JX Valentine
Ever-Discordant
And now for something completely different!
Thank you for your patience, everyone! Below each section is a spoiler tag with the author's name; if you want to try to guess who wrote what, don't reveal the spoilers until you've made your guesses and then see how you did! The authors in the freeform Exquisite Corpse were (in random order):
Victorian Rush
Sike Saner
PhalanxSigil
Psychic
Kutie Pie
Dramatic Melody
Omegagoldfish
The Teller
Shattersoul
bobandbill
American--Pi
DeliriousAbsol
Poetry
Dragonfree
JFought
Feel free to comment on the resulting story, but keep in mind that critical reviews of the sort you might post on a regular fic don't really make sense here - this was a game, not a serious fanfic, so it's not the place for grammar or plot nitpicks! Now, without further ado!
The emolga trotted towards the little cafe with a basket clasped between her paws, the apples inside it wobbling precariously as they toyed with the idea of leaping to the floor and rolling away into the roadside bushes. Emolga wasn’t necessarily worried about this as she was more focused on her daydream about the upcoming party. It wouldn’t be long now until all the little villages around Lively Town would be joining together for the biggest party of the year.
The little bell above the door tinkled cheerfully as she strutted inside, and one apple fulfilled its promise to hit the floor and roll away ahead of her, stopping at the foot of a busy spinda. He looked back at the door and rushed towards her, steadying the basket and helping to place it on the round table.
“Think we have enough?” she asked.
“We have plenty of apples,” he said. “But we need to remember there’ll be around two hundred pokemon arriving tomorrow.”
“I can’t believe Ampharos is turning fifty!” Emolga clapped her paws together. “He looks so young!”
“I know, yet he’s been here longer than I have!”
Emolga retrieved the apple from the floor and rubbed it on her chest fur before placing it on top of the baskets. All the apples took this as a cue to roll from the table and cascade in a red and green river throughout the cafe.
The door promptly opened and a dedenne stood blinking a pair of wide eyes as he stared, aghast, at the flood of apples.
“I commend your efforts,” he said, “but I’m fairly sure we said ‘no ball pits’.”
He hopped past Emolga as she rushed around gathering the apples and placing them back into the basket.
“What brings you here?” Spinda asked as he stopped the mountain of apples from tumbling down once more.
“Nothing major. I Just wanted to let you know Ampharos has come down with a spot of a cold.”
Spinda wobbled with the shock, knocking into the table. Emolga let out a squeal as she found herself buried in a heap of falling fruit.
“He’s still coming to the party, right?” Spinda asked. “I mean… we’ve been cooking all day!”
A little voice spoke up from the kitchen, “Does that mean there’s more cake for me?”
“Don’t touch that cake, Swirlix!” Spinda warned without looking back.
Dedenne closed his eyes and nodded. “Don’t you worry. Ampharos said he wouldn’t miss the party even if his leg fell off. He’ll be here.”
A small beep echoed through the air, bringing the cafe into silence, save for the patter of the last few falling apples.
“Yes?” Dedenne looked up at the ceiling and stood in silence, his eyes widening slowly as he listened to some unheard conversation. Finally, he looked back at the two pokemon and cleared his throat. “Yeh, he’s not going to be here.”
Emolga and Spinda looked at each other, their hearts sinking. He wasn’t coming to his own party?!
---
An audible hush falls over the crowd, whom had just now gathered and formed around me. I am speaking now. Everybody else in the room were completely flabbergasted that He wasn't planning on attending his own surprise party that He had nothing to do with and knew nothing about. If He HAD known about it, the cabal of ambivalent aliens from beyond the ozone layer would see to it otherwise.
"There's only one surefire way to make sure He comes to the party without KNOWING that there's a party going on," said It.
It was speaking crazy talk, and we all knew it. It couldn't be done. But maybe the fate of the world might rest with us pulling it off.
"What you speak of is partaking in the impossible, It," exclaimed She. "We couldn't possibly pull it off."
"We'll have to gather everyone in the surrounding states, explain the situation in as vague a way as possible, and raid the shop for supplies," explained It.
And so It, She, Us, We, He's sister Her, Them, Nosotras, and I piled into the blindingly gothic clown car and raced towards the next state over, desperate to start the world's biggest conga line.
Along the way, we encountered a moose. Or maybe a Stantler. Honestly, it's so hard to tell when the Pokémon world bleeds into our own dimension. We tried to ram into it, but our attack missed, despite having a 95% accuracy rate. Her turned the car around, her pride not allowing this grievance to pass. The rest of us chanted for her victory, but then the moose ran away. No one decided to speak of the event in the near future.
We finally made it to the next state over and went and found the mayor's office. We barged in like a bunch of lunatics.
"Mr. or Mrs. Mayor, this is It, she is She, he is Us, she is We, this is He's sister Her, they are Them, the Hispanic is Nosotras, and I am I, and we demand that you lend us all of your people for the world's biggest conga line in order to lure He to the house, or the world will be destroyed!"
---
“So...I must be the walrus, then,” the mayor responded.
The conspirators looked at them in pure and utter shock. Here they were, giving the mayor the simplest, most bare-bones summary of how they planned to save the world, let alone the Cosmos, they could even attempt to produce, and they just. Didn’t. Get it. How could they be so blatantly oblivious to the state of the universe that they would decide, “Hey, let’s make jokes about the apocalypse.”
“I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation, Mr. or Ms. Mayor,” I exclaimed.
“And I don’t think you understand how high you just sounded,” the mayor jovially responded. “I honestly just thought you were butchering the lyrics of a Beatles classic. ‘~I am he as you are-’”
“Enough of this nonsense, Mr. or Ms. Mayor!” I snapped, bounding up to them. I then slapped the mayor as hard as I could, trying to knock some semblance of sense into them.
Clearly it wasn’t enough, as they merely laughed it off and proceeded to leisurely walk to the window while twirling their thick purple mustache.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard in your clearly addled state, but the world is perfectly happy right now. The last time I looked out my window, which was earlier this afternoon, in fact, the weather was great, the birds were chirping, and the view was generally great.” They moved the drapes to the side of the window to get a good look at that same view.
The scene out of their window was pure chaos. Fires were spreading across the buildings to either side of the street near the window. People were screaming, running around like chickens with their heads cut off, and generally acting as though it were the end of the world as they knew it. Off in the distance, the faint echoes of the roar of a giant beast echoed over the sounds of windows being smashed, car alarms blaring, and other aspects of sheer destruction.
“Do you see the kind of destruction He can cause?” I said, rushing toward the mayor again. “If we do not stop He, then the craziness you see before you will spread into infinity, snuffing out not only all life in the Cosmos, but even the inanimate stuff, and we can’t afford to lose either. We must construct the conga line immediately so that-”
“Sssshhhhh,” whispered the mayor, placing their finger on their trespasser’s mouth. “I’m enjoying the lovely view.” They opened the window and took a whiff of the burning air, almost like they were, ironically, taking a drag of...something.
“Aaaaahhhh, what a lovely day,” they said as the drapes caught fire.
---
Their words echoed in my head. They just wouldn’t stop. They never did stop, really, They haunted my mind when I was on the bus, and when I was trying to sleep. But they had to stop sometime. They had to.
Every day was a lovely day according to them, regardless of the weather forecast. It could be howling winds and tornados blowing stray cats out of the city, complete with power outages and a leaking ceiling in our office, and she’s still remark that it was a ‘lovely day’. And every statement they made came with that utterly annoying exclamation of ‘Aaaaahhhh’.
‘Aaaaahhhh, how are you?’
‘Aaaaahhhh, why aren’t these done yet?’
‘Aaaaahhhh, where is my brain?’
They were the worst boss ever.
Satisfied that the fire was going steadily, I moved to the kitchen. It may take a while for it to spread, after all, so there was time yet continue my plan. I swung some of the cabinet doors open and eyed the perfectly white plates and bowls. I picked one up and hurled it at the floor. It shattered in a most satisfying way. A second, then a third joined it. The floor is soon covered in shards of white.
“Aaaaah, not so perfect anymore,” I said in my best possible impersonation. A giggled escaped from my lips.
Then I eyed the jars neatly lined up by the window. I stepped over to them, as the plates crunched under my shoes. Some were collections of herbs and spices. Among them were two jars of fine, white grains, one labeled ‘Salt’ and the other ‘Sugar’. Besides those labels however, the jars were identical.
I giggled again, before I grabbed the two containers and swapped the lids. Now the tea and the dinner wouldn’t be perfect either. I mixed the other contents together, and then threw them into the bin for good measure.
I went back to the previous room. The flames were growing, and some had spread to the sofa. The ceiling was now covered in ugly grey smoke. I grinned.
Suddenly a shrill beeping sounded from near the entrance. I sighed. It must be the smoke alarm. I made my way toward a room adjacent to the hallway leading to the front door. and confirmed my suspicions. The grey circular attachment blared accusingly at me, as a bright red light flashed like a strobe light. It was annoyingly too high up to reach.
I resisted the urge to cover my ears from the screeching and looked around for a chair nearby to stand on. None were in the room. Who the heck didn’t have a broom? The boss was completely crazy. I then spied a broom, and so grabbed that and whacked the alarm a few times until it came crashing down. It started to beep again, so I smashed it some more until it stopped, and yet again for good measure.
“‘Aaaaahhhh, what are you doing?”
I looked up, but I didn’t need to confirm the realisation with my eyes - it was my boss.
---
“I don't want to talk to you,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed on the computer screen in defiance.
“Just five minutes, that's all I ask.”
“No.”
“Come on Jennifer, be reasonable,” he pleaded quietly.
“Reasonable?” I said incredulously. “Reasonable? Ohh no, ‘reasonable’ went out of the window half an hour ago when you threw me under the bus in that stupid meeting. I don't care what Dan says, you've never cared about me - about any of us for that matter - just yourself and your bloody reputation, right? Right?”
He said nothing, but stared at the floor like a schoolboy being reprimanded and I felt a quick heady swoop of adrenaline. I waited for a few seconds, but he didn't respond.
“Ok, fine. Well you know what? That's it. I'm done. You can take this job and shove it. I've got nothing to say to you anymore.” I stood up, hastily grabbing my jacket and my bag. “I'm leaving,” I said pointedly as I swept past him and towards the exit.
I heard him half-heartedly call out my name but managed to resist the temptation to look back as I stepped into the elevator and jabbed the button. My heart was pumping and adrenaline was flowing through my body, only too quickly to be replaced by a sinking feeling of dread and panic as I realised the full extent of what I'd done. My job, my career - as much as I hated working here, what would I do without the money? I tried to cast my mind back to the last time I could even bear to open my bank statement. No, I thought to myself, this wasn't something I wanted to deal with right now. The only thing I wanted was to get out of there, and fast.
The lift doors opened and I stepped out into the sunlit lobby, blinking in the light. I stopped for a while beside the weighed up my options. I could either take the sensible, adult option and return to the office and try to both grovel and plead in an effort to salvage what I could from the wreckage - or, alternatively, I could go to Hanson’s around the corner and stuff my face with burgers in the hope that the problem would eventually go away.
In my mind, there was no question about it. To hell with the consequences: I was going to have my burger and eat it - or at least, that was the plan.
---
Keeping the squirrel in his sights, the Hamburglar remained still behind the tree, the rope clenched in his fist and buckets of sweat pouring down his face. “C'mon, c'mon,” he whispered hurriedly, digging in his heels. “Get closer, you furry bastard.”
This was his life, he realized too little, too late. Getting revenge on a squirrel for stealing his well-deserved treasure wasn't something he had in mind, but it was just asking for it. Not that he wasn't blaming himself for leaving it out in the open, just how was he supposed to know one of the cursed thieves was in the area? How was he to know one of them had a hankering for hamburger and could steal one whole to stash away for the winter? How was he, a lowly burger thief with no more than a high school education, supposed to think ahead and prepare for such an unlikely occurrence?
Then again, he asked himself that question quite often. Not just about squirrels, but about everything that life happened to throw at him. It was like some omnipotent hamburger god knew where to plant his sesame seeds to tip the scale in his favor and sat back on his golden, greased-up buns to watch it play out.
If that hamburger god was a redhead clown who was surrounded by his screaming cherubs shaking their cheap plastic toys about as if they were instruments, and their voices were raised in praise to him. Stupid Ronald ascending to a higher plane of existence while his so-called “friends” were left to rot in the back of an alleyway. All because he was chummy with Colonel Sanders for having a mutual disliking for the Burger King.
Whatever did happen to Colonel Sanders, anyway? the Hamburglar couldn't help thinking as the squirrel sniffed at the cage.
---
Said squirrel sniffed at the lock, then leaned back. For a moment, they just stared into the keyhole, as if deep in thought. Then they produced a jagged wire from their fluffy tail fur.
The Hamburglar, of course, couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Was he really being rescued by a small woodland animal?
Before he had much longer to think about it, the squirrel finished picking the lock and swung the door open with a creak. “Come on,” they said, “let’s move it! The King’s cronies could show up at any moment now!”
The Hamburglar started to emerge, but paused. He’d seen some strange, strange things in his life. His friends--or whatever they were--were a clown, a talking bird, and… whatever the hell Grimace was supposed to be. A sapient gumdrop, he supposed, though not at the moment. No, the Hamburglar had much more pressing matters on his mind than anything to do with Grimace.
“...How can I understand you when all you’re doing is making a bunch of squirrel noises?”
“The same way I can understand you even though you’re really just saying ‘robble robble robble’ over and over again,” the squirrel answered, rodenty little hands on hips.
The Hamburglar had nothing to say to that.
“Now for the last hecking time, come on!” They grabbed hold of the Hamburglar’s sleeve by their teeth and started tugging. The Hamburglar, no longer preoccupied with silly questions, took the hint and finally got out of the cage.
With no further delay, the squirrel took off at a run, leaving the Hamburglar struggling to catch up. He followed the rodent through well-lit corridors, grateful to be sure for their help, but growing more and more confused all the same.
“Who are you, anyway?” he asked, half-panting; followed by, “Oof!” Or some robbly equivalent thereof, anyway. He’d just collided with a trashcan, knocking it over with an echoing clang. He’d been so busy watching the squirrel that he hadn’t even seen it despite what was, again, thoroughly adequate lighting.
“Watch it!” the squirrel hissed, their tail flicking in agitation. “We’re never gonna make it to the Gatepoint if you alert every gosh darned guard in this entire compound!”
After bothering to set the trashcan back upright for some reason, the Hamburglar brushed himself off and huffed at the squirrel. He seriously doubted he’d alert every guard. Maybe like 80% of them, but not all of them.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he pointed out once the two of them were on the move again. “Who are you? Did the Colonel send you?” Wouldn’t that just be it all. Out of the hands of one rival gang and into the greasy, chicken-scented mitts of another.
“Only colonels I deal with are popcorn. Anyway, the name’s Vit-Vit. Vit-Vit the Cat-Dodger. Not that that’s gonna matter for long…”
“Huh?” Before the Hamburglar could articulate his confusion beyond that, Vit-Vit disappeared around another corner. He hurried after them--and into a throne room. At the end of a long, dark red carpet, none other than the Burger King himself sat, his frozen features smiling at the new arrivals.
“Aww robble…”
“Now, now. No need for that kind of language,” Vit-Vit chided the Hamburglar. “We’re right exactly where we need to be. Hwaaa!”
At the squirrel’s battle cry, the elite Chicken Fry guards flanking the throne brandished their spears and charged the intruders. The Hamburglar stood paralysed with terror, expecting to be skewered any moment, hardly noticing the small, furry weight that landed on his hat.
Then the guards, the King, and everything else ceased to matter.
Suddenly the Hamburglar could see beyond them. Beyond reality itself. His eyes, as well as Vit-Vit’s, glowed a piercing white as he held his hands out before him, a portal shimmering between his palms. Through it, a peaceful-looking forest was visible… for about two seconds. A forest positively swarming with chittering, sparking pachirisu and emolga swiftly replaced it.
Lightning flashed and crackled as the pokésquirrel army surged out of the portal. The Burger King, meanwhile, couldn’t do a damn thing but stare. And of course he couldn’t. It’s not like the King had a real face or anything.
---
The King had no face? I’m not sure if this made it easier or harder to find him.
Well, I got back to looking, starting with my cat. As it had a face, I decided it was not the King. After wandering around my home, I remembered that there was a back alley plastic surgeon a few miles away.
A few hours later I reached his normal spot. Garbage was shifted around to make a crude wall that he slept behind, and a battered desk stood, with him behind it. He was wearing his only clothes, a torn wool coat, white underpants, and nothing else.
“Have you heard of someone named The King?” I asked.
“Elvis?” The man responded.
“No, this one doesn’t have a face, Mike, I know you failed high school, but come on!”
“So, Elvis then? Elvis Presley?”
Sighing, I left him as a tall, thin man passed me, I looked closely, and he had a face. I returned to my house.
After giving my cat some drugs and laughing as it went insane, I googled The King. I got a message from someone on my phone three seconds later.
“Are you part of the Cult of the King?” I asked.
“No, I’m Mike. I stole some guy’s phone. Elvis died on a toilet. I found that funny. Ha.”
I hung up on him before realizing that it was a clue. Through a process known as deus ex machina or contrived circumstance, I realized that the King must live in a sewer. So I tried to flush myself down the toilet, my drugged cat staring at me. After the plumber dragged me out, some nice people threw me into a padded cell, next to some guy who cut off his face.
I turned to him and asked if he was the King.
---
He laughed. “No, not quite. I get that a lot, though.”
The bartender added his own remark: “Don’t get why. If you were king, you’d be able to pay off that tab you still have hanging over ya.”
The man chuckled a little more. “I’ll get to that once I strike it rich and find that treasure.” He jumped out of his seat with as much poise as one doing such an act could muster, and promptly left.
The bartender shook his head. “Ya said that last time too.…”
I couldn’t help but be stricken curious by the mentioning of treasure. I began my investigation cautiously. “So who was he?”
“That man goes by the name of Elgo, and he’s a fool.” Judging from the faraway look in his eyes, I could tell this might take some time. “Elgo is one of them treasure hunting types. Always looking for some old tomb or somethin’ to make a quick buck off of. Every time he finds somethin’ new, he goes and blows it all on fancy clothes and whatnot. Meanwhile, he still hasn’t bothered to pay me back for all he’s drank here.” A sigh. “Right now he’s lookin’ for some treasure called the ‘Pearl of Memory.’ Supposedly it’ll net him enough to pay me back and still have enough left over. He finally found it’s location yesterday; came by here for one last drink before he goes.”
“By any chance did he tell you where it is?” I inquired.
“Don’t tell you’re one of those gold-seeking loons too.” The bartender shook his head again, something he seemed to do often. But then, he lit up. “How about this, I tell you where it is, and if you can get it, we’ll split the profits. I know for certain that Elgo doesn’t plan on paying me anything anytime soon. How about it?”
I considered the offer. If the tab was as large as the bartender suggested, and this pearl could pay it off and more, than half of its worth would still be quite formidable. I didn’t have a need for that much money anyway, so half should be enough. “Deal.” I decided.
“Okay, lean in close so I can tell you.” I did as instructed. He whispered: “There’s a cave not too far down west with a large boulder surrounded by many glowin’ stones, you can’t miss it. Elgo said that, according to legend, the Pearl of Memory is located in a cave filled with em’, and that such rare stones only appear in large quantities. If I were you, I’d get going now before he gets it first.”
I gave him my thanks, and after being given a short reminder to come back and share the loot, I left.
~~~
The cave was dark at first, but I could make out a faint glow from deeper inside. Making my way over, I discovered that what the barkeep said was true: the cave was full of glowing blue stones, which filled the room with a faint blue light. Said room was very large, with a ceiling perhaps two stories high, and otherwise big enough to contain a deep pool of water illuminated by these stones. Surprisingly, no Pokémon were to be found; I was the only one in the cave, as far as I could tell.
Before continuing, I stopped to think. This cave was marked on the map, and yet it contained an untouched treasure? Apparently it wasn’t commonly known what the treasure was: my investigation in the town earlier found that many knew of the cave and that there was some special artifact that made the cave glow, though not a single person could say what it was. On top of that, many had supposedly gone into here before to seek this treasure, though all returned empty-handed. No traps, no disappearances, no findings. Nothing. The treasure must be well hidden to have turned back so many without the mention of a single defense.
So the trick to this one, then, must be that it is located deeper in the cave. This room seemed to be the end of the line, but I knew better. I walked up to the pool, held my breath, and jumped in. I found my intuition to be correct. There was a small opening near the bottom of the pool that I could fit through, which opened up straight into another, much less wet, part of the cave system. I resurfaced here, and stopped to catch my breath.
The stones here glowed a different color, shifting to a sickly green. A dark tunnel lay just ahead, the other side obscured by darkness. I knew this couldn’t be it. Anyone who really wanted this “Pearl of Memory” would have been able to figure out how to get here. But, as the end of this tunnel came into view, I could see a pedestal that held a small orb; a pearl. The pearl shone a white dim enough for me to look at, yet bright enough to light the room. The room was pitifully small, just enough room for the pearl and approximately six people. Apparently, this was it. Treasure hunters must be stupider than I thought to have not found the Pearl of Memory sooner.
I walked up and reached out to grab it. But a voice interrupted me. “I’ve been waiting for you.” it called.
I looked around, and found no one. “Who’s there?”
“You made it. Finally.”
“What are you talking about?” I responded to the mystery voice.
“You are now in front of the Pearl of Memory. As far as you know, many adventurers before you have come here looking for it, but none returned with their memory intact.”
Was that why no one had ever claimed to have found it? Those who did had their memories wiped by this spirit? But what did it mean by ‘as far as you know?’ “Who are you?” I asked.
“You’re serious aren’t you…” A pause. “I’m the director, and you are the actor. Come closer and claim the pearl already, I’ve grown bored of this scene.”
Actor? Scene? What was it talking about? “Would you mind making sense?”
“Did you forget? Fine. We are playing a game. I set up the scene, and you act out the main character. Remember?”
I began to grow frustrated. “What is there to remember?!”
“Oh, looks like I forgot. Every scene is independent, and to keep things authentic, you forget everything when changing scenes.”
“What? Is that true?” It couldn’t be. And yet, why was I in that bar in the first place, why did I ask that man if he was king, and why did I decide to come here?
“Yes! Isn’t it fun? It’s like a bunch of very different scenes coming together to create this whole big story!”
“No, it’s not fun!” I defiantly replied. “If this is a game, then I don’t want to play anymore!”
“But that’s against the rules! I’m the director, I set up the scenes, and you do what I say! Now pick up the pearl!”
“I refuse.” I turned to walk away from the pearl.
“But then this scene won’t be finished!” I kept walking. “Fine, but I’m so telling on you when this is over!”
And the world was no more.
~~~
I woke up to the sound of birds chirping.
---
Right outside my window. It was rather early in the morning so I pretty much have the whole day to myself. Is there a better way of spending your day? I cannot think of any other ways.
I wasn't sure of what to do. Should I get up or just be lazy and spend the rest of the day in bed.
Okay, I might be exaggerating that a bit. I was not going to spend the whole day in bed, my mom would not let me. She would say something along the lines of, "if you're living under my roof, you will follow my rules." It does make sense to me though. When I'm not at the Pokemon League, I'm at home in Aspertia City to visit my mom and spend some time with her.
I prefer being at the Pokemon League though, since pretty much everyone there has to do what I say since I'm the champion and all.
Man, it sure does feel good being the champion of the Unova Region, if I do say so myself. I get to do whatever I want and not have to worry about being challenges because the Pokemon League doesn't open for another couple of months. I get to sleep as late as I want to.
This is just literally the best and to think in a few months, many different trainers are going to come from near and far to try and take that title away from me. They will not succeed though. Sure, some of them might be strong trainers but I also am a strong trainer as well, I did not win the league by sitting around looking pretty, and you can be sure I will put up one heck of a fight.
Why exactly am I telling you my life story though. Forgive me for that.
I sat up on my bed and looked around my room. It sure is a mess but when is my room ever not a mess? My mom always says she would pick my room for me when I'm not here but has she? Nope. Doesn't surprise me though.
What is there to do today? Elesa has a fashion show in Nimbasa City but why would I want to go to that? Sitting around watching a bunch of girls coming out in clothing they did not even make? No thanks, I think I'll pass. Elesa may be a very attractive supermodel but fashions are not exactly my things. Plus, I'm a guy so what do you expect?
I could make my way from Castelia City to see Professor Juniper. She lives in Nuvema Town and that's like on the other side of the Unova Region. She's been bothering me about coming out there one day to see her how much progress I've made on my PokeDex. I've kind of been on the fence about that since it's a long journey from where I am right now.
Taking a short vacation might not be such a bad idea since I'm going to the Kalos Region next week on champion stuff. Undella Town seems like the perfect place. What a better way to spend my day by relaxing on the beach in the sun.
Okay, I've made up my mind. I'm going to Undella Town.
...
Apparently deciding to take a spur-of-the-moment was not the best idea on my part. I had to do to prepare, such as pack all my cloths, a pair of swimming trunks, go shopping for everything I need, like toothpaste and deodorant, etc. I was rushing to get out of the house.
My mom was also not crazy about the idea, especially a week before I was leaving again but she knew she was not going to stop me. I was still going regardless. At least she knew that.
Man, I really need a vacation. It's been such a long time since the last time I went away. I cannot even remember the last time I went on vacation, it's been that long. Honestly. No joke. What? Don't look at me like that, I'm telling the truth over here.
It took forever but I did manage to finish getting myself ready and before I knew it, I was on my way.
Can I just say I'm so thankful that I have a Pokemon that knows fly? Because it would save me the trouble of having to walk there because it is an extremely long walk from Aspertia City and who has the time to walk all that way? I don't, that's for sure. Before I knew it, I had arrived at my destination.
Not much had changed since the last time I had been here. It's still the same beachy city it has always been. The last time I was here, I was still traveling so I didn't have the time to sit around and actually enjoy it. I had a gym battle against Drayden coming and I wanted to get there as soon as possible.
But now, I'm so thankful I'm here and I don't have anywhere I needed to be. For now, I think a much needed vacation is in order before I head off to Hoenn, which I had never seen before and I was actually very excited to go there, even if it is for business. Kind of.
I sure do hope the Hoenn Region is ready for this champion.
---
In fact, even though I was a member of the Elite Four, I was taken off guard as well. Sure, this one could could battle fine and well, but his personal quirks made him… bizarre. In fact, over the dozen times I had dropped in to check on things, his room in the elite four got progressively gaudier. First came the aluminum foil patches on the wall. Then came the colored LEDs on the roof. The colored dance floor followed soon after. I heard that he was planning on putting in a disco ball, and unless his tastes radically change, I do not doubt he will definitely install it.
From my post in the room just before the champion’s, I found enjoyment from the sheer bewilderment pasted across the trainer’s faces as they left defeated.
Several times I peeked inside, to reveal the new champion (who I had taken to calling Disco Stone), wearing his trademarked false afro, shiny bell-bottom pants, and pokeballs plated with shiny tinfoil. Each time, Disco Stone was dancing to loud music being pumped out by some built-in speakers, while his pokemon defeated his opponent’s mercilessly. Every trainer I saw had a look of confusion plastered across their face, making their reactions sluggish, and decision-making poor. Even the tactical geniuses that beat me handily failed to even take down a single one of Stone’s pokemon; they were too busy trying to process what exactly was happening.
About a week ago, after the fiftieth undefeated victory of Disco Stone, I was called in to see if he needed to weaken his team, to allow at least some chance at letting trainers get their passports.
The battle began as expected, with Stone’s frantic gyrations being matched to the song “Hot Stuff”, which was blasting out of the walls. The disco ball had finally been installed, and was emitting light in each direction. Even stranger, he wasn’t using his regular team.
My team slowly managed to take down his, but the entire time, the reactions of my Pokemon were sluggish. Even though I was resistant to the antics of this champion, my Pokemon were certainly not: occasionally they would stop and watch the bright lights dance about the room, which lead to them leaving themselves wide open for counterattacks. Eventually, I did manage to take down his team, but of course, my original suspicion towards his team came to light. He wasn’t using his regular team at all.
He was using his little cousin’s team, just to show off. To put them in Stone’s own words, the pokemon were “as green as could be, but that’s okay, because green’s a pretty color too.”
My report was solemn, stating plainly that he just was that good. I also requested for a pair of earmuffs.
Stone continued his undefeated streak for a good four months. No one could withstand the might of Disco Stone; to do that, they’d have to take him seriously first.
---
No one could withstand the might of Disco Stone; to do that, they’d have to take him seriously first.
Steven Stone rarely talked about his brother. Of those who knew he had one, some assumed he was embarrassed to be related to someone who’d legally change his name to ‘Disco’. Others speculated that he’d wanted to save his brother from the spotlight and the presumed negative attention that would follow.
The truth, however, was far more sinister. Disco Stone hadn’t merely changed his name: he had moved to Orre and joined Team Cipher as a special disciple of the infamous Miror B. He had risen through the ranks of the team with unsettling speed, soon becoming the team’s most potent battler. And just before a disgruntled former member had managed to dismantle Team Cipher, he’d disappeared, conveniently dodging his teammates’ ultimate fate of being exposed and arrested. Among the imprisoned team members, whispered rumours suggested Stone had somehow been in on it all along, possibly even orchestrated it.
But no one had paid much attention to him before it happened, because Disco Stone had dressed in ridiculous outfits, had an obnoxious tendency to end most of his sentences in ‘darling’, and, let’s face it, changed his name to Disco. He was a joke, a quirky comic villain, not a threat. And so, Team Cipher had fallen.
The public and police, however, remained oblivious to Disco’s involvement with the team. He retired back to Hoenn, taking up residence in Slateport City, and gained a harmless reputation as the goofy, disco-loving neighbor. But unknown to his neighbors, he continued training a vicious team of battle-ready Pokémon. An unfortunate young trainer who picked a fight with him over his music taste found himself mysteriously assaulted by a Salamence a few weeks later; he was hospitalized with a spinal injury and never fully recovered his mobility. Later, a mysterious masked man descended upon an art exhibition in Lilycove, wielding a champion-worthy team, and destroyed millions’ worth of paintings; his identity was only formally uncovered as Disco Stone a decade later.
But in his heart, Steven always knew: his brother, whom he’d loved dearly, had joined a despicable criminal organization, escaped justice, and now he was using his innocuous image as a front for further sinister activities.
---
As the situation set in, Steven knew that he had three options for what he would do.
He could work his way up to be his brother’s equal, but on the opposite side. He could become the hero to his brother’s villain, the right to his brother’s wrong, the blue to his brother’s red. Steven would work closely with the government or with law enforcement and get himself on top of the ladder, becoming both a personal and professional threat to his brother. And when Steven convinces him of the wrongness of his ways, Steven would redirect him to the right path, and he would return to being the brother he knew and loved.
Or he could plot to take his brother down by beating him in his own game. Steven could create his own schemes that would lead to the downfall of the entire criminal organization, or he could convince the criminal organization that his brother is more of a liability than an asset. His brother would never see it coming—Steven was clever, but he never acted out of malice. But after all, Steven knew that the best way to defeat a criminal is to get your own hands dirty.
Or he could join his brother, who he knew he could not bear to be separated from for too long. Steven also knew that his brother was smart—his decision to join the criminal organization, while morally wrong, was not uninformed. After all, for all the atrocities criminal life had to offer, it also meant several perks: a life of unlimited luxury, a never-ending break from monotony, and guaranteed safety from any schemes the organization had up its sleeves.
Knowing that he knew his brother the most, Steven—plagued with the idea that his brother became a member of a criminal organization and he was the only one who could do anything about it—chose the third option.
---
He was going to make sure Team Gaia was put in their place, even at the cost of his brother's friendship and trust. That was the best thing that he could do. He sighed, wishing that it didn't have to come to this. But Steven had tried dissuading Stanley in the past, to no avail.
I tried to stop him, but he has chosen the path of a criminal, Steven thought sadly. Now the best thing to do is to do what's best for the good of the region. I may have lived for eighty years, but that doesn't mean I'm useless. I'm going to do my best to ensure the peace of Hoenn.
Finishing up his breakfast of cereal, Steven paced around his house, deep in thought. I'll have to rally the Gym Leaders and build an army to combat Team Gaia, he decided. But how am I going to go about this? We know that Demi's the one in charge of the team, but she isn't the biggest problem here.
He walked as quickly as he could to a window and peered out of it. Steven Stone's medium-sized house lay at the heart of Mossdeep City, a settlement on an island with a space research center. His expression hardened at the sight that greeted him.
The growth of grass, trees, and plants in the city had seemingly sped up a thousandfold since he went to sleep last night. Yesterday evening, the Pokemon Center's roof was at least clearly visible. Over the course of a night, so much vegetation had grown that vines, flowers, and even a few small shrubs completely covered the entirety of the building. Nurses with plant cutters were busy keeping the front door clear, but Steven swore that he could see the vegetation growing right before his eyes.
If the entire region is overgrown like this, we're doomed, Steven thought grimly, walking over to his telephone and dialing a number.
---
Leaning back in his lawn chair, the old man tried once again to bring his mug of steaming tea to his lips. He breathed in its minty aroma, already feeling its calming effects deep in his lungs. Slowly, he prepared himself to take a sip, when he was startled by the piercing RING-A-LING-A-LING of the telephone, sloshing his tea and burning himself with the boiling liquid yet again.
“Dang-nabbit!” he grunted, grabbing his already damp handkerchief and trying to sop up the burning liquid from his shirt. The Gogoat that had been snoozing on the porch beside him lifted her head from between her paws, looking at her trainer completely unimpressed.
With a huff, the old man put down his tea on the small table and glanced at his Gogoat. “No use ignoring it any longer. Amalthea, fetch me that darn contraption, will yeh?”
The Gogoat stared at her owner.
“Please,” he added.
The phone rang again, and the Gogoat seemed to give a resigned sigh. Amalthea struggled to her hooves, gave her owner a baleful look, and trotted off inside the house, her hooves clicking on the hardwood floors.
“If it ain’t one thing, it’s another,” he muttered, tossing away his handkerchief in frustration. Couldn’t he just enjoy a single day without accepting any gym challenges or saving Kalos from destruction? He stroked the whiskers on his chin and gave a sigh.
Amalthea returned to the porch, phone in her mouth, still ringing incessantly. He grimaced.
The Gogoat dropped the telephone in her trainer’s lap, gave him a look that told him he owed her one instance of not getting yelled at for eating or destroying something she wasn’t supposed to, and collapsed into a heap on the floor once again.
“Thanks, girlie,” he murmured, wiping the spit off on his pants before finally picking it up.
“Ramos, here,” he grunted, listening to the familiar voice at the other end. His eyes lit up. “Steven, yeh old bean! Had I known it was you I’d have answered sooner. How can I help-” Ramos paused.
“Well, that’s a pickle.” Another pause. “I see. And yeh can’t use...right, that’s out the window.” Ramos put one hand over the transmitter whispered to Amalthea, ”They’re screwed.” Her left ear twitched.
He returned back to the phone. “Right, this may be a long shot, but what yeh need is a Weepinbel. Its phytotelma’ll do the trick if yeh- ...yes, phytotelma, that’s the acidic stuff inside the brutes. Just extract it and give it to a Skuntank, or dry and crush it into a powder for Venemoth, and they’ll take care o’ the rest. ...Yep, there is only one way to extract it, and it’s exactly what you think. Just use gloves. ...Don’t be ridiculous, it’ll eat right through those! You need specialty gloves. ...Mine ain’t for sale, bucko! Look, just do what I said, and yeh’ll be fine.”
Ramos paused once more to listen to the pleas at the other end. He shook his head. “Yeh’ll do fine without me, just do as I said. Oh, and don’t inhale the powder fumes, that’ll give yeh a bad time. All right, toodle-oo!” The old man turned the phone off in spite of the protests at the other end, and threw it on the table.
Ramos picked his mug of tea back up, filling his lungs with its minty aroma, and leaned back in his seat. He took his first uninterrupted sip, closing his eyes blissfully. The tea wasn’t hot anymore, but it was still good. Amalthea lifted her head and gave her trainer a pointed look.
“It’s me day off, sprout. I ain’t gettin’ off my rump today, end o’ the world or no!”
Thank you for your patience, everyone! Below each section is a spoiler tag with the author's name; if you want to try to guess who wrote what, don't reveal the spoilers until you've made your guesses and then see how you did! The authors in the freeform Exquisite Corpse were (in random order):
Victorian Rush
Sike Saner
PhalanxSigil
Psychic
Kutie Pie
Dramatic Melody
Omegagoldfish
The Teller
Shattersoul
bobandbill
American--Pi
DeliriousAbsol
Poetry
Dragonfree
JFought
Feel free to comment on the resulting story, but keep in mind that critical reviews of the sort you might post on a regular fic don't really make sense here - this was a game, not a serious fanfic, so it's not the place for grammar or plot nitpicks! Now, without further ado!
The Serebii Exquisite Corpse
Freeform
Freeform
The emolga trotted towards the little cafe with a basket clasped between her paws, the apples inside it wobbling precariously as they toyed with the idea of leaping to the floor and rolling away into the roadside bushes. Emolga wasn’t necessarily worried about this as she was more focused on her daydream about the upcoming party. It wouldn’t be long now until all the little villages around Lively Town would be joining together for the biggest party of the year.
The little bell above the door tinkled cheerfully as she strutted inside, and one apple fulfilled its promise to hit the floor and roll away ahead of her, stopping at the foot of a busy spinda. He looked back at the door and rushed towards her, steadying the basket and helping to place it on the round table.
“Think we have enough?” she asked.
“We have plenty of apples,” he said. “But we need to remember there’ll be around two hundred pokemon arriving tomorrow.”
“I can’t believe Ampharos is turning fifty!” Emolga clapped her paws together. “He looks so young!”
“I know, yet he’s been here longer than I have!”
Emolga retrieved the apple from the floor and rubbed it on her chest fur before placing it on top of the baskets. All the apples took this as a cue to roll from the table and cascade in a red and green river throughout the cafe.
The door promptly opened and a dedenne stood blinking a pair of wide eyes as he stared, aghast, at the flood of apples.
“I commend your efforts,” he said, “but I’m fairly sure we said ‘no ball pits’.”
He hopped past Emolga as she rushed around gathering the apples and placing them back into the basket.
“What brings you here?” Spinda asked as he stopped the mountain of apples from tumbling down once more.
“Nothing major. I Just wanted to let you know Ampharos has come down with a spot of a cold.”
Spinda wobbled with the shock, knocking into the table. Emolga let out a squeal as she found herself buried in a heap of falling fruit.
“He’s still coming to the party, right?” Spinda asked. “I mean… we’ve been cooking all day!”
A little voice spoke up from the kitchen, “Does that mean there’s more cake for me?”
“Don’t touch that cake, Swirlix!” Spinda warned without looking back.
Dedenne closed his eyes and nodded. “Don’t you worry. Ampharos said he wouldn’t miss the party even if his leg fell off. He’ll be here.”
A small beep echoed through the air, bringing the cafe into silence, save for the patter of the last few falling apples.
“Yes?” Dedenne looked up at the ceiling and stood in silence, his eyes widening slowly as he listened to some unheard conversation. Finally, he looked back at the two pokemon and cleared his throat. “Yeh, he’s not going to be here.”
Emolga and Spinda looked at each other, their hearts sinking. He wasn’t coming to his own party?!
DeliriousAbsol
An audible hush falls over the crowd, whom had just now gathered and formed around me. I am speaking now. Everybody else in the room were completely flabbergasted that He wasn't planning on attending his own surprise party that He had nothing to do with and knew nothing about. If He HAD known about it, the cabal of ambivalent aliens from beyond the ozone layer would see to it otherwise.
"There's only one surefire way to make sure He comes to the party without KNOWING that there's a party going on," said It.
It was speaking crazy talk, and we all knew it. It couldn't be done. But maybe the fate of the world might rest with us pulling it off.
"What you speak of is partaking in the impossible, It," exclaimed She. "We couldn't possibly pull it off."
"We'll have to gather everyone in the surrounding states, explain the situation in as vague a way as possible, and raid the shop for supplies," explained It.
And so It, She, Us, We, He's sister Her, Them, Nosotras, and I piled into the blindingly gothic clown car and raced towards the next state over, desperate to start the world's biggest conga line.
Along the way, we encountered a moose. Or maybe a Stantler. Honestly, it's so hard to tell when the Pokémon world bleeds into our own dimension. We tried to ram into it, but our attack missed, despite having a 95% accuracy rate. Her turned the car around, her pride not allowing this grievance to pass. The rest of us chanted for her victory, but then the moose ran away. No one decided to speak of the event in the near future.
We finally made it to the next state over and went and found the mayor's office. We barged in like a bunch of lunatics.
"Mr. or Mrs. Mayor, this is It, she is She, he is Us, she is We, this is He's sister Her, they are Them, the Hispanic is Nosotras, and I am I, and we demand that you lend us all of your people for the world's biggest conga line in order to lure He to the house, or the world will be destroyed!"
The Teller
“So...I must be the walrus, then,” the mayor responded.
The conspirators looked at them in pure and utter shock. Here they were, giving the mayor the simplest, most bare-bones summary of how they planned to save the world, let alone the Cosmos, they could even attempt to produce, and they just. Didn’t. Get it. How could they be so blatantly oblivious to the state of the universe that they would decide, “Hey, let’s make jokes about the apocalypse.”
“I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation, Mr. or Ms. Mayor,” I exclaimed.
“And I don’t think you understand how high you just sounded,” the mayor jovially responded. “I honestly just thought you were butchering the lyrics of a Beatles classic. ‘~I am he as you are-’”
“Enough of this nonsense, Mr. or Ms. Mayor!” I snapped, bounding up to them. I then slapped the mayor as hard as I could, trying to knock some semblance of sense into them.
Clearly it wasn’t enough, as they merely laughed it off and proceeded to leisurely walk to the window while twirling their thick purple mustache.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard in your clearly addled state, but the world is perfectly happy right now. The last time I looked out my window, which was earlier this afternoon, in fact, the weather was great, the birds were chirping, and the view was generally great.” They moved the drapes to the side of the window to get a good look at that same view.
The scene out of their window was pure chaos. Fires were spreading across the buildings to either side of the street near the window. People were screaming, running around like chickens with their heads cut off, and generally acting as though it were the end of the world as they knew it. Off in the distance, the faint echoes of the roar of a giant beast echoed over the sounds of windows being smashed, car alarms blaring, and other aspects of sheer destruction.
“Do you see the kind of destruction He can cause?” I said, rushing toward the mayor again. “If we do not stop He, then the craziness you see before you will spread into infinity, snuffing out not only all life in the Cosmos, but even the inanimate stuff, and we can’t afford to lose either. We must construct the conga line immediately so that-”
“Sssshhhhh,” whispered the mayor, placing their finger on their trespasser’s mouth. “I’m enjoying the lovely view.” They opened the window and took a whiff of the burning air, almost like they were, ironically, taking a drag of...something.
“Aaaaahhhh, what a lovely day,” they said as the drapes caught fire.
PhalanxSigil
Their words echoed in my head. They just wouldn’t stop. They never did stop, really, They haunted my mind when I was on the bus, and when I was trying to sleep. But they had to stop sometime. They had to.
Every day was a lovely day according to them, regardless of the weather forecast. It could be howling winds and tornados blowing stray cats out of the city, complete with power outages and a leaking ceiling in our office, and she’s still remark that it was a ‘lovely day’. And every statement they made came with that utterly annoying exclamation of ‘Aaaaahhhh’.
‘Aaaaahhhh, how are you?’
‘Aaaaahhhh, why aren’t these done yet?’
‘Aaaaahhhh, where is my brain?’
They were the worst boss ever.
Satisfied that the fire was going steadily, I moved to the kitchen. It may take a while for it to spread, after all, so there was time yet continue my plan. I swung some of the cabinet doors open and eyed the perfectly white plates and bowls. I picked one up and hurled it at the floor. It shattered in a most satisfying way. A second, then a third joined it. The floor is soon covered in shards of white.
“Aaaaah, not so perfect anymore,” I said in my best possible impersonation. A giggled escaped from my lips.
Then I eyed the jars neatly lined up by the window. I stepped over to them, as the plates crunched under my shoes. Some were collections of herbs and spices. Among them were two jars of fine, white grains, one labeled ‘Salt’ and the other ‘Sugar’. Besides those labels however, the jars were identical.
I giggled again, before I grabbed the two containers and swapped the lids. Now the tea and the dinner wouldn’t be perfect either. I mixed the other contents together, and then threw them into the bin for good measure.
I went back to the previous room. The flames were growing, and some had spread to the sofa. The ceiling was now covered in ugly grey smoke. I grinned.
Suddenly a shrill beeping sounded from near the entrance. I sighed. It must be the smoke alarm. I made my way toward a room adjacent to the hallway leading to the front door. and confirmed my suspicions. The grey circular attachment blared accusingly at me, as a bright red light flashed like a strobe light. It was annoyingly too high up to reach.
I resisted the urge to cover my ears from the screeching and looked around for a chair nearby to stand on. None were in the room. Who the heck didn’t have a broom? The boss was completely crazy. I then spied a broom, and so grabbed that and whacked the alarm a few times until it came crashing down. It started to beep again, so I smashed it some more until it stopped, and yet again for good measure.
“‘Aaaaahhhh, what are you doing?”
I looked up, but I didn’t need to confirm the realisation with my eyes - it was my boss.
bobandbill
“I don't want to talk to you,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed on the computer screen in defiance.
“Just five minutes, that's all I ask.”
“No.”
“Come on Jennifer, be reasonable,” he pleaded quietly.
“Reasonable?” I said incredulously. “Reasonable? Ohh no, ‘reasonable’ went out of the window half an hour ago when you threw me under the bus in that stupid meeting. I don't care what Dan says, you've never cared about me - about any of us for that matter - just yourself and your bloody reputation, right? Right?”
He said nothing, but stared at the floor like a schoolboy being reprimanded and I felt a quick heady swoop of adrenaline. I waited for a few seconds, but he didn't respond.
“Ok, fine. Well you know what? That's it. I'm done. You can take this job and shove it. I've got nothing to say to you anymore.” I stood up, hastily grabbing my jacket and my bag. “I'm leaving,” I said pointedly as I swept past him and towards the exit.
I heard him half-heartedly call out my name but managed to resist the temptation to look back as I stepped into the elevator and jabbed the button. My heart was pumping and adrenaline was flowing through my body, only too quickly to be replaced by a sinking feeling of dread and panic as I realised the full extent of what I'd done. My job, my career - as much as I hated working here, what would I do without the money? I tried to cast my mind back to the last time I could even bear to open my bank statement. No, I thought to myself, this wasn't something I wanted to deal with right now. The only thing I wanted was to get out of there, and fast.
The lift doors opened and I stepped out into the sunlit lobby, blinking in the light. I stopped for a while beside the weighed up my options. I could either take the sensible, adult option and return to the office and try to both grovel and plead in an effort to salvage what I could from the wreckage - or, alternatively, I could go to Hanson’s around the corner and stuff my face with burgers in the hope that the problem would eventually go away.
In my mind, there was no question about it. To hell with the consequences: I was going to have my burger and eat it - or at least, that was the plan.
Poetry
Keeping the squirrel in his sights, the Hamburglar remained still behind the tree, the rope clenched in his fist and buckets of sweat pouring down his face. “C'mon, c'mon,” he whispered hurriedly, digging in his heels. “Get closer, you furry bastard.”
This was his life, he realized too little, too late. Getting revenge on a squirrel for stealing his well-deserved treasure wasn't something he had in mind, but it was just asking for it. Not that he wasn't blaming himself for leaving it out in the open, just how was he supposed to know one of the cursed thieves was in the area? How was he to know one of them had a hankering for hamburger and could steal one whole to stash away for the winter? How was he, a lowly burger thief with no more than a high school education, supposed to think ahead and prepare for such an unlikely occurrence?
Then again, he asked himself that question quite often. Not just about squirrels, but about everything that life happened to throw at him. It was like some omnipotent hamburger god knew where to plant his sesame seeds to tip the scale in his favor and sat back on his golden, greased-up buns to watch it play out.
If that hamburger god was a redhead clown who was surrounded by his screaming cherubs shaking their cheap plastic toys about as if they were instruments, and their voices were raised in praise to him. Stupid Ronald ascending to a higher plane of existence while his so-called “friends” were left to rot in the back of an alleyway. All because he was chummy with Colonel Sanders for having a mutual disliking for the Burger King.
Whatever did happen to Colonel Sanders, anyway? the Hamburglar couldn't help thinking as the squirrel sniffed at the cage.
Kutie Pie
Said squirrel sniffed at the lock, then leaned back. For a moment, they just stared into the keyhole, as if deep in thought. Then they produced a jagged wire from their fluffy tail fur.
The Hamburglar, of course, couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Was he really being rescued by a small woodland animal?
Before he had much longer to think about it, the squirrel finished picking the lock and swung the door open with a creak. “Come on,” they said, “let’s move it! The King’s cronies could show up at any moment now!”
The Hamburglar started to emerge, but paused. He’d seen some strange, strange things in his life. His friends--or whatever they were--were a clown, a talking bird, and… whatever the hell Grimace was supposed to be. A sapient gumdrop, he supposed, though not at the moment. No, the Hamburglar had much more pressing matters on his mind than anything to do with Grimace.
“...How can I understand you when all you’re doing is making a bunch of squirrel noises?”
“The same way I can understand you even though you’re really just saying ‘robble robble robble’ over and over again,” the squirrel answered, rodenty little hands on hips.
The Hamburglar had nothing to say to that.
“Now for the last hecking time, come on!” They grabbed hold of the Hamburglar’s sleeve by their teeth and started tugging. The Hamburglar, no longer preoccupied with silly questions, took the hint and finally got out of the cage.
With no further delay, the squirrel took off at a run, leaving the Hamburglar struggling to catch up. He followed the rodent through well-lit corridors, grateful to be sure for their help, but growing more and more confused all the same.
“Who are you, anyway?” he asked, half-panting; followed by, “Oof!” Or some robbly equivalent thereof, anyway. He’d just collided with a trashcan, knocking it over with an echoing clang. He’d been so busy watching the squirrel that he hadn’t even seen it despite what was, again, thoroughly adequate lighting.
“Watch it!” the squirrel hissed, their tail flicking in agitation. “We’re never gonna make it to the Gatepoint if you alert every gosh darned guard in this entire compound!”
After bothering to set the trashcan back upright for some reason, the Hamburglar brushed himself off and huffed at the squirrel. He seriously doubted he’d alert every guard. Maybe like 80% of them, but not all of them.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he pointed out once the two of them were on the move again. “Who are you? Did the Colonel send you?” Wouldn’t that just be it all. Out of the hands of one rival gang and into the greasy, chicken-scented mitts of another.
“Only colonels I deal with are popcorn. Anyway, the name’s Vit-Vit. Vit-Vit the Cat-Dodger. Not that that’s gonna matter for long…”
“Huh?” Before the Hamburglar could articulate his confusion beyond that, Vit-Vit disappeared around another corner. He hurried after them--and into a throne room. At the end of a long, dark red carpet, none other than the Burger King himself sat, his frozen features smiling at the new arrivals.
“Aww robble…”
“Now, now. No need for that kind of language,” Vit-Vit chided the Hamburglar. “We’re right exactly where we need to be. Hwaaa!”
At the squirrel’s battle cry, the elite Chicken Fry guards flanking the throne brandished their spears and charged the intruders. The Hamburglar stood paralysed with terror, expecting to be skewered any moment, hardly noticing the small, furry weight that landed on his hat.
Then the guards, the King, and everything else ceased to matter.
Suddenly the Hamburglar could see beyond them. Beyond reality itself. His eyes, as well as Vit-Vit’s, glowed a piercing white as he held his hands out before him, a portal shimmering between his palms. Through it, a peaceful-looking forest was visible… for about two seconds. A forest positively swarming with chittering, sparking pachirisu and emolga swiftly replaced it.
Lightning flashed and crackled as the pokésquirrel army surged out of the portal. The Burger King, meanwhile, couldn’t do a damn thing but stare. And of course he couldn’t. It’s not like the King had a real face or anything.
Sike Saner
The King had no face? I’m not sure if this made it easier or harder to find him.
Well, I got back to looking, starting with my cat. As it had a face, I decided it was not the King. After wandering around my home, I remembered that there was a back alley plastic surgeon a few miles away.
A few hours later I reached his normal spot. Garbage was shifted around to make a crude wall that he slept behind, and a battered desk stood, with him behind it. He was wearing his only clothes, a torn wool coat, white underpants, and nothing else.
“Have you heard of someone named The King?” I asked.
“Elvis?” The man responded.
“No, this one doesn’t have a face, Mike, I know you failed high school, but come on!”
“So, Elvis then? Elvis Presley?”
Sighing, I left him as a tall, thin man passed me, I looked closely, and he had a face. I returned to my house.
After giving my cat some drugs and laughing as it went insane, I googled The King. I got a message from someone on my phone three seconds later.
“Are you part of the Cult of the King?” I asked.
“No, I’m Mike. I stole some guy’s phone. Elvis died on a toilet. I found that funny. Ha.”
I hung up on him before realizing that it was a clue. Through a process known as deus ex machina or contrived circumstance, I realized that the King must live in a sewer. So I tried to flush myself down the toilet, my drugged cat staring at me. After the plumber dragged me out, some nice people threw me into a padded cell, next to some guy who cut off his face.
I turned to him and asked if he was the King.
Omegagoldfish
He laughed. “No, not quite. I get that a lot, though.”
The bartender added his own remark: “Don’t get why. If you were king, you’d be able to pay off that tab you still have hanging over ya.”
The man chuckled a little more. “I’ll get to that once I strike it rich and find that treasure.” He jumped out of his seat with as much poise as one doing such an act could muster, and promptly left.
The bartender shook his head. “Ya said that last time too.…”
I couldn’t help but be stricken curious by the mentioning of treasure. I began my investigation cautiously. “So who was he?”
“That man goes by the name of Elgo, and he’s a fool.” Judging from the faraway look in his eyes, I could tell this might take some time. “Elgo is one of them treasure hunting types. Always looking for some old tomb or somethin’ to make a quick buck off of. Every time he finds somethin’ new, he goes and blows it all on fancy clothes and whatnot. Meanwhile, he still hasn’t bothered to pay me back for all he’s drank here.” A sigh. “Right now he’s lookin’ for some treasure called the ‘Pearl of Memory.’ Supposedly it’ll net him enough to pay me back and still have enough left over. He finally found it’s location yesterday; came by here for one last drink before he goes.”
“By any chance did he tell you where it is?” I inquired.
“Don’t tell you’re one of those gold-seeking loons too.” The bartender shook his head again, something he seemed to do often. But then, he lit up. “How about this, I tell you where it is, and if you can get it, we’ll split the profits. I know for certain that Elgo doesn’t plan on paying me anything anytime soon. How about it?”
I considered the offer. If the tab was as large as the bartender suggested, and this pearl could pay it off and more, than half of its worth would still be quite formidable. I didn’t have a need for that much money anyway, so half should be enough. “Deal.” I decided.
“Okay, lean in close so I can tell you.” I did as instructed. He whispered: “There’s a cave not too far down west with a large boulder surrounded by many glowin’ stones, you can’t miss it. Elgo said that, according to legend, the Pearl of Memory is located in a cave filled with em’, and that such rare stones only appear in large quantities. If I were you, I’d get going now before he gets it first.”
I gave him my thanks, and after being given a short reminder to come back and share the loot, I left.
~~~
The cave was dark at first, but I could make out a faint glow from deeper inside. Making my way over, I discovered that what the barkeep said was true: the cave was full of glowing blue stones, which filled the room with a faint blue light. Said room was very large, with a ceiling perhaps two stories high, and otherwise big enough to contain a deep pool of water illuminated by these stones. Surprisingly, no Pokémon were to be found; I was the only one in the cave, as far as I could tell.
Before continuing, I stopped to think. This cave was marked on the map, and yet it contained an untouched treasure? Apparently it wasn’t commonly known what the treasure was: my investigation in the town earlier found that many knew of the cave and that there was some special artifact that made the cave glow, though not a single person could say what it was. On top of that, many had supposedly gone into here before to seek this treasure, though all returned empty-handed. No traps, no disappearances, no findings. Nothing. The treasure must be well hidden to have turned back so many without the mention of a single defense.
So the trick to this one, then, must be that it is located deeper in the cave. This room seemed to be the end of the line, but I knew better. I walked up to the pool, held my breath, and jumped in. I found my intuition to be correct. There was a small opening near the bottom of the pool that I could fit through, which opened up straight into another, much less wet, part of the cave system. I resurfaced here, and stopped to catch my breath.
The stones here glowed a different color, shifting to a sickly green. A dark tunnel lay just ahead, the other side obscured by darkness. I knew this couldn’t be it. Anyone who really wanted this “Pearl of Memory” would have been able to figure out how to get here. But, as the end of this tunnel came into view, I could see a pedestal that held a small orb; a pearl. The pearl shone a white dim enough for me to look at, yet bright enough to light the room. The room was pitifully small, just enough room for the pearl and approximately six people. Apparently, this was it. Treasure hunters must be stupider than I thought to have not found the Pearl of Memory sooner.
I walked up and reached out to grab it. But a voice interrupted me. “I’ve been waiting for you.” it called.
I looked around, and found no one. “Who’s there?”
“You made it. Finally.”
“What are you talking about?” I responded to the mystery voice.
“You are now in front of the Pearl of Memory. As far as you know, many adventurers before you have come here looking for it, but none returned with their memory intact.”
Was that why no one had ever claimed to have found it? Those who did had their memories wiped by this spirit? But what did it mean by ‘as far as you know?’ “Who are you?” I asked.
“You’re serious aren’t you…” A pause. “I’m the director, and you are the actor. Come closer and claim the pearl already, I’ve grown bored of this scene.”
Actor? Scene? What was it talking about? “Would you mind making sense?”
“Did you forget? Fine. We are playing a game. I set up the scene, and you act out the main character. Remember?”
I began to grow frustrated. “What is there to remember?!”
“Oh, looks like I forgot. Every scene is independent, and to keep things authentic, you forget everything when changing scenes.”
“What? Is that true?” It couldn’t be. And yet, why was I in that bar in the first place, why did I ask that man if he was king, and why did I decide to come here?
“Yes! Isn’t it fun? It’s like a bunch of very different scenes coming together to create this whole big story!”
“No, it’s not fun!” I defiantly replied. “If this is a game, then I don’t want to play anymore!”
“But that’s against the rules! I’m the director, I set up the scenes, and you do what I say! Now pick up the pearl!”
“I refuse.” I turned to walk away from the pearl.
“But then this scene won’t be finished!” I kept walking. “Fine, but I’m so telling on you when this is over!”
And the world was no more.
~~~
I woke up to the sound of birds chirping.
JFought
Right outside my window. It was rather early in the morning so I pretty much have the whole day to myself. Is there a better way of spending your day? I cannot think of any other ways.
I wasn't sure of what to do. Should I get up or just be lazy and spend the rest of the day in bed.
Okay, I might be exaggerating that a bit. I was not going to spend the whole day in bed, my mom would not let me. She would say something along the lines of, "if you're living under my roof, you will follow my rules." It does make sense to me though. When I'm not at the Pokemon League, I'm at home in Aspertia City to visit my mom and spend some time with her.
I prefer being at the Pokemon League though, since pretty much everyone there has to do what I say since I'm the champion and all.
Man, it sure does feel good being the champion of the Unova Region, if I do say so myself. I get to do whatever I want and not have to worry about being challenges because the Pokemon League doesn't open for another couple of months. I get to sleep as late as I want to.
This is just literally the best and to think in a few months, many different trainers are going to come from near and far to try and take that title away from me. They will not succeed though. Sure, some of them might be strong trainers but I also am a strong trainer as well, I did not win the league by sitting around looking pretty, and you can be sure I will put up one heck of a fight.
Why exactly am I telling you my life story though. Forgive me for that.
I sat up on my bed and looked around my room. It sure is a mess but when is my room ever not a mess? My mom always says she would pick my room for me when I'm not here but has she? Nope. Doesn't surprise me though.
What is there to do today? Elesa has a fashion show in Nimbasa City but why would I want to go to that? Sitting around watching a bunch of girls coming out in clothing they did not even make? No thanks, I think I'll pass. Elesa may be a very attractive supermodel but fashions are not exactly my things. Plus, I'm a guy so what do you expect?
I could make my way from Castelia City to see Professor Juniper. She lives in Nuvema Town and that's like on the other side of the Unova Region. She's been bothering me about coming out there one day to see her how much progress I've made on my PokeDex. I've kind of been on the fence about that since it's a long journey from where I am right now.
Taking a short vacation might not be such a bad idea since I'm going to the Kalos Region next week on champion stuff. Undella Town seems like the perfect place. What a better way to spend my day by relaxing on the beach in the sun.
Okay, I've made up my mind. I'm going to Undella Town.
...
Apparently deciding to take a spur-of-the-moment was not the best idea on my part. I had to do to prepare, such as pack all my cloths, a pair of swimming trunks, go shopping for everything I need, like toothpaste and deodorant, etc. I was rushing to get out of the house.
My mom was also not crazy about the idea, especially a week before I was leaving again but she knew she was not going to stop me. I was still going regardless. At least she knew that.
Man, I really need a vacation. It's been such a long time since the last time I went away. I cannot even remember the last time I went on vacation, it's been that long. Honestly. No joke. What? Don't look at me like that, I'm telling the truth over here.
It took forever but I did manage to finish getting myself ready and before I knew it, I was on my way.
Can I just say I'm so thankful that I have a Pokemon that knows fly? Because it would save me the trouble of having to walk there because it is an extremely long walk from Aspertia City and who has the time to walk all that way? I don't, that's for sure. Before I knew it, I had arrived at my destination.
Not much had changed since the last time I had been here. It's still the same beachy city it has always been. The last time I was here, I was still traveling so I didn't have the time to sit around and actually enjoy it. I had a gym battle against Drayden coming and I wanted to get there as soon as possible.
But now, I'm so thankful I'm here and I don't have anywhere I needed to be. For now, I think a much needed vacation is in order before I head off to Hoenn, which I had never seen before and I was actually very excited to go there, even if it is for business. Kind of.
I sure do hope the Hoenn Region is ready for this champion.
Victorian Rush
In fact, even though I was a member of the Elite Four, I was taken off guard as well. Sure, this one could could battle fine and well, but his personal quirks made him… bizarre. In fact, over the dozen times I had dropped in to check on things, his room in the elite four got progressively gaudier. First came the aluminum foil patches on the wall. Then came the colored LEDs on the roof. The colored dance floor followed soon after. I heard that he was planning on putting in a disco ball, and unless his tastes radically change, I do not doubt he will definitely install it.
From my post in the room just before the champion’s, I found enjoyment from the sheer bewilderment pasted across the trainer’s faces as they left defeated.
Several times I peeked inside, to reveal the new champion (who I had taken to calling Disco Stone), wearing his trademarked false afro, shiny bell-bottom pants, and pokeballs plated with shiny tinfoil. Each time, Disco Stone was dancing to loud music being pumped out by some built-in speakers, while his pokemon defeated his opponent’s mercilessly. Every trainer I saw had a look of confusion plastered across their face, making their reactions sluggish, and decision-making poor. Even the tactical geniuses that beat me handily failed to even take down a single one of Stone’s pokemon; they were too busy trying to process what exactly was happening.
About a week ago, after the fiftieth undefeated victory of Disco Stone, I was called in to see if he needed to weaken his team, to allow at least some chance at letting trainers get their passports.
The battle began as expected, with Stone’s frantic gyrations being matched to the song “Hot Stuff”, which was blasting out of the walls. The disco ball had finally been installed, and was emitting light in each direction. Even stranger, he wasn’t using his regular team.
My team slowly managed to take down his, but the entire time, the reactions of my Pokemon were sluggish. Even though I was resistant to the antics of this champion, my Pokemon were certainly not: occasionally they would stop and watch the bright lights dance about the room, which lead to them leaving themselves wide open for counterattacks. Eventually, I did manage to take down his team, but of course, my original suspicion towards his team came to light. He wasn’t using his regular team at all.
He was using his little cousin’s team, just to show off. To put them in Stone’s own words, the pokemon were “as green as could be, but that’s okay, because green’s a pretty color too.”
My report was solemn, stating plainly that he just was that good. I also requested for a pair of earmuffs.
Stone continued his undefeated streak for a good four months. No one could withstand the might of Disco Stone; to do that, they’d have to take him seriously first.
Shattersoul
No one could withstand the might of Disco Stone; to do that, they’d have to take him seriously first.
Steven Stone rarely talked about his brother. Of those who knew he had one, some assumed he was embarrassed to be related to someone who’d legally change his name to ‘Disco’. Others speculated that he’d wanted to save his brother from the spotlight and the presumed negative attention that would follow.
The truth, however, was far more sinister. Disco Stone hadn’t merely changed his name: he had moved to Orre and joined Team Cipher as a special disciple of the infamous Miror B. He had risen through the ranks of the team with unsettling speed, soon becoming the team’s most potent battler. And just before a disgruntled former member had managed to dismantle Team Cipher, he’d disappeared, conveniently dodging his teammates’ ultimate fate of being exposed and arrested. Among the imprisoned team members, whispered rumours suggested Stone had somehow been in on it all along, possibly even orchestrated it.
But no one had paid much attention to him before it happened, because Disco Stone had dressed in ridiculous outfits, had an obnoxious tendency to end most of his sentences in ‘darling’, and, let’s face it, changed his name to Disco. He was a joke, a quirky comic villain, not a threat. And so, Team Cipher had fallen.
The public and police, however, remained oblivious to Disco’s involvement with the team. He retired back to Hoenn, taking up residence in Slateport City, and gained a harmless reputation as the goofy, disco-loving neighbor. But unknown to his neighbors, he continued training a vicious team of battle-ready Pokémon. An unfortunate young trainer who picked a fight with him over his music taste found himself mysteriously assaulted by a Salamence a few weeks later; he was hospitalized with a spinal injury and never fully recovered his mobility. Later, a mysterious masked man descended upon an art exhibition in Lilycove, wielding a champion-worthy team, and destroyed millions’ worth of paintings; his identity was only formally uncovered as Disco Stone a decade later.
But in his heart, Steven always knew: his brother, whom he’d loved dearly, had joined a despicable criminal organization, escaped justice, and now he was using his innocuous image as a front for further sinister activities.
Dragonfree
As the situation set in, Steven knew that he had three options for what he would do.
He could work his way up to be his brother’s equal, but on the opposite side. He could become the hero to his brother’s villain, the right to his brother’s wrong, the blue to his brother’s red. Steven would work closely with the government or with law enforcement and get himself on top of the ladder, becoming both a personal and professional threat to his brother. And when Steven convinces him of the wrongness of his ways, Steven would redirect him to the right path, and he would return to being the brother he knew and loved.
Or he could plot to take his brother down by beating him in his own game. Steven could create his own schemes that would lead to the downfall of the entire criminal organization, or he could convince the criminal organization that his brother is more of a liability than an asset. His brother would never see it coming—Steven was clever, but he never acted out of malice. But after all, Steven knew that the best way to defeat a criminal is to get your own hands dirty.
Or he could join his brother, who he knew he could not bear to be separated from for too long. Steven also knew that his brother was smart—his decision to join the criminal organization, while morally wrong, was not uninformed. After all, for all the atrocities criminal life had to offer, it also meant several perks: a life of unlimited luxury, a never-ending break from monotony, and guaranteed safety from any schemes the organization had up its sleeves.
Knowing that he knew his brother the most, Steven—plagued with the idea that his brother became a member of a criminal organization and he was the only one who could do anything about it—chose the third option.
Dramatic Melody
He was going to make sure Team Gaia was put in their place, even at the cost of his brother's friendship and trust. That was the best thing that he could do. He sighed, wishing that it didn't have to come to this. But Steven had tried dissuading Stanley in the past, to no avail.
I tried to stop him, but he has chosen the path of a criminal, Steven thought sadly. Now the best thing to do is to do what's best for the good of the region. I may have lived for eighty years, but that doesn't mean I'm useless. I'm going to do my best to ensure the peace of Hoenn.
Finishing up his breakfast of cereal, Steven paced around his house, deep in thought. I'll have to rally the Gym Leaders and build an army to combat Team Gaia, he decided. But how am I going to go about this? We know that Demi's the one in charge of the team, but she isn't the biggest problem here.
He walked as quickly as he could to a window and peered out of it. Steven Stone's medium-sized house lay at the heart of Mossdeep City, a settlement on an island with a space research center. His expression hardened at the sight that greeted him.
The growth of grass, trees, and plants in the city had seemingly sped up a thousandfold since he went to sleep last night. Yesterday evening, the Pokemon Center's roof was at least clearly visible. Over the course of a night, so much vegetation had grown that vines, flowers, and even a few small shrubs completely covered the entirety of the building. Nurses with plant cutters were busy keeping the front door clear, but Steven swore that he could see the vegetation growing right before his eyes.
If the entire region is overgrown like this, we're doomed, Steven thought grimly, walking over to his telephone and dialing a number.
American--Pi
Leaning back in his lawn chair, the old man tried once again to bring his mug of steaming tea to his lips. He breathed in its minty aroma, already feeling its calming effects deep in his lungs. Slowly, he prepared himself to take a sip, when he was startled by the piercing RING-A-LING-A-LING of the telephone, sloshing his tea and burning himself with the boiling liquid yet again.
“Dang-nabbit!” he grunted, grabbing his already damp handkerchief and trying to sop up the burning liquid from his shirt. The Gogoat that had been snoozing on the porch beside him lifted her head from between her paws, looking at her trainer completely unimpressed.
With a huff, the old man put down his tea on the small table and glanced at his Gogoat. “No use ignoring it any longer. Amalthea, fetch me that darn contraption, will yeh?”
The Gogoat stared at her owner.
“Please,” he added.
The phone rang again, and the Gogoat seemed to give a resigned sigh. Amalthea struggled to her hooves, gave her owner a baleful look, and trotted off inside the house, her hooves clicking on the hardwood floors.
“If it ain’t one thing, it’s another,” he muttered, tossing away his handkerchief in frustration. Couldn’t he just enjoy a single day without accepting any gym challenges or saving Kalos from destruction? He stroked the whiskers on his chin and gave a sigh.
Amalthea returned to the porch, phone in her mouth, still ringing incessantly. He grimaced.
The Gogoat dropped the telephone in her trainer’s lap, gave him a look that told him he owed her one instance of not getting yelled at for eating or destroying something she wasn’t supposed to, and collapsed into a heap on the floor once again.
“Thanks, girlie,” he murmured, wiping the spit off on his pants before finally picking it up.
“Ramos, here,” he grunted, listening to the familiar voice at the other end. His eyes lit up. “Steven, yeh old bean! Had I known it was you I’d have answered sooner. How can I help-” Ramos paused.
“Well, that’s a pickle.” Another pause. “I see. And yeh can’t use...right, that’s out the window.” Ramos put one hand over the transmitter whispered to Amalthea, ”They’re screwed.” Her left ear twitched.
He returned back to the phone. “Right, this may be a long shot, but what yeh need is a Weepinbel. Its phytotelma’ll do the trick if yeh- ...yes, phytotelma, that’s the acidic stuff inside the brutes. Just extract it and give it to a Skuntank, or dry and crush it into a powder for Venemoth, and they’ll take care o’ the rest. ...Yep, there is only one way to extract it, and it’s exactly what you think. Just use gloves. ...Don’t be ridiculous, it’ll eat right through those! You need specialty gloves. ...Mine ain’t for sale, bucko! Look, just do what I said, and yeh’ll be fine.”
Ramos paused once more to listen to the pleas at the other end. He shook his head. “Yeh’ll do fine without me, just do as I said. Oh, and don’t inhale the powder fumes, that’ll give yeh a bad time. All right, toodle-oo!” The old man turned the phone off in spite of the protests at the other end, and threw it on the table.
Ramos picked his mug of tea back up, filling his lungs with its minty aroma, and leaned back in his seat. He took his first uninterrupted sip, closing his eyes blissfully. The tea wasn’t hot anymore, but it was still good. Amalthea lifted her head and gave her trainer a pointed look.
“It’s me day off, sprout. I ain’t gettin’ off my rump today, end o’ the world or no!”
Psychic
I oughta pop into another one of these sometime.
