the Unown will be able to reunite itself using its psychic energy.
Don't worry, this story is 100% Pro-Pokemon Rights, so there will be a cruelty-free explanation for any unusual circumstance. It has the Patricia Rowan No Cruelty stamp of approval. xP
Speaking of the Unown, I was really hoping to add in a little segment about them, maybe even have Michael and Henry visit the Solaceon Ruins. But eventually I amassed so many plot-relevant things to add into chapters that I had to cut all the extra stuff out when writing outlines. Of course, I won't extend the Solaceon series just to have Michael and Henry visit all the cool places and learn all the stuff I have in mind, but I'm going to keep in mind everything that I don't post to see if I can work it into the story later on.
Each battle in a battle session involves four of each trainer's pokemon. (It's assumed that by now, all the trainers have captured at least that much.) In a battle, there are two rounds, with two pokemon battling per round. If one trainer manages to faint both of his opponent's pokemon and have at least one of his own battlers standing, then he wins the round and earns one point. If the battle ends with the trainers defeating each other simultaneously, then the round is counted as a tie and both trainers get a point. Once the round has a winner, it's considered over, and both trainers send out new pokemon. (They do this to be fair, so that no one is starting out with exhausted pokemon, and no trainer is able to sweep through with one powerhouse and leave out his/her other team members. Lona hopes this will encourage people to be well-rounded.)
I didn't show the full battle between Michael and Dan, but this is how it went: In the first round, Dan sent out a Staravia, which fainted Michael's Caterpie. Michael sent out Goldeen as his second battler, and both Goldeen and Staravia fainted at the same time. Since Dan had one unused pokemon left, he was declared the winner and earned a point. (Remember, the points count the number of rounds a trainer wins, not the number of pokemon they've defeated.) The second round began, and Dan sent out Chimchar. Chimchar fainted Ringo, and Michael sent out Machop. Machop fainted Chimchar, and then the Unown, which earned Michael a victory for that round. And so they were tied.
Hope that clears it up!
Looking back at this now, I think I should have changed 'Fighting' to 'physical'. What I meant here was that the Unown don't do well when it comes to physical combat. Their strength is that they can hurt a foe from a distance, but if that foe manages to get a hold of them, then they won't be able to wrench themselves free, or fight back physically, etc. Betty's comment pertained more to the individual abilities of the Unown; it wasn't a broad statement about types. Fighting moves still aren't effective against them in theory, but the reason Machop was able to defeat the Unown was because he broke the its frame, which, as I mentioned above, caused it to faint from shock.
That was a mistake which I had the misfortune to notice only now, three or so weeks after posting the chapter. :P It was supposed to be "Tell me, Miss Herrida."
*goes to fix*
And don't give up hope yet... there's one more Bertha-Lona conversation that we'll have to survive, and it's the most important one. It's not in the next chapter, though, so you'll get a breather. There are plenty of other interesting things I've planned for next time, so you'll get your money's worth. (So to speak :P)
As of now, Chapter 27 is completely unwritten. I have the outline, and I'll be working on it in the coming days. As I've said before, I'll try to get it posted next month. I'm afraid the end of July is too close for me to be able to make it... but as always, we'll see.
Thank you both for stopping by!
The story of Professor Rowan - Chapter 34 is up!
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2.7
Days passed quickly in the countryside, and before Michael knew it, he was well into his second week in Solaceon.
The Gym became his second home of sorts, and he was soon able to memorize the names and faces of most of the staff. He never got Lona as his referee again, though as she had seemed to promise from the start, he never got it off easy. His losses soon balanced out with his wins, and the very sidewalk seemed to grow worn from all the times he ran back and forth from the Pokémon Center. He healed after battle sessions, and after practicing with Henry, so much that healing soon became a tiring ordeal.
Nevertheless, the experience came to his benefit. His chart continued to grow as he amassed data from his battles and Henry’s. Michael began to think ahead of time, and compiled a separate sheet of strategies for each of Lona’s pokémon. In addition, he was able to glean some things about the Gym from listening in on trainers’ conversations. From what he gathered, the staff battles were on an entirely different level than the regular ones. Not only did victories count, but the way they were achieved would also be taken into consideration. Henry often relayed to Michael stories he had heard, though it was hard to separate the bogus from the plausible. Too often the boy would come running to him with his fists gripping his hair, breathlessly sputtering that a rule had been enacted saying that each time your pokémon faints, you lose points. Or, that the staff use pokémon specially bred by the Daycare to possess super strength. Those rumors Michael discarded without much thought, but there were plenty of others that sounded perfectly logical, and caused him more than a slight worry. Was it true that they would only be allowed to switch pokémon three times? Did the staff really keep records of their battling style and pass them on to the next one in line, to see if they could poke holes in the trainer’s strategy?
Such questions bounced around in Michael’s mind for the whole second week. His concentration on the Gym was broken only by the routine practice-sessions with his pokémon, who after their sixth day, finally mastered the moves Ted had taught them. The Move Tutor inspected them one last time, and congratulated the boys on a job well done.
“Well, there’s not much else I can say,” Ted told them. “You boys are good to go.”
After exchanging some brief pleasantries, he went with them to the front door to see them off. As they started to leave, Henry turned back.
“Wait,” he said. “What if we need to teach more moves in the future? Who will we go to?”
Ted shrugged. “I’m sure there are other move tutors out there. You’ll just have to ask around. If you want to do the teaching yourself, I guess there’s no harm in it, since you’ve already seen the basics of what I do. There are plenty of do-it-yourself books out there. Just make sure you get a really detailed one. But keep in mind, I’m only talking stuff like Whirlpool, or Razor Leaf. Don’t bother with the complicated techniques, because you’re likely to get it wrong, and God forbid, get your pokémon to hurt itself or you in the process. If you’re going to try with the books, at least get advice from someone who knows the field.”
Henry nodded. “Gotcha.”
Ted looked over to Michael and inclined his head. “Take care.” His eyes lingered on Michael’s a second longer, then he closed the door.
Michael stood on the doorstep for a few moments, staring at the wood’s glossy finish. Ted’s parting expression had been kind… but also the tiniest bit nervous, as if he still remembered their conversation from all those days ago. Clearly, Ted felt that he had told them too much, and wanted to take back his words. Michael found it amusing, but also felt a slight pity.
As the days of battling continued, Michael put the Move Tutor out of his mind, and devoted his full attention to attaining an advancement. Finally, on June 24th, his efforts paid off.
After concluding yet another battle day and meeting Henry in the lobby, the boys went over to the counter to sign out. The attendant looked over their files and lowered the folders with a smile. “Congratulations,” she said. “You both have been promoted to the staff battles. Miss Walker and her colleagues have assessed your p’rformance and deemed you worthy of moving on.”
The boys exchanged a glance and smiled.
“This means that you have a new schedule to abide by,” the lady continued, handing them each a piece of paper. “Starting tomor’ow, you’ll arrive here at 2:00 in the afternoon. During a three-day per’iod, you will face two staff members per day, with a short healing break in between sessions. Your opponents f’r each day will evaluate your performance. Be advised that demotion is possible, so make sure you do as best as you can.” At the end of her recitation, she offered them a wink. “Cong’rats, boys.”
When they left the building, Michael breathed a sigh of relief. “Finally! No more waking up God-knows-when in the dark and having breakfast at noon… this just made my freaking day.” As he stepped down the stairs, he kissed the paper like an A+ essay and waved it around in the air. (At his school, legend had it that if you did this with the very first test of the year, you would get As on all the others.) Henry giggled and waved his copy as well. Once they had left the Gym’s premises, they folded up the papers and set off down the street.
“Now at least we know we’re doing something right,” said Henry, patting his pocket. “We don’t have to worry about changing our strategy. All we have to do is keep doing what we’re doing, and we’ll be set!
“Man, forget about that stuff—what counts is that it’s almost over! Three more days, then it’s battle with Lona, and then we’re free!” Michael spread out his arms, feeling the breeze, expressing with his every step the relief he felt. The feeling soon caught on to Henry as well, and the boy began to laugh, clutching his stomach.
For the first time in a long while, they had a free day. After healing their pokémon, they stalled in getting back to their room, instead letting their curiosity tug them on an excursion through town. They passed shop windows and open booths, which sold a variety of things from flowers to ice cream. Grocery stores were in abundance, overwhelming almost everything else with a flavorful assortment of fruits and vegetables. The dominant products were milk-derived, to which there seemed to be no shortage.
As they walked down the street, Michael’s eye landed on a small newsstand that stood by the road. It consisted of a large wooden desk with a clerk standing behind it, and on either side of him, racks displaying newspapers on various topics. Many of them were specialized, devoted to subsets of the population who farmed, knitted, or were just looking for a local news source. Most of the big-name papers were also present, among them The Lakefront Eye, and of course, Sinnoh Post. After a bit of searching, Michael’s eye finally landed upon a thin stack of The Hearthome Times. He grabbed the topmost issue and unfurled it, almost unthinkingly, to the Arts and Recreation section. And there it was, printed plain for all to see: “Item Evolution, by Michael Rowan.”
He read through the article a couple times, his smile growing ever wider. The words he had written almost two weeks before now seemed strange and imperfect to him, but for precisely that reason, he had no trouble mistaking them for his own. Some parts even stood out to him as ingenious, and he replayed the words in his mind, enjoying the melody in his former thoughts. Jumping towards the end of the article, he read over the brief paragraph Nancy had written as coverage, introducing him and his subject.
“Michael Rowan, a boy of thirteen, is one of many trainers challenging the Pokémon Gym circuit this year. In his travels, he has remained highly observant — taking note of pokémon and strategies that catch his eye. These and many other experiences have given rise to a new, academic interpretation of pokémon training, which noticeably contrasts with the hotheaded, passionate methods of trainers in the past. By coolly thinking through their moves, and doing their homework before challenging the Gyms, Michael and others of his kind may well play a deciding role in the future of the Pokémon League.”
At the last sentence, Michael felt a chuckle escaped him. Michael Rowan, he thought to himself. The trainer of the future. The title was strangely fitting.
Rolling up the paper, he turned to the salesman, who was waiting for him patiently, and handed over some coins. The man bowed his head in return.
“I am going to keep this until the day I die,” Michael said to Henry as they left the newsstand. “It’s going up on my wall, right over the huge desk I’ll have in my future mansion.”
Henry rolled his eyes jokingly, and Michael waggled his finger in the air. “You’ll see.”
They took the long way back to the hotel, pausing by stores to window-shop. When they arrived at their destination, it was well into lunchtime, which meant that the cafeteria was buzzing with activity—trainers moving about with metal trays, chairs scraping against the floor, and sounds of clattering tools from the kitchen. The boys immediately joined the food line and sat down to eat. While Michael ate peaceably, Henry kept lowering his fork every so often to look around the room, in search of something.
“Where’s Bertha?” he said at last. “She usually comes by here.”
“Probably busy somewhere else. I gotta hand it to her—she really has drive. If I were in her position, I’d just forge Lona’s signature and call it a day.”
Henry searched some more, then went back to eating, clearly unsatisfied. Some minutes later, Michael heard the clang of a tray beside them, followed by a familiar voice: “Hey!”
Michael turned to see that Leroy had come by. He was wearing plain clothes, and his backpack was dutifully handing from his shoulder. Michael nodded at him. “Hey. How’s it going?”
“Pretty good,” Leroy said. “They pushed my shift back into the evening today, so I have time off.”
“What does the Gym do in the evening?”
“Keep records, mostly. Clean up—that sort of stuff. It’s actually pretty cool. With the crowd gone, it’s really calm and quiet. A few kids come in who make appointments, and they get additional battling lessons from the staff.”
At this, Henry looked up. “Hey, that’s cool! I didn’t know the Gym did that.”
Leroy chuckled. “Well, yeah. A lot of people say it’s a pain, but it does do stuff that other Gyms don’t. I’m glad there’s at least one that gives you a little help, ‘cause the League’s not easy. People drop out all the time, I’ve heard, especially in the higher Gyms. I’ve met people who’re on their way back from Pastoria and Sunyshore. It’s not the Gyms themselves that are hard, I think—it’s because of what comes next that most people realize they don’t want to go through it.” With that, he turned down to his tray and began to eat, letting his words trail off into silence.
But Michael had forgotten his hunger for the time being. He kept looking at Leroy, his elbows resting on the table. “And what comes next?”
Leroy paused to meet his gaze. “You don’t know?”
Henry turned to Michael with a similar curious look, though he did more to hide it, since he knew the reason. The boy cleared his throat. “Well, we know the basics of it, right?” he said to Leroy. “When you beat all the Gyms you’re officially qualified for the League Tournament. They do them once every two years, and once you’re qualified, all you have to do is register two months before the next one. There’s a tournament this year, one in 1965… and yeah.”
“Okay but how does this tournament actually work?” Michael asked. “Do you just battle the Elite Four to see if you win?”
Leroy began to laugh. “I’d start reading up on that if I were you,” he said. “Nearly all the trainers I’ve met know it front and back, and they say that it’s nothing like the Gym circuit. For one thing, the Elite Four tournament is when you battle trainers. It’s the League’s way of filtering out the bad competition. Basically, when the tournament rolls around, Sinnoh gets divided into districts, with each Gym being responsible for its own section of the country. So wherever you live, the Gym nearest you is the one you’d go to for the event. They set up a huge arena, and you battle the trainers in your district in a double-knockout tournament. There are five finalists per district, so that makes forty from all over Sinnoh. Once the preliminary rounds are over in all the cities, the finalists go to this special island off the Eastern coast and have another tournament. This time, there’s only one winner. One winner for all of Sinnoh—that’s the one who gets to challenge the Elite Four.”
“What happens if they lose?” Michael asked.
“Then their name just gets put down in the records as ‘Tournament Winner.’ The privilege doesn’t trickle over to the runner-up, if that’s what you mean.” Seeing Michael’s look of puzzlement, Leroy smiled. “Yep. That’s how it is. The good part is that if you lose the tournament, you still have your badges. So you can train up and register again next time. Most people in the finals are typically older, like seventeen or eighteen. They usually spend a few years after the Gyms to prepare for the Elite Four. Come to think of it, I don’t get why they let people as young as nine get badges. A lot of the young kids don’t really know what they’re doing, and they always end up stalling at some point or another because they lose interest or aren’t able to train their teams well enough. I’d put the mark at eleven, at least.”
Henry breathed a sigh of relief.
“They probably do it to push people into getting a new hobby…” Michael murmured.
“It wasn’t like that all the time, though,” Leroy said. “Before Ricky Sheldon, all the Champions before were in their 30s. Some were even older.”
Henry began to count off the tips of his fingers. “It’s true!” he said. “There was Bob Gordon, thirty-three. Then Alexia Chambers, thirty-one, Barry Thornburg thirty-four, Lydia Hodnett, thirty… they were all adults. This nine-years-old rule must be pretty new, then.”
Leroy nodded. “It is. Lona’s staff say it got put into effect around ten years ago. They say that that was when everything changed.”
Michael’s eyes found Leroy again. “Changed?”
“Yeah. The staff know a lot about it, actually. Some of them have been into the League for a long time, and they say that twenty years ago, it was way different. The League wasn’t as widespread as it is now, but it was way harder. The Gyms were like battling clubs that served as training grounds for the tournament; you didn’t have to beat the leader or anything to advance. Badges were more like medals that you’d earn for demonstrating your skills. You could enter competitions without them, but the more you had, the more recognition it gave you. The one that people wanted most of all, of course, was the badge you’d get for beating the Elite Four.” Leroy paused, then as if remembering something, added, “Oh, and back then, the League was its own identity. The government didn’t need to pay for any of its events because it organized them all on its own. But I guess somewhere along the way, the League decided to let the government step in and take charge.” He shrugged.
There was a brief lapse in conversation as Michael absorbed these last few words. They didn’t carry any special meaning to him, but even so, he wondered offhand what they would have meant to Bertha.
After the boys were done eating, they emptied their trays and left the cafeteria. Leroy stuck around as they ventured down the hall, and they stopped by the lobby to form a triangle.
“So what are you guys gonna do today?” Leroy asked. “I don’t have to go to work anytime soon, so we could hang out.”
“How about we practice?” Henry offered.
Michael responded with a scowl. “Pshaw. Practice?” He began to snicker. Leroy joined in with a restrained smile, and Henry’s flushed with irritation.
“I mean it, guys!” he said. “We start staff battles tomorrow, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be held back another week because I lost my first time. Or were you missing the way that Lona yelled at you, Michael?” Henry crossed his arms with a smirk.
Michael’s laughter subsided, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I guess you have a point. But let’s make it quick, okay? No four-hour sessions like last week.”
“Fine.”
With Henry leading the way, the boys went out to the backyard. Much like in the other hotels, there was ample space for trainers to roam and socialize. Grass and trees dominated the area, with little islands of pavement set aside for picnic tables. Henry stopped at their usual spot by an oak tree, and the three of them set down their stuff. Once his arms were free, Michael swung them around and clapped his hands together.
“So what do you want to do?” he asked Henry. “Practice the moves again? Check counters? Squirt people with Water Gun?”
Henry giggled. “No. I was thinking we could have a battle.”
“A battle?” Michael perked an eyebrow.
“Yes, a battle. Come on, we’ve never battled before. And now that our pokémon are more powerful, we should test them out.”
“I’m cool with that,” said Leroy. “If you guys want, I could be like your referee. I know the staff are pretty big on rules, so I could tell you what you’re allowed to do and whatnot.”
“Sounds good,” Michael said.
Pulling their backpacks along, he and Henry stepped a distance of several feet away from each other. Leroy knelt down in the shade of a nearby tree.
As he took out his first pokéball, Michael looked over to Henry and gave the boy a smirk. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” Henry replied, with a returning smile.
“You know I’ll win.”
“Well, it’s worth a try, isn’t it? Plus we have to check how well our pokémon learned those moves.”
Michael let out a laugh. “Whatever you say…” He twisted open the capsule and sent out his first pokémon. “Go, Turtwig!”
Turwtig emerged from a flash of light, fully healed and without a single cut or bruise on his body. When he saw Henry, the pokémon clicked his jaws.
Henry was kneeling beside his tote bag, one hand grasping the pokéball he had chosen. But upon seeing Turtwig, he dropped the capsule and switched for another one. “Go, Starly!”
The jet of light from the pokéball shot out into the air and materialized into the screeching black bird. Michael pursed his lips, watching Starly flap in circles above them. He looked down at Turtwig and called him back, fetching another capsule. “Go, Ringo!”
The Chatot emerged, his colored wings flashing, and climbed to Starly’s height in the air. Ringo began to hum as he followed the other bird, sensing the chance to attack. Henry’s smile fell into a determined pout. “Starly, return!” The black bird was plucked out of the air, and moments later another capsule burst to release its replacement.
“Go, Pachirisu!”
The white squirrel landed in the grass, static crackling around its cheeks, and began to scamper towards its opponent. Michael jumped forward with two pokéballs, releasing two beams of light—one going upward, recalling Ringo, and the other carrying a tiny body into the grass. “Go, Caterpie!”
The Bug pokémon had barely emerged from the capsule before the air was split by the sound of two more: “Go, Clefable!”
Pachirisu vanished like a mirage, swallowed by a burning torrent of light. When it cleared away, Clefable landed in his place, right in front of Caterpie. Michael gritted his teeth. “Go, Machop!”
He thrust forth his last, unopened capsule and was about to unlock it before Leroy’s voice rang above the din: “Guys, stop!”
Michael and Henry turned in unison to their companion. Leroy ran over to them with his arms outstretched. “Guys, you can’t battle like this!”
“Who says I can’t?” Michael said. “He counters, I counter back.”
Leroy sighed, letting his arms plop against his sides. “Yeah, but then you’ll never get to the actual battle. And that’s kind of important too, you know.” He swept his gaze over the mess of pokéballs that littered the battlefield. “Send them back.”
The boys complied, and their pokémon vanished. Leroy put his hands on his hips. “Now give all of them to me. I’ll pick out the ones you’ll use.”
Michael and Henry gathered all the capsules into their arms and dropped them into the shady grass. Leroy mixed them around and picked two at random: “Caterpie and Starly.”
Michael drew back in appall. “No!”
“Yes.” Leroy handed Michael the silver pokéball, and Henry his. “Look at it this way—chances are, not all of the staff’s pokémon will be type-weak to yours. You might have to face one that has the advantage. They take note of every time you switch battlers, and if they see you do it too much, it gets counted against you.” Leroy leaned back against the trunk of the tree and crossed his arms with a smirk. “I’m waaiiting.”
Neither Michael nor Henry could dispute Leroy’s point, so without a word, they took their places on the field and sent out their pokémon. Caterpie landed in the grass, displacing the blades with a whisper, and vanished into the green carpet. Starly dove into the air, fanning out his wings as he tested the air currents, and settled into a circular flight around the two boys. His sharp black eyes scanned the field, searching for his would-be prey. But Caterpie’s coloring blended so well with the grass that even from where he stood, Michael could only discern her by her red pincers, which clicked periodically as she adjusted her position. This gave him an idea.
Michael tore his gaze briefly to the Starly. “Caterpie, come up!” he said.
Caterpie emerged slowly into the light, latching onto a blade of grass for support. Starly’s eyes found her immediately, and he dove forward, kicking up a gust of wind in his descent.
“Peck, Starly!” came Henry’s shout.
Starly folded his wings against his body and plunged into a deadly free-fall, his orange beak gleaming like a spear. Caterpie vanished in an instant, popping back into the shade and scurrying away as fast as her legs would allow. A second too late, Starly realized that his prey was gone. Unable to stop in time, he tumbled into the empty patch, and rolled several times before sweeping his belly off the ground again. He gained height, dirt sprinkling from his flapping wings.
“Again!” Michael called to the grass, eagerly sweeping his gaze across the unmoving lawn. He had no idea where Caterpie was, and as it seemed, neither did Starly. The bird pokémon flicked back and forth across the battlefield, keeping as low as possible to the ground while it scanned the underlayer. By luck, Caterpie’s head poked out just a few feet away, her eyes alit with a taunting gleam. Starly pounced, but Caterpie ducked out of the way just in time, and his beak plunged into empty ground. Michael smiled.
Across from him, Henry watched with frustration, his fingers curling and uncurling around the silver pokéball. For a while he said nothing. A look of thoughtful determination came over Henry’s face as his gaze trailed over to Michael. Michael responded with a playful wave. He was determined to let the game continue until Starly wore out, then finish with String Shot to bind him in place. But rather than smirking back, Henry’s frown only deepened. The boy looked down at Starly, then all of a sudden he seemed to reach a conclusion. His eyes flashed.
“Starly, use Wing Attack!” he said. “Sweep it over the ground!”
The strange command caught Michael unawares at first, but a second later the logic of Henry’s plan fell into place. Starly began to beat his wings, generating a gust of wind that flattened the grass beneath him. The blades twisted and tangled, and from within, Caterpie reappeared, sailing over their tops like a windblown leaf. The wind tossed her up into the air, and Starly dove, opening his beak to catch her.
“No—String Shot!”
Michael took a step forward, forgetting the rules in his excitement. Caterpie tumbled down into Starly’s waiting mouth, leaving behind a trail of silvery webbing that she had just begun to spin in a frenzy. The string wrapped around Starly’s wings just as he caught her with his beak, and they both fell into the grass.
Leroy began to clap. “Woo! Now that’s how you battle. And you thought you’d lose!” he said to Michael. “I’m telling you, that Caterpie’s a fighter. Great work, both of you.”
Michael and Henry untangled the pokémon and called them back. Leroy rummaged through his pile and held out two more. “Machop and Pachirisu!”
He tossed them two new pokéballs, and the battle continued.
From the start, it became clear that the long days of partner battles hadn’t been a waste on Henry. The boy had picked up some tricks, and his pokémon were both nimbler and more confident than they had been before. More than once, Michael found himself on the losing end of the rally: Machop would aim a Focus Punch right at Pachirisu’s nose, only to find that the tiny squirrel had slipped away and was now scampering over his back and shoulders, zapping at the exposed skin. Occasionally Machop dealt a good blow, but his reflexes couldn’t match the squirrel’s speed, and his struggles soon deteriorated into a mindless chase after Pachirisu’s tail. Michael’s good-humored outlook soon vanished, replacing Henry’s face with the face of the nameless enemy. Henry changed likewise—the boys no longer made eye contact, following the pokémon with their unwavering gazes. Pachirisu’s teasing continued until Machop became sufficiently irritated, then Henry dealt the final blow: “Use Spark!”
That static that was cracking around Pachirisu’s cheeks suddenly intensified, and the squirrel’s body was consumed by a yellow glow. The shockwave transferred by contact, and Machop let out a yowl as the electricity seared through him. He collapsed, fingers twitching.
Michael gritted his teeth. “This isn’t over!” he said.
From the side, Leroy held up the next pair. “Burmy and Turtwig!”
Michael hastily switched pokéballs, too caught up in the battle to care that Leroy had given them a Grass-Grass combination. Turtwig emerged, the not-quite-green colors of his body standing out against the rest of the field. Over the weeks, the pokémon had visibly grown in size. Where before, he had been no bigger than a playground ball, the tip of his stem now skimmed just above Michael’s knee. The pads of Turtwig’s feet were rounder and bigger, which made him sturdier.
Burmy landed in front of him a few seconds later, his pink skin immediately vanishing as he pulled over a cloak of leaves. Two yellow eyes peeked out of the pile, blinking at Turtwig with blank wonder. Michael knew that at any moment, Burmy could use Protect, and flee into an impenetrable shell of leaves that could last for whole minutes. He immediately tossed out Razor Leaf as an option, and decided to stick with physical moves.
Turtwig advanced towards Burmy slowly, crouching like a Glameow about to pounce. Burmy remained still, his limbs inching ever so slightly in to the folds of his cloak. Michael could sense the command on the tip of Henry’s tongue, and knew that Burmy could swiftly follow. Michael let Turtwig advance some more, until the two pokémon were only a foot away from each other.
They waited.
Finally, Henry broke the silence: “Burmy, use Bug Bite!”
“Turtwig, Tackle!”
The pokémon collided and began to wrestle, growling and scratching. Their struggle traced a slow, laborious path across the field, resembling a game of tug-o-war. Turtwig had ducked his head and was pushing at Burmy with all his might, and Burmy pushed back with his stubby arms, trying to grasp his opponent’s head. Suddenly the formation broke, and the pokémon collapsed onto each other, Turtwig kicking and butting with his head, and Burmy hopping around the blows, stealing occasional nips at Turtwig’s skin. With Burmy on the offensive, Turtwig had the chance to attack as much as possible without fearing Protect, though with Bug Bite on Henry’s side, Michael knew they didn’t have much time. He sensed an impending loss, but he pushed forward without knowing why, trying to uphold Turtwig’s stamina as much as possible. He avoided long pauses between commands, which had been his downfall many times before, and instead kept an active mental involvement. He shuffled around his side of the field, moving whenever his view of Turtwig was obstructed, commanding with his hands as well as his voice.
“Knock him down!” he called, slapping the air. Turtwig, whose head was turned to the side in defense, suddenly lashed out at Burmy and knocked him back.
“Don’t take that!” Henry replied, hands on his knees. Like Michael, his cheeks were pink and he had shouted himself hoarse. “You got this! Use Bug Bite!”
“Headbutt!”
Michael’s command came a second too late—Burmy pushed himself at Turtwig, making them both fall, and began to bite with greater rapidity than ever. Turtwig withdrew into his shell for safety, flinching aside whenever he felt a jolt from Burmy. Michael let out a groan.
“Don’t quit, dammit! Get up! Kick him, get him off you!”
Burmy began to pound the shell like a nut, though he wasn’t strong enough to move it, and tried to scare Turtwig into coming out again. Michael began to tap his foot in exaggeration.
“I said—HEADBUTT!”
Right then, Michael saw the tip of Turtwig’s head poke out from its hole. It was followed by the rest of his four limbs, and his tiny tail. The pokémon’s eyes were narrowed, though Michael could tell that Turtwig was nearing the end of his string.
“Now end it!” he growled.
It turned out, that was all he needed to say.
As Burmy made a final lunge from behind, Turtwig swiveled around and met him with his head, butting Burmy back towards the ground. Turtwig hopped after him and began to knock him around. The pokémon had gone through nearly ten minutes of nonstop battling, and were both equally exhausted. The winning blow, it seemed, could be struck by either one.
Finally, Henry’s focus seemed to snap. He stood up straight and moved to the side, so that he could keep Burmy in full view. “Use Protect!”
Burmy eagerly withdrew, just as Turtwig had done, into his cloak. The leaves hardened, flattening against each other and molding into a smooth, egg-shaped shell. Turtwig stopped kicking and stood still, sitting back on his hind legs. Henry’s face was lifted by a hopeful smile. “Burmy, come out!”
At first, nothing happened. Then the green shell began to totter, as if pushed by a brief gust of wind, and fell softly to the side. It did not move again. Henry’s arms fell against his sides in dismay. Michael was unable to fathom what had happened. He beamed, then began to laugh, clapping his hands.
“Woo! Now that’s what I’m talking about! Ha!”
Henry’s face fell into a pout. Before he could say anything, Leroy held up the final two pokéballs. “This is gonna be a good one,” he said. “Ringo and Clefable!”
The boys’ eyes widened in unison. They returned their pokémon and switched for the new set, holding the pokéballs out at arm’s length.
“Ready when you are,” Henry said.
Michael grinned in return. “Go!”
Ringo dove out of the capsule, soaring into the sky as the last traces of light faded from his body. At the same time, Clefable emerged onto solid ground, one arm touching the ground for balance, and straightened to look up at the sky.
“Clefable, use Gravity!”
Michael countered: “Ringo, distract her!”
As Clefable closed her eyes, Ringo flew forward, talons bared. The rest was a blur of feathers and claws, arms and wings grappling to gain the upper hand. Michael soon felt the familiar weight from Gravity set in, pressing down on his shoulders. Ringo’s flight became sluggish and labored, but the bird managed to stay aloft, his head craned down, eyelids half-lowered in irritation. But due to the battlers’ close proximity, the force affected Clefable as well, slowing down her motions. The more she tried to increase the downward pull, the closer Ringo came to her, until his pestering caused her to lose concentration. Clefable altered between releasing her hold on Gravity entirely, or making the weight so strong that she could barely move.
Seeing Gravity’s futility, Henry sacrificed it to take the offense. Clefable used a string of Psybeams, which plunged Ringo into an alternate reality. He began to flap in circles, chasing his own tail feathers, murmuring unintelligible suspicions. Michael tried to calm him, resorting to the strategy he had learned from Rick.
“Ringo!” he called, looking up at the bird. “Do you hear me? Listen! I’m Michael. I’m your friend. We help our friends. I want you to use Aerial Ace. Fight back and use Aerial Ace!”
After a minute of goading, during which Gravity had pulled the bird down a great deal, Ringo finally came to. He locked his eyes on Clefable, recognizing her a the source of his torment, and lashed out with a raged screech. He shot forward like a bullet, wings flat against his sides, and made a sharp swoop overhead slashed at her with his claws. He made a loop in the air and slashed again, making Clefable totter.
Henry curled a fist. “No, Clefable! Use Psychic!”
Clefable steadied herself and closed her eyes. Over the days, Michael had learned to recognize her when she was in deep focus. He knew he had the chance to attack again, but part of him wanted to see what she had made of Jerry’s technique.
After a few silent seconds, Clefable opened her eyes. They were a blazing pink. A wind kicked up around her feet, stirring the grass, rippling the comma of hair on her head.
Ringo was circling madly through the air, sensing an impending danger, but not knowing where it would strike. All of a sudden, the grass beneath him began to stir, crumbs of dirt and leaves kicked up by the twister. Ringo’s outline began to glow with pink light, and the bird’s motions halted. He began to bob freely through the air, not flying, but held aloft by Clefable’s psychic energy. If Michael had come to his senses right then to give a command, it would have been in vain. A sharp pulse ripped across the invisible connection between the two pokémon, and reached Ringo’s body. The bird let out a yelp, then suddenly the connection was severed, and he fell to the ground like a dropped toy. He plopped into the grass and did not move.
The color faded from Clefable’s eyes, and she wobbled on her feet, dizzy from the sudden loss of energy. Michael did not make a move to return Ringo. He simply stood, watching the bird, a part of him still believing that something else would happen. Henry, who must have felt the same, waited as well.
Then, slowly, the lump of feathers let out a growl. Ringo rose to his feet, ruffling his plumage, feathers sticking out at odd ends.
Like a bolt of lightning, too quick for the eye to see, Ringo lunged at Clefable and began to peck and scratch with vicious speed, thwacking her from side to side. After a brief lapse in concentration, Clefable realized what was happening and began to fight back, though her exhausted blows soon fell out of rhythm with her foe’s. When the bird had pestered her past her breaking point, she collapsed, her back rising with rapid breaths.
Still frazzled, Ringo flew back to Michael and perched on his shoulder, digging his claws into his trainer’s skin.
“Fine, I’m sorry,” he laughed. “It won’t happen again.” Ringo snorted in response, sounding strangely like Michael himself.
There was clear relief on Henry’s face as he and Michael sent back their pokémon. With the battle no longer weighing on his mind, the boy’s face lost that curious look of deep thought it had previously assumed, and was one more bright and Henry-like.
“Wow, I didn’t think it would get that intense!” he said. “Ringo did really well—no, all of your team did!”
“Thanks,” Michael said . “You did pretty good too.”
Hey went over to Leroy, who stood up and wiped his forehead. “Man, that was some battle! Really impressive, both of you.” He handed the pokéballs back, and the boys put them away.
“I guess it’s true what they say about battling your friends,” said Leroy, crossing his arms.
Michael turned to him. “And what’s that?”
“They bring out the best in each other.”
//////
After leaving the field, Michael and Henry healed their teams and went with Leroy on a walk through town. They wandered well into the afternoon, until the time came for Leroy’s next shift, and he ran off to the hotel to get changed. Michael and Henry were left alone, pacing down a busy street, not following any clear-cut plan of direction. The sun was beginning to set, bathing the town in orange light. To their left was an area of flat, empty land bordered by a low fence. To their right, the street rolled out all the way to the horizon, ferrying cars and wagons on its back.
Henry was eating an ice cream cone that he had purchased at one of the roadside shops, holding napkins in both hands to keep the melting cream from dripping. Michael had purchased a bag of sweets, and the two of them strolled amiably along, enjoying their snacks.
“I’m really glad we did this today,” said Henry, breaking the stretched silence.
“Did what?” Michael replied.
“The battle. Walking around and stuff. It was a lot of fun.”
“Yep.” Michael nodded in agreement. “Think you’re ready for the staff battles?”
Henry shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope so.” He looked up at Michael. “You?”
“Same.” Spilling the last few chocolates into his palm, Michael crumpled the empty bag and dropped it into a waste bin. “Listen, don’t let all the stuff people say get to your head. I bet the staff battles are just like the regular ones, only against more tactical people. And judging by our battle earlier, I’d say we’re good to go.”
“Me too.” Henry smiled. “I’m really glad we met Ted,” he said. “If it wasn’t for him, I don’t think I would have done nearly as well in my battles. Protect came in handy loads of times. So did Psychic.”
“Yeah…” Michael looked up at the trees that dotted the pastures. “Still kinda feel sorry for the guy, though.”
“Why?”
“Come on, look at the facts—he sits in his house all day dusting his encyclopedias. The guy needs a new hobby; something that’ll get him into town, actually talking with people.” Suddenly, an idea came to him. Michael snapped his fingers and turned to Henry with a grin. “You know what we should do? We should find that lady he was talking about and hook them up for a date.”
Henry’s eyebrows climbed to the tip of his forehead. “A date?” He pronounced the word slowly, like it was something foreign and strange to him. Michael nodded.
“Yes. A date. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice anything in the way he talked that other day. He obviously saw a girl he liked—and not for the first time, either—and now he wants to see her again. But he’s trying to be sly about it, partly because he wants to save face in front of us, but also because he either hasn’t felt this way about a girl in a long time, or at all. That’s why he keeps her letters at the top of his shelf like that. He doesn’t want to throw them away, because they’re from her, for Pete’s sake, but it still feels strange to read them; it’s like every time he thinks about it, he goes down the same train of thought a thousand times, and it leaves him feeling even worse than when he started out. So he finally decides that it’s all a waste of time, that a girl like that would never look at him anyway, and shoves the letter aside. He lets it sit on the shelf for a few days, then when he’s got nothing to do and feels lonely, he goes back through his papers and ‘accidentally’ comes across the letter again. Then he goes through the same cycle as before. Meanwhile, that girl’s out there somewhere, living her life, happily forgetting all about the guy who met her some weeks ago. She might even like him back, but she’s confused as to why she never sees him, and why he always takes off like a bullet the minute that she does. There’s no progress at all. We can’t just sit and do nothing about it.” Michael turned to Henry with a steely, resolute expression. What he found was that the boy was staring at him in utter amazement.
“How do you know so much?” the boy asked. His eyes looked like they could swallow him whole.
Michael patted his chest. “I’m an expert.”
Henry was silent for a moment, watching the ground. Then he looked up. “Have you had a girlfriend before?”
Michael began to laugh. “That’s like asking a fish if it’s ever seen water. Of course.” Then the smile faded, and he let out a sigh. “Well, technically speaking, I’ve only had two. Two that I’d call ‘official’, like going out and being alone and stuff. Before that, everyone’s a kid, and you know, you never really take it outside of school.” He paused. Henry was silent, but he appeared to be listening. “I had one last year,” Michael continued. “Her name was Rebecca.”
Henry smiled. “Was she pretty?”
"Hell yes. It didn't go too well in the end, though. She ended up moving to a different city.”
"Why?"
Michael scowled. "Her dad got transferred, and her parents wanted her to go to a different school. She said it was to get a better education. Apparently the people at our school were too much of a ‘bad influence’. Hmph. She said she'd keep in touch, but I haven't talked to her since." He turned away, casting his gaze over to the neatly-cobbled border that lined the road.
Henry was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said.
"S'okay I guess." Michael shrugged. “At any rate, it’s not the first time I’ve been called a hooligan. I know she probably wasn’t thinking of me when she said that, but her parents sure as hell were. That’s all adults can think of me. They see me hanging out with my friends and they think we’re getting wasted or something, when we’re not. They see us run out of a store and they assume we stole something, when we didn’t. I skip class once in three weeks, and I get half that time’s worth of punishment. When I get a bad grade they want me to get a good one, and when I do get a good one they assume I cheated. They think a freaking closed door means it’s the end of the world.”
“Well, that can’t be true. I close my door sometimes and my mom allows it… as long as I don’t lock it.”
Michael smiled darkly. “Yeah, you get it off easy. But where I come from, you can be one of two things—a perfect little angel, or an unfixable mess. And for some reason, I’m always on the bad end. Always have been, always will be.”
“So make them see you as something else,” Henry offered.
“You don’t get it. There’s no point. To them, I’ll never be anything but a lump in a chair, that kid who’s letting his life pass by right under his nose. They try to help me, but what they don’t get is that I don’t need their help. And I don’t want it.” Feeling an urge to stretch his spine, Michael straightened, looking squarely ahead. “I know exactly where I’m going. And if I ever forget, I’ll find my way again. I don’t need anyone to do anything for me.”
“Yeah…” came Henry’s sigh. His voice was quiet. “I wish I could be like you.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Stop it with the ‘me’ stuff. Just be Henry. He’s not that bad a cat… when he doesn’t complain.”
Henry giggled. “I bet that’s true.”
They continued walking, falling silent just as they passed by the marketplace. The plaza was teeming with people, some who rushed between the indoor shops, and others who floated around the tables and baskets that stood in the open air. The boys stopped for a moment, and suddenly, Michael felt Henry grab his arm.
“Michael, wait!” Henry said, pulling him back with a gasp.
“What? What is it?” Michael began to jerk his head around, looking for the source of the boy’s panic. Then his eyes landed on Henry, who was standing with one hand loosely curled into a fist, as if on the threshold of a monumental revelation.
“Didn’t Ted say that he kept seeing that lady in the marketplace?”
“Yeah.”
Henry glanced over to the crowd. “What did she look like?”
Michael bent his head back as he tried to remember. “Uh… what was it… red heels, cardigan, hat, and skirt.” He looked over to Henry, who was tapping his chin, still not tearing his eyes away from the outdoor tents. “Why, what is it?”
“I think I just saw her,” Henry said. “The hat and heels, I mean. No one else is wearing them.”
Michael opened his eyes all the way, bringing himself to full attention. “Where is she?”
“Hang on… I just lost her.” Henry’s eyes swept across the scene, following a random path of movement, as if trying to locate a fly. Then, his face lit up, and he pointed. “There! Over by the fountain!”
Michael’s eyes landed on a column of gushing water that spurted from a stone bowl in the center of the plaza. A fleeting pair of red heels flew across the pavement, though the body attached to them was constantly flitting in and out of view from behind people and objects. The boys immediately ran in pursuit, keeping the shoes in view as they zipped through the sea of moving bodies, cutting a beeline through the outdoor stands. As Michael neared the figure, he began to discern the details—the brim of a skirt that skimmed past the knees, a blouse of some sort, and a white denim cardigan, where at once an arm came into view, balancing a small purse.
The woman came to a stop beside a basket of apples. She leaned over to examine them, but the sunhat kept much of her shoulder area hidden from view. Nevertheless, Michael became certain at that moment that they had found the right person. He and Henry scampered over to a slim tree and hid behind it, peering out from separate sides of the trunk.
“Can you see who it is?” Henry said.
Michael squinted. “I can’t tell. She still won’t turn around.” He craned his neck left and right, but no matter how he repositioned himself, he still couldn’t see any part of the lady’s face. From afar, the plain, classy style of her clothing stood out from the dressy frills of the other women, exactly like a city person would stand out in the country. “It’s definitely her, though,” Michael said. “Man, we must have some serious luck…”
“I wonder where she’s from,” Henry said. “If she doesn’t live in Solaceon like Ted said, then what if she’s on a business trip or something? She's probably really busy during the day, so she leaves her pokémon at the Daycare Center, which would explain why he saw her there."
Michael thought for a moment, then suddenly he snapped his fingers. “Bertha!”
“What?” Henry turned. He caught on a second later, and his eyes grew wide. “You don’t think… you don’t think it’s her, do you?”
“What if it is?” said Michael. “Come on, it makes perfect sense! Look—Ted said himself that he doesn’t think she’s from here. And Bertha isn’t. Ted said that she dresses differently from how other people dress in Solaceon. And Bertha does! She wears heels and hats, doesn’t she? I never saw the other stuff before, but I bet she just bought them in her spare time!” Michael let out a laugh, slapping the trunk of the tree. The utter perfection of the moment astounded him. The pieces had fallen together in the best possible way, and now all that was left was to somehow get the two of them together.
“This is amazing,” Michael said, unable to contain a smile. “We gotta talk to her. Let’s go.”
He came out from behind the tree, but just as he was about to approach her, the lady stepped away from the baskets and turned around. The breeze caught her midway as she did, making her skirt ripple, and the sunhat tilt away from her head, revealing a pretty, smiling face. And right then Michael understood that the reason he couldn’t see the woman’s hair was because it wasn’t long enough to dip past the brim of her hat, that the reason Ted mistook her for a foreigner was because she had spent the bulk of her time studying and training somewhere else, and that the reason her figure looked so familiar to him from behind was because he had spent the last two weeks spotting it from every angle and distance, hearing it described with anger and awe by a thousand different voices, to the point where the sound of her name stirred dread within his very heart.
It was Lona Walker.
In that instant, an electric shock seemed to course through Michael's body. He stumbled back in breathless shock, eyes bulging, unaware that he was keeping an iron grip on Henry’s shoulder and pulling the boy back by the shirtsleeve. Henry mirrored his reaction, mouth agape, and the boys grabbed at each other’s arms in an attempt to regain their balance. Once they were on their feet, they turned tail and ran away as fast as they could, before the Gym leader could notice them.
Michael ran like the wind, sailing past a blur of shops and signs, their colors winking past him with lightning speed. He continued up the block as far as his legs would allow, till he found a tree that stood alone by the sidewalk and skid to a stop beside it. He leaned one arm against the trunk, gasping for air. Henry appeared beside him moments later, his momentum so great that he fell with his knees onto the pavement. For a minute, both boys were too out of breath to speak. Still shaking, Michael and Henry turned to exchange mute, horrified glances.
A moment later, they burst into laughter.
Last edited by Mrs. Lovett; 19th August 2012 at 4:52 PM.
The story of Professor Rowan - Chapter 34 is up!
Other Works:Cave Guardian ♦ Cheater ♦ Contests ♦ Maids
Author's Profile
KIRABOSHI
Seems a little unusual that a Gym so geared toward intensive training doesn't have a Pokemon Center within itself, wouldn't you think?
Really got a good look into Michael's thoughts in these two paragraphs. Good job.Nevertheless, the experience came to his benefit. His chart continued to grow as he amassed data from his battles and Henry’s. Michael began to think ahead of time, and compiled a separate sheet of strategies for each of Lona’s pokémon. In addition, he was able to glean some things about the Gym from listening in on trainers’ conversations. From what he gathered, the staff battles were on an entirely different level than the regular ones. Not only did victories count, but the way they were achieved would also be taken into consideration. Henry often relayed to Michael stories he had heard, though it was hard to separate the bogus from the plausible. Too often the boy would come running to him with his fists gripping his hair, breathlessly sputtering that a rule had been enacted saying that each time your pokémon faints, you lose points. Or, that the staff use pokémon specially bred by the Daycare to possess super strength. Those rumors Michael discarded without much thought, but there were plenty of others that sounded perfectly logical, and caused him more than a slight worry. Was it true that they would only be allowed to switch pokémon three times? Did the staff really keep records of their battling style and pass them on to the next one in line, to see if they could poke holes in the trainer’s strategy?
Such questions bounced around in Michael’s mind for the whole second week. His concentration on the Gym was broken only by the routine practice-sessions with his pokémon, who after their sixth day, finally mastered the moves Ted had taught them. The Move Tutor inspected them one last time, and congratulated the boys on a job well done.
This is very realistic, I think. It reflects the reality of the times that they'd have to teach their Pokemon more moves from a book while keeping it simple.“Well, there’s not much else I can say,” Ted told them. “You boys are good to go.”
After exchanging some brief pleasantries, he went with them to the front door to see them off. As they started to leave, Henry turned back.
“Wait,” he said. “What if we need to teach more moves in the future? Who will we go to?”
Ted shrugged. “I’m sure there are other move tutors out there. You’ll just have to ask around. If you want to do the teaching yourself, I guess there’s no harm in it, since you’ve already seen the basics of what I do. There are plenty of do-it-yourself books out there. Just make sure you get a really detailed one. But keep in mind, I’m only talking stuff like Whirlpool, or Razor Leaf. Don’t bother with the complicated techniques, because you’re likely to get it wrong, and God forbid, get your pokémon to hurt itself or you in the process. If you’re going to try with the books, at least get advice from someone who knows the field.”
I could literally feel the relief they had when they realized they no longer had to get up early.Henry nodded. “Gotcha.”
Ted looked over to Michael and inclined his head. “Take care.” His eyes lingered on Michael’s a second longer, then he closed the door.
Michael stood on the doorstep for a few moments, staring at the wood’s glossy finish. Ted’s parting expression had been kind… but also the tiniest bit nervous, as if he still remembered their conversation from all those days ago. Clearly, Ted felt that he had told them too much, and wanted to take back his words. Michael found it amusing, but also felt a slight pity.
As the days of battling continued, Michael put the Move Tutor out of his mind, and devoted his full attention to attaining an advancement. Finally, on June 24th, his efforts paid off.
After concluding yet another battle day and meeting Henry in the lobby, the boys went over to the counter to sign out. The attendant looked over their files and lowered the folders with a smile. “Congratulations,” she said. “You both have been promoted to the staff battles. Miss Walker and her colleagues have assessed your p’rformance and deemed you worthy of moving on.”
The boys exchanged a glance and smiled.
“This means that you have a new schedule to abide by,” the lady continued, handing them each a piece of paper. “Starting tomor’ow, you’ll arrive here at 2:00 in the afternoon. During a three-day per’iod, you will face two staff members per day, with a short healing break in between sessions. Your opponents f’r each day will evaluate your performance. Be advised that demotion is possible, so make sure you do as best as you can.” At the end of her recitation, she offered them a wink. “Cong’rats, boys.”
When they left the building, Michael breathed a sigh of relief. “Finally! No more waking up God-knows-when in the dark and having breakfast at noon… this just made my freaking day.” As he stepped down the stairs, he kissed the paper like an A+ essay and waved it around in the air. (At his school, legend had it that if you did this with the very first test of the year, you would get As on all the others.) Henry giggled and waved his copy as well. Once they had left the Gym’s premises, they folded up the papers and set off down the street.
Again, you can really feel the same emotions they do, which is excellent.“Now at least we know we’re doing something right,” said Henry, patting his pocket. “We don’t have to worry about changing our strategy. All we have to do is keep doing what we’re doing, and we’ll be set!
“Man, forget about that stuff—what counts is that it’s almost over! Three more days, then it’s battle with Lona, and then we’re free!” Michael spread out his arms, feeling the breeze, expressing with his every step the relief he felt. The feeling soon caught on to Henry as well, and the boy began to laugh, clutching his stomach.
I can't really put my finger on exactly why, but I just loved reading this part. It put a smile on my face.For the first time in a long while, they had a free day. After healing their pokémon, they stalled in getting back to their room, instead letting their curiosity tug them on an excursion through town. They passed shop windows and open booths, which sold a variety of things from flowers to ice cream. Grocery stores were in abundance, overwhelming almost everything else with a flavorful assortment of fruits and vegetables. The dominant products were milk-derived, to which there seemed to be no shortage.
As they walked down the street, Michael’s eye landed on a small newsstand that stood by the road. It consisted of a large wooden desk with a clerk standing behind it, and on either side of him, racks displaying newspapers on various topics. Many of them were specialized, devoted to subsets of the population who farmed, knitted, or were just looking for a local news source. Most of the big-name papers were also present, among them The Lakefront Eye, and of course, Sinnoh Post. After a bit of searching, Michael’s eye finally landed upon a thin stack of The Hearthome Times. He grabbed the topmost issue and unfurled it, almost unthinkingly, to the Arts and Recreation section. And there it was, printed plain for all to see: “Item Evolution, by Michael Rowan.”
He read through the article a couple times, his smile growing ever wider. The words he had written almost two weeks before now seemed strange and imperfect to him, but for precisely that reason, he had no trouble mistaking them for his own. Some parts even stood out to him as ingenious, and he replayed the words in his mind, enjoying the melody in his former thoughts. Jumping towards the end of the article, he read over the brief paragraph Nancy had written as coverage, introducing him and his subject.
“Michael Rowan, a boy of thirteen, is one of many trainers challenging the Pokémon Gym circuit this year. In his travels, he has remained highly observant — taking note of pokémon and strategies that catch his eye. These and many other experiences have given rise to a new, academic interpretation of pokémon training, which noticeably contrasts with the hotheaded, passionate methods of trainers in the past. By coolly thinking through their moves, and doing their homework before challenging the Gyms, Michael and others of his kind may well play a deciding role in the future of the Pokémon League.”
At the last sentence, Michael felt a chuckle escaped him. Michael Rowan, he thought to himself. The trainer of the future. The title was strangely fitting.
Rolling up the paper, he turned to the salesman, who was waiting for him patiently, and handed over some coins. The man bowed his head in return.
“I am going to keep this until the day I die,” Michael said to Henry as they left the newsstand. “It’s going up on my wall, right over the huge desk I’ll have in my future mansion.”
I'll laugh if Bertha ends up actually doing that.Henry rolled his eyes jokingly, and Michael waggled his finger in the air. “You’ll see.”
They took the long way back to the hotel, pausing by stores to window-shop. When they arrived at their destination, it was well into lunchtime, which meant that the cafeteria was buzzing with activity—trainers moving about with metal trays, chairs scraping against the floor, and sounds of clattering tools from the kitchen. The boys immediately joined the food line and sat down to eat. While Michael ate peaceably, Henry kept lowering his fork every so often to look around the room, in search of something.
“Where’s Bertha?” he said at last. “She usually comes by here.”
“Probably busy somewhere else. I gotta hand it to her—she really has drive. If I were in her position, I’d just forge Lona’s signature and call it a day.”
This is complicated, but it works. I think it's also a pretty original arrangement for a League tournament, so I look forward to seeing it develop more.Leroy paused to meet his gaze. “You don’t know?”
Henry turned to Michael with a similar curious look, though he did more to hide it, since he knew the reason. The boy cleared his throat. “Well, we know the basics of it, right?” he said to Leroy. “When you beat all the Gyms you’re officially qualified for the League Tournament. They do them once every two years, and once you’re qualified, all you have to do is register two months before the next one. There’s a tournament this year, one in 1965… and yeah.”
“Okay but how does this tournament actually work?” Michael asked. “Do you just battle the Elite Four to see if you win?”
Leroy began to laugh. “I’d start reading up on that if I were you,” he said. “Nearly all the trainers I’ve met know it front and back, and they say that it’s nothing like the Gym circuit. For one thing, the Elite Four tournament is when you battle trainers. It’s the League’s way of filtering out the bad competition. Basically, when the tournament rolls around, Sinnoh gets divided into districts, with each Gym being responsible for its own section of the country. So wherever you live, the Gym nearest you is the one you’d go to for the event. They set up a huge arena, and you battle the trainers in your district in a double-knockout tournament. There are five finalists per district, so that makes forty from all over Sinnoh. Once the preliminary rounds are over in all the cities, the finalists go to this special island off the Eastern coast and have another tournament. This time, there’s only one winner. One winner for all of Sinnoh—that’s the one who gets to challenge the Elite Four.”
As young as nine? Was the ten-year-old rule not in effect then?“What happens if they lose?” Michael asked.
“Then their name just gets put down in the records as ‘Tournament Winner.’ The privilege doesn’t trickle over to the runner-up, if that’s what you mean.” Seeing Michael’s look of puzzlement, Leroy smiled. “Yep. That’s how it is. The good part is that if you lose the tournament, you still have your badges. So you can train up and register again next time. Most people in the finals are typically older, like seventeen or eighteen. They usually spend a few years after the Gyms to prepare for the Elite Four. Come to think of it, I don’t get why they let people as young as nine get badges. A lot of the young kids don’t really know what they’re doing, and they always end up stalling at some point or another because they lose interest or aren’t able to train their teams well enough. I’d put the mark at eleven, at least.”
Is this a nod to the Pokemon Adventures manga to some degree? The concept of not having to get all the Badges to enter the League was used there.“They probably do it to push people into getting a new hobby…” Michael murmured.
“It wasn’t like that all the time, though,” Leroy said. “Before Ricky Sheldon, all the Champions before were in their 30s. Some were even older.”
Henry began to count off the tips of his fingers. “It’s true!” he said. “There was Bob Gordon, thirty-three. Then Alexia Chambers, thirty-one, Barry Thornburg thirty-four, Lydia Hodnett, thirty… they were all adults. This nine-years-old rule must be pretty new, then.”
Leroy nodded. “It is. Lona’s staff say it got put into effect around ten years ago. They say that that was when everything changed.”
Michael’s eyes found Leroy again. “Changed?”
“Yeah. The staff know a lot about it, actually. Some of them have been into the League for a long time, and they say that twenty years ago, it was way different. The League wasn’t as widespread as it is now, but it was way harder. The Gyms were like battling clubs that served as training grounds for the tournament; you didn’t have to beat the leader or anything to advance. Badges were more like medals that you’d earn for demonstrating your skills. You could enter competitions without them, but the more you had, the more recognition it gave you. The one that people wanted most of all, of course, was the badge you’d get for beating the Elite Four.” Leroy paused, then as if remembering something, added, “Oh, and back then, the League was its own identity. The government didn’t need to pay for any of its events because it organized them all on its own. But I guess somewhere along the way, the League decided to let the government step in and take charge.” He shrugged.
Excellent history lesson, either way.
This ought to be promising. A protagonist facing another protagonist isn't a common event, and even though I think I can guess who will win, it should be interesting.With Henry leading the way, the boys went out to the backyard. Much like in the other hotels, there was ample space for trainers to roam and socialize. Grass and trees dominated the area, with little islands of pavement set aside for picnic tables. Henry stopped at their usual spot by an oak tree, and the three of them set down their stuff. Once his arms were free, Michael swung them around and clapped his hands together.
“So what do you want to do?” he asked Henry. “Practice the moves again? Check counters? Squirt people with Water Gun?”
Henry giggled. “No. I was thinking we could have a battle.”
“A battle?” Michael perked an eyebrow.
“Yes, a battle. Come on, we’ve never battled before. And now that our pokémon are more powerful, we should test them out.”
“I’m cool with that,” said Leroy. “If you guys want, I could be like your referee. I know the staff are pretty big on rules, so I could tell you what you’re allowed to do and whatnot.”
“Sounds good,” Michael said.
Pulling their backpacks along, he and Henry stepped a distance of several feet away from each other. Leroy knelt down in the shade of a nearby tree.
This isn't going to become an endless recall loop, is it?As he took out his first pokéball, Michael looked over to Henry and gave the boy a smirk. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” Henry replied, with a returning smile.
“You know I’ll win.”
“Well, it’s worth a try, isn’t it? Plus we have to check how well our pokémon learned those moves.”
Michael let out a laugh. “Whatever you say…” He twisted open the capsule and sent out his first pokémon. “Go, Turtwig!”
Turwtig emerged from a flash of light, fully healed and without a single cut or bruise on his body. When he saw Henry, the pokémon clicked his jaws.
Henry was kneeling beside his tote bag, one hand grasping the pokéball he had chosen. But upon seeing Turtwig, he dropped the capsule and switched for another one. “Go, Starly!”
The jet of light from the pokéball shot out into the air and materialized into the screeching black bird. Michael pursed his lips, watching Starly flap in circles above them. He looked down at Turtwig and called him back, fetching another capsule. “Go, Ringo!”
Thank you for putting a stop to that, Leroy.The Chatot emerged, his colored wings flashing, and climbed to Starly’s height in the air. Ringo began to hum as he followed the other bird, sensing the chance to attack. Henry’s smile fell into a determined pout. “Starly, return!” The black bird was plucked out of the air, and moments later another capsule burst to release its replacement.
“Go, Pachirisu!”
The white squirrel landed in the grass, static crackling around its cheeks, and began to scamper towards its opponent. Michael jumped forward with two pokéballs, releasing two beams of light—one going upward, recalling Ringo, and the other carrying a tiny body into the grass. “Go, Caterpie!”
The Bug pokémon had barely emerged from the capsule before the air was split by the sound of two more: “Go, Clefable!”
Pachirisu vanished like a mirage, swallowed by a burning torrent of light. When it cleared away, Clefable landed in his place, right in front of Caterpie. Michael gritted his teeth. “Go, Machop!”
He thrust forth his last, unopened capsule and was about to unlock it before Leroy’s voice rang above the din: “Guys, stop!”
Michael and Henry turned in unison to their companion. Leroy ran over to them with his arms outstretched. “Guys, you can’t battle like this!”
Now this is a curious arrangement. Leroy's training idea is pretty logical, though, if what he says about the staff monitoring recalls is true.“Who says I can’t?” Michael said. “He counters, I counter back.”
Leroy sighed, letting his arms plop against his sides. “Yeah, but then you’ll never get to the actual battle. And that’s kind of important too, you know.” He swept his gaze over the mess of pokéballs that littered the battlefield. “Send them back.”
The boys complied, and their pokémon vanished. Leroy put his hands on his hips. “Now give all of them to me. I’ll pick out the ones you’ll use.”
Michael and Henry gathered all the capsules into their arms and dropped them into the shady grass. Leroy mixed them around and picked two at random: “Caterpie and Starly.”
Michael drew back in appall. “No!”
“Yes.” Leroy handed Michael the silver pokéball, and Henry his. “Look at it this way—chances are, not all of the staff’s pokémon will be type-weak to yours. You might have to face one that has the advantage. They take note of every time you switch battlers, and if they see you do it too much, it gets counted against you.” Leroy leaned back against the trunk of the tree and crossed his arms with a smirk. “I’m waaiiting.”
Nitpick: Caterpie has antennae, not pincers.Neither Michael nor Henry could dispute Leroy’s point, so without a word, they took their places on the field and sent out their pokémon. Caterpie landed in the grass, displacing the blades with a whisper, and vanished into the green carpet. Starly dove into the air, fanning out his wings as he tested the air currents, and settled into a circular flight around the two boys. His sharp black eyes scanned the field, searching for his would-be prey. But Caterpie’s coloring blended so well with the grass that even from where he stood, Michael could only discern her by her red pincers, which clicked periodically as she adjusted her position. This gave him an idea.
I wonder what Michael is planning exactly...Michael tore his gaze briefly to the Starly. “Caterpie, come up!” he said.
Caterpie emerged slowly into the light, latching onto a blade of grass for support. Starly’s eyes found her immediately, and he dove forward, kicking up a gust of wind in his descent.
“Peck, Starly!” came Henry’s shout.
Starly folded his wings against his body and plunged into a deadly free-fall, his orange beak gleaming like a spear. Caterpie vanished in an instant, popping back into the shade and scurrying away as fast as her legs would allow. A second too late, Starly realized that his prey was gone. Unable to stop in time, he tumbled into the empty patch, and rolled several times before sweeping his belly off the ground again. He gained height, dirt sprinkling from his flapping wings.
“Again!” Michael called to the grass, eagerly sweeping his gaze across the unmoving lawn. He had no idea where Caterpie was, and as it seemed, neither did Starly. The bird pokémon flicked back and forth across the battlefield, keeping as low as possible to the ground while it scanned the underlayer. By luck, Caterpie’s head poked out just a few feet away, her eyes alit with a taunting gleam. Starly pounced, but Caterpie ducked out of the way just in time, and his beak plunged into empty ground. Michael smiled.
Across from him, Henry watched with frustration, his fingers curling and uncurling around the silver pokéball. For a while he said nothing. A look of thoughtful determination came over Henry’s face as his gaze trailed over to Michael. Michael responded with a playful wave. He was determined to let the game continue until Starly wore out, then finish with String Shot to bind him in place. But rather than smirking back, Henry’s frown only deepened. The boy looked down at Starly, then all of a sudden he seemed to reach a conclusion. His eyes flashed.
A tie, then?“Starly, use Wing Attack!” he said. “Sweep it over the ground!”
The strange command caught Michael unawares at first, but a second later the logic of Henry’s plan fell into place. Starly began to beat his wings, generating a gust of wind that flattened the grass beneath him. The blades twisted and tangled, and from within, Caterpie reappeared, sailing over their tops like a windblown leaf. The wind tossed her up into the air, and Starly dove, opening his beak to catch her.
“No—String Shot!”
Michael took a step forward, forgetting the rules in his excitement. Caterpie tumbled down into Starly’s waiting mouth, leaving behind a trail of silvery webbing that she had just begun to spin in a frenzy. The string wrapped around Starly’s wings just as he caught her with his beak, and they both fell into the grass.
Leroy began to clap. “Woo! Now that’s how you battle. And you thought you’d lose!” he said to Michael. “I’m telling you, that Caterpie’s a fighter. Great work, both of you.”
That really was excellent description of their mindsets in battle.Michael and Henry untangled the pokémon and called them back. Leroy rummaged through his pile and held out two more. “Machop and Pachirisu!”
He tossed them two new pokéballs, and the battle continued.
From the start, it became clear that the long days of partner battles hadn’t been a waste on Henry. The boy had picked up some tricks, and his pokémon were both nimbler and more confident than they had been before. More than once, Michael found himself on the losing end of the rally: Machop would aim a Focus Punch right at Pachirisu’s nose, only to find that the tiny squirrel had slipped away and was now scampering over his back and shoulders, zapping at the exposed skin. Occasionally Machop dealt a good blow, but his reflexes couldn’t match the squirrel’s speed, and his struggles soon deteriorated into a mindless chase after Pachirisu’s tail. Michael’s good-humored outlook soon vanished, replacing Henry’s face with the face of the nameless enemy. Henry changed likewise—the boys no longer made eye contact, following the pokémon with their unwavering gazes. Pachirisu’s teasing continued until Machop became sufficiently irritated, then Henry dealt the final blow: “Use Spark!”
That static that was cracking around Pachirisu’s cheeks suddenly intensified, and the squirrel’s body was consumed by a yellow glow. The shockwave transferred by contact, and Machop let out a yowl as the electricity seared through him. He collapsed, fingers twitching.
One question, though, is that "shockwave" as in a general shock wave or "Shock Wave" the attack?
Grass VS. Bug actually. Unless this is corrected later in the chapter, it's a pretty major error.Michael gritted his teeth. “This isn’t over!” he said.
From the side, Leroy held up the next pair. “Burmy and Turtwig!”
Michael hastily switched pokéballs, too caught up in the battle to care that Leroy had given them a Grass-Grass combination. Turtwig emerged, the not-quite-green colors of his body standing out against the rest of the field. Over the weeks, the pokémon had visibly grown in size. Where before, he had been no bigger than a playground ball, the tip of his stem now skimmed just above Michael’s knee. The pads of Turtwig’s feet were rounder and bigger, which made him sturdier.
Ringo VS. Clefable?Finally, Henry’s focus seemed to snap. He stood up straight and moved to the side, so that he could keep Burmy in full view. “Use Protect!”
Burmy eagerly withdrew, just as Turtwig had done, into his cloak. The leaves hardened, flattening against each other and molding into a smooth, egg-shaped shell. Turtwig stopped kicking and stood still, sitting back on his hind legs. Henry’s face was lifted by a hopeful smile. “Burmy, come out!”
At first, nothing happened. Then the green shell began to totter, as if pushed by a brief gust of wind, and fell softly to the side. It did not move again. Henry’s arms fell against his sides in dismay. Michael was unable to fathom what had happened. He beamed, then began to laugh, clapping his hands.
“Woo! Now that’s what I’m talking about! Ha!”
Henry’s face fell into a pout. Before he could say anything, Leroy held up the final two pokéballs. “This is gonna be a good one,” he said. “Ringo and Clefable!”
"Good one" is an understatement.
I suppose this is an interesting enough way to handle what Gravity does. It does stretch the game standard a little but it still works.The boys’ eyes widened in unison. They returned their pokémon and switched for the new set, holding the pokéballs out at arm’s length.
“Ready when you are,” Henry said.
Michael grinned in return. “Go!”
Ringo dove out of the capsule, soaring into the sky as the last traces of light faded from his body. At the same time, Clefable emerged onto solid ground, one arm touching the ground for balance, and straightened to look up at the sky.
“Clefable, use Gravity!”
Michael countered: “Ringo, distract her!”
As Clefable closed her eyes, Ringo flew forward, talons bared. The rest was a blur of feathers and claws, arms and wings grappling to gain the upper hand. Michael soon felt the familiar weight from Gravity set in, pressing down on his shoulders. Ringo’s flight became sluggish and labored, but the bird managed to stay aloft, his head craned down, eyelids half-lowered in irritation. But due to the battlers’ close proximity, the force affected Clefable as well, slowing down her motions. The more she tried to increase the downward pull, the closer Ringo came to her, until his pestering caused her to lose concentration. Clefable altered between releasing her hold on Gravity entirely, or making the weight so strong that she could barely move.
That's a creative way to break confusion.Seeing Gravity’s futility, Henry sacrificed it to take the offense. Clefable used a string of Psybeams, which plunged Ringo into an alternate reality. He began to flap in circles, chasing his own tail feathers, murmuring unintelligible suspicions. Michael tried to calm him, resorting to the strategy he had learned from Rick.
“Ringo!” he called, looking up at the bird. “Do you hear me? Listen! I’m Michael. I’m your friend. We help our friends. I want you to use Aerial Ace. Fight back and use Aerial Ace!”
After a minute of goading, during which Gravity had pulled the bird down a great deal, Ringo finally came to. He locked his eyes on Clefable, recognizing her a the source of his torment, and lashed out with a raged screech. He shot forward like a bullet, wings flat against his sides, and made a sharp swoop overhead slashed at her with his claws. He made a loop in the air and slashed again, making Clefable totter.
I have to say, portraying Psychic is a difficult one to pull off, but you did it well.Henry curled a fist. “No, Clefable! Use Psychic!”
Clefable steadied herself and closed her eyes. Over the days, Michael had learned to recognize her when she was in deep focus. He knew he had the chance to attack again, but part of him wanted to see what she had made of Jerry’s technique.
After a few silent seconds, Clefable opened her eyes. They were a blazing pink. A wind kicked up around her feet, stirring the grass, rippling the comma of hair on her head.
Ringo was circling madly through the air, sensing an impending danger, but not knowing where it would strike. All of a sudden, the grass beneath him began to stir, crumbs of dirt and leaves kicked up by the twister. Ringo’s outline began to glow with pink light, and the bird’s motions halted. He began to bob freely through the air, not flying, but held aloft by Clefable’s psychic energy. If Michael had come to his senses right then to give a command, it would have been in vain. A sharp pulse ripped across the invisible connection between the two pokémon, and reached Ringo’s body. The bird let out a yelp, then suddenly the connection was severed, and he fell to the ground like a dropped toy. He plopped into the grass and did not move.
Whoa, what just happened?The color faded from Clefable’s eyes, and she wobbled on her feet, dizzy from the sudden loss of energy. Michael did not make a move to return Ringo. He simply stood, watching the bird, a part of him still believing that something else would happen. Henry, who must have felt the same, waited as well.
Then, slowly, the lump of feathers let out a growl. Ringo rose to his feet, ruffling his plumage, feathers sticking out at odd ends.
Like a bolt of lightning, too quick for the eye to see, Ringo lunged at Clefable and began to peck and scratch with vicious speed, thwacking her from side to side. After a brief lapse in concentration, Clefable realized what was happening and began to fight back, though her exhausted blows soon fell out of rhythm with her foe’s. When the bird had pestered her past her breaking point, she collapsed, her back rising with rapid breaths.
That's actually surprisingly astute and true. I like it.Still frazzled, Ringo flew back to Michael and perched on his shoulder, digging his claws into his trainer’s skin.
“Fine, I’m sorry,” he laughed. “It won’t happen again.” Ringo snorted in response, sounding strangely like Michael himself.
There was clear relief on Henry’s face as he and Michael sent back their pokémon. With the battle no longer weighing on his mind, the boy’s face lost that curious look of deep thought it had previously assumed, and was one more bright and Henry-like.
“Wow, I didn’t think it would get that intense!” he said. “Ringo did really well—no, all of your team did!”
“Thanks,” Michael said . “You did pretty good too.”
Hey went over to Leroy, who stood up and wiped his forehead. “Man, that was some battle! Really impressive, both of you.” He handed the pokéballs back, and the boys put them away.
“I guess it’s true what they say about battling your friends,” said Leroy, crossing his arms.
Michael turned to him. “And what’s that?”
“They bring out the best in each other.”
This is nice. I mean, just seeing them taking it easy and having a slower, more relaxed pace for a bit feels more comfortable.After leaving the field, Michael and Henry healed their teams and went with Leroy on a walk through town. They wandered well into the afternoon, until the time came for Leroy’s next shift, and he ran off to the hotel to get changed. Michael and Henry were left alone, pacing down a busy street, not following any clear-cut plan of direction. The sun was beginning to set, bathing the town in orange light. To their left was an area of flat, empty land bordered by a low fence. To their right, the street rolled out all the way to the horizon, ferrying cars and wagons on its back.
Henry was eating an ice cream cone that he had purchased at one of the roadside shops, holding napkins in both hands to keep the melting cream from dripping. Michael had purchased a bag of sweets, and the two of them strolled amiably along, enjoying their snacks.
“I’m really glad we did this today,” said Henry, breaking the stretched silence.
“Did what?” Michael replied.
“The battle. Walking around and stuff. It was a lot of fun.”
“Yep.” Michael nodded in agreement. “Think you’re ready for the staff battles?”
Henry shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope so.” He looked up at Michael. “You?”
“Same.” Spilling the last few chocolates into his palm, Michael crumpled the empty bag and dropped it into a waste bin. “Listen, don’t let all the stuff people say get to your head. I bet the staff battles are just like the regular ones, only against more tactical people. And judging by our battle earlier, I’d say we’re good to go.”
“Me too.” Henry smiled. “I’m really glad we met Ted,” he said. “If it wasn’t for him, I don’t think I would have done nearly as well in my battles. Protect came in handy loads of times. So did Psychic.”
Michael's got a point, but this line - "I'm an expert" - just made me laugh.“Yeah…” Michael looked up at the trees that dotted the pastures. “Still kinda feel sorry for the guy, though.”
“Why?”
“Come on, look at the facts—he sits in his house all day dusting his encyclopedias. The guy needs a new hobby; something that’ll get him into town, actually talking with people.” Suddenly, an idea came to him. Michael snapped his fingers and turned to Henry with a grin. “You know what we should do? We should find that lady he was talking about and hook them up for a date.”
Henry’s eyebrows climbed to the tip of his forehead. “A date?” He pronounced the word slowly, like it was something foreign and strange to him. Michael nodded.
“Yes. A date. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice anything in the way he talked that other day. He obviously saw a girl he liked—and not for the first time, either—and now he wants to see her again. But he’s trying to be sly about it, partly because he wants to save face in front of us, but also because he either hasn’t felt this way about a girl in a long time, or at all. That’s why he keeps her letters at the top of his shelf like that. He doesn’t want to throw them away, because they’re from her, for Pete’s sake, but it still feels strange to read them; it’s like every time he thinks about it, he goes down the same train of thought a thousand times, and it leaves him feeling even worse than when he started out. So he finally decides that it’s all a waste of time, that a girl like that would never look at him anyway, and shoves the letter aside. He lets it sit on the shelf for a few days, then when he’s got nothing to do and feels lonely, he goes back through his papers and ‘accidentally’ comes across the letter again. Then he goes through the same cycle as before. Meanwhile, that girl’s out there somewhere, living her life, happily forgetting all about the guy who met her some weeks ago. She might even like him back, but she’s confused as to why she never sees him, and why he always takes off like a bullet the minute that she does. There’s no progress at all. We can’t just sit and do nothing about it.” Michael turned to Henry with a steely, resolute expression. What he found was that the boy was staring at him in utter amazement.
“How do you know so much?” the boy asked. His eyes looked like they could swallow him whole.
Michael patted his chest. “I’m an expert.”
That was surprisingly profound and bittersweet. I really feel more of an emotional connection to Michael now after that.Henry was silent for a moment, watching the ground. Then he looked up. “Have you had a girlfriend before?”
Michael began to laugh. “That’s like asking a fish if it’s ever seen water. Of course.” Then the smile faded, and he let out a sigh. “Well, technically speaking, I’ve only had two. Two that I’d call ‘official’, like going out and being alone and stuff. Before that, everyone’s a kid, and you know, you never really take it outside of school.” He paused. Henry was silent, but he appeared to be listening. “I had one last year,” Michael continued. “Her name was Rebecca.”
Henry smiled. “Was she pretty?”
"Hell yes. It didn't go too well in the end, though. She ended up moving to a different city.”
"Why?"
Michael scowled. "Her dad got transferred, and her parents wanted her to go to a different school. She said it was to get a better education. Apparently the people at our school were too much of a ‘bad influence’. Hmph. She said she'd keep in touch, but I haven't talked to her since." He turned away, casting his gaze over to the neatly-cobbled border that lined the road.
Henry was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said.
"S'okay I guess." Michael shrugged. “At any rate, it’s not the first time I’ve been called a hooligan. I know she probably wasn’t thinking of me when she said that, but her parents sure as hell were. That’s all adults can think of me. They see me hanging out with my friends and they think we’re getting wasted or something, when we’re not. They see us run out of a store and they assume we stole something, when we didn’t. I skip class once in three weeks, and I get half that time’s worth of punishment. When I get a bad grade they want me to get a good one, and when I do get a good one they assume I cheated. They think a freaking closed door means it’s the end of the world.”
“Well, that can’t be true. I close my door sometimes and my mom allows it… as long as I don’t lock it.”
Michael smiled darkly. “Yeah, you get it off easy. But where I come from, you can be one of two things—a perfect little angel, or an unfixable mess. And for some reason, I’m always on the bad end. Always have been, always will be.”
“So make them see you as something else,” Henry offered.
“You don’t get it. There’s no point. To them, I’ll never be anything but a lump in a chair, that kid who’s letting his life pass by right under his nose. They try to help me, but what they don’t get is that I don’t need their help. And I don’t want it.” Feeling an urge to stretch his spine, Michael straightened, looking squarely ahead. “I know exactly where I’m going. And if I ever forget, I’ll find my way again. I don’t need anyone to do anything for me.”
If I hadn't seen the end of the chapter already, I still would have said that Bertha was too obvious a suggestion.Michael opened his eyes all the way, bringing himself to full attention. “Where is she?”
“Hang on… I just lost her.” Henry’s eyes swept across the scene, following a random path of movement, as if trying to locate a fly. Then, his face lit up, and he pointed. “There! Over by the fountain!”
Michael’s eyes landed on a column of gushing water that spurted from a stone bowl in the center of the plaza. A fleeting pair of red heels flew across the pavement, though the body attached to them was constantly flitting in and out of view from behind people and objects. The boys immediately ran in pursuit, keeping the shoes in view as they zipped through the sea of moving bodies, cutting a beeline through the outdoor stands. As Michael neared the figure, he began to discern the details—the brim of a skirt that skimmed past the knees, a blouse of some sort, and a white denim cardigan, where at once an arm came into view, balancing a small purse.
The woman came to a stop beside a basket of apples. She leaned over to examine them, but the sunhat kept much of her shoulder area hidden from view. Nevertheless, Michael became certain at that moment that they had found the right person. He and Henry scampered over to a slim tree and hid behind it, peering out from separate sides of the trunk.
“Can you see who it is?” Henry said.
Michael squinted. “I can’t tell. She still won’t turn around.” He craned his neck left and right, but no matter how he repositioned himself, he still couldn’t see any part of the lady’s face. From afar, the plain, classy style of her clothing stood out from the dressy frills of the other women, exactly like a city person would stand out in the country. “It’s definitely her, though,” Michael said. “Man, we must have some serious luck…”
“I wonder where she’s from,” Henry said. “If she doesn’t live in Solaceon like Ted said, then what if she’s on a business trip or something? She's probably really busy during the day, so she leaves her pokémon at the Daycare Center, which would explain why he saw her there."
Michael thought for a moment, then suddenly he snapped his fingers. “Bertha!”
“What?” Henry turned. He caught on a second later, and his eyes grew wide. “You don’t think… you don’t think it’s her, do you?”
“What if it is?” said Michael. “Come on, it makes perfect sense! Look—Ted said himself that he doesn’t think she’s from here. And Bertha isn’t. Ted said that she dresses differently from how other people dress in Solaceon. And Bertha does! She wears heels and hats, doesn’t she? I never saw the other stuff before, but I bet she just bought them in her spare time!” Michael let out a laugh, slapping the trunk of the tree. The utter perfection of the moment astounded him. The pieces had fallen together in the best possible way, and now all that was left was to somehow get the two of them together.
I burst into laughter too, but underneath that, I think it actually might give us some more development for Lona, too. I mean, think about what implications it could have for her character.“This is amazing,” Michael said, unable to contain a smile. “We gotta talk to her. Let’s go.”
He came out from behind the tree, but just as he was about to approach her, the lady stepped away from the baskets and turned around. The breeze caught her midway as she did, making her skirt ripple, and the sunhat tilt away from her head, revealing a pretty, smiling face. And right then Michael understood that the reason he couldn’t see the woman’s hair was because it wasn’t long enough to dip past the brim of her hat, that the reason Ted mistook her for a foreigner was because she had spent the bulk of her time studying and training somewhere else, and that the reason her figure looked so familiar to him from behind was because he had spent the last two weeks spotting it from every angle and distance, hearing it described with anger and awe by a thousand different voices, to the point where the sound of her name stirred dread within his very heart.
It was Lona Walker.
In that instant, an electric shock seemed to course through Michael's body. He stumbled back in breathless shock, eyes bulging, unaware that he was keeping an iron grip on Henry’s shoulder and pulling the boy back by the shirtsleeve. Henry mirrored his reaction, mouth agape, and the boys grabbed at each other’s arms in an attempt to regain their balance. Once they were on their feet, they turned tail and ran away as fast as they could, before the Gym leader could notice them.
Michael ran like the wind, sailing past a blur of shops and signs, their colors winking past him with lightning speed. He continued up the block as far as his legs would allow, till he found a tree that stood alone by the sidewalk and skid to a stop beside it. He leaned one arm against the trunk, gasping for air. Henry appeared beside him moments later, his momentum so great that he fell with his knees onto the pavement. For a minute, both boys were too out of breath to speak. Still shaking, Michael and Henry turned to exchange mute, horrified glances.
A moment later, they burst into laughter.
Very good chapter. Sorry I haven't got more to say, but I don't think it's necessary anyway.
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It has healing rooms (which I'll get into more when we get to the staff battles), but Michael doesn't need them much right now. He arrives at the Gym for a single battle session, then leaves right away and heals his pokemon when he gets the chance at the regular Center. The healing rooms are for people who either didn't have time to heal their pokemon before coming, for whatever reason, or battle at the Gym for prolonged periods of time.Seems a little unusual that a Gym so geared toward intensive training doesn't have a Pokemon Center within itself, wouldn't you think?
By "running back and forth from the Pokemon Center," I meant going in general (after the Gym and during the day, etc.), not that Michael was literally leaving the Gym to heal his team and then coming back.
I guess I should clarify it, either way.
Nope. I hinted at this way back in the first chapter when Mrs. Maxwell said "It's that time of year again -- nine-year-olds from all over Sinnoh will be going to get their badges..."As young as nine? Was the ten-year-old rule not in effect then?
It's custom, but not a requirement, to send one's child to battle Gyms. A great number of parents encourage it as a pastime, almost like a summer camp, to build character. Few kids that young take training seriously, though, since they're still in school and are expected to keep education on the highest priority. That's why Leroy observes most of the kids goofing off, or not working as hard as the older ones.
There will be more League history lessons next chapter. Stay tuned...
Really? That's interesting. I didn't use any outside sources when reimagining the old League, but I'm not surprised my ideas are similar to something else. I checked the Bulbapedia article on the Pokemon League, and found out that the anime League is organized in a similar way to mine. :PIs this a nod to the Pokemon Adventures manga to some degree? The concept of not having to get all the Badges to enter the League was used there.
... My bad for completely forgetting that Burmy was a Bug type. xDGrass VS. Bug actually. Unless this is corrected later in the chapter, it's a pretty major error.Michael gritted his teeth. This isnt over! he said.
From the side, Leroy held up the next pair. Burmy and Turtwig!
Michael hastily switched pokéballs, too caught up in the battle to care that Leroy had given them a Grass-Grass combination. Turtwig emerged, the not-quite-green colors of his body standing out against the rest of the field. Over the weeks, the pokémon had visibly grown in size. Where before, he had been no bigger than a playground ball, the tip of his stem now skimmed just above Michaels knee. The pads of Turtwigs feet were rounder and bigger, which made him sturdier.
Hopefully the way I wrote the battle still makes sense. Bug Bite was still super effective against Turtwig, and Turtwig stuck with physical attacks so as not to waste time with Razor Leaf.
Was this an exclamation of surprise or confusion? Basically, Ringo got really annoyed and went all-out on Clefable. :P Then, of course, he expressed his displeasure to Michael.Whoa, what just happened?The color faded from Clefables eyes, and she wobbled on her feet, dizzy from the sudden loss of energy. Michael did not make a move to return Ringo. He simply stood, watching the bird, a part of him still believing that something else would happen. Henry, who must have felt the same, waited as well.
Then, slowly, the lump of feathers let out a growl. Ringo rose to his feet, ruffling his plumage, feathers sticking out at odd ends.
Like a bolt of lightning, too quick for the eye to see, Ringo lunged at Clefable and began to peck and scratch with vicious speed, thwacking her from side to side. After a brief lapse in concentration, Clefable realized what was happening and began to fight back, though her exhausted blows soon fell out of rhythm with her foes. When the bird had pestered her past her breaking point, she collapsed, her back rising with rapid breaths.
By the way, the 'shockwave' that Clefable transmitted wasn't an actual Shock Wave. It was just a burst of psychic energy she produced to zap Ringo. Psychic was a challenging move to describe, so I'm glad my interpretation made sense.
As for the battle's result... I guess you could call it a tie. The score wasn't important to me, because I wanted to focus on the battling itself.
Originally, I wasn't going to use Bertha to lay a false trail, but towards the end I realized how neatly it worked out. But, as it so often happens, the most obvious option isn't always the correct one...If I hadn't seen the end of the chapter already, I still would have said that Bertha was too obvious a suggestion.
You'll get to see how everything plays out later on. Fortunately, we're getting close to departing from Solaceon. Three chapters left, and I'm almost done with the rough draft of the next one. It'll be shorter, so I might be able to post it before the end of this month.
I'll fix the nitpicks you pointed out. Thanks for stopping by!
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At two o’clock the next day, the Solaceon Gym was empty. The crowd from the morning rush-hour had cleared, and the facility entered its second phase of operation. Staff members emerged from various doorways and roamed the halls with their pokéball pouches, chatting as they cleaned up and locked vacant battle rooms.
Gradually, a small amount of trainers sifted in to replace the old crowd. These were the newly-promoted trainers, some starting their very first day of staff battles, and others setting out to complete their third. Their footsteps were slow and hushed on the hallway carpet as they sought out their assigned rooms, each trainer lost in their own focused thoughts, acting out whatever mindset they had set for themselves. Some walked with their eyes fixed firmly ahead, avoiding contact with others, mulling over the taxing few hours they were about to face. Others expressed evident relief at their achievement, striding with confidence, rearranging the pokéballs clipped to their belts in anticipation of battle.
Michael and Henry were among a handful that had arrived early, and sat at the lobby benches waiting for their names to be called. Admissions would be staggered—first the trainers awaiting their final battle day would be called, then those awaiting their second, and finally the first. The trainers filled the neighboring lobby benches, sitting in their own tightly-knit groups and whispering. Michael and Henry had isolated themselves in a corner as far from the front desk as possible, their heads bent over Michael’s notebook.
“… okay, so remember—Flying moves against Hitmonchan and Hitmonlee, because those have to reach us to be able to hurt us. I don’t want to risk it with Croagunk, because they’re supposed to be poisonous, so we’ll use Psychic moves for that one. All non-contact stuff.”
As Michael traced his finger down the compiled list, Henry followed along, nodding. “Okay, but what about Machoke?”
“I doubt the staff will have a Machoke,” Michael replied. “You heard what Leroy said—you can only battle with them if you have a special license. Plus, I think that Lona would want to keep him to herself, like a secret weapon she’d pull out to catch people off-guard.”
Henry nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense… but that leaves us with only Hitmonchan, Hitmonlee, and Croagunk. That can’t be the only pokémon that the staff use. Or do they all have the same teams or something?”
“No, that would make it too easy. They probably have other pokémon too, for the sake of contrast. All of them should be at least partially a Fighting type, though, so in any case, we should be fine with the counters we have.”
Absorbing this, Henry nodded.
There being nothing else to review, both boys eventually settled back and let their gazes trail off into space. Henry, who seemed to be in deep thought, broke the silence with a whisper.
“You know what I don’t get?” he asked, turning to Michael. “Why is it that she looked so different that other day? I know she wasn’t in uniform, but still… it’s like it wasn’t her.”
Michael did not respond to Henry’s inquiry, but they both knew that they were thinking about the exact same thing.
Michael had not immediately comprehended what he had seen when he had locked eyes with Lona the previous day. Neither, it seemed, had Henry, and only now did the full meaning of their encounter come to Michael’s awareness. Ted was in love, unknowingly, with the Gym leader from hell. But even stranger was the fact that the lady in the marketplace looked almost nothing like Lona—in dress or demeanor. The placid, impenetrable expression she often wore was gone, replaced by a liberated calm—almost a cheerfulness. Without the jacket’s accompanying weight, she walked swiftly, as if carried by the wind, seeming like just another lady off on her own business.
She was normal.
And it was wrong.
Wrong like seeing his least-favorite teacher shopping for groceries, or catching the prim-and-tidy school nurse munching on a box of French Fries. But whatever alarm Michael might have felt in such situations of the past, it was nothing compared to now. At first, he had been ready to accept any possibility—that it had been Lona’s less-evil twin; that it was just a trick of the light that he had seen her face—anything but the fact that it was Lona herself. But as time passed, he realized that it was the only plausible option. The more he thought about it, the more inevitable it seemed, until finally Michael was washed over with morbid acceptance.
But beneath that, he was also the tiniest bit curious.
The feeling had permeated his mind ever since the encounter, even in the times when he wasn’t thinking about it. Michael couldn’t give it a name, but the feeling was that of incompleteness, akin to what a scientist would feel when discovering that a whole chunk of the iceberg was underwater. Its mysteries were hidden away in the depths, just out of reach, but at the same time he had to find them. And for a reason he couldn’t fathom, he felt that the truth would impact everything.
These and other thoughts swirled in Michael’s mind as he looked first around the lobby, then down at his notebook, rereading the penciled text. A minute passed, and the reflective state of mind began to fade, replaced once again by the anxious buzz of battle day.
“So what if they do decide to use dual-types?” said Henry, turning to the chart anew. “They might want to test our skills with special moves, after all.”
“But then it’ll be just like partner battles again,” Michael replied. “The staff should be different; I think they’d want to stick more to their theme, especially since they’re closer to Lona.”
“And if they don’t?”
Michael shrugged. “Well, we have counter moves for Fighting, Fire, Water, Grass, Psychic, Ground, Rock… I think that as far as pokémon types go, we’ve got them all covered. What we have to worry about is the physical aspect... Like, if those Hitmonchans are on drugs to make them super powerful.”
Henry burst into laughter, which he fought to restrain, covering his mouth with his hand. “Yeah, and if Hitmonlee decides to run rampage and kick down the walls.”
“He’ll use Burmy as a football.”
“And Machop as a doormat.”
“And everyone will run screaming from the Gym shouting ‘Help! Hitmonlees on the loose!’”
The laughter eventually won over them both, and the boys began to crack up, heads ducked to hide their shudders. It was right then, without warning, that a third voice sounded above them:
“What Hitmonlee?”
The boys jumped. Michael looked up to see Bertha standing before them, leaning slightly on one hip, arms crossed. Blood drained from his face. He hadn’t noticed her approach, and had no way of telling how long she had been standing there. Michael fumbled for words, quickly skating over the mistake. “I—uh… nothing. We were just… talking about a battle Henry had a few days ago. The trainer used a Hitmonlee, and it was really… powerful.”
Henry nodded in agreement. “I lost two to nothing.”
Bertha lifted an eyebrow. The story was a flop and Michael knew it, but he did his best to keep a straight face, knowing that he had no choice but to stick with it. For a while, Bertha’s expression did not change. She looked at them, eyes slightly narrowed, shifting her gaze from one boy’s face to the next.
“Well, that must have been some trainer,” she said, crossing her arms. “It’s not too often I see a kid with a Hitmonlee… I hope none of your pokémon got hurt too bad, Henry.”
“Oh, they’re fine! They’re all fine,” Henry replied.
Before Bertha could say anything else, Michael cut in. “So what are you doing here? How come we never see you anymore?”
This seemed to pull Bertha out of whatever she had been thinking before. Her eyes drifted closed for a moment, and she shook her head. “I’m here to meet with Lona again. I can only see her on certain days and times; the rest I spend at the hotel, or just walking around. And Lona… well, I don’t know what she does, but she always seems to be busy. Schedules, schedules—that’s all she can live by.” Bertha let her arms fall to her sides, and her stance relaxed somewhat. “I was surprised to see you two here, actually. Did your morning battles go all right?”
“We didn’t have them today.” Henry said. “We got moved up to the staff rank.”
“Huh. Well that’s good to hear. I knew you boys could do it.” Bertha returned a tired smile. “But don’t relax just yet; you still have a Leader battle to prepare for. I want you two to make me proud.”
“We will,” said Michael, desperately wishing for the conversation to end. And it did—Bertha did not ask them any more questions after that. She settled into a comfortable pose against the wall, looking out at the rest of the lobby. Michael relaxed somewhat, though in his mind he still scolded himself for letting down his guard. Looking down, he saw his notebook, which was lying closed in his lap, his arms covering it protectively. Had it been like that when Bertha saw them? Or had he snapped it shut out of reflex when she approached?
The possibilities were endless. As his brain scrambled to replay the sequence of events, Michael stole frequent glances at his backpack, wanting to quickly slip the notebook away. But he dared not make a move with Bertha so close by, for if she had seen it, then hiding it would only amplify his guilt. So Michael waited, his back leaned against the wall, tapping his foot against the floor. Henry was silent beside him, staring ahead with blank eyes.
After a length of time had passed, the attendant at the front desk stood up from her chair. “Michael Rowan, Henry McPherson!” she called.
The boys sprang up, and with a slightly hurried pace, went over to the desk.
“Wristbands, please,” the lady said.
They held out their arms, and one by one, the lady marked them down.
“If you need to heal y’r pokémon, go to Room 14 in the right wing. If not, then you can immediately go to y’r battle rooms—Michael, Room 22; Henry, Room 36.”
Nodding in thanks, the boys turned towards the right hallway. As he passed by the benches, Michael stole a glance at Bertha. The Gym leader met his gaze and gave them a thumbs-up.
Maybe I just imagined it. Maybe she didn’t hear anything at all. No—of course she didn’t. All she heard was us talking about Hitmonlee. It could be anyone’s.
Feeling the return of his resolve, Michael squared his shoulders and put the encounter out of his mind. He had a battle to win.
Moments later, they arrived at the healing room, where there were eight heating chambers lined up against the walls like soda machines. The boys had practiced lightly that day, practicing commands and acting out scenarios, but nevertheless saw fit to freshen up their teams.
One by one, Michael and Henry released their pokémon after they finished with the heating chamber to check up on them. All of them were looking good, and reasonably prepared. Caterpie’s pokéball was the last to leave the tray. After putting away the others into his backpack, Michael grabbed the remaining capsule and twisted it open. Something hard and green clattered onto the floor. Michael looked down at his feet, and did a double-take — first blind with shock, then filled with rushing dread when he realized what it was.
“Oh no…”
Henry, who was already waiting by the door, came over. “What? What happened?” The boy looked down at the cocoon and balked. “Oh, Michael, it’s okay! She’s only—”
“I know what it is!” Michael said. “But dammit… Now, of all times…”
“It only lasts for a week,” said Henry, trying to calm him down. “I’ve seen them evolve before.”
“You don’t get it—what am I going to do now?”
“Caterpie doesn’t know any Flying or Psychic moves. You won’t need her anyway.”
“Yeah, but what if all my counters faint and it’s down to just her? I’ll be done for!”
Henry shook his head. “No you won’t. Look, it’ll be fine. Just… don’t panic, and… it’ll be fine.” The boy nodded in affirmation, though words had failed him, still hoping to transmit his confidence.
Michael returned the Caterpie-cocoon to its pokéball, feeling a nagging uneasiness settle in. Caterpie was small, but her sudden absence left a gaping hole in his team’s formation.
Packing away the pokéball, Michael left the healing room and parted ways with Henry. He found Room 27 and stepped inside. His opponent for the day was a guy—fairly tall, with a neutral countenance. When the man saw Michael walk in, he smiled.
“Hey there.” He lifted his clipboard and read off the paper. “Michael Rowan?”
“Yeah.”
“Great. Let’s g’t started. Name’s Paul.” Paul began to flip through Michael’s past records. “So you were promoted yesterday, and this is y’r first staff battle. Right. You’ve had some good reviews in partner battles so far, but also some bad ones. The staff have taken note that you’re a pretty tactical thinker, which is good, but early on, you had a tendency to rush. You didn’t think your moves all the way through, and as a result, you passed by many opportunities to strengthen your position. Battling is all about grabbing opportunities, because if you don’t then you can bet that your opponent will. Today we’ll see how well you’ve learned.” He placed the clipboard aside and pulled out a pokéball. “Go, Meditite!”
The capsule burst open to reveal a small, thin-bodied creature vaguely resembling a human form. Its head was capped by a mound of white hair, which partially hid its unblinking eyes.
Psychic and Fighting, Michael thought at once. So they did use double-types after all. Taking no chances, he sent out Ringo.
The Meditite turned out to be a pokémon of average strength. Michael had battled a couple of them in partner rounds, and as far as he could tell, this one showed no sign of being stronger in any way. The pokémon attempted a few Focus Punches and a Confusion, but was easily knocked down by Ringo and Aerial Ace. The Chatot’s swift, precise speed allowed him to evade the Meditite, whose attacks were slow and extravagant, making for a short battle. In a matter of minutes, the Meditite collapsed on its belly, and Ringo swooped over his prey, jostling it to make sure it was fainted.
Smiling in amusement, Paul lifted the pokéball to return Meditite, and Ringo flew away satisfied. Michael’s heart began to pound. So far so good.
The next pokémon to emerge was a Riolu—a small, floppy-eared pup that stood on its hind legs. Its eyes were narrowed beneath a cunning smile.
Fighting and… what else? Steel? Michael hesitated in mental debate, noticing the tiny metal spikes protruding from each of the pokémon’s wrists. Finally, he looked up at Ringo, who was flapping overhead.
“Ringo, use Aerial Ace!”
Paul countered back: “Riolu, Jump Kick!”
The Riolu was tiny but fast—as Ringo swooped down, it sprang up to meet him, delivering a firm kick to the bird’s chest. Ringo was knocked off-course, but in his struggles to regain balance, he managed to grasp the Riolu’s ear and drag the pokémon with him. As Ringo flew, he shook the Riolu around, throwing it up into the air and catching it.
“Riolu, use Revenge!”
Still dangling from Ringo’s beak, the Riolu swung itself upward and kicked the bird in the neck. Ringo gasped, his beak falling open in surprise, and dropped Riolu onto the mats. The blue pup scampered away.
“No, don’t lose him!” Michael shouted. “Peck!”
As Riolu fled across the mats, Ringo hobbled along in pursuit, snapping at its heels. When he gained enough momentum, the bird pounced, pinning Riolu down with his claws, and began to peck. The Riolu squirmed to free itself, but Ringo’s grip held fast, leaving little to do but flinch under the sharp, stabbing beak. But the little Riolu was surprisingly resilient. Long after Ringo became bored of pecking, the pup was still hanging on to its wits. Eventually Ringo stopped, and began to knock the Riolu around with his claws, seeking new ways of dealing damage. Paul had time to give several more commands, attacks which seemed to serve no purpose aside from tiring Ringo out. The Riolu frequently slipped from his grasp, and zipped over behind the bird to deal a kick. When Ringo finally managed to deal the killing blow—a well-aimed Aerial Ace that had caught the Riolu in the middle of a Jump Kick—the bird was so exhausted that he teetered, and had to sit down.
As Paul switched pokémon, Michael tapped his own pokéball, debating on whether or not to send Ringo back. But when he saw Paul release a Machop, he decided against it.
“Come on, Ringo, get up,” he said. “One more and I’ll leave you alone.”
Ringo lifted his head at the Machop and growled in disdain. He ruffled his feathers and took off into the air again. He was able to hit Machop twice with Aerial Ace, but eventually gave in to exhaustion and succumbed to his opponent’s battering. Paul’s Machop wasn’t as fast as Michael’s, but was an ounce more decisive, and was able to knock down the bird with a flying kick. While Ringo scrambled to his feet, Machop aimed a series of rapid punches, which toppled the bird for good.
Michael returned him and sent out Goldeen. The fish emerged in a rush of cascading water, which she immediately pooled into a swirling ball beneath her. Not a single drop sloshed away from the mass—a profound improvement from their first tentative experiments in Hearthome. Michael pointed to the Machop.
“Goldeen, use Psybeam!”
Goldeen flapped her fins, and the water churned faster around her. Her horn began to glow a bright pink, intensifying at the tip, and with a bang, released a beam of psychic energy that hit Machop in the chest. The pokémon stumbled back, hands covering the burned area.
“Now!” Michael called.
Before Machop had time to recover, Goldeen sprang forward, carried by her own wave, and swept the Machop off the ground. Pursing her thick lips, Goldeen began to peck at its skin, leaving tiny indentations. All the while, she carried it across the battlefield, knocking Machop against the walls and floor, till the pokémon was dazed and blubbering. Dropping the Machop onto the mats again, Goldeen finished off with another Psybeam, and the pokémon collapsed.
Paul whistled. “A’right, one more to go… This one should give you a peek at what’s to come.” He switched pokéballs. “Go, Hitmonlee!”
All the jokes and speculation Michael had gone through over the days about Lona’s team made him forget that he had never actually faced a Hitmonlee in real life. It was a tall, leathery-brown creature whose whole body consisted of a torso, supported by two disproportionately long legs. Its arms, in comparison, were reedy and feeble. Instead of a face, two large eyes peered out from the flat plane of its body.
In battle, it demonstrated a calculated combination of stealth and grace, and was both faster and more powerful than any of Paul’s other pokémon. As if recognizing the threat, Goldeen immediately lowered her horn and blasted out a Psybeam, before Michael even had the chance to give the command. The Hitmonlee leaned out of the way, letting the beam hit the opposite wall, and sprang forward. It reached Goldeen in a few swift steps and dealt a kick, tossing the fish into the air like a rubber ball. The water around her began to lose its form, dripping down to the mats.
“Get it back!” Michael shouted. “Use Psybeam!”
“Hitmonlee, Double Kick!”
Goldeen began to fall, but before she had time to gather up the water she had lost, Hitmonlee’s foot knocked her away into the corner. The floating pool collapsed, spilling into a puddle on the floor.
Michael clenched his fist. “Get it back! Get the water back!”
Hitmonlee approached for another kick, its arms spreading out at its sides in preparation to shift its weight. Goldeen made a final exertion, and the water rose into the air, sweeping past Hitmonlee’s ankles and pooling into a sphere around her. Michael immediately unscrewed the pokéball and sent her back inside.
I have to immobilize that thing somehow… he thought. Going back to his backpack, Michael looked over the capsules that remained and mulled over what to do. Going by what the PokéDex had told him, the only way he could damage Hitmonlee was if he bound its legs together first. As he stared at the pile of pokéballs, a gradual feeling of inevitability sank over him. He had only one option.
Taking Caterpie’s pokéball, Michael held his breath and sent her out. The cocoon fell onto the mats like a tube of dead leaves. The Hitmonlee turned away from the corner and looked down at its new opponent. It suddenly struck Michael that he didn’t even know if Metapods could see.
“Use String Shot,” he mumbled.
The cocoon did not move. But right then, Michael heard a faint swirling noise, and knew that somewhere inside, Caterpie was spinning her thread. Seconds later, the silvery strand emerged—but instead of shooting out at Hitmonlee, it lay flat on the floor, piling into a sticky glob as it unfurled. Michael’s shoulders sank.
But the sight of the motionless Metapod clouded Paul’s face. He pondered briefly, then addressed his pokémon: “Hitmonlee, use Vacuum Wave!”
The Hitmonlee bent over the cocoon and began to whirl its fists in a rapid circle, churning up a gust of air. The cocoon rolled over onto its side, but due to the strings weighing it down, remained put. Hitmonlee approached from a different angle, but to no avail—the current generated by Vacuum Wave only tangled the silver webbing further, wrapping it around the cocoon. Seeing no other option, the Hitmonlee gave up hope and kicked back its leg, preparing a kick to sweep the cocoon off the ground. Caterpie went flying, bouncing off the ceiling, the webbing unraveling around her. Hitmonlee continued to kick her around the room, and where Caterpie flew, a trail of white followed, sticking to the walls and the wooden window frames. The cocoon was utterly indifferent to the Hitmonlee’s battering, which only angered the pokémon further, and it continued its rampage across the room, unaware that it was getting itself entangled in the process. The webbing looped around the Himonlee’s ankles and arms, tightening as the pokémon tried to wriggle free. Michael smiled. It was a messy solution, but it worked.
He returned Caterpie and replaced her with Machop. Being the more cautious, Machop quickly skipped over the stray webbing, and engaged Hitmonlee in an impressive rally. With its motions hindered by the string, the Hitmonlee quickly succumbed to Machop’s blows, and fell back. It collapsed in a heap, squirming to free itself from the sticky mess that coated it. Michael immediately switched in Goldeen to deal the final blow. The Psybeam blasted from the fish’s horn and pierced the fallen Hitmonlee between the eyes, after which the pokémon went slack.
Once the standard five seconds had passed, Paul sent back the fainted Hitmonlee and cracked a smile. “Good work,” he said to Michael. “You’ve learned to turn the tides to your advantage. But you could still use some tightn’ing up—you’ll want to make your decisions a bit faster in the future.”
Michael nodded. He could still feel the frantic beat of his heart, and scarcely believed what he had done.
“You can now head out to the healing r’m for a fifteen-minute break,” Paul continued. “Don’t worry ‘bout the walls—we have stuff to clean that up. Just come right back here when you’re done, and y’r second opponent for the day will be waiting for you. Good luck!”
Michel left the battle room and found a healing corner nearby, where he started up a vacant machine and healed his team. There were four other trainers in the room with him. One was still using the machine; the others were seated by the tables against the wall, eating chips, stealing glances at the clock.
Not wanting to spend his time with such somber company, Michael emerged into the hallway and began to pace around. He went all the way to the back of the wing and happened upon a dead end, where a single battle room door stood on the opposite wall. A boy stepped out of it moments later, his back to Michael, a duffel bag hanging from his shoulder. It was Rick.
Seeing Michael, the boy stopped in his tracks. “Oh. Hey.” Suddenly, Rick frowned, lifting his chin. “What are you doing here so late?”
“Staff battles,” said Michael, unable to hide a smirk.
Rick winced. “Oh. Well I’m still in partner battles. Week five and counting. My referee made me stay late to do another round.”
Michael let out a snort. “They rejected you again? Did they at least tell you why?”
“They say I lose too much,” Rick said. “Either that or I don’t win the right way. Same stuff they say every time, really.”
“Well, why did you lose?”
Rick shrugged. “How should I know?”
Michael was about to reply, when a sudden thought occurred to him. He paused. “Let me see your team.”
“Why?”
“Just do it. Come on, let’s go in there.” Michael pointed to the door behind Rick.
The boy hesitated for a moment, then pulled it open. Michael followed him into the empty battle room and made sure they were alone before continuing.
“Okay. Now show me your team."
Rick dropped his duffel bag and began to remove pokéballs, eying Michael incredulously throughout. He sent out the members of his party one by one: Shieldon, Luxio, Bonsly, Glameow, Piplup, and Beautifly. The pokémon were all sluggish from exhaustion, some fainted.
Michael paced around the team, arms crossed like a specialist’s. When he was done looking, he shook his head slowly. “No wonder you’re losing, man. You gotta learn your types.”
Rick tilted his head. “Huh?”
“Well, look—” Michael pointed. “—you have three pokémon that are weak to Fighting. Shieldon is Rock and Steel, Bonsly is Rock, and you’ve got Glameow, which is Normal. All those types are weak to Fighting moves. Luxio, Piplup, and Beautifly are your only safe defenses, but even with that, they’re not good counters. You have to catch a Flying or Psychic type, ‘cause those are the only good moves against Fighting types. It’s obvious why they don’t let you move on—they see you doing well against pokémon of different types, but when you go up against Fighting, you lose.”
Rick shook his head. “No, you don’t get it… cat, you don’t get it at all. That stuff’s not gonna help me. Don’t you see? She’s rigged the game against me! I’ve seen loads of people with Rock or Normal types and they do just fine!”
“Then you use too many special moves,” Michael said. “The staff have told me that before, so all I did was use them less. Just give them what they want; it’s not that hard.”
“Yeah, right. Except they don’t always want what you think they do. Just when you think you’ve got it right—bam, they prove you wrong. You think I don’t know? Trust me, I do. When Lona locks ‘er eyes on you, it’s over. Nothing’s gonna change her mind. If she wants you gone, she’ll get it done.” Suddenly, Rick brightened. “You know what? I’ve been thinking of getting back at her. Lona’s had her way for far too long. She needs to know what it’s like to have all her hard work be shoved back in ‘er face. I’ve talked to a bunch of people and they agree with me. She keeps us here for way too long, and on top of that, she forces us to battle in a non-League-standard way. Technically, as a Gym leader, she has to cooperate with League policy. And she doesn’t. I checked.” He paused, looking at Michael more intently than ever. “Think about this, Mike. Tons of trainers who’re still starting out haven’t made it to this Gym yet. They’re in Hearthome and Oreburgh, battling all-out, spending their time and money to get to the top. But when they get here, what’ya think is gonna happen? They’ll be stomped flat! Those Gym leaders don’t get how it feels, ‘cause they already went through all that. They’ve already won all the battles they needed to win. But we haven’t. Lots of us won’t get to see the gates of the Elite Four Island. Hell, some of us pro’lly won’t even get to hold all eight badges in our hands. And it’s all because of people like her. People who think that they can promise us one thing, then flip it around and make it something else. These Gym leaders think we’re stupid. They think that we have nothing better to than chase their lies. It’s time that changed. The League should be for trainers, not freaking tyrants who think that just because they have the authority, they can do whatever they want with our efforts and the pokémon we caught with our own hands.”
At that point, Rick’s face took on a steely expression, burdened with duty.
"I want to start a petition,” he said. “I’ll get as many signatures as I can — a thousand, maybe two or three— and send it to the League Office to get Lona fired. Someone needs to do something about this. And if I don’t then there’ll be lots of more people like me. People who’re stuck, can’t get anywhere, and feel like life’s run them into a sinkhole.” He paused. “So how about it? Would you help?”
For the duration of Rick’s tirade, Michael had been looking at the window, shifting his gaze from one side of the boy’s head to the other, never meeting his gaze. But now, their eyes locked. Rick extended his hand towards him, fingers slightly curled, waiting to grasp his.
Michael looked at it, and paused.
The fact that he paused unsettled him.
A month ago, he would have accepted no doubt. He would have jumped at the first opportunity to be a part of a grand scheme, to put a deserving adult in their place. He imagined it now—taking Rick’s hand, clasping it like a brother’s, and for the next few days, sneaking around the Gym in between battle sessions, collecting signatures in secret… possibly even stalling his battle with Lona as an act of protest. And then, imagining the look of frustrated loss on Lona’s face when she received her letter of replacement, telling her to get lost, to find a job opening at the nearest fast-food restaurant. Feeling his chest swell with pride when he realized he had made a difference.
These thoughts brought Michael an inward smile. But enjoyed them only insofar as one would enjoy a movie—something that carried no meaning to a person’s life, but served only as a pastime, something to enjoy and forget about. The reel of images quickly faded, as did their pleasure for him, and once again Michael saw the waiting face of the boy in front of him—standing against a room of light, yet still with a perpetual gloom that lurked deep within. It bore no expression, but even so, he could feel Rick teetering between hope and letdown, just as ready to name Michael his enemy as his friend. The burden to decide which had fallen on his shoulders.
Michael searched Rick’s face for a while, but the thing he had seen in it some weeks before was gone. The kid he had identified with during his first battle day had vanished, leaving behind someone who was alien and strange to him.
Michael felt a twinge of annoyance.
He stepped away, silently swinging his backpack behind him. Rick followed him with an unwavering gaze, jaw clenching.
But right before he reached the door, Michael stopped, and turned back with a smile.
“I’ll do it.”
The boy visibly relaxed. “Great. I’ll, uh… keep you posted, then.” He lowered his hand and rubbed together his palms, like a nervous doctor before an operation.
Michael did not reply. He nodded, smiling slightly, and left to return to his battle room.
//////
Late that evening, Lona’s office was dim and quiet. The curtains were pulled down over the windows, bathed in orange light from the floor lamp. The Gym leader sat with her back against the chair, holding a small coffee tray in her lap. She was turned to the far left corner of the room, where the small television set was turned on, blaring a muffled broadcast. Over the years, her use of the TV had drastically declined due to work she took upon herself, and so the box eventually acquired a worn-out look, as well as the insignificant placing it occupied today.
The program she was watching was a rerun of news clips from previous weeks, recaps of announcements she had missed on live broadcast. Lona kept her eyes locked on the screen, her face placid as she listened to the anchorman’s words.
“… and due to the high-security nature of the establishment, little information could, at first, be gleaned from the management of the Eterna Factory. On the thirteenth of June, a statement was released from a factory spokesperson, confirming that the explosion had indeed been an accident, quelling widespread rumors about criminal activity. But the question of what, exactly, the factory had been producing remains a mystery…
… In the weeks following the accident, clean-up efforts have been on the rise, as surrounding towns and even ones far away make donations to support the cause. Chemical reports are gradually being made public, helping us paint a more comprehensive image of the town’s status. While the smoke from the event cleared in a matter of days, it has been confirmed that over 40,000 gallons of liquid chemicals have been spilled as a result of the explosion. While much of this amount has already been removed, surveyors still fear that the chemicals may contaminate nearby water sources. Travel through Cycling Road and Route 211 has been prohibited while cleanup continues. The Eterna government remains optimistic that much of the toxic waste will be cleared by the end of November, however it is uncertain how soon, if at all, the locality will be made habitable again. Significant damage to wildlife has been reported. Rescue efforts are underway to save as many pokémon from the area as possible…”
Lona’s musing was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. She quickly sprang from her chair, shut off the TV, and placed the tray aside.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and Bertha stepped in, carrying her usual articles. Without uttering a word, she pulled out the empty chair and sat down, placing her hands in her lap.
The second unspoken rule of their meetings was that no matter how bad things got, there would always be a second day.
Bertha did not open her briefcase this time, or make any move to take the fresh mug of coffee that Lona placed before her. Bertha lifted her gaze and looked directly ahead at the other woman.
“I don’t understand why you insist on remaining blind to the facts. The only way to make any sort of change in League policy is to have money at our disposal. Without that, there’s nothing to build off of.”
Sitting down, Lona shook her head. “You don’t understand. The change that I want—the change that needs to be made—is something completely different from money.” She paused, flipped through a page in her memo pad, and switched the subject. “The boys. Michael and Henry. They will be battling me soon. But I assume that after they leave you will be staying?”
“No,” said Bertha. “I’ll be leaving with them regardless. I have a schedule. And they have a schedule.”
Lona chuckled to herself. “Schedules… that’s all I ever hear from trainers these days. They’re all so eager, so confident… but they have no—no idea what the world is really like…”
Bertha frowned. “Then you really must have no idea how times have changed. Kids do know what’s going on. And they often understand it better than we do.”
Right then, something within Lona seemed to snap. She jerked forward in her seat and slapped the table with her palm. “Better?!”
Bertha jumped, and the coffee sloshed in the mug. A drop spilled out and landed on the surface of the table, but Lona didn’t seem to care. She was livid. “You told me a story last time, Miss Herrida. Now let me tell you something!”
She pushed herself back into her chair, and all of a sudden, her face clouded over, till it seemed that she was looking not at Bertha, but at something in the distant past. “My mother was a pokémon trainer,” she said. “When she was young, the Pokémon League was an organic competition. A goal to strive for. If you weren’t cut out for it, you were either sent home or didn’t try in the first place. Gym leaders didn’t just give badges. They gave lessons. Trainers had to work for their rewards, and if they didn’t, then they’d get beaten to a pulp by the ones who did. My mother raised our family with the same morale she learned as a child. She told us that we had to be ready for the day when we would leave her house and face the world, and that the only person responsible for our success is ourselves. She didn’t expect us all to become trainers, but she expected us to learn from their example, because back then, trainers weren’t just admired—they were respected. They carried themselves with the rightful dignity that they earned through years of discipline and self-teaching. They were a symbol of honor and dedication, and wherever they went, their message followed. They were the pride of their hometowns. The glory of their country. They inspired thousands to follow in their footsteps, if not in career, then in character. And what do I see now? What do I see, in this golden age of technology and supposed progress? I see what was once a symbol of honor to the Sinnoh people be crushed and degraded into an industry! A happy generator of logos and merchandise, clinging to its oh-so-sacred national uniformity, as if without it, the whole country will be torn apart!”
As Lona spoke, she leaned farther forward, till her hands were gripping the edge of the table, and Bertha was leaning back, her eyes frozen in a deadpan stare that was locked on the other woman’s face.
“I had to work for everything in my life!” Lona said. “It was either that or be stuck with nothing! And now I have to watch nine-and ten-year-old children breeze through my Gym, carrying more pocket money than I saw in a month, passing by opportunities as if they grew on trees! They have no discipline. They have no culture, no manners, no sense of guilt when they insult their elders—no sense of the world around them! They put on a hat and backpack and suddenly they’re on top of the world—they can romp around wherever they please; they’ve got Pokémon Centers and hotels bowing to their every whim; the League Heads constantly thinking of new ways of improving their experience… Meanwhile, they have no desire to return anything to the community that raised them up! They don’t understand that those badges they earn mean nothing if they can’t be backed up by skill!”
At this, Lona stood and opened a drawer in her desk. “Let me show you a real badge, Miss Herrida.” And she opened her palm to show Bertha a tiny gold medal attached to a piece of ribbon. Bertha recognized it immediately. It bore the old insignia of the Pokémon League, a Charizard with its wings outstretched and hands clasping pieces of scroll. “This was the badge my mother earned when she defeated the Elite Four in 1941. Her name was Lydia Hodnett. It was the only medal she ever earned in her life, but she didn’t hang it up on her wall like a trophy to boast about. After she beat the League she went right back to training, and later took the next step in raising a family. We all knew that she had been the Champion, but when I found out about the medal and asked her why she never displayed it as proof, she told me that the proof was already all around me. It was in her pokémon, who withstood trial and hardship with her and now had the strength of character to show it. And it was in us—myself and my sisters—from whom she expected no less.” Lona closed her palm with a smirk. “I have yet to see a single trainer who expressed the desire to give rather than take; to be, rather than have.”
She tossed the medal back into the drawer and closed it.
“Do you think it was an accident that after the League became federal property in 1952, it began to exhibit the pattern you noticed today?” Lona continued. “I’m sure you’ve done that research as well—you tell me why the Sinnoh Pokémon League, which used to be the most prominent entity in the 30s and 40s, suddenly decided of its own free will to merge itself with the government.” She put her hands on her hips and gestured for Bertha to speak.
“The League merged with the government because its funds were low,” Bertha said. “People stopped participating and donating, and so to survive, the League had to ask the government to take it under its wing.”
“And do you know what happened?” Lona said.
“The government gave it funding!”
“Oh yes. It gave funding all right. So much funding, in fact, that we drowned in it.” Lona dug around in another desk drawer and pulled out a handful of Cobal badges. She let them spill from her hand like a shower of coins, all identical, clanging against the wood of the table.
“This is what I have to do,” she whispered, sweeping her gaze over the gleaming puddle. “I have to give out these badges to people who beat me in a battle—and I’m not allowed to be too hard on them because it wouldn’t be fair—so that they can move on to the next luxury suite in the next Gym town and do the same. And the next one, and the next one. There’s no challenge anymore, just another pastime like Contests. The League doesn’t mean anything now—not to its proprietors in Snowpoint, or to its trainers. They all see it as some sort of game… a hobby of sorts to demonstrate to the world how special they are, how many trophies they can earn. To them, there’s no meaning behind the battles they win. The other people around them serve no purpose aside from being rungs on a ladder. The pokémon, too. The trainers think that the key to winning is to have the most powerful moves, the best assembled teams, and completely forget the other half which lies in a pokémon’s heart—and their own. They’re a shadow of their predecessors. They think that they’re bigger than everything, that nothing can tear them down. But they’re wrong.” A shadow crept over Lona’s brow. “I’ll show them what a real Gym is like. I’ll show them what the real League should be like. What it would be like if it didn’t spend all its money on useless decorations and pampering!” Flaring up again, she turned her eye on Bertha. “You say that the lack of money is causing our decline? I say it’s too much money! Money that makes those League heads think it’s okay to gorge themselves and their trainers with luxuries. If that’s now they like to express their wealth, then maybe it’s a good thing that Galactic is sucking us dry! Maybe it’s a good thing that the League is finally realizing that its days are numbered! Let the kids all become scientists, engineers. Let them have a model to look up to that says you can only achieve great things if you build them yourself. Pokémon training doesn’t stand for that anymore.”
With that, Lona turned her chair away from Bertha, swiveling towards the side wall. She lowered her head in resignation and closed her eyes. “I know you need my signature, Miss Herrida. But I will not give it to you unless you can prove to me that your petition will put my Gym in a better state than it is right now.”
Bertha sat without speaking. For a while, neither of them moved. Bertha thought of countering back, but the more time that passed, the more she noticed Lona drifting away from her and from the world. She sat with her shoulders down, staring at her bookshelves with an angered, sorrowful expression. One hand kept picking idly at the hem of her jacket.
Lona was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the other woman leave. Bertha stood, gently sliding the empty chair back into its place, and turned for the door. Simultaneously, Lona swiveled towards the back window, covering her face with her hands.
For once, they ended in silence.
Last edited by Mrs. Lovett; 13th September 2012 at 3:19 AM.
The story of Professor Rowan - Chapter 34 is up!
Other Works:Cave Guardian ♦ Cheater ♦ Contests ♦ Maids
Author's Profile
KIRABOSHI
I'll tell you right now, I'm looking forward to seeing how that amazing nugget of knowledge we picked up about Lona at the end of the last chapter is going to be used here. So many possibilities...
Ah, good, more basics. This is one of the things I really like about this story.Gradually, a small amount of trainers sifted in to replace the old crowd. These were the newly-promoted trainers, some starting their very first day of staff battles, and others setting out to complete their third. Their footsteps were slow and hushed on the hallway carpet as they sought out their assigned rooms, each trainer lost in their own focused thoughts, acting out whatever mindset they had set for themselves. Some walked with their eyes fixed firmly ahead, avoiding contact with others, mulling over the taxing few hours they were about to face. Others expressed evident relief at their achievement, striding with confidence, rearranging the pokéballs clipped to their belts in anticipation of battle.
Michael and Henry were among a handful that had arrived early, and sat at the lobby benches waiting for their names to be called. Admissions would be staggered—first the trainers awaiting their final battle day would be called, then those awaiting their second, and finally the first. The trainers filled the neighboring lobby benches, sitting in their own tightly-knit groups and whispering. Michael and Henry had isolated themselves in a corner as far from the front desk as possible, their heads bent over Michael’s notebook.
“… okay, so remember—Flying moves against Hitmonchan and Hitmonlee, because those have to reach us to be able to hurt us. I don’t want to risk it with Croagunk, because they’re supposed to be poisonous, so we’ll use Psychic moves for that one. All non-contact stuff.”
I'd say that Michael's theory is most likely right. If anyone has Machoke, Lona does. It wouldn't surprise me completely to see others with them, though.As Michael traced his finger down the compiled list, Henry followed along, nodding. “Okay, but what about Machoke?”
“I doubt the staff will have a Machoke,” Michael replied. “You heard what Leroy said—you can only battle with them if you have a special license. Plus, I think that Lona would want to keep him to herself, like a secret weapon she’d pull out to catch people off-guard.”
I wonder if her change in attitude and change in appearance are actually related. Like, as in, when she doesn't have to worry about being recognized as Lona the Gym Leader, she's calm and cheerful.
There being nothing else to review, both boys eventually settled back and let their gazes trail off into space. Henry, who seemed to be in deep thought, broke the silence with a whisper.
“You know what I don’t get?” he asked, turning to Michael. “Why is it that she looked so different that other day? I know she wasn’t in uniform, but still… it’s like it wasn’t her.”
Michael did not respond to Henry’s inquiry, but they both knew that they were thinking about the exact same thing.
Michael had not immediately comprehended what he had seen when he had locked eyes with Lona the previous day. Neither, it seemed, had Henry, and only now did the full meaning of their encounter come to Michael’s awareness. Ted was in love, unknowingly, with the Gym leader from hell. But even stranger was the fact that the lady in the marketplace looked almost nothing like Lona—in dress or demeanor. The placid, impenetrable expression she often wore was gone, replaced by a liberated calm—almost a cheerfulness. Without the jacket’s accompanying weight, she walked swiftly, as if carried by the wind, seeming like just another lady off on her own business.
I'm not meaning this as a complaint, but I do hope that Lona's outside-the-Gym persona ends up being important, because that's quite a number of words to dedicate to talking about something if it is not important.She was normal.
And it was wrong.
Wrong like seeing his least-favorite teacher shopping for groceries, or catching the prim-and-tidy school nurse munching on a box of French Fries. But whatever alarm Michael might have felt in such situations of the past, it was nothing compared to now. At first, he had been ready to accept any possibility—that it had been Lona’s less-evil twin; that it was just a trick of the light that he had seen her face—anything but the fact that it was Lona herself. But as time passed, he realized that it was the only plausible option. The more he thought about it, the more inevitable it seemed, until finally Michael was washed over with morbid acceptance.
But beneath that, he was also the tiniest bit curious.
The feeling had permeated his mind ever since the encounter, even in the times when he wasn’t thinking about it. Michael couldn’t give it a name, but the feeling was that of incompleteness, akin to what a scientist would feel when discovering that a whole chunk of the iceberg was underwater. Its mysteries were hidden away in the depths, just out of reach, but at the same time he had to find them. And for a reason he couldn’t fathom, he felt that the truth would impact everything.
I feel like Michael might be tempting fate here, though. He's so dismissive toward the idea of facing dual-types that it seems inevitable he will have to face them.These and other thoughts swirled in Michael’s mind as he looked first around the lobby, then down at his notebook, rereading the penciled text. A minute passed, and the reflective state of mind began to fade, replaced once again by the anxious buzz of battle day.
“So what if they do decide to use dual-types?” said Henry, turning to the chart anew. “They might want to test our skills with special moves, after all.”
“But then it’ll be just like partner battles again,” Michael replied. “The staff should be different; I think they’d want to stick more to their theme, especially since they’re closer to Lona.”
“And if they don’t?”
Michael shrugged. “Well, we have counter moves for Fighting, Fire, Water, Grass, Psychic, Ground, Rock… I think that as far as pokémon types go, we’ve got them all covered. What we have to worry about is the physical aspect... Like, if those Hitmonchans are on drugs to make them super powerful.”
[b]EDIT:/b]
This is funny, though it surprises me a little bit to be coming from Michael.Henry burst into laughter, which he fought to restrain, covering his mouth with his hand. “Yeah, and if Hitmonlee decides to run rampage and kick down the walls.”
“He’ll use Burmy as a football.”
“And Machop as a doormat.”
“And everyone will run screaming from the Gym shouting ‘Help! Hitmonlees on the loose!’”
I'm trying to remember - did they see something they weren't supposed to? I can't remember if they saw someone with a Hitmonlee before...The laughter eventually won over them both, and the boys began to crack up, heads ducked to hide their shudders. It was right then, without warning, that a third voice sounded above them:
“What Hitmonlee?”
The boys jumped. Michael looked up to see Bertha standing before them, leaning slightly on one hip, arms crossed. Blood drained from his face. He hadn’t noticed her approach, and had no way of telling how long she had been standing there. Michael fumbled for words, quickly skating over the mistake. “I—uh… nothing. We were just… talking about a battle Henry had a few days ago. The trainer used a Hitmonlee, and it was really… powerful.”
Henry nodded in agreement. “I lost two to nothing.”
Bertha lifted an eyebrow. The story was a flop and Michael knew it, but he did his best to keep a straight face, knowing that he had no choice but to stick with it. For a while, Bertha’s expression did not change. She looked at them, eyes slightly narrowed, shifting her gaze from one boy’s face to the next.
“Well, that must have been some trainer,” she said, crossing her arms. “It’s not too often I see a kid with a Hitmonlee… I hope none of your pokémon got hurt too bad, Henry.”
That's a good point. Bertha hasn't actually played too much of a role lately.“Oh, they’re fine! They’re all fine,” Henry replied.
Before Bertha could say anything else, Michael cut in. “So what are you doing here? How come we never see you anymore?”
My gut feeling is that she knows about the notebook, and has possibly known about it for some time.“We will,” said Michael, desperately wishing for the conversation to end. And it did—Bertha did not ask them any more questions after that. She settled into a comfortable pose against the wall, looking out at the rest of the lobby. Michael relaxed somewhat, though in his mind he still scolded himself for letting down his guard. Looking down, he saw his notebook, which was lying closed in his lap, his arms covering it protectively. Had it been like that when Bertha saw them? Or had he snapped it shut out of reflex when she approached?
The possibilities were endless. As his brain scrambled to replay the sequence of events, Michael stole frequent glances at his backpack, wanting to quickly slip the notebook away. But he dared not make a move with Bertha so close by, for if she had seen it, then hiding it would only amplify his guilt. So Michael waited, his back leaned against the wall, tapping his foot against the floor. Henry was silent beside him, staring ahead with blank eyes.
Yeah, I really have a feeling Bertha knows something.After a length of time had passed, the attendant at the front desk stood up from her chair. “Michael Rowan, Henry McPherson!” she called.
The boys sprang up, and with a slightly hurried pace, went over to the desk.
“Wristbands, please,” the lady said.
They held out their arms, and one by one, the lady marked them down.
“If you need to heal y’r pokémon, go to Room 14 in the right wing. If not, then you can immediately go to y’r battle rooms—Michael, Room 22; Henry, Room 36.”
Nodding in thanks, the boys turned towards the right hallway. As he passed by the benches, Michael stole a glance at Bertha. The Gym leader met his gaze and gave them a thumbs-up.
Maybe I just imagined it. Maybe she didn’t hear anything at all. No—of course she didn’t. All she heard was us talking about Hitmonlee. It could be anyone’s.
Anyway, I like the structure that this Gym shows, at least when it comes to running its day-to-day battles.
This is a nice visual, but shouldn't that say "healing chambers?"Feeling the return of his resolve, Michael squared his shoulders and put the encounter out of his mind. He had a battle to win.
Moments later, they arrived at the healing room, where there were eight heating chambers lined up against the walls like soda machines. The boys had practiced lightly that day, practicing commands and acting out scenarios, but nevertheless saw fit to freshen up their teams.
Somehow I get the feeling Metapod is going to prove important in the upcoming battle. Otherwise there wouldn't be such attention given to it.One by one, Michael and Henry released their pokémon after they finished with the heating chamber to check up on them. All of them were looking good, and reasonably prepared. Caterpie’s pokéball was the last to leave the tray. After putting away the others into his backpack, Michael grabbed the remaining capsule and twisted it open. Something hard and green clattered onto the floor. Michael looked down at his feet, and did a double-take — first blind with shock, then filled with rushing dread when he realized what it was.
“Oh no…”
Henry, who was already waiting by the door, came over. “What? What happened?” The boy looked down at the cocoon and balked. “Oh, Michael, it’s okay! She’s only—”
“I know what it is!” Michael said. “But dammit… Now, of all times…”
“It only lasts for a week,” said Henry, trying to calm him down. “I’ve seen them evolve before.”
“You don’t get it—what am I going to do now?”
“Caterpie doesn’t know any Flying or Psychic moves. You won’t need her anyway.”
“Yeah, but what if all my counters faint and it’s down to just her? I’ll be done for!”
Henry shook his head. “No you won’t. Look, it’ll be fine. Just… don’t panic, and… it’ll be fine.” The boy nodded in affirmation, though words had failed him, still hoping to transmit his confidence.
This wasn't bad, but it did feel a little bit like an info dump. I'm not really complaining, though. It's not that big a deal.“Great. Let’s g’t started. Name’s Paul.” Paul began to flip through Michael’s past records. “So you were promoted yesterday, and this is y’r first staff battle. Right. You’ve had some good reviews in partner battles so far, but also some bad ones. The staff have taken note that you’re a pretty tactical thinker, which is good, but early on, you had a tendency to rush. You didn’t think your moves all the way through, and as a result, you passed by many opportunities to strengthen your position. Battling is all about grabbing opportunities, because if you don’t then you can bet that your opponent will. Today we’ll see how well you’ve learned.” He placed the clipboard aside and pulled out a pokéball. “Go, Meditite!”
I knew he'd end up facing dual-types.The capsule burst open to reveal a small, thin-bodied creature vaguely resembling a human form. Its head was capped by a mound of white hair, which partially hid its unblinking eyes.
Psychic and Fighting, Michael thought at once. So they did use double-types after all. Taking no chances, he sent out Ringo.
I kind of get why you did this, but just summarizing the match between Ringo and Meditite feels a little rushed.The Meditite turned out to be a pokémon of average strength. Michael had battled a couple of them in partner rounds, and as far as he could tell, this one showed no sign of being stronger in any way. The pokémon attempted a few Focus Punches and a Confusion, but was easily knocked down by Ringo and Aerial Ace. The Chatot’s swift, precise speed allowed him to evade the Meditite, whose attacks were slow and extravagant, making for a short battle. In a matter of minutes, the Meditite collapsed on its belly, and Ringo swooped over his prey, jostling it to make sure it was fainted.
Smiling in amusement, Paul lifted the pokéball to return Meditite, and Ringo flew away satisfied. Michael’s heart began to pound. So far so good.
Now this is more like it, a good, competitive fight. I do think that using "pup" twice in relatively rapid succession should be avoided, though.The next pokémon to emerge was a Riolu—a small, floppy-eared pup that stood on its hind legs. Its eyes were narrowed beneath a cunning smile.
Fighting and… what else? Steel? Michael hesitated in mental debate, noticing the tiny metal spikes protruding from each of the pokémon’s wrists. Finally, he looked up at Ringo, who was flapping overhead.
“Ringo, use Aerial Ace!”
Paul countered back: “Riolu, Jump Kick!”
The Riolu was tiny but fast—as Ringo swooped down, it sprang up to meet him, delivering a firm kick to the bird’s chest. Ringo was knocked off-course, but in his struggles to regain balance, he managed to grasp the Riolu’s ear and drag the pokémon with him. As Ringo flew, he shook the Riolu around, throwing it up into the air and catching it.
“Riolu, use Revenge!”
Still dangling from Ringo’s beak, the Riolu swung itself upward and kicked the bird in the neck. Ringo gasped, his beak falling open in surprise, and dropped Riolu onto the mats. The blue pup scampered away.
There we go. Ringo really is a capable Pokemon when he gets a chance to shine.“No, don’t lose him!” Michael shouted. “Peck!”
As Riolu fled across the mats, Ringo hobbled along in pursuit, snapping at its heels. When he gained enough momentum, the bird pounced, pinning Riolu down with his claws, and began to peck. The Riolu squirmed to free itself, but Ringo’s grip held fast, leaving little to do but flinch under the sharp, stabbing beak. But the little Riolu was surprisingly resilient. Long after Ringo became bored of pecking, the pup was still hanging on to its wits. Eventually Ringo stopped, and began to knock the Riolu around with his claws, seeking new ways of dealing damage. Paul had time to give several more commands, attacks which seemed to serve no purpose aside from tiring Ringo out. The Riolu frequently slipped from his grasp, and zipped over behind the bird to deal a kick. When Ringo finally managed to deal the killing blow—a well-aimed Aerial Ace that had caught the Riolu in the middle of a Jump Kick—the bird was so exhausted that he teetered, and had to sit down.
Again, using "pup" so many times is a little bit of a bother.
I think the end of Ringo's run felt a little rushed, but once Goldeen came out, it slowed down and became a bit better. The battle is still fast paced, but it's working.As Paul switched pokémon, Michael tapped his own pokéball, debating on whether or not to send Ringo back. But when he saw Paul release a Machop, he decided against it.
“Come on, Ringo, get up,” he said. “One more and I’ll leave you alone.”
Ringo lifted his head at the Machop and growled in disdain. He ruffled his feathers and took off into the air again. He was able to hit Machop twice with Aerial Ace, but eventually gave in to exhaustion and succumbed to his opponent’s battering. Paul’s Machop wasn’t as fast as Michael’s, but was an ounce more decisive, and was able to knock down the bird with a flying kick. While Ringo scrambled to his feet, Machop aimed a series of rapid punches, which toppled the bird for good.
Michael returned him and sent out Goldeen. The fish emerged in a rush of cascading water, which she immediately pooled into a swirling ball beneath her. Not a single drop sloshed away from the mass—a profound improvement from their first tentative experiments in Hearthome. Michael pointed to the Machop.
“Goldeen, use Psybeam!”
Goldeen flapped her fins, and the water churned faster around her. Her horn began to glow a bright pink, intensifying at the tip, and with a bang, released a beam of psychic energy that hit Machop in the chest. The pokémon stumbled back, hands covering the burned area.
“Now!” Michael called.
Before Machop had time to recover, Goldeen sprang forward, carried by her own wave, and swept the Machop off the ground. Pursing her thick lips, Goldeen began to peck at its skin, leaving tiny indentations. All the while, she carried it across the battlefield, knocking Machop against the walls and floor, till the pokémon was dazed and blubbering. Dropping the Machop onto the mats again, Goldeen finished off with another Psybeam, and the pokémon collapsed.
Good to see that Goldeen's technique has made progress.
Oh boy, here we go.Paul whistled. “A’right, one more to go… This one should give you a peek at what’s to come.” He switched pokéballs. “Go, Hitmonlee!”
So far, this is what I expected. I anticipated Hitmonlee to be tougher than the others and he is not disappointing. He beat Goldeen down pretty brutally.All the jokes and speculation Michael had gone through over the days about Lona’s team made him forget that he had never actually faced a Hitmonlee in real life. It was a tall, leathery-brown creature whose whole body consisted of a torso, supported by two disproportionately long legs. Its arms, in comparison, were reedy and feeble. Instead of a face, two large eyes peered out from the flat plane of its body.
In battle, it demonstrated a calculated combination of stealth and grace, and was both faster and more powerful than any of Paul’s other pokémon. As if recognizing the threat, Goldeen immediately lowered her horn and blasted out a Psybeam, before Michael even had the chance to give the command. The Hitmonlee leaned out of the way, letting the beam hit the opposite wall, and sprang forward. It reached Goldeen in a few swift steps and dealt a kick, tossing the fish into the air like a rubber ball. The water around her began to lose its form, dripping down to the mats.
“Get it back!” Michael shouted. “Use Psybeam!”
“Hitmonlee, Double Kick!”
Goldeen began to fall, but before she had time to gather up the water she had lost, Hitmonlee’s foot knocked her away into the corner. The floating pool collapsed, spilling into a puddle on the floor.
Michael clenched his fist. “Get it back! Get the water back!”
Hitmonlee approached for another kick, its arms spreading out at its sides in preparation to shift its weight. Goldeen made a final exertion, and the water rose into the air, sweeping past Hitmonlee’s ankles and pooling into a sphere around her. Michael immediately unscrewed the pokéball and sent her back inside.
I still believe in you, Metapod.I have to immobilize that thing somehow… he thought. Going back to his backpack, Michael looked over the capsules that remained and mulled over what to do. Going by what the PokéDex had told him, the only way he could damage Hitmonlee was if he bound its legs together first. As he stared at the pile of pokéballs, a gradual feeling of inevitability sank over him. He had only one option.
Taking Caterpie’s pokéball, Michael held his breath and sent her out. The cocoon fell onto the mats like a tube of dead leaves. The Hitmonlee turned away from the corner and looked down at its new opponent. It suddenly struck Michael that he didn’t even know if Metapods could see.
“Use String Shot,” he mumbled.
The cocoon did not move. But right then, Michael heard a faint swirling noise, and knew that somewhere inside, Caterpie was spinning her thread. Seconds later, the silvery strand emerged—but instead of shooting out at Hitmonlee, it lay flat on the floor, piling into a sticky glob as it unfurled. Michael’s shoulders sank.
Well then, that'll work too.But the sight of the motionless Metapod clouded Paul’s face. He pondered briefly, then addressed his pokémon: “Hitmonlee, use Vacuum Wave!”
The Hitmonlee bent over the cocoon and began to whirl its fists in a rapid circle, churning up a gust of air. The cocoon rolled over onto its side, but due to the strings weighing it down, remained put. Hitmonlee approached from a different angle, but to no avail—the current generated by Vacuum Wave only tangled the silver webbing further, wrapping it around the cocoon. Seeing no other option, the Hitmonlee gave up hope and kicked back its leg, preparing a kick to sweep the cocoon off the ground. Caterpie went flying, bouncing off the ceiling, the webbing unraveling around her. Hitmonlee continued to kick her around the room, and where Caterpie flew, a trail of white followed, sticking to the walls and the wooden window frames. The cocoon was utterly indifferent to the Hitmonlee’s battering, which only angered the pokémon further, and it continued its rampage across the room, unaware that it was getting itself entangled in the process. The webbing looped around the Himonlee’s ankles and arms, tightening as the pokémon tried to wriggle free. Michael smiled. It was a messy solution, but it worked.
I feel that this ending was a bit rushed. Hitmonlee was an important fight, but it just kinda ended.He returned Caterpie and replaced her with Machop. Being the more cautious, Machop quickly skipped over the stray webbing, and engaged Hitmonlee in an impressive rally. With its motions hindered by the string, the Hitmonlee quickly succumbed to Machop’s blows, and fell back. It collapsed in a heap, squirming to free itself from the sticky mess that coated it. Michael immediately switched in Goldeen to deal the final blow. The Psybeam blasted from the fish’s horn and pierced the fallen Hitmonlee between the eyes, after which the pokémon went slack.
Boy, he's got to do it again? I hope his luck holds out.Once the standard five seconds had passed, Paul sent back the fainted Hitmonlee and cracked a smile. “Good work,” he said to Michael. “You’ve learned to turn the tides to your advantage. But you could still use some tightn’ing up—you’ll want to make your decisions a bit faster in the future.”
Michael nodded. He could still feel the frantic beat of his heart, and scarcely believed what he had done.
“You can now head out to the healing r’m for a fifteen-minute break,” Paul continued. “Don’t worry ‘bout the walls—we have stuff to clean that up. Just come right back here when you’re done, and y’r second opponent for the day will be waiting for you. Good luck!”
Rick's not going to get much of anywhere with that attitude.Michel left the battle room and found a healing corner nearby, where he started up a vacant machine and healed his team. There were four other trainers in the room with him. One was still using the machine; the others were seated by the tables against the wall, eating chips, stealing glances at the clock.
Not wanting to spend his time with such somber company, Michael emerged into the hallway and began to pace around. He went all the way to the back of the wing and happened upon a dead end, where a single battle room door stood on the opposite wall. A boy stepped out of it moments later, his back to Michael, a duffel bag hanging from his shoulder. It was Rick.
Seeing Michael, the boy stopped in his tracks. “Oh. Hey.” Suddenly, Rick frowned, lifting his chin. “What are you doing here so late?”
“Staff battles,” said Michael, unable to hide a smirk.
Rick winced. “Oh. Well I’m still in partner battles. Week five and counting. My referee made me stay late to do another round.”
Michael let out a snort. “They rejected you again? Did they at least tell you why?”
“They say I lose too much,” Rick said. “Either that or I don’t win the right way. Same stuff they say every time, really.”
“Well, why did you lose?”
Rick shrugged. “How should I know?”
Um... I kind of have a feeling that Michael might be making a mistake by letting Rick in on the secret. I think Rick is going to tell others.Michael was about to reply, when a sudden thought occurred to him. He paused. “Let me see your team.”
“Why?”
“Just do it. Come on, let’s go in there.” Michael pointed to the door behind Rick.
The boy hesitated for a moment, then pulled it open. Michael followed him into the empty battle room and made sure they were alone before continuing.
“Okay. Now show me your team."
Rick dropped his duffel bag and began to remove pokéballs, eying Michael incredulously throughout. He sent out the members of his party one by one: Shieldon, Luxio, Bonsly, Glameow, Piplup, and Beautifly. The pokémon were all sluggish from exhaustion, some fainted.
Michael paced around the team, arms crossed like a specialist’s. When he was done looking, he shook his head slowly. “No wonder you’re losing, man. You gotta learn your types.”
Rick tilted his head. “Huh?”
“Well, look—” Michael pointed. “—you have three pokémon that are weak to Fighting. Shieldon is Rock and Steel, Bonsly is Rock, and you’ve got Glameow, which is Normal. All those types are weak to Fighting moves. Luxio, Piplup, and Beautifly are your only safe defenses, but even with that, they’re not good counters. You have to catch a Flying or Psychic type, ‘cause those are the only good moves against Fighting types. It’s obvious why they don’t let you move on—they see you doing well against pokémon of different types, but when you go up against Fighting, you lose.”
Seems like everyone's got a petition these days, eh? To some degree, I kind of agree with Rick though - Lona's not exactly making her badge accessible for a lot of trainers.Rick shook his head. “No, you don’t get it… cat, you don’t get it at all. That stuff’s not gonna help me. Don’t you see? She’s rigged the game against me! I’ve seen loads of people with Rock or Normal types and they do just fine!”
“Then you use too many special moves,” Michael said. “The staff have told me that before, so all I did was use them less. Just give them what they want; it’s not that hard.”
“Yeah, right. Except they don’t always want what you think they do. Just when you think you’ve got it right—bam, they prove you wrong. You think I don’t know? Trust me, I do. When Lona locks ‘er eyes on you, it’s over. Nothing’s gonna change her mind. If she wants you gone, she’ll get it done.” Suddenly, Rick brightened. “You know what? I’ve been thinking of getting back at her. Lona’s had her way for far too long. She needs to know what it’s like to have all her hard work be shoved back in ‘er face. I’ve talked to a bunch of people and they agree with me. She keeps us here for way too long, and on top of that, she forces us to battle in a non-League-standard way. Technically, as a Gym leader, she has to cooperate with League policy. And she doesn’t. I checked.” He paused, looking at Michael more intently than ever. “Think about this, Mike. Tons of trainers who’re still starting out haven’t made it to this Gym yet. They’re in Hearthome and Oreburgh, battling all-out, spending their time and money to get to the top. But when they get here, what’ya think is gonna happen? They’ll be stomped flat! Those Gym leaders don’t get how it feels, ‘cause they already went through all that. They’ve already won all the battles they needed to win. But we haven’t. Lots of us won’t get to see the gates of the Elite Four Island. Hell, some of us pro’lly won’t even get to hold all eight badges in our hands. And it’s all because of people like her. People who think that they can promise us one thing, then flip it around and make it something else. These Gym leaders think we’re stupid. They think that we have nothing better to than chase their lies. It’s time that changed. The League should be for trainers, not freaking tyrants who think that just because they have the authority, they can do whatever they want with our efforts and the pokémon we caught with our own hands.”
At that point, Rick’s face took on a steely expression, burdened with duty.
"I want to start a petition,” he said. “I’ll get as many signatures as I can — a thousand, maybe two or three— and send it to the League Office to get Lona fired. Someone needs to do something about this. And if I don’t then there’ll be lots of more people like me. People who’re stuck, can’t get anywhere, and feel like life’s run them into a sinkhole.” He paused. “So how about it? Would you help?”
Had me scared there for a minute.For the duration of Rick’s tirade, Michael had been looking at the window, shifting his gaze from one side of the boy’s head to the other, never meeting his gaze. But now, their eyes locked. Rick extended his hand towards him, fingers slightly curled, waiting to grasp his.
Michael looked at it, and paused.
The fact that he paused unsettled him.
A month ago, he would have accepted no doubt. He would have jumped at the first opportunity to be a part of a grand scheme, to put a deserving adult in their place. He imagined it now—taking Rick’s hand, clasping it like a brother’s, and for the next few days, sneaking around the Gym in between battle sessions, collecting signatures in secret… possibly even stalling his battle with Lona as an act of protest. And then, imagining the look of frustrated loss on Lona’s face when she received her letter of replacement, telling her to get lost, to find a job opening at the nearest fast-food restaurant. Feeling his chest swell with pride when he realized he had made a difference.
These thoughts brought Michael an inward smile. But enjoyed them only insofar as one would enjoy a movie—something that carried no meaning to a person’s life, but served only as a pastime, something to enjoy and forget about. The reel of images quickly faded, as did their pleasure for him, and once again Michael saw the waiting face of the boy in front of him—standing against a room of light, yet still with a perpetual gloom that lurked deep within. It bore no expression, but even so, he could feel Rick teetering between hope and letdown, just as ready to name Michael his enemy as his friend. The burden to decide which had fallen on his shoulders.
Michael searched Rick’s face for a while, but the thing he had seen in it some weeks before was gone. The kid he had identified with during his first battle day had vanished, leaving behind someone who was alien and strange to him.
Michael felt a twinge of annoyance.
He stepped away, silently swinging his backpack behind him. Rick followed him with an unwavering gaze, jaw clenching.
But right before he reached the door, Michael stopped, and turned back with a smile.
“I’ll do it.”
Interesting way to point out the growth in Michael's character, though. It certainly shows how he's changed since the beginning of all this.
This office reflects Lona's personality, if you think about it. It's understated, very official, bare of much beyond necessities and somewhat neglected.Late that evening, Lona’s office was dim and quiet. The curtains were pulled down over the windows, bathed in orange light from the floor lamp. The Gym leader sat with her back against the chair, holding a small coffee tray in her lap. She was turned to the far left corner of the room, where the small television set was turned on, blaring a muffled broadcast. Over the years, her use of the TV had drastically declined due to work she took upon herself, and so the box eventually acquired a worn-out look, as well as the insignificant placing it occupied today.
The scary part is that I can't tell exactly how much of this is coverup.The program she was watching was a rerun of news clips from previous weeks, recaps of announcements she had missed on live broadcast. Lona kept her eyes locked on the screen, her face placid as she listened to the anchorman’s words.
“… and due to the high-security nature of the establishment, little information could, at first, be gleaned from the management of the Eterna Factory. On the thirteenth of June, a statement was released from a factory spokesperson, confirming that the explosion had indeed been an accident, quelling widespread rumors about criminal activity. But the question of what, exactly, the factory had been producing remains a mystery…
… In the weeks following the accident, clean-up efforts have been on the rise, as surrounding towns and even ones far away make donations to support the cause. Chemical reports are gradually being made public, helping us paint a more comprehensive image of the town’s status. While the smoke from the event cleared in a matter of days, it has been confirmed that over 40,000 gallons of liquid chemicals have been spilled as a result of the explosion. While much of this amount has already been removed, surveyors still fear that the chemicals may contaminate nearby water sources. Travel through Cycling Road and Route 211 has been prohibited while cleanup continues. The Eterna government remains optimistic that much of the toxic waste will be cleared by the end of November, however it is uncertain how soon, if at all, the locality will be made habitable again. Significant damage to wildlife has been reported. Rescue efforts are underway to save as many pokémon from the area as possible…”
You know what?Lona chuckled to herself. “Schedules… that’s all I ever hear from trainers these days. They’re all so eager, so confident… but they have no—no idea what the world is really like…”
Bertha frowned. “Then you really must have no idea how times have changed. Kids do know what’s going on. And they often understand it better than we do.”
Right then, something within Lona seemed to snap. She jerked forward in her seat and slapped the table with her palm. “Better?!”
Bertha jumped, and the coffee sloshed in the mug. A drop spilled out and landed on the surface of the table, but Lona didn’t seem to care. She was livid. “You told me a story last time, Miss Herrida. Now let me tell you something!”
She pushed herself back into her chair, and all of a sudden, her face clouded over, till it seemed that she was looking not at Bertha, but at something in the distant past. “My mother was a pokémon trainer,” she said. “When she was young, the Pokémon League was an organic competition. A goal to strive for. If you weren’t cut out for it, you were either sent home or didn’t try in the first place. Gym leaders didn’t just give badges. They gave lessons. Trainers had to work for their rewards, and if they didn’t, then they’d get beaten to a pulp by the ones who did. My mother raised our family with the same morale she learned as a child. She told us that we had to be ready for the day when we would leave her house and face the world, and that the only person responsible for our success is ourselves. She didn’t expect us all to become trainers, but she expected us to learn from their example, because back then, trainers weren’t just admired—they were respected. They carried themselves with the rightful dignity that they earned through years of discipline and self-teaching. They were a symbol of honor and dedication, and wherever they went, their message followed. They were the pride of their hometowns. The glory of their country. They inspired thousands to follow in their footsteps, if not in career, then in character. And what do I see now? What do I see, in this golden age of technology and supposed progress? I see what was once a symbol of honor to the Sinnoh people be crushed and degraded into an industry! A happy generator of logos and merchandise, clinging to its oh-so-sacred national uniformity, as if without it, the whole country will be torn apart!”
As Lona spoke, she leaned farther forward, till her hands were gripping the edge of the table, and Bertha was leaning back, her eyes frozen in a deadpan stare that was locked on the other woman’s face.
“I had to work for everything in my life!” Lona said. “It was either that or be stuck with nothing! And now I have to watch nine-and ten-year-old children breeze through my Gym, carrying more pocket money than I saw in a month, passing by opportunities as if they grew on trees! They have no discipline. They have no culture, no manners, no sense of guilt when they insult their elders—no sense of the world around them! They put on a hat and backpack and suddenly they’re on top of the world—they can romp around wherever they please; they’ve got Pokémon Centers and hotels bowing to their every whim; the League Heads constantly thinking of new ways of improving their experience… Meanwhile, they have no desire to return anything to the community that raised them up! They don’t understand that those badges they earn mean nothing if they can’t be backed up by skill!”
At this, Lona stood and opened a drawer in her desk. “Let me show you a real badge, Miss Herrida.” And she opened her palm to show Bertha a tiny gold medal attached to a piece of ribbon. Bertha recognized it immediately. It bore the old insignia of the Pokémon League, a Charizard with its wings outstretched and hands clasping pieces of scroll. “This was the badge my mother earned when she defeated the Elite Four in 1941. Her name was Lydia Hodnett. It was the only medal she ever earned in her life, but she didn’t hang it up on her wall like a trophy to boast about. After she beat the League she went right back to training, and later took the next step in raising a family. We all knew that she had been the Champion, but when I found out about the medal and asked her why she never displayed it as proof, she told me that the proof was already all around me. It was in her pokémon, who withstood trial and hardship with her and now had the strength of character to show it. And it was in us—myself and my sisters—from whom she expected no less.” Lona closed her palm with a smirk. “I have yet to see a single trainer who expressed the desire to give rather than take; to be, rather than have.”
She tossed the medal back into the drawer and closed it.
“Do you think it was an accident that after the League became federal property in 1952, it began to exhibit the pattern you noticed today?” Lona continued. “I’m sure you’ve done that research as well—you tell me why the Sinnoh Pokémon League, which used to be the most prominent entity in the 30s and 40s, suddenly decided of its own free will to merge itself with the government.” She put her hands on her hips and gestured for Bertha to speak.
I'm sorry, but I'm out of patience with Lona. I see the message you're trying to send and all, but quite frankly, I'm tired of hearing Lona whining. She sounds like a cranky old man who wants the local kids to get off his lawn. On the flipside, having a message doesn't always automatically validate a character.
She's been testing my patience for a while now, but I've been sticking it out with hope for her because I was hoping to see some more depth and dimension to her as a character. I suppose one could argue that this constitutes those things, but in my mind all I see now is a bitter, angry old woman who wants everyone else to be as miserable as she is, and therefore I can't care about her at all.
Is she saying that she would rather there be no League?“The League merged with the government because its funds were low,” Bertha said. “People stopped participating and donating, and so to survive, the League had to ask the government to take it under its wing.”
“And do you know what happened?” Lona said.
“The government gave it funding!”
“Oh yes. It gave funding all right. So much funding, in fact, that we drowned in it.” Lona dug around in another desk drawer and pulled out a handful of Cobal badges. She let them spill from her hand like a shower of coins, all identical, clanging against the wood of the table.
Bolded part: Lona appears to completely miss the fact that her fantasy League is the exact same thing, a method for people like her to feel validated through a sense of superiority over others. In fact, I'd say her ideas are even worse, so it's nice to see she's a hateful hypocrite on top of everything else.“This is what I have to do,” she whispered, sweeping her gaze over the gleaming puddle. “I have to give out these badges to people who beat me in a battle—and I’m not allowed to be too hard on them because it wouldn’t be fair—so that they can move on to the next luxury suite in the next Gym town and do the same. And the next one, and the next one. There’s no challenge anymore, just another pastime like Contests. The League doesn’t mean anything now—not to its proprietors in Snowpoint, or to its trainers. They all see it as some sort of game… a hobby of sorts to demonstrate to the world how special they are, how many trophies they can earn. To them, there’s no meaning behind the battles they win. The other people around them serve no purpose aside from being rungs on a ladder. The pokémon, too. The trainers think that the key to winning is to have the most powerful moves, the best assembled teams, and completely forget the other half which lies in a pokémon’s heart—and their own. They’re a shadow of their predecessors. They think that they’re bigger than everything, that nothing can tear them down. But they’re wrong.” A shadow crept over Lona’s brow. “I’ll show them what a real Gym is like. I’ll show them what the real League should be like. What it would be like if it didn’t spend all its money on useless decorations and pampering!” Flaring up again, she turned her eye on Bertha. “You say that the lack of money is causing our decline? I say it’s too much money! Money that makes those League heads think it’s okay to gorge themselves and their trainers with luxuries. If that’s now they like to express their wealth, then maybe it’s a good thing that Galactic is sucking us dry! Maybe it’s a good thing that the League is finally realizing that its days are numbered! Let the kids all become scientists, engineers. Let them have a model to look up to that says you can only achieve great things if you build them yourself. Pokémon training doesn’t stand for that anymore.”
If I was Bertha I would tell Lona to enjoy having her town blown away by Team Galactic, leave, and never go to Solaceon again. I'm really going to lose a lot of faith in Bertha if she gives in to this miserable person's attitude.With that, Lona turned her chair away from Bertha, swiveling towards the side wall. She lowered her head in resignation and closed her eyes. “I know you need my signature, Miss Herrida. But I will not give it to you unless you can prove to me that your petition will put my Gym in a better state than it is right now.”
Good. I hope Bertha completely gives up on her and finds another way to get the petition through.Bertha sat without speaking. For a while, neither of them moved. Bertha thought of countering back, but the more time that passed, the more she noticed Lona drifting away from her and from the world. She sat with her shoulders down, staring at her bookshelves with an angered, sorrowful expression. One hand kept picking idly at the hem of her jacket.
Lona was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the other woman leave. Bertha stood, gently sliding the empty chair back into its place, and turned for the door. Simultaneously, Lona swiveled towards the back window, covering her forehead with her hands.
For once, they ended in silence.
I'll be honest, I was enjoying this chapter up until the true colors of Lona Walker came out. She singlehandedly ruined it for me by being a bitter, angry hypocrite who wishes only to inflict the same misery she suffers on children she doesn't even know out of spite because modern children aren't as 'special' as her. I don't even care about what the story with her on the outside of the Gym is anymore - there is almost no chance I'll be able to see any redemption. I don't think I've despised any character that's not obviously a villain this much in a long time.
I'm sorry if that makes this a harshly negative review.
Last edited by The Great Butler; 11th September 2012 at 9:25 AM.
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Nope; they've never seen a kid with a Hitmonlee. But Bertha certainly heard something she wasn't supposed to...I'm trying to remember - did they see something they weren't supposed to? I can't remember if they saw someone with a Hitmonlee before...
I didn't want to extend the battle that much because, conversely, I was worried it would be too long, and wanted to cut to the chase. I'll reread it, though, and see if I could touch it up to even out the pacing.
Somewhat, but not in a 'by day, normal, by night Gym Leader' sort of thing. Her being doesn't change with her costume, but rather with her environment/circumstances.I wonder if her change in attitude and change in appearance are actually related. Like, as in, when she doesn't have to worry about being recognized as Lona the Gym Leader, she's calm and cheerful.
Speaking of Lona, I think an explanation is in order...
To begin with, I guess I was walking on pretty thin ice when writing her character. I had to portray a personality with an unlikable personality, but still give readers a hint that she might have something to say. I suspected I'd make some readers dislike her in the process, but I didn't intend for it to get out of hand, to the point where they stopped caring for her completely. There is a development-related reason why I made her like the way she is, but the only way I can reveal that is, of course, through plot development. That, or giving the whole meaning away in a post right now, which I don't want to do. So I'll try to salvage what I can here...
These are the things I wanted to make clear about Lona up until now. I think you misinterpreted some parts, either because of my mistakes, or simply because you're a different mind and will naturally not see my writing in the same way as I do.
So here it goes. From Chapter 22 up to Chapter 28, these are the things I hoped people would gather about Lona:
- She does not run her Gym like most leaders do. Instead of automatically giving trainers their battles, she has them go through an intensive battling course to sharpen their skills, even if it's at the expense of time.
- This, and coupled with her controlling nature (as you've seen during Michael's first battle session), make Michael immediately dislike her, likening her to the countless other authority figures in his life.
- From their very first meeting together, Lona and Bertha don't get along. They seem to have conflicting views. Bertha wants to bring money into the League so that it can recover from the decline it's suffered over the years and rise again to its former glory. Lona appears to be opposed to this plan. She does not see Team Galactic as a threat to the League, and in fact, does not seem to want the League to get more money at all. But in reality, she's simply seeing the matter from a different angle. Lona thinks that instead of just giving the League money, it should first be told what to use that money for.
- The reason she doesn't like the League of today is because it's been turned into an industry. The transformation was inevitable, which she accepts, but it still bothers her that before, pokemon training was respected, but now, it's seen as just a pastime, something people embark upon without being serious about it. It started with the League itself turning its attention away from competitive battling, and wanting only to get as many people to participate as possible. It did this by building hotels, reorganizing Gyms, opening up Pokemarts, etc., but eventually it got so carried away that those external things became its top priority. As a result, the kids who really are motivated are mixed right in with the kids that aren't, and more frequently, the League rules cater to the unmotivated kids and make it easier for them to pass through the circuit. Meanwhile, the motivated kids are prevented from experiencing the real challenge that -- in Lona's eyes -- will show them what it truly means to be a trainer. (Motivated vs. unmotivated -- does this remind you of the initial difference that existed between Michael and Henry? Why do you think that changed? What could it mean for Bertha?)
Of course, Lona is prone to giving in to her temper, and as a result, instead of stating exactly what she wants the League to spend its money on, she sidetracks. But through every conversation, Bertha gleans more and more information about how Lona thinks, and could perhaps use that information to reach a common ground.
Dialogue from Chapter 22:
Here is Lona's view in a nutshell. She sees that the League is only interested in spending money on decorations, which wouldn't be so bad if they weren't abandoning their old purpose in the process.Lona began to nod, though the gesture seemed more directed at the empty space than at the woman sitting in front of her. “I see… I see that you have a genuine concern. But if I may make a few suggestions, I think you will find that there could be an easier way to go about doing this. For example, instead of trying to take away funding from another source, why not just ask the government to change the League’s budget into a more productive one? The way I see it, Gyms are allowed to spend far too much money on decorations, and aren’t obliged to provide a uniform quality of service to trainers. Some, I’ve heard, serve as nothing more than pit stops, and are more concerned about pushing their trainers on into the next city than whether or not they actually improve their skills. An abundance of money is not necessary to fulfill such a basic requirement of the facility.”
From Chapter 24:
Again, Lona hints at her inner beliefs. The problem is, she's too sure that Bertha doesn't know what she's doing, and Bertha's too sure that Lona doesn't know what she's doing. And so we get things like this:“Tell me, Miss Herrida, how is it you are planning to restore the League?”
After many days of such back-and-forth banter, the questions no longer caught Bertha off-guard. She didn’t bat an eye. “I’m not planning on restoring it,” she said. “At least, not yet. My goal is to enable it to restore itself.”
For some reason, Lona seemed to find this funny. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger and tilted her head to the side. “And what makes you so sure that the other League officials will want to do the same? You have an entire different concept of ‘restoration’ than they do.”
“Oh? And in what way?”
“That is what I plan on examining today. Your petition is attempting to give the League more money. And yes, it’s true that the League wants more money. But it’s for an entirely different reason.”
Bertha lifted her eyebrows. “And that would be?”
“I think you’ve already seen it for yourself,” Lona said. “You’ve been to Hearthome. You’ve seen how everywhere you turn, there’s the pokéball logo, or some other League-sponsored item?”
“You mean the advertising? Sorry to say, but that’s to be expected. The League needs to make money. I won’t deny that some of its methods are questionable—those Game Corners are nothing but scams—but they are the direct result of the League’ s decline.”
Lona shook her head, still keeping a quiet, measured tone.“No. They are the direct cause of it.”
Bertha paused out of surprise, which mixed itself with puzzlement. This seemed to be what Lona was aiming for. The woman smiled, and continued. “The League has an enormous sphere of influence. The Space Program is like a flea in comparison. The League can get anything it wants, even right now, though it may seem like the tables are turned against us.”
“They are,” Bertha said. “You just haven’t realized it. The League is global, yes, but so is the Space Program. It’s growing at a rapid pace, faster than the League has ever grown in history. It might not be as prominent as the League is right now, but it soon will be. You think I don’t know where you’re coming from? I do. I had the exact same frame of mind as you do right now.”
The smile faded from Lona’s face, replaced by a twitch of frustration. “And then? You saw a factory get put up in your backyard and you decided that the whole world had turned upside-down?”
“If you don’t believe me, then why don’t you take a look at these?” Bertha pulled out a stack of papers from her briefcase and slapped them on the table. “I prepared these just for you, Miss Walker. They’re charts that detail the respective incomes of the Sinnoh and Hoenn space programs, compared to those of the League divisions in both countries. If you’ll notice, while one item increases, the other plummets. Granted, I don’t know how the Hoenn League is handling it, but they sure seem to be in a similar situation, don’t you think? The government and the public are paying more attention to the Space Program, and as a result, less money gets to us. You can twist that all you want, but the fact remains the same—less attention means less opportunity for change.”
“And? You want the government to pay one-hundred percent of its attention to us again? It’s impossible!”
While we're on this quote, I'd also like to show you this:Lona was silent, and for the entire duration of Bertha’s tirade, sat with one elbow rested on the table’s surface, supporting her chin. Her face was clouded, and she seemed lost in thought.
“Galactic will never come to Solaceon…” she said, almost whispering.
Bertha tilted her head to the side, softening her face into an imitation of her interlocutor. “And if it does?”
“It won’t!” With a sudden burst of anger that seemed to come from nowhere, Lona rose from her seat to look Bertha in the eye. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Trying to convince me by drawing a parallel with Eterna? You are wrong! Galactic will never put up a factory here because I won’t allow it, because I know how to wield my power as a Gym leader to ensure the best for my facility and my trainers!”
Bertha’s eyes flashed. “You’re saying I don’t?”
“I’m saying that you have no idea what you’re doing!”
Looking it over, I think the scene could've been written better, and I'll probably rewrite it... but the main fact is the same -- Lona is watching a rerun about the Eterna factory explosion. Could that perhaps mean that Bertha's words from last time had an effect on her?The program [Lona] was watching was a rerun of news clips from previous weeks, recaps of announcements she had missed on live broadcast. Lona kept her eyes locked on the screen, her face placid as she listened to the anchorman’s words.
“… and due to the high-security nature of the establishment, little information could, at first, be gleaned from the management of the Eterna Factory. On the thirteenth of June, a statement was released from a factory spokesperson, confirming that the explosion had indeed been an accident, quelling widespread rumors about criminal activity. But the question of what, exactly, the factory had been producing remains a mystery…
… In the weeks following the accident, clean-up efforts have been on the rise, as surrounding towns and even ones far away make donations to support the cause. Chemical reports are gradually being made public, helping us paint a more comprehensive image of the town’s status. While the smoke from the event cleared in a matter of days, it has been confirmed that over 40,000 gallons of liquid chemicals have been spilled as a result of the explosion. While much of this amount has already been removed, surveyors still fear that the chemicals may contaminate nearby water sources. Travel through Cycling Road and Route 211 has been prohibited while cleanup continues. The Eterna government remains optimistic that much of the toxic waste will be cleared by the end of November, however it is uncertain how soon, if at all, the locality will be made habitable again. Significant damage to wildlife has been reported. Rescue efforts are underway to save as many pokémon from the area as possible…”
Lona’s musing was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. She quickly sprang from her chair, shut off the TV, and placed the tray aside.
And now we get to the final dialogue. This, I think, elaborated pretty clearly on Lona's mindset from earlier, so I was surprised that your reaction differed so much from my intention.
I'll respond to the areas you quoted.
She's saying that the government pumped so much money and reforms into the League that it eventually became unrecogniable from its former self. She wants the League to realize its former purpose.Is she saying that she would rather there be no League?“The League merged with the government because its funds were low,” Bertha said. “People stopped participating and donating, and so to survive, the League had to ask the government to take it under its wing.”
“And do you know what happened?” Lona said.
“The government gave it funding!”
“Oh yes. It gave funding all right. So much funding, in fact, that we drowned in it.” Lona dug around in another desk drawer and pulled out a handful of Cobal badges. She let them spill from her hand like a shower of coins, all identical, clanging against the wood of the table.
I think you're mistaking Lona's wishes for the League for the way she operates her Gym. The two are completely separate. The only thing Lona wants for the League is for people to start treating it seriously again, and for the League to start treating itself seriously again.Bolded part: Lona appears to completely miss the fact that her fantasy League is the exact same thing, a method for people like her to feel validated through a sense of superiority over others. In fact, I'd say her ideas are even worse, so it's nice to see she's a hateful hypocrite on top of everything else.“This is what I have to do,” she whispered, sweeping her gaze over the gleaming puddle. “I have to give out these badges to people who beat me in a battle—and I’m not allowed to be too hard on them because it wouldn’t be fair—so that they can move on to the next luxury suite in the next Gym town and do the same. And the next one, and the next one. There’s no challenge anymore, just another pastime like Contests. The League doesn’t mean anything now—not to its proprietors in Snowpoint, or to its trainers. They all see it as some sort of game… a hobby of sorts to demonstrate to the world how special they are, how many trophies they can earn. To them, there’s no meaning behind the battles they win. The other people around them serve no purpose aside from being rungs on a ladder. The pokémon, too. The trainers think that the key to winning is to have the most powerful moves, the best assembled teams, and completely forget the other half which lies in a pokémon’s heart—and their own. They’re a shadow of their predecessors. They think that they’re bigger than everything, that nothing can tear them down. But they’re wrong.” A shadow crept over Lona’s brow. “I’ll show them what a real Gym is like. I’ll show them what the real League should be like. What it would be like if it didn’t spend all its money on useless decorations and pampering!” Flaring up again, she turned her eye on Bertha. “You say that the lack of money is causing our decline? I say it’s too much money! Money that makes those League heads think it’s okay to gorge themselves and their trainers with luxuries. If that’s now they like to express their wealth, then maybe it’s a good thing that Galactic is sucking us dry! Maybe it’s a good thing that the League is finally realizing that its days are numbered! Let the kids all become scientists, engineers. Let them have a model to look up to that says you can only achieve great things if you build them yourself. Pokémon training doesn’t stand for that anymore.”
In the case of her Gym, she does the best she can within the League regulations. She is of the opinion that trainers don't receive the adequate League experience by going through eight mandatory battles with Gym leaders and getting badges. So she puts an obstacle in the trainers' path, in the hopes of at least showing them that training isn't fun and games. And from what I've shown, it doesn't seem to me that the structure of her Gym is in any way as cruel as her words, or other people's words, sound. (As a matter of fact, I specifically tried to draw that distinction when writing Michael's and Henry's experiences.) Looking at just Lona's dialogue, I see why you think the way you do, but I still want to say that it's not how I meant her or her Gym to be received. Yes, in a way, it is about Lona's desire to bring back the past. Yes, she has little to no faith left in the state of the modern League. But perhaps that faith could be revived?
I understand why you feel the way you do, but I can't agree with you. With that, I respect your opinion and won't try to forcefully change it. If it's relevant, then there are only two more chapters left with Lona in them, so she'll be out of our hair soon enough. :P I agree with you that just because a character has a message doesn't make them a good one. But I hope that what I explained here has at least convinced you that there was a purpose behind all this, that the purpose will continue to exist in the future, and that I didn't just stick an outrageous person in my story for no reason.
(Nothing in this story is filler. Nothing, nothing!)
In the end, I think biggest mistake with Lona was mine. I think your problem lies not in the fact that I haven't given justification for her views, but rather in the fact that I focused on her big personality and ended up calling your attention away from that justification. In that case, I'll take a closer look at the previous chapters to see if I could present them more accurately towards what I have in my head. I don't regret the main gist of what I wrote, because I've woven Lona, her ideas, and personality too much into the plot to change them. I believe that the next two chapters will give Solaceon Town a fitting closure, and my plan for writing them is unchanged. I'm going to finish the Rick plot, and the Ted/Lona plot, and hope that I'll at least won't make any steps backward. I can't predict your reaction or anyone else's, but I do appreciate you sticking by and telling me what you think, whatever those thoughts might be. ^^
Thanks for the review!
(And also, please tell me what you think of this. I want to make sure we understand each other completely.)
EDIT: Update for everyone! Chapters 29 and 30 are in the works. They're both somewhat connected, so I'll be tackling the both of them together. The good news is that they might take less time for me to write as a result, but the bad news is that I've been up to my neck in work/other obligations and I suspect that next week won't be much different. I can't predict the outcome of that combination, but nevertheless, I'll try to be as efficient as possible. Until next time!
Last edited by Mrs. Lovett; 13th September 2012 at 9:09 PM.
The story of Professor Rowan - Chapter 34 is up!
Other Works:Cave Guardian ♦ Cheater ♦ Contests ♦ Maids
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Flareon and Piplup are the best Pokémon ever! 
