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Chance (Short Story)

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction' started by Saffire Persian, Jul 21, 2006.

  1. Saffire Persian

    Saffire Persian Now you see me...

    Note: This is a three fourths Comedy, one forth Drama one-shot (Mayyybe a little less). Rated PG-13 for a variety of elements which include, but are not limited to, a sadistic Sneasel, a flying cat, a drunk rat, and noble dog -- all with a dash of attitude.

    This is a sequel to my one-shot, Loyalty. However, you do not need to read it to understand and enjoy this story. (It’s just nice to know the other characters a tad better.)

    And now I present to my entry for the Laughingstock One-shot contest… well, part of it anyway. It will be split into 4 parts because of its length.

    Looked over by The Dark Evolution. Thanks.

    As always, comments, critique, etc. are appreciated. Typos will be killed upon sight.

    Part Legend

    Part I: Fake Wings
    Part II: Morana
    Part III: Ashes to Ashes
    Part IV: Flight

    +Dedicated in loving memory to Belle the Devil Cat: inspiration, pet, and friend who passed away on 6/6/06. You will be missed.+

    By: Saffire Persian

    “Chance is a fool’s name for Fate.”
    --Fred Astaire

    Part I: Fake Wings

    Overhead, the heat of the sun in shining in all its glory down upon you, and you bask in its extended radiance with all the luxury of a human at the beach. The weather is warm, the air is crisp and clear… the atmosphere is peaceful…

    Or rather, you wish it was.

    But things don’t quite turn out that way.

    Today has been far from sunny – in fact, the weather’s completely opposite: it’s snowing.

    It’s cold, it’s wet, it’s dreary, and summer seems so far away. And, for a fire-type like yourself, winter has never been your favorite part of the year, and never will be. Granted, it doesn’t snow a lot in Saffron during wintertime, and the weather is usually quite tolerable, but it still does, and right now it’s falling like it’ll never stop, coating the ground below in neat, virgin snow.

    You move away from your place at the window, crawling nearer to the passionately burning fireplace, enjoying the heat it gives off. Riley and the Rat (as you still “fondly” call him) are in the kitchen, enjoying a breakfast consisting of omelets and toast. You know so because you can smell it.

    You can hear them laughing, and you can’t help but ponder how much things can change – have changed – in six months. It seemed like only yesterday you were coming up with your next fiendish plot to exterminate the Rat for good... and now – now they’re married. They did it all fancy and legally as most humans do. It seemed like a total waste of time to you, especially when you could’ve been working with the rest of the police team doing something useful, instead sitting there listening to some crazed man with a hat give a long (and boring) speech of which you paid no attention to.

    Your coal black eyes lazily wander over to where the Christmas tree is just to your right, sitting straight and tall in all its glory. Various tinsels and ornaments hang at every available limb, sparkling with various hues, mostly red and green.

    Riley and the Rat love it.

    You just want to burn it – have for the past month. Mostly because you’re bored, partly because you just like to burn things.

    You sigh, watching a few more snowflakes fall from the white sky. You also don’t like winter because it’s unduly hectic. Every place you go – on and off the job – is excessively crowded. Everywhere’s packed with humans; so much so, Saffron City seems to be little more than an overflowing colony of Ratatta as they scurry from store to store, all fighting to get their hands on the newest fad or recent sale. Because of the Christmas holiday, you and Riley have been working overtime, taking down petty criminals whose capture means absolutely squat to you.

    Stealing’s about as common in the Christmas season as the fat men running about in red suits are, and fights (especially between angry women) break out almost continuously. Even you, a highly trained, respectable Growlithe, have trouble breaking them apart without having to use desperate measures.

    You shake your head. You never knew humans could be so stupid. They act so irrational and greedy this time of year.

    You jump onto the couch in front of the TV, cocking your head as you hear footsteps approaching the room.

    Light, hesitant footsteps.

    The Rat.

    Harder, more determined footsteps.


    They enter into the room at the same time. The Rat’s looking all professional-like as always, dressed in a ironed shirt and tie despite the fact he has a day. Riley’s still in her pajamas, taking advantage of one of her only days of rest.

    It is Christmas Day after all.

    You scowl a bit. This is your first Christmas with the Rat living in your house. It still feels odd, having this strange (and certainly not normal) person living in your house who shares little of the same values with you. The only thing the two of you have in common is your love for Riley: and that trait’s the one and only thing that keeps you from killing him every time you watch him walk through the door.

    The Rat looks at you suddenly. There’s a strange gleam in his eye you don’t like one bit.

    “Riley,” he says, and you notice he’s reaching for something in his pocket. “Now that we’re all here –“ There’s that cursed glance again. He’s grown a spine over the past few months, it seems. “—you care if I start off?”

    (You care.)

    Riley looks up, shrugging her shoulders. “With the presents? Doesn’t matter.”

    “Well …” The Rat pulls his hand out of his pocket, a round object clenched in his fist. Your eyes narrow. “Didn’t your family have any Christmas traditions?”

    You can already feel that it would be a very good idea to snatch the gift out of the male human’s fist and burn it before it’s too late.

    Riley sighs, moving a brown lock of hair out of her face. “I grew up on a farm – my father didn’t believe in celebrating Christmas much. We had too much work to do on the farm to bother with those kind of things. Milk the Miltank, make sure the Torchic didn’t go and burn the barn down…” Her expression tightens, eyebrows furrowing as she stairs at the object clutched in his hand. “What is it, anyway?”

    He opens up his hand. It’s red. It’s white. It’s a Pokéball.

    You stare. Maybe you should bury the Pokéball deep beneath the earth instead. You’ve tried burning Pokéballs. It doesn’t work.

    Riley’s staring at the Pokéball, too. “A …”


    He grins at you, and you glare back at him. Since when does he have the right to bring something living into your house? He may have married Riley, but that does not – DOES NOT – give him permission to do so.

    “I thought your Growlithe could use a friend.”

    (You think the Rat could use a restraining order.)

    “Well, shall we?” the Rat says, with a sly grin.

    Stupid rat.

    The Pokéball bursts open, illuminating the room with white light. You watch, not realizing you’re holding your breath as the creature materializes out of the haze. The light slowly disappears, and the specimen in which the ball contained blinks and yawns, revealing two perfectly pointed white canines.

    You groan. It’s a cat. You’re going to be replaced by a cat.

    Even the Rat couldn’t help but notice your venomous glare, but he ignores it, whistling a familiar Christmas tune, tossing the Meowth’s Pokéball up into the air and catching it.

    He smiles. “Just evening up the playing field.”


    For perhaps the millionth time today, you let out a frustrated groan. You’re staring listlessly from the couch, feeling like an old rag doll that’s seen too much of life. The Meowth is happily prancing around the living room, throwing scraps of sparkling wrapping paper up into the air before energetically pouncing on it.

    Riley and the Rat have gone to some restaurant downtown, leaving you alone with explicit instructions to watch over the Meowth and make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.

    You’ve been keeping an eye on him all right, resisting the urge to chase the stupid cat out of the house and into the street. For now, though, you’ve pretended to be asleep, just so the cat would leave you alone. Within the first five minutes of humans’ departures the Meowth has been trying to speak to you, quite literally bouncing off the walls.

    He just won’t shut up.

    “Ha!” A piece of white gift paper drifts through the air, landing on the tip of your black nose. Your eyes are barely open – just enough so you can see what’s going on. The Meowth’s staring at you, blue-eyes wide and far too curious for their own good. Slowly, a smile comes to the kitten’s face, and he begins to slink towards the couch, weaving through a mess of wrappings, string, and boxes left over from the opened presents.

    His back end is wriggling in an oh-so annoying fashion, with his brown-tipped tail waving to and fro. He’s positioned himself just in front of the couch now, his eyes narrowing to tiny slits.

    You wonder if now would be a good time to ‘wake up’. But then again, he’d realize you were awake and try to strike up some air-headed conversation that you do not want to be a part of.

    “Ready…almost there… slowly…”

    Heck, he even talks to himself.

    “Almost there… just wait for the right moment…steady… that’s it. It can’t be too hard – just SNATCH it off the dog’s fat nose, then I’ll pounce on it. It WON’T get away from me!”

    Hmm… you never did like the taste of paper ashes in your mouth…but…

    “It can’t hide behind a dog forever! I’m not scared of any dog. I’ll show you!”

    ...you suppose you can make an exception.

    “All right!” Your muscles tense. “GO!”

    The Meowth springs just as you ‘awake’ from your slumber. You bolt onto your feet, and the paper flies off your nose. Snarling (you intend to make yourself look as menacing as possible) you snatch up the stray piece of paper with your open jaws. The Meowth yowls in anguish.

    “NO! It’s MINE!”

    You blink in surprise as the Meowth lands on the couch before you, looking everything but intimidated by your display. “You let it go right now!”

    You shake your head, eyes betraying your disgust as an Ember quickly disintegrates the cat’s plaything into little more than a miniscule layer of ash. It tastes absolutely horrid.

    You open your mouth, trying to spit out some of the bad, charcoal-y taste. The Meowth looks horrified.

    “You ATE it.” The feline does a double-take, a disbelieving look coming to his white countenance as he adds: “You’re weird.”

    “I’m what?

    “Weird,” he says again, head tilting to the left as he sits on his haunches. “You’re not supposed to eat paper y’know. Especially the kind with ribbon; that kind gets stuck in your throat. Tastes nasty, too.”

    “I didn’t eat it,” you tell him, your muzzle now bearing the most ferocious snarl you can possibly make while trying not to gag on the ash. “I burned it. I like to burn things.”

    “Oh.” He obviously does not get the message you’re trying to get across. “Well, at least you’re awake now. I thought you were going to sleep all day. Well… umm… Eh… I guess I’ll start off. I’m Chance. Who’re you?”

    Like you’re going to tell him. “It’s none of your business, Meowth.”

    “My name’s not ‘Meowth’! It’s Chance! I told you that!”

    “Chance, riiight,” you say, letting the last word draw out. You can’t help but roll your eyes as the kitten’s back arches in fury. “Whatever.”

    You jump off the bed in a fluid motion, heading toward the kitchen through the maze of wrapping paper.

    “Hey! Wait!” The Meowth quickly follows suit, running after you. He’s quite fast. “You haven’t told me your name yet.”

    You don’t really intend to, either. Instead of going into the kitchen as previously planned, you turn to the left and trot down the carpeted, dimly lit hallway.


    “Well, what?”

    “Your name!” Chance hisses. “You dogs really are stupid. D’you not have a name or something?”

    “That’s right,” you say, reverberating with sarcasm. The sarcastic remark is completely wasted on Chance, however.

    “Well, I’ll have to make up one for you, then.”

    “I’ll pass.”

    The cat’s face scrunches up in concentration. It takes him only seconds to spit out: “Cal! How about that?”

    “No.” You continue down the hall, darting through a doorframe into your room. Chance’s just outside of it.

    “But Cal’s a good name! Hey!”

    The door abruptly slams in his face, courtesy of a well-placed kick from your outstretched forepaw. To your pleasure, you can hear him hiss in frustration.

    Maybe he’ll get the message now.


    You come out of your room a few hours later, wrestling open the door with a long piece of red cloth tied tightly around the doorknob that’s always been there, just in case you ever closed the door. Riley’s never wanted you to stay locked in. You haven’t heard so much as a mumble from the Meowth for the past hour. For that, you’re glad.

    You slowly make your way down the hall, noticing pieces of gift-wrap scattered willy-nilly about the hall. You grimace, peeking your head around the corner and into the living room.

    Chance’s there, sitting quietly in the middle of the paper-strewn floor. He’s grooming himself. You roll your eyes. Typical cat behavior.


    You look again, spotting something just as you were about to dart back into your room before the Meowth has a chance to notice you’ve come out.

    He’s not grooming himself, he’s licking air.

    “What in the name of Entei do you think you’re doing?” you growl, coming out from behind the corner, eying the young cat incredulously.

    “What does it look like?” Chance hisses back, glowering. “I’m cleaning my wings.”

    The sudden idea that this Meowth may not be at all sane begins to cross you mind. You can’t even bring yourself to laugh. Instead, you stare. You aren’t quite sure what to say in response. “You’re what?” you finally bark out, slightly hoarse.

    “Cleaning my wings, I said! You need to keep your wings clean to be able to fly. Everyone knows that.”

    “You can’t fly,” you retort, ignoring the dark glares the feline is throwing in your direction. “It’s impossible.”

    (They can fall though.)

    “That’s what everybody says!” Chance yells, fur bristling. “That’s what they all tell me! But they don’t know anything.” His face falters, and he suddenly seems apprehensive. “Well, I know most Meowth can’t fly … but I’m different! I have wings! And you’re just jealous. Jealous just like everybody else!”

    Your expression doesn’t change. It looks very far from ever being a believing one.

    “You don’t believe me, do you?” Chance hisses, voice rising in volume as he stands up. “Well, I’ll prove it to you. I’ll prove that I can fly! I’ll show you!”


    You follow him outside, onto the wooden deck that overlooks the neighborhood. You’re only following him out of curiosity, nothing more. You’re starting to regret it as your paws make contact with snow. It’s not snowing anymore, but it’s still wet; it’s still cold, not the most ideal weather for a fire-type such as yourself. The sun’s actually out though, shining dully through the sparse cloud cover. You’re thankful for that.

    Snorting, you exhale, sending a light flamethrower searing through the snow, barely missing Chance, who's walking in front of you. He yelps, jumping to the side as the flame dissipates and steam rises from the vaporized snow.

    “What did you do that for?” Chance asks stiffly, wrinkling his nose.

    You attempt to look as innocent as possible. “Getting rid of the snow. I don’t like it.”

    Your excuse is actually partially true – you did want to get rid of the snow and clear a pathway, so you wouldn’t have to deal with the annoying sensation of frozen water against your paws. He just happened to be in the line of fire. Nothing more.

    Or rather, at the right place at the right time.

    “Sure you were…” Chance glowers, lowering himself into a crouch. With a calculated leap, he springs onto the snow-soaked railing, landing with practiced ease. He brushes off the excess snow from the railing with one paw, and you can’t help but be slightly envious of his reflexes and sense of balance.

    You’re better trained than he is though. Much better. There’s no contest between his abilities and yours. At least, that’s what you’re trying to tell yourself.

    Well, one thing’s for sure: at least you aren’t delusional.

    “Hey! You watching?”

    You nod your head.

    He really is serious about this flying-thing.

    “I just have to wait a minute until the wind picks up…”

    You shake your head a few times, your whole body wriggling along with you. You continue to watch Chance prepare for flight. His blue eyes are glued to the sky, like he’s lost in a daydream. Suddenly, he begins to lower himself against the railing, black-tipped ears flat against his head. His expression is completely serious.

    It’s then your conscience (or what remains of it) kicks in.

    Perhaps you should stop him from pursuing this stupid endeavor. He could get hurt from jumping off a one-story deck. Riley charged you to keep an eye on him, too. It would be a shame if they found him plastered on the snow-covered cement below.

    Of course… Riley told you to just watch him. She never said anything about physically stopping him from doing something utterly moronic.

    But then again, he’s a young Meowth, and obviously his parents never tried teaching him anything better. So it’s not his fault that he’s stuck with an unsound mind with eyes fixed on the sky above.

    (He’s looking about ready to jump, his back end quaking in anticipation. It’s now or never. Should you stop him?)


    He jumps, his whole body and soul poured into the one, single bound that lifts him up in the air and into the blue. You watch him as his body stretches, becoming little more than a silhouette against the sun.

    You run forward, head fixed on the feline figure’s every movement as he soars through the sky, almost like a bird –

    But as the great law of Gravity decrees: “What goes up, must come down.”

    —and with a loud, elated cry, Chance plummets to the ground below, landing with a hard, unsympathetic thud.

    Your head’s sticking out from in between the gaps in the railing. You watched the fall in its entirety, and you can’t help but wince. Even so, you can't stop the amused smile that comes to your muzzle.

    Cats really do land on their feet.


    You can't help but wonder if falling is what caused Chance's dementia in the first place as you watch him wobble up the stairs, snow covering his white fur and whiskers. You're waiting for him at the top, not doing anything to conceal your obvious amusement and triumph. With that fall, how could anyone think that they could fly?

    Chance reaches the top of the stairs, rapidly shaking himself, ridding his coat of any snow. You frown as a few flakes land on you, snorting.


    Chance grimaces, wincing as if in pain. He looks over his shoulder at nothing in particular. “I think I sprained my wing.”

    You nearly face-fault as the cat keeps looking back at his invisible appendage. You decide to put things simply and bluntly.

    “You didn't fly, you fell.” You pause a moment before adding in your driest tone: “Stupendously.”

    “I know that!” Chance says, looking very much displeased at the thought, but shrugs. “The wind wasn't that great, that's all. Couldn't hold me up.” He sticks out a pale pink tongue, looking up at the pale, robin’s egg sky, seeming deep in thought. “That happens a lot.”

    You have no doubt it does.


    Already, you've tried countless times to tell Chance that he can't fly; that it's physically impossible in every degree of the word, but the kitten refuses to listen to your infallible logic, preferring to prattle on about his silly fantasies without hardly taking a breath.

    Even though you're obviously not listening, Chance continues to ramble as you lay stretched out comfortably along the couch. You can't help wrinkle your nose in disgust as Chance begins to groom his non-existent wings once more, complaining of [phantom] wing pain.

    If he doesn't shut up soon, you'll give him something to really moan about.

    “Hey, Cal -”

    You flinch at the nickname - though what can you do? You're not about to tell him your real name anytime soon. “What?” you answer gruffly.

    “Were you given away, too?”

    Your head shifts only slightly from its position on a fluffy white pillow. It barely betrays your sudden interest. “Given away?”

    “Y'know… given away by humans. Without them giving stuff for you. My old masters got gold coins for my brothers and sisters, but they just gave me away. So, did they give you away?”

    “No…” you answer. “I was bought and taught by special humans. I was trained especially for the Police Force.” It seems like so long ago, now that you think about it, when you arrived at the Firebolt Training center, little but an excited, naïve puppy with a dream. You didn’t know what was waiting for you beyond the training center, but you were ready for whatever life decided to throw at you.

    A tiny flame of pride begins to burn inside your chest. You were special; you were a chosen; you were a Growlithe born and bred for the proud duty of serving alongside a human partner - Riley, in your case.

    “You're a police dog?” Chance says, his eyes going wide as saucers. “Then … is the girl human your …”

    “Partner?” you finish, grinning. “Yes.”

    “Oh… I thought so. The male human looked kind of gangly and weak… kind of like a rat or something.”

    Your grin extends into a very satisfied smirk. You can barely quell the rumble of laughter that threatens to escape your muzzle. Quickly, you turn your attention back to the pillow, your line of sight coming to rest on the hall that leads to the front door. Riley and the Rat'll be coming home soon.


    You make eye contact with him briefly.

    “You're lucky.”


    The next few days fly by without a care. Over those few days, you've gotten used to Chance, how exactly, you can't fathom. Maybe it was because of that day when you actually talked to him. You think it changed something about the way you thought of him. Granted, you still thing he's more than a little bit psychotic, and deep into the spectrum of weird and annoying, but you can stand him. Flight is now an everyday topic with him around. He watches the sky like his kind does mice.

    Four days from Christmas, you finally get up the courage to ask (because you weren't sure you wanted to know): “Why do you want to fly?”

    “Why do I like to fly?” he paused. That was not what you meant. “I just do.”

    “’Just do’ doesn't cut it.”

    “Well - I like it. It makes me feel calm and happy. When I'm there, I can do anything, y'know? Free. My brothers and sisters thought I was crazy, and my owners thought it too. They thought there was something wrong with me wanting to fly. It took awhile to learn, I'd go out and jump off of everything, and I'd hurt myself sometimes because the wind couldn't hold me up. Mom didn't like that. But even if I'd fall, I'd get back up again. Flying's worth the fall in the end. You should try it sometime.”

    To that, you replied with a dull, bored no.


    “You know, maybe you should take that cat to work with you,” the Rat suggests to Riley a day later over breakfast.

    You can barely keep yourself from choking on your dry dog food, gagging and gasping as you pull your muzzle out of your orange bowl, gulping down the last bits of food as you wheeze for breath. Chance looks up from his own bowl of Goldeen-shaped fare, looking hopeful and concerned at the same time.

    “I don't know…”

    Already, you are frantically trying to send a desperate message at the two humans. Don't even think about it! He would just get in the way!

    “What? Don't they allow you to have any other Pokémon besides Growlithe and Arcanine?”

    “There's nothing in the guidebook that says you have to use Growlithe -“ Already, you are rapidly shaking you head, a wheezy `no' accompanying it at regular intervals. The Rat, Riley, and Chance are giving you odd glances.

    “—Growlithes are just the standard,” Riley continues, shrugging. “Everyone uses them because they're loyal and dependable.”

    Ha! That's right. Loyal and dependable. Cats are anything but that. They'd rather sleep their butts off all day.

    “However -” Your thoughts of triumph falter ever so slightly. “—there have been instances when people have used something different. In fact, our head executive over the entire police force uses a Sneasel.”

    “Sneasel…” A pause. You glower. “Wait… I think I've seen it before. When I came to visit you in the office, I think I walked past it.” The Rat shakes his head. “If it wasn't a Pokémon, I could've sworn that thing yelled some profanity at me as I walked past.”

    Riley smiles, tossing a lock of brown hair out of her face. “Morana probably was. She speaks perfect English, you know.” She laughs, her voice full of mirth. “Just don't get on her bad side and I think you'll be all right.”


    The name rings a very familiar tune. You think you've caught a glimpse of her once or twice, but nothing substantive. You have heard a bit about her though. As far as your knowledge goes, they only tend to use her on the big, important missions. Most of the missions you cover rarely calls for another division's attention. Perhaps you should be glad of that. Sneasel, by nature, aren't usually the most friendly of creatures, and with those claws that could shiskabob anyone with ease, it's a wonder any human would want to train one.

    “I'll keep that in mind,” the Rat says, sounding a bit nervous as he takes a sip of his morning coffee. “… She's not going to be at the party tonight, is she?”


    Chance looks like he's wondering the same thing, lapping up his bowl of milk slowly with his long, rough tongue.

    “Probably not. I haven't seen her the last few years, though Lunara - the head executive - has always been there. I don't think the Sneasel's fond of parties. …That, or she was banned from the party, either one.”

    Ah. You remember now. The annual New Year's Eve party. How could you forget? It's always held once every year, on the day before New Year's Eve (due to the fact that most of the police force [including you and Riley] are on duty for pretty much all of New Year's Eve.)

    “Good. You going to take the Pokémon to it?”

    Riley nods. “I don't see why not. I always have - so does everybody else. I'll just have our faithful dog here watch the newcomer and make sure he doesn't get into any trouble.” She winks at you, reaching down from the chair and ruffling your white fur as you scowl. Lovely.

    Chance, however, looks excited at the prospect, springing onto Riley's lap with a happy yowl, his tail swishing happily.

    “Hear that, Cal? We get to go to a party!”

    Oh, you're just thrilled about it.
    Last edited: Aug 23, 2006
  2. Frost Nova

    Frost Nova The predator awaits.

    Yay, FIRST POST!!!

    I didn't mention how much I liked Loyalty, did I? It's so sweet of you to write a sequel to this, especially with your departed cat in mind. It's always hard getting on with life when a beloved pet dies: my twelve year old cat died a year ago, and it's still hard to remember him now.

    Back to reviewing the fic, you've just been amazing as usual. Chance was such a great character: his interactions with the protagonist may border sometimes on the unbelievable, but it's still very real in the same time. Hilarity and fun (I think I spelt it wrong) dominate the rest of Chance's personality. Reminds me of my new kitty. :)

    I like the way how well you kept up the Growlithe's POV from Loyalty. We, as the reader, get a really solid feel on how he behaves around his owner and the Rat (somehow I getting to dislike him more than in the first fic). Loving the pyromaniac scenes. That IS something your dog can NEVER do.

    Can't wait to see how the rest looks like. Take your time writing, and once again, great fic.

    EDIT: forgot to rate it. Now it's rated.
    Last edited: Jul 21, 2006
  3. Saffire Persian

    Saffire Persian Now you see me...

    Aww. ^^' Yeah, it's hard, but you get over it I suppose.

    Hilarity was spelt right. ^^ Yeah, he's very optimistic and happy-go-lucky, as kittens often are. XD Though I doubt many pursue his flying obsession.

    The poor Rat, he gets no love at all, does he? He's not that bad of a guy. XD... And yeah, he's still the same pyro he was. [/quote]

    Thanks for your review. ^^ It's very much appreciated.
  4. Sike Saner

    Sike Saner Peace to the Mountain

    XD A beautiful comparison.

    *LOUD snort* XDDDD

    XDDDD CUUUUUUUTE! You know, there are all the toys that money can buy out there for cats, but just give them some paper and they’re in absolute bliss. ^^


    o_O …Wow. XDDDDD

    XDDDD That’s so mean.




    And thus, they find common ground. ^^

    I loved the Growlithe character from Loyalty (that irresistible little pyro ^^), and so you'd better believe I was glad to see that dog make a return. AND I ADORE CHANCE. Oh man, what a memorable character...Plus, the authentic kittiness of the little guy is simply wonderful - that right there is my favorite thing about this story thus far.

    And I'm very curious about Morana, too. I'll definitely want to catch the rest of this. ^^
  5. Saffire, you didn't tell me you were going to post it so soon after I checked it. Huh, you didn't even PM me...
  6. Bay


    Hey Saffire Persian! Okay, here are some of my favorite parts in this first part of the story so far:

    Hehe, that's true! Beware of Santa Clause clones and women shoppers! XD

    You know, at the end of "Loyalty", I thought the Growlithe will like "the Rat". Boy, was I wrong! XD

    You can't burn Pokeballs? Aw man! XD

    (Lol) Oh my gosh, that has to be one of my favorite lines in this story so far! ^^;

    Aw, cute kitty cat! ^^

    XD Hm...I wonder how air tastes like! Hehe, that acutally reminds me of the time when one of my friends said that Bakers french fries tastes like air!

    XD Ouch, that gotta hurt the cat's feelings. Well, the Growlithe forget that cats can land on their feet!

    ...Okay, I was wrong. The Growlithe knew that cats can land on their feet!

    Anyways Saffire, I enjoyed this piece so far. Hehe, glad the Growlithe is back! Plus, I love Chance also! Aw, he reminds me of a Bagon! ^^

    Can't wait for the next part of the story!

    EDIT: Oh yeah, almost forgot: I love your banner for "Chance"! It's very cute! ^^

    ;134;~Good night, and good luck~
    Last edited: Jul 22, 2006
  7. One of the more humorous pieces I've ever read. Chances was hilarious. Not many grammar mechanics I can point out at this point.

    Good job.
  8. Astinus

    Astinus Well-Known Member

    You want those typos gone? You got it! *salutes*

    Forgot to use the "Shift" key! Capitalize it! *bashes typo with soapbox*

    Quite sure you mean "exhale", because it makes no sense to expel something by inhaling! XD *bashes typo with soapbox*

    Ya know, you never did tell us what was "pale pink"…

    Wrong "too" there. You need the two "o’s" *bashes typo with soapbox*

    I don’t think Chance’s back end is a duck. XD It’s "quaking", Saffire… *bashes typo with soapbox*

    I read "Loyalty" just before I read this, and I’m glad I did. This was a great piece of work from you. I could picture it all in my head. "Cal’s" reaction to the playful antics of Chance remind me of what was going on in my cat’s mind when I brought home my puppy!

    Besides which, you have a Meowth in your banner. I come running then. XD
  9. Praxiteles

    Praxiteles Friendly POKéMON.

    You really do love second person, don't you?

    Loyalty was a good fic, though I didn't think you liked the plot enough to make a sequel. Still, with this new developement, I'm sure the story is going to be very interesting.

    I liked the quote there; it gives a good foreshadowing for those who can read it, and it just seems to fit, overall. Chance is a very well made character with his past and that deep (if, rather, unorthodox) desire to fly and escape the world.

    Well, that's the way I see it.

    And of course, leaving sanity, I liked the bits of comedy. Like this:

    Fun. And these two, for sadistic resons:

    And a few typos:

    If only my noise was black and made stuff land on it...

    The apostrophe s just makes you sound like a n00b. It needs to die. The correct term would be "Growlithe".

    Puhas antiqa....
    Pyroken Serafoculus
  10. Saffire Persian

    Saffire Persian Now you see me...

    Sike Saner:

    XD... Yep. All it takes is a bit of paper and they're entertained.

    XD... I know... XD.. Bad dog!

    The sheer kittiness? Yeah, that was a favorite part of mine when writing the story. Having had three cats XD I've seen a lot of their antics. And the deck part was inspired by one of my own cats unwilling mishaps. Poor Belle never knew what hit her when my brother dropped her off our two story deck. XD... She landed on her feet, and rushed off, unharmed, but extremely miffed.

    And Morana's coming next chapter ^_~

    The Dark Evolution: Sorry. XD I'll PM you next time.

    Bay [/quote]

    Well, like and love are two very different things. IT's more like the Growlithe came to terms with our dear Riley's husband.

    XDXD.. Bagon.. good Darwin. XDXDXD Terrible, terrible imagery. If those two got together, chaos would reign supreme and strike terror in the world of men and Pokémon *dies*. XD..

    Thank you!

    Haruhi: Thanks! ^^

    Hanako: My favorite typo exterminator. *kills them all with said soapbox*

    ^^ I'm sure mine thought the same when we brought our dog home, too. And yeah, it helps to read "Loyalty" beforehand. It fleshes out a couple of characters, and helps with a few inside jokes that are on account of the last story. The next chapter in particular alludes to it. XD

    XD I come running whenever I see a Meowth in anything, too. Cute little things, thanks for the review!

    Pyroken :
    XD You have no idea.

    True, Loyalty is about my least favorite story I've written, but I liked the characters. I had a sequel planned that was totally different and more melancholy than this one, and it really was depressing, but then this idea came along some time before the Comedy Contest, and, as you can probably tell, it wasn't supposed to come out until Christmas... but Laughingstock changed its time of production. ^^.. Personally, I like this far better than Loyalty -- perhaps one of the few sequels that is better than the first.

    Thanks for pointing out those typos, too. They're dead now. Thanks for reviewing.. I so need to catch up on yours, with what you putting a new chapter out.
  11. blackemerald

    blackemerald Well-Known Member

    So, where can I start? Cal is still a fantastic character with his sarcastic comments and his uncontrollable pyromania. Although I would've thought he had patched up his differences with 'the rat' by now. Chance is something else, happy and springy just like a kitten even if his mind is a bit... damaged. In a way, the complete opposite to Cal (oh how I hate that name, mind if I call him Kindle?) and I can't wait to see what chaos and disorder is going to happen at the party. Maybe Chance jumping off an ice sculpture?

    Now, enter the quotes of comedic moments:

    And last but not least...

    A day what? A day to run? A day to skydive? The suspence is killing me!

  12. katiekitten

    katiekitten The Compromise


    Saffire has done it again. =D

    This is brilliant. =D Absolutely spectacular. Chance is so cute! *hugs him* and 'Cal' is as lovable as ever. XD

    You are deh queen of second person. *nodnod* XD You just write it so wonderfully, I don't even notice the time fly by. Spectacular! =D

    So many little chuckles there... XD Especially the 'restraining order' part. XD

    Keep up the good work! =D
    Last edited: Jul 26, 2006
  13. Saffire Persian

    Saffire Persian Now you see me...

    blackemerald: Hey! Long time no see. ^^

    Yeha, he kinda is Cal's foil. As for jumping off an ice sculpture, I'll say no... >.> Close guess though. Thank for reviewing, and yeah, you can call Cal Kindle if you want, as Cal's a nickname, his real name is unknown, so it very well could be Kindle, especially considering my "naming" themes of Growlithes in this story (Blaze...Ember...)

    THanks for your review! *goes to kill typo*

    Katiekitten: ^_^ Thanks! Hopefully I'll review your story too, sometime in the near future.
  14. Saffire Persian

    Saffire Persian Now you see me...

    Part II: Morana

    Babysitting never has been (and never will be) your greatest strongpoint. You've never been the kind of Growlithe just likes to sit there and do nothing. You're no guard dog, and frankly, you find your current assignment to be rather insulting. It hurts your pride to think you, a great and talented fighter, has been degraded to watching a cat chase his tail around the expansive, decorated halls.

    It is especially humiliating in front of your Growlithe teammates. Just hearing them snicker as they trot passed makes your blood boil. And if you hear “cute” one more time…

    Ugh. If you weren't so well behaved, you'd show them what for, but for now, you have a cat to watch.

    Your main mission is to keep him from doing anything stupid – which is a chore and a half in itself.

    Chance seems to have taken a fancy to spontaneously darting in between all the party guest’s legs, nearly tripping a great number of them, and the Humans themselves aren’t making your job any easier. There are way, way too many sparkling things in the room for Chance to try and pounce on. This includes (but is not limited to) people's jewelry, and heaven help it if a single golden coin is sticking out of a patron’s left pocket. You’ve been waiting to see him get a good, hard kick in the butt from one of the high-heeled woman because of his risky antics – the kind of women whose shoes could put a hole through somebody’s chest. But nooo, they think the little Chance is cute .

    Oh, pet the cat as he greedily paws at your anklet. Feed him when he jumps on your lap, begging for food.

    Why not just slap him and tell him he is a dirty little thief? Seriously, if it were a Linoone pick pocketing, they would have booted it to kingdom come.

    You eye Chance as he plays with another rich lady’s bracelet – one of the Police Headquarters’ secretary’s. This one doesn’t do anything to punish him either, petting his head as she lets him play with her jewel-studded bracelet.

    Just wait until Chance steals your whole set of diamonds, lady, then we’ll see who’s “cute”, you think with a snort.

    You peer around the room with a bored look on your face.

    You have to admit, this New Year's Eve party has certainly had a lot of work put into it. Every empty wall has been decorated to their full capacity, festooned head-to-toe with bright streamers and rainbow colored confetti. The dining room that you’re in is especially extravagant. Tables with food and drink are everywhere, and there's even a little fountain spitting out some kind of green liquid with a lemon smell. Punch, probably. It's disappearing like mad. There's even food catered especially to Pokémon on a few of the lower-set tables. You've never been one for huge parties such as this, full of chattering humans and Pokémon, but still, it's too bad you're too busy watching Chance to glean even an ounce of enjoyment out of it.

    “To marriage!” a loud, boisterous voice roars, catching your attention. The lion-voice is followed by several others, each sounding in equally good humor. Some are even hiccupping. You look up to see a few wide-rimmed glasses being raised, full of a dark red substance.

    “To Singles!

    “To Death!”

    “To Glory!”

    “To Paychecks!”

    “To Santa Clause!” A rather rotund fellow yells out, wobbling about like a Teeter Dancing Spinda. “Beat that!”

    The crowd around the gold table pauses. Some appear to be deep in thought, others just look confused.

    A man hiccups. “San’a doesn' even exist, you moron!” His acne-covered face suddenly blanks. “Umm... where was I? Eh? To Women!”

    “To Explosions!”

    A dreary, forlorn voice: “To the children I'll never have…”

    You cough once you recognize the pale figure that just spoke, the one who’s barely keeping his own glass aloft. It's the Rat. He’s still muttering something in a low, slurred tone, his head laying on his arms in a depressed fashion. It’s surprise his white shirt and black tie aren’t stained yet.

    “Did I hear you say something, Alex?”

    Riley appears out of nowhere, touching the Rat lightly on the shoulder, smirking. That is, before the Rat nearly trips over himself in attempts to turn around. It takes only seconds for her to deliver a venomous hawk-eyed glare over at the other men crowded around the table as she tries to steady her husband. “What have you done to my husband?”

    “Just gave `im somthin' to drink, ya?” says one of them, snickering.

    “Yeah, we told `im it was punch, didn't we, `arry?””

    “Yup. And `e fell for it. You obveeously hav't teached him much, eh, Riley?” a particularly ugly looking guy responds. You recognize him: he’s the janitor for the police force headquarter’s. Larry, that’s it.

    The look he's giving Riley is making you want to tear his arms off -- that, or bite him where it hurts. She can take care of herself; she’s already fixing Larry with a `try me' sort of look. He shrugs, going back to his drink with a gravelly laugh. He probably doesn't know she carries a gun with her at all times.

    (You’d very much like to see him find out.)

    “Hey, where's your little cat?”

    You spin around, startled. It's only Ember, one of the youngest (and most annoying) recruits. “What do you want?”

    “I wanted to know where your little kitty-kat went. I heard you were supposed to be babysitting a Meowth, so I came to see.”

    You growl, eyes darting frantically around for any sign of Chance. “None of your business.”

    “You lost him, didn't cha?” the Growlithe snickers, body shaking in mirth. “You lost him! You lost him!”

    (And when you find him you're going to kill him.)

    “You did! I can see it on your face!” Ember continues to taunt. “How are you supposed to watch a prisoner if you can't watch a mangy ca -“

    Ember doesn't have time to finish his sentence, as you bound forward, emitting a loud, angry Roar that sends the Growlithe fleeing fast in the other direction. You ignore the accusing stares that drift in your direction, black nose sniffing the ground. You easily pick up Chance's scent - it's unmistakable and strong.

    You follow the trail angrily, feet going from carpet to tile as you circle around the house, weaving through the crowd through and open doorway into a tiny room. The lights are completely off, and it takes a few seconds for your eyes to begin to adjust - but not before your nose runs into wood.

    You look up, blinking a few times. Your vision slowly clears. It's a door, just slightly ajar and wooden. It probably leads to a basement cellar. A strong odor that’s not quite cat is drifting from it -- in fact, it’s a mixture of strange scents, though they've coalesced with one another so much it's hard to distinguish.

    The only one sure thing is that Chance definitely went down there. …And so must you.


    The cellar’s completely dark, and it takes a while for your eyes to fully adjust to the sudden change in lighting. The floor's made of hard, cold cement and the mixture of strong smells in the air is making you sneeze. Cabinets full of glass bottles line the walls and middle of the room.


    The sound of breaking glass makes you jump, spinning about to the right where the noise originated. Slowly you creep forward. Rounding one of the wooden shelves, you spot a familiar white figure jump down from one of them, mumbling something indistinguishable. You see his pink tongue flick out, paws clutched protectively around a broken, sky colored glass bottle as he laps up the substance inside.

    In - out - in - out.

    It's then you make your presence known.

    “And what do you think you're doing?”

    Chance looks up, his eyes glowing eerily in the dark. He has the most idiotic grin you've ever seen plastered on his face. You bet it would even rival a Sunflora’s in terms of sheer stupidity. “Cal!” he yells, smiling a secret smile as he looks sneakily around the room. His voice fades to a low whisper. “I'm drinking.”

    “Give me that,” you growl, wresting the bottle out of Chance's possessive grip with your teeth. It has a picture of an Altaria on it, flying high amongst rainbow colored clouds. There’s human writing on it, but you can’t exactly read that.

    “You SHOULD try it!” Chance's voice says, fluctuating in loudness and tone at an alarming rate. He stands up, walking as if his legs have been completely jellified. The Meowth manages to spring up onto the top of the shelves, walking along it with less than his usual feline grace. “You can `ave that! I've had THAT kind before!”

    You slowly set the bottle down, sniffing it carefully. The berry-like smell is almost overwhelming to your olfactory sensors. It has another smell to it though - a hot, pungent odor that makes your nose itch. You're sure you've smelled it before but you can't put your paw on it.

    Another glass bottle shatters on the floor, and you can't restrain a nervous bark. Chance chirps with glee, already on the floor and lapping up the liquid quickly seeping from the broken container.

    Curiosity finally overthrows your caution and suspicion. You begin to lap up what's in your own bottle. You recoil at first at the strange, strong taste. It's not altogether unpleasant though. There's a definite berry flavor to it, with a touch of cool mint to offset the hot smell, but as you continue on nothing can stop you from draining the rest of the bottle's contents or pulling down another one from the shelves and consuming it with rapidly increasing greed.


    You are completely, absolutely drunk.

    …Not that you would know anything about that.

    Your mind has long since been locked into a prison of your own making, rattling on the steel bars in utter bewilderment. Many of your thoughts have been replaced with hazy confusion and all common sense has been thrown to the wind, perhaps never to return. After drinking down as many bottles of that sweet-bitter-mint-stuff as you did, it wouldn't be a surprise.

    Of course, you wouldn't know anything about that either, would you?

    No… you're still wondering how you managed to get outside. You don't remember ever leaving. A moment you were in that basement, the next…well, you were here. Lost, completely lost.

    The cold night air is chilled, and everywhere you go, silence reigns. Snow is softly falling from the star-struck heavens above, landing on the pavement with cat-like silence and prestige. Around you, the buildings are dark and dreary, all lights turned off with only a few flickering lamplights providing any sort of luminance.

    That brings to mind your second ever-fleeting question: Why the heck do the lights insist on swimming about like a school of bloodthirsty Sharpedo? It doesn't make sense; it's defying all sense of logic. Not to mention it's making you feel sick.

    ….It is pretty though.

    All the pretty lights swimming round-round-round-round-round…

    Even those thoughts are making you feel a bit sick. Pushing aside all those needless, sickly feelings though, your emotions are that of sheer, deluded happiness. You feel, despite all the confusion, like you're about to burst. You have never felt this… this… giddy in your entire life. It's a wonderful feeling!

    You want to leap!

    You want to bound!

    You want to sing!

    You want to jump and howl at the moon above like some kind of untrained savage!

    (…Now, where did that thought come from? Hmm…)

    Not a bad idea though.

    Yes, you think you just might do that.

    Even though your legs are almost refusing to cooperate with you, nearly tripping over your own paws at every step, you prepare yourself to leap. Your muscles tighten like an arrow waiting to fly, hackles rise in anticipation…

    …then you become aware of a strange, warm weight on your back. You shake yourself, priorities changing in a flash. You now want nothing more than get this strange mass off you. Pain, small and sharp, digs into your fur at the shake. You grimace, eyes rolling as you try to stop yourself from falling over.

    You manage to steady yourself, and you peer over your shoulder. You see three white cats clinging to your back, their claws digging painfully into your fur, sleeping. Your eyes focus and unfocus, and the forms waver. Wait - there's only one.

    Chance, something tells you.

    Are you supposed to know him?

    Yes, the voice says, insistently. It then adds, in a nasty, biting tone you do not like at all: idiot.

    Okay, so you know him.

    Now why is he on your back? You're not some beast of burden.

    You shrug, shaking your head madly. You shouldn't try to think, you'll probably end up hurting yourself. Just keep walking. You're bound to end up somewhere useful. You have a distinct feeling that you do indeed know where you are - but it's only a feeling, nothing more.

    “Eighty-seven Rattata in the grass, eighty-seven Rattata! Take one out, smack it around, eighty-six Rattata in the grass—”

    Your eyes tighten, ears twitching at the sound of the rough voice. You look behind you, hoping to catch some glimpse of whoever's singing. It was coming from behind you. You are sure of that.

    Suddenly, you collide into something cold and solid in front of you. Grunting, you recoil. Your eyes are spinning about like bowling pins as you try to regain equilibrium. Slowly, your eyes follow a path upwards. The body is a dark one, covered in some kind of short fur with long claws, scythe-like and lethal.

    “Watch where you're goin', you freakin' moron.”

    A growl, unbidden, rises in your throat. Automatically, you feel your whole body tense up. Fur rises at its ends. Something inside tells you that very few beings have gotten away with calling you that; you're just feeling too dizzy to do much of anything about it.

    “If you're thinking about growling at me, do me a freakin' favor and shut it. You ran into me, not the other way around. ”

    Your eyes finally come to the creature’s head. It's cat-like in appearance, with a definite, foreign look. A pair of pitch-dark sunglasses covers its eyes…


    Your heartbeat quickens to a frantic chatter. You know this Pokémon. You've seen this Sneasel before.


    You try to say it, but you find your mouth can't form the words. A rumble comes out, but nothing even close to being understandable.

    “Maybe if you let go of that freakin' bottle, you just might be able to speak halfway decent,” the Sneasel says, snorting in a half-annoyed, half-amused fashion, before adding nastily: “Just a suggestion.”

    You are suddenly painfully aware that there's an object in between your jaws. Something hard and slick. You try to look at it, but black stars swim in your eyes at the attempt and you give up, heeding the Sneasel's advice, and relinquishing the glass bottle to the ground. You let it roll across the sidewalk. The Sneasel is looking at you expectantly.

    “Morana,” is all you can say. Your jaws are incredibly stiff. On your back, the warm presence starts to stir.

    Morana's eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Am I supposed to know you or somethin'?” she says slowly. She pauses, staying silent for a few seconds before she snaps her paws, startling you with a sudden movement. “Wait! You're a police lapdog, aren't you? What's your name?”

    You open your mouth to speak, only to find you can't answer. You don't remember.

    “'s Cal!” the voice from your back answers for you, his voice pattern sounding like a badly turned piano. Chance is standing up on your back, wobbling a bit before tumbling off, the sidewalk breaking his fall. The Sneasel only gives the Meowth a passing, jaded glance.

    That name seems to spark something in your memory, and you reply, growling adamantly: “I'm not Cal.” You remain blissfully unaware how strange and slurred your voice sounds. However, Morana picks it up, eying you with a sudden suspicion. Her eyes, hidden by the black shades, dart over to where the bottle is, before picking it up with her paws.

    “Altaria Wine –” she reads, “the secret, splendid mixture of spirits popular ever since 1548. Drink freely. Unchain your majestic spirit and allow yourself to find release and soar to Cloud Nine and beyond…” She stops, looking incredibly disgusted. Her sideways glance meets yours. “You and your little cat are freakin' drunk aren't ya?”

    You don't answer, not quite knowing how to respond. Meanwhile, Chance is already up and at it, having revived from his drowsiness rather quickly. His current obsession seems to be pouncing on snowflakes from behind you, missing most of them. He's apparently bored listening to the rather one-sided conversation.

    Out of nowhere, Chance suddenly performs a gallant leap that sends him headfirst into a lamppost. He slumps to the ground, stunned. Morana's eyebrows twitch. You **** your head, and decide that that white cat is really stupid. You would never do something like that.

    You turn your attention back to Morana, blinking a few times as your vision becomes slightly hazy. You shake your head.

    “Ha! I thought so,” is all she says, a smirk darting quickly across her ebony face. She tosses the glass wantonly over her shoulder. It lands into the ditch, rolling. “I go out patrolling for drunk humans `cause they don't want me at the party, and instead I find drunk Pokémon, what are the odds?”

    You smile, the sudden anger you felt towards the Sneasel starting to fade away, replaced by that unnatural happiness again.

    “Let's see… acts of stupidity… You're not that one they call Blaze, are ya?” Why do you suddenly feel insulted? You don't answer - nor do you have time to. Morana quickly picks up where she left off. “Naa, too skinny. Lesse - Ember? No? Wait! Wait, I've freakin' got it! You're Riley's partner aren't you?”

    The mere mention of Riley's name makes your ears perk up. A strange sense of pride fills up your body like running water into a glass. It's almost overflowing.

    “Oh - that makes a lot of freakin' sense, lemme tell ya. I can see it now; don't know why I didn't before. You're that freakin' moron of a Growlithe that almost became road kill six months ago, because ‘e forgot to look both ways before crossin' the street. You had to be saved by a stick figure of a human, too. Heh - I was hearin' about that for weeks. And now lookit you – drunk just like one of those Spinda. How I wish I could put those things out of their miseries.” She takes a breath that rattles in her throat. “Well, them and humans. Their existence makes no freakin' sense, and the greater part of their population ends up killing themselves someway or another … that is –” she smiles evilly, apparently enjoying the next train of thought. “—if something else doesn't kill'em first. That's always interesting to see, lemme tell ya. It's why I'm in the `good guy' job. Breakin' down doors n' figuring out homicides, that’s the life.”

    You listen to Morana's continuous tirade. She seems content with monologuing to herself (you aren't exactly paying full attention). The Sneasel herself has broken into a fit of mad cackles over something you don't get.

    “I've got to give it to you though,” once again, she has your attention, “for being drunk, you haven't done anythin' stupid yet. By now, a human would've done somethin', like run away or try to attack me with a knife –” she looks at her long claws, snickering at some fond memory “--or… doing something along the lines of what your kitty friend is doing.”

    You spin around, and to your growing horror (and amazement) you realize Chance is attempting to scale the nearest lamppost, his claws finding whatever purchase he can. He's doing pretty well, his posture rigid and determined.

    “He’s doin’ it just like humans do. You should watch `em try sometime, it's the most hilarious thing to watch. They scurry up the poles like roaches. Most of them fall flat on their backs in the first five seconds. Though - and here's the thing - some of them actually have a bit of monkey still left in `em. They climb right up those polls without any trouble at all - dunno how, but they do.”

    You blink in shock at Morana's statement. A sudden, clear thought comes to you, floating amidst the junk floating around your mind. “You watch them?”

    Shouldn't she be stopping them?

    “Oh yeah. I don't save other humans from their own stupidity, Watchdog. If they want to be a monkey, then I let them. `S not my business. It's when they go unconscious from falling or jumping that's my business.”

    You stare down at the ground. Thinking - thinking about nothing. Somehow, you being here is feeling decidedly strange, and now that you're not moving, you're starting to feel sleepy -

    “'ey, Watchdog,” again, the Sneasel's screechy voice brings you back to some semblance of reality, “your Meowth friend wouldn't happen to be one of those freakin' jumping types, now, would he?”

    Your head snaps upwards as you collapse onto your haunches. Chance seems to have made it to the top, already walking over to where the dim light fixture extends over the sidewalk. He's assuming an eerily familiar stance, body to the ground, posterior swaying…

    “Well, looks like he's goin' to jump. Most humans don't usually make it that far, though some do. This should be interesting.”


    “Y'see, most humans get cold feet after climbin' all the way up there, but a few - you know, the kind of people who are really stupid, have a lot of guts, have a death wish, got extremely drunk, or’ve just got cheated on by their girlfriends – those are the ones that to go out with a bang!” She accentuates her meaning with a swift punch - though she stops in mid-action, tilting her head. “Well, it's technically more a loud thud, but still…”

    “GO! SEE! I'm flying!” comes the joyous cry, tearing through the night air with a fiery, exuberant passion.

    Morana whistles, looking impressed. “Haven't had anybody who was so delusional they thought they could freakin' fly though. But they basically do the same things he just did...” Her head follows Chance's quick descent as he drops like a wounded bird. He lands hard on the cement, feet first, crumbling to the floor.

    Out of instinct, you run over to his side (teetering all along the way). As far as you're drunken mind is concerned, that was one of the most amazing spectacles you've ever seen! Something in the corner of your mind is telling you that you should've at least told him he couldn't fly.

    You're at his side now. Chance's eyes are closed, though you can see the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. He looks extremely content for a Pokémon who's just had a less than pleasant fall. Morana's keen eyes dart up and down the Meowth's body, no doubt looking for signs of broken bones or abrasions. “Unlike humans,” she continues, “we Pokémon are a lot stronger than they are, so your friend pretty much got away with nothin' but a few bad bruises that he'll definitely feel in the mornin'. Humans though, they're not so lucky. Most of `em never get up again. We usually have to peel them off the cement with a spatula.” She smiles that disturbing smile again. “Tragedy, ain't it, watchdog? We-hell, time to get movin', I suppose.”

    You nod. (What are you nodding at?)

    Morana carefully lifts Chance off the ground, throwing him over her shoulder with obvious ease. She begins to walk away, and with less than perfect elegance, you follow her. Across the street you walk, coming to the other side. You can guess that Morana's keeping tabs behind those darkened glasses. She makes her way around a brick building. You do too, head down, watching your paws.

    Suddenly, you hit something metal with the center of your head. Your vision swims, blotched with black circles. You're only vaguely aware of a dull throb is beginning to rise from the center of your head before everything goes black.
    Last edited: Aug 10, 2006
  15. Again, you didn't PM me. Have to admit this though... this one was really, REALLY funny. *dies from laughter* ... Growlithe and Meowth got drunk!!
    Btw Saffy, you double posted.
  16. Saffire Persian

    Saffire Persian Now you see me...

    I can double post when I'm posting new content. XD And second, I posted the chapter like.. a minute ago. XD
  17. Bay


    Hey Saffire! Hehe, I liked this part. Okay, some highlights:

    Oh, come on! Chance is actually cute! Ah oh…(Runs away before the Growlithe will bite me) XD

    Well, if Chance comes and looks at my jewelry…I will say he’s cute also! ^^;

    XDDD Oh my gosh, I loved that part! Hehe, Santa Clause!

    Oh my gosh, both Chance and the Growlithe are drunk! XD Urgh, I was originally about to put one of my characters, from my contest entry, drunk, but decided to not put that.

    Yes, Morana is here! Hehe, and I like her character too throughout the last part here! She has some attitude! XD

    Hehe, I said this already to Ches and I will say it again: I hate those Spindas! ^^

    Bolded part is supposed to be “your”. Yeah, a typo.

    Again, great part. Well, can’t wait for the next part to be posted!
    Last edited: Aug 1, 2006
  18. Draco Malfoy

    Draco Malfoy -REaction

    I decided to check out the story that got First Prize in the Laughingstock Comedy One-Shot Contest. I see why. This is really good. The characters, especially Chance, are so huggable that it's not funny. Actually, this story is meant to be funny so oh well. The Conventions (Grammar, Spelling etc.) were fine, the descriptions were great and the humour you ask? EXCELLENT! Oh ho ho ho ho! XD Yeah to drunken characters! Pity I couldn't do that; people will think it's unorthodox to describe lovey-dovey preteens getting drunk, especially if it was on sugar which I was planning to do! Go Chance and the Growlithe! XD. Hooray to Morana and the Santa Clause Theme! And HOORAY to Saffire Persian for writing such an entertaining story! Hooray! Hooray!

    P.S.: Now that I reviewed your Laughingstock Entry, could you review mine? It got Third Prize and it's title is Of Hullabaloo Galore and Wacky Festivities: The Encore Edition. Yes, it's the Encore Edition; I decided to edit the story a bit more after the Judges' Comments and add more bits and pieces! Plus people wanted an Encore so here it is! HOORAY to Chance! HOORAY! HOORAY! HOORAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!

    I got to stop that. XD I'm on a sugar high rampage right now. Sorry for any incovenience.
  19. Hahahabvc87

    Hahahabvc87 Always watching...

    :) Well, I've only read the second chapter so far, and I'll catch up on the rest in a while. For now, It's time to post my thoughts!

    Saffire, you're the only pokemon fanfic author I know so far who writes in second person regularly. Refreshing perspective, to say the least!

    And now, for some highlights!
    LAWL, that's exactly how my cousin feels when he watches his younger brothers mess around the house. :p They never seem to get into deep trouble though, and I can just imagine his jealousy everytime they do it!

    Oooooo, a punch fountain! Never seen one of those... must be a really fancy party to have one!

    This part is my personal favourite so far! Paychecks? Santa Clause?? Explosions??? None-existent children???? 0_o
    Man, people are wierd when they're drunk...

    Ahh... the winter nightlife. Beautifully portrayed, no doubt!

    Urp... Where's the nearest toilet?

    Or did the metal hit you? Guess we'll only know when the next chapter rolls along...

    Too many quotes from Morana to post here, but I definitely like her now ^_^;;

    And now, I will expose some typos with my flashlight! Although it does seem strange that they get darker when shone upon... o_0
    The enjoyment of bashing them in goes to you though. :p

    Excuse me, what are you trying to say? Perhaps "which is half a chore in itself" would be more understandable, though it still sounds confusing...

    And also the one Bay pointed out!

    Judging from the short time frame between the chapters, I' guessing that the next chapter will roll around next week, or the week after that. Am I right? Can't wait for it!!

    By the way, the link to "Metamorphosis" in your signature has been messed up...
  20. Sike Saner

    Sike Saner Peace to the Mountain

    Holy infranities...Pokémon + booze = magic, pure magic. XD And also, I just love Morana's personality and manner of speaking. Especially amusing is her enjoyment of watching drunken humans doing stupid and/or unfortunate things - I wonder if she'd like America's Funniest Home Videos, what with the clips of people falling off tables, getting hit in the groin, etc. XD


    XD That Growlithe is just sadistic enough for me to find irresistible.

    That line made me laugh. XD

    …Wow. XD Of course, if you ask me, someone actually did beat that:

    That just pwns. XDDDDDD

    XD The Growlithe is trained to use lethal force, it would seem. At least, on the male species. XPPPPP

    Again, that sweet sadism. ^^


    Very amusing song. XDDDD

    Morana says the delightful sort of things that make a person just so effing easy to like. ^^

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